Tag Archives: Moving Out

46: Back To Where I Left From

15 Feb

Today seems to have been a never ending one. It started at a cruel 4am and has been on ever since…it feels like forever. What actually felt like forever was my journey to Bangalore. I did spend my time quite productively in transit – I ate, drank my tea, read my book, and slept. But it seemed to go on for longer than the scheduled 2 hours 45 minutes that my itinerary told me. It was especially trying when the captain said we’d be landing in 20 minutes but the aircraft showed no signs of descending or going anywhere but in circles. But I reached, and here I am, in Bangalore.

There’s always so much that floods my senses when I step into my city…so many big and small changes, so many reminders to tell me that I have, indeed, left. The Coca Cola factory we used to visit has now given way to a new construction. I don’t know if this is a new thing. The petrol pump I remember seeing since I was a child has been demolished and barricaded. I forgot to check whether the Amul hoarding just above it still holds fort. Tomorrow, I shall. The busses I used to travel by or watch pass me by as I waited for mine, still ply on their respective routes…raggedy, blue, and gigantic as ever. It feels like I’ve opened a closed chapter. It makes me look within and wonder just where time went off to.

While I was reading on the flight today, I came across these lines which made me stop, and read them again.

Then I felt sinkingly as if my whole life lay behind me…but at times I wondered if I had not come a long way only to find that what I really sought was something I’d left behind.

Thomas F. Hornbein

Poignant for a homecoming, more so when memories come knocking at my door.

During my auto ride today, I asked myself again if I missed Bangalore; a question my friends always ask, or used to at least. When I returned back for the first time, the answer was as shocking as it was clear – I didn’t miss the city, I missed its character, the multitude of memories it gave me, and of course, over and above everything else, I missed the people who lived in it, and still do. Today I bargained and reasoned and came to understand that, perhaps, my new home has my heart while Bangalore has my soul. It seemed fair. It seemed reasonable to feel this sense of belonging here, and there. The rest of the auto ride went peacefully thereon.

In Short

30 Aug

I had a four-legged house guest by the name of Ginger, whom I was to dogsit for the day; which was both exciting and more consuming of my time and energy than I had imagined. Of course I love animals and advocate for them in my own way, however the ending of yesterday brought home a clearer perspective of what it really is like to have a dog as a pet. I’ve had dogs as pets before; though to be really honest, they were my mum’s responsibilities – we were kids ourselves and so all the work and caretaking was hers to handle. We only reintroduced pets into our lives much later, with two and then three guinea pigs (we were assured two males until one of them was discovered to be preggers!); when the three of us were able and capable of being responsible and accountable for them. It wasn’t easy, so I really do not want to imagine what having a higher maintenance animal at home would really feel like.

It’s true that we only ever see the outside facets of having a pet; the real deal is when you’re deep in it and responsible for giving the animal the life they deserve; not what you think is okay for them – there’s a massive difference, I assure you. It took a while for me to arrive at this perspective – it took some solid arguing with my husband (who likes pets from afar but doesn’t advocate keeping them unless they have the space and company to really thrive in their life) and then eventually my own self, to arrive at where I am today.

This isn’t to say that I won’t ever have a pet. It just might take longer to get one and I’m absolutely okay with that. My only friends currently in my neighbourhood are two dogs; so that works – I’m theirs and they’re mine, and then we do our own thing – which is pretty darn decent and satisfying in its own way.

I’ve also gotten so caught up with writing about pets (haha!) that I’ve forgotten a) that this was to be a post about my current goings on, in short, and b) what I was to write next. Please give me a moment.



We’ve been in the throes of house hunting and other shenanigans that have rendered the two of us completely devoid of energy – to talk, to think, and for me to write. Phone calls by the dozen x 250 have been made and received; so my next goal was to only ignore any/all calls that were lambasting my peace of mind.

In congruence with this unsettledness (haha!), we’ve been having bread pakoras and tea from outside almost every evening; like a ritual of sorts. I will stick that in my memory file as something precious. Besides, they’re totally amazing like that, especially their paneer (cottage cheese) ones. Yummers.


This post was started in the middle of all this hulabaloo (on 24th August) and was then promptly stalled and shoved into the drafts folder, because, well, one cannot sit and write blog posts on an expiring house lease – it had expired a couple of days ago – and in the midst of house hunting. But I’m back again, itching to write – my internet is functional – but of course I haven’t completed setting up the house.

Yes, we have found a place we love. It just about motivates me to go through what seems like a sea of boxes. How much stuff have I really hoarded?!

I miss my doggie friends very much. It was just yesterday when I kept my KFC bone aside for them that I realised it needed to go into the trash can straightaway. I did however get to say my byes to them – I think they sensed my leaving, like dogs always sense things. Susie came up to me ever so randomly after a long, long time and lots of love was shared. Kits (Potato) took a lot of love from me and was being extra needy on the morning we were shifting. He stayed in our premises the entire time. Breaks my heart, but then they’re very well looked after by all, so I left with some semblance of peace.

The husband and I have had the most eventful and uneventful time with respect to shifting; details which I will share once I’m more at peace. We really can do with a lot of love, home cooked food (we’ve been eating out for ever and I swear I’v begun despising it!), peace and quiet, and of course a genie. Let me know when you find one who is free and willing, will you?

I hope you have been well and amazing, dear reader. Best wishes to you and yes, it’s sooooo good to write, in spite of so much clearing up to still do.

From 15 Kilos To 20

17 Aug

I miss dosas — eating them, making them, smelling them, biting my way through them, watching my joy crunch its way through them. I miss dosas and I fondly remember the time I had not one but two benne (butter) dosas in one sitting at Airlines, during my visit to Bangalore last month. That was a first for me. And that was a downright shocker. But you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do, yeah?


Before I left Bangalore and ventured to that part of my country which sells this staple at exorbitant prices, I learnt how to actually make one, minus it breaking apart in front of my own eyes and my sense of dosa-making self esteem. Of course it only just took me over 28 years to figure the process out — I think that’s a fair time frame to pick up dosa making by, right? I’m those fussy, yet not-fussy dosa eaters because my preference lies in just two types of dosas – plain dosa and butter plain dosa. Sometimes it infuriates me to be so, erm, rigid, because I end up feeling this weird half-full sensation, unsure of whether I can eat my way through dosa number 2, but still desirous of dosa number 2; which wouldn’t really be the case if I ate a masala dosa in the first place. But I fall under that category of people person who thinks dosas and potatoes are just not meant to be together. I feel very secure in this community of one person. Do you feel the same way? If yes, that makes us two — so yay!


I also came back armed with a suitcase overweight by five kilos, which I pretended was only 15 kilos. How that story at the airport went is better kept under wraps. So yes, these five extra kilos comprised masalas, masalas, masalas and filter coffee powder. One of my favourite and mandatory picks was a batch of rasam powder — enough to last me past the horribly cold winters we have, which are still months away, btw. But now that I’ve dived headlong into this rasam-making business over here, it seems highly unlikely that this rasam powder batch will last me till before winter starts. Wow. So much win.

So rasam was made this time and what an absolute thrill the entire experience was. The smells, the process, the feel of the ingredients, the anticipation, the tempestuous bubbling, the flavours, the sounds…the splutter, the gasp, the sizzle…it was worth it all. My kitchen felt like it was transported back to a Tam-Brahm’s house and I felt like I was walking down the lane of my childhood memories, filled with the sights, sounds, and smells of rasam. What a glorious moment, what a sublime experience. I’m sure to walk down that road again, and again, and again some more.


This post has turned out to be more South-Indianish and food related (I’m not surprised), than I had planned it to be. The other thing I’ve been wallowing very shamelessly in and reaping the maximum out of is, of course, my very dear mug of filter coffee. No matter how judiciously I use this, I always go back lusting for more. This current potion of magic has been the cure to not just those random mood swings, but pesky headaches that appear out of nowhere, and also works wonders on relieving stress in a jiffy. All it takes is a whiff of its earthy aroma to encase my senses and make me feel better in an instant. And I’ve been trying quite earnestly to better my hand at making my desi cuppa joe better. This is what my coffee looks like on most days, and I’m stoked at how it looks, tastes, smells and feels. All senses spellbound – check!

It looks like I’ve brought back more of Bangalore with me than I did from my previous visits. Sometimes the memories of home; its sounds, smells, experiences, treats, sights; can be debilitating in that you need some form of instant gratification to reassure your leaving and moving on, which can be hard to find in a place so different from home. But it’s at times like these when you realize that home resides as much within you, as it does anywhere else. And with that thought, I came back to NCR with more Bangalore in me than before.

Currently Adulting

14 Aug

So this is what it feels like; this adulting business. When July made an appearance on my not so big calendar which PepperFry sneaked into my bag in the guise of what I was hoping was a beautiful sofa wrapped and folded till it fit in my palm (AS IF!), I knew that a lot of my month was chalked out into neat and not so neat plans. Most of my month was spent out of home, a lot consumed also in recovering from being away from home – adulting cue one.

Leaving for a vacation was always a delightful prospect and still is, even though my mind now makes space for the aftermath of said vacation, which wasn’t the case earlier on. The thought of coming back to a house that is not only dusty, but musty and not the way I keep it is a bargain I don’t particularly like engaging myself in. And so I’m reminded of the many, many times my mother felt the same way…except now I know why she felt the way she did and what it really means – adulting cue two.

We are now in the throes of house hunting which, while great and thrilling and exciting, is exhausting, stressful and really hard. Couple that with the weather here, which even though very kind, is still supremely humid and sneaky with when it decides to rain. We’re blessed with small mercies in that it isn’t gruellingly hot and unbearable in general. The reality of shifting base, packing, unpacking, setting things up, and doing it from scratch as moving always feels like – adulting cue three.

In the midst of all this, I’ve to constantly remind myself that we need to be fed…and that the cooking responsibility is primarily my forte and consequently my headache – adulting cue four.

Of course I’ve found myself consuming ragi porridge to get as much fuel as I can, a choice I wouldn’t ordinarily make for breakfast options – adulting cue five.

However, it’s another story once the day draws to a close; what with me being too pooped to even think about entering the kitchen. I’ve no idea how ladies do it, which is amazing and wow all in one, except I don’t particularly feel inclined to thinking about it right now. We’ve been ordering in and what a life saver that’s been. To be able to put my feet up, guzzle some much needed breezer and sink my teeth into some soul-stirring food is a luxury and also cue number one to regressing away from adulting. Yay! Of course there’s some guilt felt – adulting cue six, but it’s important to let go and not care so much, I tell myself – regressing cue two.

So that’s six points for adulting, and two for regression. Not bad, but we’re oh so tired. Plus the overcast, rainy, indulgent weather outside makes it harder still to even gather our will to go out. But responsibilities and priorities strengthen us otherwise – adulting seven.

On a not so side note, I’m constantly reminded of my mom having to do this, and everything else, and still holding fort, feeding us, keeping us happy and healthy, focusing on her work, travelling across town to get all this done by bus and auto, and not breaking down in front of us. Ever. I’m not even going to attempt figuring out that kind of adulting here, for my measly seven might just hit the negative mark, for sure. Life goals.

Old Memories, New Memories

1 Aug

July 2016 has been a month to remember; one that automatically gets filed under the precious memories folder in my memory catalogue. It was the month of testing my fears and surrendering to courage which helped alienate my fears in a large way quite effortlessly. It was also the month of travel, soul satisfaction and a sense of contentment that has been a while coming. A and I made a trip the mountains, which felt familiar and different in many ways – A is from the mountains, but we weren’t really visiting his home. It was a time ornate with discovering each other, our own selves, our country and the lessons only travelling with each other can bring out. That travelogue is still in the recesses of my mind and one I hope to put on paper sooner than later.

I also made a rather eleventh hour plan to visit Bangalore which wasn’t really on the cards till an opportunity made itself present. Therefore it’s been a conscious absence, this lack of blogging; what with one trip and another one a few days later. Visiting Bangalore was very agenda driven and I’m back with a sense of peace that I was hoping this trip would bestow me with. It is difficult to put into words this amalgamation of all things good and peaceful; this sense of calm and excitement, this merging of visiting old memories and making new ones. It’s one of those feelings that fall under the too good to be true sections.

Even though moving out was certain and kept aside for that someday most of us know is an eventuality, a lot of it seldom sinks in…because how can home stop being home, how can your own bed stop enveloping you like only your bed can, because how can that feeling of home ever change and become something else even if you leave it to create another home? Therefore typing the words going home makes me feel like I’m living in a parallel universe – because I am home and I am going home as well. I’m not too sure if the deeply connected fibres of this umbilical chord can ever be severed or even be made an alternative, if I was to be milder and less morbid.

Every time I go back home, there’s a rush of feelings waiting to embrace me…like the pages I’ve moved past, flip right back and settle…as if the old times never left. And yet there’s this newness which confronts these pages from the past; eventually settling in with an unspoken coexistence. The encounter can be confusing and confounding, slightly abrasive even, till the old and the new make room for each other and fit like pieces that needed completing.

Completeness. That’s what it is. And that’s when the realization of what home, growing up, coming back and seeking this feeling out really dawns upon me. This parallel universe business becomes less sci-fi and more telling of how we create semblances of the old in our new, consciously and unconsciously, till there are no parallel universes anymore.

My visit to Bangalore this time was bespoke with just this; where the lines drawn out by time became invisible and nonexistent, even.


It felt like I was back without having left in the first place.

Picking Between Battles to Fight and Ignore

13 May

The one thing that’s hit me hard in my face the past couple of months is that peace of mind, while very attainable, comes at the cost of compromise a lot of the times. It’s seldom a my way or the highway scenario not because that’s impossible, but because it’s really not practical or helpful for that matter. It’s a concept I’m learning how to deal with because more often than not, it’s my peace of mind which I seek comfort in at the end of the day. And compromise, by default, indicates that you aren’t necessarily going to get your way, if at all sometimes.

To have a substandard clean house versus having a clean house the way you want it to be…
To have house help who are infamous for doing things the way they want to despite training and supervision versus having no house help at all…
To find objects in positions xyz because you want them in positions xyz versus finding them dusted and cleaned but not in positions xyz thanks to said house helps and their habits…
To do all the cleaning and cooking yourself just the way you like it versus not finding your standards matched up to but with help which is a blessing in its own way…
To inculcate the habit of picking up after oneself at the cost of a squabble or two versus doing the picking up yourself and getting rewarded with peace (which is an art and comes after much practice, I tell you!)…
To have your own peace time to do as you wish, when you wish versus rushing to get things done just in time for the house help to arrive…

The list of compromise and battles is ohmygawwwwd endless. Every day holds a new surprise, if you ask me. Whether it’s sounding like a broken record to the guy who cleans your house, to the point where you hate yourself for opening your mouth more than you hate his daydreamy attitude, or putting your hands up and giving up at the cost of not having things the way you want them, is such a bargain of both mental peace and the need to have things in a particular way.

I’m not sure it’s about being rigid as much as it is about not understanding just why it is so difficult to do the regular stuff, especially like keeping things back from where they were picked up at. This really isn’t even a husband-bashing post because one thing’s clear – I’m used to a certain way of doing things, and he, well, let’s just say the traces of his bachelor days pop up from time to time as some sort of brotherhood assurance or whatever the silly reason may be. It’s a line we have to draw ourselves and walk equidistant to arrive at a point where we learn to give and take some. It’s a task nonetheless and we’ve had our fair share of squabbles…change isn’t so easy to handle especially when each of us believes we’re right. In my honest opinion, men, if left to themselves, would make a fine man-cave out of their surroundings where everything’s within reach and all over the place. No, I don’t hate men, but this is something which has more truth to it than falsehood…we’ve seen it on television shows and we’ve seen it in reality – there’s no more proof one needs. A lot of them do not get our ways and a lot of us do not get their way of doing things. Ah, balance!

Many conversations and discussions with friends in the same situation yield the same conclusion and solution – i.e. picking which battle to fight and which ones to forgo the effort over. Growing up has its mean share of lessons to learn – mean because who loves having someone else get their way so much? But to know better and walk away when you must, even when you really just want to stand there and hold your ground, has its benefits; and worthy benefits at that.

We two are a continuous work in progress and while we poke jibes at each other from time to time and turn on the switch when the shit hits the fan, I know we’ve come a long way bearing lessons learnt and a fair share of occasional resentment as well. Learning how and which battle to pick has been my biggest milestone; one that I’m taking a while to linger around at because I’ve far from mastered the art of keeping my cool and finding that balance between what both of us want. I’m constantly learning how to give in and how to be assertive on what’s necessary.

What prompted me to come here and spew these words out, was of course my house help and his complete ineptness, his lack of care and his silly daydreaming ways. A scolding and some self-loathing later, here I am, involving you in my daily shenanigans which, I guess, are a regular feature everywhere…because it’s a universal fact that if I’m not doing the things I want done, then I’ve got to be okay with slight change and compromise for that coveted mental peace.

Sometimes I wish playing house was as simple as putting a bed sheet over my head where all was well and everyone + everything was clean and free. Haha!

On Arriving

5 Apr

Just when I was celebrating my continuous run here on the blog, did a spoke wedge itself in my routine. It has been a busy week – a busy week spending time with my mom who was visiting and my family at large. Nobody wants to sit in front of their computer when you can sit and stare at your parent instead, right? Haha!

We didn’t really do much, or rather we didn’t really do anything fancy or out of the ordinary. This time was largely spent being at home and just faffing around…sometimes in conversation, sometimes in silence. Besides, it has become too hot and no person in their sane mind would want to gallivant in this weather, I’m sure.

It’s one thing to be busy in an office kind of way and it is absolutely another thing to be busy doing nothing sometimes. I tried hovering around my mother as much as I could, even at the cost of annoying her, but then again, we don’t get to meet each other on a daily basis anymore, so it’s all okay, I’ve realized.

She came home (my home) for the first time since I’ve been married and I did have these goals to make it as easy and comfortable for her as I could. After all, we do want to show the ones we love the most, the best time ever. We do want to show them that we’re more in control, more settled, more able…that this decision we made to leave home and pick a life with our spouse, was a good decision indeed. We do want to deliver a sense of ease and perhaps even (small forms of) luxury from time to time… Basically, I think it’s all about showing a sense of maturity, a sense of actual growing up.

Her visit wasn’t as bad, I imagine. However, it wasn’t as I had planned either. Call it starting trouble or being too ambitious, the entire plan I’d churned up in my head didn’t entirely go the way I would’ve wanted it to. But then I do have to remind myself of two very important things, one of which I have stated here quite so many times before:

a) Things seldom go as per plan. So either be more flexible or have no expectations.

b) My homestead is not even six months old. It’s going to be raw and it isn’t going to be like a hotel. Ever. Therefore, it is okay.

Being a host is such an important factor to me – apart from the fact that I do enjoy it very much (and very selectively), it validates me in more ways than just testifying that I am capable of running the show. It allows me the ability to give to people what I cannot give in words or even physical action; because that is reserved only for those chosen few. However, it does become easier for me to show my love and care through these actions which helps undo the vibes of unapproachability  I give off all the time. It is that one forte that allows me to become a more balanced version of myself, a platform that gives me a chance to express who I am in so many different ways.

Therefore I did not want mom to cook or clean or do the things she does at her own home. But moms are moms and moms must do what they must do, I reckon. Therefore I was blessed with her presence in so many ways – I got to have food made by her, I got to just sit with her and do nothing but sponge off all that I could from her (even her faint fragrance), I got to lie down with her, I got to chat and gossip and crib with her…she brought colour, more life and more soul to this place… it feels a lot more like home now – and I’m certain that’s a thing only mothers can do without doing much really… nothing extravagant or ornate; just simple habits we’ve grown up with that took new roots here as well… her taking the dusting cloth and going a bit crazy with it, her lighting the lamp at home, her folding the clothes while in conversation, her tidying up the results of my nasty habit of strewing clothes on the chair… something as simple as her using my body lotion or me covering her with a sheet as she dozed…so automatic, so innate, so familiar. While she did her own thing and always kept herself occupied with something (as she would have done, in her own home), all I did was drop everything I could and just be there, watch her, absorb her.

I’ve said it many times before and I’ll say it again – I do not miss Bangalore in the way I imagined I would (we do tend to picture the worst in our head for reasons best known to us). It doesn’t hurt and neither do I pine for it. But little did I realize the small voids I was carrying in me when I left… In the hurry to feel as at home as possible and as soon as possible, I overlooked the fact that these small actions were the ones that made a home feel like home. It isn’t really the place as much as it is the people and the things we do that make a place feel like home. Flowers, clean sheets, folded freshly laundered clothes, incense sticks, lamps, a dal’s tadka, soft hands, that touch, that serenity, pickle, her soft cheeks, tea and toast, arguments and bickering, music (I do not play as much music for some strange reason), the rustling of the newspaper’s pages, her habit to munch, a bottle of cool water and some sweet biscuits by her bed for the night… that’s home.

And that, I will always miss, now since I’ve left home to make my own. However, I know that I have arrived…that I am not hanging in the middle, feeling lost.

I did have the time to come and write, but with all this going on, I didn’t even realize which date of the month we were on. She left and I feel a lot fuller now; a lot less incomplete…an incompleteness that only your mother can fill…and a lot ready and charged to get back into my routine.

And just to make it feel more real and homey; both of us coincidentally made batches of ghee (clarified butter) today.

The Call Of Home

23 Mar

The last time I went to Bangalore, I brought back with me two measly packets of filter coffee powder. Measly because I’m not an everyday coffee drinker and even if I felt like my coffee drinking habit was going that way (because omg it’s filter coffee and what’s not to love and get hooked on to!?), I’d put a stop to it immediately…therefore the option to carry a very limited supply of coffee powder that we do not get so freely over here, was chosen. Not having it every single day also ensures that it retains its novelty, its crisp ability to make me feel all that I want to in an instant when I miss home…stocked enough to give me my sense of happiness when I need it. There’s so much attached to an experience of sipping (sometimes loudly when no one’s around) that mug of strong, hot, aromatic, earthy coffee.

But then I had a chance to restock my supply and so I’ve been drinking it with more freedom and less guilt the past few days. However, it was just yesterday when I was sitting all by myself with this mug of rustic goodness only to be immediately transported back home on sipping it. It’s not the first time, but I let it soak in and see where the experience would take me. I have a home of my own now, like my previous posts have been testament to. But here is this one association that has become so innate, so spontaneous and so powerful that sitting so far away from my mother’s home, I feel like I’m immediately surrounded by the essence of her place. No, she isn’t a filter coffee drinker as such and neither do we perform the (sacred) ritual of preparing a decoction and going through the entire experience on a daily basis. But filter coffee has, over the years, become a very strong and definitive link to what I associate with the feeling of being home.

No, it does not feel like I’ve been transported back to Bangalore when I sip on my coffee. On the contrary, it feels like Bangalore has come to me, that my associations with the city and its ways, habits, culture, have come right to me and intermingled with my space here. It’s a heady feeling to experience this amalgamation really. Isn’t that really the essence of home in its entirety…to be able to feel comfortable wherever you are…to not feel out of place? Sitting in Delhi, steeped in a climate so unlike Bangalore’s, surrounded by people so different from Bangaloreans, walking its ways characteristically far removed from Bangalore, will always be a reminder that I’ve left home for good. But like I’ve been saying in my earlier posts, we do tend to add facets of what we’ve left behind into our present spaces to give it that added touch of comfort, familiarity and soul. It’s no wonder traditions never fade, at least the ones that really matter.

For me it’s a cup of filter coffee and the taste of coconut that lifts me up and makes me feel like I can be here and there without physically moving. It’s beautiful to see how strong these associations are and how we realise them only after we’re so far removed from where they buried themselves into our very core. It makes me believe that home can, and will be wherever we want it to be…it brings to me the realization that perhaps we never really leave home at all. Such a radiant moment of realisation, isn’t it? I’m thinking we carry home in us, because as clichéd as it sounds, haven’t we always been told or haven’t we always read that home is where our heart is? These clichés really are more weighty than we credit them with.

But it’s a good thing, and so very, very reassuring…it makes moving out that much more comforting and less daunting.


Just a simple cup of desi joe, some quiet morning time interspersed with the ruffle of a newspaper and the chiming of birds, the whir of the fridge, the seduction of crisping toasts, the fine fingers of sunshine touching yours, the tease of the breeze outside, the call from Time to tell you to just sit still… I’m thinking this is nothing short of meditation. Except, this has food. So it’s got to be more than great right?

From Homesickness To Newness

29 Dec

One of the many things I’ve (almost genetically) taken from my maternal grandfather, and proudly so, is the habit to have all the possible doors, windows, curtains and lights at home open/on; by default, come rain or shine or wind storms, if you must. Therefore it’s not really a Bangalore or Delhi thing to do (as I’d imagined), because while each respective place has its own characteristic mannerisms of ventilation mechanisms and such, this is something I know has come directly from nana. My memories of him encompass his need for fresh air, light and a delightful crispness in his surroundings, and so it isn’t a surprise to find the same practice being followed even now – it’s something I cannot do without and is a very important part of my should and must list of things to do that Albert Ellis (of Rational Emotive Behaviour Therapy fame) would’ve loved to have a look at and perhaps even treat. So if you ever randomly walk by a street in the city of my residence and find windows and doors open (safety precautions considered) when all others are closed, you’re very likely to have reached me. There are no two doubts about it. My house help’s distress at the same is of course another debate, what with me feeding the house copious amounts of cold winter breeze and everything that comes along with it.

In connection with my previous post, I’m still (quite) actively seeking connections of home, here. So while I skipped eating from a roadside (and rather shady looking) stall named ‘South Indian Fast Food’ as much as I wanted to run to it and munch through vadas at 30 bucks a pair, I do subconsciously look for places that remind me of Bangalore in their own way. While I dare-say that NCR (National Capital Region) has its fare share of greenery which can compete with that of Bangalore’s, it’s not a trend to find hangout spots situated in green spaces as they are more easily found in Bangalore. Here’s a precious spot that brought in the warm fuzzies of happiness and an allegiance of comfort that was too good to let go of and not capture.


In between missing home and the barrage of everything that’s packed into missing home, there’s also considerable time and effort spent in understanding the nuances of living with somebody who is family but isn’t like the family you grew up with; someone who is in your very close personal space like no one else has been and whose space you are in; someone whom you love but haven’t figured out the different ways of loving or expressing love through, yet; someone who feels like home and a room mate all in one. It’s baffling (still is and will be to me), challenging, intriguing and interesting; a test, a journey, an experience that (I presume) has been put into place by this universe because of its profound teaching and self-awareness capacities.



So I’m taking this project of getting to know each other, or in non-geeky terms – dating – as seriously as I can. I must admit that it’s been quite a while and my concepts seem and feel ancient sometimes; however, that isn’t a deterrent. Neither is the fact that going on dates can be so expensive if you like to fancy it up now and then. While I love fancying it up whenever possible, the feeling of being together over cups of chai and conversations, a lot of comfortable silence – sometimes over a drive or under a tree or even standing in the kitchen soaking in some sunlight – or bursting into a song together, is just paramount. The discovery that we’re in a state of absolute being, minus pretence and effort, is beautiful.

Through the process I’ve also learnt how to never have preconceived notions about romance and what have you. It’s as simple as understanding and following the most basic rule of all – the law of subjectivity (which we apply so conveniently to ourselves and not the other person). Of course you already knew that! But guess who’s new on the block and like I said, it’s been such a while. So discoveries, bumps, speed-breakers and surprises galore, I’m walking the dating path with my husband. And it feels cute just having typed that out itself.


As long as it makes your heart and soul flutter with joy and as long as it also hurts – in equal parts together, you know it’s the real deal, and so I guess it should be.

Adult Baby Steps

10 Dec

It’s strange how things eventually end up happening; sometimes in accordance to your plan and sometimes in its own way; but always, I’ve realized, for a reason and a good one at that (in retrospect, most often).

I’m newly married and it feels surreal to even be typing these words out. I never really saw myself as being married even though I’ve been one of those from the flock who was open to the idea of this entire concept. Now when I look back at the past months, I wonder in amazement at just how it all happened. It’s a scary step and it’s the closest thing to reality that you can walk towards (and one my generation is infamous for running away from; I can speak in confidence about myself at least).

It’s marvellous just how many pre-conceived notions we carry along with us and burden our already heavy bags with, furthermore. Naturally we all want to feel as prepared (mostly for the worst) and being the way we are, our need to stay in control and know it all is for the safety and security we rely so heavily on. That buffer can feel so comfortable; enough for any one of us (sceptics) to take the plunge into anything outside our comfort zone.

And so did I. I sponged in all that I could from the ones who mattered and didn’t matter. I made mental check-lists and even argued my way through things I thought were too redundant and obsolete for my own image. And of course, I prepared myself to be the biggest cry baby there ever could be.

But things just happened. Conversations and plans glided past and merged into one another as days flipped by like a calendar on drugs (I kid you not!). In this whirl, we all got together and saw this big fat Indian shaadi (wedding) through. I make it sound like it is a big deal because hell yeah it is. Of course being the bride gave me the upper advantage of being cushioned into oblivion as my world spun around, doing what had to be done. And while it all went smoothly and beautifully, I’m still to gather all the gossip and details of every behind-the-scene-drama that occurred.

Here I am right now, still mentally going through everything that happened. Having been delivered to the “other side”, I can only say with surety that come what may, every story is its own and just how it is to be for us. Pre-conceived notions aside, it’s empowering to know that this life is as much ours as the next person’s; and that we’re here for as many reasons as we’d like showcased at the very end. Like my mom’s status message rightly says, you cannot begin a journey without taking the first step.

There’s only so much one can prepare themselves with. While we’re progressive and liberal and accountable for our decisions and actions very consciously, I do also believe that there’s a path, a journey and certain experiences guaranteed to our lifetime. And so it’s really just okay to let go and take the wave as it comes. I think I’ve robed myself with 9,374 life-jackets which I hold onto very dearly, but what the heck, let’s see how it goes. Change is always so discomforting but then it feels like the universe is taking off one life-jacket at a time just so we know what it really feels like to swim on our own, using the faculties that we gain along the way; spluttering and cursing, drowning and learning how to float all in one.

It’s the experience of learning how to walk all over again; except now we have the tools, understanding and potential to comprehend and be aware of just what it must’ve felt like when we all took our very first step, back when the world was just as new, scary and enthralling enough to get up and move against all odds.