Not for another four years

I started writing a post about how dates aren't so important, milestones aren't that meaningful, and that it's not such a big deal that February has an extra day every four years. And I realised that the post ran to more than half a page! So much for it not being significant.

Deleted all the text but wrote this down just so I can mark an entry today.

Hah!

hmmmmmmmph

Was she sad? Or angry? Maybe it was a combination of both along with a good sprinkling of upset, thoughtful, analytical and so much more. Why did she feel so every time? Why did she get her hopes up? Why did she think that this time was it, this time he would pull through. Somehow.

The first two sets flew by but he somehow managed to squeak out the 3rd. Serving behind in the 4th, she knew that it wasn't going to be easy. And it went exactly how she thought. One break was all it took.

Truth be told, the far better player won. As a Federer fan, she found it very hard to even acknowledge that. When she first began to watch him, she always wondered at how amazing he was and how no one would ever be able to get to where he was. He was even more stylish than her childhood hero Sampras!

The truth hurt but one thing was for sure. Not many will come along who will play like him. That cracker of a serve down the T, the scintillating single-handed backhand down the line passing shot, that unforgettable forehand drive volley and those lucky-to-bounce even once drop shots, and that genial nature--memorable beyond memory.

The Djoker had the last laugh today. Well, he's been laughing for some time now and that annoyed her to no end. It seemed like a long time since their first meeting at a Grand Slam final and it took Fed all of 1.5 hours to finish him off. But today she had to admit that her dislike for him was only because he had routinely been taking Federer to school.

Someone asked her why he didn't retire and she wanted to scream and say, "Why should he when he's easily making the semis of a Grand Slam?" but she held back and said, "Maybe this year", while she thought, "Nah, there will be one more time."

Growing (up) pains - Part two

Protagonist: "Ma, I want a hair style like that guy."
Uncool mom: *stares at the pic of a guy with long weird hair* "Who is that?"
Protagonist: "He's in One Direction."
Uncool mom: *blinks stupidly* "What's his name?"
Protagonist: "Harry Styles"
Uncool mom: *thinks she's being funny* "Shouldn't it be Hairy Styles or Scary Styles?"
Protagonist:  "That's not funny, ma. He looks so cool! I want to grow my hair like that!"
Uncool mom: *horrified at what is going to come next* "What?!"
Protagonist: "Is there a way to write to them? I want to join their band!"
Uncool mom: *trying to appeal to his senses* "You know you can start your own band since you play the violin and others you know play the piano and drums?"
Protagonist: "Really? But I just want to join One Direction. Can I write to them now?"
Uncool mom: *not sure whether to laugh or pretend to be serious* "Sure, I'll check for their id."
Protagonist: runs off to the partner in crime saying "Guess what, I'm going to write to One Direction and join their band!", completely unfazed by the lukewarm response, "They're not going to take you."

As I recounted this story to a friend, she said that his joining will make them a better band for sure since they stunk at the moment. I thought "My God, it's his first band crush and it's One Direction! How horrible!", and then realised that's how my parents probably felt when I told them that I loved Wham and George Michael!

Yep, it all comes around...and how! I wrote Part one in 2011--another lifetime it seems like. Needless to say, my two cute whisperers have only grown up even more since.

Who said only tweens and teens felt growing pains!

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.

When will our Independence Day come?

Our independence from the British came 68 years ago but when will it come from everything else?

Husbands oppressing wives, parents oppressing children, educational institutions oppressing thought, state oppressing speech, and not to mention the widespread oppression due to caste, creed and community politics--there is a hierarchy of oppression that is only growing, and growing rapidly. So what exactly are we celebrating year in and year out by wearing 'Indian clothes', singing the National Anthem, pinning the flag to our lapels and performing cultural events at schools, homes and offices?

One can say that we are celebrating the defenders of our freedoms--those who got us our independence from the Raj, and also those who are currently serving in the Armed Forces--but are they the only ones?

What about the many who are missed because they don't belong to a named group or aren't flattered by the media--ordinary people who strive everyday to make our country more equal and more just by doing simple things that impact larger communities and people without a voice. We don't thank them because we don't know them. They are, sadly, a minority and most importantly, they aren't loud.

Quotes and posts abound on Facebook of Tagore's 'Where the Mind is Without Fear'. It brings a tear and chokes us especially on August 15th, but shouldn't it bring a greater cry, a louder cry throughout the year because it remains a distant dream? Shouldn't it turn into an uproar until it becomes reality?

For that, we need to kick 'Habit', the dreary habit that won't let us stop, think and question.

On this 'Independence Day', I promise myself that I will strive for a truly free life for my children--one where they can question anyone and anything that stands in the way of their freedoms, one where they can learn whatever they want and however they want, and one where they can freely love irrespective of anything else.

Freedom, knowledge and love--isn't that independence? And not just one day every year, but everyday and for everyone. That, is true independence. And it will come. 

The player and the fan age (gracefully)

Was it only yesterday that a win or a loss would leave us both in tears, and my throat, perhaps more hoarse than yours? After all, you only yelled 'Come on!' when you thought that the shot you hit was perfect or if you won a tough point. Unlike me. I said it for every point. Your down the T serves at crunch time, your backhand crosscourts and your forehand drive volleys -- I would talk about them all day to whoever cared to listen. You probably thought about those too. I mean, you wouldn't have to talk about them to those around you, would you? They see that brilliance day in and day out.

Yesterday, however, was different although it started off as usual. Something changed after the second set. Maybe it was the early break, and the knowledge that the set had slipped away because it would be too tough to fight back. Did you feel that way too? I did. Your body language showed it but you still produced flashes of genius that left people hoping -- fingers and everything else crossed. The older me would've continued to scream and cheer and sit in the same spot that won you the second set. But I didn't, because I knew -- things have changed. You realised it too.

Yet, some things haven't changed -- I'm still superstitious and I'm guessing that you are too although how your family wasn't in the same outfits as they were on Friday is beyond me. Maybe they do other things, like eat the same food or carry something in their bag.

Is it age? Is it the plethora of things that occupy our older and wiser minds? Maybe it's our children. You, wondering if it was now their time and me, watching mine (at least one) cheer for your opponent.

At the end of it, I think that we are both gracious. You, in your defeat, and me in my mental acceptance of the changes that I will need to make in addition to the ones I already have. One thing I know for sure -- neither one of us will give up as long as we feel something that is, perhaps, hard to explain to others.

And we will go on with our lives, secure in that thought. 

if

today
if i were one, i would wake up late every day
if i were two, i would enjoy the freedoms of pre school
if i were three, i would eat more of that delicious porridge

if i were nine, i wouldn't fear the first boy that stood on the other side of the court
if i were ten, i wouldn't be embarrassed about wearing colour clothes on my birthday
if i were eleven, i wouldn't ignore the algebra teacher

if i were thirteen, i would talk to paati the last time that she called
if i were fourteen, i would value some friendships more
if i were fifteen, i would make more of my first trip away

if i were eighteen, i wouldn't stop training
if i were nineteen, i wouldn't skip that exam
if i were twenty, i wouldn't feel pressured

if i were twenty four, i would be stronger
if i were twenty five, i would work a little lesser
if i were twenty six, i would travel much more

if i were thirty, i wouldn't want that watch
if i were thirty one, i wouldn't blame myself
if i were thirty two, i wouldn't have agreed

if i were thirty five, i would be as bold
if i were thirty six, i would be more calm
if i were thirty seven, i would do and be the same

if i were thirty eight, oh that is what i am
so what would i do
and what would i not
i can only say in a matter of time
until then i'll remember and i'll write
verse or paragraph
it doesn't matter
only thoughts and memories do

Same clothes, same spot -- Sunday July 12

Today's match was peRFect not only because of the genius that is Federer but also because so many people in the world sat in the same spot, did the same thing, wore the same clothes...you get the gist.

Join me. Same clothes, same spot on Sunday, July 12.

What? Superstitious? ME?

of friendship and crazy minds

long chats late into the night
crazy talk all through the day
lots of faces in the room
both familiar, and not.

similarities and differences galore
a range of experiences
of life, love and friendship.

at different times we met
and groups we formed
but what firmly remained
was the sameness.

each relationship so unique
each bond so special
was it you that enabled that?

where do we go from here
when do we meet again
it may be soon or not
life's too busy at times.

but, it doesn't matter
because whenever it is
we know what to expect
the sameness, the craziness
thank goodness for predictability, sometimes.

written June 11, 2015