List- 2

Some things that make me smile on a dull day

1. Old Malayalam music
2. ting-a-ling of the chime against the wind
3. Warmth of my worn-out blanket
4. A Wodehouse (because nothing bad ever happens in a Wodehouse land)
5. Smell of fresh coffee from the kitchen
6. Smell of crayons
7. Feel of shampooed hair
8. Sound of a message in the Phone
9. Old photographs
10. Cold water on warm skin
11. Smell of fresh Kajal
12. Crushed ice in lemonade
13. Single beam of sunlight falling on the bed
14. Laundered linen
15. Mom :)

Most of my friends would say I missed the most important one- food. It was conscious.

Someday a year ago, I got a call from my friend Ans asking me if I could help her friend with a short story. “The topic is- The man by the lake,” she said tensely. “You have to help,” she insisted, “It is for a friend and she said she can not think of anything to write!”

Firstly I could not see any logic in asking a student pursuing her MBA to write a short story. “What an oxymoron!” I thought.
Next, I was thinking out aloud, “What kind of a topic is this?!”

I still thought I should help and pen down a few words. For the next 30 minutes I was drowning myself in a weird array of thoughts. I did not realize that I was getting carried away by some strange wind of imagination. I pounded on the keyboard like it was an assignment with a deadline. When I thought I was sufficiently satisfied with the introduction, I re-read and realized this was a little too psychologically-inclined for an MBA grad. I raised my doubt with Ans and buzzed her online, “err… is it ok if it is a little…say… psychological sorts?”
“Relax with the heavy words. Jus send the draft of the intro across and we’ll tell you,” she said chirpily.

I sent it. It took them a while but she replied on the online chat. “:( no Vinaya. We can’t take this!”

Ans’ friend wrote that story on her own and passed the assignment (I presume).

I still feel bad about this story that hangs by its intro and is yet to be completed.

“It was the kind of evening I had dreaded since my return to my ancestral cottage at Wellington – chilly, dark and pregnant with the strong stench of death. I would have stayed back in the less dreary cottage if it was not for her promise. We had not met in a year and I was surprised to find a note awaiting me at the backdoor in the morning. It said “Wait by the lake”. No initial was needed. I could discern that handwriting in the darkest hour of the day. It was Alice.

Alice and I never loved each other. We could not look at each other and not feel a strange sense of hatred brimming over. We were never friends. But when I lost my family in a burn-out, the only person I cried to, was her. Alice knows my pains more than my own self and that is why I hate her. I hate her for knowing me so well. I hate to look at her when I am in pain, for when I do, I feel like my eyes had been yearning to tell her my darkest secrets all this while. It felt like the minute our eyes locked in contact, they would pour out to her what she needed to know.”

Life's nothing but a sail

They say you don’t start living till you are 20. I disagree. I think life has been quite a sail so far and I’m (just) 22. A good friend living alone far far away admitted that he buzzed me on Gtalk everyday for his daily dose of entertainment. “I don’t have a life. At least you seem to be having your share of fun,” he smirked. Well I thought of the things that have happened to me in life last night, and I came up with a few.

1. Shoplifted a toy truck
2. Got the same earring hole pierced thrice (and its still not managed to stay)
3. Slapped someone
4. Got slapped
5. Brought people together (who never stuck on)
6. Played cupid
7. Played anti-cupid
8. Played vamp
9. Cursed with all my heart
10. Hated women who loved my men (this one I’m not particularly proud of)
11. Hated men who loved my women just to hurt them in the end
12. Almost broke an ignorant long-distance couple up (which finally ended in the boy flying down to India to salvage his love)
13. Watched porn
14. Encouraged porn among men (favourable solution to reduce rape; another is legalised prostitution)
15. Taught children; held their hands
16. Spoke back to a frustrated malayali man whose remark was of the effect: “oh, breasts that look ready”
17. Lost friends; gained friends; learnt horrifying secrets about friends
18. Kept secrets
19. Spilled secrets
20. Been in love

Ah well. Top 20 in my long list!

A letter to a best friend

To my dearest: mistakes of life

You have been a best friend. A good friend is one who stays with the other through thick and thin. Thanks, for you have done that and more. Even when I didn’t want you in life, you never left my side. Even when I cried and shouted, “leave me alone!” you paid no heed and stuck around. Thanks.

You took so many forms when you spoke to me. First, you were that kid in the orphanage I went to at 6. You smiled at me from the other side of the gate, asked me with genuine concern if I was alright after a fall, and I ignored you. Then you turned into my mother who I lied to at 17. I cried that day. I begged you to leave me. However, the friend that you are, you kept yourself at bay. You were him who I hurt. You were him who hurt me. You walked in and out of my life so many times.

I don’t recognize you anymore. I think you are me now. I don’t see you anymore.
Thanks for being there, friend. Sometimes I wish you would just get lost.

Me/ You

One for old times' sake

Dipping out of dad’s Log Book of Oceans for a bit, this blog is dedicated to a trace of guilt that lingers still.

I spent a night with my oldest best friend. We spoke all night. She was lying next to me, chatting and laughing, and for a minute I felt like a 14-year-old again.

Right after that moment, I missed her. Dearly. The pang was strongest in the following instant. I missed the girl of 14 that she was; I missed the girl of 14 that I was.

I missed the thoughtless phone conversations, the mindless wanderings. I missed the way we made up love stories for each other, how we understood without any attempt to hide a smirk when the other insisted: “This time it is love”. I missed how we listened to each word uttered by the other as though it meant the world to us; how we planned slumber parties knowing all along that it will never happen. I missed how she missed me on all those class trips, how she brought back that moorthi of Ganpathi every time saying: “Nothing can make you happier”. I missed her calling me up when she wanted to cry; I missed her wanting me to call her when I was down.

I woke up in the morning and saw her lying next to me. Ignorant to what I was thinking. Unaware of how much I missed her; how much I missed myself.

More from the Log of Oceans

For those who know of The Bangkwang Times, this particular piece on travels in Father’s Log book of Oceans struck me as most surprising. It was closely related to one of the stories I had once considered pitching in during our famous ‘editorial meets’. For those who don’t know of The Bangkwang Times- it is an innocent initiative of a select few in our batch of Journalism students to bring about some concreteness in our course of two years as journalism post-graduate students.

The topic of interest: Indo-Mauritius relation. I know. Quite different from the tales of yonder-land you might expect to find in a sailors’ log book. Nevertheless, most interesting.


Date: 12th March 1992. My father’s log book sees through his eyes a crucial point in the history of Mauritius. His adventure-ship touched the harbour of Port Louis (Mauritius) the day before Mauritius was declared a Republic. Wikipedia vaguely also points to the day as Mauritius’s Independence Day. Dressed in Sailor uniforms, my Father and his crew lined up to watch this marking ceremony along with the then-Prime Minister of India P V Narasimha Rao.

He speaks of the Maurifair (held to commemorate the 24th year of Independence of Mauritius along with its 1st year of being a Republic), the rainbows, the women and the sun rays that refuse to touch the land.

He writes, “Girls are lanky and the audacious attempts at wearing skirts showing their chicken legs spoke more of their courage than of any physical beauty. Very narrow hips and sunken cheeks gave them a look of famishedness.”

Many might find this a chauvinist remark. But here I see not a daunting male gaze, but an observant one.

It made me wonder. Wonder at how I have lost the will to stop and stare, to take a minute off and ponder, to gaze at the cotton shapes of clouds flitting across the sky and to try and understand what the heavens are trying to narrate to us using their special sign language. Things we take for granted; things I forget to thank God for, everyday. (Atheists, ignore)

Family, love, ambition… a newspaper?


Excerpt from the Log book of Oceans:


By the time one settles down to a nice sea routine, the harbour peeps in with hurry burry in tow. Once dust of harbour activity settles down, all “singled-up” and away. I wish I joined earlier – in the first batch at least. Would I have appeared for the Competency exam, had I got settled earlier? Nay, nay.

I get a lot of time to pray. I have girdled the Indian Ocean from Mumbai to Seychelles to Port Louis (Mauritius) with my prayers. I am more at peace with myself and with environment. I pray that I get a chance to girdle like this, all the Seven Seas. I try not to think of those who I left behind – without success. The bliss of having no newspaper is real – even though sometimes unfortunate.

One for Dad

I love to read. I mean, who doesn’t? Everybody I know enjoys some kind of textual reading: books, working papers, movies, songs, etc. Today I read something especially soothing, so much so that it reached out to tinkle that ancient chime in the heart of hearts.

Every time I touch Cochin after a break of three months, it is like I take my time to find balance- like a kid who wobbles in its first attempt at walking. This time I decided to take it slow. No haste, no worry. I came home directly and sat in front of our age-old, yet reliable, PC (one of those bad habits you pick up when you are away from home; let the Internet rule the world) and logged in to see what was happening in the other end of my world. After a while of pointless browsing, I decided to look through some old photographs to dust afresh old memories. I found it difficult to understand the storage pattern at first (the wobbly kid again), but once I got it figured it was easy. Things were coming back to me. In one of the disks I found an unfamiliar folder. It sounded interesting and looked inviting. It was named: The log book of Oceans. No one but my own dear sailor-father could have authored this one- I thought. I took the liberty to open it.

The folder contained several documents. One named after each ship he had mastered. I picked one which resonated a very distant chord of remembrance. Named: Log book of Vishwa Bandhan. I remember Mom and I (leaving my dear Brother behind) joining Father in Mangalore at this Ship. Not more than 4 yrs old was I.

I skimmed through the document, hoping in my mind to find what I was looking for. A reference to me. And there it was! I had found it and it made my day. My father has never been an expressive man, except for when he writes. Which is why I have still saved all his letters to me. It speaks a lot more to me about his love for me than any verbal conversation we have ever had. Thank you Dad, for being who you are. Especially for making sure your little girl didn’t get drowned in the midst of your travel tales on the Suez canal and Odessa.

The excerpt from the Log book of Oceans:

The small room that Chief Officer’s cabin is, became a palace with the prattle of little Vinnie. It was like thousand birds singing together in my cabin. Her easily changeable moods, her elation and quick silver tongue, all and all made it appear to be a new child, unknown to me. She has grown up to be a sharp tongued wench at her 4 years.