Thursday, May 22, 2008

Honey I missed the stop!

Ann hated it when she slept angry. She often woke up with a headache when this happened. He had slept on the train and missed his stop the earlier night. She had to spend the evening driving back and forth from the station and then chasing the train to the next station, which was 20 minutes away from home. No matter how adorable he looked when he slept, this habit drove her crazy. All the things she had hoped she would do, when she got home from a hard day’s work, she had missed. She didn’t have any time to wind down and had messed up her entire evening. They had fought and she had slept angry.

This morning she waited on the platform for her usual train. What was unusual was that she was a bit early for the train. She loved when this happened because staring at the tracks filled with little rocks lined by beautiful greenery on the sides was a sight that would stay in her memory through those freezing winter days. Also watching train turn towards the platform from the thick green woods gave a feeling of mystery to the train. It appeared as though the train crawled out of nowhere. This could be why the concept of “platform number nine and three quarters” by J.K. Rowling touched her at some level.

Today she was glad she was early because her mind was occupied with the ideas for a logo she was supposed to design in a couple of days. She found a few minutes to mull over the ideas before the train got there. During those solitary few moments Ann, unknowingly, started tracing the contours of the GO logo on the ticket shed. GO transit stood for Government of Ontario transit. She thought it was brilliant of them to come up with this abbreviation for a transit system and at the same time design a very witty logo. Witty logos, was what had attracted Ann to the field of Graphic Design. She always believed that she would love to come up with clever ideas like these and make brands more appealing.

Her eyes ran along the curves of the ‘G’ and the ‘O’ and then followed the line that went through them as though they were intersecting train tracks. “Genius”, she thought.

Ann, or Annapurna couldn’t recall when she had started calling herself that for the convenience of the “white man”. Sometimes when she thought about it, it felt strange to have adapted so well to this new name while her parents and her relatives in India still called her Anu or Annapurna. Sometimes she even hated herself for having accepted to this new “white” name.

She was sifting through her morning thoughts one by one when they announced that the train was going to be 10 minutes late. She was happy. She can now get her morning coffee as well. She hurried towards the coffee shop in the GO station. The coffee at the station was not that swell. But she simply liked the feeling of having a warm drink accompanying her train ride.

By the time she bought the coffee and reached the platform again, the train was there. She got in and occupied her usual spot by the window, as did the other passengers. Everyone had their seat sort of “reserved”. It was second nature to the usual GO trainers to occupy the same spot everyday.

Ann liked to drink coffee on the train. She could now sip at it and imagine things. She would imagine that she would meet someone on the train someday. He might not be handsome. But he will surely be a nice guy to talk to. She would talk to him about her work, her family, her days in India etc.. and he would enjoy it. They would have the same sense of humour and feel sad about similar things in life. They would share a common personality.

This “HE” that she imagined was someone different from the actual “HE” in her life. Ann did feel guilty about having these thoughts sometimes, because the real “he” was the love of her life. But she allowed herself a little mental indulgence under the pretext that her boyfriend and she, did not have much in common.

He was a man of career and sports and bars and drinks. While she liked to get involved in social groups, talk about social issues and visit the art galleries once in a while. There was something in their relationship that she did not enjoy much. She couldn’t put a finger on what exactly, but there was something missing for sure. At the same time she was sure she loved him.

As she climbed in the train today her eyes met with a handsome young man. Tall, thin, wearing a lose T-shirt, nice pair of jeans and sports shoes. His face had a ready smile and eyes had the desire to live. He seemed enthusiastic from the way he was letting the passengers take their seats while he made way for them to get by him. Ann wondered why he wouldn’t sit when there were ample seats available. Maybe he wants to show-off his height, Ann mused. He smiled at Ann as she passed him by and she gave a polite smile back. She felt something. Her spine tickled. She realized she was still wearing the smile even after almost 5 minutes of the exchange.

She loved this feeling and she turned to see what this tall handsome man was up to. He was still standing and was looking back at her. “Wouldn’t you like to sit?” Ann asked in a hushed tone (so that the sleeping passengers wouldn’t wake up) pointing to the empty seat in front of her. He gave her the most heart-warming smile Ann had ever seen, and obliged.

As he sat in front of her, she kept sipping at her coffee and looking out the window, trying to think of a million different subjects she could use to break the ice. But not one was good enough for this magical moment.

“Do you really like that?” he finally asked pointing to the cup.

“Not really, I simply like to have something to sip during the train ride.” Ann said feeling relieved.

His tall legs were almost touching hers, the seats being so crammed up together. She noticed he had handsome hands too. It is important that men have handsome hands she thought. Although she couldn’t’ quite define what “handsome hands” exactly were. They just were!

“You obviously work downtown…” Ann tried to continue the conversation. He smiled and said yes. He did not say anything further and that irritated Ann a bit. She expected him to be a bit more detailed so that she wouldn’t have to ask him questions that seemed like a TV interview. “He probably doesn’t have a glamorous job like I”, the pride in Ann thought. Well, nothing wrong in a humble occupation.

“I am supposed to think of a logo by this afternoon and I had planned on thinking about it on the train. My mind seems to blank right now though.”

“You are a graphic designer”, he said, looking impressed. “Yes that’s just the way things turned out,” Ann said with a little attitude mixed with pride. This topic gave rise to an interesting conversation about graphics in cinema which lead to recent movies that he and Ann had seen and that lead to favourite actors and before they knew they were talking about food!

This amused Ann and she smiled to herself as she thought back about it, during her walk from the station to the office. The conversation had turned out to be exactly as she had imagined during all those tedious morning bus and train rides. She felt abundant.

She was happy. She had found a friend. A friend, who would talk to her on the train and keep her company.

This country found herself lonely sometimes. Not because she didn’t have enough friends or family here in Canada. Mostly because there was something about this society that alienated people from each other, in strange ways. Neighbours, for example would exchange little pleasantries but neighbourly relations rarely seemed to go beyond that. Not that Ann was a social butterfly. She preferred to be left alone most of the time. However she wanted more than “dinner” friends and “howdy neighbour”.

She and her boyfriend shared a special kind of relationship. They complemented each other in an interesting kind of way. They had their differences, but it was a comforting, cozy relationship on good days.

On her way back from work, Ann looked at the phone and smiled. It was her boyfriend. She knew he felt bad for the earlier night. She was happy that he had called after the day’s silent treatment. She was happy because now she could go home and sleep well through the night after the reconcilement.

She answered and heard “Honey I missed the stop”.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

Miss you

When solitude becomes loneliness
When peace becomes silence
That’s when I miss being myself
I miss you!

Being a mother

Mourning the death
Of a child we never had
Mourning the demise
Of hope

Unknown Bond

Don’t say sorry…
We have a bond. Not an obligation.
We have an understanding. Not a promise.
We simply care…

Thursday, February 21, 2008

Once upon a time in Canada

I woke up one morning only to find NO milk in the fridge! Grrr…I am one of those people who cannot inhale the morning air unless they have their morning tea. Of course I like it made the Indian way, with milk and prefer it with masala. Hmm tea! How good it feels to clutch the warm cup in the palms on a cold morning!

NO MILK. These words started making their rhythmic appearance in my mundane thoughts. I was missing it already. Missing the daily ritual of internal dialogues I have, while sipping at the steaming cup. It is amazing how you get so used to your daily routine, that for one day you cannot have the morning beverage and world seems to fall apart! NO MILK. I reluctantly tried to wake myself up with a couple of glasses of water. And let me tell you, that it did not help a lot. NO MILK. I sleep-walked dragging my feet to the couch and sat in front of the TV, turned to channel 24 to look at the morning news for the weather. This was I, trying to act like everything was just normal and having no milk was not a big deal. It was not normal.

It was 6:00 o’ clock on a cold February morning. My eyes kept closing of their own free will. I was fighting the sleep. “I must wake up, go out and get milk”, I told myself, trying to focus my eyes on the TV screen.

SNOWSTORM! What! No way. I was startled and awakened without the help of the tea, that I so desperately wanted, a few moments ago. I still wanted it of course. But the snowstorm only meant that it was going to be a bit longer before I met my liquid friend. It meant that I had to put on my boots and winter coat dragging my ass out to shovel the unrelenting snow. SNOWSTORM! It seemed as though the “rhythm” kept going. Only this time, with a different word.

I got a psychological headache. Do you ever get one of these? It is one of those where you tell yourself that you have a headache because of lack of coffee or tea and voilĂ , you actually get one. SNOW STORM! By this time I was fuming at myself for not having remembered to buy milk the previous evening.

I had no option left but to drag my heels to my snow boots. I was still in my pajamas, by the way. With a stuffy nose and throat, the morning kind, I put on the boots and the coat and gloves and toque. This heating system really makes the eyes and nose feel abnormally dry, I thought. I ought to get a humidifier, I reminded myself.

I peeked outside through the glass on the door. There was a little mountain of snow right outside the door, so if I opened it the snow would leap inside the house. Since I had to get out somehow, I chose to use the garage door and get out from the garage instead of the front porch.

I opened the door that led to the garage from inside of the house. It was dark in there. As usual being lazy to turn on the stupid light, I started for the garage door in the dark.

KABOOOM! SHLAPP!

I fell face first on the bonnet of what one would call a car. Of course! I had parked it there the night before, being aware of the snowstorm warnings that were aired on the radio.

See what the lack of tea does to the human head? I couldn’t remember this simple fact! And darn, why on earth didn’t I turn on the light!

I tried to get off the cold cruel bonnet. Struggling with my boot that had got stuck in between the stair and the bumper. My knees didn’t know which way to bend. I didn’t know why I was so confused about the function of my own limbs, as there is only one way they can bend, really. Tired and angry at the bizarre struggle, I decided to lay there flat, face on the bonnet and enjoy the pain of the fall.

The metal felt cold against my cheek. With my palms facing the ceiling and boot still stuck, I took a deep breath and determined to give my freedom another shot. With the support of my palms and one free leg I pushed against the car so that I fell bum first on the stair. This would help me free my other leg. I have no idea how it got in there at such a bizarre angle.

I freed my leg and I realized my head was pounding. I could hear it. My body was shaking slightly and I couldn’t see a thing in the dark. I gave myself a few minutes before I got up and turned on the light. I shall never trust my night vision ever again, I decided.

I opened the garage door and got out. Finally breathing the freezing yet refreshing cold air. How stale the air gets inside the house!

The shot of oxygen did me some good. I could open my eyes now. The landscape outside was breathtaking. White snow dunes everywhere. The little, white, rolling mounds, of what were once cars, in front of houses. I hadn’t seen this much snow in years. It was beautiful, untouched and as white as white can be. Wall-to-wall. The snow on the rooftops seemed like icing on cake. The sky was a dark grey colour, lined by a narrow streak of yellow announcing the sun rise, spotted occasionally with yellow street lights. Black, white and grey, is all you could see. Breathtaking.

I was amazed at my ability to admire this work of nature despite bruised ankle, aching knees and pounding head.

I inhaled the fresh air again and coughed. Ooops a little too much inhalation! The chill went straight down my throat and I coughed again.

I had to shovel the snow. What a shame that life had to disturb such a beautiful landscape.

If I had painted it, I wouldn’t let anyone touch it.

I turned to get the shovel from the garage and started shoveling disturbing not only the soothing picture but also the silence. The sound of my shovel would probably remind the neighbors of their duty as well and the whole scene would be nothing but a messed-up piece of art. No one seemed to wake up though. It must have been 6:45 by now.

I returned to digging. My gloves were warm but they didn’t stop the freezing air from penetrating to my fingers. After a few digs at the snow, I was starting to feel the wrath of the weather. My knees and toes hurt. I had to take a break. I went inside the garage to warm up a bit. I stood there, admiring the outside scenery again, only this time raising each foot in the air, every so often, making sure I could still feel them. Usually I have a cup of tea in a thermos in the garage so that I can sip at it as I am shoveling. It helps me keep warm. NO TEA! Oh I missed it so much.

I went back to shoveling. I shoveled and I rested. I shoveled and I rested. This continued for a while, missing the warmth of the inside and the hot cup all this time. I was almost at the verge of tears by the time I finished the wretched task. I had also spoilt the beautiful picture of the snow dunes. If only I had remembered about the milk yesterday. I was helplessly angry with myself. The head was hurting even more now and my face had turned hot from the manual labour.

I went back in the garage after all the work and started the car. I don’t usually lock the car when I keep it in the garage. I reached for the seat belt and habitually turned a little to the right to buckle it in. And wait a minute…

I was stunned. Speechless. Almost delirious. What have I here?

A bag of MILK.