The Storytellers

This is probably the first 'story' on my blog. :)
Although when my mother read it, she felt she had read a story along similar lines somewhere. So, it might be "inspired" by some existing story, but I can't recall reading it, nor could my mom, so unable to cite the source of "inspiration". But for sure, the setting, the characters and the wordings are completely #original. Here we go...


It was an idyllic January mid-morning and the sleepy town of C had woken up, rubbed off its sleep with generous doses of filter coffee and had set about its daily chores. The local coffee stall had already doled out delicious plates of dosa, laced with dollops of butter and fresh coconut chutney, and second helpings of coffee, to its usual morning customers and was preparing for its lunch hour rush. The postman (lets call him Mr.P, for want of a better name), ambled along in his khaki uniform and trademark bicycle, carrying parcels and occasionally nodding to an acquaintance on his way. He climbed up the stony path to Doddappa's house. Doddappa, as was usual, was in his garden, hunched upon near the rose bushes.

Doddappa had a lovely garden which he tended to lovingly, almost like his own child. His garden had flowering plants - roses, jasmine, and a long line of hibiscus shrubs. The hibiscus trees grew taller than most hibiscus shrubs Mr. P had seen, and they came in all imaginable hues : yellow, crimson, orange, white and shaded varieties. He had patches of the usual coconut and betel-nut trees. Sliding up the tall betel trees were smaller green pepper climbers. But what Doddappa was most proud of, were his bonsais. He had built a special shed for them. It was said that he had the biggest collection of bonsais in the district, may be even the state. And he was considered an expert on tending and growing bonsais. Every time Mr. P passed his garden shed, he wondered how the small miniature plants could mimic their actual taller counterparts and marveled at the the tiny chickoos, mangoes and oranges that they bore. Every time he decided to ask Doddappa all about the art of bonsai...

Presently, he parked his cycle in front of the gate, and walked up to where Doddappa was working. He waited patiently and cleared his throat lightly, till Doddappa sensed his presence and looked up. "Ah, here you are." he exclaimed. Mr. P nodded and looking at the parcel he had brought along said, "Fine morning, ain't it Doddappa. How are the bonsais today? Something came for you by post this week. Looks like your son has sent you a present! " Doddappa got up, smiled and said, "Yes, the boy is getting responsible by the day. Good thing he remembers his old man", and winked at Mr. P. "Come in, have some coffee and help me write a thank you letter, will you?" he asked as he shuffled towards the house. Mr. P followed him.

It was their custom. Mr. P timed his visit to Doddappa's home always at the end of his morning rounds so that he could spend some leisurely time. He then used to read out Doddappa's letters to him. Doddappa was a widower and he had only two people who often wrote to him. Doddappa's son, who had enrolled in the army and used to send frequent letters, and a distant cousin sister settled somewhere in North India, who sent him the customary Diwali and New Year Seasons Greeting cards. Mr. P also helped Doddappa write replies to his son's letters. This was their custom since a few years, and as the years passed by, Mr. P had become the bridge between this long distance father-son relationship. Often Mr. P also helped Doddappa with his bills, pension forms and the like. Doddappa enjoyed Mr. P's company. He would often treat him to dosais and hot fluffy idlis.

Today, with the air of a conjurer doing his favorite trick, Mr. P handed Doddappa the parcel and said, "Open it Doddappa, Santa didn't forget you this year. Your son sends a gift parcel."
"Hmm..I wonder what the boy sends this time", Doddappa said as he unwrapped the brown paper packet. He took out a pair of bright green gardening gloves and his eyes were as shiny as the plastic bag he took them from. "The boy, he never fails to surprise" he said as he tried them on, "after all he takes after his father, you know" he added, winking at Mr. P.

Doddappa poured out two steaming hot cups of filter coffee in steel glasses and opened a pack of biscuits.Mr. P had already gotten his pen and notepad and was sitting at the dining table, ready to write down Doddappa's reply. "Tell him", began Doddappa, "I absolutely loved the gloves" He went into a dialogue mode, as if talking to his son. "Although how come you know what I seem to be craving for, is still a mystery. I take care not to breathe a word about it to you, mind you, because I don't want to trouble you with these small things. But somehow it seems we have a working long distance telepathy! Last year I saw those fancy spectacle frames of the librarian Mr. J, and the next month, you had similar ones sent to me. In July, I hobbled a bit, and the doc Mr. Kurien advised me to use a stick, (although I insisted it was all because of the rains and slippery grounds). I liked the wooden stick with its carved handle you sent so much, that I started using it only show off to my buddies during the evening walk. (I still can walk along by myself, don't need that stick for support, you see ;-) ). " He paused and got up to refill his coffee cup. "Also, " continued Doddappa, talking as if his son was right in front of him, "I am well. Everything here is going just fine, the plants are good too. You should be taking care of yourself. Last time you wrote saying they do not make good coffee up north, so I am sending a few packets of filter coffee with this letter. Hope they deliver it to you. Come home soon, boy, I wait for you." His voice trembled a bit, and Mr. P looked up from his writing, handed Doddappa a biscuit and nodded understandingly. "Hmm..Mr. P here sends his regards. Wishing you good health and success always. Take care and write again to me soon, boy. Lots of love, Appa". He sighed and stopped.

For sometime, they both drank their coffee in silence, each lost in a world of their thoughts. Then Mr. P got up and said, "I should get going now Doddappa, have some work to finish before its lunch time." He folded the letter Doddappa had dictated, collected his cap and set out.

Doddappa bid him adieu, and hobbled into his son's room. He opened his cupboard and placed the gloves, along with the shiny plastic bag and the brown paper wrapping beside the specs frame and the walking stick. He opened the drawer and lovingly looked at the belongings the Army had sent back, two years ago. His eyes moistened as he put a bunch of fresh white roses and jasmines in front of his son's photo and said a silent prayer for his soul. Then he sat at his desk and began writing his daily diary.

Outside his home, Mr. P climbed his bicycle and started back to the post office. A few tears fell and stained his khaki uniform darker, as he remembered the day he had to deliver news of his boy's death to Doddappa. He couldn't bring himself to do it, and then decided that he better delay the news for as long as possible. He knew Doddappa disliked the TV. He also never subscribed to a newspaper, he probably had trouble reading and writing, Mr. P had thought. That was when he had started posting the letters and parcels to Doddappa.

And thus had begun their journey, Mr. P and Doddappa, each playing along with the other. Every time coming up with a different screenplay for the 'letters'. Each living his own story and painting a new picture for the other every single time. It was almost as if they had stopped writing the letters and the letters themselves now wrote their story...

Afterall, our lives make stories and stories make our lives...

That thing called life

Some moments change your life
They toss it, churn it, spill it, turn it upside down
And nothing is ever the same again

Sometimes the sun rises without a hint
Of the havoc and turmoil that's about to begin

Some nights are pitch black
Moonless, cloudless
With not a star to shed light on your path

Some storms never cease
They howl, pound and rattle your home
Determined to uproot your very being
while you shudder and cower in fear

Some pits are bottomless
Deep Dark Unfathomable

Some woods never allow sunshine to seep through
They harbour wild blazing fires within
Whose intoxicating smoke and licking flames
Threaten to burn the very core of your soul

Some nightmares never end
They recur till you are scared to fall asleep

Some sorrows span lifetimes
Some wounds grow deeper with time
and never turn into scars
Some tears never go out of sight
and mark entire lives with their streaks

And then there are those things that remind you
Of a time not so long ago -
of happy moments -
Blemish free days -
Starry nights -
Blue-clouded skies -
Clear paths -
Grass-scented woods -
Peaceful slumber -
Healing scars -

Precious memories
That make the struggle worthwhile
Afterall,
It's just that thing which we call life.

--Written on 5th Oct, 2012

TGIM!

Monday morning, almost noon. Mid September, if you stand looking out from one of the windows @ my office, you can see the huge expanse of green in front, displaying a whole gamut of shades, as if daring the camel/asian paints/colour-making companies to catalogue the numerous and varied shades of green... Amidst this serene atmosphere, a solitary eagle takes flight. A gentle flap-flap of wings and then it soars, turns and circles - smoothly, calmly, effortlessly - gliding across the cloudless blue sky and over the lush green meadow - once, twice, thrice - without a single flapping of wings. Round and round it goes, its rich golden brown wings glistening with the moisture of freshly fallen rain drops. Its eyes sharp and sparkling, ready to take on the day. I stood at the window for a long long time, trying to capture the breathtaking sight...Marvelling at the graceful flight, the magnificence of nature that never ceases to awe, you can't help but feel grateful for everything in life... Some days just start on a super awesome note...this is one of those days... Makes me say, Thank God it's Monday!! :-)

Closed bridges and open umbrellas...

Something funny happened today - something that made me smile a lot, and then ponder a bit...

I closed my umbrella as I approached the bridge on Kanjurmarg station, glanced on the platform to see which train was scheduled, and then started climbing the steps; when I saw something that made me smile - a guy on the bridge was walking with his umbrella still open - in the hurry to reach the platform and catch a train, he had forgotten to close his umbrella - didn't realize that the bridge was covered and he no longer needed to shield himself from the rain anymore. Quite commonplace. Have seen it happen quite often, and sometimes even have climbed halfway through a bridge before being aware, smiling goofily and closing my umbrella. :-)

Don't you think our prejudices, judgements and preconceived notions are a lot like these open umbrellas? There might have been times when we needed them and their protective shield; but after some time, we eventually come under safe bridges, where we no longer need the shield of these "prejudiced" umbrellas.
But we are unaware, and continue to keep them open. Perhaps, we often need to pause, think and decide whether it's time to close these self-created umbrellas, make ourselves free and move on...

After all, it's ridiculous to be seen under a closed bridge with an open umbrella, isn't it? :-)

Larger than life

In memory of the victims @the Denver carnage. I am not even attempting to write anything about that, because I simply cannot think of anything to say, except perhaps express horror and pray for strength and peace to the people affected. Anything more will be needless and superfluous.

Watched the Dark Knight Rises yesterday and the 160-odd minutes were full of awe-struck hero-ism. I won't review the movie (better people have done it), but just wanted to write down to stem the flow of thoughts flooding my head.

Is it just me or is there really something insanely addictive about super hero-ism? There is something about a "larger than life" hero that appeals, hell, there's something about a "larger than life" villian that appeals more! (Can't not talk of the Joker)

Mostly, IMO, reel life mimics real life...but many times it's just the opposite. Especially when it comes to complex and supremely "difficult-to-get-into-the-pysche-of" characters, one can't help but marvel and salute the creators and the actors. And almost all the villians of super hero movies fall into this category (The J obv takes the cake)

What appeals most to me about these super hero flicks are the grey characters. No one is perfect; the characters are a result of the circumstances they have faced, and the way they have reacted to them. The heroes themselves, (ok, it does become a bit predictable), stray away from the path, wander about with the wrong people, realise that they still have a choice, and go all the way out to come back on the right path; almost always setting a few other people on the correct path too...

Everyone of these characters has a past, a story where life dealt them blows, was unfair and unjust. Yet, there's always a choice.
They have a choice - to turn a darker shade of grey or to try and find the right path...

No matter what your situation in life is, you always, always have a choice.
Amen.

DIY : Bookshelf

This was in an attempt to reuse lots of Kellogg's cornflakes boxes we had collected over a few months...

We decided to make a bookshelf - one that we loved dearly when we did end up completing it! :-)


Step 1 : You will need a bookshelf design, lots of Kellogg's boxes : some large and a few smaller ones (depending on how big you want the bookshelf to be), tissue paper rolls, cello-tape, stapler, cutter/blade, old newspapers, a fevicol can, brushes, water and a container.

This is the first cut pic of our bookshelf...all set to go!

Step 2 : Choose a design and start pasting the boxes together to form the initial framework.
We choose this design. (Click on link to view the design)
You can staple and stick together the ends of the boxes to create the structure. Also, to make the shelf sturdy, you can roll old newspapers together and stuff into each box.

Step 3 : An intermediate picture of our bookshelf. You have to go on stuffing newspapers, stapling and sticking the boxes to make the structure.

Step 4 : Once the overall structure is ready, we have to cover it with tissue paper/fevicol.
Create a mixture of fevicol and water in the container and use the brush to cover your bookshelf with it. The more the layers of tissue+fevicol, the better :-)

Step 5: You have to repeat Step 4 till the entire structure is covered. Our bookshelf lay in this state till a long time, when we finally decided to finish off the work! :-P

Step 6 : Let the fevicol+tissue clad structure dry completely overnight.
 
Step 7 : Your bookshelf is now ready!!  Go ahead and stack your books -  more colorful the books,  more awesome is the effect!! :-))

PS : This will get dusty over time and the best way to clean it - coat it with a new
tissue+fevicol layer ;-) :-)

Happy bookshelfing!!

Faces

As the bus comes to a halt, you scamper and hurry to get in. The peak hour traffic is building and the bus gets crowded with every approaching stop as people scurry and squeeze in. Sandwiched between people, as you struggle to maintain your backpack, wallet, ticket and the change given back by the TC, you spot the Face.

The same aquiline nose, the same brows, the same hairstyle, the same eyes. A sudden smile of recognition lights up your face, and on an impulse you call out,"Hi Dd! It's so good to see you again!" Imagine your embarrassment when the Face looks back blank, without a trace of recognition - only to make you realize that it's not the friend you thought it was! (and in a crowded bus caught in traffic, where people have nothing better to do than hang on and balance themselves, you have provided some comic relief :-| ) You try to salvage the situation by smiling impishly, and mumbling an apology. The Face is someone else...and when you think of it, it does make sense. Your friend, Dd, is nowhere near town, in fact she's not even in the country! Then how the hell did the Face trick you into believing it was her, and making a fool out of yourself? 

How many times does it happen to you that you 'think' you spotted Faces you know in the most unlikeliest of places? How many times do Faces, Noses, Eyes and Hairstyles trick you - almost till you call out the person! Your Professor from Powai in the lane next to your home, your friend (who's in Pune) at a bus stop near Kurla? The friendly clerk from your Chembur college in a lift at your Bangalore office? Your Manager (from Bangalore) at a temple near Dadar? Most of these 'oh-i-thought-its-someone-i-know' moments span geographies, time zones and (yes) logic! :-P

What is it with Faces and associations that make you jump to conclusions? Remember the email that was doing the rounds some time back, about being able to read words even if they were misspelled (but the first and last letter were kept intact)?
Wonder if that's the sort of thing which our brain does with Faces as well? If the eyes/nose/hairstyle/features look familiar, we decide the Face is the person we know - without taking into account the location, the time, the context or (yes again) logic! :-P

Of blankets & pillows...

As the month of November rolled into December and the holiday spirit took over, Bangalore city was also in a mood to chill, literally. (Hah! and you thought I had gotten over my habit of cracking PJs this new year ;-) :-P ) Being a hard-core suburban-Bombayite, my definition of winter was the time of the year when you don't sweat and perhaps the only time when people do not compete with each other for a window seat or the space nearest to the door in the local trains. (at least not in the early morning)

But Bangalore, apparently, was hell bent on making me realize that winters are meant to be, well, err... wintery  (for lack of a more apt word) :-P
I had turned up four months back with my favorite green blanket (apt for amchi Mumbai weather) and refused to buy a newer, thicker one in the hope that it will somehow tend to make my stay in Bangalore less 'permanent', (the exact story is too long and boring). But if you thought that I spent the better part of winters here shivering away, ah boy, are you wrong! Being the angels that my friends are " O:-) ", I was lent C's amazingly warm brown comforter which I happily snuggled under shamelessly (and still refused to get one of my own, stating the above mentioned lame reason). Now, here you might want to call me a miser, but sorry to burst the bubble, I have almost spent through the better halves of my quarterly salary on lesser needed things...weird, but true and so very moi.

Finally, after numerous telephonic doses from back home, I relented and got myself a blanket this weekend.

The moral of this long, boring tale is, I realized blankets are necessary. Warm, comforting things under which we can snuggle, dream, curl up and create our own small perfect world, oblivious to what's happening outside. Inside the blanket's warmth, we forget our daily ups and downs, the struggles, the competition, the strain of everyday life. (and when C reads this, she will roll her eyes and say mischievously, "OMG, you are suffering from all these?! Since when?!" :-O and burst out laughing :-| )

Aren't our family and friends just like blankets and pillows...- creating a small perfect, safe bubble of warmth and comfort around us...a blanket which we can pull tightly around us when the world gets too cold, a pillow on which we can lean on, depending on its cozy warmth. So the next time you feel cold, go get your blanket or pillow and blow away the blues...

Feeling grateful to have such blankets and pillows in life. 
Here's to my coziest, thickest, warmest blankets and fluffiest pillows...love u all! :-))