to you

Second post in a night. The five incomplete scripts on my desktop can wait. I’ve been thinking about the people in my life.. they come and go, but many have left marks on me. Smiles, hickeys, scars.. whatever marks you’d like to think of. Call me sentimental or unforgiving but I’ll never forget the marks. Whether they were left in love or war doesn’t make a difference. And I’d like to thank them. Here goes.

1&2. My mother and sister. My world revolves around them and vice versa. Enough said.

3. The Mallu lifesaver. Yes, you helped me pass all my French exams. And many other exams too. You also made me a better person. Less negative. Maybe more positive, even. Wink. We don’t speak so often now, but you’re always there on my mind. I hope you find what you’re looking for.

4. The poet in the valley. The man who first told me and showed me that I could write. The first person (and to date, the only person) who wrote me a poem. And not just me.. he wrote 40 of us a poem. We all love you to pieces and wish we could see you and cry on your shoulder more often. You are sturdier than Cave Rock itself. They valley would not be the same without you.

5. My Mallu wife. Grin. Seas may separate us but 10 paise Hutch to Hutch calls or not, the bond remains. We fight. We make up. We fight again because she’s not called me in ages. We make up again. So on and so forth. She lends me her beautiful books and sometimes designs for me. Think ‘fridge space’. I would need a damn good reason to divorce her.

6. The friend that was. Thank you for everything. For showing me life is never as we see it. For teaching me to be smarter about my friends. For hurting me and teaching me many lessons. You may have gone after college ended but I think of you still. And I will never forget. I hope you are happy now, and smarter. I wish you all the goodness that you never wished for me.

7. For the whiney whiffer. At one time the first person to message me in the morning and the last person to message me at night. I’m so happy you’ve found sturdy ground and found your niche. I’m happy you never let him get to you. I’m happy you never let your family destroy you. Thank you for being my friend.

8. For niyo. You know who you are. You changed my life and will continue to change it every day I know you. Thank you for all the joy. And thank you for all the scars. You have made me stronger as well as weaker. I hope the bond remains forever.

9. Ru fru. The one who has had a million obstacles to overcome and yet she remains positive. I wish I could learn from you and not resent your family for how they treat you. I will miss you when you leave.

10. The Stella gang. One word : madness. A madness which I still miss terribly on occasion. Another word : randomness. Sitting under trees, bunking classes to discuss philosophical issues arising out of our text anyway. Our profs could have learnt something from us. I miss you mad hatters and hope you’re all happy.

11. The Bong ball. I can’t remember if I had the crutches during the ISC or if you had the crutches… or maybe we both had crutches. Somehow we’re extreme opposites but almost identical. How? You’re lucky we don’t live in the same city or I’d have nagged your ear off about your smoking and weight issues by now. Hehe.

12. The skinny one. I’m glad someone is skinnier than me. Or was. You got me through some very bad times. Yes I know we’re estranged now but that doesn’t matter. Thank you for putting up with me when you did.

13. The laughing Buddha. I’m beginning to talk like you now, donkey. But you’ve showed me such joy though I’ve only known you such a short while. You bring a smile to everybody’s face and for that reason we all love you to bits. Go finish your blushing session now.

14. Almost Buddha. I’ve been speaking to you only of late but I already think that I will end up talking to you as long as you live. May you live a very long time and may you dispense all your therapeutic recipes to people during that time.

15. The gameboy. The time we had was short and we didn’t get to do much, but you showed me how to be happy again. And how to live for myself. Bless you and your no nonsense attitude.

The list is very far from done. But I think I’m not doing it justice. More to come when

I’m in a more eloquent mood.

the end of a chapter

Sparky Kumaramangalam aka Selwor Star of India (as named by his kennel) was born on a bright, sunny but chilly day in Sydney. He entered the world on May 15th 1994 along with his five siblings. Blue blood ran in their veins and the pedigree puppies were very much in demand. Soon all of them were sent to different parts of the world. Sparky (as named by his future owners) was sent to Madras, India.

Fox terriers are supposed to be temperamental dogs. Sparky proved this to be true. Hyper-sensitive and temperamental, he soon took first place for most dramatic person in the Kumaramangalam household. He was also obnoxious. And very, very clever. But like all dogs in that house, he was loved very much.

Sparky reached his new home after a long flight, cooped up in a cage with his future brother, a boxer-brindle named Strike. His other brother, a beagle named Sport, shared his cage with a dim-witted golden retriever. These three dogs would remain together for the next dozen or so years and live in well, comparative harmony.

Sparky spent his first night next to his human mother, displacing her from her comfortable pillow. He managed to do this despite the fact that he was probably 1/15^th her size. He grew quickly, dominating the slightly dumb but extremely loyal Strike. Sport was a different matter. They were close but the beagle always remained his own master. Sparky shot to fame amongst Madras’ kennel clubs. Driven by some dim-witted humans and his own arrogance, he ruled at the city’s dog shows and soon became a champion. Doe-eyed female fox terriers came to visit him, one by one, and he produced gorgeous pedigree progeny. He was the only one of the three brothers who became a father. That too three times over. And I mean he fathered three litters, not three puppies. Though he outlived them all…

Fox terrier-like royalty apart, Sparky was a first class Madras mutt at times. His hobbies included eating from the bin, fighting with his brothers and trying to eat their food, peeing inside the house if he felt like marking his space… the list is endless. His family nicknamed him the ‘kitchen supervisor’ because he spent most of his time in the kitchen. It was only once his brothers died that he began dogging his owners’ heels.

Sparky was almost entirely black, with a white under-belly and white legs. Little patches of tan were scattered across his sharp nose and front legs. He never grew any white hair, though the patches went white. His eyes clouded over with cataract and his back legs finally grew stiff in his last few months, but he was always extremely healthy and active.

His brothers left him within a span of four weeks. Sport developed epilepsy and passed away exactly 12 years after the three first entered the Kumaramangalam home as boisterous pups. Strike died four weeks later due to an internal growth. Sparky (and his owners of course) was devastated. The once sharp, independent and domineering terrier seemed lost. The sharpness remained though and the family did not know if he would accept a puppy or try to kill it. They got a pup finally… to cheer him and themselves up. The blonde, brown-eyed Labrador called Tammy arrived about a month after Strike’s heart stop beating less than two feet away from where Sparky was lying.

Sparky’s life changed entirely after that. He now had a reason to do many things with renewed vigour. The Labrador was tiny when she first came, and initially kept away from the terrier. But they soon became thick friends. She grew bigger than him but he was always the master in that relationship. Not as sharp as the terrier, she was often torn between obeying her human masters and obeying Sparky. They would play till he grew tired (he was 12 and half years old after all) after which he would sleep blissfully. His masters never knew if he missed his brothers.

Though he was happy, age crept up on him. His senses of smell, hearing and sight soon began to fade, though he remained as intelligent as ever. Tammy realised this and became quite protective of him. His life revolved around his meals, short walks and eating from the bin. When he was 14, the family moved house, leaving behind the place they had lived in for 25 years. Though Sparky adjusted, his human mother would always wonder if she had made the wrong decision in moving him when he was so old. He became even more obnoxious, though. Peeing more often inside the house, climbing onto all the furniture and rubbing his dirty mug on it… the list of course, was endless.

Old age and and health finally snatched him away from the Kumaramangalams. The last of the S trio to leave, his departure left the family sighing at the end of a very long and very happy chapter in their lives. And it left Tammy very, very lonely. Sparky was 14 and a half years old when he died on January 4^th, 2009. He will be remembered always… for his temperament and many, many others things. And he will be missed.

--

My dogs have always been a part of my family. I wanted to write something more creative for Sparky but the melancholy which hit after his death seems to have dimmed my imagination. I wanted to write a happy poem for him but could not put 14 years of memories into a few couplets. I hope his last few days were not too painful for him. And I hope the S trio are galloping across some Elysian fields, together again, young again. I miss them. Everyday.

The boy next door

Traipsing all over a crowded mall isn’t exactly my idea of ‘chilling out’ or having fun. But my friend demanded it and so I was dragged to one of the most hideous places a human can imagine. Bawling babies. Kids running around, tripping people and then looking innocent about it. Fat women and smelly men elbowing all the pretty girls. A weekend at the mall. Everybody’s favourite mall. I gritted my teeth and snarled at everyone I came in eye contact with.

What’s worse is, I realised my friend was trying to set me up with one of her best guy friends. One I definitely had my doubts about. We went for a dismal movie together, the three of us. The air-conditioned theatre and butter popcorn soothed my nerves a bit, though screeching cell phones and bawling babies were evidently present in there as well.

It was after the movie, when I was ready to flee home, when she introduced me to Anish. An ordinary, normal boy who seemed to have no interest in hitting on me whatsoever. I liked him immediately. Maybe the other guy [Bharath, right, that was his name] seemed to notice, because he didn’t seem to like me much. Though he dropped me home and got my number, he never made a move. For which I shall remain extremely glad. As it turned out he’s more into empty-headed, big-breasted girls. Or at least empty-headed girls completely enamoured with him.

Anish messaged me a few days later, after I had almost forgotten about him. Between running errands for my mother and snake of a boss I was nearly losing my mind. And he stepped in. Nothing knight-in-shining-armour about it, though he did provide some relief along the way.

I admit… I’m a solitary creature. Having never been in a relationship, [No, never. Ever.] I’m slightly difficult to woo, let alone date. That’s probably why I didn’t get along with Bharath in the first place. He had been in relationships non-stop since the 8^th grade. And he was just looking for another girl to step into the shoes of the earlier one he had dumped. A scary thought. Imagine going through 90 per cent of your life, never being alone, always having someone ask you where you were, who you were with… you catch my drift I suppose. I’m scared of relationships. Petrified.

Which is why when Anish and I really hit it off, I disappeared off the radar for a few weeks. Apparently the boy was smart though. He gave me time and space, and soon I had stopped freaking out long enough to get to know him better.

Before I knew it he had to return to Goa. Yes, Goa. I mean who lives and works in the land of beaches and bikini-clad women anyway. Anish apparently. The first boy I’m slightly interested in and he whizzes off to Goa.

We lost touch. I don’t know why exactly. I got preoccupied with shifting jobs and house. It was nearly three years before I met him again. Déjà vu.. it was another instance of me just dying to get home but forcing myself to get out and socialise a bit. Because then I was in the middle of ending my first relationship. Which went horribly, mind you. Not a good time for him to re-appear in the scene. But he did, effortlessly. It went something like this.

A: You remember me don’t you?

Me: Of course I do. Weren’t we supposed to keep in touch? *smiling*

A: Yes… I’m sorry, I guess we both got busy. So how are you?

Me: I’m fine, just fine. How are you? Still in Goa?

A: No, in Delhi now. Goa was just a stopgap. And no, really. How are you?

Me: *confused look* Er.. I’m fine, Anish. Why do you ask?

A: You look…. Different.

Me: Yes, it’s been almost three years!

A: No, it’s not that. It’s… I don’t know. You look tired. Worn out. Fed up.

Me: *long silence* Oh. Ok. Guess I’m working too hard.

A: Hmm. If I remember right, you always worked hard. If you didn’t you wouldn’t be you. So I’m sure it’s something else. Anyhow, I hope you get over it soon. It’s not worth it.

And then I remembered the rest of the world standing there wondering why we were talking in hushed tones. We returned to socialising. Though I couldn’t manage it too well, with all the thoughts running through my head.

It was Zayed. The older man I was stupid enough to get involved with. He kept me up at night, made me cry most of the time I was alone. My first relationship. I remember my grandmother’s advice on men… Never compromise on your self-respect with men. Never compromise. Period. You’ll never stop. I’m sure she was disappointed when I did the opposite of what she told me. I can’t begin to tell you how much he hurt me, in how many ways I compromised myself, how he took advantage of me. And to think I presumed I was smart enough not to end up like my girlfriends, who always cried to me about their horrible boyfriends.

What Anish said didn’t keep me up that night. In fact, he helped me sleep. I slept so well for the next few days, that I called him in Delhi and said thank you. That took me four hours. I didn’t tell him much about Zayed. Didn’t even tell Anish his name. I just remember telling him I had gotten hurt. He didn’t ask me any questions. Maybe that’s one of the reasons I got so close to him. Because unlike most men, he never demanded anything from he. He was just… there. I don’t know if I fell in love with him that night, or if it was much later. We didn’t even think about getting into a relationship at first. It took me time to heal. But it would have taken me longer if Anish had not been there.

He’s not extraordinary. Very ordinary, in fact. I love how ordinary he is. Sometimes, the very opposite of me. Cool, always smiling, happy… a breath of fresh air. I hate charming men. Ever since Zayed. Charming, seemingly mysterious and enigmatic, intelligent men with smouldering looks that can melt you half-way across a room. It’s all bullshit. My Prince Charming isn’t even a prince. He’s the boy next door. No smouldering eyes, no smooth poetry and intelligent talk, no making love morning to night… at least not from day one. He’s still my knight-in-shining-armour. After all, who said the knights have to be kings… they’re probably ordinary boys-next-door as well.

So see.. what you see is never what you get. And that’s how I met your dad. In a crowded mall, on a weekend. And again in the middle of a boring get together. The last places I wanted to be.

This is for J and L. For all the times they've dragged me out when I've wanted to stay home. I hope you find your knights in shining armour.

On the road

I am not happy, happy… but I’m satisfied, I guess. That’s a major thing for any human, given how unhappy we make ourselves. At times like this I really don’t mind being human though. Racing down the road at 90 km/ph, Bachna Ae Haseeno playing loudly, wind rushing through my straightened hair and stale perfume.

Strangely enough I saw another car in my rearview mirror, quickly catching up with me. A group of drunk boys seeing a young woman alone in a car… maybe they got some ideas because they slowed down next to me. Jeering, cat calling followed. The press sticker on my car did not deter them. This continued for another hundred metres though I made no attempt to encourage them. When they didn’t bugger off, I raced off and shifted back to fifth gear.

It was Sheryl Crow on the iPod now. Yawn. Even with her in the background I couldn’t help but feel sleepy. Work was hectic on a good day. On a day with bomb blasts? Wow. Madness. And of course the man I’m in love with picks that day to throw a tantrum. And so I speed off from office to the outskirts to pacify him. Sigh. Maybe he wasn’t worth it. of course he wasn’t. Wait. And I hit a speed-breaker. At the speed at which I was going, my teeth nearly fell out. God knows what happened to my poor car.

As I sat there recovering, I went back to what suddenly prevented me from seeing that speed-breaker. I’m a 25-year-old successful, some may say intelligent and hot television producer. I could have a lot of men. Why was I sticking with a smart-ass who wooed me beautifully and then cheated on me and treated me like dirt…? My heart was pounding. I couldn’t hear the music over it, in fact. Shit, it was one of those epiphanic moments I think.

I would not go and pacify him. I would go home to my worried, diabetic dad and loving family instead. Who the hell would ask someone they love to drive 20 kilometres after a 20-hour shift at a news channel, just for some pacifying and sex. He could get that from one of the seven other women he was wooing.

I took a deep breath. I would turn the car around, I decided. Screw him. Well, not literally. Not anymore. Jubilation. I hoped I would go through with it. I saw the boys again in the rearview mirror. Argh. Men. I’d wait for them to pass before turning around. They slowed down near my car again. And I heard a shot. I felt a searing, indescribable pain shoot through my head. The most intense feeling ever. More than the joy when my sister got married, the warmth at my first kiss, the rage and grief when I found my lover cheating on me… more than the jubilation I felt when I decided to leave him. And I remember my last thought. I wish he knew I was leaving him. And everything went black.

This is dedicated to a television producer who died under mysterious circumstances in her car in Delhi, India. This piece is entirely fictitious. As of now, November 11 ’08, her murder remains unsolved.