hopscotch

Today's Diwali... And, I am in a crabby mood. (Isn't that an old story?) So...let me just put down in points what I am missing in life at this point: 3.30 in the afternoon, Nov 5. Here goes: 1)My pen friends and the letters we used to write. Status: I'm not in touch with any of them. 2)My old camera. I clicked my college life and niece's photographs with it Status: Left it in the almirah of my cupboard. Don't know if its working. 3)My old diaries. Used to write pages and pages when in college Status: Burnt them. I am regretting! 4)Mogra flowers. Reminds me of Aai. Status: Have to go back home and see if they are in bloom. 5)Chocolates. I used to hunt for them in my sister's bag, cupboard. Status: I can and still eat them by dozens. But they don't taste that good. 6)Rains. The thunderstorm and the lightning. Status: It doesn't rain in Pune. It just drizzles and cleans the road. 7)My home. Status: It's still standing, rock-solid. I ho

This was published in the books page of the Sunday Supplement --- When I was in college, the most-talked about book was Prakash Sant’s Vanwas , or ‘exile’. I was staying in a hostel and was always homesick; and I didn’t want to read a book that would have proclaimed my state of mind loud and clear. It was a chance conversation with my roommate, four years later, that I developed an interest in Lampan or Lampu, the boy character (Sant himself), on whom the books — Vanwas , Pankha , (Fan) Sharada Sangeet and Zumbar (Chandelier) — were based. A highly imaginative and sensitive child, Lampan lives with his maternal grandparents (Narayan Sant and poetess Indira Sant) in a small village near Maharashtra-Karnataka border. He’s a gifted musician: he can sing, compose and play all the musical instruments; but scores a duck in Maths and Geography. Lampu speaks Marathi with a distinct Kannada lilt. His favourite words are “Mad”, Tantotant and Kay mhantat na... tyatli gat . He “measures” h

This was written as a second edit piece. --- The lal dabba , as it is often derisively referred to, holds very special memories for me. I was a gawky, confused teenager when I first came to Pune to study in a reputed city college. I was always homesick for the first few months, and counted days when I could go home. The first opportunity came around the ten-day Ganesh festival. I took an autorickshaw to Swargate and then made my way to the platform for Mumbai bound buses. I stayed in a small village near Panvel, so I had to get down at a 'request stop'. I, therefore, decided to wait for the conductor to ask if he could stop the bus at Dand Phata, the request stop. When he came, with the driver, I was scared of his gruff manner and I fumbled. I had to repeat myself twice before he nodded. I was travelling alone for the first and that too on a bus, so after Khopoli I kept my eyes peeled for Dand Phata. I need not have worried because the conductor called me as the stop nea

This appeared in the Sunday supplement --- The chat signal turned green. “Hey!” my friend pinged. ‘Hey... long time...’ I pinged back. “Yeah... KP...” she said. ‘Koregaon Park? Aare... I need to go shopping...’ I typed furiously. “Not that KP re...” she said. ‘Then?’ I wondered. “C’mon... KP...” she sounded tired. Ah! KP... My friend was talking about the kande pohe meeting! In Maharashtra, when the prospective groom, accompanied by his family members, comes to ‘see’ the girl at her house, he is generally served kande pohe and chaha (tea). Of course, modern girls prefer to meet the guys in a cafe or restaurant. But the name has stuck. Anyway, I was eager to know how the KP meeting transpired. I had several KP meetings to my credit, and since I also got married through an ‘arranged’ match, I was considered a ‘veteran’. No wonder then, my friend started keying in the details about her experience. “The meeting wasn’t great,” she pinged. ‘So, you didn’t like him?’ I asked.

Amma... It has been two years without you. I miss you. Sorry for being the 'black sheep' of the family. And for being rebellious, short-tempered and harsh. I am sorry....

Right now, I am feeling very exhausted and tired. But, I don't want to mope or at least whine on this blog. However, nothing nice or cheery comes to my mind... If I could use drawing tools, I would sketch lines representing my thoughts in a criss-cross manner – if you look from far you can see a nice pattern; from close, it will look like a mess or clutter. That's what is the current state of my mind. I am so TIRED. Am I working too hard? Do I need to see a psychoanalyst? Am I tired of pleasing others? How difficult it is to do things I like? Why do I drive people up against the WALL? Why am I not sleeping well at night? Why do I toss and turn endlessly? Why do I babble in my sleep? What is troubling me? --- I have no answer. Only questions.

I had written this for the second edit column --- Today when we step out of the houses, our usual stops are at the multiplexes and malls. Whether one likes it or not, the malls - with their promises of sops, and a 'lifetime experience' - are here to say. With so many new malls, stores, designer boutiques are coming up every other day, there's stiff competition to win more and more clients and customers with 'sales', 'discount rates' and 'membership cards'. It is a haven for both the shopaholics and for those who indulge in it occasionally. But, what dims the 'lifetime experience' is the demeanour of the staff on the floor who are supposed to guide and help you choose from the vast array of stocks. The experience, at least in my case, has been an indifferent attitude, half nods and fingers pointed in vague direction. The plausible reasons, which I have come up with for their downright rude behaviour, are that they are ill at ease in thei