Playlist

1. Kuch Naa Kaho- Do I need to justify this? Kumar Sanu at his best. It had everything. From R.D Burman,to the flowing white dress, to pearls, to colourful clouds, to a swing..man!! Its symbolic as to why love stories these days fail...we just talk too much. The solution is to just shut up and sing. And of course, pearls :)

2. Chu Kar Mere Mann ko- This is what mature love stories are made of. Just a piano. And a slight content smile. On second thoughts, I think I have a serious outdoor problem. Notice how my songs are all indoors with very little props. hmmm...

3. Tujhe Dekha To Yeh- Yayy!! I am onto the sarso ka khets now. This song is an anthem. Atleast for my generations.There was a time when any guy who could play this on guitar would be cool. No? Oh, well...for me atleast. There was something about SRK-Kajol. There still is. I will even tolerate Karan Johar if he re-creates this.

4. Yeh Raatein Yeh Mausam- Kishore Kumar. Nutan. Black and White. I can sing this song even when there is no nadi ka kinara and no chanchal hawa... I love it. Aha...inspite of the stabbing heartaches, it makes me want to feel the glory of love. Again and again. "Mohabbat jawan ho, khula aasman ho, kare koi dil aarzu aur kya?" Hai na??

5. Pehla Nasha- Ting ting ting ting, tiri ring ting ting ting.. :) Such cuteness. and Aamir Khan. Its no wonder then, everytime i have a crush, I sing it in my mind, and convince myself, that this indeed is the pehla time. what happened before was rubbish.The confidence, the optimism, the de-coding of every word, every touch... Oh, when will my serious pehla pehla time come???? and I hate that girl in red. Bitch.

6. O Hansini- Ranbir Kapoor's dad is way cuter than him.Even in a funny shirt and a weird moustache. It has a guy chasing girl feel to it. Which is rare nowadays no? Call me conservative, but some things should be old world. It also gently reminds you, sabr ka phal....meetha hai ya namkeen, baad mein batana :P.

7. Rimjhim Gire Saawan- Come on, I had to include a rain song. In Bombay. On Marine Drive. I personally need no more reason to love the song, but Lata Mangeshkar, and of course, the height difference of the couple make it even lovelier. And never after this, have sulagna of the mann been portrayed so innocently.

8. Tu Hi Re- Romantic? Sad? What difference? Proof that a heroine,all covered, and a hero, pot bellied, can also sell a movie. No one sings like this anymore. But then, no one feels too. I love you Rehman.

9. Do Dil Mil Rahe Hai- There was time before youtube. It was called FM Radio. Every time this song was aired, i would abandon everything else at hand. aivai...no reason. The one song that has never ever been deleted from my playlist. It will never be. Because most of my love stories begin and end at this stage. chupke chupke. Sigh!

10. Tere Mere Sapne- I hate Dev Anand. I dont really like Md. Rafi. But the promise of togertherness in the song makes up for it. tere dukh ab mere, mere sukh ab tere... damn it. I am hopeless. But i sereously wanna give Mr. Anand a haircut. Ugh.

11. Tumse Milke, Aisa Laga Tumse Milke- If you point a gun at my head, and ask me to sing, this it what will come out. I sing it randomly, in the shower, during exams, while cooking. What a simple declaration of feelings. All the guys who have a problem with expressing their so called emotions, should take a bath and learn this by heart. Jerks.

12. Ek Dooje Ke Waste- A lesser known song of Dil To Pagal Hai. I thought the song was bullshit, untill a friend, who knows the romantic in me, pestered me into hearing it, on a trip to Hyderabad. All because she was in love. Or so we thought. She moved on to other guys, but left me the song. Thanks :)

13. Ab Naa Jaa- Euphoria. Palash Sen. Dr. Palash Sen. I was 16 when this song came out. And i remember writing down the lyrics at the back of my organic chemstry notebook, and learning it by heart on my way home. . I still remember the song. Obviously, I remember nothing of organic chemistry.Hihihi...Have encountered numerous ocassions when i could have sung it. I did not.

14. Awaaz Do Humko- Who would think of Sanjay Dutt and Romance in the same vein if not for this song eh? The urgency is infectious. I.Have.To.Do.Something. Abhi. Nahi to Kabhi Nahi.

15. Ae, Kya Bolti Tu?- Who says romance has to be delicate? and white and flowers. Blah. It is also for the bravehearted who can conjure up a date just like that, in a song. And imagine the guts that takes to call the girl you wanna woo, as "Aeee...Kya Bolti Tu?" I would probably answer," Paka Mat, Rascal". But then, not everyone is Miss Mukherji. :)

Dadu

Why is it that you miss some people,when they have long ceased to be a part of your life, and the moment you think you are oblivious to their absence, they rip right through your memory and stare at you in the face? Why?

I miss the stench of oil that surrounded him, the blackish lines in his teeth that marred an otherwise sweet smile, the innumerous stories of the Sunderbans, the back brushed hair that even at 85, had much much more black, than grey, the sweets stolen from Maa's kitchen that we would share in stealth, the lengthy discussions on Ganguly, the dancing to ek, do, teen, when no one was around, watching cheap, ridiculous bengali movies just for the laughs...oh we had a lot of fun. The absence of a sibling never mattered.

But most of all, I miss the consolation. Of being accepted the way I am.

I am sick and tired and mind numbingly frustrated with having to deal with two facedness and pretence and not understanding what I should say, how I should say it, who I should say it too. The hypocrisy of the last few months are turning me into the cynic I don't want to be. I want to shut myself in a room and not breathe a word to anyone for the fear of being misread. Argh !!!

I miss being a child. The simplicity and the innocence. Where what you saw was, was. Today, we have a lot of choices. And the calculation of what to choose is killing the fun in life. There is too much importance of what who will feel, how they will react, what they will say when you turn away. What is the bloody point in having a friend, when you cannot show them your faults?

Adulthood, to hell with you. I dont give a rat's ass.

Come back, Dadu. Please.

The Friend

"Arre yaar, we are good friends"....

It was the moment I spoke these words aloud, I realised how redundant they were. Because after all, what did I mean by a "good" friend? Is there any such thing as bad friendship?

But these are weird times. busy times. fast times. a very very selfish time. today the word friend can mean anyone, from the bartender you see every saturday night, your boss's niece who you danced with, the girl who shares your lab,to the guy next door with a very cute dog...the list is endless. In an inflation infested, expensive world, friends seem to come very cheap. In fact there is a fixed protocol these days. Have a light, seemingly interesting conversation, realise to your joy that you have a few random things in common, promise to meet again, and promptly add them in facebook. or orkut. or twitter. "You have 1 new friend request". A great feeling ain't it?

Very soon, these friends end up being just a dot. Available, or Busy, but mostly Away. and it does'nt really take very long to get to that. The silliest miscommunication, an unfulfilled expectation, a few missed calls...its simple actually. And strangely, it doesnt hurt much either. The bond that broke, was never that strong in the first place.

The world my dears, have turned into stage of scripted relationships.

The Bond. Probably the only one that can be called a relationship without needing a validation ceremony. And precisely why, we never give it the deserved justice. A friend can be taken lightly, he can be tossed around, given second priority to, poked fun at, ditched at the last minute, bitterly fought with. Not because he is unimportant, but because you have enough faith to do so. It is the bestest of friends with whom you have the worst of fights. Uninhibitedly. Because it is only with them that you are free. Yourself. And proudly so....

In the midst of such drama, you find hands that still hold strong, ignoring the doldrums, minds that unfold the harshest of truths, yet caressing your heart with it. And you finally lean back, without the fear of the fall.

Here's to my friends. Because you let me be. Because with you, I can see the unstated affection, the unclaimed trust, the unsolicitated love.

Because you finally free friendship of all adjectives.

Bombay...Meri Jaan !!!

How many movies and how many books have tried how many times to capture the essence of this city? The soul with which it thumps days in and nights out? The glory of just being...just being Bombay. Amidst the overwhelming spread of documentation, it seems all you need is a search engine to satisfy your urge to know the city. But is it enough? Is anything enough?

It has been more than a decade since I moved reluctantly to Bombay. Being uprooted from the city of my birth, I was determined to dislike it. But as is the way with my life..I always end up doing that which I decide against. As I fell out of childhood and into the mess of adolscence, I fell for the charms of the city. Unknown to me, like an eternal enchantress, Bombay had held me in her memerising grip, and I had finally, ceased to resist.

But you see, being in love with Bombay is something that comes naturally to visitors. Those that stay, and those that move away. The sensuality is such, it is impossible to see, and not want to see some more. From the beaches bathed in the first light, the sharp smell of fresh fish at Sassoon Dock, the haunting smell of mogra in the well oiled hair of the koli women, the tangy taste of vada pav that evoked hunger at odd hours, the continuous attempt to hang from the doors of local trains, avoiding the perspiring crowd, the crows that flew so low they almost touched your head, the stolen glances of love at Bandra Fort, the gleam of the corporate and the buzz of page 3, lights that twinkled brighter than stars at Marine Drive at the onset of dusk, which set a gloomy shadow in the caves of Kanheri, probing the beauties of Kamathipura to lay out their jewels, a celebration of life palpitates as the night wears on, only to be better prepared for the trials of the next sunrise.

Bombay however, holds more. It is one thing to love her from afar, to admire her beauty, to hold her in pictures...but it is not easy to remain bonded to her for long. One day, the potholes, the attacks, the sqwabbles in the trains, the irritating wait on the roads, the crow shit on your car, the increasing price of the cold cutting chai, the incompetence of all those who are responsible for the above are going to get to you. And then you might leave Bombay, for say Amsterdam, or New York, or Athens.

Bombay ka kuch nahi ho sakta yaar. Bloody corruption ne dho daala hai country ko...

So easy to leave. Like a broken relationship. A failed marriage. Walk away. Easy.

But you will come back. Because Bombay was never your wife, baby, she was your mistress. The charms may die, the attraction does not. And slowly, you realise there is a soul within the glamour. It is not just the beauty, it is the energy with which it is presented. An intangible qwality you will lurge forward to grip, but always miss. This is the magic. The ploy. That which will always make your heart beat faster when you truly think of her. And make you come back. Now and forever.

No photograph, no memoir, no movie does justice. Bombay is just too big to be captured.

Aamin

Aamin Mondal (as i later knew his name was) : Didi, didi, money money, please, money...

Me : What? money? why?

AM: I kept your shoe safe, see here it is.

Apparently, he had saved me from lurking thieves who would like nothing better than to steal my shoe. For all of you who have seen the pair, it would be a good thing for me to have it stolen so I would finally get a new one. But that was not to be, as Aamin had kept it tucked safely between his legs. His intention however, was far from innocent. He used his cute facednes as a ploy to usurp money from others who visited the temple. I was another such victim.

Months of living in a country where such hardship lathered cuteness is hard to find, have however, taught me to look behind the obvious. I looked at his oversized blue jacket, probably the only one to survive the Kolkata cold, in the pavements below the bridge. Alone. With his group of friends. All now bickering for the ten Rupees note in AM's hands.

Me: Oye, you are all supposed to share this..

AM: ohhh...if you are so concerned, why dont you give me more eh?

Me: yeah right, then tomorrow I will have to ask you for money.

AM: Say what? give me that song thing you have ( referring to the pink mp3 in my hand, so guys like pink...hmmmm)

Me: you wont even know half the songs in here..

AM: O madam, even I know englis.

Me: Acchha?? you go to school?

AM: you dont believe me? come come, ill show my school to you...

Me: all of you go there?

AM's friend (female, very sweet, will grow up to be a killer): arre dont listen to him, he will take your money and eat gutkha...

Me: you dont like gutkha? or do you?

AM's friend : we all love it. even he. (pointing at the smallest kid in the group, who now smiles guiltily)

Me : but thats not good is it?

AM: Didi, nothing in our life is. You just give me another ten bucks and go. Go home.

Me : ........

There are very few instances in life where I dont talk back. There are even fewer people who can render me speechless. For this reason alone, if not for anything else, that I will always remember AM. Probably go back to the temple again, to talk to AM again, to partake in their stained lives, to feel oh i am so cool, i can talk to roadside kids without any hesitation, to feel the small glitch in my heart when the helplessness hits me and I realise how lucky I am to have a home.

As of now, I can do nothing. Except for write a blog.

jet unlagged

so..i reached home last night. i was anxious while in Newark, tensed at the airport, hungry in the flight (food in Continental sucks), awed to see a horizontal rainbow while flying above the clouds, very tired after the landing...

Excited about coming home? no. zero. zilch.

As the 'o my God, i am emotionaly drained' paranoia set in, i seeked alternate explanations for my lack of feeling. maybe its because i practically dont live in the USA, i live in Harrison, which as everyone knows, is a messier, dirtier, more concise version of India itself. Or maybe bcos its not even a year since i left. Or that i had met my parents in summer. Or probably (this is a very long shot), i had just given my Molbio paper, and i was too exhausted for any feeling...

But nothing made sense. As i spotted an older dad and a thinner mom, and after the customary exclamations about my loss in weight ( what lies, my jeans are proof), i practically threw in the luggage and fixed my eyes outside through the window of the car. Maybe, revisiting the places i grew up in would stir my dead emotions. Would you believe it, i even hummed "ye jo des hai mera, swades hai mera" for a minute waiting for the eyes watering, chokiness that should have overpowered me by now. oh come on......

Then i figured. i was not Shah Rukh Khan's heroine. i was not Karan Johar's either. i do not dance around in chiffon sarees when it snows, i do not go jogging in Central Park, i can never manage to not spill coffee while i walk ( i have tried, believe me), i do not have the luxury of crying over a heartbreak on Brooklyn Bridge. i lack a scripted life. i cannot be expected to get straight As, be stick thin, fall in love, and sing for my country at the same time. na na.

So when after a year of surviving on ramen noodles, subway and samosa paav,God bless the cart wallah, i come back to the secure confines of home, all i feel is relief.

That nothing has changed. Bombay is still hot, still pleasant, still trafficky, and although still punctuated by terror alerts, the mornings still sees a crowd of fisher-women with their hair adorned with fresh flowers, the bus driver in a rare mellow mood, the already busy vada pav stalls in Churchgate, joggers smiling their way through excreta of various kinds, a dog scrutinising left overs at Chowpatty, students grumbling over tution classes, wondering if going to Siddhivinayak would yield better grades, the everything market at Colaba, a couple sneaking behind Band stand, the water lapping over Haji Ali, from the sun feebly trying to climb over a heavy spread of fog to the queen's lavish necklace in Marine Drive....I am relieved my home is just as how i had seen it last.

In the midst of the silent humbleness, I miss Harrison. I miss the bridge, with the wind creating ripples in the water, i miss not looking for the stop sign when i cross the roads, i miss the gossip in the campus centre, i miss the mess i have made out of my room, and also the comfort of independence that i have achieved, i miss the cold blast of air that hits my face the moment i step out, i miss the very few friends i have there....

But then i look at the sky, and i see the odd shaped moon, the same one here, the same one there. And finally, i come to believe, wherever i am, i will always be at home.

Songs? Anyone?

A Farewell

when its dark outside and the noise is driving u crazy,
when every breath seems to confirm your final fear;
when at the end of the road, thers no glint of hope,
when every thought is discarded by lifes indecision,

all you need is me,
i know all you need is me..

look back to see my eyes on you,
look back to see the smiles,
think back to feel the touch, the smell,
the love in all its disguise..

you'll know all you need is me,
i hope all you need is me...

when silent stares are all you get,
when the hidden tears remain unseen,
when the confession hurts more than the honest mistake,
when the world's out to prove that you are wrong...

a hand will reach out for you strength,
a heart will still believe in you,
and when you get to see that faith,
without the lurking fear you'll know;

you'll know all you need is me,
y do i feel all you need is me?

you can reach out, and i may not come,
you can search, but i may hide,
in some other world, some other time,
you know im there beside...

but for now, my love, let this be it,
let the mystery be unsolved...
for the sake of the true lies that we lived,
let our stories be untold...