Friday, April 19, 2013

Between good byes and thank yous



Between good byes and thank yous, lie swathes of emotions, attachments, last minute confessions and wordless whispers.

Which one of us hasn’t faced this… Last moment with someone whom we feel we may not meet again. Leaving the house where you spent your childhood, selling your old car which had a million memories attached, last day at high school or office… seeing the person you loved leaving forever…

How vulnerable are those moments of silent words. How heavy the throat becomes- even if you are the super-est of the superman or have a rock solid man heart. Tears land without permission.

Last kiss…last handshake…last supper…last night….last word…last glimpse….last memory…

And how swiftly life moves on in the next moment. How illusioned were we about our short lived moments.

We have faced these lasties and many more are yet to come.. so far we have been scared to face them yet prepared to face them and still pray to delay them.

In every figment of our imagination towards our sense of belonging, lies a deep fear of losing. We fear more than we love.

Never say good-bye… 

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

An Indian Expat arrives in a Non-Indian Kitchen


The word "international" is as domestic as it used to be international for me two years ago. I own the unfamiliar now. 

Staying in an internationally local country, where you will always remain 'new' even after decades, where you'd always be asked 'which country are you from'...where you'd always request for instruction manual in English, where you'd always hesitate bargaining too much.. not letting people presume that all Indians are misers, and silently preserving the honor of the tricolor that you carry on your head all the time. 

Spending long weekends in your 450 sq ft shared international apartment with the people of different culture, skin and eye colors and time zones!

Of all, the kitchen becomes truly international. At 6pm, the mates from Far East boil meat for their early dinner. At 7pm, inmates from Europe stuff cheese in every dish they have cooked... and hit the bed by 10pm for their skype calls. Later, the lazy Indian can't sustain the hunger pangs drumming inside the belly and heads towards the kitchen.

Well, I must share- the best thing about sharing kitchen with non-Indians is that your Indian snacks are safe. So are your home-grind spices that you treasure the most. None will touch them!

Fresh cardamom is dipped in the hot oil with dried coriander powder and something mouth-watering invigorates the whole apartment with an edible tandoori smoke in the kitchen. "What the hell are you cooking in the middle of the night that we can't resist", sleepy inmates come out sneezing and complain.

Pure vegetarian Indians adjust their dal-chawal pateela with a headless chicken on the same shelf of the fridge, and then eat it later too, without puking. They are also used to throwing onion peels in the same dustbin where chicken bones lie discarded.

We use microwave more than pressure cookers and cook using induction than gas stoves. We google for English speaking locksmiths and hair-stylists, and feel at home while ordering Indian delicacies at Indian restaurants with Hindi speaking waiters. 

We have learnt to exchange business cards with both the hands with Chinese name printed on the flip side. We either have a wide touch screen Android  phone or I-Phone...qwerty key phones are unrecognized. 

Skype is our local phone and Facebook, our local photo frame. 

We munch chips of the same Indian brand but with a blonde model on its wrapper. We confidently buy and use the products of the brands that we never heard before. We roughly calculate money in Rupees before buying in Dollars... think a little, but still buy.

We buy those vegetables that we are unsure if are fruits. We prefer brown breads than white.

Our daily soaps are intercontinental comedy series and we have seen all the seasons. We work on Diwali and Holi and await Chinese new year holidays and learn to wish Gong Xi Fa Cai and exchange lai see. We checkout overseas travel packages on approaching long weekends.

And still feeling proud when someone says "Oh, you are an Indian... I love Indian eyes, Indian food and Bollywood".

Monday, April 15, 2013

Life... for once





My lips are pink and glossy. I am posing as my pointer finger touching my lower lip with my mouth open and my fake eyelashes curled up with black mascara.. I fake it for dreamy eyes.

I am seated near the window in my silver shoulderless- backless costume with my bare legs spread on the surface of the balcony to ignite all the fantasies. My matching silver shoes lie tilted.. A blonde wig is what rests on my head and the faux hair falling on my shoulders keep ticking me the whole day.

I keep gazing the men, women and teenagers passing by. Looking at me. Some look at my legs, some at my shoes. some hair and my hand-crafted nails. Some try to peep inside my falling neck dress. I wink at myself.

I am beautiful. From tip to toe, I am perfect. I have the flawless curvaceous body, fair complexion, tall slim legs, rounded soft shoulders and I am good at my work- attracting people.
Men and women, look at me, then they come inside our shop, I mean my owner's. They touch the dress I am wearing, ask the cost of the ear rings hanging in my ears, stare at the gems of my necklace. Some rich ones like it so much that they ask the Owner to pack it for them. Then she comes, takes it all off my body, swipes the customer's credit card with a smile. Then I am adorned with a new dress. I get to wear new dresses, jewelry every day.

During summers, at noons, none visits. My owner puts on the Air-con and keeps dozing off. But my still eyes gaze at the white building standing next. I think it is a church. I hear the bells ringing on Sundays. On my left corner, I hear a lot of music, I think there is a discotheque as at night, a lot of young men and women pass by. We lock the shop at 10 pm.

Rainy season brings a lot of hustle and bustle. A lot of vehicles honking, kids returning from school playing with the muddy water on the road. I wish I could go out and giggle with them.

During winters, it snows. I pose and display fur jackets. The trees visible from my balcony are all covered with white powdered snow. I wish I could make snow man and get myself clicked with it.

I see young and old people. I see people growing. I see people happy and sad. I see people window shopping and actually shopping. I watch people in love, people in problems and people celebrating and praying. 

But for me, nothing changes, except my clothes and wigs. No matter how beautiful I am, but these confused creatures make me crave for a life. I wish..for once, I could come out of this mannequin body and live like a human being.


Tuesday, April 9, 2013

A Stranger in my own World



As I travel far
My own city becomes a stranger

As I am silent
My own words fail me

As I stay missing
My own people forget me

And when I come back
Why am I surprised to see myself lost?


The End is the Beginning



As if I am breaking down
As if I am withered
As if I am done
As if it is all over…

And why does Life
Always begin from here..