is there an easier goodbye?

special covers,
lines highlighted,
the smell of time,
dog-eared pages.

choruses,
the one line that healed,
the one tune that choked,
scratched beyond recognition.

faded,
torn,
worn,
small.

gang of girls,
PJ parties,
chocolate and calorie sharers,
fellow drunks.

small,
spunky,
spirited,
scratched and dented.

it's never easy to say goodbye
to a missing book, a favourite tape, that pair of jeans, friends or a lovable car.

yes, i know change is the only constant.
i've learned it enough at school
and i've experienced it enough in life.

people come and people go, and it's the same with stuff.

keep the connections and the memories, and let everything else go.

that's what i tell myself, and that's what i've done, too.
i think.

because then, it's easier to say goodbye.
just slightly easier.

raindrops on my face

the breeze felt warmer,

the road seemed longer,

and the trees didn't sway as much.

there was a stillness.

she felt more deliberate too,

like she had to think before taking a step.

the fluidity was gone,

and so was the lightness.

it was a usual evening.

she was off on her walk

just the predictable routine,

a few rounds around where she lived.

but something felt different, something felt off.

was it the tunes?

but she had heard them before.

was it the place?

but she'd been there so long.

was it her thoughts?

her head was so full!

was it her heart?

it felt so heavy.

whatever it was, it was too much.

suddenly, something changed.

it got cooler and the leaves began to rustle.

the breeze blew her hair every which way

and she felt herself moving faster.

faster and faster!

she felt a few drops land on her face,

and then, the tears which had been brimming for awhile, flowed.

any town

moulded plastic equipment, child-safe of course
waveboards, skateboards and roller blades in a rush
beyblades spinning, basketballs bouncing
trash talk with foreign accents at every corner
gated community with ID cards to enter and exit
spic and span walkway regularly mopped
swimming pool, fancy gym and manicured green spaces
california palms neatly lined

bengaluru, not bangalore

rainy, with a ray of sunshine

dull, dark, gloomy and grey
in more ways than one
that's what started off her day
oh, how she longed for some sun

two little munchkins
under the weather
rough night resulting in
a sleep deprived mother

such a bad start
that even the third was naughty
she well played her part
but only out of necessity

she wanted to scream
she was so beat
she was tired and cranky
that it felt like a feat
to get through the day

but then she thought
that this was an opportunity not often got
just the munchkins and her

so her sleep she fought
and a hot coffee she got
and let the day unfold without a plan

all cuddled up under the covers watching a movie
sans snacks this time, oh for recovery
chit chatting and shooting the breeze
with her little muchkins throwing in an occasional sneeze

and then it was time for music and games
boy did it fly by, she wanted more of the same
for this precious time, time at home
she hardly got with them, almost never all alone

she wondered how they felt, were they bored at all
did they humour her or enjoy it, even if only just small
and so today went by, with a little of this and that
what will tomorrow bring, a repeat perhaps

she sees them growing up and feels melancholy
but only at times, she's mostly jolly
she's proud and happy that they are how they are
her little munchkins, but already ready to fly far

It's easier to get a divorce than to renew a minor's passport post-divorce!

I read a post on The Wire about the humiliation women face when they want to remove their spouse's name from their passports after going through a divorce. I went through a similar experience while renewing my minor child's passport after having gone through a divorce.

The Passport Seva site is quite well organised with links to most bits of information such as required documents, appointment dates, and Passport Rules and Acts among others. It lets one upload all their documents ahead of time, pay online and schedule an appointment as well. What it also unfortunately does, is trick one into believing that the rest of the process will be as smooth.

There are three stages to the passport application process of which the first two are 'outsourced'. IT service professionals verify, scan, snap and file away all the necessary documentation before one can move on to meet the passport officials from the government. While they are efficient at what they are trained to do, they are unaware of the formalities that the passport process itself mandates, especially in cases like mine--single parent who is also sole custodian of two children. In non-legalese, this means that my children will not need their father to sign off on their passport application--which is a standard process otherwise followed--because he had waived off his rights as their custodian after our divorce. There is a form, Annexure G, that is specifically for this purpose and I had this at the ready as well.

Armed with everything, I made it through the first two stages with not as much difficulty as immense delays. Glad to see my token number flash, my joy was short-lived. It was that particular passport officer's lunch time, but he couldn't reassign me to another officer as it wasn't protocol. After a 45-minute wait, he came back, asked for my documents and went through them cursorily until he reached Annexure G. He looked up at me and said, "You're divorced?" and I said, "Yes." "The father is not a custodian at all?" "No, he's chosen not to be." With a puzzled expression, he asked to see the divorce petition where this is explicitly stated, but he was still not convinced. He asked more questions about the details clearly stated in the petition, even though it wasn't his place to do so. Finally, he returned all the documents and reassigned me to another official who, supposedly, had some experience handling cases like mine. Murphy's Law or what have you, but it turned out to be his lunch time as well when it was my turn to meet him.

So another 45 minutes went by, and a conversation similar to the one with official one happened upon his return from lunch, but he made some notes in the system and told me to meet the Assistant Passport Officer (APO). So there I was, in line for the third time in a span of 3 hours, waiting to meet the APO. Luckily, she didn't go to lunch when it was my turn, but the conversation turned out to be much the same. I had wrongly hoped that a woman might empathise, but I felt judged at every stage of all those conversations which finally ended in her saying that she couldn't authorise the renewal and that I had to meet the Regional Passport Officer (RPO) in Koramangala who would take the final call on this.

By this time, I was livid. I had been in line with my 6 year old since 9 am. It was 3 pm and we had nothing to show for it except three annoying conversations and a cranky child. And I had all documents down to a T! If the outsourced folks had been better briefed, I could've been on my way out soon as the picture and biometrics stage was finished, saving me about 4.5 hours! I had no choice but to leave the Passport Seva Kendra that day, set up an appointment with the RPO for another day, go through this entire rigmarole of explanations one more time until the passport was finally granted. But it didn't end there. At the police verification, I had to explain all this one more time while the policeman in charge talked to his colleague in Kannada about my divorce when all he was supposed to do was to verify the address.

This was more than a year ago and now, unfortunately, it's time for me to renew my other child's passport. I'm telling myself that I should expect nothing. After all, a year isn't much time for any change, is it? If anything, a process change is possible but a systemic change? Hah!

I hope Part two of this post has a happier ending. 

protest

hands held, chain formed.
united,
but many links missed,
chasm revealed.

Dichotomy

It plonked there in a little corner of the bus, seemingly out of place. As sturdy as it was, it could only see the things that it wasn't--colourful, flashy, stylish and most importantly, popular. After all, there was only one of its kind amidst a sea of the others. "But one of a kind is a good thing, isn't it"?, it thought, almost trying to convince itself of its worth.

Not far away, sat a group of people. None of them knew each other, yet there was a sense of familiarity forged by a commonness--smart phones, semi-western tops and stoles, polo tees, slim fit jeans, monthly bus passes, and backpacks on their laps. She sat in their midst obviously out of place, an old sari draped tightly around her to keep her from shivering in the cool a/c, no phone in hand, a bus ticket she could ill afford and her bag plonked at a distance.

As the bus slowed down at what seemed to be a major stop, almost everyone jumped off the bus and hurried to cross the road and reach their tech parks on time. She waited until they had all gotten down, picked up the dirty bag that contained her tools and walked in the direction of a construction site close by. It didn't matter if she showed up on time or not, she got jipped of her daily wages anyway.

Her only thought as she walked on was how she would make up the Rs 40 that she had blown up by taking the Volvo bus that day. 

Best friends

Two friends stood alongside a brown compound wall. They even wore similar shades of brown, not that they had planned it.

Both went out together every day, at least twice a day--once around breakfast and once around tea time. They didn't talk much but walked around in amicable silence. One would say something occasionally, irrespective of whether the other replied or not. Neither minded. Such was their relationship.

At the moment that I passed them by this morning, both had their backs to me as they faced the compound wall. One had his zipper down and the other had his left leg raised.

One was approximately 5 feet 6 inches tall and the other, 1 foot at best. Best friends for life.

The journey of a lifetime

Does the title make it sound like I'm Sindbad the Sailor, who has had adventures in many a magical place with many a weird monster? Well,given what I've worked on in the past, I can relate to the monsters – finance and analytics! No, no one forced me to study and work in those fields but because I was in another country and needed a visa, it became the most natural thing to get into but my heart was never in it. Writing is what I had always enjoyed.

So when I took a break from work, I started my blog, which was the easy part; the harder part was the actual writing! While I had loads of things I wanted to write about, I would perpetually have writer's block and not know where to begin. But I persisted. I would write about everyday situations that a displaced Indian faced, about my daughter's antics, and about life in general. Soon enough, I got my mojo back! (And it always helps to have the support and 'likes' of friends and family!). A few years as Editor with an organisation in India where I edited different genre – legal, medical, business writing, technical writing, development-related writing and more – gave me the start to finally do what I loved.

If I had to choose a category of writing that I love, it would be fiction based on personal experiences and Op-eds. After all, who doesn't like to express their opinion on this, that and the other! 'Randomness' is what I've titled my blog as it captures best what I write about. It's been nine years since I started this journey and I've never felt happier opening my laptop every morning. The monsters have disappeared and so has the writer's block – mostly. Work doesn't feel like work, and I can't ask for more.

If my story resonates with you and you feel like you're stuck in a rut, it's not too late to make a switch. Take a chance, try something new and discover what you love. I can't guarantee monsters or magical lands but the stories from the journey will be well worth a read.

Written as a promo for an IIHS course titled 'Writing for Digital Media'

Charity begins at ...

Of late, she had been noticing that she turned heads while at the billing counters of most stores. Not just the shoppers in queue but also the cashiers gave her a second look. At first, she was sure it was because she was 'Fashion Faux Pas Queen' - either what she wore or what she was buying - but that didn't make sense while buying groceries did it? Choosing one brand over another surely didn't deserve an uncomfortable look from someone else.

So what was it?

She found out recently when she was at a clothes store. Could've been Max or Lifestyle...same difference, really. After billing her stuff, the cashier asked, "Mam, would you like to donate Rs x to charity"? "No!", she said. He was caught off guard but rather than ask outright why she didn't want to, he stared at her in a puzzled manner but then caught himself and went back to closing out the bill.

More than mildly offended, she asked him if he had any idea which charity it was, what was the cause they worked for, how much money went from the store to them, and a few others questions along those lines. His answer? A resounding "no". "So why should I contribute to this charity?", she asked to which he meekly replied that it wasn't mandatory.

"You think!", she wanted to say to him but realised that her anger would be misdirected. It wasn't his idea that she donate; he was simply parroting what he'd been told by his manager, who in turn must've received his instruction from some place higher up in the food chain.

Many have likely been in a similar situation -- one where the organisation is simply "charity". One where the person is so far removed, but still doesn't question why they're giving. It almost becomes a force of habit, similar to accepting a piece of candy instead of a rupee coin. Or worse, a way to assuage one's guilt. Or worst, an unshakable belief and trust that one is indeed doing something "good". Nothing more.

She hadn't always thought of it this way. It was only since she had watched 'First as Tragedy, Then as Farce', and thought about it in greater depth. Since then, her answer to the charitable donation question, especially at a store, was always a "No"!, irrespective of who looked at her or thought of her poorly.

Watch the film if you're in any way curious -- it's well worth the ten minutes. Else, say no when it's your turn and ask similar questions. Both scenarios could be equally interesting.

Size doesn't matter!

Yeah, that's right. It might be small, it might seem not-so-powerful, it might seem a pushover but it's bright, slick and packs a punch! Like a wise person said, "It's not the size that counts, it's the spirit"!

Here's to good times, independence and freedom. On long drives, I mean ;).

Superhero!

One hand steered the wheel while the other did the rest – switched gears, collected money, handed back change, gave out tickets and brushed off the occasional stray-away hair that fell on his ‘tilak-clad’ forehead. All with that same practiced smooth motion. It was an almost-rehearsed rhythmic sequence of events that hinted at the repetitive, somewhat monotonous nature of his job.  

Driving a bus around Bangalore was no joke. Throw in a bus with just one door for entry & exit and no conductor to man the people-traffic? No joke at all! At the best of times when traffic was lean, maybe he flashed a wry smile. Most of the time however, he was probably at his grumpy efficient best. He had to be. For he was a multi-tasker, juggler, acrobat, artist – all of it rolled in one.

To think that we use the term Superhero for heroes that rescue their lady loves from hanging buses.

Under the transparent umbrella

Rainfall...watching it and listening to its pitter patter, the first splash of water hitting your face, little drops that sneak in from the side of the umbrella onto your hands, puddles that make you want to jump into them, buses swerving to avoid water-filled potholes, the smell of fresh water and mud, the birds that happily bathe under open skies...the chain of events that even a little bit of rain sets off is incredible...

Experiencing all this with a loved one on your lap - holding a transparent baby umbrella, oozing innocence, bursting into peals of laughter and squealing with delight every time the rain falls with a dull thud onto the umbrella top - is just priceless.


Things do seem different when seen through another's eyes...with a little bit of transparency and innocence.  

Swalpa Kannada learn maadi

I wrote this post soon as I moved to Bangalore. It's almost 2 years now and I'm nowhere close to learning even a little more Kannada than just that. Except for one term - the ubiquitous 'Adjust maadi or swalpa adjust maadi', which means 'Adjust a bit please'. The term is so famous around here that it should be legal to say 'I got adjust maadied'!

Legal or not, I got 'adjust maadied' a few days ago. While driving through the absurd traffic, I'm not sure why I had my windows down. But waiting for the signal to change, I suddenly heard a 'swalpa adjust maadi, madam'...auto driver trying to squeeze into a non-existent space in front of my car!

If that term didn't bring a smile to my face, I might've adjust maadied his face :)

Road Rage

Traffic in Bangalore is a nightmare. Everyone knows that. What annoys me is that most of the time, the reason it gets so crazy is something absolutely foolish. Here are my top 10 road rage causers...all during peak hour traffic time too.

• Heavy vehicles (minimum 16 wheels) carrying ridiculously heavy loads and crawling between two lanes
• BBMP workers sweeping near the median and loading all the sand and dirt onto a tractor that is parked in the middle of the road (tractor driver stares with a puzzled expression when passers-by honk and show make rude gestures towards him)
• BBMP workers drawing white divider lines, which people drive over even before it gets a chance to dry (we don't have a lane system...are the white lines really necessary?)
• Random dig-ups for either water or electricity cables
• Pot holes the size of cars
• L-board drivers who always lose the battle with the clutch, just in time for others to miss the traffic signal, too
• Garbage collection trucks parked in the center of a service lane with the garbage collectors nowhere in sight
• Autos and bikes who block the oncoming traffic in an effort to squeeze through before the traffic light changes
• The jaywalker (pedestrian) who, while on the phone, puts his hand out to stop vehicles coming his way and just saunters across
• And my all-time favorite, cows being ferried to their eateries and watering holes

And to think that everyone believes that traffic woes in Bangalore will be sorted once the innumerable flyovers are completed.

Hmppppppppphhhhhhhhhhh

Apartment Rules - Part Trois

I've written a couple of posts about Apartments before... read them here... 1, 2

It's been almost 2 years since I moved out of Hyderabad to Bangalore. Overall, the apartment 'scene' is far better here. Or maybe I feel that way because I'm more used to the way people function in apartments in India. Or maybe it's because the number of apartments in most complexes around where I live are a lot. But more people would mean more crazies, right? Whatever. Here's what prompted this post.

This morning, after a tiring workout at the gym, I was walking (crawling) back home. All of a sudden, I spotted something strange at a balcony above. Turned out to be a bare-chested lungi-clad neighbor standing outside and brushing his teeth...at nearly 10 a.m! I didn't know whether to be shocked about the outfit (or lack of it) or the lateness of the teeth-brushing! Either way, since I was caught off-guard, I didn't have time to look away and he caught me staring at him with a horrified expression! Thankfully, since I was close to the foyer, I quickly went inside the building.

I wonder if his eyesight is as bad as his apartments manners. What are the chances that he will recognize me when we wait for the lift or something...we are, after all, in the same block.

Yeeeeesh, wait for that post now!

Halloween for dummies

About 10-15 years ago, the term Halloween was probably unknown in India. Then, the tech-outsourcing revolution happened and it all changed. No, technology and Halloween are not connected in any way, thank God! Else we'll be seeing virtual reality zombie characters flying all over the place! No, tech-outsourcing exposed many Indians to America and vice-versa. Traditions, festivals, recipes and clothing were shared and thus, Halloween was born in India.

To be fair, there are many that still have no idea Halloween is. So here's the gist. In short, kids dress up in different costumes, go by houses and say trick or treat (signifying you either treat me or else I'll play a trick on you), get loads of candy and come back home on a sugar-high!

Bangalore has a vast ex-pat community and many US returns too. Since they like to keep the tradition going for their children, Halloween is now a part of many large communities. I took my kids out trick or treating for the first time ever.

A funny bunny and an evil devil - both fit their parts quite well! It was a lot of fun and I pinched some of their candy, too! Happy Halloween everyone!

Deepavali 2011

I wrote this last Deepavali. This year, I'm not going cracker shopping...husby and friends will do the honors.

I'm curious to see what kind of discounts they will come back with. I'm looking at it as a socio-psychology experiment to understand why some people get more discounts than others. Some of the reasons I can think of are a person's

• gender
• ability to bargain well
• fluency with the local language
• ability to smooth talk
• attitude (bordering on being brash)
• knowledge of the product

Get ready....this is a guys versus girls test. Who is really the better bargainer? I can't wait to see who wins although I think I know the answer already :).

A happy and safe Deepavali everyone!

Highway to hell

The Madras-Bangalore highway has excellent roads, decent loos, ok places to eat and simply amazing and super corny warning signs! Read at your own risk :)

• Don't learn safety by accident.
• If you want to stay married, divorce speed.
• Fast drive, last drive.
• Safety never takes a holiday.
• Don't mix drinking and driving.
• Lane discipline gives you long life.
• Safe driving is like breathing. Don't stop it.
• Cautious drive ensures longevity.
• Drive like hell, you will be there.

I warned you...!

A song called Felicidad

Even after a year in Bangalore, my ties to Telugu-land still continue...imagine my surprise when I was asked by someone at the Heritage store (owned by former CM Chandrababu Naidu) whether I watched Telugu films when all I was doing was humming Felicidad. Hmmmm......weird? No, it's quite normal. The music maestros of Tollywood have copied yet another classic.

Mama, O Mama O Mama come tell me that you wanna, you wanna O Mama ... is now

Mama O Mama Sathyabama Sathyabama something something...(can't find youtube link)

Get ready Mamma Mia, I think you're up next.