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.

There's power in being vulnerable? What?

Its one of those days today that I needed some saving. I felt so vulnerable. It feels like, everything has a profound effect on me. I'm an easy person to hurt. An easy person to be made to feel insecure. An easy person to humiliate. An easy (very easy) person to move. And I'm not fooling you with the scale of this.

Since an year or two, I've noticed that I get more and more vulnerable each day. And to myself,  this is how I describe it  - I get more and more weak each day.

An year back, when I was in advertising, this happened. At the end of the month, we would all be emailed our salary slips by the HR before the salary gets credited. One day, I accidentally got the salary slip of another person. This man was a peon in our office. I was 25 and he is 45. 20 years older than I am. He has two children who go to school and a wife who works at other people's home helping in cleaning. cooking etc. At that time, I was getting close to thirty eight thousand rupees every month. Out of shameless curiosity, I opened his salary receipt.  His salary was fifty six hundred rupees. Fifty six hundred. I felt like something just ruptured my heart from within. My eyes welled up and I was unable to think. I instantly felt ashamed, guilty.. lets just say shitty altogether. My husband (then boyfriend) and I constantly think of business plans and things to do, constantly complaining of how this is not even close to being enough, how ours is a mediocre life. All of these conversations were racing in my mind, while I kept thinking of this man's two children who go to school, these little children who have actual needs. It took me a few weeks to get this out of my mind. Anyone that I shared this incident with, laughed it out, telling me how I need to have thicker skin, how I'm such a weak person to cry over everything.

And that is one line I get a lot in my life. How I'm too sensitive. How I'm too weak. How I need to be stronger so that nothing affects me. How I can never get ahead in life cause I'm just a very emotional person. How I'm foolish. How the world is not a trust fund that helps out everyone. How you only get what you deserve. How I'm ruining their moods and evenings by talking about such things. How unless "you can do something about it, there's no reason to talk about it". How everything hurts me. How everything worries me. How everything scares me. And somehow I've internalized it, that, I'm a vulnerable person. And yes, what a terrible thing to be it is.

So today, one of those days that I'm feeling terribly vulnerable, I came across this video. And what a wonderful revelation its been.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iCvmsMzlF7o

So, alright, this post is making no sense, maybe I just needed to write it down. So, done then.

A Journey that Changed Lives

I had never stepped out of my house alone, and was raised in a constraining and non compromising big Indian family. I was 24 years old and devoid of any story I could call my own. I was tired of being sheltered. Of being told what to do, where to go, and especially so, where not to go. In India women don’t tread in their lives alone. They need to be taken care of and the time had come where my care-takers needed to change hands. So my overtly ‘caring’ family had decided that I needed to be married off.

More often than not, you travel to escape and that’s what I did. I escaped. I pooled together some savings and got a plane ticket to Bombay. And with a backpack of two books, tooth brush, a change of clothes and a notepad, left the only city I knew all my life. I shut my cell phone down and the aircraft window. I had never felt so immensely alone and so alive at the same time. It’s like a world full of endless possibilities and the excitement of carving a whole new identity on a blank slate. I was 24 and this day forth, I could be whoever I choose to be. That plane ride changed my life. What it means to travel, to leave something behind you and move away. You don’t touch the brim and leave.

Two hours later, I emerged in this city. No lover, no family, just self and a lot of dreams, I set out to find my destination. I like to believe I’m still traveling and all that I see, I must see before I get to where I need to be. Bombay opened its arms to me immediately. I travel from the most insane clubs in Bombay to the most dreadful slums of the world, with the same fervour, the same excitement in my eyes and no vision. After all, if we always know what our destination will look like, I reckon, we stop living each passing moment and sleep through it looking for that one perfect tick of the clock. So I look, with the same raw appeal to each block of the road, to each sign on a rickshaw, to every bite I take of the road-side food in Bombay and I smile at every new face. Bombay is the place to be if you’re not pacing to and fro and can come to terms with the reality that life, just like this breathtaking city, is messy and is chaotic, and that’s just where it finds its beauty.

On a map, I’ve traveled less than 500 kilometers, but its one full life away, and it made me the finest and the most spirited version of me, and I will forever look back to the courage it took for that 2-hour journey and overcoming the fear of stepping out alone and just be.

And to feel you're alive>Bombay my lover, my whore

I finally felt something today. As in, I feel love everyday and I feel pretty every other day, but something beyond just those scrawny everyday me and something originally and uniquely me. I couldn't stop smiling. And hear you me, it happened twice in this week. So amazing how it all just comes staring back at you one day, from nowhere.

It's all a big wad of mashed up paint inside my head still, but I want to write. I want to fucking write. And you know why? Cause I felt like it twice this week. Like this whole sea of stories inside me that I want to scream out to the world. That if I could just sit down with a quiet empty house and just write it all out today. Not get up, just bring it all out. Just keep feeding me the sun.

Just saw Dhobhi Ghat, I was so moved. Such that I could still cry for her. It was so beautifully sad. So magnificently sad. I couldn't believe it. I was clenching my teeth and my nails kept digging into my partner's arms, I couldn't take the sadness. And it doesn't have an end, such is life. It was all these people coming together and then get separated. Just like that. We think too much. We like results. We definitely likes our "Whys?" As in, to that, why? Some things just are. Not good, not bad, they are what they are. And then its gone. Just like that, such is life. Chaotic, meaningless, beyond reason and logic. I loved the feature film. I could just cry now. Like I said Beauty. And I thought I'd just lost it. I thought ever since I moved this city I had stopped finding beauty in things and today I did. And it inspired me. One.

I also just finished "A Million Little Pieces". After very long, a tad too long, I read a book the way I read books. I couldn't keep it down. I couldn't stop stop thinking about the story. It was about a man who was alcoholic and is in a treatment center trying to quit. It was about addiction. It was about weakness. About being human. But also it was about taking responsibility. It was about putting yourself to test. It was everyone's story. I've seen "The Elegent Universe" but really this is the theory of everything. Tao te Ching. You should read, or this post will forever be a puzzle to you. Or life. I dont know. I really dont. But I need to write. Two.

Experiment 1: On Changing Your Story

This is not an experiment, well sorta. This is optimism put to test. This is every part of me swearing that I'll try and every part of me wishing it works.

Sometimes love rips you apart. Sometimes love is the only thing hurting. Sometimes you want love so bad, you scare away love. Sometimes love changes you. Sometimes love makes you want more. It makes you cruel. It makes you nauseatingly faithful. Sometimes its more bitter than sweet, but always what you really want.

Sometimes your whole being becomes a paradox. Sometimes you want things, you don't realize you already have. You have the smartest lines and you know you're being foolish. You can own him and then end up doing miserably pathetic things to have him touch your hand when you reach out.

Real love never feels it's going to break, and for that reason, real love will go to any means to make each other suffer. Real love is bad for you. Its so sinful and so self absorbing, you become a void in yourself. Real love defines who you are then, and then on the afternoons your real love hurts, you don't know who you are and what you are around people without it.

Real passionate love is very overconfident. It will play your mind and your heart. Love is like the ghastly drill machine which goes straight to your core and messes you up. Its like a slap across your face and shows you what an extreme person you can become, you self praising kind soul you. Real love terrorizes your mind. When you love so bad, your mind refuses to believe it can end and thats why you're never really scared. You'd be frustrated, you'd be so mad you'll start attacking walls with your fists, but you'll never be scared.

And thats why real love never compromises. Two people in mad passionate love never really make up. You be an ass to him and he'd be just as big an ass to you. That's what happens when you've made up your mind on 'this is the guy I want to annoy the fuck out for the rest of my life'. It's ongoing and its tiring but its never done.

Real love is an entity in itself. Two people in love are like mutually dependent parasites who feed off of each others happiness, energy, aura and sadly, sadness. Real love is a helpless spiral. Upwards and downwards.

Love is funny and love is unreasonable. You have lived twenty five years of your life, not knowing that this one person exists. And then one fine day, from nowhere, one crazy dreamer walks into your life, no different than any other crazy dreamer you've met before. And something about them messes you up. You enter a no exit trance of a one point agenda - of having this person. This one person, who you know in your heart had a one in billion chance of ever meeting you in this life, that one person will start owning you. And you're helpless. You can think you're in control, but you're not, at least not in your own. Not his either, just some strange vision you weave together.

Love hurts. Oh my god, love hurts. Its not a hurt of toppling from the stairs which hurts only physically, scabs and vanishes, leaving behind a funny bar story. Love hurts from inside, its a soul hurt. It aches and its the suffering of not having your senses to work. It makes you mad.

Love also distorts your understanding of language and generally accepted semantics. Few words which are just like any other million words in the world that you've read and spoken and even joked about in the past, those same words turn into monstrous glass splinters who crawl up your eyes and refuse to be ignored. They're the sly vision itching insects which remind you of their presence at all hours. Words hurt. I wish words were more tangible and physical in their appearance. Like a glass vase, on which if I was mad and couldn't stop thinking about, I could break it, throw it out of my house and have my satisfaction of destroying the evidence of its existence. But not words, nope.

Love is not a choice. Love is over powering, over whelming and once you've loved, you wont rest until it feels the exact way it felt that one beautiful taxi ride.

So here I am. Having my love own me and trying to own my love. It needs work and it needs nourishment and its needs a lot of love. And if anything I know about myself, I know I'm full of love. I love love.

I have always believed that only a truly happy person can make another person happy. And "I'm not happy" uh, that's my story. And that is right. It's a story. It's just a story. I've made myself believe it and act it and live it. I reckon, I can make another story preferably more fun, more happy, more beautiful and make myself believe that, live that and act that.

It's really simple actually and I can explain how I got to this. A while back when I used to meditate regularly I used to read a lot (double past tense). Meditation is a lot about breathing and how it dominates your being, right in the centre of your body with just a coming and going of a whiff of a air. Breath overpowers how you feel. And whenever you feel something emotionally or physically, your breath is the first thing to get affected. For example when you're cold, you breath becomes short and narrow and you take lesser air in, and your body wants to occupy as less a space as possible. The theory goes, it can be reversed. When you're in a really cold environment, you must stop yourself, and breathe as calmly as possible, long breaths with enough pauses and your body starts relaxing by yourself. That is how the old Sadhus in the Himalayas can be covered in snow and be as calm as the southern lakes.

And so that is my plan. I'm going to make Happiness come to me. When I'm happy, I eat a lot, I smile a lot, I love interesting facts on TV, I make fun of things and not judge them, I keep in touch with my family, I talk to my friends a lot, I meet my girls, I gossip, I write, I read, I crave tandoori chicken, I dance and sing at the top of my voice, regardless of which house it is and whose party it is, I listen to my music, I watch my movies and I love my theater, I laugh louder and with shameless lustful spite at times, I think less, I'm more easy going, I dress better, I complain lesser, I feel warmer, I'm bitchier (yes, I like it that way) and again, I eat all three meals, sometimes even four.

So now we're working backwards people. I will do everything I do when I am happy and it will come to me. Of course. Cause you know what? There is nothing to be so sad about. Shed. Shed. Shed. Shed. Surrender.

And since none of my best friends live in this city.. are you listening chinky, priya, nidhi, ishaan, shivangi? Damn you all! I'm going to be my own best friend and give one tight slap to myself, and be the sexy bitch that I am and shed this righteous, sacrificing, cutesy girl get up, who likes things clean. I don't give a shit about cleanliness dude.

So back to be the default me, this typified custom model is just not working dude. Not working. Love can be maddening, crazy, tiring, come one, come all, I can take this. Cool as cucumber. Calm. And patient. And happy.

Donning my hippy socks and tune out the world earphones now. Hare Krishna everyone.

Re-examine

I want to change things around. I feel stagnant. Not like I always feel nauseated when I am stagnant, just this is not the time to be stagnant. I feel like a bystander in my own life. Maybe I'm a bit of a control freak. Once again, maybe I watch too many movies. I feel like time is going by. I want to travel. I hate living like I'm supposed to be living. I hate conforming to so many rules, be kind, be honest, be as great a person I can be, and still not feel happy. I don't know what I want. And maybe thats what troubles me.

I used to think I'm passionate about writing. But the more writers I meet, the more unsure of myself I feel. If writing really was my passion, how is it that I've written 11 pages of my so-called book some 2 months back and never touched it again? The summary of which I did another 6 months ago? Then maybe my book isn't it. Or maybe I don't have my story yet.

I feel confused. I feel I'm in a perpetual trance of everyday things. I truly love the people in my life. But maybe thats not all that I want. I love bombay. But I dont love any place for too long which makes me feel tied. I want to go to fucking italy. Please someone take me to italy with them.

Ok, stop, pause, everyone. Breathe. I'm making a new plan. It just came to me, while writing this. Fuck everything. I deserve every bit of happiness in this world. Now this is what I'm going to do. I just got a raise. So.. I'm going to save every month and by my next birthday, September, I'm going to leave this country. I've always, always wanted to live in different countries. If I don't do this now, I cant do this ever. I have to, I need to do this for myself.

I have to do this.

And now, I have to save - no more splurges. I have to think of a country which talks to me the most. I have to prepare.

I think I've finally nailed what I've been irritated about. I have a vision of myself living like something, somewhere and I cant wait to start it. But I'm waiting, without a date, I feel like I'm working towards a non-existent goal. My life and my purpose is blurry around all this waiting.

I don't anymore want to wait around for anything, anyone. I cant wait to start this life and I figure at 25, half of my life has already gone. More sad than happy. And who said, the balance has to be this off? The clock is ticking and I need to get going. Thats the only thing good for me. An unhappy me is an annoying me. An unhappy me is everything I don't want to be.

One wait leads to another wait, and before you know it, there is a whole checklist of your ducks that need to be in a row. If I can wait for someone and their plans, wait, what about my plans? I at least deserve a date. And I hate pushing for a date, people need to respect other people's dreams and dates..umm.. time I meant. Yes, people need to respect people's time.

I'm also really hoping rupee value goes up, oh and also, I'm hoping I get a fucking job in another country. WOW. That's a lot for me and my poor little bachelors of a degree.

I need to stop talking now. Wokay then.

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?

About Love and its Legalities

I’m so over-the-top happy that, the Delhi High Court decriminalized homosexuality by reading down section 377 of the Indian Penal Code. The Delhi Gay and Lesbian Parade went very well and had a great turnout, I’m happy about that, but also sad that I coudn’t be there. For great pictures of the same, head over here. There was this crazy news reporter there going around questioning all of them and asking extremely annoying questions like, Is he your boyfriend? Do you guys kiss? Do you think this disrupts Indian Culture? And provoking physical expressions between them, so that he can take pictures and then sell them, or who knows run it on India TV for a good one week. I get so annoyed when people say this is abnormal, or can be treated. For one, Heterosexuality is not normal, it’s just common. Hence, forms NO benchmark for normality. Two, it’s unfair; Love and Marriage is human right not a Heterosexual Right. And please about the Indian Culture, sometimes I think India is a country of tolerance and diversity of landscapes, colour, languages, gods and festivals, everything but people.

The Backseat

I never do book reviews, merely because I never read book reviews. I hate it when people segment books by genre. Or typecast books by sad, mad, bad or ugly. For that matter, I don’t like flashy covers either. They make me want to keep the book down and switch it. I like stories not described before, or a book without it’s back page filled by words “thrilling”, “enticing”, “extra-ordinaire”,”masterpiece” et cetera, for really do they really think my choice is in-sync with the columnist of The Suntimes? I like books with aged yellow pages and that lost smell of handmade papers. So lovely.

Anyhoodle, this isn’t about me this is about Aditya and his book. The Backseat. It’s the perfect book for the Mumbai Monsoon. You know those books which keep you engrossed on those rainy days ... curled up in a blanket. Nikita’s story is, well, really for her to tell. But as for Aditya, you can tell by reading it’s a film-maker writing the story. There are ups and downs and quick recoveries, it’s not those typical books (read: all books) when the tragedy goes so excruciatingly slow you almost suffocate in the pain, and if you’re like me, skillfully skip pages. This can be cast into a movie, or made a sequel of (off the point: Aditya, you did think of a sequel right?) (devilish smile).

What I loved about this book is Aditya’s way of storytelling. His little stories, which seem disjointed, come together in the end, tactfully. Moreover, his writing has a visual sense to it which I have rarely come across. It’s been sometime since I’ve read the book and I can still so vividly remember the portrayal of the little girl, the Ganpati Visarjan and her father at the beach. Although, to me it seemed at the end, there were a few strings un-sewn and some emotions undealt with, but then again, he shows what he wants to show, it’s his story and it’s only fair that he leaves us asking for more.

It’s a simple read and a no-frills book. Anyone who likes chick-lit, inter-cultural portrayal, Mumbai, drama, storytelling, storyreading, bonding, hope and Aditya would love it. I enjoyed it. Give it a shot!

PS: Thank you for the nice note on the book, Aditya. And Manish, Thankyou for bringing it to me.