Work?

So much work. Such trying times, such despair.

Desk, books, overflowing ashtray, crumpled paper, beeping laptop. Typical.

Mawii goes one better. Her desk has half a bottle of Godfather rum standing proudly on it. She says she doesn't want to drink it but I know she's keeping it for an emergency. One neat gulp to see her through the fourth essay of the week.

One of the many reasons I admire her.

I have a bottle on my desk too but it's empty. I don't deal with pressure as well as she does. 

Masterji.

Having failed Hindi spectacularly last year, in order to avoid a repeat performance, I was forced by my mother to start tuition.

She's pretty much been persuading (nagging) me to start since the beginning of second year so this February, Mawii and I finally found a Hindi teacher through a friend of ours.

"Call him Masterji," said the friend.

So we called Masterji and got his address and, armed with a notebook and pen, we went across.

As we were entering, Mawii told me to be a little careful because Masterji was apparently a religious conservative. One of those saffron wearing Hindus, Mikhail had told her. Which just goes to show that Mikhail is prone to exaggeration because Masterji was not wearing saffron robes.

Just prayer beads.

Anyway, Masterji, an elderly man, was sitting on his bed when we entered and he held out his arms when he saw us. No, he didn't want a hug. He wanted to bless us. So I bowed my head and he waved his arms over it and then Mawii bowed her head and he waved his arms over it and then we sat down.

"What religion are you?" He asked us. "Christian?"

"Yes," said Mawii.

"Catholic?"

"No, Protestant."

"And you?" He said, turning to me.

I was confused. Normally if someone asks me what religion I am, I follow my father's advice and say I don't belong to any religion, but Mawii's words were still ringing in my head and I didn't want him to be shocked or give me a lecture on spirituality. Perhaps I was underestimating him, but I told him I was Hindu.

"Good, good," said he. "Of course, I teach everyone."

Good to know.

Then he asked us to take our Hindi text book out. Mawii and I didn't have a Hindi text book.

"You don't have a text book? How can I teach you if you don't have a text book?"

"We were hoping you'd teach us the alphabet first."

"No, no." A stern finger waggled itself in my face. "There is a book shop close by, to the (directions spoken in very fast Hindi). Go now. Have you understood?"

I hadn't but Mawii nodded so we went.

"Where is it?" I asked her as we stepped onto the road.

"I don't know," she said sheepishly.

"YOU SAID THAT YOU UNDERSTOOD WHAT HE SAID."

"I was nervous."

Anyway, we found the shop eventually - well, Mawii did - but it was shut because apparently Monday is its day off. The one next to it didn't have Delhi University text books.

So we went back and told him there were no books.

"Never mind, never mind," said Masterji. "I'll give you dictation. Do you want tea?"

No, we did not want tea, so we sat down and took out our notebooks. He leaned over and peered at mine.

"You should write the name of the God you worship on top of the page to enable you to maximise your performance."

"Huh?" I looked at him, terrified.

"Ma Durga, maybe?" he probed gently.

I continued staring at him.

"Saraswati?"

I didn't even know how to spell Saraswati in Hindi. Bengali, not a problem but it's pronounced slightly differently in Bengali. The Hindi has a 'w' which -

Never mind.

"Ma Kali?"

I could spell Kali. I must have looked slightly relieved because he asked me whether I'd ever been to the Kali temple in Calcutta.

"Yes," I lied. "When I was little."

"Did you like it?"

"Yes," I lied again. "Very much."

And then we finally got down to business.

"You are good," he told Mawii over and over again. "Very good. You will have no problem."

"You are poor," he told me over and over again. "But don't worry. I'll help you pass."

The hour passed quickly and when it was over, he told us to come again in a few days.

"Only if you're happy with the teaching," he said earnestly.

"Oh, we are," I assured him.

"If you're not..." he groped for the money we'd just handed him as part of our fees.

"No, no," said Mawii. "We understood everything, it was great."

"We'll come back again," I added.

He smiled at us, a beaming smile.

"Now, take my blessings because you must always take your Guruji's blessings. It will help you to master your exams and to get a man."

I bent down and touched his feet and he blessed me.

Anything to master my exams and get a man, right?

From Stuff No One Told Me.

From Dead Poets Society.

They're not that different from you, are they? Same haircuts. Full of hormones, just like you. Invincible, just like you feel. The world is their oyster. They believe they're destined for great things, just like many of you, their eyes are full of hope, just like you. Did they wait until it was too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable? Because, you see gentlemen, these boys are now fertilizing daffodils. But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in. Listen, you hear it? - - Carpe - - hear it? - - Carpe, carpe diem, seize the day boys, make your lives extraordinary. 

Brother.

So we're in a car and we talk about our lives. I tell him about my life. He tells me about his life. Comments are passed, and underneath a few bad jokes - advice also, I think.

So then later when we're watching School of Rock and I've been bullied into a joint and I'm quite stoned, I wonder if this would feel less so if that had been a little more. You know, like dripping honey on toast and a little boy running, through very green grass that brushes his knees, towards a swing that sways slowly, invitingly, as if the very breeze is being caressed in its lap.

We fell asleep then and the next morning, he looks at me and asks whether we should bond.

"Do you have anything to say?"

"No. Do you?"

"Nah. I said everything I wanted to last night."

"Me too."

"Cool." And we did our own thing.


The window is open. White curtains and little pieces of sunlight dancing their way in. The fan's moving slowly and it seems like the breeze coming in is being pushed around, synchronised swimming, sharp against the blades.














Fuck I'm stoned.

Min: A Profile.

1.

"If you send this message to 25 people, you will find true love within 24 hours. If you don't, you will die alone."

"Stop being a loser."

"Whatever, Trish. You could send this to fifty people, and you'd die alone anyway. So don't worry." 

2. 

"Min, is it okay if I don't dress up for your birthday party?"

"No."

"Well I'm not going to dress up." 

"Then don't come."

"I'm supposed to be your best friend." 

"Exactly." 

3. 

"Trish, there is nothing wrong with red satin hearts and teddy bears."

"They're disgusting."

"They're sweet. You're just jealous because no one ever gave you red satin hearts and teddy bears." 

"..." 

"Ya. Exactly. See how well I know you." 

4. 

"He's damn nice, Trish. Just don't let him see what a freak you are and things will be okay." 

5. 

"I don't know why we're friends, Trish." 

"Yeah, I like The Rolling Stones and you like Bollywood music." 

"Exactly. Who else would be friends with someone who thinks Mick Jagger is sexy?" 

6.

Wednesday: "We went to Plush last night. It was sooo much fun."

Next Wednesday: "We went to Plush last night. I got sooo drunk."

The Wednesday after that: "My parents are making me stay at home. You're so lucky you don't live with your parents."

Another Wednesday: "We went to Plush last night. There's nothing else to do on Wednesdays."

"What are you doing Friday night, Min? Going to Sheesha?"

"Yeah. Though we might go to Plush."


7.
"I walked in on Kimi having a bath once. It was sooo embarrassing."

"That happens to me all the time."

"You're slutty so it doesn't count."


8.
"I thought they were friends with me because of Tanvi Pandey but they actually genuinely like me. It's not surprising. I'm very easy to get along with."

9.

"I'm writing a blogpost about you.What do you think defines our friendship?"

"Bad luck, big mistakes, and shitty men." 

"Is that all it is?" 

"Animated Disney movies." 

"And?"

*Pause*

"Don't worry, Trish. I'm sure there's more to it." 

It's slow and it's steady and if it weren't for the fact that it's been missing for the past two years, you wouldn't even notice. It's in every day that passes. Moments crawl by slowly but not so slow that you want to scream. Slow enough to savour.

You're slightly alarmed because it's routine and you never thought routine was something you'd be comfortable with. But it doesn't have to be spectacular, it doesn't have to be shot into the air with fireworks. You've had that already and it was more smoke than anything else.

It's difficult to define really and the only reason you know it is what it is, is because when you climb into bed at night and pull the sheets over your shoulder and lie on your side with an arm folded under you, you feel like ink on heavy paper. Ink on heavy paper forming patterns that won't be lost, not even when morning tiptoes round.