The Adventure of (baking a) Pie

They say “Pie Pie, till you succeed”. Is that the right way of saying it??? Well in the current situation it sure would be pretty. So carrying on, when you don’t succeed the first time, you Pie it again (there I go again)! When the first attempt didn’t go as planned, I just had to Pie it again (I promise, this is the last time).

When you try it again (phew, no more pie silliness), you try and avoid the pitfalls of the previous attempt. So before you get your bake together (now that’s a clever play on words, if you agree to see it that way), you try and figure out what you didn’t get right the first time around. The first possibility could be that you ended up kneading the dough, as advised against by the recipe and your friend Hemangi, cause kneading causes the gluten to come up (if I got this concept right), but then the dough was not quite binding so I did knead it, a little bit too longer than I should. Or maybe you just let it rest more than you actually rested.

Whatever the reason may have been, you felt the need to do it all over again, or maybe you just wanted to bake a fresh pie for your friends. Then you also wanted to take your minds from that what troubles it faced. So in the end you wanted to do some baking therapy.

So as you prepared your dough, you tried your best to avoid tbt pitfall of the previous bake, but then the dough doesn’t bind easily and you’re worried about once again overdoing it. You take a deep breath and slowly bind the dough, trying not to knead the batter, breathing a sigh of relief when it all comes together.

Setting it aside you work on preparing the filling. And after pealing two apples (actually make that four, two from the previous day) you come to a conclusion that you would rather run a marathon, or dance bachata, than try and peel an apple ( on second thought, using a knife would have been a better option than using a potato peeler, but then this boy has no knife man-ship skills). So in hindsight, I was better off doing what I did.

Once the filling was done its time to bake. But before you get to that step you have to roll the dough. This time around you try and do things a bit differently. Firstly no blind baking (I.e. baking the dough, the bottom crust, in advance, something I learned thanks to Hemangi and Google), and rolling the dough on the floor, cause face it, rolling it on a polpat (as my mumma termed it) meaning that the dough wouldn’t go beyond the rolling surface, and adjustment would mean damaging the rolled dough (which I know I am expert at). 

So siting, and at times squatting, I rolled the dough, up and down and left to right, from all angles, though not getting the perfect circle, put thankfully not the map of India or even the world. So then you fold it and do it all over again, till you get the perfect dough, or something very remotely close to it (face it you are not an amateur baker also). You place the your dough on your pie pan (which your mumma has oiled, or greased for you), and you proceed to add the filling, as neatly and picturesque as possible (common I need to click pictures for my post). But no matter how careful or artistically you think you’re doing, it all looks a bit, ok quite, clumsy. But then you have to be proud at what you’ve managed to accomplish.

So finally you roll the covering dough and you cover your pie. Make holes with a fork to let the steam through, trying to make a pattern, instead of making it look very random. You try your best to give the edges of the pie some design, courtesy of your  fork. You lightly brush it with milk and dust cinnamon powder as well as sugar on it and viola (and not Davis), your pie is ready for the oven. 

After preheating the oven, in goes the pie, to be baked at 180 degrees Celsius for a whole 60 minutes. But then you have this nagging feeling at the back of your head that you have forgotten something. And then you realise that you have forgotten to add drops of butter, or olive oil, as mentioned in the recipe. You simply put the blame squarely on those lessening grey cells, and just hope that your bake goes well.

Now as your pie is in the oven you are constantly checking on it if it’s getting too brown (in short, burnt), or do you want to lower the temperature. You try your best not to panic, if things don’t go as plan, but just wished that they have damned well put a light bulb in there so that you could actually see the pie bake.

After waiting patiently for almost an hour, the buzzer goes off and it’s time to get the pie out of the oven. When you get it out, you look at it with great pride. It may not be perfect but it sure has hell looks good. You remove the pie off the baking tray, after all the jatkas you inflict on yourself, and you let it cool. But then also you try to click pics of it cause your write up needs some pics. 

 When it finally cools down, you cut slices of the pie, taking some for your friends at dance class. You try and taste a bit of it and you surprise yourself that’s it has not come out bad (as you were scared it would), in fact it’s quite good for a not so amateur attempt at baking. Yes the apples tasted a bit tart, and the crust ain’t that flaky as it should be, barring that, everything is good. So woohooo, another good attempt.

So there you have it, the adventure of baking an Apple Pie.

Soaking up another Marathon!

“You’re a rockstar

You’ll sail through easily”

These simple words brought a quite reassurance, and with it a calmness that you sorely lacked in the past years. For the first time, in a long time, running a 42k didn’t seem daunting, definitely not easy, but you are up for the challenge. You had prepared for it, you had pounded the slopes of Kanheri, courtesy Dylan and Pankti, and now you were all prepared to execute it. It was this preparedness that brought a quite confidence, and these words reiterated this thought. So even though you were nervous, you were not worried about the task ahead. Not even waking up to a slight uneasiness from indigestion could send you in a tizzy.

Thanks to Dylan, you sneak into the A holding area (shhh... let this be our little secret), and thanks once again to Dylan, you are off to a flying start. Normally starting off at a quick pace (say sub 5 pace) would get you all panicky, but this time around it didn’t (ok you didn’t have a full grown panic attack but the thought you were going too fast did kind of cross the mind).

You try to keep up with Dylan (the key word out here being “tried”) till your bette noire, the slopes of Peddar Road put a distance between the two of you (with Dylan being more adept with tackling the slopes as efficiently as possible). So from Peddar Road, the gap between the two of you grew more, with you unable to pick up and shorten the gap.

So you’re on your own, but you try not to panic. You continue going at your own pace, which you know has dropped thanks to runners overtaking you. But once again you try not to panic (making you wonder if you would start to panic of trying not to panic, now how ironic would that be). So you run at your own pace and how your body feels (as a great sage, ok Dylan, had advised you), and you surprise yourself by the calmness you feel (quietly wondering if this is what inner peace feels like). You’re not panicking seeing the people overtake you, or give into temptation of going quicker, you just surprise yourself by not having a full blown panic attack (though it crosses your mind if you should not have started from A (was this karma come back to bite you in the you know where)).

 So you just keep running, running, running, what do you do, keep running, running, running, getting your inner Dory out, till you reach the Sea-Link and see all the Half Marathoners on the other side. For the first time since you started running the Full, you’re running it under lights, under the predawn skies, with no sign of the rising sun as yet. The Mumbai Marathon being the only time you get to run on the Sea Link, you’ve got savour the moment, but after while it seems to go on and on and you just wished it would be end.

On the way you have people shouting slogans of the patriotic and religious nature, trying to rouse runners, lift their spirits. But then at times this may seem superficial and can be kind of annoying. Don’t get me wrong, I do love my country and my city, but I really don’t feel the need to scream it out loud. And we all are humans first. Let’s face it, TMM, mirroring the city, is a melting pot of people of all religions, gender, social status, orientation, nationality, ages, why should only one religious deity be chanted. Was itching to say “Sacred of Jesus... Pray for us” (which, let’s face it, would be more apt, after all we need those prayers), but somehow you refrain yourself from stirring the pot.

As you exit the Sea Link (finally, phew), you cannot help but marvel at the Mumbai skyline, that’s slowly awakening through the haze of  mist, or smog, with a tinge of crimson, as the sun tries to break through the pre-dawn skies. The end of the Sea Link also marks the halfway point. Half done, half to go. You’ve got half the work done within two hours, now comes the difficult part.

And just as this thought crosses your mind you feel a tightening in your feet. Not something you wished would happen but something you know you need to be prepared. So it’s either run and risk injuries, or adopt a walk-run-walk strategy, which is more apt till your muscles loosen up. All the while you keep spraying your leg.

As you hit Worli seaface once again (a loop that you really can’t fathom why is it the way it is), you have the Elite runners pass by. In another first, you are catching them not on the return but them on their onward journey on to the Sea Link. You wonder how far ahead are you? But then both the 4 hours ka bus has already passed you (there goes your hope for a sub four finish) and you can see the 4:30 ka bus led by Satish sir, on the other side. You then consign yourself to the fact that at the rate which you’re going you’ll be done in 4 hours 30 minutes or more (which was what you were targeting in the first place). 

By know your feet feel sore, and you feel a  dull pain in your toes making you wonder if it’s possible for your toes to just fall off, or at least develop a fracture. But then, no matter how tired your bodies feels, there’s no complaining of why have undertaken this arduous, torturous undertaking, or maybe they’ve just given up on you. Whatever the reason there’s a thought in your mind that keeps you going. You are determined to get it done, by hook or crook, for yourself, for the one who inspires you on.

 And if you believe that helps always comes when you need it the most, and help presents itself. Just when you think you too caught up to run, your friend Omkar comes to your rescue and helps to loosen your tightening muscles. When you hit the much dreaded, but much maligned Peddar Road, you are greeted with a warm hug by your buddy, the beautiful Cheryl. And to top it all, and literally at the top, your buddies at the MRR cheerzone make you feel like a literal rockstar, cheering your as if you’re a celebrity (and you soak in all their cheering) and pampering you with water, selfies, chocolate sneakers, oops and snickers, ans a yummy drink.

After all the pampering at Peddar Road it was time to tackle the last strenuous stretch that’s Marine Lines. You want to make a dash for it but your sore cramping feet keeps pegging you back. In the end you have to run-walk, well mostly walk-slow jog, cause the moment you try to pick the pace you feel your muscles tighten up, and then you have to walk till you loosen it up. Throughout the ordeal not once do you complain, you just remind yourself why you’re doing it and you continue to soldier on.

By now the dream run has been flagged off and it’s a carnival atmosphere on the other side of the road, a contrast from those completing their runs, or struggling to complete their runs (which would be my case). But then the Dream Runners continue to cheer you on. On the way you see your friend Jayshree soldiering her way, not letting the hands that life dealt her, get in the way, doing it with a smile. You cheer her on, and she smiles and calls out to you, to which you retrace you’re step to give her a hug, and through that hug she passes on an energy that pushes you on. 

 By now your feet smells of Relly spray, soaking in it. You finally reached your the second MRR cheerzone which incidentally is combined with your friends from the Asic water station. Once again you get help from your friends who continue to spray your leg. All you want to do is thank them all and just hug them all without bothering about your time. Though they try to remind you about your time but you aren’t quite worried about it.

After all the hugs and thank yous, it’s off to finish the race. By now the Elites are just about to finish their race, and for the first time you get to see them run by twice, and they are literally poetry in motion, leaving you mesmerised as they go by. 

By now you have a glimmer of hope that you could yet finish within your target 4:30, so you keep pushing on, though cramps keep slowing you down. To keep your spirit high you jokingly make your annoyance known to your friends who cheer your friend Pooja and overlook you.

By and by the finish line is now in your line of sight. You try your best to finish strongly but once cramps have you pegged back, causing you to literally hobble over the finish line. You then see your time and you know you’re satisfied at what you have accomplished inspite of the hurdles of the day. You can’t help but smile, a weary smile thanking the thought that helped you push through.

At the finish line you meet Pankti (who finished a shade earlier than you), and then Rohan. So you have the gang together, just missing the leader of our madness, who surely has crossed that finish line way before us all. On Pankti’s insistence we collect ice packs but then head to collect our medals and thepla, before the crowds besiege the distribution area, congratulating friends and runners we meet along the way. As you collect your medals, both the Finisher and Inspiration, you can’t help but smile and the thought of handing over the medal to the one that inspired you, who’s thoughts and words helped you soldier on.

You collect your bags, meet Dylan and Nikki (though you forget to get a pic of the entire gang), you go on to take silly pics, cause face it, when did Dylan ever take a serious one, and he looks fresh as daisy despite of his blistering 3:39 finish. 

So with that you have another TMM in your bag, another FM under your belt. You realise that you came so close to achieving a PB, and maybe, just maybe, a sub 4. The thought stings you a bit but then you’re determined to come back stronger,  train harder, relax a bit more, and who knows a sub 4 could always be a possibility, within your grasp. So for now it’s back to the drawing board and for now you have sweet memories till next time when you’ll have the chance of making new memories.

P.S.  No runs is ever possible without the tireless support of those volunteering at every water stations, aid stations doing such a splendid job, the true back bone of any race. A special shoutout to my MRR family and friends at the Asic cheerzone. Always grateful to the Spirit of Mumbai that’s always on full display, cheering and supporting every runner. Thanks to my two pillars of support, Dylan and Pankti, without who’s help and support  I wouldn’t be ready to tackle another Full at TMM. Lastly and definitely not the least, to the one who’s words fueled me on, who’s example spurred me on, who inspires me. In the end a big THANK YOU to all involved.

Don’t stop me now... from having a good time!

I stood there , a proud friend, taking pride in seeing my friend do what she did best, what brought her joy, in what she put her heart and soul. This was evident from her energy, which was turned up to maximum, and there was no bringing her down (not even a bum shoulder). And she didn’t keep this energy to herself. It radiated from every pore of her being, to be absorbed by all present there, who couldn’t help but be caught up, who wanted to be part of her joy. 

They joyfully followed her, keeping up with every step, every move, with huge smiles on their faces, mirroring her joy, her enthusiasm, feeding off the energy she gave them. They didn’t mind the weather, or the beads of sweat. The night may have been a shade warmer, but their passion burned brighter. There was nothing going to stop them from having a good time.

I stood there, witnessing this all, a proud friend, who couldn’t be more happy and prouder of her and what she was doing for the community, for her passion. I couldn’t help but get caught up in the joy, the enthusiasm, trying hard to fight the temptation of getting swept up in her and the crowd’s enthusiasm. But then wasn’t quite dressed for the occasion (a silly excuse you may say),  and when it comes to Zumba the feet don’t quite move fast as the music (blame it on diminishing cognitive ability (if cognitive is the right term to be used here)). So I stood trying hard to resist in joining the fun. But yeah wouldn’t mind getting up and jiving (the pavwala way, as I have learned that we don’t jive but technically do a pavwala version of rock‘n’ roll), cause baby I was born to jive (ya right!). 

As I watched them I couldn’t help but notice her. It was not because of who she was or what she wore, it was her joy and unbridled happiness that actually caught your attention. Neither her flimsy saree, or her lack of proper Zumba gear, and for that matter shoes, could stop her from joining the fun, from being part, to soak up  the energy and passion that was all around her. Her attire, her presence bore the marks of life on the streets, the dirt and grime. She wasn’t bothered that others may stare at her, or tell her she wasn’t meant to be there. She didn’t bother what others thought of her, she was meant to be there and no one was stopping her from having a good time, as much as anyone present there.

So she put down the tissues she was selling and her baby, who enthusiastically joined her doing his own thing, and she joined the fun, as her companion watched, hesitating, contemplating whether to join her or not, wondering if someone would tell them they couldn’t. Their hesitation didn’t bother her a bit, she just laughed, and followed enthusiastically. She kept up with the steps but gave her spin to it. So when you saw her, you couldn’t help but smile. Her joy and happiness palpable, you couldn’t help but get caught in it. She danced from a place deep within. She did it totally befikaar, bejizak, bindaas, dil se. When the music stopped, she joined in the  cool down session, giving hi5 as my friend went around. 

As I stood there, trying to capture the moment, I knew what I witnessed was something special, something beautiful, something that transcended barriers, that showed that the strata of society only existed in our minds, take them away and we are one and there’s no stopping anyone from having a good time.  That evening’s music and dance, Zumba to be correct, proved to be the great unifier, transcending generations and social status. So it didn’t matter if you were young or old, rich or poor, male or female (though there was very little to none, male participation), there was no stopping you from having a good time. 

Couldn’t help but smile about what I had witnessed, feeling proud of not just my friend, but also for music and Zumba for bringing people together.

Love at First Dance

She had seen this place a numerous times, in pictures, but never in person. Yet as she walked towards it, she was not prepared to take in how beautiful it was. She wanted to but she had other things on her mind. Inspite it all what she saw took her breath away.

As she walked towards it she could feel the butterflies flutter in her stomach. Although she tried to calm them down, they just refused to settle. She could feel them fluttering around her stomach. She could feel her nerves.

Why oh why did she agree to something so crazy, something she had never done before, something that she would never do. Yet here she was, on the brink of doing the unthinkable, something she never thought she was capable of. She normally never gave into peer pressure, but how did she made an exception to do this?

She walked towards the place, and stood with her back to the light post. She could feel her heart beat at a million km/hr, threatening to explode from her chest, if that was possible. As she stood there, she would hear his footsteps, causing her heart to race even faster. She was tempted to turn around and get a quick peek. But then that was not what she was instructed to do. She waited patiently, fighting the temptation.

And then the music began to play. She turned around, going from post to post trying to catch a glimpse of him. But then he too did the same. So they continued to dodge each other, each trying to get the glimpse of the other, till their eyes finally met and they locked on to each other, and never left each other for the rest of the moment.

He was the most handsome man she had set her eyes, at least in a while (ok make that in quite a while). He was athletically built but not muscular. He was lean but not ripped. He was not a model but he could definitely get heads to turn, to stand out in a crowd. He was stylish, and though you could credit the stylist for that, whatever he wore, he carried it with aplomb and swag that was all his own, you could give him that, no one could take that away from him. He may have not been perfect, but for her he was her version of the perfect Prince Charming.

He took her by the hand and twirled her, causing her heart to skip a beat. He held her firmly by the shoulder but not roughly, rather tenderly. He gently caressed her with his fingertips, letting them run down the side of her neck, never once making her feel uncomfortable, sending a tingling feeling down her spine. She fell backward into his arms, in an almost trust-fall, melting into his arms. He caught her and twirled with ease, lifting her, making feel as light as a feather. As he guided her, lead her, he made her feel safe and secure, as they flowed from post to post, in sync to the music. 

Not once did he break eye contact, speaking through his touch, through his eyes, assuring her “we’ve got this! I’ve got you!” Not once did he make her feel awkward or uncomfortable. She felt safe and secure, she felt like she was floating on air, light as a feather. She felt like a princess in a fairytale, and the place only added to it. His every touch sent so many sparks flying. She felt combustible, as if his touch lit a thousand of flames within her. She didn’t care about choreography. She just followed his every lead. 

He was no professional but his leads were clear and precise. He guided her across with ease and purpose. If he was nervous or uncertain, he didn’t show it. He was confident and had poise and grace. When it came to the final lift, he caught her by the waist as she came towards him, lifting her up, while turning around, slowly bringing her down as they continued to spin, into his arms, and melting on to the floor, where they lay for a while, which felt like eternity.

As she lay there in his arms, with her head on chest, she didn’t want the moment to end. She didn’t care about the light drizzle that had begun to fall. She just wanted to lay there in his arms, staring into the endless sky, like what could lay in front of them. 

But like everything, the moment had to come to end. The song may have come to end but they still continued to breathe in unison. He got to his feet and helped her up, like the gentleman he was. As she walked away, he waited to see her go, and then went on his way, as if hoping for one more glance, hoping she would turn around one more time.

As she walked with her hand on her heart, she could feel her heart flutter. She tried to catch her breath, to calm herself down, but it just refused to calm down. How could it after it had experienced something truly magical, something right out of the pages of a romance novel. This was something so unlike her. Though she was hesitant, had her doubts, thinking it the most foolish thing she had ever done, risking it all. But now that she had done it, she was glad to have taken the chance, taken the risk. She couldn’t get enough of it, she wanted more. 

Who was he, the man who had swept her off her feet, danced his way into her heart. Who had set her heart on fire, who set fire to the rain. Who was he? She needed to know more about him, she craved for his touch, for the chemistry they shared. She needed more of him. And as she walked away, she wondered if it was possible to fall in love at first dance!

A Photograph: The Conclusion of a Trip

Moments once gone can never be recaptured again, no matter how much we try to. Each moment a unique picture, one which we haven’t seen before, one which we may never see again, each unique, each different, remaining all but a memory that may fade with time, if we don’t try our best to preserve it. And so we hold these memories in a photograph, the memories that we make, where eyes never blinking, hearts never broken, time forever frozen still. We hang it in the halls of our mind, etched forever on its wall.

So was the trip memorable? Well, I would like to think that (to put it as diplomatically as possible) there were moments I would cherish, but then there were moments I wished I didn’t have to go through. There are memories that I’ll have with me, my own photographs to cherish forever, but then there were memories I would rather forget. The highs and lows of life.

What the trip showed me is that I am not quiet the wandering soul that I would have myself to believe, not quite the solo traveller, too dependent on others and circumstances, living in my own shell. And there lay the crux for the moments of low. Was not quite ready to come out of my shell, let my hair down, lighten up and allow myself to have some fun. Not to try to keep to my introverted self (which is strange cause I am normally not that), a loner, all lost and alone, too in myself, in my shell, prim and proper. And that’s also the reasons of clashes of ideals, for the memories. All the makings for a boring company.

So in short I needed to loose myself to find me. To let go and loosen up, to go out there and have an adventure. Probably then there would be more memories to be made. My reasoning for the trip was noble, but the reasoning was not mine in the first place.

Would I return to Dubai? Well that’s a definite yes! But would I move there (as I have been asked a thousand times before and I know I will be asked a thousand times again)? The answer to that still stands at NO! Don’t get me wrong, Dubai is a nice place, clean, orderly, disciplined, but then for an outsider like me it all seems to man made and artificial (just my point of view). Though there are rules which are good, it keeps things and people in order and in check, it’s the unsaid ones that can get a bit scary. Dubai is a nice a place, but Dubai is not a place for me. Mumbai is where the heart is, where my life is, so definitely won’t be looking to move from here anytime soon.

So to conclude, I could definitely say I had a nice trip, if not a great one. I made a lot of wonderful memories, which I will carry with me forever. Seen quite a few places, and there are many more to explore, to see. So yes definitely return to the place but as a tourist. 

In the end, Life is small, and the world is large, and I went out there and made a memory, which I will forever cherish, who I will hold in a photograph, etched forever on the walls of my mind.

Brunch... Lunch... and a Reunion of sorts

Is it still a Brunch if you turn up to the place at a time when you should be having your lunch (and your hungry self has already had a breakfast of eggs)??? Would it be lunch and high tea, LunTea (term coined by me which, from the looks, I am not quite good at)? But then I don’t think they serve tea, I am not sure if they even had Iced Tea (I think I did ask for it), unless it’s the Long Island kind.

To cut a long story short (was I even narrating one, I’ve only just begun), for all practical purposes we were there for a Brunch, so let’s call it what we there for, and that is Brunch. So Brunch it is (yipeeee, I seemed to have overused a single term)!

So the moment you enter, the view leaves you stunned. You practically have the entire Dubai skyline visible in front of your eyes (now how cool can that be). You can see the Burj Khalifa in the distance (is there any place in Dubai where you can’t see the Toothpick, barring my sister’s place, which technically is in Sharjah?). The ambience is to die for. You already picked out tons of spots where you want to click pics of yourself (obviously, always your first choice, me before the rest, talk about being narcissistic), and yes there will be great pics of others. So you go click happy (such a touristy thing to do, which also kinda ensures that people know you’re not a local). Was so happy clicking moments that my cousin tried to strike a deal that for every pic I clicked had to take a sip of the Shangrila (when even a sip of wine goes to your head, things can get quite quiet, its not funny).

Inspite of all the complaining, we all love to pose (oh come on now, you don’t have to be so modest), and so you capture memories with family and friends, leaving no stone unturned, and in this case, no family member unclicked (if that’s even a word). The food leaves you salivating, and you wonder if you just heard a bell ring, somewhere (a sidey attempt at ID humour). The beer is flowing, though it’s cranberry juice for you. 

Just as more people begin to appear (call it IST, or Indian Origin Standard Time, cause an Indian will be Indian no matter what, and where), the phone rings and it’s time for Prince Charming (for a change) to leave the Ball, oops I mean the Brunch (yikes did I just call myself that)!

You quickly say your farewell and quickly hop into a cab (courtesy of my sis) and off to a reunion of sorts you go.

Now the cab driver was quite a friendly driver, or should I say chatty driver, and me being me, was at my chatty self, a change from my loner, low self I was most of the time on the trip. But then you remember about the cautioning you have received, and you try to busy yourself to keep your pie hole shut (looks like I was hungry).

Reaching the destination safely, came the tricky part, finding where exactly your friends were. But thanks to Google Maps and

WhatsApp Live Location (no I am not trying to do a product placement), and a lot of effort to find my bearing (thanks to being directionally challenged) finally managed to find them. What followed was craziness, 20 years in the making, after all we were getting together after 20 years (duh).

So there was 20 years of catching up to do. There was a lot of reminiscing to do, loads of cringe worthy memories to bring up and relive, and bones to be picked, after all a lot of things can happen over a cup of coffee. So we behaved like we were not like the matured adults we thought we were. So there were pics with glares and then without glares, this angle and that angle. And if the pic wasn’t good then had to be taken again (posing for pics can be a pain in the neck).

In between came the discussion of Boyfriend or Husband Material (don’t ask me what they mean, cause I am trying to find that out myself), beside the reunion shifting from beach to beach. I am sure to have the title of most boring material. And yes also did give a salsa lesson (after all you just can’t your dancing feet still). 

It was good to catch with friends after all this while, though we missed all who couldn’t make it cause it’s difficult to get everyone in one place, and this was something quite impromptu (which are the best). Though tired and a bit stressed, after all there was a flight to catch, glad  to have made it, you never know when such a thing would be possible again.

Once again it was time to leave and rejoin the Brunch, which now had shifted to another location. Though you try to remain calm and not be on tenterhooks, you just can’t help yourself, it’s so in built in you. 

In the end had quite the hectic but satisfying last day of my Dubai diaries. Though was drained, but pretty happy, cause in the end you made memories that would last with you forever. More like saving the best for last!

The Shopping Excursion

What trip to Dubai is complete without a shopping excursion? Well you don’t have to answer that, after all it’s a rhetorical question (if I got the correct figure of speech, or am I still figuring the speech).

So as your trip draws to a close (which also means the end of a vacation), it’s time to go on a shopping spree with all the money you have managed to put aside, ok you managed to save because your food and accommodations are taken care by your sibling (advantage of having siblings on foreign shores). 

You make a list of things you need to shop, gifts you need to take with you, after all you can’t go empty-handed and you have friends and relatives who you need to get things for. To make a list, and delete the list. You add and subtract, hoping not to miss out on anything, or anyone. You try figure out what you want to get. 

So you go from shop to shop, trying to figure out what you want to get. Then you you try to figure out if you got the right size, half tempted to call the person for whom you are purchasing it for, asking them for their size. And when you find something good, you do a mental conversion (that coming from a person who is not good with maths, you do the maths), trying to figure out if you are getting a bargain (thank god for sales). In spite of it all, you still want to go to the next shop to see if you are getting something better. And when you find something, you can’t make up your mind if you want to pick that up or pick something else (the story of a confused mind).

So you end up going from store to store, from mall to mall, navigating through the traffic, dozing off in the car (not something new), trying to find the things on your list, things you need to pick up, things you may not need, ticking off item by item, not wanting to miss anything of the list, not wanting to miss anyone of your list. Wanting to get a small piece of Dubai back with you, for the people you care.

So when you finally ticked off all the items off your list, your breathe a sigh of relief.  Somehow you feel elated, you managed to get things off your list and some more. You feel lighter but then your bag feels heavy, but then that’s ok since you are under weight literally and figuratively. Unless you count the holiday weight you put on. Ok when did it change from baggage weight to personal weight. But then you’re happy you managed to shop. 

So there you had it, you did the one thing that all come to Dubai for... shop, shop, shop, till you drop, your very own shopping excursion.

Soaring (Running) like a Kite!!!

What do you do when you find yourself on a running track, with an awesome weather, and see the good looking, fit, active and lean people of the world taking to running, jogging, or just leisurely walking? You run, even though you are wearing nothing remotely close to your running gear, barring your Garmin watch. Though you initially said you wouldn’t, and continue to be click happy, but how can you keep yourself from running when others are doing it. So handing  over my backpack, took off my jacket, starting off my Garmin and NRC (like I always do), and off I went.

At first felt strange and self conscious, running without wearing anything close to running, but thankfully my shoes were conducive to running and I could actually run in them, even though they were meant for walking. Though I initially started slowly, the running keedas (as my buddy Eugene puts it), got the better of me. The weather was nice and cool and breezy, so could up the pace without breaking much of sweat, and surprised myself with the pace I was able to maintain.

So followed the green track, my very own yellow brick road, and went where it lead me, like all good runners do. I ran past people playing volleyball, beach volleyball to be correct (damn their toned, lean physique made me feel like a fat slob), past family strolling, kids gleefully running around, some riding their scooters and tricycle, people out on a stroll, others just enjoying the evening outing, the first day of the new year. I ran past cafes filled with patrons, children on swing bridges and fire foxes, speed boats hooked on their trucks, in short everyone having a good evening.

Of course you had runners out on their run, some serious, focused, with their music and running gear, others joyous, or chatting. Somehow I missed Mumbai and running there, where you can be focused, but you also smile and receive a warm smile in return (or a piercing stare), where you can applaud the efforts of others, and be applauded yourself. The joy of cheering others and pushing them on, I sorely missed it. I missed running with my partners in crime, Dylooo and Pankti, and our silly, nonsensical chatter, our bud bud, or as Dylan put it, all the much much we make. Running in Mumbai is something else. After all, you can take the Boy out of Mumbai, but you can never take Mumbai out of the Boy.

Keeping the Burj Al Arab in my line of sight (damn was it breathtaking in the night , with all the colourful lights, shinning in the night sky), I ran past my family, waving as I passed them, then past my uncle and aunt (who were at the start), clicking some quick pics with the Burj Al Arab in the background, back to the family.

Although the evening was cool, I did a manage to sweat, not too profusely like I usually do, but then this isn’t Mumbai. So quickly removing my tee and putting on my jacket, I once again went from runner to a tourist. I marveled at the fact I was able to squeeze a run, a quick one too, covering over 6 kms in just over 30 minutes. 

Thanks to all the running I managed to work up an appetite, and savour the delicious Arabic meal at Al Fahad, and some good conversation in the company of family. The lows of the previous  night seemed like a distant memory.

Dinner was followed by a drive to the Palm Jumeirah and a visit to the Atlantis, after all no visit to Dubai can be complete without seeing these places . You marvel at the fact that these place are carved from the sea, a fact that also causes you to shudder. You are left astounded by the fact there are parts that you are driving under the sea. And though we may joke about holding your breath, each time we went under, couldn’t help but be mesmerised at what they managed to achieve.

So that’s a wrap for the  first day of the new year. Finally managing to make the most of the short trip. At the same time I’ve realised that I have just a few more days till I am back to good old Mumbai. But till then I am going to try and make the most of my stay here. 

.. and here’s to 2020

In a very social world, as you go through insta stories, after stories, pictures after pictures, liking them, loving them, commenting on them, wishing them, envying them, wishing you could have a little piece of their happiness pie. But then you may argue that I witnessed the fireworks at the Burj, and was surrounded by family and new friends. True I had it all, but as I said and believe, you can feel all alone in a room full of people.

True I was in Dubai witnessing the firework display at the Burj Khalifa, true I had my family with me, but somehow I found myself being the Debbie Downer, just being myself, cause the ones that mattered to me were not with me, and ones who I thought I mattered, didn’t really feel I mattered to them. Besides I don’t drink (apart from the very occasional glass of wine), and don’t know how to party, and can turn me into a Grinch, a loner, someone who sits in the corner, not wanting to do anything, much to the annoyance of fellow partiers cause I can dance (I have trained in it).

Moreover my clash of ideals and the way I see the world, my overbearing nature almost every time finds me at odd with siblings and friends. Almost every time has landed me with a tear in my eye, all alone. An although I promise myself never again, I end up going through it all over again. And I don’t blame them, just because they don’t see the world my way doesn’t make them wrong. So I have had pathetic New Years, sleeping early while the world celebrated, or spending it in hospital beds, or cleaning up behind my sick relatives, or the worst, traveling to Thailand and then deciding to stay back in the hostel and complete my story, while my friends went out for a foam party.

I don’t blame them, cause I know I am the most pathetic, uninteresting guy, who starts to feel all grumpy and cranky before the clock strikes twelve. But then how I wish I could spend New Year’s Eve with the one that matter, kiss them tightly as the the clock strikes 12. As cliched and pathetic as it may sound, it’s something I really hope for. Really wanting to spend that New Year’s Eve in the arms of the one, giving thanks for the year gone by, hoping that no more tears.

But somehow through the years I always end up not having it in the way I wanted to. This is not what I wanted, not what I hoped for. I didn’t ask for the tears and pain, the feeling of hopeless loneliness, the feeling of seeding anger for being misunderstood, the feeling of being upset. But somehow they all find you.

Despite it all you don’t loose hope. You go to the washroom, you cry behind closed doors, then wash your face and you return back to being quiet in your corner, as others term you a spoilsport, and yes you may deserve that title.  

But you know what, you hope, you hope the coming year would be different. You don’t know what’s in store for you, you don’t know what lays ahead of you, you are scared, you are nervous of the dark abyss that lies ahead of you. You wonder if would you make it through, or would this year be the end of you. 

But despite all your nervousness, your sorrows and fears, there’s still excitement of taking a step into the unknown, a will to live, to heed the calling of your heart, to make changes, to start a new, be the best you, way more cooler. Give a damn what others have to say about you, cause they’ll never understand you if they can never see the world the way you see it.

So here’s to the new year, a new decade, 2020. Here’s to working on you and the ones ans things that mean the world to you, to cherishing them and nurturing them. Here’s to shedding off that unwanted and unwarranted baggage that you keep lugging around. Here’s to running, to fitness and good health. Here’s to love and people that matter to you, the ones you love. Here’s to making changes for the better. Here’s to more writing. Here’s to friendship and strengthening of the bonds that matter. Here’s to being you, to doing your part in giving back for what you have received. Here’s to not being quiet.

Here’s to the New Year, here’s to 2020!