Sightings

It’s a stunningly bright day…the kind of day which can only signal impending doom …I am walking down Park street, inhaling a fragrant westerly breeze (or isit a whiff of Flurys)… and I’m telling myself —I'm in my early late twenties, my academic career is over and I still live with mom— such are the thoughts flooding my not-so-tiny head when I notice the new McDonald's that was blown up just a few months ago (or was it a year ago).. my God I deserve a break today, I sigh, all I ever get is the unhappy meal…
and that’s when he walks out of the plastic sheathed rubble that is McDonald’s now, like a phoenix rising from ashes… this guy, who is me… I mean who looks like me, so much like me that I'm breathless…
he looks at me for a startled moment and looks away… this guys, who is me…is he my other half? does he have what I don't? did he get the luck? the love? were we destined to meet or was I unwittingly trying to fight destiny by following him down the narrow Mirza Ghalib street? were we really separated forcibly or did he just run off with the good stuff? or did I? will this person embarrass me? will we indulge in awkward, silent sex? Is that how we put ourselves back together again?
Such were the thoughts flooding my not-so-tiny head when I lost the sight of the guy, who is me…

Differences …
So ma decided to renovate our "old" bathroom, you know the ubiquitous bong old bathroom—a cavernous, damp, water stained mess where we do all our laundry (maashi kapor gulo purono bathroom e dhuye nao) and which we surreptitiously guide our guests away from (no, no not that way, the bathroom is this way)… well she decided that it deserves a new lease of life…
bye, bye pink, chipped wash basin and hello gaudy glass basin and glazy blue tiles…
I try not to interfere with ma’s dealings and be judgmental about them, but what do you do when you bathroom looks like the setting of a lurid Sanjay Neela Bhansali dream…
My ma is so …baroque… and I’m so… not baroque… I remember the time ma insisted on hanging this elaborate painting of a waterfall which when plugged to a socket made "soothing waterfall sounds" *shudders* in my room and I relented simply because I wanted to avoid a showdown (we don’t believe in talking things out in the Biswas household)… it just hangs there and I avoid looking at it…the "soothing waterfall sound" however, proves to be a great distraction for my high-strung four-year-old nephew…
I hate the blue, glass basin… I hate washing myself on/in (?) it … I hate the way my foamy spit dribbles down its sides when I am brushing my teeth, it’s like spitting on your dining table…
Sigh…

Eyes...

Let me share this... of recent, i have become a collecter of what i call the "but you could have been so much more" looks... you know , the kind of look people give you when you say or do things which are not in keeping with their perception of you ?the kind of look which leads to a change of attitude? I've been plagued with those...
no matter what i say or how i say it, the shadow looms... today, after losing a battle against invincible forces that subject me to such looks i have decided that i will become a connoisseur of the "but you could have been so much more " looks... i will accept them, and grade them according to the level of intensity...
After all, all forward motion counts...

Life…
As years pass by, my doubts are confirmed… life is designed to be like a Cameron Crowe movie… a bittersweet balance that's funny, melancholic and romantic :-)

Family

They settle down in the next table… the family of three… the mother clearly the decision maker… a stately, middle-aged woman in a black salwar kurta (or was it a sari)… the husband seems defeated- both by age and life (they arent the same thing) … he bends towards his wife, displaying his dandruff-infested shoulders…black is not a colour to wear when you are fighting a losing battle against scaly skin…
The pubescent son is the object of my attention, for obvious reasons :P…he is plain really … hollow-cheeked and lean, like most pubescent boys are… he betrays a strange impatience towards his mother…he almost flinches when she reaches out in her purse to give him some money… shifting his weight from on red canvas shoe to the other…What a strange family, I tell myself… and how disconcerting it is to see them in a coffee shop at this time of the day …
Sitting there, witnessing an awkward family moment, I realise that I'm alone, not in the way this family would recognize… yet, at this moment, I yearn for the familiarity of this dysfunctional family...