Eat, Pray, Love

EAT



For those who've known me, for an hour, a day, months, years or a lifetime, would probably smile and think to themselves, "Typical" or "why am I not surprised?"

Over the years, I've earned the title of a 'hog'. In school, in college and at work. Most of my time is spent in either eating, talking about what I want to eat, or thinking about what I could eat.

I cant explain my obsession about food. I'm always hungry. even after I've just finished a meal, I'm already thinking about the next meal.

I've been accused of converting non-eaters into hogs. And they've told me, sometimes seriously, sometimes jokingly, that they need to stop spending time with me because I'm making them put on weight while I continue to stay skinny as ever.

There's something about food that calms me down. If I'm sad, or angry or lonely or busy- food makes me feel better. Almost always.

But what you should also know is that I hate eating by my self. Food gives me a joy I cant explain and I have to share it with someone. Simply talking about it doesn't help. The other person needs to experience it and feel the bliss too.

When I cut into a slice of blueberry cheesecake, watch the spoon sink into its mushy core, pause for a brief moment at the crust, hear a soft click as the spoon cuts through the crunchy base and hits the plate, when I put the spoon into my mouth, feel the cheesy, creamy cake slide and roll around my tongue and melt away, bite into the tiny blue berries as their juices burst in my mouth and feel the crumbly crust leave a tingly texture on my tongue..... that's pure satisfaction. That cant be shared with anyone until he/she feels it too.

While most people eat to live, I, for one, live to eat.


PRAY




I'm not a very religious person, even though I come from a family who is. And I'm not sure if I'm too spiritual either.

I've never been able to explain to people what my thoughts about God are. But then, I dont think religion is something that needs to be explained to others. Its your won personal thing.

I also think prayers have nothing to do with religion.

I dont know how to pray. I've been taught, obviously. But over the years I've somehow lost the line that differentiates 'praying' from simply 'talking' to someone you believe in; God or otherwise.

Most of the times I feel like I'm simply talking, and to me that's praying.

I'm not going to dwell too much on how I pray because this isn't about that.

I dont know if I believe in the power of prayer. And I also dont believe that if you honestly want something, real bad, and you pray for it from the bottom of your heart, you'll get it. That just means that all the times I haven't got what I asked for, I haven't really wanted it badly enough.

That's not true.

I just think, even though its hard for me to admit, that you get what you need, not what you want.

Some nights back, I was feeling terribly low and lonely, and I lay in bed, crying, wanting so much, to be with someone who'd make the loneliness disappear. That hadn't happened in a very long time and I wished that for one night, for even a moment, someone would wipe my tears away. I 'prayed' for that moment; from the bottom of my heart.

And after all the times when I've thought God doesn't care about what I want, He gave this to me. He gave me someone who, for that moment, said something so simple, yet more than I could have asked for. "You have me."

When my grandfather was sick and people told me he didn't have much time left, I prayed. Harder than I'd ever prayed for anything in my entire life. For him to get better.

My cousin was expecting a baby and he'd be born anytime. And I wanted my grandfather to be around to see the baby, who'd be the first great grand child of our family.

I prayed, every night, every day, for a chance to let my grandfather see him ( my cousin had a baby boy eventually).

The night before my grandfather passed away, I was filled with something that could only be called 'enlightenment'.

Everyone told me my grandfather was in pain and he was suffering every moment that he was alive. He wanted to let go. But I couldn't stand the thought. It just made me pray harder for him to get better. Even when the doctors said there wasn't anything they could do.

But that night, I thought to myself, that my grandfather, even though I love him so much, had to released. I couldn't hold on to something that only brought pain and suffering. I had to stop being selfish. I had to let go. And I did. I prayed, for my grandfather one last time, to give him what he wants.

And my grandfather passed away that night. And he, and I, were finally at peace.


LOVE



There's nothing I can say about Love that hasn't already been said before.

Some time back, I was asked to define 'love' on a social networking site. And I replied with, "Am I qualified to define love?"

Everyone has a different perception of love, and there can be no fixed definition for it.

When I think of love, its something very simple: Love is when you're happy being with someone, anyone, who lets you be yourself.

I wont add that the person should be just as happy. Because I believe love is selfish.

Have I been in love?

So Many Times.

I've often admitted to myself, it doesn't take much to make me happy. Someone once termed it as being 'low maintenance'. I would have agreed to it had I not known better. Wanting the simple things in life is anything but LOW maintenance. Wanting to get the smallest things, which most people take for granted, is more difficult than having someone name a star after you.

Love, to me, is anything that makes me smile, or cry, in full honesty and sincerity.

I've been hurt by some of my closest friends. I've even cried for them. But it has been real. And I know the reason I shed tears for them is because of the love we once shared.

A month or so back, I was out with some of my colleagues, and after a couple of drinks, I remember laughing alot. And I remember I hugged my friend and cried for several long minutes because she would be leaving soon. I've known her only for three months, but I'll miss her. And to me, that's love.

A person, with whom I've not been on talking terms with for over a year, with whom I've fought on several occasions, shakes my hand when we meet several months later, that's love.

My immediate boss pretends to be busy just so my boss would take a look at my work and know I've been getting better, that's love.

Love may have been last on my list, but in life, it isn't necessarily so...

Letter to my Grandfather

Note:- A letter that never reached, nor got completed in time. Love you papa. May your soul rest in peace...


Dear Papa,

This letter is 23 years late. I wish I had written this much earlier. If I could've I would have written this letter even before knowing you. Because even then, you'd be the amazing person you still are.

I may not have much time to get this to you. Everyone tells me that you're missing Nana too much and you want to see her as soon as possible. Much as I hate to see you go, I'm glad in a way because I know that Nana has missed you just as much. And seeing her would make you happy. And you deserve this happiness more than anyone else I know. So I hope I'm not being selfish in letting you go.

I'm not sure how to tell you of what's in my heart Papa, because there's just so much.

Maybe I'll start by thanking you. For endless things.For dada and mama. For all my uncles and aunties. For all my cousins. For the best example of what a marriage should be like. For keeping this family together. For every summer holiday. For all those Christmases we've spent in Goa.For my first holy communion. For the stories. For the gifts. For the games we played as little children. For the chocolates and ice-cream treats. For the scoldings and punishments because it has made us better human beings. For all the prayers, rosaries, Holy hours and chapel rosaries. Every good thing that has come our way has come because of your and Nana's prayers.

When we went to Dohad for the first time, Dada, A. Sandra, A.Lalu, U.Leo and A.Brenda told us so many stories and incidents of your times there. And I always wished I'd been there to experience all the fun times you'll had.

I'm still finding the right words to say.. To tell you how much i, and everyone else, loves you.. I hope i get a chance to tell you..

Finding Friends

So my roommate left almost a week ago and I've been living on my own for all this time. The nights are ok, but when I wake up in the morning to an empty room, it can get pretty lonely especially when I have the entire day to kill and nothing much to do. I had thought I'd do alot of things to fill my day. But so far I haven't gotten around to doing any of the things I had planned.

So I spend my day laying in bed, watching FRIENDS and speaking to no one.

Just when I thought that the silence and boredom would kill me, I found company in someone who could very easily have been left by herself or ignored.

Every morning, at about 11, the maid comes to clean the house. When I tell people that my maid is a 12 year old girl (I'm making a guess about her age)they shoot an accusing look at me and mouth 'child labour'. Now, I feel bad about the situation, but somehow right now I feel like there isn't something I can do to stop my landlady from sending the girl to my place.

Anyway, I have a few things I think I can do now that I think about it, but it'll take some time.

So anyway, her name is Sarika and she stays with her family in Vadaj. The first time she spoke to me was when she came up to give me a bottle of cold water that the landlady had sent. I smiled at her and said "thank you", and she replied with a "Welcome" and the brightest smiles I'd ever seen.

She came up to swab the rooms and sensing that I may like some company, she began talking to me.Maybe she didn't really know what to talk to me, or maybe it was what she wanted to say, but she began to tell me about the landlady. She seemed excited to tell me different stories of the people who had lived in the house before I came. She laughed at certain instances and I joined in. She in her excellent super fast Gujarati, me in my absolutely poor and broken Gujarati-Hindi-English sentences, made quite a hilarious pair. I barely understood everything she was telling me, but I knew she thoroughly enjoyed talking to me.

The next day when a robbery took place near my place, she took it upon herself to warn me about earlier thefts and mishaps in the area. She told me to keep the doors locked and be careful when I came home alone at night.

Today when she woke me up from my sleep at nearly noon time, I asked her if she went to school. With a mix of a sheepish yet adamant look, she told me that she'd studied till 6th std, but had quit after that. I asked her why. From what I understood, she'd loved to study, and her two younger sisters were at school too. But her grandmother never encouraged her to continue studying. Being the eldest, Sarika was expected to work and help her mother. She didn't have a father( or grandfather, I didn't really understand) and when I asked her how he died, she told me she didn't know. But her grandmother never let her do her homework and that made things difficult for her at school. Finally she got fed up with all the trouble she was getting in at home and at school and decided to give up studying all together. I asked her if she has plans to study again, and she said she wasn't sure.

She then told me about an incident that made me so furious but yet again, I didn't know what to do. I don't even know if I should be writing about this here, but maybe someone reading this has any ideas of something I could do to.

She told me that she loved earrings and bangles and one day she went to a shop near her place to buy a pair of earrings. The shopkeeper showed her a pair she loved and told her it was for Rs 15. Sarika didn't have that much money and asked him to give it for less. The shopkeeper, instead of giving her the earrings, put them on for her and told her that she didn't need to pay for them, and then started acting funny with her. Shocked, Sarika threw the earrings back at him and ran from there. She told me that she thinks he was drunk, because he stank and his eyes were all red. I asked her if she told anyone of what had happened, and she said that she did tell her maasi but no one wanted to do anything about it in case he came after them at night.

I sat there and listened to her talk about the incident in such an easy manner, but I knew that it would have been anything but easy for her.

Not sure of what to say to her, and my poor Gujarati posing as a huge barrier especially when I was at a loss for words, I simply asked her how old she was. She looked at me for a while, and then said, " khabbar nai" (I don't know) Calculating her age from the fact that she had left school just months ago and she had been in the sixth std, I assume she's 12.

That's way too young to experience the things she has, and the things she hasn't told me...

May be I seem selfish in thinking that I've finally found someone to talk to in that empty house, but I'd also like to think that she'd found someone to talk to as well. May be that isn't so bad.

New Beginnings

It's been a long long time. And I still have nothing really to talk about. I would have liked to say that with the beginning of a new phase of my life, everything's changed, everything's different. But it isn't so. Not at this very moment, that is. Maybe in time I'll be able to say that.

For those wondering what this new phase is, well, I have begun the 'working' phase. Now I'm a '23 year old working woman' and I'm not really sure if I like the sound of it.

I've started working at The Times of India in Ahmedabad as a copy editor cum news correspondent. Which means that I have, once again, shifted base to the city that I had come to love once upon a time.

Ok, so in this regard I would say that thing have changed. Because when I was here two years back, everything was different. I knew so many people and it made me want to stay here forever. But now it like staring over. And let me tell you that it's really not fun. I dont make friends as easily as I would like. I'm quiet as a mouse and shy as a...well..whatever creature is really shy..and that is so uncharacteristic of me..I'm living with a new person after staying with my family for 2 years since I was here.. I dont quite know how to describe what I'm feeling right now...so I'm not going to try.

As of now, I haven't done much at work. I started on the 8th and on the first 2 days, besides filling up forms and things I edited a few stories. Last night I sat with one of my colleagues to watch as she made page 6 and page 2. That was fun. A better word would be exhilarating. To watch the next day's newspaper being created right before my eyes was surreal. Like my friend said, I make tomorrow's headlines. I made one last night, and the feeling was great. As time goes on, I'll be making many many more. And maybe then I'll have lots more to write..


PS: never believe me when I say "I have nothing to say"

Mumbai through my lense- II

This is the National Center of Performing Arts, NCPA, where I met Cyrus Bharucha.











Mumbai at night looks like this...a blur of lights, sounds and activity....














Mumbai's life line- the local trains..it was one of the very few times when it was empty..10:00 pm on our way to dinner at Andheri..The trains make up for one of the most important elements of Mumbai and I spent a minimum of 3 hours on it daily.. Miss it now? Not so sure...













Crazy bus ride from Belapur to Bandra.. at 11:30 pm the bus driver thought he was flying an airplane..not sure how many people, fruits, babies, bags fell during that ride...













The Bandra-Worli sea link that I could see from my dad's uncle's place. An amazing sight..













Me at the Lakme Fashion Week...one of the hundreds of pictures my colleague and me took during the break time.












The Taj Palace Hotel at Colaba...a magnificent piece of architecture...completely blows your mind...
















Me at the Gate Way of India and the Mumbai Marina in the background...














My friend and me at dinner in Andheri, near her office at Aaj Tak











At the same place, same day...with chicken, fish and vodka..













With my superhero- Spidey! at Belapur.























MAD OVER DONUTS :- the best place on earth.recommendations-the dark knight and hazzle dazzle.













At Pop Tates/ Jughead's with Long Islands, Black Russian and Chocolate shake...crazy pasta and steaks...










All in all: Loved being there with my friends <3 :) <3

Mumbai through my lense- I

this is the view from our 10th floor apartment in Mumbai. The blue and white striped building top that you can see straight ahead near the electricity tower is the Times of India building that glows in the night.





This is Sanjeev Kapoor, the well known chef, and me, at Kuoni Holiday's report unveiling. The pic is not very clear as you can see. but it was taken on the sly, from way back, since we were kind of shy to ask him for a pic.





This is the Mumbai skyline. On one of the days I went for a walk during work hours. This is just two minutes away from my office. Lucky me..to be so close to this beautiful view..








The balloon man outside Trident Hotel, Nariman Point. He was nice enough to pose for me a little while later :)








Two kids enjoying their curd in front of the Mumbai skyline. I forgot their names now, but one of them was Rudraksh. The one on the right.









This lil' kid was with his mom at marine lines. She told me he was really camera shy, but otherwise talked alot. It was nice talking to her. She told me that she was in Mumbai since forever and she loved it here. She asked me where I was from and whether I liked Mumbai or not. I told her the truth...






A common sight at the marine drive...but it was somehow beautiful to see these two...















My office building at Nariman Point.













Jolly Maker Chambers II, where I spent 4 weeks and had a great time...

Blessings from the poor

This is something that happened quite some time back, when I was still in Mumbai for my internship. I’d forgotten to write it in all those busy weeks.

After a terribly hectic day at work, I was on my way to Olive Kitchen and Bar at Mahalaxmi for Tommy Hilfiger’s new footwear launch. I got off at Mahalaxmi station and asked one of the vendors which side to get off (I can’t remember now if I wanted to go the west or east side, but let’s assume it was the East).

I got onto the road and waited for a cab. I was already very late for the launch and there wasn’t a taxi in sight. I decided to start walking hoping I would get one soon. It seemed as though I had been walking for about half an hour and I still wasn’t anywhere close to Olive or finding a cab.

I finally asked a shopkeeper where I’d get a taxi to go to Olive. He asked me which side it was and I said “East.” He smiled sympathetically and told me that this was the West side.

I groaned in utter frustration on the inside and desperately asked him how to get to the other side. He pointed to a taxi stand across a busy street and told me that the cab would take me wherever I wanted to go.

I thanked him and after what seemed like another 10 minutes, crossed the road, stopped a cab, asked him to take me to Olive and closed the door hurriedly behind me.

Just before the driver could take off, an old man came to my window and knocked. I looked at him with impatience at first since I really needed to get to the launch. I couldn’t understand what the man was saying so I rolled down my window and asked him what he wanted. He told me that he needed to get to this particular place and he didn’t have any money.

At first I wasn’t sure what to say or do. The old man was dressed pretty shabbily and looked like what one might term as a beggar. Having been in Mumbai for almost a month now, I had begun to look at these characters with suspicion after having heard terrible stories about their cheating tactics.

I asked the man where he wanted to go and it turned out that it was quite close to the Race Course where I wanted to get off. I asked the cab driver if he could take the old man. I would pay the entire fare, that wasn’t a problem. The driver told me that it was my decision and if I wanted then he would take the old man in.

I didn’t really have a lot of time to think and so I let the old man get into the front seat.

Once inside, I was a little scared to be honest. What if this was some sort of an arranged thing? What if the old man and the cab driver were some kidnappers or something and this was a planned way of looting me? (Yes. I’d watched too many movies to believe this was possible)
I sat nervously in the back seat, praying. But then a voice inside my head told me that being in Mumbai had made me too cynical and pessimistic. “See this as an opportunity to help someone for a change,” the voice told me. And then, unbelievably enough, I did relax.

The entire way the old man kept turning at the back with his hands joined and thanked me over and over for letting a poor man like him ride with me. He told me that he urgently had to get to this place and he had no money. No one was ready to take him. He had a huge family to look after and they had barely enough money to eat one meal a day.

I didn’t really know what to say to all of this. I kept silent, but listened to his story. Every time he joined his hands to thank me, involuntarily I would join my hands too, telling him that it wasn’t a big deal, and it was my duty to help him.

He got off at Race Course and before the driver sped off the old man blessed me from outside.

Something strange was happening inside me and I felt sort of good that I had given myself a chance to be of some help to a needy person.

I reached Olive in about 2 minutes after that. I got out of the cab and told the driver that I’d just make sure this was the place since he too wasn’t very sure about it. He told me he’d wait and I went to ask the security guard at the gate.

While I was gone, there was an elderly couple on their way back from the Amateurs’ Riding Club, waiting to take the cab.

I got back and took out my purse to pay the driver while the couple got in. I handed the driver a 100 rupee note since I had no change. The driver told me that the fare was 16 rupees and he too didn’t have any change.

I stood there for a while wondering what to do. I went to a few nearby people to ask them if they had change for 100 rupees, but none of them did.

I went back to the driver in desperation and told him that I really didn’t have anything other than a 500 rupee note.

At this point, the man in the back seat asked me how much I needed to pay. I told him that it was 16 rupees. He told me that he’d pay the fare. I looked at him sheepishly and told him that I didn’t have any money to give him in exchange. The man woman smiled at me and said that I needn’t worry. They would pay it for me. It wasn’t much and anyway they too didn’t have change to give the driver.

I stood there dumbfounded and utterly grateful to the kind couple for helping me out that night. I thanked them and they left with a smile.

It was a strange incidence. I had always heard that good things happen to good people and that if you help someone in need their blessings really do come true. But it had happened to me the first time or atleast this obviously and this quickly.

I whispered a soft ‘thank you’ to God for this incident and made my way inside Olive.