Protected: Notes from Delhi: I get by with a little help from my friends

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:


This Blog is Not Dead


This post has been in the pipeline for way too long. Every time I sat down to write it, the door bell would ring, someone would call or I would remember something urgent I have to do. I’m running late, I’ve only just finished packing my bags, and I have an awful feeling that I’ve forgotten something stupendously important, but I knew I had to put this out on the world wide web before I go.

So, I leave the country in a few hours. ‘Home’, will not be home for the next three years (save for the holiday visits) and I am being yanked nose first out of my comfort zone, and will be plunged into all things unknown for the next few months. True to style, I have finished everything only at the 11th hour, and everything that can go wrong has gone wrong (crucial discrepancies in forms, new regulations etc etc) and as you can very well, imagine I’m nervous as hell.
This post is twofold  – one is to put up a post to remind everyone, that I’m alive and the other is to thank certain people.

People are absolutely amazing, and wrapped in our little bubbles, we tend to lose sight of this sometimes.
So this (at the risk of sounding like an Oscar speech) is for you. For those of you who took the time to visit and meet up. For certain people who unrelentingly bullied me into making time for them in-between my errands (I love you guys!). For helping me pack and sort out all my stuff. For the surprise shindigs, impromptu visits, amazing gifts and long calls.
Thanks so much. I really appreciated it, and you guys made me feel incredibly loved. You know who you are. 🙂
I’m off now. A long shower and a series of phone calls beckon.
So very very nervous about the next few weeks. Fingers, toes, strands of hair and everything crossable has been crossed. Await developments and many I-miss-my-cat posts.

>For A


The problem is, I’m not eloquent at the best of times. My idea of trying to tell a person that I care about them, would be telling them that they have nice hair (which by the way you do have.) and make a bad joke or two. And I’m not the best person at keeping in touch most of the time either. I’m rarely online on Skype and hardly ever on MSN, have sporadic mood swings and live in a bubble of my own.

Buuut, my angst and failure at modern communication does not mean that I miss you any less or have forgotten about you. You’ll be surprised at how often I wish I could get your advice and how the weirdest stuff remind me of you and make me smile. Random stuff like this,

to food items, orange rubber slippers, flowery shorts and the occasional song.

Actually, come to think of it, it’s mostly the food. 🙂

So, I hope you’ll understand when I say that even though I probably won’t talk to you as often as I’d like to, I miss you to bits and am absolutely excited that we’ll be seeing you soon. I think I can speak on behalf of all of us – F, the small one and everyone else that we’re counting the days till you get your fat ass (Sorry. But how could I pass that up? Tee hee.) over here.

Miss you lots.

Have a safe flight.

Much love,




Scented air,
Plush leather seats,
On his head.
Music playing
In the background.
He reigns
In the air-conditioned
Of his car.

Beads of sweat trickle
Down her neck.
Into her back.
By the commuters.
Clutching onto
The handrail,
She gazes
At him


To ******.

You probably will never read this, but here’s hoping you find your eternal jag someday. If there’s anyone who deserves it, it’s you.


Till now, Death is something I’ve associated with old age and disease. The possibility that someone my age could die in an instant never occurred to me.

She was one of my batch mates. Although she left school some where around grade 6 or 7, I’d seen her randomly at parties and concerts but was never on a hi-bye basis with her since I didn’t know her that well.

She died a few days ago.

It was terrible seeing her lying inert in a stuffy funeral parlour surrounded by gaudy flowers, looking remarkably lifelike in a pair of jeans and t-shirt, right down to the leaf shaped earrings she wore and the colourful band around her hair. Her face was swollen and unrecognisable. She’d died riding a motorbike with her boyfriend.

I know it’s highly illogical, but I’m pissed off with her boyfriend. I’m pissed off at the fact that a girl, not yet 18 had to die simply because of a moment of thrill. (Yes, I know that he’ll be living with this guilt for the rest of his life, and yes, I do feel a tiny shred of sympathy for him. But just a bit, mind you.)
I’m pissed off because no parent should ever have to bury his or her offspring. Seeing her parents going about in a daze accepting meaningless words of sympathy from nameless strangers made me realize the extent of their pain. No parent deserves to go through that kind of hell.
I’m pissed because I never really knew her. I could’ve talked to her when I met her here and there. A casual ‘hi’ would never have hurt. But I didn’t.
Who knows we could’ve even been friends.