Pappu Paas Ho Gaya

(I'm sorry this is a long post but I've waited 12 years for this moment so you have to give me 10 minutes of your time!)

Once upon a time, long long ago, in a land far-ish away, I turned 18. I was living away from my parents for college and didn't have access to a car, so the buses remained my lifelines. But eventually it dawned on the family that I needed to learn to drive. I was almost 20. And the driving lessons began. At Nanda Motor Training College, Hauz Khas, New Delhi.

I learnt so much more than just the gears and steering control. I learnt that civilians call cops "mamaji". I learnt that honking was as essential as your clutch/accelerator coordination, that aggression was the name of the game. In all this, somewhere, I didn't quite get a grip on the driving part of it. Oh, I got a license of course. That was easy. I was so excited that I'd be getting one that I went and got a brand new photograph clicked. Where I beamed a little too much. But I thought I looked great, and all grown up. And couldn't wait to hand it to the license people to stick it on my brand new license.

We reached the license office at Sheikh Sarai. It was a hot June day and we hung around waiting for our tests, growing tanned and sweaty. Eventually they called me in and made me sit on a stool and I thought it was a break so I collapsed onto it only to realise that the computer facing me had a built-in camera and it took the worst photo of me. Ever. The license was valid till 2018. And I buried it in my wallet, hoping I'd never have to show it to anyone.

Soon my parents moved back to India, there was a car in the family, and I tried my hand at driving it. Oh, it was ugly. Especially when I tried reverse gear. I would screw up my face, and think, do I turn the wheel this way or that if I want to go that way? Should I scrape closer to that two-wheeler or to the big car? Should I run over the lady on my left or the man on my right? Once, as I was looking in the rearview mirror, pondering these mysteries of life, I spotted my mother cowering in the backseat, flinching at each jerk, gritting her teeth for certain death.

Then there was the famous time she and I argued over my bad driving and she got off the car and stomped off. My father and brother smirked and told me to keep trying. (We're a very supportive family.) I'd have chased her, but the engine stalled. A cacophony of horns erupted behind me and I turned the red of the L that should have been on my rear screen.

So, I learnt to be content to be driven. The years rolled by. Friends who drove were my best friends and escorts back from late evening events. I evolved a finely nuanced strategy of dealing with Delhi auto drivers, alternating between aggression and more aggression. Bus drivers and conductors on regular routes were my friends and blocked seats for me.

I had a dream. I would own an auto. I would paint it pink. Autos don't have reverse gear. You just pull it physically. I would drive it to work and back. And if money was tight, I'd charge people to drop them wherever they were going. (This never happened. None of this. It remained a dream.)

Then, I moved to Mumbai. Where the public transport is simpler than your own car. And my inability to drive got covered up by "it's so much easier to take an auto or the train". But my first monsoon in Mumbai, I was home alone with a delirious husband, no ice in the freezer, no doctor within reach and knee deep water outside. I watched as our car parked in the lane sank to the tyres. And ran down, looking frantically for a driver who would shift it. I found one and he moved the car for me.

But I couldn't believe myself. I was dependent on others for something that belonged to us. I have to learn to drive, I decided. But it wasn't so easy. Still, I kept it up. The two years in Dubai didn't help because I just didn't get around to taking driving lessons for a UAE license (which is notoriously hard to get at the first go).

But then we moved back and I signed up for driving lessons again. The SX4 is a wide car and roads here are narrow. Anando thoughtfully suggested getting me a smaller car but I stubbornly decided I would drive what he drove. And I've kept at it. First, little zips to the nearby restaurant for late dinners. Then early morning drives to the gym and back. But I knew I had to do the most important thing. Drive alone.

It was 6 am and Anando was out of town. I decided to drive alone to the gym. The building guards are used to seeing us leave with him at the wheel. I thought they looked at me suspiciously when I drove out on my own. 50 metres out and it began to pour. Oh no. I'd never driven in rain. Turn back, I told myself. But then the guards will laugh at me, I thought. So I drove on, deciding that I'd circle the neighborhood lanes for a respectable amount of time and then go home so they'd think I actually went to the gym. But then I hit the road, I worked the wipers, "gal mitthi mitthi bol" came on the radio, and I decided to go for it.

There's been no looking back. I've begun driving short distances alone, and in traffic. And today, oh, today was my Everest. I drove alone all the way to Town and drove all the way back. That's 42 kilometres in weekday traffic. When I got off the car and "beeped" it to lock, I almost wanted to take a bow. But it was 3 pm in my building complex and my audience was a bored guard listening to a cracked rendition of "pee loon" on his cellphone radio. So I came home and wrote this post instead.

And oh, in case you don't get the title of this post, watch this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T85trgeuq-M.

A Bad Example

She's my age. A distant cousin I met just once. Known to be a pretty and smart girl.

When I was in college, worrying over tutorials and classes, entirely focused on studies like the 'good girl' I was, we heard news that she'd run away from home with a boy. The horror of it all. My parents spoke of it disapprovingly, worrying for her parents. Apparently she got married, and then came home to ask for her parents' blessings. We just heard about it in whispers, because she was A Bad Example. To me it seemed she'd done something unthinkable - defied her parents.

I often wondered about her. How their life was. If she ever regretted her actions. If his family accepted her. If they were happy.

She seemed to be. I occasionally saw chirpy messages from her on a cousin's Facebook wall. I heard that her parents eventually came around to the marriage. Especially after she'd had a son.

Her son is 12 now. And this morning I heard she lost her husband to cerebral malaria.

I don't know how her life played out. Or what her future holds. Neither did they. But sitting so far away, I'm glad she went for what she loved. Made a life happen with a man she loved. I hope that she has no regrets.

Agenda for the Day

Just two and a half centimetres of paper, gripped between my thumb and forefinger.

It's day 292 of 2010, and the bunched pages of my agenda book tell of scrawled to-dos, deadlines met, missed or extended, people I met, people I called, places I went, meetings I attended, invoices I sent, cheques I received, drycleaning dropped off, laundry delivered, tickets booked, plays attended, movies watched. They record birthdays and anniversaries, phone numbers taken down while talking, and feature the inevitable doodles - smileys, signatures, faces, flowers, patterns. I can tell what pen I was using, when the ink ran out, when I refilled. I see entries and remember entering a doctor's appointment with dread, scratching out a completed task with pleasure.

The blank pages tell of days when I was away from my desk, having fun. Thankfully, there are several of those as well. Occasional entries already made for the days to come hint at what is yet to be. Of things I am looking forward to and commitments I must keep.

It is most of 2010. It is a chronicle of my life this year. In point format, though, it leaves out many details, friends and foes, tears and triumphs. But I can fill in those blanks.

19th October 2010. My pen hovers, then writes firmly on Today, waiting to fill up this page before I start on tomorrow.

Incensed mornings

Spirals waft in my wake, weakening into wisps as I turn away or walk very fast.

The fragrance remains, locked in spaces I choose to enclose. But soon, it escapes into ether, becoming nothing but a faint recollection of a fragrance that once was, clinging only to the folds of clothes unused for long, papers untouched, books unread.

Strong, the smell-strands of lemon grass tickle my nostrils, refreshing the stale air in a room locked for the night. Lavender speaks of flowers from far, reduced to a few moments of magic, meant to soothe and calm, Sandalwood is a prayer, even in the hands of an atheist.

The scented air of freshly-bathed mornings, a scramble to get to work, the last moments of peace before the emails begin.

The stick burns down. It's soul of smoke spins up and away. And the remains of the morning lie on the floor, a pattern of ashes to be swept away.

Till tomorrow.

365 x 3

Time heals all wounds. But it cannot take away that sudden urge to dial a number still saved on the phone. To share a funny story. To seek a spot of advice. To clear a doubt. To hear a blessing. To recognise silent laughter over the airwaves. To spill all.

And I can never make an insipid adraki gobhi without wishing I'd asked for that recipe while there was still time.

Priceless

Media pass to watch Mahim Junction: Rs 0

Auto from home to train station: Rs 24

II class train ticket to Churchgate: Rs 6

Being the only one to realize (with horror) that I'd travelled in the first class compartment: Priceless

I Write Like

Based on this post,

I write like
J. R. R. Tolkien

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

I can live with that!!!

Distraction

Pouring rain is so much prettier
Than staring at a laptop screen,
It takes your mind to green places
That may be unvisited, unseen.

My mind's divided as I alternate
Between laptop and window in turn,
If I look out the window I’m rejuvenated;
If I look at the laptop I earn.

Mind Your Language

This is my response to Sunayana's Red Marker Blogathon, which has been going on since the 1st of June and has lots of indignant grammar-worshippers up in arms. As I told Sue, I kept waiting to decide which was the pettest of my pet peeves but the procrastination meant that by now, all my grievances are already taken. I could have aired my complaints abt SMS styles n hw im puzzld wid d things ppl rite al d tym, but then SMSese is not a language in my book, so I won't discuss it.

Instead, I'll talk about a few mistakes that people make:

1. "To no end": This basically means, "without any result", or "in vain", as opposed to the phrase "no end", which means, simply, "endless". "She complained no end" means the woman would not stop complaining, whereas "she complained to no end" means her complaints made no difference.
   
   
2. "Rest assured": When you are trying to stop someone worrying, you say "rest assured, it will be done," or "don't worry, it will happen." Unfortunately, I find a lot of people saying "You can be rest assured...", forgetting that "rest" is a verb here, and you cannot "be rest", you can straightaway "rest", in an assured manner!
   
   
3. "Few" vs "a few": "Few" means very little. One could say "The pouring rain meant that few people were out on the streets." On the other hand, "a few" means "some". To illustrate, "I met a few of my friends." but, "in my hectic schedule, I have been able to keep in touch with few friends." When I say "the suggestion for a picnic found few takers," I mean not many people were interested and that there's no picnic on the agenda, whereas "the picnic idea found a few takers," means there were some people who were interested and so, pack your hampers.
   
   

As a professional editor I'm always spotting and laughing over mistakes people make in the language. Sometimes, I even take a photo. Unfortunately, given the power English wields in India, pointing out someone's poor Hindi or Bangla is usually laughed off, whereas correcting someone's English is a more delicate matter. But over the years I've come to realise how the power of expression is of supreme importance. Few of my colleagues at the ad agency I worked at in Dubai spoke correct English. But sometimes they said things that, though grammatically dubious, were emotionally/practically spot on. Yet, they hankered after my corrections, afraid of looking foolish. I would be requested to draft leave applications, CVs, covering letters and, even the language for a wedding invitation. It reflects poorly on our world that people are judged by their English when so few have access to good English teaching. I had a teacher in class 1 who insisted that the name of the colour-changing reptile was not pronounced as "kameleon", but as "CHameleon", as in "check".

On that note, here is a gem I got from Anando, who studied at a school with a good convent-sounding name in the heart of what is now Jharkhand.

A little boy reached school late. The teacher was in the middle of the lesson. He glowered at the boy and said "Why are you late?" The boy quaked in his shoes, and said, "Sorry Sir, I was stuck in a jam." The teacher fumed and corrected the boy: "Jam is what you put on your bread. Jaaam is what you get stuck in."

But wrong Hindi (or any other language can definitely get you into trouble). A relative, who speaks poor Hindi, lost his ring. Requesting the maid to look for it when she swept the house, he said (to her horror), "Mera angootha kho gaya hai." (Angoothi means "a ring" and angootha is "thumb").

Although this relative found his "angootha", I shudder to think what happened to the sweet Bengali gentleman who, seeing a young girl getting soaked in the rain while he stood dry under his umbrella at the bus-stop, offered, "Meri chhati mein aa jao."

Last light

He was miserable all day, overshadowed and forgotten. He tried to be seen. To remind people he existed.

He peeked from the left, but they blocked him from view. He tried to peep from the right, but they were on to him. They stood everywhere. Strong and opaque.

Still, as the day wore on, they grew complacent. His time was up, after all. But then, just as he went out, he smiled one last time. And this time, nothing could hide the fire he had within.