Facebook rant

Re-discovery!

Hello little Bloggy!
It is I.
Years have passed
Homes have been transitioned through:
Delhi house 1
Dehi house 2
Gurgaon

Spaces online have been transitioned through too:
Facebook got invaded by work 'contacts' and elderly relatives
Twitter timeline was more like google reader - read links, but no engagement, too many real world acquaintances

So closed the twitter account,
Now use facebook for birthday greetings.

I thought I wanted anonymity,
But what I really want is an independent group of new friends
A place to be snarky without someone somewhere 'feeling bad'

So *lightbulb moment* It's my blog and I can vent if I want to!

Google+ is my new home; come hop into an anonymous circle!

"so ... what do you do?"

working again.
in the office all day.
lunch with co-workers.
gossip in the loo.

i'm writing for a living.
writing full time.
but it still startles me to hear myself being introduced as a "writer".

it seems pretentious.

but it's what i do.
it's all i've done for that past 10 years.

good god. ten years.

i'm a writer.

so there.

back...

Finally working around adults again.

Finally meeting friends regularly again.

Finally verbalising a lot of the deep thoughts rattling around in the cranium again.
Only to realise they're not so deep (or dark or scary) anymore.

When thoughts are out in the open as conversations, the need to sort through them as a post dies away.

So perhaps this blog will come to serve another purpose now.

I think i like the re-established anonymity that comes from moving into a long abandoned blog.

Renovations, updates and innovations in due course shall follow.

Or not.

It all depends.

On me.

Tripping

They say a mother's love is unconditional. It's probably the most conditional of all.

When your baby smiles up at you, that sucker punch to the stomach is the very first time you feel unconditional love... and it's coming right at you, not from you.

A baby knows no one else; there are no comparisons, no higher expectations. You are completely the MOST beautiful, kindest, bravest and most special person in the whole world. All just while being you.No need to impress or dress up.

It's intoxicating. The power rush.




Update: Young N now occassionally tells me I should wear the shoes that are like "this" (he stands on tippy toes) "just coz they look better."

And so it begins.

Deal

The sense of alone-ness, of alienation from the world while grappling with roiling emotions.

...teenage angst, mid-life crisis...

If you're lucky, you learn to deal with it the first time around.

Or, you go off to college, meet new people. Life distracts, diverts attention.

Then it all comes back to bite you in the ass.

You get to ignore it again if you're rich enough to buy a red convertible and a trophy wife.

refresh renew not just recycle

Being emotionally dependent on a whimsical person is fraught with anxiety because of the possibilty, even likelihood, of malicious whims.

The casual phrase that stings, the light allusion to nastiness past...

And like all good self-fulfilling prophecies, it's the fear of that chance, that possibilty, that makes it seem more the rule than the exception.

Dependence on a whimsical world, now that's a different trip. The factors involved seem infinite, more likely to guarantee true chance. Makes you feel like this time around it's you calling the shots.

For better or worse.

what I did on my winter vacation

The new year is for beginnings. For fresh starts. For resolutions.

And in my case, it usually involves a new city.

(“But not this time...” she crowed rubbing her hands gleefully. “We can’t have that,” frowned the grumbling gods, loathe to have anyone gleeful in their purview. “Let’s see… how can we shake things up a bit,” they said, still collectively, thumbing through their little notebook of keeda-work past. And far below at a terrace apartment in Versova, a phone rang. “Hello?” answered the still unsuspecting hand rubber.)

So, we had to move.

Not out of Mumbai, but to a different flat, different neighbourhood. Cartons, trunks, trucks, missing brass lamps, rediscovered books… new connections of gas and phone, changed address for bank and cell… same old, same old.

But things are now tackled with determination and vigour. All part of the resolve of the new year.

Will not live like a hermit – will go out and meet the neighbours. Will not live like a hermit, will watch movies at a theatre. Will not live like a hermit, will go out with friends more often. Will not live like hermit, will go to plays and rock shows. And now that the new net connection is up and running, will not live like a hermit, will blog more often. Or is that more part of the living like a hermit-thing…?

We’ve been here 17 days. Hopefully we’ll last out the year. What’s that rumbling noise… sounds like laughing gods.

And oh, happy birthday to me.

Separate Lives

Funny thing, memory.

Your most profound experience, one that you were convinced will always be as vivid when recalled, somehow isn't.

This moment, and all its life-changing significance, begins to erode. Before you know it, this definitive moment is clubbed in with the comparatively ho-hum moments of 'back then', or more likely, 'in the beginning'. Because it did change your life.

But memory can sometimes be merciful. It allows a flash occasionally, an out of the blue jolt (see comments) not just of the event, but of your feelings when it happened. It's true, the 'what' of the event you never forget. But the sense of its enormity is lost; unless you write about it.

****

Sitting at the balcony of my parents' house. Home.

the dark foliage of the gulmohar tree near the gate and and the gently rumbling traffic beyond were soothing in the afternoon sun. The chocolate brown recliner angled just so, a juicy novel ready to dive into and a tall glass of juice to occasionally sip. mmmmmm. sometimes life can be so... just right.

Just slightly run down, the feeling was like towards the end of a bout of 'flu, but with way more cosseting by the world at large. This is the life, I thought. Being pregnant is no big deal at all. the bump made a comfy shelf to balance the book...

When suddenly it moved.

The shelf.

My belly. My midriff. My torso.

Of its own accord.

An unidentifiable potrusion poked around, making an extra lump on the already swollen tummy.

And moved right across to the other side.

And I'm still on the chair, traffic, drink and book all forgotten, shocked out of my wits.

I'd felt mild kicking till then, and watched the bump grow, but this... this...

Remember Sigourney Weaver in Alien? When the creature tears out of her chest one arm at a time?

Yeah, "It's aliiiiiive!"

Then suddenly, it stopped.

My stomach went back to the calm stillness of before. like nothing had ever happened.

Leaving me with the realisation that I would never be alone again.

That it isn't about me anymore.

That nothing in my life would really go back to the way it was.

All facts that are obvious truths about my life today, but only vaguely conjectured till then.

And reinforced at the sonogram taken the next day - little n playing
air guitar, having his own little party for one.

what's on TV... on tv... on tv

The young lad, yesterday, had a phone conversation with his current favourite person on TV. Without considering it at all unusual to have that kind of access.

How different would life have been if I could have casually picked up the phone and chatted with Captain Kirk... suggesting alternate plotlines and inviting him over to visit. (On second thought, scratch idea 2!)

The plan, the boy revealed later, was to talk Vrajesh into joining the best TV show in the world.

The little fixer.

Is the difference in how TV shows today are made? He feels totally involved in the process, the characters talking directly to him. Rather than as an outsider looking in, as I did with Giant Robot and Star Trek.

Then again, it's probably because of having a dad who can, in fact, pick up a phone to... [got to top]