The 55 year old man, who looked like 30!

For the uninitiated, I work on the fringes of the entertainment industry and I often get those occasional brushes with people from the "industry". Today, while working on a presentation for a client, I met this 55 year old man who looked not a day older than 30. He had skin as taut as a bow loaded with arrow ready to fire, back at a perfect 90 degree angle to floor and a head full of hair as black as a swan coal. He started talking about what all could we do for a client and he recommended Bhangra amongst other things. He did push for Bhangra as an option because apparently he has been practicing and teaching it for over 30 years (this is when I asked him about his age!). Anyway, at that time I dismissed it as yet another suggestion and got busy with yet another gossip session in office.

Later in the evening while I was writing the actual presentation, I was looking for videos from his recommendations. And I stumbled on to this.

And I was swept off my feet chair. I mean I have seen men perform Bhangra and people dance away in those wedding processions on the road but this is nothing like I have ever seen. I mean this comes close but the Bhangra Empire vid blew me away. I could not, in my wildest dream, imagine that Bhangra could be an art form and could be performed on the stage.

For me Bhangra was limited to throwing your legs and arms out, with as much fervor as you could and and as far as you could and then keep flinging em over and over again, till you either hit someone or you get tired. At least thats what my limited experience with it tells me. I think I'd throw in some disclaimers here. Dancing and I are like two poles. Each knows that the other exists and publicly acknowledges the presence of other and yet maintain the distance. I do trip on music all the time but dance and me are like enemies. I cant dance to save my life. But on rare occasions when I do am forced to dance, I look like a chicken with both legs tied, to the neck!

Of course I have known quite a few awesome dancers over the course of this long life that I have spent wasted but dont think any of em knew Bhangra. And like I do with most things, stereotyping tells me that since I havent had a lot of Sikh friends, I dont know any great Bhangra dancers. Oh btw, now that I am talking of Sikhs, I have this secret whim that if I was the kinds to adopt a religion, it would be Sikhism. Love their ethos, culture and history. There's more but I dont think I am qualified to talk about religion and philosophy and thus I shall put a break on this bit. But let me talk about Bhangra and my new found obsession with it.

So Bhangra is like a free flow movement of the entire body, synced with really peppy and upbeat music, mostly from percussion and wind instruments. When done well, there is this rhythm to the movements and you can see that the dancer is in sync with music. The dancer must feel one with it. It looks like a karmic dance where movements, body, the music, the beats, the musicians, the dancers all become one. It is where the world converges. The feet probably move on their own with the music. The dancer wont even be controlling the movements and yet it falls at the right place at the right time with the right beat! Its probably the fastest way to get in the zone. The dancers look as if they're in trance. The kinds induced when you are happy and you're living in the moment with no worries of the past or the present! Oh, and it looks like a fun way to lose weight.

Wait a minute. Did I say, lose weight? This is interesting. May be, just may be, Bhangra is the answer to my weight loss drama. I have tried a wide assortment of things and it would not harm to throw in some Bhangra in it. And I think Mumbai, being such a big hub for Sikhs, is bound to have some dance schools that teach Bhangra. However, I want to understand that if I can actually make a serious attempt at it, at my age. I mean this is when the bones start disintegrating and the fiber and muscles start losing their volume. Will it be safe? There are no definite answers but I think dance is one of those things that are worth risking everything you have.

Need to add this to my todo list for the year. As soon as Evernote resets my upload limit for the month. Its the worst thing that can happen to an ardent Evernote user. In the meanwhile I shall start hunting for some Bhangra schools in Mumbai. You know some? Please let me know. Or may be I can try and ask the 55 year old man, who looked like 30!

P.S.: Like I said yesterday, I have changed the look and feel of the blog. The basic structure remains the same but the new theme has lot more white space and smaller fonts for readability. It also has a larger text area for text. The menus are small. I dont like the header and the descriptor. I want to work on it. Wish I could design and blogger allowed n00bs like me to adapt a new design.

But I shall live with this for a few days. If I feel good, I'd keep it. If I dont, I would probably port to a tumblr or a wordpress. I'd feel bad about it - I have been writing on blogger for almost ten years now. And wondering, how long you've been reading my blog?

22 May 2013 - A Day in Life

Credits: mspittal | Original Image

I told myself that I would write 1000 words a day. I have done that previously as well and I don’t think I did it for more than a week. This time, its been 2 days. Today is the third day. For records, I call it 1000WADv2. And since I work best on external motivation, to help matters, I have wagered with a friend. Every day I don’t publish 1000 words, I give her a 1000 bucks. And every week I write for seven days, she will give me 1000 bucks. 7 to 1 odds (updated on 30 May, the deal is off).

This means two things. One is that I will publish everyday and add to all the digital noise around us. Along the way, I will write short stories, rants, reviews, trolls etc, all in the hopes of getting good at the craft. I mean there are no guarantees that I would get better but I want to. With every passing day I see writing as an easy alternative to my issues. Second is that I would write more than I would publish. This means that I would think more and write more. And I would work more and write more. And I would reflect more and write more. And I would stop talking and write more. Write more. You know what I am hinting at?

So today I had initially thought I would rant about my bald head and aging bones. But today has been an interesting day. I learnt three interesting things about myself. I mean I have known these at the back of my head but I havent been able to see the picture painted so clearly on the wall!

One is that I really think that minimalism could be a way of life that I may find peace and happiness in. Like one, same pair of denims for 6 days and one suit for formal occasions, one credit card, one telephone etc. Much like that George Clooney movie where you could pack all you own in a travel suitcase. This guy, is an inspiration. More on it later (in a different blog post).

Second is that I am awesome. I am not being a egomaniac or megalomaniac here but the realization that dawned onto me when I was part of a long and boring meeting where 9 adults were sitting across a table and were trying to justify their respective jobs. In that meeting I realized that I am actually very good when it comes to what I did at CLA and what I do now. I really needed this gratification, its been a patchy ride last few months. 2013 isn't turning out the way I had envisioned it.

Third is that I can not tolerate the heat in Delhi. Nothing new, I have already ranted about it a million times on social networks that I hang out on, but its time I decide to do something about it, rather than merely ranting about it. I promise myself that this is the last year where I am forced to be in a city. By the next summers, I want to achieve location independence wrt to my work. I dont know how would that happen but I would NOT be reeling under the torturous heat of Delhi. 

Apart from this being an interesting day and these three lessons, there was another realization. I got this comment (from who else but Neo) on a post and that compared me to EL James. No I am not taking it seriously, vindication from audience is obviously a motive for writing, but if, what I write can influence confuse someone enough to make them leave a comment (even if they were pulling my leg and mocking what I write), I have a career ahead of me! Yeah, any publicity is good publicity.

So yeah, that’s about it for the day. Quite a few things happened. Just that I need to remain consistent with tracking the lesson and then may be implementing them.

Also while previewing this post, I realized that I havent changed my blog theme in ages. Nothing wrong with it but if I am planning to write longish posts, I need a design that allows people to read it. The sad thing with blogger is that I can customize it only so much. Wish there was something that was simple and yet had tons of features to choose from. Guess this is why Tumblr is what it is. Not all blogging platforms (or content management systems, if you will) get acquired for a billion USD, most of it in cash! And what an eventful year this has been for Marrissa Mayer, since she moved to Yahoo! Thats what Google has done, apart from making money and helping the world. Google created groomed people into awesome managers and entrepreneurs. If I had time, I would try and create a list of ex-Googlers that have made an impact by joining other companies or starting em. Would be a long list I guess. In fact that is one of the reasons I want to chase in life. To be able to groom people around me and be that catalyst that helps them grow. Again, more on this later, in a different blog post.

So, if you are a regular here, I suspect if anyone is regular, please dont be alarmed if you see a change in design of the blog in the next few days. Its only to help you read better (spoke like a true marketeer).

Guess thats it. There is nothing more to talk of. I mean there is but then I would have to get into specifics and I would not want to do that. I like this pseudo anonymous life. Until the next Day in Life update, so long!

The Blind Date. He and She.

He
I have never been to blind dating events. I have always hated the mere concept of dating events. For me, falling in love is more of a happy accident, than a meticulously planned affair. In fact I live for these happy accidents - all good things to have happened to me, ever, were outcomes of these happy accidents. And like a Pavlovian dog, I start dropping at even the thought of happy accidents. But this blind date, it was a turn off even before I reached there.

I had been promised a gathering of desperate women waiting to be picked by less than ordinary men like me. And since its been some time that I have had a stable relationship, I was tempted to go. Not to mention, that dude that sits in the next cubicle, who cant talk to a woman even when she's drunk, has been to these events and even he scored. Its like a perfect place where all the social norms take a back seat and you end up a winner. Even if you are socially inept at it. How I love modern day India!

So when I got the coveted invitation, coveted because not everyone gets it, I could not decide. On one hand this was against how I thought about love. And on the other, the lure of getting home with a woman was something that I could not let go. Of course I went. There are times when heart needs to be given precedence over brain. No?

It began like any other social gathering. There were happy people all around me. Almost everyone was like fresh out of a poster from a bollywood film. Perfect teeth on perfect smiles, perfect eye glasses go along with neatly trimmed hair, sharp dresses on toned bodies. Everything looked like a conspiracy to me. I was immediately a misfit in my tattered tee shirt from People Tree (it has this amazing quote by Faiz), old denims and new shiny black leather chappals. No wonder so many heads turned and stared me down once I entered. It felt as if I am facing a firing squad and these men were trying to shoot me down with their eyes.

And amongst that bobbling sea of heads, there she was. Despite my limited interactions with the female species, I could see that she was a misfit as well. In a different way obviously. She wasn't the prettiest of them all. Or the tallest of them all. And she wasnt dressed for the occasion. But she had something about her that made every other woman wary of her. Every woman was stealing glances at her and sizing her up. Every woman clutched to their men tighter when they glanced in her direction.

Unlike other women who were dressed in expensive evening dresses she had a merely pulled up a pair of denims, which ended slightly above her ankles - the length that I wear my denims too. She was wearing a bright yellow tee shirt that had an intriguing rendition of the Barack Obama Hope poster. The tee obviously dint suit the occasion. Her countenance told me that she has been forced to attend this do. And despite this, it looked as if the entire event, the entire gathering, all the people around her were specifically planted, so that, her status as the queen bee was reinforced to us mortals. The elegant crowd gathered in the room around her, made her all the more rich and gave her all the grandeur that she deserved.

She was like that alpha species that every male ought to consummate with and to give their genes a large chance to be able to survive and multiply. She was everything that a man, primal or modern, could have asked for in a mate. Leave aside the love, the longing and the relationships. Her purpose on earth was to give the most fertile opportunity for the alpha male to advance his genes. I hate objectifying women like that but she indeed was an object. An object of desire. An object that I could have given away an arm and leg to own. To make mine. To be with.

And yet, she was alone. As alone as I was.


She
This is like the three hundredth blind dating event that I am going to. Each of the previous events has been exciting and yet boring. I somehow always become the centre of attraction, even though I dont realy try. And yet I come to my own house and sleep by myself. Somehow I just cant seem to get a date. Except that one time when that cricketer showed interest in me and then I backed off once he and I starting talking. He was as daft as a dodo. Disasters like this aside, these dating events are so much fun. Never before I have seen such a large gathering of desperate men and women trying to woo each other. Funnily, most of the time, I see the same set of people. And you know what? Most women that frequent these do's, they wear the same clothes over and over again. May be some superstition.

Not me. I dont think I have ever repeated my dress ever. Well, if a teeshirt thrown over a pair of denims qualifies as a dress. Oh, by the way, these tee shirts are my biggest weapon. The designs are so cool that more often than not, the teeshirt becomes the conversation starter. Like the one I was wearing on the last date. I had sketched the iconic design of Fairey for Obama. Wish design was this mainstream in India. I can bet that this design by Fairey must be responsible for a good 10% votes for Obama. Truth be told, I dont really care about Obama or America, just that design was brilliant and I had to sketch myself a teeshirt from it. Thats what I do in my free time. Paint my own teeshirts. Some are good, some bad but honestly, I do come up with a few masterpieces. And this one was definitely one of the best I've ever painted.

So I was wearing my favorite my teeshirt and I even had a feeling that I would be lucky and I would find that perfect guy that I've always wanted. I so knew who I wanted to be with, I could see him standing in front of me. He is about 5 feet 11. Not very tall and not very short. A typical Indian male with brown skin, I hate fair men. Masculine enough to be able to get spotted in a room full of men. And yet tender enough to know how to me, like a lady or like a toy, depending on the mood I am in. I've never wanted a macho man, riding a fast horse on a sea beach, chasing the setting sun. I really want the dude next door. And I want him to have all the imperfections that men have to have. Things that make him so dear. Just like my dad, when he would have been my age.

And I actually spotted someone like that in the crowd that day. I think he had lost his way because he did not look prepared at all for a date night. I mean what kind of man wears a denim and leather chappals to dating events? I dont think any sane woman would even look at her. Of course since I couldn't keep my eyes off him, you can guess the level of my sanity. And he had this amazing teeshirt on, it had some quote in Hindi that I was dying to read but since he never came in the 5 KM radius of me, I could not.

The way he looked at me, I am sure he found me intriguing, if not attractive. I do get these glances all the time. For some reason, everywhere I go, everyone keeps staring at me but this guy, it was as if he was writing a thesis on me. There is nothing else that explains his constant stare. Funny thing is that for once, someone staring at me wasnt making uncomfortable. In fact it was filling me with a warmth, a sense of elation that he was staring at me. I felt complete.I knew it was him that I was supposed to be with.

And yet, he was alone. As alone as I was.

May 20, 2013. Of disconnectedness.

Somehow, I stumbled on to my blog(!) and realized that its been more than a month since I posted something here. Nothing wrong with it but for someone with serious aspirations of a being an author, not posting writing anything for a month is not acceptable. Ofcourse I can blame it on all the travel that I have been subjected to and the feeling of disconnectedness with the world but end of the day, these things dont count. Do they? After a few weeks I would look back and exclaim, "oh! between April and May of 2013, I did not update my blog for a whole month".

Anyway (thanks rediff), now that I am writing, I want to talk of my disconnectedness wali feeling - something extremely personal and yet something that I know most people like me would relate to. Of course, it is a separate matter altogether that not many people would be as lost as I am. If you know me, you would know that I have a hard time understanding logic and rationale that governs most people and their actions. So much so that I have stopped judging them (actions, not people), which is good in way but fucks up the head on the other side.

You know, most people my age are busy making mini fortunes for themselves, if not on their way to change the world. And no, no just one or two examples, but 8 out 0f 10 people I know (9th is me. 10th, you know who you are. Thanks for giving me company). And I on the other hand am stuck in the rut of mediocrity. Of course no one else is responsible, but me. More on that later. Coming back to disconnectedness, people define it in multiple ways with awesome words and languages. I have a rather simplistic definition. I define disconnectedness as the feeling that you do not have any roots to go back to. There is no place you feel home at. There is nobody that you want to sleep (and wake up) in the arms of. There is no clear agenda or purpose (or epitaph) that you are chasing. You struggle to find meaning and you are merely a vegetable and letting things chart their own course. You are just flowing.

Or may be clinical depression is a set of two words that can explain it equally well. Of course if I was the kinds to mix my miseries with alcohol and consume the diluted concoction, I could've painted a more vivid picture.

Coming back, nothing wrong with the feeling of disconnectedness to be honest. An entire generation lived with it. And died with it. People continue to adopt that lifestyle even decades after that generation died. I think I have a vague idea why. Hedonism is a brilliant concept. I do subscribe to it but then at the same time, I am from the school of thought that believes in creating something that outlives you. I believe that there is a greater purpose and a reason why you've been put here. And you have to have the responsibility towards the greater power that put you on here on Mother Earth. Kinda complicated. Hedonism and Legacy do not go hand in hand but I am trying.

Wise men and sages over the years have said that once you know of the problem, all that remains is finding the solution and implementing it. I know the problem, have known it for years and yet I cant seem to do a thing about it. Remember I said no one else but me is responsible? I need that tight slap on my face to wake me up from the deep slumber and get moving. Someone someday will have to do. Lot of friends including Neo and #sgMS tried but I did not pay heed to even her. Who else? If the most important people to me havnt been able to help matters, dont think anyone else can! Let me park this thought here. Will come back to it.

I want to argue further that this feeling of disconnectedness is actually responsible for a lot of good things that us humans have achieved in last few decades. I believe that on the other side of this disconnectedness, is the holy grail of happiness. I am assuming that once you realize what is keeping you back and you know what is it that you are chasing, you will put in your best effort and you will come up with a body of work that defines who you are. You go through this dark tunnel to come out brighter, sharper and happier. Most modern marvels are a result of people disconnected with their lives and their attempts to create things that define them. Some people get lucky and they know what their purpose is, at a fairly young age. Just that this tunnel is kinda long in my case. And the hope of things beyond this feeling is what keeps me going. Every single day. Hope could be a bitch. No?

Connecting the two thoughts above, I know that my best is ahead of me. Like I keep saying, its not a matter of if, but a when. I believe that, that when, ladies and gentlemen, is around the corner. The fuck up is, I cant seem to wait. The disconnectedness, this mid life crisis, the clinical depression is killing me. And its getting increasingly tough by the day (or is it tougher?).

But then, till I realize my purpose and I serve my reason I cant really quit either. It would be a life wasted and I am very sure my purpose is definitely NOT to waste my life in frivolity. Wish me luck if youre reading this.

April 04, 2013.

Day 4. Not bad. Despite non regular access to Internet, I have been able to write for four straight days. This is day 4 actually.

Agenda for the day is a rant on the evolution of photography as an industry. The cameras got cheap, Internet cheaper and technology grew at an astronomical pace. From being an elitist phenomenon photography is now something that anyone with a half decent camera can do. Of course with a million photographers around, the loudest and most obnoxious ones are easy to spot. Nothing wrong with pimping what you do but then as a while the profession and the discipline of photography are going down the drain. Photography, like all other mediums hat help is express ourselves, is close to my heart and it sucks to see the state that photography is in. Every other person is either a photographer or in the process of becoming one. Wish I could do something to help it. Lol, yet another thing that I want to help. Life should've been longer. No?

So coming back, by end of his year, I would do something about it. Dunno what. But something.

Next, while I type this, I am tripping orbit DJ Killa's version of Uff Teri Ada. Apart from being a great track, the song reminds me so much of sgMS. If you're reading this, I miss you. If you're not reading this, bad for me.

Finally, I think I have come to realise why I like blogging. I'd give you guys a hint. You know it's easy talking to a stranger rather than your best friend, or writing a dairy, or confessing to a priest? Yeah? That's why.

April 03, 2013. Undo.

Today was one of those days that I could just delete from my life. All I did today was remain in transit over two time zones. No am not too far from where I live but it was a painful transit.

But I learnt a few things that I have known implicitly but I realised them today. For starters, good grasp on English as a language can take you really far. Especially in an industry that is still not ruled by the suits. But then, like at all other places, the suits are on the prowl and its a matter of time before they screw up this opportunity as well.

Second typing on an iPhone is not as bad I thought it would be. I have used a blackberry for the longest time and was skeptic about using an iPhone. But it's been good so far.

Third. I am not what I think I am. More on this later but for the time being, I sincerely think that I need to see a doc about my mlc.

Four, theres this friend of mine, lets call him Remo, he keeps saying that he seems to have hit the vegetable phase. Where he's merely surviving. He's doing well professionally and making enough money and yet he's unhappy. He can't seem to pinpoint at a reason. Neither can I. Nor can you. That reason to exist, to do is missing. Hate to see him like that. Any solutions anyone?

That's it. The lessons from a day that was spent in travelling by a taxi, a plane, a boat, a bus and of course on foot. It's been a long long day. Time to retire.

And no, I did not go for a run. Lemme sleep tonight and try tomorrow morning. Until then.

April 02, 2013. You've a habit of getting late.

The first phone call of the day was from a client and first thing he said was, "please make it at 2. You have a habit of getting late". And in all the times I've met him, over the last three years, I've never ever been late.

Anyways (remember the rant yesterday about anyways?) the meeting went as expected. The client was his nasty self. I survived through it. And then the day was drab and boring. Just that I finished reading Kafka on the Shore. Totally blown by it. Will write a detailed review soon. Will restart reading On the Road now. Looking forward to it.

Other exciting thing to have happened today was the visit to my 5th Starbucks store in India, at the Delhi airport. Now I've been to all operational Starbucks store. Not an achievement I want to boast about but I love that brand and I don't mind "stalking" it.

What else do I want to write about? I thought I would restart running. The Delhi. Trip has put a break on my 3 km walk/jog/struggle routine but I want to restart it. Today I could not. Tom I cannot as I have a flight. Day after tomorrow may be. Pray for me.

That's it. Next update tomorrow.

April 01, 2013

Day 1 of a new quarter. Or a new financial year, depends on the way you look at it. Starting today I shall try and write a blog post every night before I sleep.

Anyways, an article on rediff tells me that anyways is incorrect usage, I have been reading a lot lately. Blame it on my move to mumbai and subsequent availability of a lot of time on my hands. So last two people that I have read, and needless to say enamoured by, are Murakami and London.

Murakami, I don't understand half the things he writes. The other half, i look up. London, haven't read much of him hit did read about his life. Realised that like most other geniuses, he had a screwed up head that fucked up his social life and as a result he poured all his time and attention into writing. And we know about his writing and the impact it had.

I have been thinking about writing as a discipline a lot. And I sincerely believe I must give it a serious shot, writing as a career. Just that I am not really that great, am mediocre at best. And I am not really on any extreme of social interactions. Am not a megalomaniac and neither a social butterfly. And this may be an hindrance in my soon to be launched writing career. Time shall tell.

But as I write this, I am watching The Rock. I don't think a lot of movies have been written any better. If you're reading this, it's on zee studio. Go watch it.

P.s. this post is made on my phone. I hope to make one everyday. May have typos, bad grammar, non-existant links, and other such things. Would love to know of your feedback. Tag to track: dailyBlog.

Jack London's Credo

Enough said!

Jack London. via isn't.

Winds were her best friends

The other day, someone Dee gave me these words and asked if I could write something. Here is what I came up with. Inspired by Murakami's 1Q84. If you want to help me get over my writer's block and give me something to write about, do lemme know.

Funny thing about this working women's hostel is that no one knows how you get a place for yourself if you aren't staying here already. Most of the occupants have been here since they can remember and no one seemed inclined to leave. Called The Windchimes, the building was an old, yet solid structure that at one point in time was a hotel for state guests of the British Empire. And as a result, all rooms were large by Mumbai standards and were very comfortable. Each room had almost the same set of furnishing. A double sized bed flush to the wall, a closet to the left of the bed, a writing table and a chair between the bed and the closet. Ofcourse each occupant had given their respective personalities to their temporary abodes, by adding knick-knacks and furnishings. So each room looked familiar and yet aloof. Apart from this, the rooms and the hostel were pretty boring, except the rooms had attached bathrooms, no windows but came with individual balconies.

These balconies, alcoves couldn't be larger than 3 feet in width and yet they were considered luxury at a place like Mumbai where every inch of space is reclaimed and becomes fodder for life. But then, these balconies, these expensive alcoves were mostly wasted at Windchimes. Most of these were used to merely dry clothes and condiments. Except the corner one on the 4th floor, facing the intersection. The one with white chiffon curtains, slightly larger than required, that fluttered with the winds as if a large bird was trapped in the room and is trying to fly away with the entire house. This was ofcourse Dee's room. She was a writer of some sort and had been here since last three years. And if word on the street is to be believed, she would have spent most part of those three years sitting on the balcony amidst those flowing curtains and staring at the distant sea. She was like a permanent fixture on the balcony, always hunched on a chair, eyes fixed at some remote point on the horizon.

Dee’s room, her balcony, looked down on the intersection of Henry Road and Boman Behram Marg. Though this was stone’s throw away from the Gateway of India and the famous Taj Mahal hotel, this was not a very busy intersection. Most of the traffic consisted of two wheelers and pedestrians. Diagonally across Dee’s room, there was my kiosk, a hole in the wall actually, that sold tea in the morning to health conscious people going for their morning walks, snacks in the afternoon to children when they left from the Holy Name High School next to Windchimes and cigarettes in the evening to young men who would gather outside Windchimes, hoping to catch sight of their favorite one staying at Windchimes. Of course most women did not use the balconies and hence the “sightings” were pretty rare. Except for my be Dee. She was on her gallery all the time and yet nobody looked in her direction. Not that she was not attractive, in fact she presented a very imposing sight with the long chiffon curtains behind her and stark contrast of her long black shiny hair all over her face but guess she was too easily available and hence most men were probably not interested in the game!

Not just men but Dee somehow dint really have any great friends at Windchimes. She generally kept to herself and most of her interactions with other occupants were on a strict need basis. The house had a common mess and that fixed time at which they served meals. This made it necessary for every occupant to come down, have their meals together and engage in idle banter. Even on these occasions Dee kept to herself and barely spoke. When she did, it wasn’t really a social comment or a dope of gossip but a functional comment, like, “could you please pass on ketchup” or something to that effect. She was not unfriendly and in fact was a very pleasant company. When you spoke to her, she heard it all with rapt attention and made you feel like the most important person in the world. She would nod at the right places, laugh at every point where you expected laughter and removed all traces of happiness from her face when you expected someone to be sympathetic to what you were saying. She was great like that. Just that she was incapable of making any small talk.

She, unlike other people, did not have the innate need to make friends. It’s as if winds were her best friends. She could sit for hours on her balcony and revel in the company of cool winds that came from the ocean. For her it was like a process of purification where apparently the winds carried love letters from her lover who’s gone to the sea and she’s longing for him to come back. Just like Mercedes, the beloved of Edmond (Dantes). If not for the long lost lover then maybe all she wanted from life was to grow wings somehow and then fly away. Fly to that unknown Promised Land that every one of us keeps chasing throughout our lives. And since she trusted the wind as if it was an extension of her body that she could control, she could very well go on that voyage that only a few lucky ones of us get to even think about. All it would take for her is a leap out of her window, along with those oversized curtains, her long hair, and her best friends, the wind!

And this is exactly why I think I am extremely lucky to have ended up with her. She had always mesmerized me. The sight of her on her balcony was like a fairy perched up high on the roof, waiting to come down and take me her arms and make me forget all the hardships I have endured over the years. Ofcourse, there was no way for me to break ice with her. She rarely gave any attention to men and I could count on my fingers, all the times she stepped out. But since I had the advantage of owning the store bang opposite her balcony, I had a rings side view of her life. And all the men gathered at my shop anyways dint show any interest in her, may be that helped because God knows there are far more eligible men for someone like her. So every time she stepped out, I secretly hoped that she would come to me and order some tea or something. Tea, for us Indians has always been a social engagement and an ice breaker. The first we did speak, she was being dragged, I could see against her wishes, by some other girl from the hostel because the other girl had to meet a guy!

Of course, now, it all looks like a dream. Call it luck, call it fate, call it destiny, somehow we have ended up together and I couldn’t have been happier. Dee is every bit of fairy that I had imagined her to be. Probably better. As I write these lines, Dee is still hunched onto a barstool on a make shift restaurant at this otherwise secluded beach, her elbows resting on the table, one hand cupping her face, other holding onto mine with a fierce grip. At times I wonder how her frail and tiny body could have such a firm grip, like she’d not get me go, ever. Like that line from that famous John Denver song where they are talking about holding each other and never let go. I look at her hands and her serene face that is betraying her by showing off just a hint of a smile. I know she is happy. I know I am happy. I know we are happy together. We have come a long way from that intersection of Henry Road and Boman Behram Marg.

And the best part, she is doing what she loves doing the most - staring at the ocean, letting the winds play with her hair that have grown even longer since she moved out of Windchimes. Just that, this time, her secret is shared by two people. I, and the winds, that were her best friends. Indeed.