Birthday Ramblings

Birthdays have always been important to me - especially mine :) For as long as I can remember, I have celebrated the 27th day of April in some form or another with those closest to me. For the past five years in particular, I have spent it with a person who has meant a great deal to me. This year, I was all set to spend a quiet, low-key birthday because of several reasons - age-wise, it seemed to be getting a little ridiculous for me to get all worked up anymore; further, I am away from home, in a VERY FAR OFF LAND, with none of my long-time friends nearby, and some significant chapters of my life closing with an inevitable finality. So, there I was, feeling alone, bereft, and not a little sorry for myself (which is an archaic English way of saying "very sorry for myself", for the uninitiated. I swear the influence of all those Victorian novels make their presence felt at the most inconvenient times!)

Anyhow, this was not to be. Probably because those who know me well knew how much fuss I usually make on my birthday, they made an extra effort to wish me and make me feel loved. This has been the most unusual birthday for me. The one time that I wished to forget that it was my birthday turned out to be the longest one ever thanks to the different timezones that I and my near and dear ones live in. Starting with cousins in Australian time who started wishing me more than a full day in advance, and then moving on to those in IST who began calling me from the morning of OUR 26th (the first call came at 6 Am on the 26th to be precise - I love you all but you gotta learn to calculate the time differences!!) , and then friends in the East Coast who are ahead of us by three hours. When people in PST finally began wishing me, it was beginning to feel anticlimactic! Apart from the many, many wishes on my facebook wall, I had friends and family remembering me and sending their blessings via whatsapp, and texts, not to mention the calls I received from assorted locations. Including the one person I thought I would not be hearing from.

Without naming names, among other things I also received this

and this

. A dear friend sent me a Starbucks gift card, so I went and got myself a birthday treat of coffee and cake, and thoroughly enjoyed it too:

I am also told that I have a gift arriving soon in the mail from a very special person, and I'll upload that when I get it.
I also had one person play "happy birthday" on the violin and send it to me. Someone in a different timezone stayed up all night to usher in the day with me at midnight, my time. Despite my protests. Between all the attention I got from so many nice people, I had a very busy two-day birthday via my electronic devices. Who says social media is ruining our lives?!

The point of this whole blog post is not to brag in any way, but to put on record how immensely blessed I feel and how grateful I am to every one who made an effort to make me, the laziest person when it comes to these social niceties, feel like a million bucks. Contrary to my intentions, nobody was willing to let me forget that it was my birthday, and in hindsight, I am thankful for the way God has gently reminded me - in the nicest way possible - that I have nothing to regret or be sad about. Getting older is one way of looking at it, and that can be depressing when you're single. But it takes a very slight adjustment in perspective and choose to see it as a milestone, a blessing, and to realize that not one day of life can be taken for granted when we cannot prolong our time here on earth for even a single minute. I am in awe of the greatness of He who can.

Cliches are cliches for a reason, and it is true that when one door closes, another opens. Some people and traditions will have to be relegated to memory, but then, new friends, new loves, and new memories are also made in the process. C'est la vie.

As for me, unlike any other year, I had a very low-key, mellow day just as I had expected, but unexpectedly, I loved it. Thank you, all!

Oh, and as we like to say it, do leave your paw prints in the comments section below if you're reading this :)

Of Subways and Voices

(Note: One of the reasons I have deferred updating my blog for so long is the huge turn my life has taken as a result of relocating for a while to the United States, initially in New York City, the Big Apple, the City that Never Sleeps, the Capital of the World, etc etc. If I were to update my blog, it had of necessity to be of things in my everyday, personal experience, but there was also the fear of sounding like a travelogue; and I am most certainly not a travel writer. I forget to take note of important places, or things; when my wind wanders, I even occasionally ignore the landscape and wonders of nature that travel writers are so wonderful at describing. Here is my attempt at a more personal account of impressions and scenes imprinted in my mind rather than a detailed description of places and landmarks).

New York City. In the city that never sleeps, I never slept either. Or hardly did. First because of jet lag, and later on because of a combination of bad habits, genuine insomnia, and the sirens that would so often cut across the silence of the night with alarming insistence. I never did get used to the sirens. Police cars, ambulances, fire trucks, and the occasional car alarm. Upper Manhattan.

The boroughs of New York are connected with an impressive network of underground trains - the subway system - that take you almost anywhere you want to go, any time, night or day. Our train, the one that took us downtown, was the A train. Oh, the A train! What sights, and smells, and visions, and experiences I had on the A train. Let me leave it at that.

But what remains for me the essence of the city is the remarkable talent of the subway performers - singers, dancers, and musicians. Imagine walking for miles (because you got lost trying to reach your destination which googlemaps told you was a ten minute walk, but that is a different story), tired feet adding to your frustration. Imagine being all alone with not a single soul to talk to or even smile at (New Yorkers are paranoid that way); imagine waiting in a cold, damp, dirty underground station, hungry and burdened with baggage both emotional and physical; imagine traveling what seems an interminable distance in the train, eyes resolutely downcast or deliberately kept blank so that you are not caught looking at any of your fellow passengers - who by the way, are doing the same thing - eye contact must be avoided at all costs; imagine wondering to yourself if it's all worth it after all; and then imagine the most soulful, earthy, raw voice belting out a bluesy note that you recognize in the midst of all that, or a lone, melancholy violin wafting through the air, or even a group of particularly acrobatic band of young boys playing music and hanging upside down from the poles inside the compartment. It's a little piece of heaven; a reminder that there is beauty in the most squalid of places, a little nudge to let you know that you are not alone. It is art doing what it does best - elevating your soul and transporting you to the realm beyond the mundane. Cheers, you brave, unsung heroes!

Lament of the Scorned

I am your Jezebel,
The curse you spit out
Along with the blood red
Juice of betel that
Oozes from corners
Of lips that formerly
Caressed, cajoled, captivated
With truths uttered unawares
By the same lips
Now denied.
I am Delilah,
Your downfall.
I am your drug,
Your shame,
Your reluctant high.
I am the discarded,
The one you stone
With relief
And
Some guilt.

Notes From a Plane.

I have seen it coming,
This day - the day I would miss my flight.
More and more frequently
I put off leaving for the airport
To the last possible minute.
My last three trips
Saw me in a mad rush
With taxi drivers coaxing
Their vehicles to run like race cars
On the obstacle courses of Aizawl roads.
Packing is a challenge I loathe;
Once upon a time, good boyfriends
Undertook that task for me.
Now I pack for myself,
Usually half an hour before I leave,
Haphazardly throwing in clothes
And hoping for the best.
Most times I forget something vital;
The last time I left a city,
I left my heart behind.
Airport food and airplane food
Are abhorrent, overpriced,
But I eat them anyway,
Because I rush out without having had time for a proper meal. My reluctance to plan my schedule properly is perhaps symptomatic of some inner repulsion at the thought of leaving another place yet another time. I love travelling to different places, meeting different people, soaking in different cultures. It is the journeys I hate.The International Terminal at Kolkata had mosquitoes: I was devoured by these bloodsucking insects as I waited. Oh, and I was on an international flight despite my not going anywhere abroad, because apparently, GoAir is an international flight.

Besides, I know by now what awaits me. The unimaginative decor of airport lounges, people staring at you for want of anything better to do, particularly lecherous guys who have no compunctions staring at you even when they're sitting right beside you, total strangers wanting to know where you're from, where you're going, and what you're doing there. Even as I write this, I caught the dude sitting behind me desperately peering through the crack between the seats, trying to read what I am writing. I stared him down. Small victory.

And this lady, sitting in the aisle seat- with, thankfully, an empty seat between us- this abominable woman has been belching every few minutes in the loudest, most disgusting way imaginable. Poetry is no longer possible. Believe me, a loud, deep, long belch will kill poetic inclinations any time. And her prodigious bulk prevents me from even attempting to get out of my seat to get at my stuff in the overhead compartment.

The Captain has at last announced that we are beginning our descent into Delhi. Yayyy!The overly conscientious flight attendant has suggested to us, over the PA system, that we should save whatever we have been working on before switching off our laptops. Seriously?!