There's something about Sayali!

Some people come into your life, make a difference and leave. Unknowingly. You meet them at the unlikeliest of places and times, you have no expectations of them and they give you more than you deserved. What is remarkable is that they do so unassumingly, nobody is seeking the other one. They are themselves and more importantly they let you be you.

I have been lucky all my life for coming across someone who has been a pleasant surprise. For me every event or phase is strongly associated with people - those who made a difference. This isin't surpring, is it? Everyone feels the same way but I am most intrigued at how the right people turn up at the right time, to be more specific, during times of distress. Unknowingly. They dont know what you are going through but with their companionship you get by.

One such person who helped me tide over the rough times was someone I had umpteen opportunities to know but we didnt cross paths till we started working in the same company. She was a year senior at school, went to the same college and even picked studying multimedia at the same institute as me. Yet all along, she remained a stranger. When I started job hunting, I was surprised at the people who pitched in to help.

Amongst which, Sayali.

She put in a word for me to her boss who, after a day of interviews, recruited me. And since then was to begin a long endearing relationship for which I will never be thankful enough.

She was everything one could ask for in a friend; very down to earth with an extraordinary sense of humour, fun, wit, smartness with a practical and mature approach to life's trials and most of all she was natural and unbelievably non judgemental. I felt at ease with her, a strange sense of comfort which allowed me to be unafraid to be my true self with all my faults and failures. She didnt judge me but accepted me as the person I was.

We became so close that we earned the nick name 'siamese twins'. Being the same age, we were both caught in the throes of the arranged marriage phase. Stressful as it was, it didn't feel such an ordeal because I had her to share my concerns with, pour out my feelings and de-stress. She would listen for all I needed those years was just someone to listen to the outpouring of emotions. We did the most mundane of things after office; we went for walks in the busy chaotic streets of Pune, sat in the parks with the light breeze sweeping our faces, went to the temple so dear to me now, relished roadside eats and of course went shopping. Those evenings gave me not only the much needed strength and cheer but more importantly brought hope.

I am grateful for her for am told never to deprive anyone of hope for all you know, its all they have. Then, it was all I had.

It was uncanny how we lead parallel lives. We, curiously, faced the same dilemmas on our personal front. Love makes you do crazy things, doesnt it? And when I fell in love for the wrong reasons, I didnt tell her for I knew she would disapprove. Interestingly she noticed the change and I had to come forth with it. She counselled and when nothing worked she planned a days outing with another close friend of ours. I was in for a rude surprise - they sat me down and talked me out of it. Now as I look back, I love her even more for opening my eyes.

When nothing was shaping up on the marriage front, she suggested going to the rockcut Shiva temple every Monday. Those Mondays were one of the most joyful of days. Long pensive silences between us became less awkward with each passing day and I would think of her first amongst all my friends with every high or low in my life.

Now as I look back, I wonder how I would have gotten past those days alone, without a friend like her. She was my saving grace and maybe, just maybe, one of the few reasons I continued without buckling under pressure.

She was so herself in all her dealings, genuine with her feelings, articulate with her words and counsels, I couldnt help but hang on to her words of advice for dear life.

We would laugh at the most trivial of things, chat over coffee for hours, make light of seemingly silly situations, share secrets, give grief to difficult team leads and then of course jump over cubicles after office hours!

From her I learnt to not give up on people. Its like the thumb rule while shopping. When you go looking for a sundress, more often than not, you wont find the one that fits. On the contrary you chance upon the perfect dress when you had anything but shopping on your mind. Here's what you MUST do - buy it! For it may not be there again. Its the same with people - hold on to those who wish you well even if it were a fleeting meeting. They might, for all you know, become, what I'd like to call, your 4 am friends!

So here's a toast to a wonderful person who helped me get that bounce back in my step and who I wouldn't think twice before calling without knowing what time it is!

Where the mind is without fear

Have you ever felt robbed of your peace? Have you forgetten your usual self, lost your confidence and felt compelled to do what you wouldn't have done under normal circumstances? Have you felt your heart beat faster also a bit erratically and your breath turn deep and hollow?

Of course you have. Who hasn't? Everyone has their moments of misgivings. Only, it gets unbelievingly dismaying when its a constant companion.

Fear, the forbidden feeling

Fear is my worst enemy. Its the only wretched feeling that's stayed. Surprisingly there is no reason for it now. I know for one its my mind. It can make or break me and the alarming part is I have no control over it when it grows the devil's horns. Its almost like a distant part of me then and yet I fall prey to it. And I wish I could cast it away like a fisherman's net far out into the sea, purge it of all its folies and then wear it. Like a helmet.

I like having people around but am scared of the effect some have on me. Ironically they have been the only reason to bring out the best in me or the worst. Maybe its not all that surprising. After all, the book did say 'Tough times never last but tough people do'. But then if those tough people stayed with you longer, wouldn't tough times last that much longer? For me its always people who have brought about tough times. There's nothing as upsetting as people who intentionally or unintentionally rub me the wrong way.

The sorry part is I am not made of sterner stuff. I deal with the predicament badly and eventually am the worse for it.

The bully at school

As far as I can remember I have always been scared of someone. In school it was classmate, my partner, a big bully. Years later when I told mummy about my ordeal with that girl she said I should have stood up for myself and taken matters into my hand. I didn't do any of that but endured. I would pray at my doorstep before leaving for school that she would leave me alone. I would cower, my mind would become numb, my tongue heavy and my thoughts would draw a blank. She scared the lights out of me with her over bearing, nasty self, vicious fights and terrible mood swings. I was at a loss. My grades suffered and I felt ravaged. My mind kept going to her, as repugnant as she was, words failed me and the ink stopped flowing from my pen. I knew something was amiss with her but why was I letting her make my life miserable when she was the embittered one?

From fear flowed rage, all bottled up but when the year was gone, so it did it disappear into thin air.

Rogues on the road

As I grew up my main fear stemmed from eveteasers. They were everywhere; on the footpath, at shops, bus stands and even the most unexpected of places like the Oberoi hotel. They were a bigger menace than the roaches that bred by the hundreds and crawled fearlessly at night. Straying hands, lecherous looks, repulsive gestures and dirty expletives was a common affair. Yet there were girls who dressed boldly and walked confidently. I took courage from them but the pinches didn't reduce. I would be livid with rage but never summoned the courage to look the scoundrel in the eye. Big festivals like the Ganapati festival, dahi handi, holi became breeding grounds for these rascals. It didn't matter what you wore or how you looked, you just needed to be a girl. Am sure if not for us, they would have letched at a female goat.

If God ever grants me a wish, I would hope for the devils to be in their hearts.

My unending hubby hunt

Sigh! What do you do when you fall in love with someone and make a perfect unlikely pair? You let good sense prevail, give up on love and move on. I couldn't, for the life of me, find a suitable boy for myself. I went to a popular college, attented youth conferences but came away twidling my thumbs. I didnt feel bad about it. But later when my parents started looking out for me, I wished I had found someone, anyone who would deliver me from the evil of an arranged marriage. For years, it rid me of my sleep for I liked noone, not even the Ivy leagues. I felt no compatibility and felt helpless and vulnerable. I knew I was getting on age and couldn't let my parents toil endlessly. At the same time I couldn't imagine being with someone I had little or nothing in common with. Marriage scared me and the prospect of an arranged meeting had me toss and turn at night.

Fear definitely had an appetite for me.

Now am in Canada where nobody bothers you and you are free to be yourself on the streets unlike in India. School days are long gone and with them the dreadful days with the bully and most of all I have the most wonderful husband I could ask for. Life's come full circle and like I said there's no reason for fear now. But even now as I write this, I feel an eerie sensation creep up me - only this time I am determined to walk tall.

My Brown Beauty

A quick pitter patter of footsteps. A surge of excitment and a sharp gleam of sunlight bouncing off the hood. That is how I remember that afternoon of the oppresive Gwalior heat. I was 6, the year 1986 when she rolled into the driveway. My mother's excited shouts got me and my brother running across the house and into the sun bathed balcony. I stood on tip toes and bent low over the railing for a good look at her. My father stood beside the car in uniform waving for us to come down for a drive. We rushed, with me forgetting to wear my slippers even, and in a trice I was sitting and surveying her wide eyed, unbelievingly.

The drive was smooth, almost like I was on air. Everything seemed so unreal. They say seeing is believing but for me then it was touching and feeling that would bring home the reality. So I let my fingers feel every bit of the car from the seats to the roof, the tiny locks on the door, the handle to roll the windows, the speakers and the dikkie which seemed so spacious that I was almost tempted to jump in. That is how far I could get by sitting in the back seat. The front portion seemed more complicated and enticing. The small controls and and lit signals looked something like the tiny controls in my toy plane. I was happy, cosied up, leaned back and smiled.

I felt secure - a feeling that I was to associate with her for years to come.

She was something. A chocolate brown Maruti 800. The old model. Infact the oldest now of all the models that have sprung, each better than the previous. Our car was the first amongst the batch imported from Japan. She was talk of the battalion then. None had seen a sleeker, lighter weight car after the ambassador, the fiat and the faithful army vehicles like the jonga and the three ton!

Time passed and after that heady afternoon I almost forgot about her. Afterall, during those school years, my everyday mode of transport was the army school bus. I remember waiting for it to lumber up that turn in the road for a bumpy ride to school and home.

Till then she meant just that to me - a car till my father got posted to Srinagar and she turned into a house on wheels. We drove from Gwalior to Srinagar for 10 days through the mountains and ghats stopping for the nights at the transit camps. The landscape gradually changed from the plains to the steep Himalayan ranges with the Chenab thundering below in the valleys. And I always felt secure inspite of the sharp drops, the landslides, the steep climbs and the huge trucks, whose tyres reached our windows, labourously overtaking and spewing exhaust.

When we reached Srinagar I was ready for another long road trip.

Months rolled into years and I finally learnt to drive when I was 23. By then we had bought another car and the old Maruti stood under the Gulmohar tree, unused for months till she found a new driver, me. As for me, I found a new companion. My friends, a new joke, us. I was Raikkonen driving a Ferrari.

She looked every inch an old vintage albeit a bit battered with dents on the door and the paint peeling off but she worked fine. After 22 years of service she still ran as good as new. To top it all she was the most conspicuous on the roads. I loved her.

One of my best times were because of my Brown Beauty. I not only learnt to drive on that car but for years she formed my own little world. Driving to office, back home, with mummy on our shopping trips, dropping and getting Bharat from the airport, with friends. She had been with me all along. I could continue with Aptech's night shifts because of her and could go places knowing she wouldn't let me down. And she didn't.

Last year when I went home I felt a pang when I saw the empty space under the Gulmohar. We sold her. She didn't have me. 'Maruti 800. Old model. Chocolate brown.' read the advertisement. The calls started coming by 7 in the morning and by noon she was gone. With her, a part of me.

This I write as a personal tribute to a car that's no match for any other. I doubt whether any car today would give the excellent service she did after 22 years. Santy's BMW and Corvette might leave a trail of fire behind but if given a chance I'd drive my Brownie to the oscars!

She let me be me. I have sung, cried, laughed, talked to myself in that car and come away feeling happy. She gave me the freedom and most of all a deep sense of security. I can still hear Tracy singing 'Fast car' and see myself making that turn while the song played loud from the stereos:

I remember we were driving in your car
The speed so fast I felt like I was drunk
City lights lay out before us
And your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder
And I had a feeling that I belonged
And I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone ...

Mes pensees a moi

Je choisis a ecrire en francais parce que je ne veux pas que personne comprenne. Il s'agit des pensees a moi, tres personnelles, differentes meme unvraisemblables. Il se peux que ceux qui le lisse, s'ils comprennent cette langue, pourraient me croire inadaptee pour la societe. Neanmois je suis comme vous mon ami, une personne parfaitement normale.

Cependant j'ai mes caprices et je cherche toujours des reponses.

Comment ca se fait que je me sens plus confiante a poser des questions ou a m'exprimer dans un seminaire plein des inconnus, des etrangers? Pourqoui les mots ne me viennent pas aussi aisement qu'auparavant meme apres avoir etudie la langue dans une universite canadienne pour un an? Pourqoui se fait t'il que, des fois, mon visage sans maquillage parait plus beau, plus agreable? La solitude comme ses effets negatifs a aussi ses avantages. Ces avantages me sont plus familieres. Je suis plus tranquille, plus heureuse dans ce vide qui me donne la liberte de faire ce que je plais. On dit qu'on prends plus du temps pour mentir et les yeux vous trahissent. Et meme quand je mente je le fais assez vite et je me sens soulagee de m'avoir debarasse d'un fardeaux et en plus mes yeux brillent et ma voix est plus firme. Pourquoi? Je me comporte timidement quand il n'y a aucune raison et par contre face a une situation difficile, je reste calme et courageuse. J'obtiens ce que je cherche quand je ne fais pas beaucoup d'effort et mes efforts echouent quand j'essaye de mon mieux. Et la derniere, pourquoi suis-je plus prete a separer de mon monnaie quand je n'ai guerre pour moi-meme et prends garde a mon argent quand mon compte bancaire gonfle?

Comment ca se fait que les plus belles symphonies jamais composees etaient faites par un sourd, Beethoven et le braille est une invention de Helen keller, une aveugle?

On l'apercoit dans les filmes et meme dans la vie avec la defaite de la justice, du bien et le triomphe du mal. Pourquoi je me sens en accordance avec des villes imparfaites, des visages des traits irreguliers et des gens avec leurs defauts? Parce qu'il y reste de la beaute. Parce que personne n'est parfait. Meme pas l'univers et peut etre cela explique le triomphe du mal et l'existence du regle des contraires.

Myriam

She came in like a breath of fresh air. She came when I needed someone most. Anyone who'd make me feel less of a stranger in an unfamiliar surrounding.

I dragged myself early out of bed that frigid morning for my first day at school. I walked to class with butterflies in my stomach. It was a huge class and much to my surprise it was a mix of undergrads, grads and PhD students. Something unheard of in India.

As we settled the rustling of sandwich wrappings didnt diminish nor did the number of Tim Horton cups find themselves tucked away from the professor's stare. In fact the number increased as the hours wore on and some students even started chewing gum. I liked it. You had a mouth, you fed it. The tongue in your head was even mightier. You spoke to your prof like he was a distant friend. You weren't being rude, you were just being yourself. I liked it.

But none of it rubbed off on me. Blame it on my upbringing which taught me that certain places and people, if I may add, demanded a certain code of conduct. It is so ingrained in me that it will take a million Tim Horton icecaps to shake that hierarchy out of me. The class, though it was a 3 hour class, wasn't as tiring as I imagined. Maybe it was my first and I was revelling in the newness of it all. We sat round a long table like a round table conference. In India, we sat on separate chairs that had a foldable trays to place your books on. Here the floor was carpeted and a strong smell of coffee and ham hung heavy in the room. In India the floors had a layer of dust and soft breeze played in the room. Here students didnt mingle much and went about their business. Back home there was a constant murmur often punctuated by a loud laugh followed by sounds of friendly slaps on the back. Others business became yours too.

Two different worlds.

My mind wandered and I sat comfortable in my thoughts till the class paused for a small break. Some went out, some sat peering into their books. I tried to make myself look busy. When the class resumed, so did my thoughts. I didn't know anyone and didn't have the interest to go up and make friends. I smiled when I met somebody's eye. That was all. I was content being by myself.

But when class got over and people started filing out, I saw her walk up to me smiling. I smiled back and before my lips could straighten from that curl she was talking to me.

Little did I know that for the next year she was to be my friend and confidante. Myriam.

When I was unwell and couldn't make it to class she photocopied notes for me. When it was my turn for a presentation and the printer ran out of paper she ran looking for paper. When I had trouble with my computer login account at the linguistic lab she knocked on the supervisor's door. When I had trouble with a class assignment she came early to the lab to help me out. How could I not think myself lucky?

I remember it was my first presentation. My eyes peeled the huge class for her. She wasn't there. My heart sank but I carried on all the while thinking I would have done better if she were there. When I told her so, she made sure she was around for my presentations.

When I got engaged she was the first to know in school. She was joyous and then after a pause her eyes moistened. She thought of her past and told me her story. I consoled her and told her she had what any woman would be proud of - a cherubic child, 'ton petit tresor' (your little treasure). She brightened and since then we call him 'petit tresor'. Just knowing she was in class made me comfortable and I was myself.

I went home last December for my marriage and got her a little gift. Now I must make that call, even if it means faltering in French and meet her.

How did I fool myself into believing I was content all by myself? Deep down I needed a friend. And it took Myriam to show me so.