Author: binny22

An active blogger, a debutant Novelist , a passionate poet who loves to travel is what could sum me up. I love the internet and all that is connected to computers. I love to explore new areas of knowledge though I may not accept every piece of information.

Non Linear Freedom


Time and space do matter when we are bound by the limits of science and imagination. Whether your writing is in the linear mode or in the non linear mode, it is important to have the logistics of time and space right. I cannot weave a narrative in the eighteenth century and then push it into another dimension (Space?) even if the time is the same or vice versa. Of course the genre of Fantasy fiction does let us travel to parallel worlds in another time and dimension, but we still stick to that graph to be able to formulate a logical and comprehensible story.

The human mind is born with certain pre set ideas. We know that if I am born on the first of January 1992, I cannot be alive on 4th January 1991. If I am in the jungles of Peru, I cannot be on the Himalayas at the same precise moment. The problem of twin identities stops the writer from exploring this facet.

We are also limited by data- “ A man cannot be alive if he is three hundred years old”. But our epics and religious texts do tell us that at a certain point of time, people lived to be more than five hundred years old. There are a lot of explanations to that. Some say a year was calculated as equal to a lunar month not a solar orbit, others say the figures were symbolic numbers to stress other aspects of life. We also have various people the world over claiming to be hundred and fifty and so on, but they normally have no proof, so it is relegated into fantasy.

So what do I do? I want to weave a story where I need the same character to be at two places at the same time. “Impossible”, says the modern millennial. This is when I need to break the sound barrier (in this case the time and space barrier) and delve into a world that is not bound by any restriction. Before I discuss this in detail, I would like to remind you that the first airplane flew early in the twentieth century but the Ramayana, written sometime in the fifth century BC, talks about the ‘Pushpaka Vimana’  or the mythological flying Chariot used by Ravana to kidnap Sita. So was it just a figment of Valmiki’s imagination or was there something like that already existing? So what seems impossible now maybe possible in the future.

Fantasy fiction already delves into impossible circumstances and we accept it. It could be Harry Potter flying on his broom and playing Quidditch or Superman coming from the planet Krypton. But what if I want to create a normal world with ordinary people that the reader can identify with? What if I want some extraordinary happenings to be a part of my narrative in the most natural and believable way?

This is when we can explore the unknown world of paranormal or supernatural events. It has been proven time and again that this world of spirits; world unrelated to physical dynamics and a world where logic is not the king, exists. Here (specially because it is not data dependent) we have the freedom to throw away the shackles of logic, time, space and to some extent scientific theory and push it down the black hole of superstition and ignorance.

Wikipedia defines superstition as ‘a pejorative term for any belief or practice that is considered irrational or supernatural: for example, if it arises from ignorance, a misunderstanding of science or causality, a positive belief in fate or magic, or fear of that which is unknown.’

So we have this negative (?) tool to create a dark world to suit our needs. There are questions that pop into my mind; does it need to be a “dark world”, cannot it be a world full of sunlight where good is rewarded and bad is punished and not the other way around? But again I am limiting myself by moral values of Good and Bad.

Whatever be the outcome of this argument, I believe that it is important to let the mind free from the tortuous limitation of science, facts and data!

The Moving Bug




My heart was palpitating; sweat was pouring down my forehead; nausea enveloped me from all sides; if there hadn’t been so many people on the road, I swear I would have fainted, I was feeling so dizzy.

I know what you are thinking, but I assure you all, you are wrong. I wasn’t being attacked by menopausal hot flushes!

This was happening frequently enough for all of you to assume the worst. But I have my own explanation, do bear with me as I meander into my past and give you a scientific hypothesis why this was happening.

I think (I must have told you before), I have nomadic genes. From the time I was born I have moved on an average of every three years. In fact in one place that I lived for four years, I moved three houses! There have been exceptions but mostly my fate has made me move. Do not pity me! I am very proud of this fact.




I just adore moving. The whole process of packing is a pleasure to me. I love sorting things through; throwing out whatever I haven’t used in the three years we have been in that particular house; lovingly dusting and packing my books of over thirty years (which I haven’t read in the last twenty years!) and the many artefacts that I have collected from the world over (they might be cracked and faded but I never have the heart to throw them off!) I do love to throw away my old clothes though (My maids love me for that!)


Many of my friends feel sorry for me. The first question they ask me, when we speak after a gap, “Where are you these days?”. Of course Facebook has been good to let them know where I am at that point in time. But now a days Facebook is out of fashion; all the young people have migrated to Instagram for their socialising and the older generation (I mean the seventy plus) have taken over Facebook! My generation is somewhere in-between- totally confused about what to do. We are sort of undecided, with one foot in each arena! If the boats stop moving in unison, we are going to fall into the water! I have three sets of friends- the one that starts from seventeen to thirty, then the thirty to sixty and the third set is the sixty plus!, So I try to keep track of all of them through various  Social Apps.

Getting back to my ‘moving times’- well! as I was saying, I love it! I love the pre-moving exercise(sorting and packing), the ongoing moving exercise (staying in a hotel after the hard work and just chilling) and the post- moving exercise (Unpacking and finding new places for my old stuff!)

I never did feel sorry for myself, in fact, I feel sorry for the people who stay in one place throughout their lives! I feel they are missing out. They argue that they learn from their vacation travels, but I argue that visiting and moving are totally different things. Depending on whether you are the nomads or the settlers, you can pat me on  my back or throw rotten tomatoes at me!

Back to my ailment, I seriously started to find some common denominator for all the episodes of my ailments. I was normally always outside, mostly when I was going to the garden for my walk; there were always plenty of people and traffic around me at that time; my irritation at the stray dogs being fed on the roadside was also there; I kept on collecting my data from these episodes. One more common thing was, I was always feeling healthy and fit before these attacks!

Nobody, least of all myself, gave much importance to this new development in my life. Like a wood splinter under the skin, it started poking me very frequently. As I am a self medicator, I did not even think of taking professional help.

Maybe it was hot flushes, I admitted to myself. But what about my data collection, my parameters and a burgeoning hypothesis? So again the Hot flush theory was flushed down and I waited for a new episode to add to my data.

“Didi”, my maid had just come in, “The front door neighbours are moving”.
I wasn’t really surprised. The Lady of the house had told me before that they are looking for a new house. I did wonder why she hadn’t told me that they were moving so soon. To cut a long story short, out of neighbourly concern I went over to their house.
The men were packing and talking amongst themselves. The house was a mess, everything was laid out and the packers were doing their job.
It started, my heart beat faster; the sweat poured out and I felt so dizzy that I held on to the door. The disease was in full form.
“Are you okay?”, our neighbour asked.
“I think so”, I said smiling weakly.
“Can I get you a glass of water?”, he asked.
“Thank you, but I am okay”, I said steadying myself, “Do let me know if I can help you in any way”.

How could I tell him that the smell of the packing boxes, the rustle of the bubble wrap and the mess, all made me feel so jealous that I was nauseous!



As I entered the latest data into my journal, I realised one more common factor during these episodes was the presence of a Movers and Packers truck on the road! In fact this has happened when I gaze down idly from my twenty sixth floor and see the Writers  (A favourite Movers and Packers of mine!)yellow and black truck moving or taking things from the Apartment opposite us.

We had recently completed four years in this location( way above my average of three years!) and all these signs were like a knife twisting in my nomadic heart. The intense desire; the painful jealousy; the restlessness within me were all signals telling me it’s time to move!

My hypothesis was proven beyond doubt!

Committed versus the Non-Committal









“No!”

I looked up from my Idly-Vada plate at the couple seated at the table next to the entrance. I had noticed them when they had entered. They were a  very young couple, maybe in their late twenties. She was dressed in a sheath frock (Very common with that generation now!) and he was scruffy, overweight and wearing a crumpled tee shirt and the loose shorts, the young prefer now a days. 
I am at a very curious phase in life. I have got into the habit of observing the behavioural quaintness of human beings. I then use these threads to weave my own stories. Sometimes it is just to amuse myself, sometimes I share my conjectures with the lord of our house or our offsprings.

We had done something out of the ordinary that day. Instead of getting the Idly-Vada breakfast home, the lord and master suggested we go to a newly opened South Indian restaurant in our neighbourhood. We have left Hyderabad some thirteen years back and every year we experiment with new South Indian restaurants to find that perfect place. We have gone to South Mumbai; we have gone to Matunga, of course Bandra and Powai are home turf so every restaurant in the vicinity has been tried! So here we were trying out the fare. (Nothing, I repeat nothing can beat either Mysore or Hyderabad!)

I was in fact giving a running commentary about this couple to the ‘Lord’. He had his back to them.

“They are fighting about something”

“The girl is very angry, she is not even making eye contact with him!”

“He is obviously sorry and looking at her with soulful eyes and talking softly all the while”

Then the “No” shot out and everyone (there were only three couples including us and one lone bachelor who was eating with his phone!) in the restaurant, looked at her. This gave the ‘Lord a chance to turn back and look; this was good as he could fire his imagination with a concrete figure.

The girl had started crying now and talking loudly.

“What language?”, asked my worse half.
.
I strained my ears, “Can’t make out, maybe Tamil”.

Then she became a little louder.

“It’s Hindi!”, I said triumphantly.

But as I could not hear exactly what she was saying between sobs, I just let my imagination soar and made up stories in my mind.

The bill was paid, and we got up to leave. I noticed the other couple who were sitting right in front of me. They were older; around late thirties or early forties. They looked happy and were laughing and enjoying their breakfast. I thought ‘it takes all sorts to make this world!’
We walked out thanking the young waiter for the very perfect service. Climbed down the steps and sat in the car which was parked right in front of the entrance of the restaurant. The Man of the house buckled up and waited.

“Why are we waiting?”, I saw him looking at the Paan Cigarette shop in front.

“You have been a good boy so far; so no cigarettes today”, I said firmly.

“After that lovely breakfast and filter coffee what can make this moment better than perfect?”, he asked.

“Not Cigarettes!”, I exclaimed, “Let us go”.


I noticed the older couple coming down the steps. Both of them were in their running gear. I noticed both were extremely smart and healthy with well-toned bodies. Being a normal female (albeit old!) I noticed the man. He was in is running shorts, sporting a pair of well-muscled legs, a flat stomach (maybe he hid a six pack under the Nike Tee shirt!) and was handsome too. I gave a cursory glance at the woman too (I was sure my significant other was giving her a very detailed look over!) She was also a pretty person with slim hips and long legs. They were still laughing and talking in front of the steps. Then they went off.

“Did you notice those two”, Husband asked.

“What else would I be doing sitting here?”, I said smiling, “By the way, if you have finished wrestling with your conscience, could we go home? The maid will run away when she finds we are not there!”.

“No comments on these two?”, he asked reversing the car.

“Very handsome couple, specially the Man!”, I said enthusiastically.

“Yes, the lady was really sexy!”, he said smoothly.

“You would notice that wouldn’t you?”, I snapped.

“I noticed something, which you did not”, he said impishly.

“About the woman? I wasn’t really looking at her!”, I retorted.

“No”, he interjected.

“Then?”, I queried.

“They both went in opposite directions!”, the man was really enjoying my discomfiture!

Although I had not consciously noticed that, my peripheral vision had taken cognizance of the fact!

So we had this newly married couple (at least a committed one) who were unhappy versus this obviously non- committed couple who were very happy (the excitement in the relationship was to be seen to be believed!)

I wonder now which is better? We were the oldest couple there. I remember going through instances  that the young couple were going through. But now we were comfortable with each other, we have developed a mutual respect and admiration of each other. We have millions of shared memories; we have had our experiences and instances.

But what about the excitement that the second couple had? Was that missing from our lives?

The surprise Roses and Lilies which I get once in a while; the special dinners and the glass of wine; the  springing of travel plans for my birthday  add to my excitement in this committed relationship that I have.

 I have understood that tears and smiles are a part of life. I have understood that I may no longer be sexy, but I have a quiet elegance. I may not have a six pack husband, but I have someone who cares enough for me not to let me walk away after a date!

Its up to you to choose what you want from your relationship. My advice for what it is worth: go for a partner who you would love to grow old with, go for a person who cares enough to go back  to you even when you are at your Nadir , the  permanent excitement will kick in then. Transient excitement- I get it when I eat popcorn at a movie theatre!

Prelude to Writing



Entrance into the parallel world is easy enough. To stay there is the difficult part. I play God every time I write (as my genre is fiction). Like an Architect building a model of his house or township, I place my roads and buildings; trees and clouds; sun and moon in their precise predetermined position. I create the scene and the environment.

With a flick of my fingers, the world is dreary and dark or sunny and happy or breezy and cool! Utilising all the senses, I paint my world with fine strokes of little details to bring alive a world that you might have seen or envisioned yourself to be in.

Writing is not just imagination. It needs the preciseness of truth and the smooth blurring of dreams into reality and vice versa. A single word can push your brains into the tortuous alley of realism, or it can guide you into a smooth river of eventuality. All it needs is a change of syntax. The verbs, nouns, adjectives play such an important role in framing the picture, you want the world to perceive, that sometimes we do not realise that each is as important as the other.

Just as the plot is the skeleton of a story, the atmosphere is the flesh and bones of the narrative. The characters are the intrinsic features of the body while emotions are the used to drape each incident, and progression is the ornament to embellish each milestone of the story.

All the above factors are the creative world. A book needs much more. The multiple editing that needs to go into a work before it can be unveiled; the font; the placements; the cover design; the colour and the graphics, all need that perfection so that a work of beauty may be revealed.

Where would one be without the editor, the cover artist ,the graphic designer or the marketing team? They are the support that lets us take our creation to millions. Writers are also artists and which artist does not need validation for his/ her work?

As the cog wheels of invention move with well oiled precision, I wait and watch for the ultimate validation of audience approval!

Dream vs Reality

Gear Shift

Related image

There is an urgency in your life as you enter the fifties. More than half your life has gone by in a whirl of autumnal leaves and what have you to show for it?

Lots actually! Bits and pieces of life insertions; you have moulded the life of many; loved, hated and cared for many more; changed, shown the path to some more. It has been a satisfying life so far, but there is still something nagging at your inner core.

There have been a lot of “Thank you” on the patio of my life, both given and taken. There have been a number of regrets (that have actually changed my thought process!) from an aggressive Feminist I have turned into a mellow supporter of the right against the wrong (definition of Right and Wrong are fiercely my own)

My journey through the playful teenage years; to the responsible twenties; to the hardworking thirties; and the dreaming forties have sculptured me into a living-breathing questionnaire of the “Real World”.

So here I am venturing into my dream of writing and creating parallel worlds. I had always dabbled in writing bits and pieces via my blogs, poetry and the letters that I send my children on their birthdays. But now I am ready to confront my daemons, vanquish my fears and take baby steps into this world where I am the creator.

My first step towards independence, where this has nothing to do with my being a daughter, wife or mother, has taken place. My first full length novel is ready and will soon be published. The excitement within me is there, as well as the trepidation of whether I shall be accepted by my family, friends and the world at large as a “Writer”.

So all this while, my life was on cruise control, it’s time to move on to the fifth gear, manually. I wait now on the brink of a new world where I am no God but the little entity waiting with my engines revved up. 

Image result for clip art of writing

Lost and found Mitochondria

Rapid pinging on the Hike messenger made me wash my hands and take a break from my cooking. 

I opened the family “Home Talkies”

“Mama! Don’t freak out!”

I messaged back, “?????”

“I think I have lost my watch!”

The very responsible Doctor of the family was at Prayagraj Kumbh Mela. She was there on duty. She and her team had been put up at the eye camp. She shared her “room” with three other people. We all had been apprehensive about her going and roughing it out at the eye camp there. But she had been very pleased with all the arrangements made by the Organisers. Lovely warm tents; great attached bathrooms and the most important thing four square meals a day with lots of snacks, tea and coffee thrown in. True they had to work hard, but they had fixed timings, so it was a kind of break from the slavery that they had to face at college!

I sighed and thought, “Why did she have to get my bad genes?”. But like me I knew she would find it. I was the famous “lost and found” specialist of the family!

I messaged back, “You will find it!”

Father noticed the conversation sometime later and said, “No you won’t”

“Tell me when you last saw it”, I asked

“Well! I think I left it on the bed before I went for my bath.”

“It will be there, amongst the bedclothes”, I insisted

“Have searched!”, came the terse reply

“Maybe it’s time for a new watch!”, came another rejoinder

“You will find it”, I signed off.


There was discussion in the house about whether or not it would be found. Well all my life, I had lost things (Specially keys and money!); given up hope of ever finding them; found them definitely. This time around I was sure my mitochondria would find it!

After three days an abashed message, “Found my watch!”

“Where was it?”, three people messaged back simultaneously

“It was with my undies in the undies bag”

I never said, “I told you so!”

The next day I overslept as I hadn’t been keeping too well. I woke up to hear the face time app ringing.

I clicked on it to see the teary-eyed baby of the family, six thousand kilometres away in Chicago.

Of course, I panicked! But I am the parent, cannot show it!

“Mama! I have lost all my immigration papers!”

“No, you cannot have, I am sure you will find it”, I said reassuringly not feeling reassuring at all!

Lord and master took the I pad from me (he could see I was panicking)

“Where did you last see it?”, he asked

She had just returned from a business trip.

“Did you take it with you to Ohio?”, I asked

“No, I did not”, came the tearful rebuttal

“Where did you last see it?” repeated Dad

“Well, I kept very carefully. They are in a thick folder. When I came back from India, I first kept it on my bedside table, then I use to sleep with it every day…”

“Then?”, prompted Dad.

All this while my mind was going haywire thinking of where she could have kept it.

“Then once my bed got all dirty, so I kept it on the floor… for safe keeping you know”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Was that the last you saw it?” Dad said, a little frustration creeping into his voice.

“What about your passport?”

“Passport is fine I always keep it in this bag”, the bag was displayed to us.

I sighed, “You can get all the other papers from the university, right?”

“I suppose so, but it will take time and I need to submit the documents tomorrow!”, wailed my baby

I doubted my mitochondria for a second! I never left things for the last moment. That must be from her father, I comforted myself.

“Take me around the places you could have kept it. What about the suitcase?”, I asked tentatively, sure I would get an impatient answer in response.

“That was the first place I looked for!”, was the snappy reply

“Do it again, just to please me”, I wheedled

The suitcase was got out, I saw her hands going all over it.

“No, its not there!”, she wailed

I got up to leave the I pad. My mitochondria had failed! I was mutely looking at my better half for some reassurance.

“Hell!” the young one exclaimed

“I think its here! But I don’t know how to get it out!”

I was frozen!

Lots of noise from the iPad, I did not dare look into it.

“Got it!”, said the triumphant voice

There she was, with  the teary-eyed smile (Which by the way her father loves), the absconding folder in her hand!

I could have given her a whack and hug at the same time.

Well don’t need DNA testing for these two, they definitely have my mitochondria!



The Dal*Story

It all started with the newbie adult asking on the family group chat “How to make dal?” appended along with a picture of a vessel with “I think this is a pressure cooker?”! (All the way from Chicago!)


Somewhere along the way I had failed to train the baby of the house with the basic rudiments of cooking!

Before I could respond to this, her sibling, the doctor of the family in Rishikesh gave clear cut instructions:

1.Dry heat, dal first, till u get smell
2. Then put water, salt and haldi* n 3 whistles.

Obviously with such instruction I was not surprised to see the following messages.

“ON what heat? High, Medium or low?

“MEDIUM”

“How much dal to put? A CUP OR LESS?”

“Small cup. not coffee cup!  ½ of coffee cup” insisted the Sibling

“Well I have measuring cups, 1 cup of that?” asked the newbie

“That might be too much!”

“DAMN”

“U can always store it!”

“Ok, ok!”

This followed by a picture of a cup of dry dal.

“It will fit in the pressure cooker, no? It won’t overflow?”, asked the diffident chef

As this was directed specifically at me, I replied that it won’t.

“1 cup or ½ cup or ¼ cup?”

“HELP!”

To this I gave very strict instruction: for 1 cup add 4 cups of water

“But do I want 1 cup or less?”, still hadn’t left her penchant for metaphysical questions!

I sighed,” half cup would be good”.

This was followed by an animated jumping teddy bear, which drives me nuts, so I replied with a “ No “ sticker!

The doctor sniggered in the background!

“Dry heat for how long? 2 cups of water then?” incessant enquiries!

The ever-helpful elder sibling answered all the questions at the same time: “SMELL WILL COME, keep tossing it, 3 to 4 cups.”

The struggling adult said, “IT BURNT!”

“TOSS TOSS”, followed by “THROW THAT” when a picture of the burnt dal came on line!

“NOW RESTART”
“LOW HEAT”

“OK”, acquiesced the troubled newbie, followed by, “Mama said 4 cups water for 1 cup dal, I am making half cup so half water, no?”

“OK” grunted the Master chef

“Yes or no?”

“YES!”

“KK, what should I add now?”


A cartoon sticker of smell followed by a question mark…..
A ROFL penguin sticker followed by,” it smells burnt from previous batch” said the baby

“Ok, add water. And then Salt and haldi* 1 tsp or so”

“Before closing lid?”

“Obviously!”, said the exasperated older sister
“And mix it?”

“YES MAAM!”

This is when I decided that I must write a blog on this!

Further Instruction …..
“Then close the lid and lock it. Make sure the top knob (the weight ) is there too!
“LOW HEAT!”
“Don’t fiddle with the cooker once closed!”
“Let it whistle for 3 times n leave it for 10 to 15 mins”

Rapid fire directions!


“This much heat or more?” (followed with a picture of the gas burner)

“YES that’s fine”

“Don’t know how to put lid!”, complained the wannabe cook

Exhausted sticker followed this statement!

“Twist and…..” began the Doctor

“This isn’t twisting, it needs to go under the perimeter..”, interrupted the newbie

“…Sideways in and then turn….”, continued the sibling

“Then locked.. ya that’s what I did” interrupted again

“….Like handle 90 degrees to other handle..”

“But it will touch dal when I take it out”, protested the newbie-wannabe chef

“,,,Plus 90 degrees on Z axis.” Patiently continued the Doctor

“Oh! that’s ok”

Now Man of the house enters the fray (Mumbai)

“4 to 5 whistles in Chicago and slightly burnt, gives nice flavour” advised the super chef. (He tells everyone, who cares to hear, that he taught me how to cook!)

“Well I threw out the burnt one… OMG its going to POOO soon I can hear sizzling.”

“ONE DONE!”

“OMG! Can’t keep calm!”, I could visualise the super excited baby of mine jumping up and down with excitement.

This is followed by one zillion stickers to show the various emotions all participants were going through!

“Three done what to do now?” enquired the adult

“One more for good luck!”, advised the Doctor

“House smells like turmeric now!”

“Fourth whistle sounds like train!”


Audio clip follows this chat

“LIKE PAPA’S train “says Baby

 “PUT IT OFF”, Screams the Advisor

“DONE!”

Lots of hilarious instruction of how to open the cooker follows.

Father intervenes “1/6th spoon haldi* ,Ma always puts too much!”

“But I am good”, says the newbie

“What if it isn’t soft?”, a worried rumble

“REBOIL!”, yells the sibling

“How to season it?” sighs the sous-chef

Plenty of simultaneous instruction on how to do that by three different people!

The four cell phones in different corners of the world went haywire with pings.



Finally, the finished product picture is put up and Madam eats the whole thing off like a bowl of soup!

We heard the satisfied burp from 12939 km away!

This was followed by profuse thanks!

We didn’t do such a bad job in bringing up these two brats!

This is the new world that we live in! Even with the internet and the YOUtube videos it is so much more fun to cook the family way!

Legends
·       Dal= Lentil
·       Haldi = Turmeric

The Transient “Forever”



“Hey that’s the life I want!” I am sure my family is tired of this statement but are too polite to say so! This happens each time I see a caravan on the road.

Well! Most people would say that my whole life has been a nomadic one, so who am I to desire something more? Except for two stints in my life, I have never stayed longer than four years at a place. Even there I have shifted three houses!

So, what’s this fascination with caravans?

As a child we moved so frequently that I hardly had time to make friends. Remember there was no internet, so no WhatsApp, emails, or cell phones- the only way you could keep in touch was through snail mails. Though I tried my best, the other end was too lazy to reply regularly, and I lost interest. My best friends were books. I loved Enid Blyton, and in all her children book series she has incidents inter spaced within her narratives where the main characters go in a caravan. You park where you want; cook in the outdoors; sleep with the stars above and mange the tiny caravan! It was so fascinating that I have read the famous five series at least thrice and once very recently!

Every time we moved to a new place, I take it as a “Forever” place; I do it up as well as I can, get things set up as if I am going to stay there for the rest of my life. As we travel very frequently for holidays and live in Hotels for a night or two, I set up the hotel room as if it was my home! (A lasting joke in the family- Aah mama is setting up home!) I designate space for suitcase and shoes and always make it a point to set up the toiletries neatly!


Recently the little Doc of the family left home for her further studies. When we Face time, I ask her to show me what changes she has made in her room (I had helped set up her room). One very tiring day (for her) She said she is not too bothered as this is a temporary accommodation! Then I gave her this tiny lecture about how every residence is to be treated as forever. Also, it is when I decided to write this for everyone who are tired of moving from one place to another.

I was brought up on road trips with a Father who loved to travel, and I have been very fortunate to have a husband who loves them as well! These trips let me foray into the dream nomadic life and has kept me satiated until now. As I grow older, I realize, there will be a time when I may not be able to be as active as I am now. I wonder how I will be able to stay in one place “forever”? when I see ninety-year-old tourists happily trekking along with us, it gives me hope; when I see the differently abled people in their wheelchairs enjoying the lovely sunset on the cliff, I have hope; when I see the young parents with prams braving the chilly wind to visit some destination, I wallow in hope!

I have had a few army friends who moved at least every three years. As I compare the outlook of these families with normal civilians I realize how rich moving makes us. Not financially but culturally! They are able to accept change so easily and adapt so easily to diverse ways of life, it is commendable!

This life, after all is temporary, but I think that I must live it to the fullest as if there is no tomorrow! Time and space is so relative that I believe that movement is the only constant and we will realise our full potential if we appreciate and develop this non-permanency that stares at us at every turn!

CUTTING CHAI






Under the dim street lamp, at ten in the night, he was busy with his business. People walked past with intent and purpose. Horns blared intermittently, autos swerved inches away from each other and children sold books, toys, flowers… the Instagram images swirls and mixes in my consciousness and I remember I had sighed that day.

It was almost twelve years back when we were to relocate to the busy city of Mumbai from the smaller city of Hyderabad. I was leaving a settled life, leaving behind the security of the umbrella of known faces, friends and social life.

 Don’t get me wrong, I love moving to new places! The excitement of a new place always gives me a high. This time it was major move with two growing children and an “older tending towards inflexibility”-mind.


We had come house hunting. From a lovely sprawling bungalow with greenery all around we were looking at tiny flats at exorbitant rates. Where would my furniture fit in?  where would I park my car? My plants! My mind shrieked at me. I was new to the world of brokers. How they would show you the worst flats first and then take you to better flats if you were not satisfied. I could write a book on house hunting in Mumbai! It is a tortuous and torturous!

This was the third day in the city. We were waiting for the broker to show us another house. We had already seen thirty houses! (I am not exaggerating) I had walked up countless stairways and trundled over million lifts. Looked at supposed “Views”, heard about the accessibility of the area, and the cool evening breeze. It was pre-monsoon and at ten in the night I was drenched in sweat. The breeze was there but was filled with the smell of dried fish.

My traumatized mind was spiralling its way downwards and I wanted to rush back home and cover myself with the blanket and squirrel down into a world of comfort and security. But reality is a great warning bell, I knew I had to accept change and in it lies movement and growth. But at that moment twelve or so years back I was in turmoil.

As we waited, my worse half got me a glass of hot tea from the man under the street light.

If there is heaven inside hell then this was it! It was hot and sweet and it was like half a glass, but the energy and enthusiasm it put inside me is a marvel I still cannot explain!

To cut a long story short we found our dream house and moved in and have lived in this city till now except for a short stint of two years when we had moved out.

I don’t know about the city, but I have changed a lot in the time I have spent here. There are a lot of negatives but the positives outweigh them. The traffic and flyovers have multiplied, but the children selling stuff at signal lights continue. Plenty of slum rehabilitation going on but plenty of new slums mushrooming. The traffic police carry Wi-Fi credit card accepters to get fines but the stealthily rolled hundred rupee notes still works! I have come to accept the warmth of the people here. Despite all the politicians fuelling tension amongst community and races, if you need help, someone will help. I have twice fractured my ankle in this city (Due to the rotten road work!) but both times I have been helped by strangers to get back home. I have come to appreciate the vast variety of people who call this there home. I have talked to a lot of migrants who come to work here. The hope and desire that this city fuels are amazing.

There is nothing you cannot get here. There is a perpetual shortage of time but even in this chaos someone will give you a little time. The city never sleeps. Every time I come back here from a holiday I am disappointed at the dirt, crowd and noise but I wonder at this machine of humanity which goes on in spite of itself.

I do not love the city. I always long for my mountains and a noiseless world. But as we go to pick up our daughter from her class I look forward to having that glass of “Cutting Chai” (half glass of hot sweet tea!) and I feel that life is all about this cutting chai. I think I am now a veteran “cutting chai” taster. I have had it from Nariman point in the south to Thane in the north. (The best one is near the station in Dadar).


In this decade of watching Mumbai change from Bombay (From the side-lines of course!) I have found my comfort in this glass of pep talk which no psychiatrist could ever give me.