Mindwalk

A film, a long conversation. Yikes reminds of Before Sunrise!
A politician hopeful working on the candidacy of the US president, going through a mid-life disillusionment of sorts. An old friend who happens to be a poet invites him to come spend time where he is. And they bump into a physicist on a sabbatical.


Strange ways in which the human mind works, this film had such a reassuring effect on me.


Reminded me of a heated argument i once had with my Russian colleague of how technological advancements befuddle me, is it really development ? etc. I conceded and bent my extra biased view later over some time and observations.


Some talks can be so beautiful, and some can become such pain to bear and put up with. Most we perform as social enactments.


The poet has the last word. The poet was my favourite character, or rather would have been my favourite person if i was there too :). Liv Ullman as Sonia is enchanting. All the characters are endearing in their own ways. I loved the unusual reaction shots.

Saul Bellow- Seize The Day

"The great weight of the unspoken left them little to talk about."


Its interesting that i should come upon this book straight after Youth. Both are books on trounced upon optimism. Its a day in Wilhelm's life. Wilhelm who gave up a steady job, left his wife and kids in the hopes of marrying another though his wife wont grant him divorce. His father is living a comfortable life on his life's saving, but would not help Wilhelm financially. Wilhelm feels victimized by all he is closely related with except his dog whom he would like to keep with him but his wife would not allow him that too.

Wilhelm had on the words of a Hollywood casting agent left his studies to try his luck in acting. Seven years later he admits defeats takes a regular job, which at this point in his life he has quit at being treated unfairly. He was passed over for a position which he deserved . He has to support his wife and his kids, which is rapidly draining out his pockets and destitution is imminent.

Bellow has an immense grip on this mans psyche, i lived Wilhelm when i read him. Its a story from inside Wilhelms mind, from his mind, not just Wilhelm telling his story, Wilhelm living this day in his life, of course we as a reader also flit out to observe him especially at the end, looking at this miserable man. Was there any other moment we were so clearly outside? We are so caught with Wilhelm's thoughts, little trips to his past. But all of it seems like a day in the life in his head.

The Youth

A maths major from South Africa determined to get out of the provincial life in his small town moves to London, to bask in its glory, to read poets and talk them, to write his masterpiece. The unparalleled optimism of Youth and what it boils down to. Loved the book. Strange Coetzee.

An End to The Suffering - Pankaj Mishra

Pankaj Mishra. Its like this place is where i come to profess my ignorance. Yes, its that again. I had not heard of him. Yes i sound repetitive. Its serendipitous the way books find me these days :).

This time i picked up "An End to The Suffering", from this wonderful couple's place. Lovely people. Meeting them was so unlikely and now that i think of it i have spent quite a lot of time at their place, more than any other house in Bangalore including my relatives.

He is scarily understandable and mighty high and knowingly unapproachable at the same time. Beautiful penmanship. Emotions quietly stated, and so identifiable. I had to return the book, i wish it wasn't so.

The book is about Buddha and the writers studies, observations, personal experiences and cultural exposures that led him to conclude that Buddha is a contemporary "spiritual/social/political guide". I am not sure if he used that word. The book is a sometimes seamless, sometimes abrupt blend of travelogues, and more personal travelogues. It also has Buddha's life with the historical facts, his relation to contemporary figures like Bimbisara, Ajatashatru, his political and administrative capabilities and his humanizing and psychological traits. All this added together convey Budhha as a person in flesh and blood not some mythical indescribable being.

Mishra explores his own head, his life, experiences and mental states at all the times he encountered Budha as a concept or a possibility of ideology or a historical figure. My personal favorites were of course all the times in small cities of India, his time in Allahabad, Mashobra but not Kashmir so much. These bits piqued my curiosity but were strangely familiar at the same time.

The Good Night

A film whose DVD was accidentally sent to me among a bunch of DVDs returned to me.

Penelope Cruz says at a point , "Jeez i barely know you and you are making me feel like i am breaking up with you". Ever get that feeling and had been smart enough to articulate it too? If not aloud at least to yourself.

The Last Temptation - maybe

Last Saturday in the middle of my search at CED I got a call from an unknown person asking for me. As i walked away from thick dusty folders of brittle yellowed pages, I immediately ruled out the possibility of it being a sales person or a prank call, because the voice didn’t seem to fit into any of those. The voice declared, It was someone from my previous company and stopped at that. He insisted on creating an atmosphere of mystery but i knew it was a person of authority. Well it was sort of the new big boss of the team I used to work in back there.

The reason for the call he said was in a nutshell: I am being called back. It went for half an hour or so. Starting with the pats on the back and flattering things he had heard about good work I had done while I was there, several ppl in the US team had highly recommended me including my boss back there (these of course got my attention and time away from work, and kept me hooked to the call). And that the Co wasn’t the same anymore. Not with him there. Things were different now that he was there and they will just keep getting better. And they will keep getting better. And they will keep getting better. And they will …keep…getting ..better…. I didn’t get a cue where to end the call and so knew I had to wait for him (years of servitude brought me to my submissive self in few minutes to a person i have never worked with), and it came half an hour later. I was flattered but confused, disoriented.

That was that.I had not in the least expected this, i was taken unawares but i didn't say no because for the past few weeks or a month or so i had started contemplating part time software job or something like it to compound my earnings. Now that I had spent six months away from my previous job the only thing that I didn’t like was the way my bank account was getting more and more sickly instead of blossoming and fattening up like it was doing earlier. And that dissatisfaction was the thing which got me to participate in the call. It was a strangely unsavoury feeling i had after the call. I heard myself in flashback again, the affected gratitude and expressing the desire to be willing to consider the offer. Remarking on whatever changes that were mentioned had taken place as very exciting. Affirming "it sounds exciting". I had spoken the voice of reason. The voice which would make my actions approving of all the near and maybe-not-dear ones.

Thus followed 3 days, I didn’t think much about it except how to say no, and when to say no and say it so this generous offer stays open so that the day I come back crawling the doors are open.

Sad.

The day i was to return the call, i was on my way back home with Mummy from Tirupati and the bus kept braking down and delaying our arrival to Bangalore. Sitting in the front seat of Volvo i watched the rocky hillocks, the green villages pass me by. I felt good, away from city always puts you at ease. Maybe because this is always the shorter stay. As day ended our bus stopped again for close to an hour and it was nearing eight now. I began to wonder maybe i should just sneak away from mom and make a quick call and end it. But secretly i didnt want it to be quick, i wanted to talk out my uncertainities and nobleness or god knows what that i did not make that quick call.

And it was when we were back in Bangalore waiting for a car to pick us up that i got the dreaded call. For i was suddenly unprepared. I apologised for not having called, and thought i would call later. But the call continued there on the pavement for half an hour. I hate myself for letting it drag on. I let myself be talked into what i do and him mentioning that these kind of jobs barely get you any money. He said and made it sound like an admission that he did his job to pay his bills. I know people in US admit it all the time, but we Indians would gape at such a "confession". But his confession made me think maybe this is what i could do too.

The call had to be halted abruptly as the car arrived and i could not continue talking this in the presence of my mom and other strangers.

The ride home was a cascade of thoughts clamouring around in my head, because now i really gave a thought to being back there. Six months back there could double my bank balance. My new boss is promising me 40 hours week. I could work hard the rest of the hours and do "something". But what i am doing now isnt work which is done out of the comforts of your home. I had to go places and commit my days to people. I could not finish that work in the off hours i get, rather i wish i could give my off hours to make money. Not the other way around. I realised the fool that i was being from all sensibilities by saying no now. Now when i was required, when i could have negotiated and got things at my own terms. I said no and a dear friend hoped i had not said "no out of resentment". I feared i might have said no out of the strongest reasons of sticking to my decision 6 months back and staying true to the conviction which i had then though reality would have told me otherwise. And that was the reason when i was leaving i had made it clear i am not taking a break, but choosing a different path. So that the day i get all weak and want an out, I would know what a fool i would look to my previous me.

I got home it was barely a minute long call, i said no. I was wished luck. And that was it. The war was over for now.

Beam me up Scotty

2 roomies back, my roomie had a Tee, which she wore more frequently than ever.A bright lively yellow. It had a stick figure kinda girl raising her hands up to a UFO "Beam Me Up Scotty". Well those who know, know, i didnt. Saw Star Trek yesterday and i want one T too, which goes "Beam me up scotty" :). Loved the film. Brings me back one full circle to "movies should entertain". Movies are everything right; from art, industry and yesterday .. before anything ... entertainment.



Actors are taking their jobs just as seriously as can be possible without overwhelming the audience with character portrayal. Whats with me! This film is veering me away from "arty" films.

And HellBoy tata, i have another to replace you in Masala Fantasy, Full Paisa Vasool, Low Brainer-Entertainer category. It beats you more in the Low Brainer, lighter-on-character-sketches hence more appeal category for entertainment.

The Book Attack

I had entered the library with all the determination that I am not picking any book by any author who won a nobel/booker/pullitzer/whatever. I am targeting chick lit. The Bridget Jonesy kinds , the re-hash of pride and prejudice. The last time I read one the same bad taste in your mouth , like you picked up something that everyone else seems to enjoy and you cant understand why. What is wrong with me??? Oops, a very big , universe-encompassing question.

So anyway, here I am in the library looking for what I am supposed to be looking , trying to remember who wrote “Devil Wears Prada” and then i see the book catalogue Kiosk. And what do i type? Dasgupta , i am looking for Rana Dasgupta. Good they dont have it, now move on. I start my walk along the bookshelves, my gaze stops at Jennifer Elkridge something, my hand pops out, picks it, (sigh) , Bingo ! , Nobel Prize Winner. Nope, PUT IT BACK! I look down , noooo not Milan Kundera, I loved him in The Joke that I finished a week back. I tear my eyes away. Hari Kunzru ; I have always wondered what he is about, maybe I will find out today, NO, NO. Doris Lessing. Argh! Help! Whats going on? The conspiracy , THE conspiracy. How do these books find me, now that I think of it even my roomie has been making sure that my supply of heavy reading stuff is maintained.

I came victorious in the end. Armed with “Pillow Talk” , (Title in nice flowing pink and the water colour and ink drawing of a of a lady with big eyes and eyelashes) and TinTin. I did it. I have been a member of this library for close to a year and now I come victorious. Lets just see how palatable I find em. How lasting the content? ??? Wrong expectations? Why cant a fun book be lasting as well, a work of art too. Why is a work of art always leaning to the morose?

It Happened Again

That somewhat panic attack kinda thingy. I dozed off at three, not three in the morning like most of ex-colleagues, ex-collegemates e.t.c would be doing but ya in the day. And after 40 odd blissful minutes I woke up, “Woah! Woah! I am sleeping , THIS is what I am doing in my life!” and then those creepy thoughts started attacking me, they go like --> “You should get a job!”

AAAAAAAAAAA NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, HEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAALPPPPP

Not a S/W job, but some donkey work job with a production house or a director. But a job , to dupe myself. To lull myself into an “occupation”. Keep me busy, so my head doesn’t get to any mischief. No, I think more out of the guilt that I am “sitting” at home. Though I do go out once in a while on the research thing for this second documentary , but ya its such a cake-walk and non-taxing that I feel like I am not doing much on that.

But as is always with the wars in my head as of now I have decided …. Again …. For now…. That this was the right thing to do. Leaving my first stint with the school which took 6 days a week and choosing to work a third or maybe a lesser amount of time , but in a freelance fashion. Lets see how it goes.

The White Tiger, SlumDog and Hemingway

Pardon the title, pardon my head. This is how thoughts wrestle in my head. So when i read White Tiger i could not help but think of Slumdog Millionaire, you know poor India and all. Hemingway ... welll i cant talk or write about him but i could not help think about him. I had finished my first Hemingway just before picking up White Tiger so i could not help compare.

My roommate hands "The White Tiger" before heading out for work. The door closes and the book opens as i plonk down on my constantly bean-spewing bean bag. And i finished it in a day, if it werent to meet a friend for lunch, i would have finished it in one sitting. About the book, its about India, the "servants" in India. How a driver is not just a driver but a servant. The accusations levellled at Slumdog for showing only the ugly side of India, selling it to westerners, i cant help but notice such tiny ones creep up in my head for The White Tiger. Nothing prominent and fist-raising kinds. I cant be certain as i am doubtful as to how a driver (or someone at that economic level) would feel or think, a driver from darkness, lets say UP or Bihar. Sometimes feels like an eye opener. Sometimes you do wonder at the level of the exaggeration.

Gurgaon! the place has threat written over it right ? The only time i went there was at night and this shining city rises out suddenly scross the highway. And i was like whats happening, what happened, why is India letting this happen! Then a week later you are at Delhi Railway Station clicking the snaps of good old rats prancing around the platforms. Mules still being used to lug construction material across at the station. The gap is huge.

And i remember having thoughts in the initial days in Bangalore, you see the glitz, the money, hear about the thefts , "they" think its rightfully theirs. "They" see us spending so much money on cells, cars, malls, clothes, flights. It would not kill us if they swiped a little. I would mentally calculate the cost of the items, watch, cellphone, shoes clothes etc that i was carrying on me and wonder does the vendor across the street make that much in 3 or 6 months? My thoughts felt little exaggerated. And this book feels for certain brief moments seems exaggerated too. But in a country of millions isnt that a possibilty. It definitely is, but ya i do wonder maybe now after Arundhati, Rushdie, Adiga would someone have a tale from India to tell which didnt always tight-rope walk on destitution, rage and disappointment? A tale which the world will consider worthy of recognition?

This is where Slumdog comes in, though it showed slums, the whatever that pissed people off, it showed them happy depite of all. They were so alive and had such a desire to live ! And thats what you sense feel and know in India. Ya the big cities might drain that exuberance out of you, but strangely it stays alive in the lower stratas of society. Its strange. The other day a very staid BBC reporter/anchor interviewing a family in the slums of Dharavi and while she is interviewing the man of the house, the lady of the house can barely suppress her smile and the moment the camera is turned to her, she acquires a poker face, she talks of water, schooling etc as her parameters for choosing the next Govt. But she still seemed miles happier than a guy who would want huge tax shields from the Govt. That is the mystery that India offers . Doesnt it? But it is so huge and disparate that you can never say what could or could not happen. So though we have lot of films on happy go lucky stories and melodrama in Bollywod in Indian Cinema, we havent read stories of warmth and smile which abounds here when it comes to textual material.

As for Hemnigway, i read my first one, courtesy rooomie again. Its the Garden of Eden, a book published posthumously. So not cent per cent Hemingway. But this book preceded White Tiger hence the comparision. No i shouldnt. Nope i would not. All i know is Hemingway was intense. No i should not compare. Just because i read it before White Tiger i would not. Hemingway was a master, i feel inadequate to write about his writing. There is so much exploration of the psyche without the superfluosness. His thread bare simple sentences sink so deep. It was a pleasure and i would love to revisit it. Being slightly auto-biographical adds so much more to the novel, just the character of David Bourne and the later part of the book. No its a little too mammoth to compare Hemingway with _______ anything right now.

J M Coetzee and A S Byatt

Coetzee and Byatt are two enormous writers whom i have accidentally come across. I will grapple but still try to explain what is it about their prowess which struck me.

My flatmate was reading Coetzee's 'Disgrace'. That is the first time i heard of him.

I read the initial 20 pages with a sense that this a fast paced read with some pithy statements emdedded in between. But by the time i finished, which i did faster than ever in last few years, you are in awe of the man: the author. The character David Lurie is strangely at moments idealistic, predatory and most interestingly unabashedly honest. Honest to himself; again at moments. You know its one person but there is no predictable fashion in which a person behaves, not in real life, in fiction yes.

Not since i read Anna Karenina have i come across such an astute observer and portrayer of the workings of human mind, of how society and institutions' web tightens and molds you into what is deigned acceptable. Both for David and David's daughter. Though David does not bend, he casts himself off. As for the daughter, inspite of the cruelty inflicted upon her she seems to be calmly content accepting a primeval role for herself.

The helper, the animals finish the portrait of Luries months from and after the 'disgrace'.

I came across A.S Byatt browsing through the bookshelf of our hotel in Pokhara,Nepal while i was waiting for my dinner to arrive. And it rescued me. Those two days the 'touristy' feel of Pokhara had left me cranky and pissed off. The Matisse Stories trasported me to the sketchy and vivid world of a middle-aged woman, her visits to her hair dresser who is tired of facing age at some level, of a sense of panic, of exasperation of trying harder than ever to keep 'her looks together'.

In one hand there was the banality of experiences in Pokhara or maybe my dislike towards having companions while i travel, on the other was Byatt! Even while i would be reading her story, i would stop go back the last few sentences and then scratch my head. How did she create all that she did! I went looking for a book of hers in my library just to figure out how she does it, but they seem to have misplaced the only book of hers they have.


I read "The Chinese Lobster", in a little clearing on my way to Kahun Danda, top of a hill in Pokhara. By the time the villagers had directed me to the base where i should start my climb for Kahun Danda i was beginning to lose my excitement to get to the top. And more disappointing was the fact that it was dust road, of the finest powdery dust.

"Medusa's Ankles" was more intoward. I remember it as the tired taut thoughts of Susannah and the chatter of Lucien the hair dresser, the cracks in her thought from within. The walls and the pink nude. The change in Lucien's design of the salon. And all the scared floating thoughts, glances and thoughts in between. It was also the first piece of Byatt that i read. Hence the novelty.

Back Off

The little sissy wimp who left a comment on my blog a day back (there are some nice profanities clamouring in my head and i will let them be). Have you considered shock therapy ? I have heard it can do wonders for a timid, dormant, putrid brain of yours. Oh ya tell them to notch it up real high. The best thing you ever did for every one around you. Come on you can do this much for me, or lets meet in person and i will take care of this miserable life of yours :)

What a day

Of late, past few weeks, I had come to the conclusion that i had lost interest in exploring this country. Then i change hotel in the middle of the afternoon. Then i decide to go out. Then i decide i will not skip the trip to New York two weeks from now. Then i go for a movie. Then i start returning to my old self(enjoying being alone and floating and have no one to answer to). Float around in a coffee shop. Watch a movie. Hang out at the hotel bar hoping to scrounge some dinner. Meet this lady, bless her, she was 66 but man was she raring to go. She was Marilyn from Ohio and that was the nicest and most optimism inducing conversation i had in the last 2 months or ever in my life.

Seriously its weird how people open up at bars. I had always heard, read and seen(on TV) it. But, this was something. We talked of thing which were foremost in our heads but we would not mention to friends for numerous reasons, and here all reasons disappear. And it just flows so easy and no awkwardness afterwards. For instance the barman in one breath mentioned how the day he was going to propose to the girl he wanted to marry she broke up with him. I still think its incredible that he told that to us strangers, but i guess either thats how it works or he just gets kicks out of cooking up random mood or audience-suited anecdotes.

But that gives me hope that people in this country can chat their mundane lives off too. Maybe they do it more in bars, or places where strangers are supposed to be addressed and talked to. You know makes sense in this structured and organised country. A place for everything. A place for talking about things which bother you.

Windy

Its windy outside. Nice windy, though it became tough to walk. The wind wasnt cold that made the walk likeable. The wind has turned the view of the strip from my window dusty as well.

Good Quarter I Say

I got a mail from a long lost, well not so long lost friend. a nice long mail. I love those. Saying i hadnt blogged in a long time. Well if it brings wayward and lazy friends back to mailing me and poking me to see if i am alive, then i guess it is a good thing.

The reason i didnt blog: This has been a good quarter, goood. Note: Just one extra 'O'. I have said enough, it can get jinxed. The moment i make an open statement it has always been jinxed. So i rather stop here, so that even if it is jinxed it doesnt happen to every tiny detail. Technically the quarter has one more day and 33 minutes to go. Oh God.

So i will be back when i have to whine or make statements :).

So long buddy.

Social Butterfly

Who the hell am i? Am i socially awkward? Only inwardly. I do things which make me cringe, take controlled breaths. But i keep doing them. So after a long time i went for a huge social gathering. I had abstained form them in my previous company, but since this is the first one in my new company i cant give it a skip. I have to give it a shot, and in all subsequent ones excuse yourself by saying i tried.

Well, it wasn't so bad, i might just go the next time it happens. But there is this bad taste in the mouth that stays the next day like a hangover. When you wake up next morning feeling that maybe you should have hob-nobbed a little less. Should have talked a little less.

Are there are two mes. One; left on my own i could just space out and stare at the sealing, just while the time away. But throw me among people, my awkwardness comes out by turning into this flitting social bug. My awkwardness is not with people, but with me. I am just not sure how to let out the other me in public. Or is it just two mes? Both of us dont understand each other. Sounding schizophrenic or Gemini?

Oh but i do understand one thing form yesterday. There are three kinds of people:
Those who will tell you what you want to hear.
Those who tell you what they want to say.
Those who tell you what they know you don't want to hear.

Crazy maybe i am

I am dying of boredom

I am so restless

I could burst out of the building and that wouldn’t be enough

This is like a pile of muck is piling exponentially fast on me.

Things are so still, among the clickety-clicks of key strokes that I might just drop into a coma and never wake.

The rant in my head seems to be receding quietly in a corner, somewhere I sit and watch dispassionately.

The faint voices echoing around me all speak this despicable tongue that it makes me want to stuff their mouths with old rotten rag pieces and then throw them in the elevator duct.

Getting rid of people cant become such a huge all consuming agenda, but God it has. Where have all of them come from, is this massive basicness going to suck the wind out of my lungs?

It is good if you are not spoiled by all the media hoop-la around you, but only if it’s a sage-like abstinence which drove you there not blatant ignorance.

When you are aware that Puri jagannath is a regional film director but not that it is actually a very famous place on the map of India.

When you keep asking what is F.R.I.E.N.D.S, maybe it is excusable but seriously where do you live, cause I know where you breathe the majority of your living day lights. And that unfortunately my co-worker is in this office space we share.

Scratching my nails on my cardigan laced elbow I meditate on this inward decay, taking in less and less of this stifling air but still continuing to breathe for eternity. Why have I slaved into this, where should I run to from here?

Would answers ever be equal to the question I have? Or will unanswered ever-spawning questions always haunt me?

I have no idea. This is crazy, things suddenly in this little moment seem to have gone out of control. But the strange thing is I know like a screaming lunatic is silenced with electric shocks, the complacency and insecurities in me will keep me tied to this dog’s life, cause I have become one.

When you have seen a movie thrice in a year since the first time you saw it, you got to admit there is something going on here (3 is a biggie for me, even the movies I rave about seldom I see them again so quickly). And when there is something going on, I try to define it. So what could it be; 10 things I like about this film. More personal than critical reasons. I have tried and tried but I cant think with a clear rational head for this:
1. The opening track, including the visuals.
2. Bond: Mr. Daniel Craig & his wardrobe.
3. M: Judi Dench
4. Le Chiffre: Mads Mikkelsen
5. The opening cranes etc chase sequence concluding at the embassy.
6. The “I will not let the aircraft be blown”, sequence.
7. The “Bond is about to die of Cardiac Arrest”, sequence.
8. The look on Daniel Craig’s face, when he realizes Vesper is no more.
9. The short but lovely chemistry between M and Bond. Vesper could learn form them.
James Bond: I always thought M was a randomly assigned initial, I had no idea it stood for...
M: Utter one more syllable and I'll have you killed.
10. Every time Bond comes out of water like a Barbie doll :). Thank you(the makers) for keeping the female audience in mind.

Honestly, I have tried and just snickered at all the contemporary Bond flicks which have passed us by. They are brain numbingly dumb. But the Bond fans are disappointed by this Casino Roylae. “Where are the gadgets?” they ask..Bond without his gadgets and his guns should still be Bond. It should look like the physical skirmishes and the chases he gets into is what he is capable of. Pierce Brosnan? Nope.

The plot, the sub plots are good. The story tight and the dialogues, the quips with their well timed humour apt. No doubt well cast. Except Vesper, who irritated me the third time I saw it till then she was perfect. Here we get to see Bond, a human Bond before he learns his last lesson of betrayal. When in one of the final scenes M says, “You don't trust anyone, do you?”

Oh and there is something of the old Bond here, what a way to end the film.
“The name’s Bond. James Bond.”

On Talking

Strange exercises these conversations can be. I always fully participate. It’s just how cautiously I tread that varies. I never draw back. My ideas bounced across the wall of your sympathetic or well meaning or derisive or cynical, or stupid or bored or naughty face. You could be anybody, very rarely somebody form work. No I am careful. Very. Would never let my thoughts go on their abandoned breezy run in a place like that. It could mean death to them. But if you show an inclination, few of them might make a little sound and reach your ears and the rest of them take form eagerly but stay in their phantom bodies uncomfortably residing in my head.

There are times when upon meeting you they have built into this wonderful castle of impressive ideas, thoughts, observations, feelings, misgivings that I would just stand back and admire. That’s a beautiful whiff of life you gave them. Seeing it makes me smile and thank you for helping me understand them and understand me.

The Lady with the Getting Ready Regime

Lot of people from time immemorial have mentioned to me about my vulnerability at getting irritated by things which don’t concern me. About things out of my control or my reign.

I have spent now roughly one and half years spending roughly two hours of every working day traveling to and fro office. So how has it been? Well, not the same every day. There are lot of days when I just open a book and then go off to sleep. Sometimes I keep staring out of the window, thinking of million stray thoughts.

Then there are days, a little rare but here and there they come. One thing grabs my attention and the rest of my ride the more I try to avoid, the more persistently it nags me. The “thing” could be …. Sigh…. Just thinking of it unsettles me. Eiu… well, sometimes a down with cold person. A sneezer. Sometimes a shamelessly relaxed fellow, who would occupy more than his/her share of space, the more I shift to keep some space, the more they would gobble it up. Till date I have never been able to tell them it bothers me. I have rather shifted seats if they are available, otherwise just sit and sulk.

Then there was this super sick day. Oh God. This gentleman just diagonally opposite to me was digging the goldmine of his nose. He did not give up till we reached office some one hour late, and I though looking in some other direction would be aware of the incessant dig, dig, dig. And every now and then out of exasperation I would tun to look in his direction to reassure myself,"now it is stopped, now I can stare ahead" only to repulsed more. Ugh.

And today I took my seat in the bus, next to a lady on the three seater seat, with my bag and hers sitting happily between us. I noticed as I was sitting that she was putting on her socks, those flesh coloured ones . It reminded me of a kid who got out of home in hurry. I smile(inwardly).

Then she starts combing her hair. It was wet. Oh boy she did step out in hurry. I look at the watch. 9 in the morning. Makes sense maybe she didnt want to miss the last bus to office. I open my book and start reading, the bus moves and stops, stops and moves in the heavy traffic. Once in a while I look out taking note of the honking vehicles around me. Look in the direction of the door. See the people streaming into the bus at every stop.

Maybe some five minutes had gone by; I realize she is still combing her hair. And boy I have noticed; now I cannot rest till she closes the activity. And does she go on. I wonder is it therapeutic? Is it soothing cause she doesnt seem to be untangling her hair any more, she just keeps dipping her comb in every now and then, pulls few strands out of the comb, dumps the strands out of the window. And harps on my agony by going on and on. But the moment does arrive when she stops it all, and decides she has plucked enough for the day and keeps the comb in her purse.

Whew ! Look at the watch, the minute hand somewhere between 10 and 15. Peace for the rest of the trip. Nah she takes out a little bottle and starts the deadly application of a body lotion for the next eternity. What was wrong with her. She thought she was sitting in her trailer park for her to get ready for the next shot. She applied the moisturizer in three goes on both her arms, and so slowly as if someone out there with a camera to shoot her. So slowly time stretched, stretched till I felt like reaching out and throwing the bottle out.

And her antics went on at leisure for her, she went on applying the lotion on any goddamn exposed part of her body. It felt more horrible than when people start discussing their very personal problems in the very public buses we have. And she closed her ceremony by putting on gold ornaments (bangles on both wrists, three rings, one chain, a pair of earrings) and every single item was brought out separately and put on.

She took half an hour to do all which can be done in five minutes.

Venture a guess why she did that, i think one of the following:
a) She just came back to civilization from somewhere, and was taking pleasure in every little thing which is a gift of civilization.
b) The kind who have given womankind a bad name. The ones who take hours to get ready.
c) Narcissist.
d) Plain Psycho!