13.11.11
Approximately seven weeks left before I turn twenty one.
Because when I look back, I see my life as one event after another, a series of sequences, of consequences, of oh-this-was-that-time-when-I-was-happy, and that-was-the-year-that-I-was-glad-to-leave-behind. That's the-thirteen-year-old-Trisha-being-an-idiot, and the seventeen-year-old-Trisha-not-being-an-idiot-but-not-being-much-else-really, and the nineteen –year- old –Trisha- being-a-fool-albeit-spectacularly.
Is there anything spectacular about foolishness?
Going through the motions. That's what I'm doing. Right now it's a sort of ho hum, just want to get term over with man, because the past few months have been crap, and want to go back home. And once I am home, it will be an oh my gosh, I'm having so much fun and Christmas in Calcutta is always so wonderful, but I'm worried I'll only feel that when I'm drunk. Anyway there's a reason I don't particularly want to go back to Calcutta right now, but let's not even go there because it's a stupid reason, and anyway I have better things to do than pay attention to it.
What things?
Nothing.
That's my problem.
Of course being the same sort of person through the years is something that is often looked up to, something that is applauded. I never understand why. How boring to to be the same, to have the same thoughts, the same reactions, the same points of view, through the years, at fifteen, at fifty. People should change, they should grow, they should have past selves and present selves and future selves, because what happens if you stay the same, and you know yourself inside out, you know what you're going to say, or what you're going to do, at any given moment, and then you just get bored of yourself. Like a stale marriage, except I don't think they've come up a way to divorce yourself, although by the looks of things, I'm sure they will soon.
So here's my problem. I am not yet twenty one, although time will soon take care of that, I am reasonably happy, reasonably enthusiastic about the future, reasonably reasoning my way through this bloody Life thing, and I am completely and utterly dissatisfied.
It's like you're walking down a college corridor and you hear voices behind you and you can hear what they're saying and it sounds stupid so you roll your eyes contemptuously and then the next minute you catch sight of a familiar face and you feel a pleasant warmth light itself inside you because you're fond of that face, and at the same time you notice a patch of sun on the a red brick wall and you feel the back of your neck itching, just slightly, and while seeing and feeling all these different things, essentially, you're just distracted, unable to focus on any one thing, unable to get a grip, get a grasp.
But it's not like you're losing your balance, stumbling, tripping, falling, desperately trying to look for something to hold onto either.
That is the tragedy.
I'm feeling a little alarmed. Not because I think twenty one is old (I did when I was twelve, but what do twelve year olds know, right? Especially if the diary I kept back then is anything to go by), but because it's a reminder that I should by now be firmly entrenched in what vague voices call Life, and I don't think I am. Or if this is Life, whatever Life is and I'm using a capital L for a reason, then it's sort of - disappointing isn't the word - not enough. It's not enough.
Because when I look back, I see my life as one event after another, a series of sequences, of consequences, of oh-this-was-that-time-when-I-was-happy, and that-was-the-year-that-I-was-glad-to-leave-behind. That's the-thirteen-year-old-Trisha-being-an-idiot, and the seventeen-year-old-Trisha-not-being-an-idiot-but-not-being-much-else-really, and the nineteen –year- old –Trisha- being-a-fool-albeit-spectacularly.
Is there anything spectacular about foolishness?
Going through the motions. That's what I'm doing. Right now it's a sort of ho hum, just want to get term over with man, because the past few months have been crap, and want to go back home. And once I am home, it will be an oh my gosh, I'm having so much fun and Christmas in Calcutta is always so wonderful, but I'm worried I'll only feel that when I'm drunk. Anyway there's a reason I don't particularly want to go back to Calcutta right now, but let's not even go there because it's a stupid reason, and anyway I have better things to do than pay attention to it.
What things?
Nothing.
That's my problem.
Everything feels like a hand moving mindlessly, instinctively, to swat at alien fingers on my wrist: there is no real emotion, no real thought, because all of it will be replaced in five years by something new, or it will have died and not been replaced, or it will stay the same, and either way, I'll be no happier, no sadder, no different than what I already am.
Of course being the same sort of person through the years is something that is often looked up to, something that is applauded. I never understand why. How boring to to be the same, to have the same thoughts, the same reactions, the same points of view, through the years, at fifteen, at fifty. People should change, they should grow, they should have past selves and present selves and future selves, because what happens if you stay the same, and you know yourself inside out, you know what you're going to say, or what you're going to do, at any given moment, and then you just get bored of yourself. Like a stale marriage, except I don't think they've come up a way to divorce yourself, although by the looks of things, I'm sure they will soon.
So here's my problem. I am not yet twenty one, although time will soon take care of that, I am reasonably happy, reasonably enthusiastic about the future, reasonably reasoning my way through this bloody Life thing, and I am completely and utterly dissatisfied.
It's like you're walking down a college corridor and you hear voices behind you and you can hear what they're saying and it sounds stupid so you roll your eyes contemptuously and then the next minute you catch sight of a familiar face and you feel a pleasant warmth light itself inside you because you're fond of that face, and at the same time you notice a patch of sun on the a red brick wall and you feel the back of your neck itching, just slightly, and while seeing and feeling all these different things, essentially, you're just distracted, unable to focus on any one thing, unable to get a grip, get a grasp.
But it's not like you're losing your balance, stumbling, tripping, falling, desperately trying to look for something to hold onto either.
That is the tragedy.
5.11.11
The Trip That Wasn't: Part III
"Is it seven o'clock yet?" I asked, cracking an eye open.
Mawii rolled over and looked at her phone. "Damn."
"What?"
"So much for sight seeing," I murmured happily - I could see the sun streaming through our window, despite the faded green curtain, and I could tell it was going to be a hot day - and I closed my eyes again.
"New plan," I said to Mawii, half an hour later, as we ate our breakfast. Hunger pangs had forced us out of bed in a way no 8.40 am class ever has. "We do lunch first. And then we go sight seeing."
"Sounds good."
"It'll give us more energy anyway."
"This really isn't sight seeing weather," said Mawii, a couple of hours later, as we were trudging our way to the metro station in the heat.
I sighed, and looked down at my feet. Keep walking, keep walking. A terrible sight met my eyes (well, eye, I was still wearing only one contact lens) and I groaned.
"WHAT?" Mawii spun around, probably thinking I'd stepped in cow poop. Our lane harbours the occasional cow which appears and vanishes without a trace (it would be too optimistic to think that someone turns them into beef), only occasionally leaving big lumps of feces for hapless people to step in.
"I forgot to take my nail polish off." I was wearing sandals and I'd been picking at the nail polish on my toes the previous night (disgusting habit, I know, I know, my mother has told me a thousand times) and now half of it had gone, and half of it was there, and my feet looked terrible.
"Just ignore it?" Said Mawii hopefully.
"I can't go sight seeing with ugly toenails!"
So then I walked past the metro station to the pharmacy, while Mawii sat outside the Exchange Store resignedly sipping a cold coffee, and bought nail polish remover and cotton wool and lip balm because the saleslady told me it would make my lips look luscious and who the hell doesn't want luscious lips?
I joined Mawii outside the Exchange Store, and started rubbing frantically at my toenails, while passers by gave me curious looks. I ignored them. It comes with the territory.
I finally got my toes looking clean (although depressingly colourless) and for extra measure, I'd luscious-ed my lips, and we finally got onto the metro, and away from the heat.
"I could just sit here all day," I said, blissfully, leaning back and stretching my legs out, enjoying the air conditioning and the empty compartment. Of course, then we stopped at Kashmere Gate, and all of a sudden the metro was jam packed with frantic people and decayed people and smelly people, and suddenly life outside the metro began to look rosy again.
We got to Big Chill eventually and asked for a table outside so we could smoke (you're allowed to smoke when you're on holiday). Because it was so hot, no one else was sitting outside, and so we were rushed past a line of people waiting to be seated in the air conditioned interior. They looked at us enviously. Ha ha, non smokers, ha ha.
We'd both been exercising (or we intended to start, I'm not sure) and it was really very hot, so we skipped the pasta and had salads instead. Would've felt very healthy if it wasn't for the pack of cigarettes lying between us.
"I can't believe we've turned into the kind of people who eat salad in restaurants," said Mawii sadly, when we were done.
"I know. Dessert?"
"It would be a crime not to have dessert."
I don't remember what Mawii had, but I had the Belgian Chocolate shake, after two years, TWO years (the last time was when A.O. was in town and I scared the crap out of him by eating more than he did) and it was joy, it was heaven, it was all things miraculous and wonderful, and I'm not even exaggerating. And I didn't even feel guilty because I'd had salad for lunch.
We really didn't feel like moving after that, but we did move, all the way to Humayun's Tomb. We went to the ticket booth and gave the man forty rupees (Indians pay twenty each, foreigners pay a hundred something). The man looked at us suspiciously and asked us where we were from in Hindi. (Kidhar sei hai?")
Unfortunately, he looked even more suspicious and said, "Dilli?"
"Haan."
He gave us our tickets and just as we were about to move away he said that we looked like we were from Japan.
"I DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU BUT I DO NOT LOOK FUCKING JAPANESE." I yelled at Mawii, much to the shock of a bunch of German tourists standing near by. They looked at me nervously. Oh well. At least they weren't Japanese.
The guard who was standing at the entrance insisted on checking our id to check that we were nationals before tearing our tickets. I was itching for him to say, "Japan se?" so I could kick him, but he didn't, and in retrospect, I think it was a good thing.
I must say, Humayun's Tomb was incredibly disappointing. We climbed a flight of extremely steep stone stairs, which struck me as ironic considering the reason for Humayun's death, and reached the courtyard which was lovely - at first glance. There were a few tombs to one side, and I strolled over and examined them. They were unmarked.
We walked around the courtyard a little - let me again reiterate that it was bloody hot - and the outside was quite nice, because it was all red stone and there was a lovely view of the gardens from all sides. The gardens were very well maintained, but the fountains and water holes were dry, or nearly dry.
The tomb is in a large, shadowy, cool hall, but the thing is, it's the sort of room that should be empty and quiet for you to appreciate it, and there were people strolling in and out (which is only fair, I suppose) but they kept taking photographs and talking really loudly and the smell was terrible and there was drilling going on from all sides, and really, if I were Humayun, I'd be seriously annoyed. Also, there's no information about Humayun which is a pity because he was so interesting (though admittedly useless) - nothing that tells you about his reign, or how he died.
We strolled into some of the ante chambers. The walls were all marked with graffiti.
There were a few tombs there as well, but all unmarked. Nothing that told you about who lay under them, or why, or how, or when they'd been put there. And I didn't know and I wanted to know, and it was incredibly frustrating.
After that, we went out (glad to get away from the smell and the noise) and we went down again, and strolled the perimeter of the building (the building itself is beautiful) and the gardens (also beautiful).
We sat in the gardens for a while, and then decided to carry on to the Purana Quila. I have mixed feelings about Humayun's Tomb. I liked the Red Fort much more, because there's so much more to know there. And there are things to know about Humayun too, you just can't find it there.
Mawii rolled over and looked at her phone. "Damn."
"What?"
"It's ten in the morning,"
"So much for sight seeing," I murmured happily - I could see the sun streaming through our window, despite the faded green curtain, and I could tell it was going to be a hot day - and I closed my eyes again.
"New plan," I said to Mawii, half an hour later, as we ate our breakfast. Hunger pangs had forced us out of bed in a way no 8.40 am class ever has. "We do lunch first. And then we go sight seeing."
"Sounds good."
"It'll give us more energy anyway."
"This really isn't sight seeing weather," said Mawii, a couple of hours later, as we were trudging our way to the metro station in the heat.
I sighed, and looked down at my feet. Keep walking, keep walking. A terrible sight met my eyes (well, eye, I was still wearing only one contact lens) and I groaned.
"WHAT?" Mawii spun around, probably thinking I'd stepped in cow poop. Our lane harbours the occasional cow which appears and vanishes without a trace (it would be too optimistic to think that someone turns them into beef), only occasionally leaving big lumps of feces for hapless people to step in.
"I forgot to take my nail polish off." I was wearing sandals and I'd been picking at the nail polish on my toes the previous night (disgusting habit, I know, I know, my mother has told me a thousand times) and now half of it had gone, and half of it was there, and my feet looked terrible.
"Just ignore it?" Said Mawii hopefully.
"I can't go sight seeing with ugly toenails!"
So then I walked past the metro station to the pharmacy, while Mawii sat outside the Exchange Store resignedly sipping a cold coffee, and bought nail polish remover and cotton wool and lip balm because the saleslady told me it would make my lips look luscious and who the hell doesn't want luscious lips?
I joined Mawii outside the Exchange Store, and started rubbing frantically at my toenails, while passers by gave me curious looks. I ignored them. It comes with the territory.
I finally got my toes looking clean (although depressingly colourless) and for extra measure, I'd luscious-ed my lips, and we finally got onto the metro, and away from the heat.
"I could just sit here all day," I said, blissfully, leaning back and stretching my legs out, enjoying the air conditioning and the empty compartment. Of course, then we stopped at Kashmere Gate, and all of a sudden the metro was jam packed with frantic people and decayed people and smelly people, and suddenly life outside the metro began to look rosy again.
We got to Big Chill eventually and asked for a table outside so we could smoke (you're allowed to smoke when you're on holiday). Because it was so hot, no one else was sitting outside, and so we were rushed past a line of people waiting to be seated in the air conditioned interior. They looked at us enviously. Ha ha, non smokers, ha ha.
We'd both been exercising (or we intended to start, I'm not sure) and it was really very hot, so we skipped the pasta and had salads instead. Would've felt very healthy if it wasn't for the pack of cigarettes lying between us.
"I can't believe we've turned into the kind of people who eat salad in restaurants," said Mawii sadly, when we were done.
"I know. Dessert?"
"It would be a crime not to have dessert."
I don't remember what Mawii had, but I had the Belgian Chocolate shake, after two years, TWO years (the last time was when A.O. was in town and I scared the crap out of him by eating more than he did) and it was joy, it was heaven, it was all things miraculous and wonderful, and I'm not even exaggerating. And I didn't even feel guilty because I'd had salad for lunch.
We really didn't feel like moving after that, but we did move, all the way to Humayun's Tomb. We went to the ticket booth and gave the man forty rupees (Indians pay twenty each, foreigners pay a hundred something). The man looked at us suspiciously and asked us where we were from in Hindi. (Kidhar sei hai?")
This is an old trick, and it's been played on me before. So I replied in Hindi too, saying "Idhar sei."
Unfortunately, he looked even more suspicious and said, "Dilli?"
"Haan."
He gave us our tickets and just as we were about to move away he said that we looked like we were from Japan.
"I DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU BUT I DO NOT LOOK FUCKING JAPANESE." I yelled at Mawii, much to the shock of a bunch of German tourists standing near by. They looked at me nervously. Oh well. At least they weren't Japanese.
The guard who was standing at the entrance insisted on checking our id to check that we were nationals before tearing our tickets. I was itching for him to say, "Japan se?" so I could kick him, but he didn't, and in retrospect, I think it was a good thing.
I must say, Humayun's Tomb was incredibly disappointing. We climbed a flight of extremely steep stone stairs, which struck me as ironic considering the reason for Humayun's death, and reached the courtyard which was lovely - at first glance. There were a few tombs to one side, and I strolled over and examined them. They were unmarked.
We walked around the courtyard a little - let me again reiterate that it was bloody hot - and the outside was quite nice, because it was all red stone and there was a lovely view of the gardens from all sides. The gardens were very well maintained, but the fountains and water holes were dry, or nearly dry.
Then we went inside. I reeled back as I stepped through the archway - there was a terrible smell there. I don't know what it was - probably from the construction work that was going on everywhere which really didn't help the atmosphere, let me tell you - but if I had to put a name to it, I'd say it smelt of decay.
The tomb is in a large, shadowy, cool hall, but the thing is, it's the sort of room that should be empty and quiet for you to appreciate it, and there were people strolling in and out (which is only fair, I suppose) but they kept taking photographs and talking really loudly and the smell was terrible and there was drilling going on from all sides, and really, if I were Humayun, I'd be seriously annoyed. Also, there's no information about Humayun which is a pity because he was so interesting (though admittedly useless) - nothing that tells you about his reign, or how he died.
We strolled into some of the ante chambers. The walls were all marked with graffiti.
There were a few tombs there as well, but all unmarked. Nothing that told you about who lay under them, or why, or how, or when they'd been put there. And I didn't know and I wanted to know, and it was incredibly frustrating.
After that, we went out (glad to get away from the smell and the noise) and we went down again, and strolled the perimeter of the building (the building itself is beautiful) and the gardens (also beautiful).
Mawii brought her camera, but it wasn't working, so I walked around taking photos with my phone, because taking photos made me feel more like we were on a trip.
 |
| I suppose everyone wants to leave their mark on history. |
 |
| The courtyard. |
 |
| Cute door and Mawii. |
 |
| Humayun's Tomb in all its glory, baby. |
 |
| Scenes from the gardens. |
 |
| What the hall could have and should have felt like, but didn't. |
We sat in the gardens for a while, and then decided to carry on to the Purana Quila. I have mixed feelings about Humayun's Tomb. I liked the Red Fort much more, because there's so much more to know there. And there are things to know about Humayun too, you just can't find it there.
So I said goodbye to the son of Babur, the same son, legend has it, whom Babur sacrificed his life for (according to legend, Humayun was very ill, Babur was distraught, he walked around Humayun's bed and begged for his life to be taken and his son's life to be spared and three days later, Humayun was hunky dory and the first Great Mughal was dead), the same son who lost Babur's kingdom and then won it back, only to promptly die (he fell down his library steps and broke his neck. Now do you see why the fact that you have to climb steep stairs to reach his resting place is ironic?), the son who fathered Akbar (general consensus seems to be that was Humayun's greatest achievement.)
We walked to the main road and saw an auto. The autowallah was a relatively harmless looking old man. We got into the auto and asked to be taken to Purana Quila.
Apparently that was asking for too much.
22.10.11
Interruption.
People are just so nice, man.
I went to the convenience store behind the PG, and the man there - I fondly refer to him as Peter Pettigrew #1 (the story of Peter Pettigrew #2 shall be saved for later) - told me had a present for me.
"A present?" I said, surprised.
He opened the fridge where he keeps the soda and took a piece of chocolate, carefully wrapped, out.
"My friend got me a box from Thailand. I saved one for you. It's filled with wine."
"For me?" I was so touched, I nearly blubbered.
"Try it,"
And I did, and wine exploded in my mouth.
"Nice?"
I gave him a thumbs up, talked a bit about Thailand, and, throwing will power to the wind, bought a pack of cigarettes. I figured it was the least I could do.
What can I say? The world has its fair share of nasty people, but there are also those who surprise and delight and they matter so much more.
I went to the convenience store behind the PG, and the man there - I fondly refer to him as Peter Pettigrew #1 (the story of Peter Pettigrew #2 shall be saved for later) - told me had a present for me.
"A present?" I said, surprised.
He opened the fridge where he keeps the soda and took a piece of chocolate, carefully wrapped, out.
"My friend got me a box from Thailand. I saved one for you. It's filled with wine."
"For me?" I was so touched, I nearly blubbered.
"Try it,"
And I did, and wine exploded in my mouth.
"Nice?"
I gave him a thumbs up, talked a bit about Thailand, and, throwing will power to the wind, bought a pack of cigarettes. I figured it was the least I could do.
What can I say? The world has its fair share of nasty people, but there are also those who surprise and delight and they matter so much more.
The Trip That Wasn't: Part II
"Are we going to Agra this evening?" I said to Mawii, when we woke up the next morning.
"I suppose," said Mawii, putting a pillow over her face.
"Right!" I bounded out of bed, brushed my teeth, and opened our door to cross the garden to the main house to get some breakfast. I blinked. The sun was pouring down, the sky was impossibly blue, everything was still and oppressive and...hot.
It takes less than thirty seconds to cross the garden but I swear by the time I did, I was already sweating.
"That's it," I told Mawii, over Times Trends. "I'm not going to Agra."
Mawii looked relieved.
"But I really don't want to waste this weekend sitting in the PG," I continued, despondently stirring my coffee that comprises a pinch of coffee powder and a lot of milk and therefore isn't coffee at all but it sort of grows on you. "I want to do something."
Mawii was silent. She wanted to do something too.
"Why don't we have a weekend in Delhi?" I suggested after a moment (or maybe she suggested it, I don't remember, but I'm telling the story).
"Doing what?"
"We could go to nice places to eat, we could visit places we haven't been to yet. Like Humayun's Tomb and the Purana Quila."
Mawii brightened. "We could do that!"
And this was what we decided: it really was unbearably hot and it was already ten o'clock, so we'd watch a nice movie together that afternoon, a mindless romantic comedy, and then, in the evening when it got a bit cooler, we'd go to Dilli Haat and cheer ourselves up by buying out the place, and then we'd go to Hauz Khas village for dinner. And then, the next day, which was Sunday, we'd wake up really early in the morning before it got hot, and visit Humayun's Tomb and Purana Quila, and then have a nice lunch at Big Chill because the thought of cheesy pasta just then was inexplicably comforting.
Excellent plan. At least we were doing something, we were taking initiative, we were being pro-active, instead of feeling sorry for ourselves. Alright, we were still feeling sorry for ourselves, but at least we were going to feel it while shopping and eating and absorbing History, instead of sitting around in our room drinking ourselves into a stupor.
So we watched Mama Mia that afternoon - and sang along with gusto if not finesse - and then we had a bath and we put on nice clothes, and slathered on eyeliner and a bit of lipstick and lots of mascara. Mawii looked beautiful, as always, and I looked quite attractive too although this was possibly because I had only one contact lens on (no way was I going to be wearing my glasses) and so when I looked in the mirror, my features were blurred and I couldn't see my nose properly. But why quibble.
And off we went to Dilli Haat.
We got out of the metro station and asked an auto driver where it was.
"There," he said, pointing towards it and heaving a sigh that seemed to imply he thought we were imbeciles.
"Where?" I said, squinting. I couldn't really see much. Just the sky, already fading to pink, and a few blurry shapes I assumed were cars, and other blurry shapes I assumed were people.
"I see it," said Mawii. "It's ten steps away."
She took me by the arm and guided me firmly. I closed the eye that didn't have a lens in it and that helped my vision. I also told myself that it made me look like a one eyed pirate. Lying to myself is what keeps me going.
"Oh look," I said, pointing to a couple of women in brightly coloured saris who were busy wrapping strands of people's hair in shiny ribbon. "I want to get that done." I was thinking of the time I got my hair braided in Bali, and how happy I'd been there, and I figured that getting strands of my hair wrapped in ribbon would bring me close to that happiness. I know. My logic bewilders even me sometimes.
I actually meant to get it done on the way out, but I made the mistake of making eye contact with one of the women while we were buying tickets to enter, and she strode determinedly up to me, wouldn't take no for an answer, insisted that by the time I came out all the hair wrappers (not braiders) would be gone, and that my life would lose all meaning if I went around with the hair I currently had.
So we mooched over to the low stone grey wall where the hair wrapping was going on. Mawii declined to get her hair done, I picked blue and purple ribbon (it was more like shiny string) for mine, and the woman started wrapping. She stood on the wall behind me, grabbed a chunk of my hair, twisted it, and then started twisting the paper around it, taking very good care to yank my hair as hard as possible. I don't want to be mean, but all this while she was bargaining with Mawii and the more Mawii insisted she bring down the price, the harder she tugged at my hair. After she'd done one lulu, Mawii took a picture and I decided to get only one more. Four, which I'd originally planned, was going to be too much. The lady accepted my decision with very bad grace, but I think she had quite a good time pulling at my roots so I'm sure all was not lost.
Look, you can see that my eye is rolling in pain.
Anyway, we went in after that, and it was already dark, and the Haat was looking lovely with all its colourful stalls and lanterns and faery lights (man, I love faery lights. They make me so happy) everywhere. Mawii made me swear that I wouldn't let her buy more than once piece of jewellery, but as it turns out, I was the one who went beserk.
I went to the first shoe stall I saw, tried on four different pairs of shoes, told the guy (who was already growing impatient because I kept saying, "Eesh. So ugly" to a pair, only to try them on two pairs later) I'd come back and buy a pair on my way out. A lie.
Mawii was roaming around all the jewellery stalls searching for rings because that girl is obsessed with rings. She bent over the displays intently, examining each piece with precision. I leaped in, bought the first necklace I saw, and leaped out again. I was also going around taking bad photos with my phone.
"I suppose," said Mawii, putting a pillow over her face.
"Right!" I bounded out of bed, brushed my teeth, and opened our door to cross the garden to the main house to get some breakfast. I blinked. The sun was pouring down, the sky was impossibly blue, everything was still and oppressive and...hot.
It takes less than thirty seconds to cross the garden but I swear by the time I did, I was already sweating.
"That's it," I told Mawii, over Times Trends. "I'm not going to Agra."
Mawii looked relieved.
"But I really don't want to waste this weekend sitting in the PG," I continued, despondently stirring my coffee that comprises a pinch of coffee powder and a lot of milk and therefore isn't coffee at all but it sort of grows on you. "I want to do something."
Mawii was silent. She wanted to do something too.
"Why don't we have a weekend in Delhi?" I suggested after a moment (or maybe she suggested it, I don't remember, but I'm telling the story).
"Doing what?"
"We could go to nice places to eat, we could visit places we haven't been to yet. Like Humayun's Tomb and the Purana Quila."
Mawii brightened. "We could do that!"
And this was what we decided: it really was unbearably hot and it was already ten o'clock, so we'd watch a nice movie together that afternoon, a mindless romantic comedy, and then, in the evening when it got a bit cooler, we'd go to Dilli Haat and cheer ourselves up by buying out the place, and then we'd go to Hauz Khas village for dinner. And then, the next day, which was Sunday, we'd wake up really early in the morning before it got hot, and visit Humayun's Tomb and Purana Quila, and then have a nice lunch at Big Chill because the thought of cheesy pasta just then was inexplicably comforting.
Excellent plan. At least we were doing something, we were taking initiative, we were being pro-active, instead of feeling sorry for ourselves. Alright, we were still feeling sorry for ourselves, but at least we were going to feel it while shopping and eating and absorbing History, instead of sitting around in our room drinking ourselves into a stupor.
So we watched Mama Mia that afternoon - and sang along with gusto if not finesse - and then we had a bath and we put on nice clothes, and slathered on eyeliner and a bit of lipstick and lots of mascara. Mawii looked beautiful, as always, and I looked quite attractive too although this was possibly because I had only one contact lens on (no way was I going to be wearing my glasses) and so when I looked in the mirror, my features were blurred and I couldn't see my nose properly. But why quibble.
And off we went to Dilli Haat.
We got out of the metro station and asked an auto driver where it was.
"There," he said, pointing towards it and heaving a sigh that seemed to imply he thought we were imbeciles.
"Where?" I said, squinting. I couldn't really see much. Just the sky, already fading to pink, and a few blurry shapes I assumed were cars, and other blurry shapes I assumed were people.
"I see it," said Mawii. "It's ten steps away."
She took me by the arm and guided me firmly. I closed the eye that didn't have a lens in it and that helped my vision. I also told myself that it made me look like a one eyed pirate. Lying to myself is what keeps me going.
"Oh look," I said, pointing to a couple of women in brightly coloured saris who were busy wrapping strands of people's hair in shiny ribbon. "I want to get that done." I was thinking of the time I got my hair braided in Bali, and how happy I'd been there, and I figured that getting strands of my hair wrapped in ribbon would bring me close to that happiness. I know. My logic bewilders even me sometimes.
I actually meant to get it done on the way out, but I made the mistake of making eye contact with one of the women while we were buying tickets to enter, and she strode determinedly up to me, wouldn't take no for an answer, insisted that by the time I came out all the hair wrappers (not braiders) would be gone, and that my life would lose all meaning if I went around with the hair I currently had.
So we mooched over to the low stone grey wall where the hair wrapping was going on. Mawii declined to get her hair done, I picked blue and purple ribbon (it was more like shiny string) for mine, and the woman started wrapping. She stood on the wall behind me, grabbed a chunk of my hair, twisted it, and then started twisting the paper around it, taking very good care to yank my hair as hard as possible. I don't want to be mean, but all this while she was bargaining with Mawii and the more Mawii insisted she bring down the price, the harder she tugged at my hair. After she'd done one lulu, Mawii took a picture and I decided to get only one more. Four, which I'd originally planned, was going to be too much. The lady accepted my decision with very bad grace, but I think she had quite a good time pulling at my roots so I'm sure all was not lost.
Anyway, we went in after that, and it was already dark, and the Haat was looking lovely with all its colourful stalls and lanterns and faery lights (man, I love faery lights. They make me so happy) everywhere. Mawii made me swear that I wouldn't let her buy more than once piece of jewellery, but as it turns out, I was the one who went beserk.
I went to the first shoe stall I saw, tried on four different pairs of shoes, told the guy (who was already growing impatient because I kept saying, "Eesh. So ugly" to a pair, only to try them on two pairs later) I'd come back and buy a pair on my way out. A lie.
Mawii was roaming around all the jewellery stalls searching for rings because that girl is obsessed with rings. She bent over the displays intently, examining each piece with precision. I leaped in, bought the first necklace I saw, and leaped out again. I was also going around taking bad photos with my phone.
The chess sets really tempted me. They were so pretty. Luckily for my - well, my mother's - bank account, I realised just in time that I don't know how to play chess, so I refrained from buying one. But that didn't stop me from buying other things: shoes, that seriously look like slippers the Sultan of Turkey would wear, two heavy lead pencils (I bought one for Mawii but she said she'd used them before and they wrote badly and wouldn't take it. Ungrateful chit), a green patterned skirt (It took me fifteen minutes to choose between the green and a red one, and I actually held one against Mawii and the other against a mortified salesboy and well, the green looked good on even the salesboy so I figured it was a winner), the necklace, and - a pipe. I bought a pipe! Dark polished wood. It was beautiful. I spent ages looking for an ashtray, but couldn't find one, so I ended up buying a tiny little wooden coffee cup that matched the pipe (bada bing bada boom!) instead.
"What are you going to do with a pipe?" said Mawii grumpily. She hadn't bought a single thing yet even though she'd been round to all the jewellery stalls at least twice. She was being too careful in my opinion. No point shopping for frivolous things if you're going to be careful.
"I'm going to use it to quit smoking," I said proudly.
"Come again?"
"I'll stop buying cigarettes and instead, whenever I feel like I'm about to die because my lungs feel too clean or whatever, I'm going to put a little tobacco in this pipe and light up." I didn't add that I thought I'd look extremely cool going around puffing away at it.
The nice thing about Mawii is that she plays along with my idiotic notions, so apart from a brief snort, she didn't try to dissuade me. She also refrained from mentioning that I'd bought an ashtray (or at least an object I intended to use as an ashtray) which was a pointless purchase if I was going to quit smoking. Then again, she knows I lie to myself a lot, so perhaps she was just playing along.
Anyway.
We finally left, me lugging three heavy bags, and Mawii empty handed. It was a turnaround, I can tell you.
Then we headed to Hauz Khas village because Mawii had heard of a really nice restaurant there where you get South East Asian food and we both felt like eating with chopsticks. We got an auto to drop us off in the middle of a dark street.
"Where is it?" I asked her.
"I'm not sure," Typical Mawii.
I googled the name on my phone and got an address and we went around from person to person asking where the restaurant was.
"Never heard of it," said a man, scratching his beard, when we asked him where the restaurant was.
"It's at number 45?" I said.
"Number what?"
"45."
Blank stare, and this was followed by many blank stares, so we decided to forgo the chopsticks and ended up at The Living Cafe (?) and it wasn't too bad at all. Dim lighting, lots of candles, dark wood, a very nice bar (we skipped the cocktails) and one of those menus where you kind of have to go, "Hm. I'll have this. Or should I have this? Or this, or this, or that? Alright, I've narrowed it down to this, this, and this. What do you think?"
The food was delicious, and then we went to this tiny little terrace outside and had coffee there, with a cigarette (I'll quit tomorrow, I told Mawii) and by the end of it we were in a very good mood because mountains or no mountains, that's what shopping, good food, and people who don't get on your nerves even though you spend practically every waking moment of your existence with them, do to you: they put you in a good mood.
We were even humming on the way home.
"Tomorrow," I told Mawii as we got into bed, "tomorrow we'll wake up at seven thirty and go sight seeing. We'll be tourists."
"We'll be tourists." She agreed.
"First thing in the morning,"
"First thing in the morning."
"It's going to be - "
"Perfect."
Haha. Ha.
17.10.11
The Trip That Wasn't: Part I
September 2011.
Mawii and I had been having a rough couple of months. Things in college hadn't been going all that great, and to be honest, nothing else had either. We'd both lost money because our PG seems to be harbouring a thief who knows exactly when we leave our room, even if it's just for ten minutes, and the exams had been a complete disaster (the only bright spot: we both passed Hindi), and there were a million other things going wrong, and nothing at all going right.
What we needed was a break and accordingly, we decided to give ourselves one.
What sort of break? A mountain getaway. Away from college, away from the city, away from familiar faces, away from the heat, away from it all. Invigorating air, that's what we needed, and lots of trees, and long walks, and maybe the occasional dancing stream and the odd cafe perched at the end of the world.
So, after a lot of deliberating (and googling) we decided on Naukuchiatal: the place with the nine sided lake, or something similar. It looked like something very close to Paradise.
The weekend we planned it though, our department decided to make its annual trip - to Dalhousie.
"Should we cancel Naukuchiatal and go to Dalhousie instead?" said Mawii, as we lay sprawled on our beds one hot afternoon, both staring blankly at the ceiling.
"Well, it is our last year of college." I conceded.
"Last class trip,"
"We probably won't see most of these people again,"
"Naomi's going."
"And Naomi never goes on trips. I'd like to go on a trip with Naomi."
"But then on the other hand, it won't just be Naomi."
"It will be lots of people."
"I'm kind of sick of people."
"Alright then. Where are we going?"
"Naukuchiatal, obviously."
We were proactive. We went to Connaught Place after college one afternoon. I googled Travel-Agencies-in-CP from my iPhone and felt very cool. I even looked at the map.
"Can you read this?" I asked Mawii, as we got out of the metro station.
"Sure. I can read maps."
Mawii looked at the map, a tiny little network of blue and red blurbs on my screen, interrupted by a long crack (one of the many results of my usual ham handedness).
"Where's the travel agency?"
A brief pause.
"Let's just walk around a bit, shall we?"
"Sounds good."
We walked with a purpose though, because Mawii had been to a travel agency in CP before and she vaguely remembered the direction. After a little asking around, and a lot of climbing over rubble, we found ourselves outside a travel agency (not the one she remembered but c'est la vie) and we walked in.
We were the only customers - I should have known. That should have warned me. The walls were plastered with photos of white Ambassadors. That should have been another warning.
"Naukuchiatal?" said the travel agent.
"Should we go by bus or by train?" said Mawii, adopting an efficient business like air, while I sat back and looked at her admiringly.
"Bus. Train. Both."
"Which is quicker?"
"Both quick. Both good." A beatific smile.
"Wouldn't it be quickest if we took a train?"
"Train...yes. Bus...hmm."
We settled on a bus. We booked our tickets, got them printed, handed over the money, got the details of our pick up point, and scarpered.
"This is good," I told Mawii. "This is really good."
"We've had such a bad time, things can only get better from this point on," She agreed.
How wrong we were.
I phoned my mother that night.
"We're going to Naukuchiatal."
"WHERE?"
"NAUKUCHIATAL!"
"WHAT'S THAT?"
"It's a place near Nainital, or in Nainital, in the state of Uttaranchal."
"Uttaranchal?"
"Uhuh."
Silence.
"It has a pretty lake," I added feebly.
"Are you two going alone?"
"Bo might come too."
"I don't like the thought of you girls travelling on your own."
"I have a Swiss knife with me. I can buy pepper spray too, if you want."
"What have I told you about being facetious?"
"Well, we've already got the tickets, and I'm sure it'll be safe. These places are always safe. Anyway it's only white people who get murdered on holiday and that's usually in Goa.We'll find a place to stay, and we'll walk a lot, and we'll visit the lake, and we'll communicate with nature. I've had a difficult term, I need to communicate with nature. It's not like anyone else has been communicating with me."
A disbelieving snort and then a grudging, "Make sure you call Anjali. She's from that area, she'll probably be able to recommend some places you two can stay."
I did call (my aunt) Anjali. The night before we were due to leave.
"Where are you going, love?"
"Naukuchiatal."
"When?"
"Tomorrow."
"TOMORROW?"
"Uhuh."
"Haven't you seen the news?"
I hadn't been near a television set since leaving Calcutta in July so the answer was no.
"Thirty six people have been killed in landslides there this week!"
Goodbye Naukuchiatal.
I frantically called Mawii who was at home and told her to check the news. She called me back equally frantic. The news was bad news (like it could be anything else). People were being swept away by landslides left, right, and centre. Swish, swoosh, and the sound of silence.
"We could go anyway," she said unenthusiastically.
"NO." I was adamant. I have no faith in Mawii's survival skills, and I have less faith in mine. The only reason I've made it this far is because of sheer dumb luck and I really wasn't trusting luck to do it for me this time round, at the rate things had been going. (There was an earthquake in Delhi last month and Mawii and I felt it and we both sat up in bed clutching each other and mumbling incoherent things, only gathering the wits to run outside long after the earthquake had stopped.) So no.
"Can we please just go somewhere else?" I asked.
"I'll go to CP tomorrow, cancel our tickets, and we'll go somewhere else," she promised.
But we couldn't go anywhere else. She called me the next morning - I was in class and ran out in the middle telling my professor it was an emergency which it totally was because my mental health was at stake - and she grimly told me that there were landslides in Uttaranchal, Himachal Pradesh, and basically all the nice mountainous areas we wanted to travel to. Rain everywhere.
Except of course in Delhi.
"Rajasthan? What about Rajasthan?" I said, clutching at whatever straws I could. Came up short as usual. We'd discussed the possibility of going to Rajasthan - Pushkar, perhaps? - and though it couldn't match up to the mountains, we comforted ourselves with the thought that we could spend the weekend riding camels. That's something, right? Camels?
"Everything to Rajasthan is already booked."
No camels then.
"AGRA!" I shouted in desperation. "WE'LL GO TO AGRA."
Mawii was not too keen on the idea of Agra, but it was still only Friday, and we could leave for Agra on Saturday evening and then return on Monday and perhaps we could even visit Fatehpur Sikhri. Also, my father had told me about Akbar's tomb which is on the way to Agra, and about how a ray of sunlight always falls on it, no matter what time of the day it is (not after the sun sets. Obviously). That didn't sound too bad. A ray of sunlight on the great Mughal's tomb was better than nothing at all.
But it was Friday and our class was leaving for Dalhousie that evening and we had nothing. Nothing. We could still go to Dalhousie but we didn't really want to.
"Tell you what. We'll dress up tonight, bring out those swishy little skirts and floaty little dresses and put on some lipstick and we'll go somewhere fancy for dinner - and maybe a couple of cocktails. Just the two of us," said Mawii.
I felt just a little less devastated at the sound of that plan.
And so that night, I had nice bath (a bucket bath, obviously, because it's too much to ask for, oh I don't know, a proper working shower in this bloody city) and I dried my hair and I even brushed it, and I'd laid out a little blue skirt, and I was in my towel, putting on one of my contact lenses, when it dropped. The contact lens. One minute it was in my palm, and the next minute, it had vanished. I scrabbled around on the floor, crawled under the bed, made Mawii fetch a torch and explored all the dark corners of our room, hoping against hope that it had bounced its way somewhere. Although contact lenses don't bounce. And then I stood in front of the mirror for twenty minutes, poking at my eyeball just in case it had disappeared up my eyelid. It hadn't - or if it had, it's still there.
That was really more than I could handle. It ended with me bawling on my bed, Mawii's arms around me, both of us feeling weighed down by darkness, despair, de-everything.
"Get into your pyjamas," Mawii told me, finally, "and order a pepperoni pizza. I'm going to go to Mocha to get us some dessert, because we deserve dessert, and then I'm going to come back, and I'm going to roll a joint, and then we're going to get stoned."
I cheered up a little.
And so that's how we spent the first night of the trip that didn't happen, the trip that didn't manifest, the trip that was a complete, er, washout. (Har har.)
Just as we were on the verge of passing out, Mawii got a text from Dhruv. Our class was still on the bus, stuck, stranded, because of - wait for it - landslides.
Perhaps we shouldn't have, but we chortled ourselves to sleep.
Mawii and I had been having a rough couple of months. Things in college hadn't been going all that great, and to be honest, nothing else had either. We'd both lost money because our PG seems to be harbouring a thief who knows exactly when we leave our room, even if it's just for ten minutes, and the exams had been a complete disaster (the only bright spot: we both passed Hindi), and there were a million other things going wrong, and nothing at all going right.
What we needed was a break and accordingly, we decided to give ourselves one.
What sort of break? A mountain getaway. Away from college, away from the city, away from familiar faces, away from the heat, away from it all. Invigorating air, that's what we needed, and lots of trees, and long walks, and maybe the occasional dancing stream and the odd cafe perched at the end of the world.
So, after a lot of deliberating (and googling) we decided on Naukuchiatal: the place with the nine sided lake, or something similar. It looked like something very close to Paradise.
The weekend we planned it though, our department decided to make its annual trip - to Dalhousie.
"Should we cancel Naukuchiatal and go to Dalhousie instead?" said Mawii, as we lay sprawled on our beds one hot afternoon, both staring blankly at the ceiling.
"Well, it is our last year of college." I conceded.
"Last class trip,"
"We probably won't see most of these people again,"
"Naomi's going."
"And Naomi never goes on trips. I'd like to go on a trip with Naomi."
"But then on the other hand, it won't just be Naomi."
"It will be lots of people."
"I'm kind of sick of people."
"Alright then. Where are we going?"
"Naukuchiatal, obviously."
We were proactive. We went to Connaught Place after college one afternoon. I googled Travel-Agencies-in-CP from my iPhone and felt very cool. I even looked at the map.
"Can you read this?" I asked Mawii, as we got out of the metro station.
"Sure. I can read maps."
Mawii looked at the map, a tiny little network of blue and red blurbs on my screen, interrupted by a long crack (one of the many results of my usual ham handedness).
"Where's the travel agency?"
A brief pause.
"Let's just walk around a bit, shall we?"
"Sounds good."
We walked with a purpose though, because Mawii had been to a travel agency in CP before and she vaguely remembered the direction. After a little asking around, and a lot of climbing over rubble, we found ourselves outside a travel agency (not the one she remembered but c'est la vie) and we walked in.
We were the only customers - I should have known. That should have warned me. The walls were plastered with photos of white Ambassadors. That should have been another warning.
"Naukuchiatal?" said the travel agent.
"Should we go by bus or by train?" said Mawii, adopting an efficient business like air, while I sat back and looked at her admiringly.
"Bus. Train. Both."
"Which is quicker?"
"Both quick. Both good." A beatific smile.
"Wouldn't it be quickest if we took a train?"
"Train...yes. Bus...hmm."
We settled on a bus. We booked our tickets, got them printed, handed over the money, got the details of our pick up point, and scarpered.
"This is good," I told Mawii. "This is really good."
"We've had such a bad time, things can only get better from this point on," She agreed.
How wrong we were.
I phoned my mother that night.
"We're going to Naukuchiatal."
"WHERE?"
"NAUKUCHIATAL!"
"WHAT'S THAT?"
"It's a place near Nainital, or in Nainital, in the state of Uttaranchal."
"Uttaranchal?"
"Uhuh."
Silence.
"It has a pretty lake," I added feebly.
"Are you two going alone?"
"Bo might come too."
"I don't like the thought of you girls travelling on your own."
"I have a Swiss knife with me. I can buy pepper spray too, if you want."
"What have I told you about being facetious?"
"Well, we've already got the tickets, and I'm sure it'll be safe. These places are always safe. Anyway it's only white people who get murdered on holiday and that's usually in Goa.We'll find a place to stay, and we'll walk a lot, and we'll visit the lake, and we'll communicate with nature. I've had a difficult term, I need to communicate with nature. It's not like anyone else has been communicating with me."
A disbelieving snort and then a grudging, "Make sure you call Anjali. She's from that area, she'll probably be able to recommend some places you two can stay."
I did call (my aunt) Anjali. The night before we were due to leave.
"Where are you going, love?"
"Naukuchiatal."
"When?"
"Tomorrow."
"TOMORROW?"
"Uhuh."
"Haven't you seen the news?"
I hadn't been near a television set since leaving Calcutta in July so the answer was no.
"Thirty six people have been killed in landslides there this week!"
Goodbye Naukuchiatal.
I frantically called Mawii who was at home and told her to check the news. She called me back equally frantic. The news was bad news (like it could be anything else). People were being swept away by landslides left, right, and centre. Swish, swoosh, and the sound of silence.
"We could go anyway," she said unenthusiastically.
"NO." I was adamant. I have no faith in Mawii's survival skills, and I have less faith in mine. The only reason I've made it this far is because of sheer dumb luck and I really wasn't trusting luck to do it for me this time round, at the rate things had been going. (There was an earthquake in Delhi last month and Mawii and I felt it and we both sat up in bed clutching each other and mumbling incoherent things, only gathering the wits to run outside long after the earthquake had stopped.) So no.
"Can we please just go somewhere else?" I asked.
"I'll go to CP tomorrow, cancel our tickets, and we'll go somewhere else," she promised.
But we couldn't go anywhere else. She called me the next morning - I was in class and ran out in the middle telling my professor it was an emergency which it totally was because my mental health was at stake - and she grimly told me that there were landslides in Uttaranchal, Himachal Pradesh, and basically all the nice mountainous areas we wanted to travel to. Rain everywhere.
Except of course in Delhi.
"Rajasthan? What about Rajasthan?" I said, clutching at whatever straws I could. Came up short as usual. We'd discussed the possibility of going to Rajasthan - Pushkar, perhaps? - and though it couldn't match up to the mountains, we comforted ourselves with the thought that we could spend the weekend riding camels. That's something, right? Camels?
"Everything to Rajasthan is already booked."
No camels then.
"AGRA!" I shouted in desperation. "WE'LL GO TO AGRA."
Mawii was not too keen on the idea of Agra, but it was still only Friday, and we could leave for Agra on Saturday evening and then return on Monday and perhaps we could even visit Fatehpur Sikhri. Also, my father had told me about Akbar's tomb which is on the way to Agra, and about how a ray of sunlight always falls on it, no matter what time of the day it is (not after the sun sets. Obviously). That didn't sound too bad. A ray of sunlight on the great Mughal's tomb was better than nothing at all.
But it was Friday and our class was leaving for Dalhousie that evening and we had nothing. Nothing. We could still go to Dalhousie but we didn't really want to.
"Tell you what. We'll dress up tonight, bring out those swishy little skirts and floaty little dresses and put on some lipstick and we'll go somewhere fancy for dinner - and maybe a couple of cocktails. Just the two of us," said Mawii.
I felt just a little less devastated at the sound of that plan.
And so that night, I had nice bath (a bucket bath, obviously, because it's too much to ask for, oh I don't know, a proper working shower in this bloody city) and I dried my hair and I even brushed it, and I'd laid out a little blue skirt, and I was in my towel, putting on one of my contact lenses, when it dropped. The contact lens. One minute it was in my palm, and the next minute, it had vanished. I scrabbled around on the floor, crawled under the bed, made Mawii fetch a torch and explored all the dark corners of our room, hoping against hope that it had bounced its way somewhere. Although contact lenses don't bounce. And then I stood in front of the mirror for twenty minutes, poking at my eyeball just in case it had disappeared up my eyelid. It hadn't - or if it had, it's still there.
That was really more than I could handle. It ended with me bawling on my bed, Mawii's arms around me, both of us feeling weighed down by darkness, despair, de-everything.
"Get into your pyjamas," Mawii told me, finally, "and order a pepperoni pizza. I'm going to go to Mocha to get us some dessert, because we deserve dessert, and then I'm going to come back, and I'm going to roll a joint, and then we're going to get stoned."
I cheered up a little.
And so that's how we spent the first night of the trip that didn't happen, the trip that didn't manifest, the trip that was a complete, er, washout. (Har har.)
Just as we were on the verge of passing out, Mawii got a text from Dhruv. Our class was still on the bus, stuck, stranded, because of - wait for it - landslides.
Perhaps we shouldn't have, but we chortled ourselves to sleep.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)