Tuesday, March 29, 2011

ladka heera hai . . . . .

so I might as well come clean, it has been 23 days since I first laid eyes on That lawyer, since I gave my consent for the marraige, since I moped around about him neither taking my number nor bothering to make any other sort of contact for the next 4 days.

So it was on a thursday I decided stubbornly, let him not call, let him not make contact - i am pissed and I aint calling! I was cursing in my head, when my phone ran and I almost dropped it cause the display blinked "the lawyer", i picked up but there was no network ( damn u docomo) and he never called back, I shot a message "U called?". . . to which the man said "was trying to " infuriating me further, Hmph! I decided, shaadi sirf meri thodi hai!!

A couple of sporadic messages later, the man actually maro-ed a line, I couldn't help but smile, but no, nothing doing, this isnt gonna be so easy, hot shot Lawyer ho toh kya hua! And then he vanished again, returning 2 hours later with a sad "sorry got some studying to do, gnite" , I gritted my teeth and said to myself, I aint calling this one. . .and considered calling my mom the next day.

but friday came and so did a spate of messages,that made me put off calling my mother. . .Lets try this again then, i said to myself, but bhaag gaya phir se, leaving a paltry little "will call u" behind. . . huh! see if I care. i went about my usual business, finished work, got home, skipped the gym. Was engrossed in the vast topography of A Suitable Boy when my phone rang, hmmm, i thought, chalo dekhten hain..... So I picked up and said Hello in a practiced voice, think silvery but not too much. . . .and he says, "U're back from the gym?!", well in all honestly, that perked up my mood - So atleast it was going to be an interesting conversation. And that was at 8, at 9 o'clock when I hung up I decided I'm marrying him.

the conversation was easy, he's chatty obviously ,sometimes irreverent, says things that I wouldnt imagine saying mostly. . . I called him "kutte" and he laughed, a delighted uninhibhited laugh that made me smile. and there after in each conversation i called him kutte, and he laughed. his attempts at humour left me in splits, we were both nervous but we didnt try too hard, somewhere we didnt feel the need to. And that night when he called back, and we talked - after hanging up 3 hours later, we realised we had found in one another something beyond a spouse - we'd found in each other a friend.

I called up Priya, and told her right away, you know in the movies people see someone across a room and remark to a friend "i am going to marry him" - but I really AM going to marry him!

So we talked, about things, everything really, the parents, about how he never really wanted to get married now, about how I hated him for not calling, about his lawyer work, about my newfound IT-ness.

So we quietly found a place in each other's lives, settled in and found our own language.

He thinks my Tamil is the most amusing thing ever (well I can't really argue that one You know).

And somewhere between the mock fights and lack of mush, we found for our life - a partner. I fell in love with him, and not just because I am marrying him. Thankfully now, I am marrying him Because I love him.



P.S. -After all You've got to marry the man who raises an eyebrow at your watermelon lunch (and gymming) and says "i am calling it off if something happens to those chubby cheeks!!". . . :)

P.P.S - also he sings when I insist.

P.P.P.S. - Let's just call him H :)

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Rumi.. .

I have phrases and whole pages memorized,
but nothing can be told of love.
You must wait until you and I
are living together.
In the conversation we'll have
then...be patient...then.

of the new. . .

There are two different kinds, I believe, of human attraction:
One which simply disturbs, unsettles, and makes you uneasy,
And another that poises, retains, and fixes and holds you.
I have no doubt, for myself, in giving my voice for the latter.
I do not wish to be moved, but growing where I was growing,
There more truly to grow, to live where as yet I had languished.
I do not like being moved: for the will is excited; and action
Is a most dangerous thing; I tremble for something factitious,
Some malpractice of heart and illegitimate process;
We are so prone to these things, with our terrible notions of duty.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Somewhere over the rainbow. . . .

In my future, there are :

Blue bedroom walls

bean bags







curd rice

a new car ( sea gray)

blank messages

intertwined dreams

petty fights

starry nights


A loving Lawyer

Friday, March 11, 2011

When I first met him, I knew in a moment I would have to spend the next few days re-arranging my mind so there’d be room for him to stay.

So The lawyer called last night.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011


Krishna nee Begane, baaro. . . .
begane baaro, mukhavanne toro. . .

Monday, March 7, 2011

maa main aa gaya.....

So I was in Delhi, for what was a hurried vacation, and I'm telling you delhi truly bring out the drama in me... more than the usual. . . I mean the moment I descend from the flight, and set foot on delhi soil (the airport that is), I do a dramatic breathe in the air, its a "meri mitti-di-khushboo" moment right there on the tarmac, amongst the harassed passengers . . . cut to getting out of the airport and hailing an auto, I'm telling you the feeling of seeing the auto wallah's face when u say "bhaiyya meter se chalo" is pricless, he makes me feel like my sense of humour is rib tickling!. . . so u get in, and plug in ur head phones to listen to some bolly-punjabi song, and settle down comfortably in ur Delhiness as century old forts and spanking new flyovers lazily look on.
So then I got home, to be greeted by the sister and lots of hot home cooked food, and then began the discussions. Oh, I didnt mention, I went to dekho a ladka nani had found, Mr.Lawyer was arriving on Sunday morning, family in tow - let the judging begin.
I promptly decided I was going to wear a suit, no saree baba, simple and best. Went shopping to Lajpat, bought kurta, new bag and shoes :). . . .but when nani saw me in suit she decided that i looked too young and wardrobe changed back to saree, me? i was too engrossed with my shoes to notice or bother.
In short, I met The Lawyer, and I was nervous, but my nervousness vanished when i looked up to see he was equally nervous, if not more. I'll tell you what I think of him another time.
Till then, Thats right folks, I'm getting married.
p.s. The Obtuseness of Intelligent men, is half of what makes them lovable - aage dekhte hain.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Of 2 books and other things.

hello ji . . . .

I have realised that random Hindi songs from the 80's do liven up a boring work day. they do, they do.
So, life has been going on, nothing much to add since the last post, the matrimonying is continuing though. . . now I wonder if I am to meet Mr.Doctor/Lawyer/NRI person, what is it that I ask in those ten minutes that will assist me in deciding my entire future .

So having caught up on my reading a bit, I managed to get a hold of 2 great books over the past 2-3 months and they've had me engrossed completely.

Palace Of Illusions - Chitra Bannerjee Divakaruni
Its Draupadi's narrative of the Mahabharata, but the cover will tell u that much, what lies inside this book is a woman's perspective through and through. Now, feminist as I am (mostly), I don't mean it in the "bechaari aurat fashion" but to point out the fact that Draupadi is portrayed wonderfully, she isnt a cardboard character, she isnt a woman who stood by while people fought over her, because of her. Bannerjee brings her Draupadi to life, while engaging her readers in the timeless epic tale, so often forgotten, The Mahabharata.
Draupadi here, wonderfully flawed, as real a woman as any other, bringing across the point beautifully that what makes u give her another thought is more than her illustrious marriage to Five men. That is merely a beginning. Her attraction towards Karna, however inappropriate, plays a pivotal role in making u understand her perspective, of how torn she must have felt sometimes.
For me, however, the high point of the novel was her relationship with Krishna, fluctuating between a guide and a confidante, Krishna moves seamlessly through Draupadi's life, patiently listening and directing. United by their dark skinned outcastness, In Krishna , Panchali finds a relationship so filled with love, a simpler kind of love,that it lets her be at peace with herself sometimes. In their togetherness, she is christened Krishnaa - His equal, a status far favourable than being Rukmini, the wife; Radha, the divine lover or Meera, the devotee.

The Last Song of Dusk - Siddharth dhanvant Sanghvi

I picked this one up from Blossom's bookstore in October, intrigued by the cover and giving in to my love for Indian authors. That was a Friday evening I recall, and I casually opened the book up in the auto returning home, and couldn't put it down.I just couldn't. So the weekend saw me curled into a ball, book in hand, brow creased, feverishly reading at a pace my Nani would have ideally wanted to be associated with class 12 boards or the JEE.
And on Sunday, voila!, I returned to normal life, though I had left my heart somewhere in the book, between Sanghvi's wonderfully etched out characters, the frangipani braids, the violins, its magic realism and the recurring heartbreak.
The heart I learned can be broken a thousand ways, a thousand times. But that for another post.

Sanghvi's novel starts with Anuradha, a fabled beauty and as someone says, "when Anuradha sings, even the moon steps out to listen". Anuradha's beauty is and can be described a hundred ways, but in the course of the book her loveliness lies in her wonderful simplicity, the simplicity of her thought, her straightforward innocence.

Two pages into the book, Anuradha is to meet Vardhmaan, to marry the man she's never met.

A relatively simple setting,you'll think, but Sanghvi truly is a master of words, he doesn't need a twist or a turn to make u take notice. Words are his forte, more than the subject, he effortlessly (seemingly) turns a description into such poetry, bringing to the scene an almost Neruda like touch and go feeling.

You know you meet someone, and u take an instant liking to him, but as much as u wrack ur brain you cant point out what it is? Sanghvi brilliantly, simply brings to light what it is that causes the attraction between his couple, there his magic lies. you step back and take in the pure bliss of Anuradha beginning to like Vardhmaan, somewhere between their awkwardness and his story telling. Oh, how wonderful it is, to be absorbed into the folds of some one's life.
And that is how Anuradha fell in love with her Storyteller, and I with Sanghvi's writing, whose poetry inspires.

Other characters feature prominently in the tale, the eccentric Nandini, the sweet Pallavi, Edward - The forlorn English lover, who died not waiting for love, but merely waiting to give it, and most astonishingly Dariya Mahal, the house that carries forward a vengeance with an undermined elegance of a slithering snake.

There are so many shades of love, Sanghvi paints each one with a brilliance, the blush of the first meeting, the realisation that his wife brings to his life a feminine scent of roses, the orange of her blooming heart when he returns to her each evening, the mad purple of his dancing when she announces the child's impending arrival, the heavy blue of leaving the heart that loves you without pretension behind, the vast crimson of a young lover flinging into the night the little blue box that contained his promise to her , the undying black of holding your dead child.

Much after you have finished the book, you will find that you left a part of yourself on the chaise, in the half-moon balcony, next to the single black rose, where a White man died awaiting his lover, holding on to his promise.

So there, that has been added to the shelf, next to Mr.Seth now Mr.Sanghvi sits. Sadly Sanghvi, it seems, lasted for all of one book, his next attempt, The lost flamingos of Bombay, from what I read has not lived upto its illustrious predecessor.
In an attempt to further my foray in to magic realism, I have now started Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie, and nope, so far not good ! This shall go the Ayn Rand way, I predict!

I cannot hate Bengalis for no reason, it dawned on me recently, due to the fact that I have a wonderful roommate who's a bong and I am now reading this regularly, so I am a convert. I do apologise for unleashing on all Bongs the anger that a few bad encounters caused. to make up, Ami Bangla shikchchi, but that is all i know yet cause Ami Bangla bolte paari na completely :)

so long then.