Doubts

An overcast afternoon, a listless mind and an uninteresting workday. Listening to the drops of water bouncing off the heartless concrete while a gentle voice croons in the background reverberating my thoughts. Ruminating on things decided which will have far reaching effects, things I have set off in motion but those that have already moved ahead, consuming and discarding me. Doubts that swirl in and out leaving more confusion and chaos, than which were around even as they were taking shape.

What if, have been the two words preceding various thoughts on numerous occasions of late. What if – they promise to make everything real seem surreal, they take me far away from the present where everything is just what I want to be, and they hold a promise which otherwise seems amiss. They leave me bereft of words sometimes, but I wish they left me devoid of thoughts at times.

All that has been worked for till now has been threatened. All that was nurtured destroyed swiftly. All that has been dreamt off squashed mercilessly. Will it be spring or will it be doom, or will it be neither just an endless, tasteless life worse than being either happy or sad? A lost chance, a sinking disappointment or a life lost, which of them will it be….

Chandra Taal - Where Man meets the Gods

This is the image of the lake Chrandrataal, where apparently Yudhisthira left his mortal body and moved to heaven. Did I ever imagine, that a reluctant traveler would leave his perch in the Deccan Plateau and leap for the mighty Himalayas? That would make a great story but for now, I was there and I, an almost comatose photographer clicked the image.

Did I think I would make it ever, to leave the zone of my comfort and move towards the unknown. I who turn my back even to the known? I cannot answer but to say that I was there and that is what matters.

More will come, but for today a reminder to myself that surprises do lurk around the corner and they need not always be bad.

This year

will hopefully leave me alone! When I was about to write in my diary on Jan 1, 2013, my curiosity got better of me and I read what I wrote on the first day of last year. I read that I wished I for a kind and compassionate year. That most certainly didnt happen, what I got was a year which was merciless and mostly cruel, draining me in every way possible- personally, professionally and financially. That shock of a year I guess, is the reason I dont wish for much. I have always found that keeping your expectations abysmally low helps, always. I only hope that it bloody leaves me alone.

This year didnt exactly begin on a great note but I made my peace with it already. If at the end of the year I remain just as I am right now, I will take my blessings and leave quite happily. Another bloody big disappointment last year was that 2012 was when world was supposed to end and was quite the high point of the year for me, sad that didnt quite materialize the way I hoped it would.

The only wishlist for 2013 would be...
- Leave me alone. Period.
- Finally making that trip I've been meaning to.
- Reading more non-fiction. Reading more of anything actually.
- Writing in something else than the one I currently do. Also, getting a raise where I currently work.
- Not losing any more money.
- Buying the bed I want to, not doing it because the one I like is ridiculously expensive.

Will not be overtly ambitious and wish for more. But then wishes sometimes grow wings and want to soar far above, what does one do then?

Who would've thought

that Aa would commit suicide. Was my first reaction when Sa told me that a school mate of mine recently passed away. I did not know Aa well at all, she was the coolest girl of my school. Good looking, fashionable and someone all of us had a crush on. I still remember everyone discussing a dress she wore on one of her birthdays (a white churidar with see through sleeves) which was a scandal back then (honestly, we were so repressed!) but Aa was someone who defined cool quotient and whom everyone wanted to be or be with.

My own interaction was restricted to a polite nod or a smile whenever our paths crossed in the corridors. But, over the years whenever conversation veered around school, Aa was a part of it because you wanted to know what she was upto, what she was doing and what was going on with her. That’s the trouble with benchmarks of childhood, you never out grow them, you never can.

So, when news came in that she committed suicide leaving behind a two year old son, I was thinking…what makes people so despondent that they think that the only way out is death? How could someone who had the proverbial everything be reduced to such a state? Looking back, I see a bright young girl who had the world at her feet and knew it. It’s astonishing how things come full circle. The whole incident reinforces my belief that what you see isn’t always the truth.

The tragedy brings to fore the simple truth that tomorrow is unseen and how life can come to a standstill in the turn of a second. There was a girl who, everyone thought was going to reach the stars, little did we know that she would become one of them.

My thoughts go out to her family and to Aa, who will forever remain the most talked about girl in the batch of 2000.

Turning ten equates going crazy

November is a busy month for me. The magazine I work with will turn ten in December and that for the editorial team means a crazy month. I had an absolutely hectic month, throw in Sa birthday, a cousin’s wedding and Ra’s engagement meant that it was only yesterday afternoon when we signed out I could breathe a sigh of relief. I did 26 bloody interviews this month and at one point, while working on three different stories I had no clue what and with whom I was talking. With all of us getting increasingly angry and worked up each passing day, it’s a wonder we closed the issue, even three days late! All said, it has been a productive month and I can happily lie low for a month or two before my editor again turns the heat on me.

Was reading Tavleen Singh’s amazing book “Durbar”, which has been receiving mixed reviews but I thoroughly enjoyed it. It was the first time I read non- fiction so quickly and the book offers a decisive as well as a different insight into the Indira- Rajiv years. Most people I discussed with said that it relied heavily on hearsay and gossip, and as a journalist I would say that they are more reliable than people at times. I also loved her interview with Abhinandan Sekhri on Newslaundry, a highly amusing episode in which the interviewer and interviewee cross swords and Tavleen was ruthless when the actor tried to be condescending.

Caught the lovely Bombay Jayshree in action after two years and was still as amazed at her grace and voice. Timeless performer.

Festivals

Its Diwali and as I'm writing this post people are going gaga bursting crackers. I've never really been a crackers person and the few I got this year cost a whopping 1700, but I'm both sad and happy that people are showing lesser inclination to burst crackers, be it due to increasing costs or declining interest, atleast in Hyderabad the festivities have been tapered down in the past few years. I'm sad because that's become the same with all festivals, no one has anytime to celebrate them and almost everything has become perfunctionary, Sankranti, Holi or Diwali.

Diwali when my grandfather was alive was fun, great fun and growing up as my siblings left the family nest I realized that festivals were fun only with more people. How many crackers could I burst alone or how many kites could I fly all by myself. Festivals like most things tell us about the importance of people and how sharing is okay once in a while. Unlike the innate consumerism of festivities, the fact that they offer a break from the routine makes them worthwhile.

This Diwali, for change I had two wishes and though I dare not hope too much, I do hope that they make the screening test of the powers that be. I have to hope for the best....time for me to enjoy some delicious food along with Hyderabadi spciality, phirni...

PS: While a friend of mine got 40 bloody thou as Diwali gift, I got a measly half kilo sweet box and when we opened it today they were totally dry and tasteless!

November Blues

-  It’s November again and it has started on a beautiful note today, with a heavy down pour due to the rains. Feels wonderful to be up and about.

      -   Watched , the terrible “Student of the Year” yesterday and felt that I deserved what I saw because I knew it would be disastrous and still went along…Karan Johar seemed to have directed it in between his many reality shows, no sense cinema and the three leads were such funny faces!

      - I am so hooked to the Rekha Bharadwaj song from Barfi, “ Phir le aaya dil”. There is something so magic about her voice that it manages to enchant you each time you listen to it. I wish it was used in the movie though…

      -  November is a busy busy month as far as work is concerned. There is so much to do but I really don’t know where do I start, worked really hard on two stories and did 1 interviews last month and that story was chopped…so am a little pissed off and am taking it a little easy right now.

     -  Everyone I know is getting married, big time. Friends, the last remaining single friends of my siblings and to top it all, juniors from colleges. It’s getting so annoying that I have been off facebook for a while, cant face another status which says…”Starting a new life” or “can’t wait to get married!”

     - While I am on it, everyone I know is either getting married or if they already are, getting their first flat, car or baby and me, am still where I saw 6 years back. It doesn't bother me that much but I swear I cannot handle one more conversation about growing up finally or finally finding their feet.

     -  Read the amazing book “Book Thief” by Markus Zusak which I have been recommending to everyone I know, it’s written in such a brilliant way that it really tugs at your very core.

A song that raised a thousand bogeys

Last week while driving to work, I saw a sign which said 360 degrees, inexplicably that reminded me of my Yahoo 360 blog which was my space to ramble in around 2004-2007…while I was thinking of it, one of my favorites blogs there wound its way into my mind…a post there with the following lyrics from a Johnny Cash song is one of my favorites pieces I have ever written and brought in a sweeping stroke of nostalgia, both for the song and the times gone by. I rushed to office and spent the whole day listening to Johnny Cash. Though I often think about the times in which I was in college, it never really succeeds in wearing me down as much as it did that day…

The lyrics of the song go something like this

Save my love through loneliness,
Save my love for sorrow,
I'm given you my onliness,
Come give your tomorrow

I am no fan of English music but for some reason Johnny Cash’s songs get to me like no one ever has. Read through the above lines and there is so much you see, such angst, such abundance of love and so much suffering that it calls out to your own pain and forms a bond. That day brought in so many memories of so many particular things. Memory is sometimes so fickle, you feel a pang for the past but the past as a whole, you never think about the individual entities which made the past a whole. This day and that song brought back such individual memories that I was lost the whole day: the way I used to read Harry Potter every day for years, the way I used to snuggle on the bed with those no longer here and was so content, the way I was so hopeful about things, the many long walks to muse about life, the way life seemed such a huge possibility when I used to talk with friend, the obtuse passing of times at bus stops, the thrill if I actually went to a place I liked…much of that hope is exhausted now, much of that warmth missing and most of the optimism misplaced.

The journey from your early to late twenties changes so much of you that it is hard to believe that you shed so much of yourself and still are you. As I pause, while I am writing this…it is difficult to believe that so much has been slowly lost over the years…an accumulated angst has occupied the place of hope and has made it home…I know not what is worse, that it refuses to fade or that I refuse to let go.

Birthdays

Birthdays, when I was younger were full of fun. A day I looked forward to for the simple pleasure of knowing that all my friends would call and those who really mattered would meet me. This year, I literally tried to run away, having booked tickets to Shirdi just so that I could get away from the tediousness of it all. I didn’t go in the last minute but frankly even though the day was okay, the run up to it was something I could have done without.

My closest friends have been going through pretty much the same thing this year. Sa, had a similar experience last year when she wanted to get away from it all. Na, who celebrates like no one I knew has been pretty subdued this time. Pt didn’t want any fuss and has been even quieter around that time of the year. As we grow older what is it that stops us from taking joy from things which were once such unequivocal avenues of pleasure?

Is it the fact that we are held hostage by birthdays to be really true measures of the extent of our failures? Or is the fact that it reminds us of the promise we showed but never really fulfilled? Or is it the simple lack of optimism that envelops you as you grow older and cynical? Maybe all the hype and hoopla around it? Or maybe the pressure to make it count? Whatever be the reason these birth-days are no longer fun- there are fewer people than there were and even fewer with whom we want us to be. A stark reminder of the many things that never worked out the way we wanted them to.

This year, I wanted to get away everything and everyone I knew….as everything familiar bred contempt. Whenever I am worried or depressed I know exactly what ails me, but for once everything around me bothered me. But thankfully the day went on decently, because I believed that it was an ordinary day not a special one. It did turn out to be decent and I’m so grateful for those few people who were around and wanted to stick around for me!

To birthdays, each one more gloomier than its predecessor.

Roots

How important is it that you are truly who you are? I’ve been meeting with so many people who do exactly what they are supposed to do, irrespective of what they really want. Socialites who pretend to be everything they aren’t, people (including myself) lying to fit into various things- from conversations to jobs and those who have gone so deep that they can’t even realize who they are.

I met a lovely lady the other day, Shailaja Tahiliani, Tarun Tahiliani’s wife and was completely bowled over by her. At the launch of his first store in Hyderabad, the place looked like a war zone. With models hurrying around, the store manager’s fussing around and people generally acting important. I was rushing against a deadline and when I saw Tarun speak to her, I walked up to her, told her that I needed to get some work done and asked her if she works with the designer… She smiled, told me that she was his wife and told the PR to help me out. Later I heard her speak to half a dozen journalists who were amazed that she came from Guntur and spoke better Telugu than most of us.(believe me when I say half people I meet pretend that they cant speak their mother tongue, Telugu, as it isn’t cool enough)

All through the day, I was thinking about what keeps us away from doing things that we really want to, like not speaking a language as we are afraid as to how others might judge us, pretending to be cool as we are insecure in our own skins and wanting to belong in places which were never meant for us. Puzzlingly, Shailaja might or might not have succumbed to the pressure (I mean in all probability she married a gay designer) but the way she spoke and carried herself showed that she was at ease and that was what she was supposed to be doing. For some reason, all I’ve been thinking about for the last few days is whether I’m being true to what I’m doing and hopefully the answer will be a little merciful…

Imagine a life entirely different from the one you lead. What would it be?

Had to write an essay for the above question for Na, I know they are a tad similar but am posting them here as I don't remember the last time I managed to only just cross the word limit (here it was 250 words)...

An artist:
As someone always interested in the creative arts, the life of an artist, a creator and destroyer is something which has always intrigued me. The creative miasma of paints, thoughts which is a combination of imagery and sheer skill to bring to life images and instances which have been birthed in the labyrinths of one’s imagination is something which has always excited me. From a childhood which had many summers spent with brushes, paints and chart paper as friends; sketching and drawing as constant companions, the effortless transition to adulthood immersed in an art, wide and compassionate has been enriching and elevating.

My life and work as an artist has enriched me in numerous way. The challenge everyday to do something new, the effective outpouring of my energies which results in giving shape to a stray thought and the capture of a long struggle in the final strokes of a painting which brings it to life. The colors which individually look proud and unrelenting but work just as well when combined, the strokes, clear and independent but conveying the weight of an entire thought and the effective disbursement of energy and expertise resulting in raw ideas turning to creative outlets.

Taking cues and inspiration from the Nature around me, the people who shaped me and the experiences which transformed me, the life of an artist is one full of challenges and initiatives. What attracts me to the art of painting is the melange of opportunities it offers. A stroke here and a color there would change the entire way your work is viewed which makes the process of creation exciting. With each day bringing with it a fresh perspective and newer pursuits, it’s no one that every dawn brings a smile to my visage.

A book jacket illustrator:

An avid book reader since childhood who used to be lost in the many details of a novel, the life I lead today is perhaps a natural symmetric progression of my first love of reading: that of a book jacket illustrator. The old adage, “Do not judge a book by its cover”, never holds ground for me for what’s on the cover is only a prelude of what’s to come.

The art of giving someone else's work a face and an identity, the preface to a story and a calling card to the words ingrained in it is filled with enormous opportunities which excite me.

My life revolves around the minutiae and the symbolic, and to decide how best can a story be represented by one image. Something arresting but not overtly so, catchy but not trivial and finally accurate yet mysterious. The soul of the words written conveyed in a simple and effective manner. My work involves reading a book and providing it a single door of communication which will allow people to visualize the magic of what’s inside.

The subterfuge of colors and the solidity of narration are the two main ingredients of my work. My work poses numerous challenges and questions each day, while bringing with it the responsibility of providing a premise to someone else’s labor of love. To visualize a written word and interpret it in a delicate manner and convey thoughts, anecdotes and experiences is an immensely satisfying quest bringing out the best in me.

With something new to look forward from every new book, it brings out facets of my personality in unexpected ways. As every passing day brings with it something unique, it is little wonder that I consider my vocation an extension of myself and not merely a job.

After a while

It has been a while I updated a blog and unlike the previous times, I felt no pressure or guilt to write in this space. It's been a laid back January. I didn't work much and even wrote my least articles in two and half years. I didn't read many books and was actually doing nothing but sitting and staring into space... This month though has forced me to be more active and am giving in and going out full throttle again. What is it about a break that rejunevates you so much... Is it the belief that you are going back to your space very soon, is it the fact that you feel that you've earned rest and at what point does it blur the distinction between a break and being plain lazy?

We are doing a food issue this month and I have been eating like a mad hatter day in and day out. My new found chubby cheeks agree and everywhere I go people arent hesitating to point out the face that I look "really" healthy nowadays. Not that I mind a bit of love handles but it sure is a new experience and I'm gradually getting used to it.

This past week, I have discovered the joys of sitcoms again and " The Big Bang Theory" has kept me hooked, I don't know why because except or Penny and Leonard everyone else irritates the hell out of me. Though I mut admit that it has cleverly used every trick in town to its own advantage. And I actually know a person like Sheldon Cooper...he even looks the same....god save us.

Watched the Adjustment Bureau and loved the movie...love which beats fate and does it convincingly!

A flash in a pan

That's how this entire month seems like...I cannot remember the last time something went by so quickly (though I always crib to Pt that it does, I mean it this time)I've written a lot today, been writing on and off since morning but somehow wanted to write here too...There is so much going on in my head, about articles to plan for the next month, ways to stop my hair from falling and stop worrying about why I'm not reading or listening to music much these days that I really needed to clear my head and write...keep writing.

I feel so lazy these days...I've always been lazy but the past couple of months I've taken a turn for worse because nothing excites or arouses me from the deep slumber I'm protruding into. Not reading, not doing anything merely planning and wishing that things would move on their own accord, which damningly never does happen.

Met Vidya Balan a couple of days back and man, she is one focused chick. She went to five places during her 10 hour trip to the city and nearly caused a mini- stampede in the mall I met her. I liked her though...she spoke well and didnt seemed to mind that everyone around her asked her the same questions. I hope The Dirty Picture works, always liked Silk Smitha and hope Balan can revel in some borrowed pride. Hell, no one deserves it more!

Yellow boots and all

- I saw the wonderfully eccentric " That girl in Yellow boots" and was glad that movie makers, from the mainstream are willing to explore bold topics which are still taboo but bringing them out of the closet. Kalki was so delicate yet disturbing and I was really glad that she is getting roles ( albeit from her husband) that bring out the depth in her acting capabilities. Added to that was the wonderful back ground score, loved the movie.

- Interviewed the amazing Pandit Shiv Kumar Sharma on the crazy Ganesh viserjan day. He was so tall and so soft spoken and super sarcastic when he told the Novotel PR that when he asked why there weren't any fruits in his room. He got an answer saying that that was a privilege only for VIP's...adding nonchalantly to the PR that he was not important but was merely hungry! The look on that PR's face was priceless!

- Read Aatish Taseer's new book but thought it was bollocks. I know he had a troubled life with an absentee father but three books based on the same premise? Seriously? And look at all female interviewers falling all over him....who ever said that only us poor men ogle?

- Redrawing boundaries, meeting new people and having fun...all of this sounds so weird especially when you've been away a bit but am meeting so many interesting people these days and having fun too.

- My first post from my latest gadget, do I see Sa smirk?

An ode to an old teacher

When I was in School, English was my favorite subject, something I did well in and something that I was interested and intrigued by. When I was in my Seventh standard, a teacher came in who was kind, clever and tolerant, more than anything else she was efficient and encouraged us to find our feet. She taught us for four years, dictation, prose, comprehension, Shakespeare...everything and till date I feel that the debt I owe to her is so immense that life will find a way for me to pay back. As things go, when I heard of her unfortunate and untimely demise I was unaffected and strangely reluctant to think of her. I dont know why, but I did not even react to it respectfully. When I shared this news with Pt, however I couldnt really stop thinking of her, the curved slant of her alphabets, the wry grin when she caught me found reading during a class and the word of praise from her I simply craved for. Grief for me never till now needed a legitimacy but today there was an overwhelming need for it, for something who understood what I felt, for an emotion which is too volatile to describe and for the burgeoning need to tell her and share with her that writing is now a part of my life, all thanks to her.

I last met her almost two years ago, when I took Oscar Wilde's "Picture of Dorian Gray" for her, it was so easy to effectively be back in time again, to call her Maam and try to impress her by wanting to tell her that I was working for a magazine. (which I didnt and now I wish I did) We take things so much for granted, I always reckoned that I could go back and meet her sometime but now that time has passed, that sun has set and that need turned into despair but that memory lingers on, of a warm teacher who rises above personal deficiency to reach out and a sinking feeling in my stomach that a part of my childhood has now achieved closure.

There are now so many things I wish I did, the first one being the thought I should have met her often but what remains is a feeling of gratitude, for teachers who show us the way in so many invisible ways and are never thanked for. For the many choices they offer and are never acknowledged and most importantly for being a part of our lives but never seeking a claim on their contribution.

To Manjula Maam. She who gifted me a love for a language. She, who was there.

Rains

The rains are here, a little late but as usual they bring a cheer to my heart, calm to my visage and a smile to my lips. I’ve always been a rain-bird and today has been unexceptionally dismal- the first proper rainy day of the season and I’m still soaking in the sights. I like the pitter-pat, that’s a sound which is much synchronized with my system. A longing to enjoy the rains, and an almost overwhelming desire to break out just like the clouds are crowding this heart of mine. The year so far has been difficult and this momentary respite is something I long for and whose mere sight quenches my thirst. Ferocious and gentle, loud and placid, the silent sweep of long accumulated angst is swooping down with tender haste and I am enjoying it from a distance, the mere sight soothing many frayed edges and much turmoil. The affectionate gloom outside is in complete contrast to the growing din inside, yet they co exist in harmony almost feeding off each other complimenting each other coyly.

Rains in college were great fun. The green which is so captivating and which never stays for long gives a high which is rare to describe. Eating a corn cob or simply sipping chai, it always brings back memories of a more relaxed life, maybe that’s why it’s so precious and precocious. I wish there was some equivalent to rain in real life too, something which has the latent power to wash down everything and helps you start afresh, that’s called reprieve? And life isn’t too careful with that. The smell of the first few drops remind me so much of the possibilities life offer to you which get stuck in the tempest of outpouring, always reminding you of what could have been possible and what hasn’t been.

To Rain.

Work away

This space I’ve been away has always been a refuge so how can I not be back? After a lull, the tempo of the storm picked up and I’ve been writing, writing and well…more writing. Doing a story on street food is never easy but is always fun and I’ve had a lot of fun...digging into delicious dabelis and trying some delectable dosas off the wayside. The thing about street food is that its as unpretentious as you want it to be, just like food is supposed to be and of course as yummy as the creator wants it to be. The cover shoot was a disaster though, we wanted a big street bandi with everything in black and white and the food in delightful, loud colors…with clouds playing peek-a-boo and the traffic giving a test for our acrobatic skills…it was nothing shorn of a catastrophe.

Ash is pregnant and I am mightily thrilled…no nauseous giggling for a year now…thank you god!

Haven’t watched a movie in over two months, the longest I’ve stayed away…dying to watch Shaitaan…love the edgy music.

Breaks, long and short

It's been a while since I've written anything...its feels so amazingly vague. On a break from Work, I'm finding out so much about the simple joys I've submerged in the din surrounding me- the beauty of a silent house, the non- purposeless of it all, the lazy lazy Sundays curled up doing nothing and the joy of being with myself. I like it, the break, the whole deal of not having a deadline and writing when you dont feel like, searching for that perfect word and making hundred calls in one day. I only wish the rains were here, they would provide the company I seek and solace I need. What do you say when you realise that two whole years add up to a whole grand sum of zero? laugh and move away or sob and share it...

Reading again and feeling invincible because of it, Anita Nair's "The Better Man" and Anjali Joseph's magical lyrical "Saraswati Park" have infused new ideas of the old way eloquently. Endless cups of tea and minimal phone conversations have only made days better, while new forays make seem earlier ones utterly pointless.

Rambling haphazardly...gimme a break...I'm on one!

The Price of Love

Some time back when Sa and I were in a deeply conversational mode and when the conversation deftly took the turns and twists with the randomness only then can, the talk spiralled to love and while discussing the cost of loving someone she asked "What is the cost of your Mother's love" while I was hesitant to answer Sa put it out in the open for me "To love her back". It seems so simple... the basic equation of love that adjectives fail to quantify the simplicity of it all. It boils down to give and take- rudimentary and raw and like any other equation it has its own exceptions, love's own exceptions but in essence it's like any other exchange, barter and sometimes barbarious. In many instances when we club love with affection and do not realise the difference or the sacrilege, it is a blindfold we choose to move around with. At times, love is just another possesion we wrap ourselves with to give us company in an otherwise long ardous journey. To love is to be loved in return. By demand, coercion, reason or treason.

There are simply no movies to watch...World Cup's upteen casualties and I have taken to watching old hindi movies. "Trikaal" was just about okay, the allure of Leela Naidu notwithstanding while "Bhumika" was so powerful, it showed that you dont need make up artists from America to show that you age, it can be done in just one grimace or contortion of face musles, ask Smita Patil.

Journeys

Journeys are supposed to be means to an end, cumbersome at times, convenient at the others and comfortable when least expected. Indian train journeys are supposed to be voyages wherein you reach out while not meaning to and adventures where one knows what one gets oneself into- everything which is interspersed with the everydayness of life chaotic undoubtedly but immensely warm and extraordinarily humane.

I was onto one such journey the other day, travel is something I choose not to do and in those cases when it is not possible to put it off any longer I find solace in the pages of a book; any book. This time however, it was not to be for I had fellow travelers whose names I neither asked for nor were exchanged but whose memories will always bring a warm cognizance to my visage and a steadfast reassurance to myself that no matter how much things change some things just remain the same and rightly so because they belong there.

My two companions and myself could not have formed a more obtuse triangle, I’m a 25 year old with all the trappings of the age imbibed. The first exchange was with my elderly genial gentleman who politely asked me for the time, the second a lady who asked if I could give her a hand with her luggage. After an agreeable silence and with our famed reticence lasting not more than a few minutes at its best, conversation flowed and I kept delaying a voice in my head which asked me to reach for a delicious paperback in my rucksack specially chosen as an aide in what I supposed was to be an arduous journey.

As we got past the initial pleasantries and moved a little beyond formality, I was surprised that the elderly gentleman was an 82 year old sports commentator for a Government run station and the lady on a visit from what was now her home- USA to attend a wedding. Appearances like they always do amounted for very little. It was an allegory of almost three different generations sitting together and having an actual conversation- mundane, ordinary, polite but overwhelming personal about life, faith and the condition of Indian railways! Being the only person not to have brought dinner, it was offered on a platter and my meek resistance was won over with the warm hospitality and the sight and smell of delicious brown wheat breads.

There is nothing new in what I described- three diverse people meeting each other for a small span of time but perhaps that is the understated elegance in it, a casual beauty which makes for great memories. The unexpected kindness and the underlying magic makes you reach out far more than you would ordinarily allow yourself to. As the night unfolded, we did not like many of the stories I’ve heard exchanged addresses or promised to stay in touch but bode farewell with the pleasant regret that an evening spent well was drawing a close.

Strangers never to meet but experiences ever to keep, the pull of human nature was what brought us together. I for my part will never forget the advice given- that of always starting a meal and a day with a smile, because as the person whom I addressed as ‘Sir’ explained what begins well always ends well.