Homely Land

I have been coughing, sneezing and carrying a bad throat ever since the rains came to Bombay. Thanks to the cold I’ve caught (God bless the person who gave me the infection, grrrrrr…!), I keep my tissue papers right next to my reach so that I don’t have to look like a nursery kid with no idea how to behave well in public. Yesterday, I purchased around three to five packets of dry-tissues. The shopkeeper lent his disgusting grunt, like I just brought something that a cold-bearing girl should never buy. Dude! They’re tissues Man! Amusing-MCP-filled-Indian-Society.



Office has been insanely boring and hey it’s started to become annoying. I mean I am not even getting paid for my conveyance, what am I, Reserve Bank of India? I should have actually picked up the job from DIESEL; at least it was interesting besides was to do start blogging for the brand. Trying to act smart by choosing a journalist’s job over a much coveted job just cost me my fabulous stipend. Arrrggghhh!!

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I’m just dying to get back home. I miss my VIPs: Dad, Sister, Mom and grandma-pa. Calling them everyday has been the only mode of contact in these 6 months. (6 Months! Shit! I need to get back home ASAP!) I miss my cat, had she been there, both of us would’ve gorged on milkshakes and ice-creams (Persian cats have serious issues with milk, they prefer (PREFER!) shakes and ice creams), letting my mother awing in wonder as to what has to be done to such junglees.

My sister wistfully informs me yesterday that she had been painting all over my table. Seems she painted it with yellow and blue. I mean I’ve heard of terms like Crazily Creative and so on, but never came across one like this. Madam sisi is Very Creative. (note capitals). She was the one who tore off pieces from my mom’s precious Kanchipuram Sari in the shape of band-aids and stuck right over the brown of the Band-aid. So, whenever she had any cuts or wounds, she would happily wear her colourful creations, walk around and show them off to the world. My mother was sensible enough not to scold my sister, fearing that would be the end of her creativity.

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Whenever I am home, we (Dad, Sis and Me) have a musical concert(like). I would play my Violin and sing; my sister would start on her drum-set and dad would join us singing. When he used to have his guitar with him, he would join in with his guitar-bit (he sold his guitar off lately, Money matters). When Lulu (my cat) used to be prancing around pots and books, she would join in too, with her purring.

Damn! Nostalgia and memories; I love them.


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…Locals, Mumbai and Me.

The sky was clouded. Standing at the door of the moving local train, one arm around the centre-pole and the other arm on my waist, I must have easily passed on as a king riding on his chariot. The first class of the local was unusually free and so the door was all mine. I turned around and checked what Bandana was up to; to find out that she was busy sleeping. As it would be inhuman to wake her up, I decided to enjoy the wind that rushed past as the train moved. Suddenly, everything around sounded like a pack of marbles, let off the highest end of a sloped surface. Noisy not just beacuse of the heavy wind, but also because of the lifeoutside: Slums and slum dwellers, hawkers and kids playing, lighting fire crackes, yelling machliwalis and train honking. Crass cacophony.

The train ran through a major part of Chembur station and halted. A couple of old grandmas checked in the compartment and a few giggling girls got off the train. The first-class men’s compartment was unusually full. As the train picked up speed, i was again, lost in thoughts. Sometimes it’s in my habbit to stare at people’s faces but think about what I should be eating that evening. It is not a grave mistake or anything but it just makes that person stare back at you, interested (if it is a guy) or make a ‘this-girl-is-so-weird’ face (if it is a girl, woman). The womenfolk end up thinking that I am desperate for their attention. Ha! That’s going to be the last thing to happen with me!

I was thinking about the wind, and remembering home and the wonderful food (can’t give up food even in my thoughts) when I suddenly realized that I was actually staring at a guy in the gent’s compartment as the thoughts climbed in and out of my mind. He seemed amused and obviously was. Which guy would miss such an event? A girl, a good-looking one (Ok, cut it!) is staring at you- what is more pleasing for a guy who must be tired after a long day’s work? He literally caught me red-handed and he began staring back at me. I tried to evade his eyes, but it suddenly struck me, that I had met this guy somewhere. He looked very familiar and yeah of course he was gorgeous. While I suddenly cut the eye-to-eye conversation from him, I was racking my brain, and my memory finally had to give up, ‘gayatri, we are sorry. This guy’s face seems to elude us’. So, for a confirmation I looked back at him to analyse his face. Seriously, I had met this guy before but didn’t know where. And then, something caught my attention.

… Will continue…

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