Hostess

I was reading Mrs. Dalloway the other day. It’s this book which I haven’t really read but from the blurb I understood that it was a story about a hostess. So, I got inspired and invited some of my friends over for lunch. Actually I just gave them the idea in the canteen during one of our vellapanti sessions in college and they promptly decided to turn up the very next day. Considering I live in a very god forsaken part of Delhi which can be only be reached by crossing the Yamuna which some delusional politicians still like to call a river, I was elated that people were willing to drive over and come to my house. I excitedly planned a menu of kadhai chicken, stir fried vegetables, rice and rotis. Being someone who’s only been cooking for about a year I didn’t want the first lunch I threw to be a complete disaster, so I kept the menu simple. The trick to successful entertaining, which I’ve learnt from my mother lies in the understanding that even if you cook a small variety of dishes all of it has to be scrumptious enough to make people want a second helping.

After everything was finalized K told me she’d be there by morning with Yogi to help me cook. About four people cancelled on me in the morning and it was just as well because I only ended up cooking enough for about 6. I woke up early and by the time I got out of the shower K had already turned up at the gate. I took her to buy groceries while she cribbed the whole way about my being not responsible enough to have gotten the groceries the previous evening.

K had conveniently forgotten to mention that she couldn’t cook. Not like I was banking upon her but the simple task of cutting vegetables seemed to require detailed instruction so after a while I sent her to watch television with Yogi. They both showed their mature sides while fighting for the remote but I was just happy I got space to move around in the kitchen.

I like cooking. I think I was around 13 when I made my first parantha. Cooking takes my mind of things. It's actually sort of yoga unless I’m really tired. In the kitchen I can move around, do my own thing and experiment. Also, I have the sweetest brother, he will eat anything and everything without complaining and that gives me a lot of confidence because I can use him as a guinea pig to try out new things. The feeling I get after a successful cooking session is very satisfying. My culinary skills are not much to boast about. There are better cooks and famous chefs but just looking at a dish turn out the way I had imagined it would makes me very happy with myself. In college I’m the brunt of house-wife at the age of 19 jokes, but I stopped caring long back. It was stupid to get upset about something I like doing and actually enjoy.

Lunch was great. It was great conversation, great food and a bunch of people who get along very well with each other. The best part about the day was that no one gave me a compliment on how good the food was. No one said they wanted to learn it or try it for themselves. Everyone took a second helping.

Auto Rides!

I love auto rides. I associate them with comfort. Yes, despite the fact that autos are noisy and really annoying in the way they always seem to need CNG while I’m travelling in them, I love them. I call them my reflection rides. That’s the time when I settle back and just observe whatever is happening out on the road in front of me. It may seem odd to certain people that I find autos so satisfying but I guess it started when I was in first year and had to take dirty buses to college.

Being a short tempered person who's prone to mood swings, I would be horribly upset at the unfairness of having to travel by public transport while others (siblings, friends) drove to college. By the time I reached college, I would be ready to snap. It wasn't the bus ride itself. It was the people. To begin with, let me clarify that I am not an elitist but yes I do tend to expect a bit of civilized behaviour from my countrymen/women/children while travelling and when I don't get it I find their apathetic mannerlessness unjustifiable on the basis of the lack of education, wealth etc. The blatant disregard for individual space cannot just simply be a direct social and mental consequence of being an insignificant part of a growing population of more than one billion. I would wake up in the mornings dreading going to college because the thought of all those dirty people spitting everywhere, crowding me, puking out of the bus windows would make me cringe. It was the same story when I returned from college. Since it was usually late afternoon or evening by the time I came home I would be exhausted from a long day in college (contrary to popular belief history honours is not a joke) and would also have had a disgusting bus ride weighing heavy on my shoulders. I would come home and collapse into bed only to be woken by numerous people ringing the door bell, telephone rings and calls on my cell phone. I actually reached a point where even if there was no sound around me I wouldn’t be able to sleep because I had begun dreaming of people ringing the door bell.

All this was slowly beginning to take its toll on me and affecting other aspects of my life. I would link this frustration to everything I was doing. And because I was constantly tired I was seldom in a good mood. So then I decided that something had to be done about it as it was making me into a mean and horrible person who lashed out at people simply because she was not able to come to terms with certain obstacles in her life. People would tell me they were small problems in comparison to what other s went through every day. However, the thing was that this was my life and I really didn’t care about the other billion people and whether they went through a rough time or not. I wasn’t used to it and was not going to compromise. I would vent constantly on the phone to my mother who told me to take autos. Obviously, it wasn’t a practical thing to do but I could treat myself to auto rides once or twice a week. I was overjoyed. Every time I was having a bad morning, or woke up late or simply felt low I would take an auto. Even after college sometimes when the day looked super long and I just didn’t feel up to being subjected to travelling in a bus like sheep being trucked off to slaughter I would take an auto home all the way from college. It was amazing what such a small thing did for my mental peace. I was in a good mood the rest of the day and everything I did went well. I ended up cooking meals that even my mother would be proud of, did my assignments, hung out with friends and didn’t fight with my brother. Because of this I fell in love with autos.

Every time I take one I sit back and relax and think all I want. Numerous random thoughts chase each other and there is a lot of time for me to analyse stuff. Autos are also great for observing people undisturbed. You can be safely ensconced in the dim yellow interior while no one on the road realizes that you’re watching them. Also because autos make so much noise and move in a very unstable way the possibility of studying or doing anything productive disappears and therefore that is actually the time which you have all to yourself because thankfully auto walas don’t expect conversation in addition to what one pays them . Autos are great fun in winters. I have had the privilege of taking one more than a few times while Delhi was experiencing a cold wave of temperatures below three degrees. It was in those few times when I realized how people in Siberia must feel.

Looking at the way I’ve written this it won’t be long before they make me the official promoter of autos in Delhi…. Heheheh :P Autos rule!

Random

One day the sun will shine upon us. You and I will stand and bask in its glory and the pain inside us will be transformed by the golden thirst quenching texture of its radiance. Little particles of dust will dance in sheer ecstasy upon being acknowledged by something so beautiful and divine. We will be instilled with strength and force and everything good. It will be like the old times. The spirit will be noble and pure. We will be sure of ourselves and of those around us. We will breathe in the wisdom and the joy of being alive will have no greater meaning than at that one moment when we shall dance with the dust.

Tears

A flood of hot tears is released
and carried with it
a small boat
battered and tossed about
like wet hair being swept back..
Patient carressing of wet tangles
droplets splashing into oblivion.

There will be more boats,
and floods, hotter, maybe
and varying in size boats
will carry
my beloveds away from me.
Retracing of a way back
won't be possible
for the flood will be dry
in just days.

Manasi Chatpalliwar
15/09/2007

I remember failure never used to bother me before. When I was a kid, going to school for me was almost like a ritual. It was something every child my age was doing so since I couldn't sit home and do nothing with my time I had to do it as well. I was never pressurised by my parents to do well. In fact, my parents were the cool kinds who would let me stay home from school whenever I wanted. I was never forced to do my homework and even one day before exams if I was seen playing in our colony park it was never cause for concern. I would return home, have dinner, watch television and then go off to sleep. I was the kind of child that went to school on exam days with the least amount of tension. I had accepted that I was up to no good and no matter how hard I tried I would never get what was being taught to stay in my head.

There was nothing extraordinary about me as a child. There still isn't but I like to think I've improved a little. The best part of this was that my parents were never disappointed in me. They never complained to their friends about how their children didn't study or didn't do their homework etc. They complained about other things; like how I didn't eat enough green vegetables. That used to offend me more than my sad state of affairs in studies which I accepted with no questions.

I am still coming to terms with how there are hardly any similarities between me and that child a decade ago. I never imagined I would grow up to be competitive. I think it was around the time when I was 15 that my grades began to matter to me. It was as if suddenly I had gotten brains and I wanted to prove to people that I could use them. I just didn't want to be average. If there was something that I couldn't do I just couldn't accept it. It never became serious enough for it to be a problem but I have a harder time accepting failure than most people.

Ever since the tenth grade I have been getting good grades. All my friends and teachers always knew I'd end up doing well. Even with history honours. I didn't want it. I still ended up topping first year of college. Somehow my best friend and parents were more elated than I was. There's this nagging fear sometimes. What if all this turns out to be a sheer lucky streak? What will I do when the fact that no hard work is behind those marks becomes apparent?

I just hope that it continues. Studying at the last minute, sometimes just reading through notes in the bus and hoping that that question comes because that's the one that you've atleast read. I don't know how long I can rely on this method. I just seem to be following it subconsciously.

Hmm..its so strange. I think at one point of time I was the stupidest child in my family. I hope the change is a permanent one.

Wishes

I wonder if everyone spends everyday of their life wishing for something. I can't imagine or remember a single day going by without me wishing for something. On my way for college, free time, in class, silent prayers keep working their way around other thoughts. There is one thing I am very consistent in wishing for and the others just seem to come as afterthoughts. Perhaps the superior power im praying to doesn't bother about them because they seem unimportant. But then if I've wished them in the first place they've got to be important isn't it?

I wonder if other people's wishes are influenced by what they see around them as mine so often are. If you really want something can you attract it to yourself simply by intense wishing? I want that to happen sometime. I want to know that something happened because I wished on it with all my might. I wish it would all turn out magnificently.

Past

There are times when you're alone when everything that's been happening washes over you. That's the time when you're so calm and free that you start thinking of a lot of people. Missing them perhaps, or hating them, wondering about them. And that's when you realise that the steps you've taken have brought you along a path where all you can do is this - miss, think and wonder. Even picking up the phone to call is not a feasible option because even if you did finally bring yourself to do it, you know you're at a place where there is nothing left to say. This conclusion then makes you wonder whether you actually want to have something to say. Isn't it a good thing that feelings such as ego and pride have become such a big part of your personality that they're the only things these days helping to keep the loneliness at bay?