A Letter

Dear Keith,

I know it has been 2 years now since we last saw each other or spoke; but I simply had to write to check on you. I needed to inform you that all is well at my end and that you should not worry about me. I may have moved to another location, but I still manage to get updates about you. People tell me you do not keep well and are constantly ill. I hear you have lost interest in things that you once loved – music, writing, travelling – things that once bound us together.

I ran into the old lady at the bookstore. She says you do not come by anymore. The boy she once knew to be an ardent reader just walks passed the store in a trance. Remember James, your friend from office, he tried too, until he had to move too. He says you refused to talk about me; and when you did, you would break down.

My darling, I am so sorry things did not work out like we had planned, and that I left so abruptly. I thought I would receive the call several years later, but what can you say about such things. Sometimes things just do not work out, and I am sorry that you are still hurting.

The two years that I spent being married to you were the best years of my life. I loved every moment of it, and I know you did too.

I loved being in love. I loved being loved. I loved to love you.

I will always remember your boyish smile and your twinkling eyes. I remember listening to songs that we loved, watching movies that brought us joy. I remember our long endless walks; our unplanned excursions; I remember how we would complete each other’s sentences or know what the other was thinking without saying a word, I remember when we spoke with just our eyes.

And when we had Jean, it was like nothing could be more fulfilling. To see you blossom into a father was the greatest joy of my life. Every time I saw her, I saw so much of you, she does have your innocent smile. And for her, I want to tell you, you have to move on. Jean needs you. She needs to know what her mother was like. She needs to know the woman you loved. She needs to know the way I smiled, the things I loved, the people I loved. She needs to know my favourite song, my favourite book, my favourite food. She needs to know of the places we travelled together. She needs to live with me, through you, because I cannot.

You must engage in doing things that you once loved - we once loved - so in that way you can feel my presence and not be lonely. You have to live in the way I still live with you. You have to breathe the way I do.

I know we always dreamt of building our heaven together; I know we had that, until I left. But I promise you, the day we are together once more, we will rebuild it together again. Until then, I love you with the everlasting breath that is forever in me now.

Love Samantha.

The Silent Conversation

The bus was crowded. Shalini had missed her 8.15 bus, by which she travelled regularly, and now considering she even had place to stand in the over-crowded 9 am bus, she was just grateful. People tugged and pushed. She stood uncomfortably in a ½ foot by ½ foot area. Her large bag slung over her shoulder caused people inconvenience whenever they passed her.
There were exactly 12 stops between where Shalini caught the bus and got off it. She had passed 3 stops and still she had no seat. She hoped someone would vacate their seat so she could sit.
The boy who stood to her right saw her inconvenience and chuckled. He had a cool arrogant air about him. Dressed in classic navy blue jeans and a Linkin Park t-shirt, with neatly gelled hair and a light stubble, he seemed like a rock star straight out of the movies. Every time someone passed Shalini, it drove her off-balance and he would stifle a laugh. Shalini rebuffed him with her eyes and tried to ignore him. “How rude and insensitive you can be!” she “spoke”.
As the bus neared the 5th stop , a man in front of him, stood up to leave, and suddenly she was hopeful. The boy was about to sit when he happened to glance her way, and they “spoke”.
“Please can I sit” she furrowed her brow and took on a pitiful look.
“O no way, it’s my seat!” he shook his head
“O please, can’t you see the awkwardness with my big bag!”
“Yea right, nice try.”
“O come on, whatever happened to being a gentleman.”
He shook his head in disbelief at what he was about to do. “O well, fine! You can sit!!” and he moved out of the way, “Stupid girls! Why do you have to carry such a big bag anyway!!”
She rushed passed him and smiled excitedly, “Excellent!”
Once she sat, she sighed, “Thank you,”
He looked away, “O whatever! I can’t believe I did this. The guys would think I am such a fool.”
She looked up at him and rolled her eyes, “It’s called being nice, you goose.”
Meanwhile, the bus continued to fill. The conductor drew nearer to issue them their ticket. He had his bus-pass. He looked down at her and saw her fumbling for her ticket money. What she dug out was a 100 rupee note.
He shook his head from side to side as if saying “Unbelievable! The 9 am crowded bus, an irritable conductor, a 17 rupee ticket and you draw a 100 rupee note. This ought to be good!”
She narrowed her eyes, “What was I to do? I ran out of change!” She looked at the conductor and then at him and smiled, “Watch and learn.”
“One ticket – Nehru nagar please,” she said out loud to the conductor.
“Madam, please tender exact change.”
He looked at her and raised an eyebrow, “Told you!”
“Ha,” she replied, “Wait, it’s not over.,”
She blinked her twinkling large eyes and told the conductor, “I am really sorry, I don’t have it today. Can’t you do something about it?”
“Oh dear, these students don’t understand what we go through,” said the conductor with irritation as he tore off a ticket. He handed it to her and spoke sternly, “Give me the note, but remember to collect your change as you alight, it won’t be my responsibility.”
“Of course,” she said with mock submission, “Of course I will.” And with that she turned to him with an air of victory that said. “Now that’s what I call a performance!”
He had a look of complete shock, “Girls!” and then suddenly his jaw dropped open with realisation. She had a knowing look on her face and a smile that said “How do you think I got you to give me this seat!”
He looked away feeling completely stupid. “I gave you my seat in this crowded bus, if only I could make you get up!” he fumed.
As if to hear him, the lady next to Shalini got up to leave. It was the 7th stop. Shalini made way to let her pass by and shrugged her shoulders, “See, you got a seat, albeit 7 stops later, now we are even, so stop sulking.”
He let out a low growl.
They both settled down next to each other as the bus moved again. A while later, Shalini felt the hot May sun shine directly on her face, she had to hold her hand up to prevent the harsh rays. He saw what she felt. She looked up at the window and contemplated shutting it. She tugged at the dusty window, struggling. It was futile and she let out an air of frustration. He saw her struggling. He felt the crowd’s eyes peering down at him, “How can you let her struggle like that.” Lazily he lifted himself up, at which she withdrew into her seat and let him draw it shut; He sank back into his seat.
She gave him a genuine look of thanks, “You are a good person.”
“Yea well, now stop embarrassing me.” He looked the other way.
They passed the 9th stop.
He took out his phone and plugged in his headphones to listen to some music. Almost as a complimentary gesture she drew out a book from her big bag - Pride and prejudice. He shook his head as if to say “So predictable!”
She drew in her breath, “Don’t judge me, atleast I am not the wanna-be rock star.”
“Whatever!” he looked the other way and continued to shake his head to the music. She started to read.
As the bus crossed the 10th stop, she heard the click click of the ticket punchers from either side of the bus doors. It was the ticket checkers. Shalini placed her bookmark and closed her book. He could see the commotion; he took off his headphones to hear what the matter was. By the time he realised, Shalini was ready with her ticket in hand. He on the other hand started the treasure hunt for his pass. He searched his jacket pockets, left and right, and the ones on the inside. Nothing. He took out his wallet and fumbled through it. Nothing. The checker was just a seat away. He checked his pant pockets at the front. Nothing. He put his hands into his left back pocket. Still nothing. Shalini looked at him with a raised eyebrow as the checker came to her. He looked back as if to say, “No I swear I have it, I just can’t remember where!”
Then he put his hands into the right back pocket and he pulled out his pink colour pass and showed it to the checker. When the checker was satisfied he moved on.
Shalini shook her head, “How irresponsible! Such a boy!”
“I found it, didn’t I? Now let it go, would you.”
She opened her book and he plugged his ears once again.
They crossed the 11th stop. The next stop was Shalini’s and she readied herself. She took a sip of water and packed in her book. She held her bag and sat up straight as if to say, “Well, I had fun and thank you for the seat.”
“O, don’t mention it.” He looked around for the conductor, “Don’t forget your change.”
“I did not, infact, I was just going to him.” And with that she got up.
He looked up at her passing figure, “Will I see you in the bus tomorrow?” his eyes said.
“Umm... I don’t know. This isn’t my regular bus anyway, but you never know.” She grinned.
And then she navigated her way to the conductor; he saw her make conversation with him and smile a sweet smile; he noticed the dimple on her cheek he saw her laugh a polite laugh as she collected her change. Then she turned her head to look at him, and he looked down immediately, to avoid being caught staring; then just as casually, he looked up to see her still looking at him; she nodded to say thank you, and then jumped up off when the bus stopped. And that was the end of their silent conversation.

Aromas @ the Naidu’s

A typical Sunday at the Naidu’s residence is equivalent to a Funday. This is the day of the week that we cook and eat royally, courtesy my beloved Dad. On Sundays my Dad is the chef of the day, and he cooks with minimal assistance from Mum and virtually no assistance from me!

The menu is standard – idlis and ground nut chutney/dal for breakfast; chicken curry for lunch and complimentary pulav that Mum cooks accompanied by salad (which we invariably forget to bring to the table); if we are super lucky, bhajiyas for tea; and all the left-overs for dinner.

Unlike Sundays lived elsewhere, which is characterised by sleeping late into the morning followed by brunch, the Naidus are all up at 6.30. We go to Church, post which we usually play host to a family for breakfast. Dad loves playing host. He sends out verbal invitations instantly after service, and then we head home. Once at home the preparations begin!

Dad prepares meals as if it were for a royal banquet. He always keeps the kitchen platform spotless. Dad was never an exceptional cook as a boy; but a good South-Indian mother’s genes and bachelorhood in Bombay with a Goan family taught him the basics. His recipes are standard, but ones that he has perfected over the years, one in which he changes just one ingredient and it is finger-licking-lip-smacking good. Dad always says “Its (of the ingredients) not what you put or how much you put, but when you put that is important”.

Back at home, Dad begins with the idlis which are filled into tiny bowls that are thinly coated with oil. These are neatly placed in the idli vessel and left to steam. meanwhile, begins the process to make the ground-nut chutney. (Friends of mine can vouch that it is the best chutney they have ever tasted.) Dad gives out instructions – “divi cut the onions, peel the garlic, ginger etc etc.. “ and I, like an excited child scurry around following instructions, (blindly though, because no matter how many times I assist Dad, I still cannot explain the recipe to my appreciative friends.) Then Dad prepares the ingredients for the dal, puts it in the cooker, lets the steam blow off, and then gives the tadka.. ahaa.. the aroma arising in the kitchen at that instant is a combination of the ingredients blending, combined with Dads master touch, and the little effort put in by me. The aroma or the colour of the dal is distinctly attributed to Dad, and hence total strangers can pick out Dad and Mum’s dishes!

No sooner is the breakfast ready, I am instructed to keep plates ready, glasses filled with water, all this on the tepoy in the hall. In the meanwhile the idlis are drawn from the vessel, turned over and covered with a damp cloth. After 2 minutes Dad dexterously takes them out and arranges them neatly in a vessel, which is then carried out. Almost as if on cue our guests walk in. Dad serves everyone with skill, he has an eye for detail, he loves presenting his dishes in style. Breakfast is filled with anecdotes that Dad shares followed by rounds of laughter garnishing the lovely food.

And post all this when we hear.. “this is good” “wow” “yummy” “excellent Mr Naidu” we know our breakfast has been a hit. This is followed by a round of coffee, after which our guests gratefully depart.

Then begins preparation for lunch. I retreat into my bedroom or catch up on tv. Before I know it, its lunch time. Mums pulav, with lots of nuts together with my Dad’s spicy chicken curry is a deadly combination. When the curry is too spicy and the ladies are huffing and puffing Dad says, “The curry should sting your tongue, only then you get the taste of true spices!”

Once lunch is over, the family is off for an afternoon siesta. My parents and grand-mother catch up on the weeks sleep while I catch up on a movie. Promptly at 4, Dad and Mum are up. Dad begins to coarse grind the udid dal while Mum prepares tea. Then Dad starts to heat the oil and drop dollops of the atta (mixed with whole pepper, salt, chillies, and haldi) into the hot oil. When ready, the first batch goes to my grandMum post which most of them vanish when i just manage to pass by the kitchen.

Someone has said, “One of the very nicest things about life is the way we must regularly stop whatever it is we are doing and devote our attention to eating.” And this is precisely what the Naidu’s do on a Sunday. It is the day we truly celebrate as the Lord’s Day; we rejuvenate ourselves with good food and ready ourselves for a mundane week ahead, armed with memories of tastes, aromas, fragrances, laughter, fun and frolic..

A Rendezvous in the Darkness

It was 10 pm. He and his young friend seated themselves in one of the many vacant seats in the train. He chatted away aimlessly.. about the weather.. about the new city.. about the people.. and about the task at hand.. He felt tiny beads of sweat on his forehead although he had been through the forthcoming process umpteen number of times.. But this is one experience he would never forget because it was different, it was like living through a funny bollywood scene in slow motion, except this wasn’t funny.

The train journey lasted 40 minutes, and during that time he readied himself mentally. Rehearsed statements, questions, niceties that were the norm, and a few that weren’t!!
As their station to alight neared, they got off. They had someone to receive them. A car had been arranged – Esteem - with A/C and the latest bollywood music blasting through its speakers. The guests sat in the back seat, mentally silent, blank, but conversing the usual niceties – what do you do? How do you like the city? Is the car fine? Have you had your dinner?

They got down from the car in front of a small dwelling. It seemed bare except for the swarm of people moving in and out the narrow entrance. He felt everyone stop dead in their tracks. He felt eyes peering at him. But he had been through this a number of times.. He mused “I could write a book!” The father came to receive him and they were shown inside to the drawing room.

They sat on the lone sofa in the small room. They could see the women peeking through the kitchen. They heard kids bustling around. They gave each other the comforting reassuring look. It was 11 pm

He knew what was coming next. His probable to-be with “chaha-pohe” (tea and rice flakes made with onions, groundnuts and haldi). And then she arrived, holding a tray. She began to walk towards him, flanked by maybe a sister or a friend. She reached the tepoy before their knees, she bent to place the tray, and then it happened! The unthinkable! The unimaginable!

The lights went out! The whole house plunged into darkness! It took everyone aback!! It was obviously unanticipated!! What ensued was chaos. There were hurried footsteps.. children shrieking, women giggling, men issuing orders, and amidst it all were 2 individuals whom destiny had brought here to see each other, but then cruelly decided to make them wait a while longer.

And then there was light..

Candles were brought in. And among the orangish light he saw her and she saw him. Wow, this is different he thought. She seemed ordinary looking. She stole glances unsure what to do. After a little prodding by the sister/friend she poured in the sweet tea and offered it to him and his young friend. They sipped it while they ate the poha. The heat was merciless. He was sweating buckets. His nerves weren’t helping either. They made awkward conversation.

As if the heat was not enough, then it was dinner time. Now they were sweating oceans! Because the food was unbelievably spicy. Their faces seemed to open up tiny streams. Their eyes watered, their nose leaked, their ears seemed to blow out imaginary steam!! And the mouth – kept drinking! It was torturous. And their misery was amusing to the family! They kept flashing sympathetic smiles. And then as if to show mercy they were given a plate full of sweets. It seemed to them like an oasis out on a desert. They gobbled it up, and only a full 10 minutes later he seemed ready to proceed.

She sat before him. He sat before her. They looked at each other through the candle light. The rehearsed questions and equally rehearsed answers followed. Smiles were thrown about generously. He didn’t feel the connection. He wanted to leave at once. The sweltering heat, the darkness, the ringing ears and tongue due to the spicy food, suddenly it all repulsed him. But there was protocol to follow. So once the formalities were done they stood up, gave them the oft said and safest reply – “Baba will call” and then left. It was 12 am.

The A/C car took them to back to the station. This time they rode in silence – the guests trying to figure out how to get back to the hotel, and the relative wondering what they were thinking. They said their goodbyes at the station and then they waited. If they thought their adventure for the night was over, they were mistaken! It was past midnight, and with no transportation to take them back, the only option was a train that was going back to the cleaning depot. They boarded the train, helpless and ticketless. They sat down exhausted, sleepy and still sore from the spicy food. He thought about what just ensued. What an exciting rendezvous – in the darkness!

Though she never became his wife, this experience was memorable. It held a strange excitement for him, right from the forced darkness, the candle light rendezvous, the spicy food and the empty train ride home.. It was a meeting, the kind to be told to the eventual wifey and then to be stored as THE exciting rendezvous in the darkness.

They sat....

Departure was not going to be a pretty sight and they knew that.

They sat. In silence. In the presence. In the moment.

They sat. Not knowing how to depart. Not comprehending how two individuals on this earth could be so intensely attached.

They sat. Reminiscing just created memories.

They sat. Seeing but not looking.

They sat. Awaiting departure, awaiting separation, awaiting the pain people feel when not together.

And then in an attempt to disguise the awkwardness, she resorted to their common craving – music. Music is the language that all hearts speak, it is when everything seems in harmony, in unision. She sat humming. He sat staring into space, only he could not get beyond the stalls.

And as Hotel California rung in their ears, the last 2 lines struck a chord – “you can check out anytime u like, but you can never leave” this is what it was. She was only checking out, not leaving. She could never leave, because she never wanted to leave, he did not want her to leave.

It filled her with a strange sense of calm, and she realised, everythings gonna be orite.

And then they sat - until it was time to say goodbye.