Saturday, January 26, 2013

By the end of December I was very very sad. I was running around town, getting drunk and avoiding people. I messed up with a friend, hurt another, and was just a general vagabond duckwit.
New Years (ASFUCKINGUSUAL) I stumbled from bar to dance floor, walking around, being the general mopey drunk telling everyone how the universe is a piss pot. I ended up taking shots with nineteen year olds because I was both bored and uncomfortable and fighting with one of my closest friends.
I had postponed my ticket for the south from the 29th to the 2nd, and I knew only one thing for sure. It was time to leave Delhi. I needed to go away to easier climes, away from everything that I knew. I needed a backpack and a train.

Now since I'm lazy and have been mailing two million people for freelance work all day, I am copying straight from my notebook. Which has ended! I always think that's a good sign.
The notebook before I left is full of crosses and squiggly drawings, indications of feeling like crap.
Okay so reportage is in non-italics, and things I have copied from the notebook which are now past tense are in italic.

I left for Bangalore on the 2nd of January, for my grandparent's second wedding. In Tamilian iyengars, when a husband turns eighty, the couple is married again, symbolizing the transcendence to a superior level of companionship. I think it's pretty cute. I saw my grandparent's get married once again, recieve gifts and sit through smiling photographs and wondered about what they were made of. It was some pretty hard stuff, I thought.
My grandparents, like all grandparents, are cooler than regular people. My granddad is 6'1 and a devoted Shankaracharya Yogic. He cannot hear. He wakes up everyday to sounds invented in his own head, and walks about the house with flowers smiling at the general state of things. His puja goes on for four hours everyday after which he settles down to watch tennis, eat curd rice and play online chess with a man called "Pussyeater11". I didn't want to tell him.
My grandmother  is a machine. She is small and firm. She is seventy five and can churn around one fifty dosas a day. She hates everyone. She hates us, her kids, and the general state of things. We often joke that if we made her stand for general elections, she would turn the country into Nazi Germany. She is the angriest, but toughest person I know.
I don't know how these two have made 45 years together. But I'm glad they did.
We ran around the house like six year olds, climbing trees and pulling each other's hair, happy to be all cousins and family again. At night we ran off to nearby bars to drink beer and eat beef, spraying ourselves with suspicious deodorant so as to not rise disapproval amongst the 2nd wedding organizers.
Okay, now I'm going to start recording from the notebook.

5th January 2012.
In Bangalore after a year and half and loving it. In a bus with the cousins heading to Mangalore to swim in the sea and eat baskets of prawns. Loving it. The sadabishegam was insanity. Old people everywhere. We had to wear half saris and be good south Indian girls. I think I looked quite beautiful. 
Arya (Cousin number 5) is now a teenager. He smokes and reads and asks me if I ever feel like I am the person in the books I read.
I don't know what to say except pat him on the head and hope he comes out of these six years alive. 
At night I give him my favorite lecture. 
"You're going to be an idiot fuck up, You'll fall in love with the wrong people and do things for the wrong reasons. But don't deny yourselves mistakes ok? It's what makes us". 
Before sleeping he tells me he feels like we are in Perks of being a Wallflower and I'm Patrick. I could be Sam, he says, actually I am Sam, but that would mean he would have to have a crush on me. And since we're cousins, that's not possible.
"Is it possible to feel weird things about your cousin?" , he mutters as he drifts to sleep.
I pat him on the head once again.

AD (oldest cousin number 1) crawls into our sleeper because he has just found a new pile of shirts on his berth. We burst into laughter and cannot stop. I tell him about Arya's questions and he says "Yeah! That kid's FLIP." We talk about our friends and he tells me we should go to Hampi. I say yes, and we don't realize we have just decided to go on the best trip of our life.
We talk about the sisters (our mothers are sisters) and how they are all a large unit. 
"They're like a freaking Medusa" he says. We talk about his friends and their house with tiffin boxes full of weed. Then we break into laughter and can't stop again. Fourteen year old Arya wakes up and says he heard the word weed. We tell him to shut the fuck up and sleep. 
Being oldest is awesome.

AD is the Dean Moriarty to my Sal Paradise. My partner in crime, except he's better at me than everything. We decide to have adventures together. Actually I decide to have adventures with him. He's had plenty. I tell him I'm coming everywhere he goes. He bangs his head on the wall of the sleeper bus. Arya wakes up to ask what we're talking about, this time we pretend to choke him with his pillow. 

Random conversation excerpts.
Me to AD "Do you ever think how you'd look in black and white? How this moment will someday be a memory and someone will think something about it?"
AD: " I don't care about becoming a memory and what other people think."

In Mangalore I didn't write at all, but we rode bikes on the coast and went to the most beautiful island to swim in the sea. After which we sang bhajans on a rock and scared tourists away. My cousin number 3(the only good one) had a Bharatanatyam performance and we all dressed up like we were going to the South Indian oscars. After eating basketfuls of prawns and fighting erratically for three days, I headed back to Bangalore with my sister (Cousin number 4) and without AD.
He would meet me in a week, when we would go to Hampi.

After reaching Bangalore, I left for Coimbatore. I was going to the forest and to see my friend who lived in the Isha Yoga Ashram there. I remember asking him how I should be happy, and I remember him telling me I should choose happiness. We ate awesome ashram food and I wandered around and loked at everything that was very pretty. I don't think I get the spiritual realm, but for any of you who do, take a trip. It's quite nice. Since my friend never let me write while I was there, I have nothing on it.

15th January 2012
Half my holiday is over. It's been great. Spoke my best Tamil in Coimbatore and saw little girls running around with new clothes for Pongal. Called Ma and told her how awesome Pongal was and she yelled at me for not being home for it. It's nice being around your roots. 
AD is here we're going camping today. All morning we've drank coffee and philosophized, taking breaks to laugh at each other and ourselves and bully Cousin number 6- 9 years old. 
Random Conversation excerpts part 2. 

AD: "How have we evolved? Why is this progress? I think we've regressed. Look at us. We're unhealthy, we're always cold because we have no fur on our backs, we're greedy. We're full of shit."

Me: "I think when you've realized that everything—crime, contentment, everything has been defined, what do you do? I find it hard to form my own definitions. I can feel them sometimes but I don't know how I got there. But I know that definition isn't right because I feel discomfort with it. I wish, for one minute, I could get rid of discomfort you know?"

AD: "I think the only thing that is TRUE is that something gives us life. That there is a source of creation. Like I know that something brings the tree to life. That for me is truer than the tree. I want to find oneness with that."

Me: "Have you been reading Thatha's books? Whatever Jungle boy. I can see the tree-I can touch it and feel it, like if it's wet or dry, hot or cold, that's what's true to me. I can only believe the material because I can see it. I find it hard to believe anything I haven't felt or touehed."

AD: " I hate the brain. It's a useless creation"

Saarang(Cousin number 6), 9 years old: "What do you mean you hate the brain? It's the brain that's making you hate the brain stupid."

AD: "Shut the fuck up don't talk unnecessarily!"

Me: "He has a point."

Everyone drinks coffee and yells at each other. We laugh at stories of when we were small and Adhwaith would get lost in trees. We talk about ex boyfriends and girlfriends and he says everything is a farce. I say I disagree and he says I'm hopeless and only want solace in someone else. This makes me sad.

Me: "But you're right. I feel sometimes that love is constructed you know. For example, there's this part in your brain that says "THIS IS WHAT LOVE IS" which has been defined by things we have seen, read, heard etc. And when you see these things that part in your brain goes off and makes you go all 'OOOOOO' "

AD can't stop laughing: "It's a pain. Women are a pain. Shyam is right. It's all crap. Can you shut your face now I need to ride the bike, it's getting rusty."

Me: "I have to oil my hair. "

AD, standing up: "My dad is one of them man. He's a social clone. All he wants to do is get accepted by society, but he doesn't even want to sacrifice his pride for that. He's quite screwed up. I don't know how my mum handles it. "

Me: "You know most of the times I say things to people because I always like them? It's like I get blinded and enamored and so do I ever even speak my mind? You don't do that. Don't get annoyed with me if I mess up the tent okay? I hope there's hot boys at camp. (THERE WERE!) "

Cousin number 6: "YUCK."

Me to Cousin number 6: "And then I'll make him my boyfriend and we'll get MARRIED!"

C number 6: "yyyyyyyaaaaaaakkkkkk!"

AD: "Okay Fatass I'm going to ride the bike." 

I can hear him ride the bike downstairs. It roars and hums. I feel like there are two kinds of people, one who write and one who things are written about. He's definitely the second, I hope I can be the first. 

15th Janary-Afternoon
On a train to Hampi- CAN'T WAIT! We're going climbing. AD is, I'm going to try. At the Isha Yoga Ashram, there was a large communal bath called the Teerthakund- it was SO BEAUTIFUL, I used to wear this robe and feel like a 10th century woman while I bathed and prayed with many other women. 
I hope we meet some hot climber friends of AD. Met one today. He was funny and awesome. "

15th January-Night
We have a white tent and two cute neighbors, one of them is called Simon. There are many Americans, or Australians, I think. There is a small guy with dreadlocks and a t shirt that says 'SHRED ZEPELLIN' who I immediately like. He looks like a happy squirrel and calls someone K-Dawg. 

There is one really cute boy reading On The Road. #WIN.
AD is crushing in our new house. I am trying to get myself to talk to the cute boy reading On The Road. 

I ask him where he's gotten he asks me if we're on honeymoon. I tell him we're related, he looks happy? He asks me what I'm writing, I tell him it's just stuff. He repeats 'just stuff' and smiles at me and nods to himself. I see that he's stitching his pants and I tell him I don't know how to stitch. He says it's his first time. He tells me he's from Belgium and he's staying in the tent. I tell him I'm probably his neighbor then, because I'm staying in a tent the direction he's pointing and he looks happy again?
He asks me whether I would like to go on a walk later. I tell him I'm married. He realizes I'm kidding and asks me who my favorite character in On The Road is. I tell him that I love Dean but I'm not much like him. He says he's probably like Sal. I knew Jack Kerouac would help me out eventually. 
There are funny drawings on the table and one of them says 'Peace Love Rama'.

I just did a Delhi thing of saying yo after every sentence. They're playing the Beastie Boys. I nod at wherever the music is coming from. Belgian hottie is back to sit next to me. He tells me he's been travelling for a month now and his favorite writer is Nabokov. He tells me that his favorite kind of people are people who speak their mind and I tell him my favorite kind of people is any people when I can know in an honest way. We turn around and look and John and Aliya, the couple that runs this place.

Aliya is a Bombay chick, full of tattoos and pretty eyes and orders John around. John is a geeky englishman who tries to eat his eggs while complete tasks assigned by his wife.

"JOHNNY, Put the cosmopolitans in the Cosmopolitan section baby, how many times have I told you!!' Aliya yells at John who stutters and smiles and pretends to shoot himself in the head. 
Everyone in the cafe, Belgians Indians Australians Swedes smile at the entertainment.
Aliya complains about the heat and apologizes if anyone can see her breasts but she just doesn't care. I don't think anyone else minds. She's very very pretty. 
"JOHNNY, I think we should have a barbeque tonight, what say guys!?" she asks everyone in the Cafe. 
Everyone hoots, the girl named K-Dawg does a dance. 
Adhwaith and I grin at each other. We love it here already. 
After some time we go to our tent. Time for alone time. We smoke and drink chai and I tell him about our Belgian neighbors. Simon, I knew what he was called because I saw a bag that said 'Belongs to Simon' is not the one I was talking to. He is tall and goofy looking and comes across to introduce himself by saying 'hey hey hey neighboooorsss'. I love him already because he drawls. We smoke a joint and wait for Simons partner (the cute boy reading Kerouac-Y) to come around. I can't believe we're neighbors. He comes and they speak in Flemish and he smiles at me, apparently happy too. The boys decide we should go to the lake to swim next morning. We head to Aliya's barbeque and buy ourselves quarters of rum. 

My first romantic liason was under the stars listening to Chet Baker, and I cannot tell it. But it was kind of fucking great.

16th January

The lake was beautiful. AD, I, Simon, Y, and Thea went to the lake to swim. We swam for two hours towards rocks and yelled to each other about how the water was freezing. Y had to stay with me the whole time because I used to get afraid in the middle and at times I was pretending. Eventually in the water I took my clothes off and watched my t shirt float away. We came out and I dressed, no one else did, and we smoked on a rock and AD and I made jokes about how this was a race-friendly Levis ad.

 It was the happiest I had been in a while. I remember having my head under water and seeing light in it and feeling ecstatic. I came out sputtering and laughing only to have been saved by my favorite European in the gang.

The Belgians talked about how they're aber stoned, and AD merely screams aber stoned aber stoned! Thea and the Belgians are amazed with Adhwaith's tree climbing skills. He makes them remedies for cuts and headaches, promises a 'magic herbal drink' for Y's throat when we get back to camp. I beam proudly as everyone is appalled by his wide range of jungle knowledge.
"He camps out a lot", I say proudly. 

Y and I spend the remaining day together after we go climbing. Simon despite being very tall cannot climb. He and I agree it's not our thing. 
"I don't want to climb the rock!" he yells at Y. "You climb it! I don't care!"
We go off to watch the sunset and talk about how we're losers and he tells me he hates it when he cannot do things. It makes him angry. I tell him that if everyone could do everything that wouldn't make sense. He smiles and calls me a 'chiller'. 

16th January-Night
Gopal has a chocolate ball. Wait, who's Gopal? Anyway, he has a chocolate ball. It's kind of good. Everyone's playing chess. I'm talking to Hitesh the A.D from Bombay who tells me that Kuchh kuchh hota hai is his favorite film ever. I hifive him and we talk about if Delhi or Bombay is better. I ask him why there must even be a fight and they're both great. He says he hates Delhi and I call him a namard. He says this is why he hates Delhi! I take another chocolate ball from Gopal. Who's Gopal?

17th January
Y and AD have gone climbing. We biked around today it was awesome. I had a cycle everyone else had a bike. I was slowest obviously. But we biked and swam in the lake and I think I am already in love. Can't write today-too much shit to do. If you know what I mean.

17th January-Night
There is a painting near camp that says 'Guardian Angels at your service'. I want a drink but no one else seems to care. Tired from all the cycling. AD'S legs hurt. S and Y play chess again. I'm smoking some cigarettes called L&M that are really good. Someone's playing The Strokes! And The Fugees! Man I love this place. Fucking mosquitoes. Adhwaith burns neem leaves to keep the mosquitoes away. 
The Swedes nod their heads and sing Alone, Together. One of them is beautiful. He has blue eyes and long hair and I couldn't help but stare at him in the morning while he was BRUSHING. He waves to me when he passes the tent now. Everyone here thinks that Y and I are together. I mean we kind of are but if Swedish wants to talk I could...
What is wrong with me!

The dreadlocked Australian is called Steven. He's so nice. He laughs and a lot and I call him Stevie Ray Vaughn and he hifives me. Everyone loves Steve. He's that kind of guy. He has a hot friend who is a surfer who has grey dreadlocks. 


I go sit at the campfire where a bunch of Americans and Australians play a Gnarls Barkley cover. And then they play random songs. One goes like this "One day I saw a squirrel ..Nothing really rhymes with squirrel." The guy playing guitar has a ponytail and warm brown eyes and I love him immediately. I have to stop falling in love with everyone I meet. But his eyes are brown like a puppy's, and he asks me what I'm writing. He shows me his tattoo and it's Brandon Boyd Art work of a boy surfing. I think that's UNREAL and get super excited and tell him it's the one I've always wanted. I ask him to play Pardon Me and the Americans are uber pleased with my knowledge of Incubus. 
The foreigners here are basically young people on Sabbatical. Not trance hippies. I realize how much I have in common with so many of them and EVERYONE here is cool. It's awesome. After sometime, I forget that I'm in a circle full of white people because they're all exactly like me. 
Y comes to sit with me after some time of talking to the other intense people at Camp about Nietzsche and everyone acknowledges our togetherness. I wonder if I'd met American guitar player before..
What is wrong with me part 2!

18th January-Morning
Drinking coffee waiting for AD and the Belgians to awake. Sameer, waiter and manager comes to me and looks exhausted. Last night he got into trouble because everyone made too much noise.

He plugs in his phone and plays Mohammad Rafi.
"Kya baat hai!" I tell him.
"Inka music sun sun ke pak gaya hoon." he mutters.
Mujhse Shaadi Karogi plays after Rafi and me and a pretty girl who washes the dishes giggle. I suspect she is Sameer's girl. 

Indians are awesome.

20th January- Morning
I don't want to write but I must write about the cool things I've done but might not remember.
Jamir is golden haired and green eyed and 7 o clock years old. I've spent all morning with him communicating through drawings and I think he's my favorite person.
Dylan is from France and wears a hat and steals things and puts them behind his ear. He gave me and AD a hug. 
I really.don't.want to.leave ever. 
But there's more time. there's more 

I was in Hampi for a while more but I could not write because I was never in one place. I met wonderful people, got out of my mental rut, and found out what makes me happy. I also fell in love, cooked at a fire with my favorite person ever and woke up every morning to look at a cashew tree.
It was the kind of stuff dreams are made of.


Yesterday I drank beer with my friends and got invited to a wedding cocktail and realized that Delhi will always be awesome. I'm glad to be back, only to leave again. 

Friday, January 25, 2013

It makes me desperately unhappy that everyone is always okay with everything not being fucking amazing. I don't understand how it is to be settled with. That everything is not beautiful and honest and the best it can be.


Tuesday, January 8, 2013




I've spent all day writing nonsense poetry about people I love.

1.
Once upon a time,
In a strange land far away
There lived a young boy
Who liked to laugh and play

He was like any other
With arms and eyes and leg,
Except for one little difference
His head…it was an egg!


His friends were always worried
“What if it cracked!” , they said
“What if it smashed to pieces!”
They were filled with complete dread

But this was not just any egg
Was what they did not know
It was filled with songs and stories
And theories!
And so much, SO MUCH more

The boy was full of questions,
He jumped up and down
“Why is the sky BLUE!”, he yelled
“Oh, why are tree trunks brown?”

Of all the things that he liked
Numbers were his dearest
Of words and smells and thoughts and shapes
To him they were the clearest

And now he is older,
And taller, I am tolder
But his head has not smashed or cracked
It lives,
Strong as a boulder.

Egghead is a strange one
But his heart is full of gold
And if you ever met him
There will be a story to be told.

2.
This story like all others
Is about someone strange
But the someone is a girl, not a boy!
Which is the little change

Sukanya is a bum
She just hates to be clean
She loves to scream and cry
So remember not to be mean

She has a voice that croaks like frogs
And feet as large as whales
Her hair is sometimes white as snow
And sometimes rough as scales

She has a clan of many aunts
Who are absolutely mad
They are happy, gay and thundering
But sometimes, they might be sad

Her sister is madder
Her toes are all funny
She likes the smell of frying fish
And cannot handle money

Her cousins are eccentrics
So much, you would never expect it
They are happy, gay and thundering     
And full of wondrous wacky wit

Sukanya is a bum
But that is not all
She is loyal, kind and full of laughter
And also very tall. 










Saturday, December 29, 2012

I'm sitting in my living room drinking beer and watching Live at Pompei wishing I could have touched David Gilmour's hair. It's funny how many times you find yourself being a sad stereotype.
I wish being mopey didn't have to sound so generic. 

Thursday, December 27, 2012

I don't understand why everyone chooses wrong people to love. People who confuse you and make you think that being in love is about putting someone else in front of you and killing yourself slowly till you're not a person anymore. The kind of person that makes you feel inadequate and doubtful till you try everything you can, be everyone else you can be, and it still doesn't work.

The thrill of making mistakes slowly dies out which is how I know I'm growing into an adult. A little bit.
Weddings are weird. 

Sunday, December 23, 2012

The Social Network is full of indignant outbursts about the gang-rape of a 23 year old student in Delhi in a bus. It makes me uncomfortable to try and say something. I've lingered at my status message 'what's on your mind' box but I don't know what to say. I've lived a reckless life of somewhat luxury. I fight with policemen as they stare me down, I yell back at men who stare me through the windows of their trucks, I mock old rich uncles as they drool at me on the road. I have been what according to me, is courageous and resisting of all the lechery that women are exposed to in this city. Sometimes when I drive on the road post 1 a.m with my female passenger friend, for a second I think about what would happen if I was stopped in the middle of the street, have my clothes torn off and shot. I think about what my father would see if he ever saw me like that.
But that is the closest I have come to sexual violation.
I think about the 23 year old lying in the hospital, beaten and scarred, and I'm filled with respect. I think of her whispering her report of her violation and I'm filled with remorse and an instant of fear which I quickly remove from my heart.
I stepped out of my house to go to the India gate protests yesterday but never ended up making it. The roads were blocked and all I could see were  far-away tear gas clouds.
The capital blocked headlines in today's paper make me uncomfortable. 'Hang The Rapists' makes me uncomfortable. Because the thing with rape is, it's not about sex. It's not about quick gratification. It's about putting a system back into place. It's about a man being challenged when a women tells him no. It's about a man having been taught that a woman cannot tell him no. It's not about staying away from your 'watchmen and rickshaw vaalas' (credit Sushma Swaraj) but knowing that we are all part of a system that perpetuates rape.
I have hi-fived my friends while making 'bitches love architects' jokes and nodded along to Honey Singh when he chanted that women must not drink and smoke. I have watched Akshay Kumar watch women on screen with the numb opinion of 'woh aisa hi hai'. I have read and read about Feminism but I have not once had the courage to try and make a change. It is not about sex but a system of thought that has been in place for what seems like eternity. The deeming of aggressive patriarchy as normative is because we have not known where it began. It has always been like this.

My constant suspicious of protests puts me in a position of discomfort. I feel lazy and hesitant  but I also feel hopeless which is why I am still in my bed, angry and hopeless. The capital blocked Red font headlines in today's paper add to my hopelessness that this will fizzle out. That soon, I will be yelling at men from my car windows and somewhere a young girl will be scared for her life to board a bus on the way home. I cannot help but feel that they are missing the point. If 'Hang the Rapists' is the final claim, the government will not hesitate to take the lives of six guilty men, to restore apparent justice. Castration is to challenge brutality with brutality is not an end of a war, but the quiet perpetuation of it. It must be realized and noted that rape is about power, that sexism is a system that must be challenged from the root. Daughters must be loved and wives must be respected. Protesting women must not be seen as brave, courageous and one of a kind, but equals. A free-spirited woman must not be celebrated or degraded.

Last year I wrote a paper about how women are born in a place of contradiction ad struggle. How we are always already in a revolt, in a revolution. This made me fulfilled and glad. The idea of an automatic endless revolution added drama to my existence. But I want to change that. I want to have daughters who grow up in a world where there is no space for revolt. Where they can walk the streets not having to 'hold their head high'. Where ideals of beauty are vanquished so they never for once think about what's wrong with them. Where they never have to live in fear, and not question why they aren't scared.