It is such a wonderful feeling to wake up to the call from a loved one.
I think I had a dream after a long time and so was in deep slumber. It was about some old friends from school, never mind about the dream. It was then that my phone started ringing, the familiar ring tone. Thank god, the mobiles have an option of assigning a ring tone and makes you realise who is calling even without looking at the name. Without any hesitation, I reach out to my phone, my eyes still closed to listen to that chirpy voice. Had it been for anyone else, maybe I wouldn’t have answered the call and instead cursed for disturbing my dream. But this call was special and always welcome.
Just the thought of the person on the other end of the line brought a wide grin on my sleepy face. In his usual happy, cheerful tone he greeted me and I could feel the warmth in it though miles away. I returned the greeting with a mixture of excitement and astonishment, as the call was mostly returned and not voluntarily. I tried recollecting if last night I had given a missed call and he was returning the call now, as was the usual habit. But no, it was not that. I asked him unable to hold back my thoughts anymore and he said that he had called to say that he loved the previous day’s article. Wow!! I was super-excited now and wide awake. I checked the time on an impulse, wondering what was he up to and I realised that I’m running late again.
He is surprised that I’m still sleeping and enquires if I don’t have to be at work today and I find myself already thanking him for giving the wake-up call. He laughs it off saying, at least he’s spared from reading another article today, but I don’t think he’s that lucky. Wink. He goes on to compliment a little more on my article saying how he couldn’t stop mid-way and went on to finish it before starting his day. That was the best compliment I ever received I think, to stop someone’s work and get them engrossed in your reading. You get the attention without even asking for it.
I think my articles about the typical day-to-day life in India get the NRIs nostalgic. I am forced to end the call as my day starts and his ends. On the two extreme ends of this world, poles apart we continue our lives, eagerly waiting for THE day when our souls will meet. Though miles away, yet so close to my heart, forever and ever. On this note I fondly recollect the words once told by him to me-
For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul..
Friday, December 30, 2011
I’m glad I missed my cab today
It would have been like any other day had it not been for missing my cab. And why I’m glad about it, hopefully you will understand towards the end.
The Monday morning blues has crept into my Tuesday morning too and forced me out of the bed. I was hoping for a message from one of my cab mates, saying the cab would be late, but alas no such message. But instead I get a call saying the cab would be reaching in the next 5mintues!! I gasped thinking that it couldn’t be reaching 15minutes earlier all of a sudden and that too on this very day. I cursed my over-sleeping followed by my laziness. Pushing away these thoughts, I gauged my probability of making it to the road on time. Had I stepped out of the house at that very moment and constantly kept running like in a marathon race, maybe I would have just made it in time. But neither was I in a mood to jog at 9:00 AM nor was I ready to leave the house half dressed. I gave up the thought of going by the cab which was then followed by the fact that I need to take a BMTC bus all the way at this peak hours of traffic. Sigh!
Left with no better option, I walk up to the bus stop, still with a faint hope of getting into a different cab which would not be my regular one. But then the drivers would not stop for some random person considering the pains to shift the lanes from one extreme to another extreme. Sadly, I withdrew my attempts of flashing my ID card at every other cab which had symptoms of my office cab.
One glance at my watch, says I’m already running late to office. So I wait patiently for a BMTC bus. There was one bus, a Volvo, then another Volvo followed by another. I gave it all a miss. I didn’t want to stand in a jam-packed AC bus all through the 2hrs journey that too after burning a hole in my pocket. Not worth it at all. I waited for some more time thinking of the excuses I can make at work for being late. Actually not an excuse, recalling the truth that I missed the cab which was well before the scheduled time brought a smile on my face for the first time since morning. I was pleased with the thought that people would easily fall for it considering the traffic and that if am lucky can gain the sympathy of one or two souls to have travelled by a local bus.
And then, out of nowhere appears this rickety bus and I approach it gingerly wondering if it will take me to my destination. I was given a nod which seemed more than welcoming. The moment I entered the bus I saw a varied group of people unlike the routine IT professionals with a dangling ID card around their necks. The bus was not crowded and luckily I found a window seat for myself. It was nothing close to the plush, comfortable high seating of a Volvo bus and even the so-called cushion was worn out baring the nuts and bolts. But the thought of keeping the window open and letting the fresh air hit my face pleased my senses. I felt alive and kicking. A little later the bus took a turn getting the sun on my side, which means I can feel the warm sunshine. Any other person would have complained of sunburns but not me, and I completely soaked in the morning sun rays.
Lost in experiencing the nature, I suddenly remembered that I was carrying a book to pass the time on the bus ride. I opened my book reluctantly and started reading few lines when my thoughts were interrupted by the cries of a baby. I turned around to look at a whole group of villagers with loads of luggage. Amongst few gunny bags, a colourful metal box, locally known as trunk petti, laid the mucus oozing child clinging tightly to its mom’s saree. There were people clad in white Dhotis and turbans and the ladies were all dressed in vibrant colours.
I returned to my book, but I couldn’t get to read any more so I closed it and put it away. Then I started noticing the people around me, the common man (Aam janta/Mango people). Some of them were few elderly women clad in sarees with scented flowers adorning their hair, a typical maami. They looked so religious and pious that one was sure that they were on a visit to a temple to offer their prayers and pour out their heart to the lord, with a PFA sheet of wishes and seeking blessings. This brought a smile on my face involuntarily. May be it reminded me of my mom, who might also be visiting some temples at that moment praying for my well-being and happiness in a far of place.
And then there were some school going kids clad in uniforms and plaited oily hair carrying the burden of childhood called, school bags. For a moment, I was travelling back in time, with black and white pictures of my childhood school days flashing across. I was brought back to reality when the bus screeched to a halt at one of the stops. I peered out of the window to see a swarm of people hurrying noisily towards the entrance. The two-way traffic through the narrow, dingy stairs gave the driver a break and he utilized the time to relax his tiring muscles with a crack or two which was obviously lost in the commotion. Interestingly, the thoughts of both the parties at the stair-case are the same, that of not missing – those would not want to miss the bus while the others who would not want to miss their stop. In all this and more, I hear a teenage girl yelling at someone on the phone. I hope it’s not her mother. And I think it’s not, as she gets down the bus onto the pavement making her way by pushing all others, her eyes immediately start searching and scanning the crowd. May be she is looking for the same person as on the phone.
A little later when the bus stopped again, the villagers’ group got down along with their luggage. The conductor lends a helping hand with a broad smile. The villagers whole-heartedly thanked him for getting them to their destination safely in the alien city. The next time I looked out of the window, I was engulfed by a thick black cloud which my science knowledge tells was the smoke emitted by a diesel driven vehicle. I would have been shielded from this had it been the Volvo AC bus. But I was glad that it made me realise that my senses were still working.
My journey continues for a little longer until I reach my stop. With a heavy heart, I descend the bus but left with lots of memories and thoughts racing across my mind. I’m smiling, more to myself feeling happy and contented. At this moment I fondly recollect one of my favourite poems
WHAT is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare? — (Leisure by W.H.Davies)
I thank my over-sleeping and\or laziness which made me miss the cab today. I don’t know the reason why that baby on the bus started crying, but I’m thankful for it made me witness simple things in the journey called life. Truly, A thing of beauty is a joy forever. And so to treasure these memories I pen them down.
The Monday morning blues has crept into my Tuesday morning too and forced me out of the bed. I was hoping for a message from one of my cab mates, saying the cab would be late, but alas no such message. But instead I get a call saying the cab would be reaching in the next 5mintues!! I gasped thinking that it couldn’t be reaching 15minutes earlier all of a sudden and that too on this very day. I cursed my over-sleeping followed by my laziness. Pushing away these thoughts, I gauged my probability of making it to the road on time. Had I stepped out of the house at that very moment and constantly kept running like in a marathon race, maybe I would have just made it in time. But neither was I in a mood to jog at 9:00 AM nor was I ready to leave the house half dressed. I gave up the thought of going by the cab which was then followed by the fact that I need to take a BMTC bus all the way at this peak hours of traffic. Sigh!
Left with no better option, I walk up to the bus stop, still with a faint hope of getting into a different cab which would not be my regular one. But then the drivers would not stop for some random person considering the pains to shift the lanes from one extreme to another extreme. Sadly, I withdrew my attempts of flashing my ID card at every other cab which had symptoms of my office cab.
One glance at my watch, says I’m already running late to office. So I wait patiently for a BMTC bus. There was one bus, a Volvo, then another Volvo followed by another. I gave it all a miss. I didn’t want to stand in a jam-packed AC bus all through the 2hrs journey that too after burning a hole in my pocket. Not worth it at all. I waited for some more time thinking of the excuses I can make at work for being late. Actually not an excuse, recalling the truth that I missed the cab which was well before the scheduled time brought a smile on my face for the first time since morning. I was pleased with the thought that people would easily fall for it considering the traffic and that if am lucky can gain the sympathy of one or two souls to have travelled by a local bus.
And then, out of nowhere appears this rickety bus and I approach it gingerly wondering if it will take me to my destination. I was given a nod which seemed more than welcoming. The moment I entered the bus I saw a varied group of people unlike the routine IT professionals with a dangling ID card around their necks. The bus was not crowded and luckily I found a window seat for myself. It was nothing close to the plush, comfortable high seating of a Volvo bus and even the so-called cushion was worn out baring the nuts and bolts. But the thought of keeping the window open and letting the fresh air hit my face pleased my senses. I felt alive and kicking. A little later the bus took a turn getting the sun on my side, which means I can feel the warm sunshine. Any other person would have complained of sunburns but not me, and I completely soaked in the morning sun rays.
Lost in experiencing the nature, I suddenly remembered that I was carrying a book to pass the time on the bus ride. I opened my book reluctantly and started reading few lines when my thoughts were interrupted by the cries of a baby. I turned around to look at a whole group of villagers with loads of luggage. Amongst few gunny bags, a colourful metal box, locally known as trunk petti, laid the mucus oozing child clinging tightly to its mom’s saree. There were people clad in white Dhotis and turbans and the ladies were all dressed in vibrant colours.
I returned to my book, but I couldn’t get to read any more so I closed it and put it away. Then I started noticing the people around me, the common man (Aam janta/Mango people). Some of them were few elderly women clad in sarees with scented flowers adorning their hair, a typical maami. They looked so religious and pious that one was sure that they were on a visit to a temple to offer their prayers and pour out their heart to the lord, with a PFA sheet of wishes and seeking blessings. This brought a smile on my face involuntarily. May be it reminded me of my mom, who might also be visiting some temples at that moment praying for my well-being and happiness in a far of place.
And then there were some school going kids clad in uniforms and plaited oily hair carrying the burden of childhood called, school bags. For a moment, I was travelling back in time, with black and white pictures of my childhood school days flashing across. I was brought back to reality when the bus screeched to a halt at one of the stops. I peered out of the window to see a swarm of people hurrying noisily towards the entrance. The two-way traffic through the narrow, dingy stairs gave the driver a break and he utilized the time to relax his tiring muscles with a crack or two which was obviously lost in the commotion. Interestingly, the thoughts of both the parties at the stair-case are the same, that of not missing – those would not want to miss the bus while the others who would not want to miss their stop. In all this and more, I hear a teenage girl yelling at someone on the phone. I hope it’s not her mother. And I think it’s not, as she gets down the bus onto the pavement making her way by pushing all others, her eyes immediately start searching and scanning the crowd. May be she is looking for the same person as on the phone.
A little later when the bus stopped again, the villagers’ group got down along with their luggage. The conductor lends a helping hand with a broad smile. The villagers whole-heartedly thanked him for getting them to their destination safely in the alien city. The next time I looked out of the window, I was engulfed by a thick black cloud which my science knowledge tells was the smoke emitted by a diesel driven vehicle. I would have been shielded from this had it been the Volvo AC bus. But I was glad that it made me realise that my senses were still working.
My journey continues for a little longer until I reach my stop. With a heavy heart, I descend the bus but left with lots of memories and thoughts racing across my mind. I’m smiling, more to myself feeling happy and contented. At this moment I fondly recollect one of my favourite poems
WHAT is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare? — (Leisure by W.H.Davies)
I thank my over-sleeping and\or laziness which made me miss the cab today. I don’t know the reason why that baby on the bus started crying, but I’m thankful for it made me witness simple things in the journey called life. Truly, A thing of beauty is a joy forever. And so to treasure these memories I pen them down.
Desi-Potpourri
The sun rays are beaming through the slightly open window and you try to slide down under the covers, the alarm’s already been ringing and has been snoozed several times, not to mention the cock-a-doodle-do. Draped in 9 yards, hair adorned with flowers, tinge of yellowness on the face, melody of anklets, Mom enters with the filter kaapi in a tumbler and now you wake up to the aroma wafting your senses – a typical south Indian house-hold chores. Does this atleast sound familiar, if not get you nostalgic??
This edition of ‘YOU’ brings something that each one of us is familiar with or can closely relate to in the form of a ‘Desi potpourri’. This is no travel guide telling you about ‘Must places to visit’. It’s about penning down thoughts & capturing those moments which are so typical of India that you would end up saying, “It happens only in India”.
A train journey can never be boring, atleast in India, with the people around getting friendly in no time. You start talking about things like you were a family and even share food with someone who was a stranger few hours ago. Playing the good old Gilli-Danda, a crude form or maybe even the origin of cricket, in the nooks & corners must have been fun for some of us. Yet others would have been happy making splendid, endless Rangolis on the streets or getting the Indian tattoo done - Mehandi. Gone are those days??
Be it a festival or wedding, it’s got to be loud & colorful, the Indian way. When asked we proudly say, “Hum tho aisiche hai”. The road-side food, which is a favorite amongst most of us, may be addressed as unhygienic, unhealthy by others. But we say, “That makes it tastier” with a broad smile and boast about building our immunity naturally!
A petty fight at the municipal taps, which would soon boil into a world war 3, would be watched with much awe as though it was a live concert of Bryan Adams. Nobody dare intervene for the fear of becoming a common target for both of them! If Ripley’s believe it or not features shaving the head as strange, it’s a ritual for us. Be it the lungi or saree, kurta pyajama or ghagra, it speaks for itself – the Indian way of dressing.
Honking louder than the other person in a jam-packed traffic, knowing very well that it won’t budge an inch or celebrating a victory in the cricket match or worshipping the actors and performing more poojas for these stars than the Gods…The language, dressing, culture, food, and habits may all vary across the length and breadth of the country. But, the common thread holding us all together is ‘The Indianism’.
Welcome to India, the desi ishtyle. We churn out this edition of ‘YOU’ with all the Indian masalas, hope it pleases your senses and gets you walking down the memory lane….
This edition of ‘YOU’ brings something that each one of us is familiar with or can closely relate to in the form of a ‘Desi potpourri’. This is no travel guide telling you about ‘Must places to visit’. It’s about penning down thoughts & capturing those moments which are so typical of India that you would end up saying, “It happens only in India”.
A train journey can never be boring, atleast in India, with the people around getting friendly in no time. You start talking about things like you were a family and even share food with someone who was a stranger few hours ago. Playing the good old Gilli-Danda, a crude form or maybe even the origin of cricket, in the nooks & corners must have been fun for some of us. Yet others would have been happy making splendid, endless Rangolis on the streets or getting the Indian tattoo done - Mehandi. Gone are those days??
Be it a festival or wedding, it’s got to be loud & colorful, the Indian way. When asked we proudly say, “Hum tho aisiche hai”. The road-side food, which is a favorite amongst most of us, may be addressed as unhygienic, unhealthy by others. But we say, “That makes it tastier” with a broad smile and boast about building our immunity naturally!
A petty fight at the municipal taps, which would soon boil into a world war 3, would be watched with much awe as though it was a live concert of Bryan Adams. Nobody dare intervene for the fear of becoming a common target for both of them! If Ripley’s believe it or not features shaving the head as strange, it’s a ritual for us. Be it the lungi or saree, kurta pyajama or ghagra, it speaks for itself – the Indian way of dressing.
Honking louder than the other person in a jam-packed traffic, knowing very well that it won’t budge an inch or celebrating a victory in the cricket match or worshipping the actors and performing more poojas for these stars than the Gods…The language, dressing, culture, food, and habits may all vary across the length and breadth of the country. But, the common thread holding us all together is ‘The Indianism’.
Welcome to India, the desi ishtyle. We churn out this edition of ‘YOU’ with all the Indian masalas, hope it pleases your senses and gets you walking down the memory lane….
Great Lunch!!
Had "AWESOME" Andhra Style food yesday!!! :D
Yes!! der it was, The Avakai!! Slurp.. n Pappula podi welcoming us to
the table..
Den cameThe banana leaf , the light green leaf was in-itself a
pleasure to the eyes...
The hot piping rice followed n v obviously plunged into the Avakai-hot
rice combo.. Heaven!!! Ambrosiac...
Nt to forget the pappula-podi too... he got sme ghee too for the hot rice...
N den came the other things... Sambar, Rasam, Papad, Beet-root fry,
Ridge Gourd curry, Curd, Buttermilk... Did i mention earlier, about
the Curd Chillies ?? yes.. dt was also der.. :D
Wel... mixing the rice wid each of the diff curries with ur primitive
spoons, good old fingers, whole heartedly, was an inexplicable,
excastic feeling.... :)
each of the curries was unique in taste n got me nostalgic bout food
bak @ home...
N den of course the good old curd rice-avakai n the curd chillies...
washing down al these with buttermilk....Hmmmm...It was a simply
superb meal...
I wud say, u missed it.. :D
Yes!! der it was, The Avakai!! Slurp.. n Pappula podi welcoming us to
the table..
Den cameThe banana leaf , the light green leaf was in-itself a
pleasure to the eyes...
The hot piping rice followed n v obviously plunged into the Avakai-hot
rice combo.. Heaven!!! Ambrosiac...
Nt to forget the pappula-podi too... he got sme ghee too for the hot rice...
N den came the other things... Sambar, Rasam, Papad, Beet-root fry,
Ridge Gourd curry, Curd, Buttermilk... Did i mention earlier, about
the Curd Chillies ?? yes.. dt was also der.. :D
Wel... mixing the rice wid each of the diff curries with ur primitive
spoons, good old fingers, whole heartedly, was an inexplicable,
excastic feeling.... :)
each of the curries was unique in taste n got me nostalgic bout food
bak @ home...
N den of course the good old curd rice-avakai n the curd chillies...
washing down al these with buttermilk....Hmmmm...It was a simply
superb meal...
I wud say, u missed it.. :D
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Mangalore Buns
#mangalorebuns #mangalorefood #vegetarian #vegan #breakfast #snacks #coconutchutney #indiancuisine #nostalgic #memories #fri...
-
#backyard #backyardstories #duck #mallardduck #spa #swimmingpool #water #fountain #love #photooftheday #smile #look #instagramers #natur... -
Wish I could 'ROLLBACK' certain things in my life's DataBase and that I could 'COMMIT' at a point. My DataBase does not ...
-
Do you know what I’m talking about? I don’t even know if such a term exists, but I think this is what I’ve been facing since morning. Week...