Sunday, August 12, 2007

Feel it on my fingertips

Some questions just don't have straight answers.

"Why do you like the rains?"

I look away, out of the taxi window. Lets see now. That time it cleansed. All those times. Then there were the drives across the bridge, leaving the city behind, that boy, those friends. That time it was ... youth? Love? Settle for a bit of both. You'd think they'd all be hazy by now.
The simplest questions can surprise you with how clear certain associations still are in your mind.

Often these days, I find myself quietly observant, unable to participate.
It is a quiet one, my nature.

"So? Why do you like the rains?"

"Just," I said.

Monday, August 06, 2007

Life in a Metro / The Case of the Predictable Post-title

Listen. Boo.
I am DONE with the voices in my bloody head. I have NO bloody time for them.

* Anyway, I've been taking the Metro to work nearly every day, and there's a lot to learn from those trips. For instance, to avoid being teased or having your boobies elbowed, it's important to really observe potential teaser/molestor, and - ok, this is a timing thing - just at the right moment, when you can see they're edging towards you, ready with filthy tongue, (or hand, as the case may be) you ask them a question. Anything at all. Like, bhaiya coffee house walla gate kis taraf hai? or something. Takes them completely by surprise, and all they can do is answer and go their way. Cuz these people? Cowards, all of em. Of course, the method is far from foolproof, because most of the time we're aware of the harassment only AFTER it's been done to us. But you know, on the rare occasions that you Can tell that a man is walking directly into your path because he does want to ram straight into you, yea? You get the timing right with practice.
Ok, explain to me, someone, why I canNOT say breasts.

* Little children can be horrifically nasty to each other. Seriously mean. Just the other day I made a child nearly cry and got glared at by her doting mum.
There was this bunch of tiny girls and one of them, presumably the ringleader, was literally heckling this other girl, who was from the same school but was standing slightly apart. Why? Because the poor kid was drinking from a small water bottle, as opposed to the gigantic ugly ones, which, now I know, are the latest fad. So the bully got her cronies to make up a tuneless song about how only stupid girls drank from small water bottles. So, ever the supporter of the underdog, I caught the bully by her hand, made space for her to sit next to me and then went on to make up a story about the Evil Water Monster of Bigbottlia who took the shape of water and entered the tummies of naughty children and caused the 100-day tummy upset. Uhm, and some other things.
Ok fine, I feel just slightly bad now. I swear I was NEVER a bully in school. Honest.

* When the train stops at Kalighat station, from Rabindra Sarobar? You need to sit still and watch how the women run to get a seat. Their faces light up with purpose and determination and they pounce on the nearest empty space. Straight out of Animal Planet. It's a beautiful metaphor for life. Not good that it's all I can do to keep myself from laughing out loud. I've always mixed up my metaphors.
No, but really, and it's amazing how there are so many women who think they're half the size they actually are. They're going to squeeze in for a sitdown, have one thigh on mine, rest their perspiring arm on my shoulder, and sit hunched and crooked and almost out of the seat, like there is no discomfort in the world. So, YOU, who are reading my blog from work right now, instead of subbing tomorrow's top piece, if I ever come in all sweaty and stinky, that isn't me. That's Jolly Boudi's left underarm.
So really, what is the deal with magazines and men complaining about how we're always thinking we're fat? Dude, get on the Metro.

* This has nothing to do with the Metro, but if I ever write a play or a story about this city, it will have an old man in a white baniyaan and lungi, smoking a brass pipe by the window. I see him every day. Sometimes even when he's not there.