Colour Me

I don’t really celebrate Holi, never really got why we need to apply all that colour and then spend the rest of the week removing it. Or maybe it stemmed from the fact that growing up we were never really allowed to celebrate it as my aunt would say it not Catholic to celebrate a Hindu festival (something I have grown out of by now as there’s no religion to celebration) or how can you celebrate a festival during lent (as Holi inadvertently fell during lent) and how do you celebrate during lent, a time for fasting and abstaining (again something that I was always told by my aunts. We did however celebrate it with water but we were never allowed to waste too much and also there was the scare of catching a cold.

Well that’s that about not celebrating Holi in my childhood,but somehow here I was wanting to be part of the celebration, not because I wanted to celebrate, but because I didn’t want to be by myself, all on my own with just me and my mind. 

I had been riding a low wave and didn’t want to go through a downward spiral. It was not as if I wanted to be around these people or long for their company, I just wanted to be around people, to loose myself and the loneliness I was feeling. And if I was around people who I knew, not some complete strangers then that was perfectly fine.

I was furious at myself for putting myself in this predicament. How did I even get here? Haven’t I not learned from the past? Why was my history repeating itself? Maybe this was what they meant when they said that history repeats itself because men repeat their mistake (make that because people repeat their mistake, well we need to sensitive about gender neutrality).

I had promised never to put someone else’s priorities before yours. Not to make someone, who wasn’t you the centre of your universe, make someone your priority. Yet here you were, back at square one, driving yourself bonkers, going into overthinking overdrive.

How could you do this to yourself. It’s good to be loving and kind, that’s your inherent nature, but that shouldn’t come at a cost of your mental well being. And yet you found yourself doing  just that, and you hated yourself for that.

You hated the insecurity and uncertainty, not knowing what was there, or if there’s anything was there in the first place. You hated this feeling that made your even more anxious, driving you off the cliff.

You hated the fact that you were being considerate of the others situation, the others feeling without being sensitive to your feelings, to your needs, to what you wanted. 

You hated you couldn’t express it, communicate what you felt, what you wanted, because you were too afraid of hurting and being hurt, afraid of loosing it all.

You hated that you had expectations and that when you did something and not get what you had expected you were left feeling this hurt. You hated the disappointment when you didn’t get the response you expected, you wanted and then you are left feeling guilty of having done the same in the past.

You just didn’t wanted to be a text and no phone calls, a formality. You just didn’t wanted to be taken for granted, but you feared that was what was exactly happening.

And to make matters worst, work life sucked too, like it always does, stressing you out even more.

So you had the whole self-hate, self-loathing, hurt and loneliness in you. You didn’t want to be alone, so you went for the celebration. And it did exactly what you hope it to do.

Though I tried to runway when my friends try to colour, it was all just an act, to show as if I didn’t want to be coloured. In my head I wanted them to apply that colour cause it was a way to hide the sadness that I felt . And somehow the colour did just that and then some more, it actually made forget my cares, made me forget the pain that I felt, the downward spiral that I had found myself in. It helped me loose myself and enjoy the moment with people who were friends, though not all close, but yet dear to me (of course, me being me).

And as I found myself being coloured it felt like my monochrome life was getting a technicolor touch. In those moment I was able to put behind my cares and loneliness and just celebrate the moment, enjoy it, cherish it, savour it, smile and laugh my cares away. 

I couldn’t help but admire the unbridled joy and happiness of those around me. I definitely shied away from the celebration, but couldn’t help myself but enjoy and partake in their joy. And what else, they took to spreading it to others too, irrespective of age, gender, cast, religion, ethnicity, nationality. What was more special was that others joined in too, to partake in the festival, to partake in the celebrations, the joy. It was no longer was a festival of a particular religion, a particular nationality, it was festival for all, a way of not just celebrating but bringing souls together and making everyone smile. That what festivals are meant to do, bring people closer.

I would have normally not really want to get myself coloured, cause it’s painstakingly difficult to get it all off, but in that moment I was glad that I decided to join in the fun, cause it made me forget how lonely and low I was feeling, how desperate and hopelessly lost I was, and just have a lot of fun.

In those moments my life went from jaded to bright, from monochrome to technicolor, colouring my life with joy.

She says She’s 68... but She don’t know she’s Beautiful

I have known her for most part of my life, well even more and before, after all she did carry me for nine months in her womb, and from that moment, and as long I live, I had an instant connection with her (of course I was connected to her by an umbilical cord), the moment I saw her she imprinted on my heart (or did I do that to her?).

A simple (at times sample) woman, who spent most of her time, most of her life, caring for her family, caring for her in-laws, but now for quite a while it’s been just the two of us, as our tribe dwindled due to mortality of time (and the nestlings who moved on from the nest).

A woman of simple taste and slight awkwardness, but great hidden strength and determination, and yes a whole lot of patience (after all she needs it when she has a confused child like me). I may chide about going for walks, doing her tests and check ups, but I know she can and she does take her self. And when I scold her for her indulgences and giving into her little chocolate temptations, and how it will impact her diabetes, she just quips that she’s not diabetic and her diabetes are under control and she’s eating a little after food is allowed.

She would rather have me sleep than waking at odd hours, would rather have me rest than exerting myself going for a run or hitting the gym. She can never understand how I run so much for so long and don’t stop without getting tired. She never truly gets how I do the things I do (sometimes even I don’t get it myself).

My running friends, who know her, simply adore her, and take care of her whenever she joins us for outstation runs or trips. So she may not run, but she they admire her sportsmanship and stamina when we went sightseeing in Ladakh, and they in turn took care of her. 

She hates me posting her pics on Facebook or Instagram or any social media site, rationalising as to why should the world know what she’s doing and why let bad eyesight fall. She doesn’t think she’s beautiful and doesn’t like to be fussed upon. She feels she ain’t worth it. 

But no matter what she says she’s mean the world to me. For me she’s the most beautiful woman in the world, no one comes even close. She may say she’s 68 (though she’s not too sure about it) but she don’t know that she’s beautiful.

Christmasses of Yore: Childhood Christmas Memories

Once again it’s that time of the year when the cheeks are rosy and everyone wants to be comfy, cosie, from the cold (yes, it does get cold at time in Mumbai). It’s the festive season and everywhere you look you’ll find a festive glow. Shops with their festive window displays, houses with their lit windows, at every signal there’s Santa hats and reindeer antlers being sold, there’s decorations for your house, decorations for the tree, star lights and dancing lights, not forgetting the statues for your crib. It’s a magical feeling, the most beautiful feeling you could ever have. There’s excitement in the air, as people rush to make their purchases, children writing letters Santa, hoping they find what they wished for, the asked for, beneath their Christmas Tree, or in their stockings. You hear the gentle strains of a carol, heralding the coming of the Christ.

It’s a magical feeling, but you can’t help yourself and be transported to years ago, back to your childhood, to christmases of yore. As soon as you step on to your floor you you get the whiff of the sweets being made, kulkul, navri, marzipans, guava cheese, date rolls, the coconut cake. You could tell who was making which sweet just from that smell, that sweet smell.

Sweet making was social activity. You made sweets together in one house and then moved to the next house to help. I distinctly remember the lady who came to knead the atta, literally bashing it up on the heavy aluminium thali. You were either assigned to make balls or make the kalkals or do the fillings for the navri, and get scolded when they came small or opened up while they were fried. I remember the taste when the first batch of navari and kalkals were fried. Making marzipan was fun, especially when you experimented with colours. So A sunflower could red or green, Christmas trees all yellow, and Santa a very colourful fellow.

Decorating the house was and is a very tedious activity in itself. Finding the right streamers that would go with each other, that would match, if not the same. Deciding on the patterns in which to hang them, ensuring they didn’t touch the fan. Then you had decorating the tree. Did I say that I had a 7 feet tall tree, with toys that my dada had got when he came down? So decorating it would be fun, firstly finding the right branches, putting in the right sequence, spreading the branches, hanging the toys so that the good ones were in front, and thanks to my doggie, there were no balls down. Finally came the untangling of the lights and wrapping them around the tree, and putting up the star.

Our building boys used to put up a huge star, hung in the centre of the building, with a crib in it. The highlight being getting that star up. The excitement, that crackle in the air, got everyone out of the houses and on to the gallery, cheering the boys on as they pulled the star up which mind could be damn heavy, as my poor buddy Ryan found out.

Once the star was up it was time to get ready for midnight mass, but first sweet needed to be distributed amongst the neighbours, especially the families of those mourning. Midnight mass included royally snoozing during the mass, or trying to count the number of people who had gone Betty-by, going to Persian Darbaar for chai, to avoid the long and preachy sermon, and then stand out there at the end of the mass to wish everyone. Once the mass was out of the way it was time to make way to Mondes for beer (or in my case, Coke or ice tea) and then Bade Miyas for some kebab rolls.

What followed was a week of fun and frolic, music and activities, of Christmas Parties, and housies and request programs, Fancy Dress and Talent Competion, request programs and guessing the Santa, children running around selling housie tickets, music playing, people jiving ( yes that’s where I got my jiving skills), guitarist in demand  cause at the time talent meant singing (unlike dancing now days), Tele games and guessing the Santa, all culminating with the old mans walk on New Year’s Eve and the prize distribution and raffle draw on New Year’s Day.

But now things have changed, the world has changed, the way we celebrate Christmas has changed. The Christmases of our childhood have become a memory, albeit a sweet one, one we shall cherish forever. Those days may never come again but we shall always have them with us, no matter where we go, over land or sea or shore, the celebrations of Christmas of yore.