I'm in Europe

Europe of clear twilight skies.
Everyday.
Europe of pretty trams humming along the city roads.
Europe of clean street food.
Europe of amazingly homogeneous groups of mixed race people from countries I had never heard of before.
Or could not spot on the map till yesterday.
Europe of Romanians.
Of Turks.
Of Polish, Greek, Ukrainians, Estonians and Albanians.
Europe of urban gardening.
Europe of punctuality.
Europe of frosted glass windows.
Europe of enormous food portions.
Europe of hourly weather forecasts.
Europe of foreign languages.
Europe of bloodied pasts.
Europe of humility.
Europe of responsibility.
Europe of historical guilt.

And Europe of unadulterated free mindedness.
Europe of progressiveness.
Europe of 10 PM sunsets.
Of long summer days.
And clock ticking on winter dread.
Europe of poetic town squares.
Of empty parking lots.
Of bicycles.
Or pillion bicyclists.
Of heated homes.
Of open windows.
Of yarn bombings and of organized graffiti.

Europe of street parties.
Or late late night street parties.
Of quiet strolls.
Of safety.
Of trust.
Of unhinged public display of affection.
Europe of my gay friends.
And their free-er lives.
Europe of choices.
Europe of personal freedom.
Europe of fearless women.
Fierce women.
Unapologetically expressive women.
Europe of labour dignity.
Europe of equality.

Europe of distinctly coloured hair and skin.
And eyes.
And tongues.
Europe of centuries old folklore.
And kings and queens.
And of country farms.
And of cheese.
And wine.
Of football.

Europe of full body hug greetings.
Or two pecks on the cheeks greeting.
Or one peck.
(I'm never entirely sure.)

Europe of tap water.
Of solar power and of jägermeisters.
Of red light districts.
Of legal red light districts.
Europe of acceptance.

Sometimes I miss India. Sometimes I don't.
     

A Blog Well Waited

Week 2 in Deutschland. Sitting in the international library and wildly ecstatic for overhearing English being spoken by two elderly British gentlemen discussing politics. English, ja, since most of the time my ears have been feasting on the mighty German.

Yes, I finally made the move. To Germany. Why? Because the opportunity came and it didn't sound half bad and frankly I've been in a anywhere-but-here kinda mode since a few months.

So last month, while everyone soaked in the Christmas cheer, Him and I packed up our tiny Mumbai apartment, bid farewells to the family and moved to Deutschland.

Nothing prepares for Germany. Not even learning German on Duolingo. Nope. The small expat community online looks lively enough, sure, but no, you ain't seen Germany yet till you're stranded on a U-Bahn stop with three fat old ladies who make absurd hand gestures at you saying "Nien Englischhhhxyz xytjefjfhhfj". What? Who's being racist? I'm being accurate yo, phonetically of course.

Leaving is hard they say. But this is the super power I discovered about myself last month. I left quite happily. And not just the people, I was completely okay leaving behind things, home, infinite boxes full of stuff that at one time I absolutely had to have for my life to go on. Fantastic. But it's the arriving, the landing that I'm struggling with. Usual expat blues, I'm being told. English speakers are less, and English speaking jobs lesser still. So, the bad news is - I'm unemployed. Also, the good news is - I'm unemployed. If I told my past self that I'm right in the middle of Europe with no presentations due today, tomorrow or the next few months. I'd be shooting rainbows out of my ass. So, I'm conditioning myself to being free so much and then to utilize this free time effectively.

Conflict 2: Cold. I've got to conquer this devil. I'm a summer child, yeah.Winters make me melancholic, winters make me sad, uncomfortable, oh and immobile. I had this discussion with myself and Him when we took this decision. And it struck me then, if I keep chasing the summer suns forever, I'm cordoning off half the planet for myself already. Just like that. And that made me terribly sad. So, I packed my ear muffs and jumped right in. Also a sack full inners, leg warmers, woolen sockies, hats and gloves. In other news, they're forecasting a snow storm next week. Yes, FML. My ears ring, my toes and fingers feel like icicles and with my five foot frame, I look like a stuffed baby bear walking the streets. A cute and cuddly bear but a bear alright.

I made a huge to-do list sometime in 2008, that I stumbled upon today and I thought, hell, there will never be a better time than this. I don't have a job, I know a total of zero people (except Him) and a big to-do will be such a blessing.

So, that's all the updates from my part of the world, check back later and thank you listening to my chatter.

Ferris Bueller's Day Off

Sometimes, I'm sick of myself. I have some limitations which end up clouding my strengths. My goal in life is just freedom. See, this is hard to express, but let me try.

I don't like supervision. You can ask my mom, she'll swear by it. I also have a female-ego. Yeah, sue me. So, all in all, a man supervising me, ticks me off so bad, I develop tendencies which are life threatening, threatening his life to be clear. And so this line manager system woudn't work with me. Also, I absolutely love sun light. Please do not imagine scorching heat that you face when you're commuting in a cab and are laced with sweat. Cut some slack, let me paint a picture for you. Imagine 11 AM Sunday Morning with an empty house. Imagine your windows are open, and the balcony door is ajar. Imagine tiny shorts and a white ganjee. And now imagine icy beer in a beer mug in hand. A spicy tandoori chicken tikka for snacks with cuchumber. And a nap on the sofa with sunlight pouring in. What a beautiful way to enjoy nature? Ain't it. But then you're robbed off of it. The maximum that you can do this in your beautiful house, is 3 weeks. That's all your job will allow. One may argue there are weekends, but the weekends are stressful themselves, in dividing time between family, friends, chores, catching a movie, reading at least a couple of pages of those books dusting away in your closet. In fact, I need weekends to recover from weekends. So in effect, I can only really enjoy just 21 days out of 365 days of my year. And not just this one year, year after year after year.

How depressing. Yeah, fuck that shit.

I have momentary lapses of motivation when I read others' blogs/FB updates on how their project is coming along great now, and how they were up till 3 AM working in the office and taking it all in the stride. And I think, hmm, see Nainy? That's the way of life! Everyone has to pay for their fun and work like an ass. But like I said, its momentarily. It wears off, and I think that's just fucking stupid.

So here's what I wanna do. I want to learn and take classes - on anything for that matter, skate boarding, kick boxing, tai chi, reiki, sword fighting, coding, swimming, carving, italian, urdu anything. I want to write. I want to travel. And I want to NOT feel that I only have 21 days off in my year. I also DO NOT want to feel stressed about not being able to find enough vacation for my brother's wedding.

It's not like I don't want to work, but I don't like being chaperoned. I want to work location independent. Did I mention I also hate so much money dependency?

The whole system is wrong. I wish I could go back to olden times and while the time machine is at it, also put me somewhere in Europe. And then I'll be at one place say in a spanish dance Studio, work for couple of months, pack my minimalistic little self and move to another country say Italy and wait tables in an idyllic day cafe in Rome.

Just writing about this makes me happy. I hate how everyone around me thinks it's too idealistic. It is actually simpler than it sounds. And of course, it is fair. So much more fair that this economy blah blah world is being to us.

Oh god, when can I start living?

The Ploy of the Cubicle

And what I discovered is, it's not even a damn cubicle. Cause if it was a cubicle it would have had atleast 3 walled sides, giving one some perception of privacy. These modern cubicles are a desk with people on etither side sitting in a one-hand-distance fashion. Its really something. It's my first in a cubicle and also my first time in an Ad agency. I reckon there will be many firsts here (mean look).

Blank Noise and Bombay Addiction and World Dont Stand No Chance

For the first part of the title, here. I contributed my story for a section called Action Heroes. Support.

I spent Diwali with Hussain at Prithvi and Juhu Beach. Been insanely busy writing for topics I dont really understand, Insurance, Management, Indemnity, Winter Gardening, Addiction, you get the drift. Well, Addiction, I do understand :P And why am I writing trash? Well chicas, we got Rent issues.

I have also been going nuts fixing Internet connections, moving, traveling in Autos, cooking, stuck in messy transactions with Bai, quality checking LIITs around umm everywhere, contemplating saving, hogging shawarmas et cetera.

I'm indebted, with sparse money in a city with much too many avenues to spend on, not to mention Landmark and Mango stores. I hope my Karma rewards me for my super-satiated behavior lately (in terms of shopping strictly). Strict leading to discipline leading to job thoughts, reminds me, I have a deadline. So more life updates later.


All in all, times, they are a changin'

Daddy's Little Girl

Most people start with ashes and as life turns old, things turn gold. They beckon all the beauty and serene, rise and shine. Leave the old lives behind. And then, just never look back. So heroic their progress seems. So apt, so desirable and so deserving. I envy them. I belong to those ditched cast of people whose past never leaves them alone. Not because of it was dark and dreary, but because it was beautiful. It was flawless. Had I made and drawn my life myself, I still wont have changed a thing. And then one day at a time, it all changed.

I started with everything in my fists, just I never knew how to hold it right. And then I lost it all.

I have this lovely memory of going swimming with my Dad for the first time. I was very little, tiny really. And I had seen a swimming pool before, just never been allowed to get inside one. My mother was there, my little brother. I didn’t have a swimming costume so my dad just made me wear those little boy shorts and told me I’m good to go. Now, I could’ve been a little girl but I had seen TV and had some idea how women dressed. And I was so embarrassed. So the tiny me, shyly came out of the changing room, hiding behind Papa and covering my chest with my hands. It was so hilarious (to everyone else there) that my mom almost slipped in the pool laughing it out. And I had no idea why everyone was laughing. I thought they’re laughing because Papa has such hairy legs. But when I realized they were laughing at me, I bolted right past Mom, covered myself in a towel and never spoke to anyone the whole day. Till in the evening they bought me a new red swim suit and a swimming cap. But they laughed still.

It was so special. When I was little I used to sleep on my Papa’s chest. When I was little I remember how Papa once told me that he wished he had another girl like me and not my little brother. I remember my grand ma telling me that when Mom was pregnant they had only thought of a name for a girl, not a boy at all. I remember how he used to gather all the kids in the family and play games with them. I remember being jealous when Papa paid too much attention to the other grown up kids of the family. I had always wanted to be like my Dad. I used to applaud anything he liked and rejected anything he didn’t. No plain milk for Dad, no plain milk for me. White shirts to bed for Papa, white shirts to bed for me. Since I never had White shirts, I used to just wear Dad’s. It made me feel even more special to wear his clothes. It made me feel how I was his favorite in the world. I used to get my hair cut like his. I even tried to shave my face once, just to be like Papa. I would’ve done anything for him. Pity, I’m the person who took everything away.

We were so happy, my mom and dad were the best parents in the world. They were strict about somethings, for example sleepovers. But for everything else, they were amazing. We had a cozy little place, great dinner conversations, so much to tell each other, we were happy to just be around each other. And then it all went wrong.

My broken relationship broke down everything. Sadly, irreparably. The problem is he loved me too much. So do I, and that’s why it hurts. I cant forgive myself. Papa has a heart of a little girl, and I wish I could take it all away for him. Get him a better world. Woudnt have made so many mistakes. He still wanders in those troubles and I feel helpless when I can’t get him back to be in the present tense. I feel responsible and guilty. He just never was the same man again. And I miss him. I miss him terribly. And I cant see you suffering like that Dad. I wish I could go back to being the same stupid midget I was when I hid behind you for everything, and I swear to god, Dad, this time around I’ll listen to each word that you say.

Just come back to me. Please. Just the way we were. Lets all go back to dining room. Just once more. Come back to yourself. Come back to me. I miss you around me.