Yesterday

Sometimes, wishes come true.
Some days begin with a once upon a time.

The world seems like a big giant wheel

-- the kind you sat on as a child.
Except that the ride never stops;

Not even after you get off,

And the day ends as happily as can be.

Yesterday was like that.

Decisions

I take ages to make them;
Spend days procrastinating.
Then I make them;
And forget about them.

Then they start worrying me.
I start losing sleep.
I start wondering if
I should change them,

But tell myself to stop wondering.
I still lose sleep.
So I tell myself,
"Maybe I should change them".

And then I do.

[P.S.: Not intended to be a poem. Just looks better this way.]

War in Bitch-Land

(Sugar and Candy shall be the stars of this post. Yes, those are the names of two of my three four-legged bitches. The third one is Sindy. No, I don't have any two-legged bitches. Yes, it might have been nice to have a few of those to carry my bag and things.)

Well, Sugar and Candy had a fight over lunch yesterday. They animals at my place have a very lovely lunch of kheema and rice on most days (even when us humans have to make do with saag and daal and bhaat). Three plates are set aside for the three dogs of the house. Three identical steel plates, so that none of the three feels left out or mistreated.

But yesterday, something went wrong.

Both Sugar and Candy wanted to eat out of the same plate. I assume Candy muttered, "Bitch" under her breath. And Sugar went for her. Candy is slightly bigger than Sugar, but Her Little Tykeness was angered now. Somebody tried to move Sugar out, but she was holding fast. Finally I (got to be the hero finally) came and dragged the wounded Candy out of what was clearly a very bloody, one-sided fight.

Candy got the hero treatment despite her obvious defeat. She was made to rest on the bed with two bandaged paws and one bandaged ear. The wounded soldier look won her sympathy and attention. She even got to eat from the 'disputed' plate on Grandma's bed!!

Sugar -- the villain of the piece -- got the cold shoulder. Being the friendliest of the three bitches, she usually gets the most affection. After the bitchfight, she was getting nothing but angry looks. Pretend angry looks even, for it was difficult to remain angry at her woebegone demeanor.

Her eyes were big, watery, and apologetic. Her tail drooped as low as it possibly could. And she silently followed anybody who passed her way. She didn't even plonk herself on the sofa last evening. That dog has truly mastered the art of apologizing. Maybe she should start her own classes: Sugar's Say Sorry Seem Sorry Session!

Things are better today. Candy took off all her bandages. All on her ownsome. She's limping a little, but seems no worse for the wear. Sugar has realized that she has been forgiven, and has plonked herself on the sofa again.

And we shall all live happily ever after.

Till the next four-legged crisis occurs.

When Tom Caught Lizzy

Just caught my cats eating a lizard. A medium-sized one that had gone white with fear. Or maybe those were his camouflaging tactics. If the latter, then the camouflage tricks were definitely faulty. Didn't work on the cats. And even I had no problem spotting it hanging out from my black cat's mouth, head first. Gross.

Everybody was (is) asleep. So there was no lizard-non-fearing person that I could turn to for help. I bravely went to the kitchen to see if I could rescue the poor reptile. Though to be honest my main concern was that my felines will fall sick after eating Lizzy dear. We have had that happen before.

So I went in to the kitchen pretending to be a rescuer. The three cats were circling around the poor tail-less thing. I gave them a whispered shout, so as to not wake any of the sleeping humans.

The whispered shout had the desired effect. The two cats jumped on to the fridge. It was then that I saw it. The tail was lying right beside its owner. It was twitching as though it was still connected to the reptilian heart that pumped cold blood into its veins.

I was no knight in shining armor. With everyone asleep, I could not scream (my usual reaction on seeing a lizard on the floor). So I squeaked. Twice. Maybe a third time. High-pitched squeaks that woke my Grandma. The tail continued to twitch. But the squeaks chased the cats away.

However, as it always happens in an overpopulated home, Sugar the dog decided to take a midnight walk and sniff at the shitty-brown animal. I thought she opened her mouth to give it a lick, but the lizard bolted. At least, I hope it did. Sugar comes every morning and licks my face. It is gross-ish on normal days. Lizard remains would make it worse.

But I'm hoping that Lizzy dear has managed to escape. I don't like lizards. But hate and fright need not always manifest itself in cruelty. I don't want my cats to play cat and mouse with either mice, birds, or reptiles.

Even as I type these noble words, I'm scared that the lizard is trekking all over our kitchen, drawing, and dining room floor. Wonder what would keep it from entering my room and climbing on to the mattress. I don't have the protection of a well-raised bed, and lizards are known to take a stroll just where they are not wanted.

Nightmare lizards, go away!

P.S.: The title for this post sounds strangely like one for a love story. Hope you weren't misled by it.

Update ten minutes later: Black cat Maxi's mom, a.k.a. black cat Ebony, just came into my room from the kitchen licking her lips and looking satisfied. She then snuggled up to a pillow and is now in catnap heaven. I think I can safely say that Lizzy is on its way to Lizard's Paradise.

My Epitaph

My Matters of Consequence

I've grown up on a steady diet of Walt Disney animated movies. The following quote is from The Jungle Book. Baloo the Bear is imparting words of wisdom to his hopeful heir, Mowgli the Mancub: "Don't spend your time looking around for something you want that can't be found. And when you find out you can live without it and go along not thinking about it (have I given you a clue), the bare necessities of life will come to you. They'll come to you."

In Richard Bach's Illusions, Bach meets a messiah who tells him: "There is no problem so big that it cannot be run away from." He also says, "If you want freedom and joy so much, can't you see it's not anywhere outside of you? Say you have it and you have it! Act as if it's yours, and it is! Richard what is so damned hard about that? But they didn't even hear, most of them. Miracles - like going to auto races to see the crashes, they came to me to see miracles. First it's frustrating and then after a while it just gets dull. I have no idea how the other messiahs could stand it."

Security is great. But I don't want the boredom that accompanies it.

I am tired of people telling me what to do and how to do it. Agreed that I am a lazy bum in many ways, but I do work very hard. I do have certain dreams and ambitions but I also have plans of attaining those – but in my time, and in my way. I am in no hurry. And I don't understand why everyone else is. Why?

I am not ambitious. But I am driven. I am not interested in pursuing a career (at least not in the way that everybody seems to want me to). But I have certain dreams and goals for myself. There are things that I have to do in life. There are things that I am going to do as I walk along each minute of every day. But I am not willing to follow someone else's timeline; someone else's rules. I may be the biggest, wretchedest failure in the world. And that's okay, as long as I fail while plodding along my own road. And if something doesn't work out, why worry? I can always go find another goal, another aim, another dream. If that makes me sound naively optimistic, I'm okay with it.

I wasted two years of my life just working and working and working and working more. And later I found myself wondering what I did with those two years. Even now, the only memories that I have of those two years are of me with my nose buried in my books, or my eyes glued to a computer screen that wasn't mine. It made me feel as hollow as the hollow men that T.S. Eliot wrote about. And I swore that I would not bury myself in work that did not really matter to me. I swore to give myself a few pensive moments everyday. I promised that I would LIVE and not just WORK.

Yes, I don't have to go to office for many months in the year, starting July '07. But I still get worked to the bone. Yes, the money that I might get working full-time elsewhere may be much more. But would I get the uncertainty and flexibility (and sort-of security) that my current boss allows me to have? A little more money could be great. But I can survive on a lot less than a lot of people. Even if I did pay 5000 bucks as rent, I would still have enough left over to give me a good time, decent food, and some books. (Obviously I wouldn't be staying in expensive ol' Mumbai then)

I'm still a little hung over from those two years. I still find myself unable to settle down to doing the fun stuff that I have been planning to do. But I am getting the hang of it. I am still finding my way around life. Maybe I am a little old to be living this slightly nomadic, romantic, unsettled lifestyle. Maybe it is time for me to get serious about things.

But when did I ever say that I was not serious?

I am.
I just want different things.

Defining Me

Went to this link, and found out how I will be defined in the dictionary:

Pooja [noun] -- A person with a taste for acorns.

Err... does that make me a squirrel?

I tried it with my preferred nickname, and here is what I got:

Poojo [adjective] -- Similar to butter in texture and appearance

How cute! So I am an utterly-butterly squirrel?

And now I am hooked. Let me try with the name on my ID:

Pooja Chakrabarty [adjective] -- Smells like teen spirit

So I am an utterly-butterly squirrel with the mind of a teenager :)

Conclusion: I am becoming flakier by the day!

On Reading "Marley and Me"

Imagine a loopy, ultra-energetic, adorably stupid dog with an unsatiable appetite for everything starting from dog food to hamburgers to dog leashes to gold chains to chicken poop. Sell him to a couple who want a little practice raising a baby dog before they start raising baby humans. Add the baby humans in the span of a few years. Garnish with stories of auditions and thunder-storm-phobias and stealing food and defecating in the sea and running away with tables and voila! You have the story of Marley and Me.

This memoir-novel by John Grogan relates the author's experiences with what is arguably the world's worst canine. Funny and heartfelt, this is a must-read for anyone who has ever loved an animal. And for people who are yet to meet the right pet, the novel yields the one secret that anyone who has ever owned a pet already knows: "There are no perfect pets; only terrific ones."

Read the book if you want to turn the last page feeling warm, fuzzy, and a little misty-eyed.

Turning Into a Teen

My sister will be turning 13 on the 17th of this month, and she is really excited about it. Yet, not too long ago she was grumbling about walking out of childhood and into the complicated world of teenaged life (though she didn't put it in that many words). She has been in denial of her old age for a while now (wonder what she'll do when she gets to my age, or Ma's for that matter). And suddenly she seems okay with it. She went shopping for birthday clothes today; has started planning where to take her friends for budday lunch next Friday, after school; and has generally been dropping hints about stuff she'd like to get as presents.

And the excitement is warranted. She is finally walking out of pre-teen-hood and into the world of teenagedom. What are the things she carries with her into the new world? Lip gloss, eyeliner, earrings, bangles -- all the things that girls are supposed to love. Yes, she is the girl of the family. I am pretty sure that all the boys -- little and otherwise -- are soon going to be lining up outside the white gates of our orange-colored building, just to get a glimpse of the above-mentioned teen queen.

Teen queen she is. But teen drama queen would be more specific. If you ever wanted to see the typical troubled teenager who is tantrumming her way to school, lunch, or the bathroom, this sister of mine would be a case in point.

She makes me wonder why I never did such things. I used to be as dull as a drawer knob. I think I still am. Whimsical but dull. My 13th birthday came and went with very little fanfare. I don't even remember what I did that year. Memories are such crazy things. I find myself remembering the color of someone's shirt somewhere in the distant past. But ask me what joke made me double over laughing last week, and I'll reply with a blank stare. Clearly, my teen years are long gone.

Contradictory Pulls

I don't feel like sleeping. I am sleepy. I don't like the pressure of having to wake up in the morning. And I have lots of work lined up for tomorrow.

Have come to the conclusion that I used to be really stupid about 2 years ago. (I may still be. But the IQ has seen considerable improvement. Credit goes to Mumbai city, the hours spent commuting, and the pelting rain. Also all those MA-level books that broadened my narrow, ignorant mind.)

I feel like writing more. And I don't feel like writing more. I'm tired. And I want to go partying. I want to rest. And I want to read/watch TV/call a friend. And I don't want to do any of those things. I feel depressed. And I feel on top of the world. I hate being overloaded with work. And I can't do anything about it.

Nothing.

Except...

Grumble. Grumble. Grumble. Grumble. ZZzzzzz..

Rambling Today

Met the elder brother of a grand-aunt today. And he speaks so well. We -- I will do away with the royal "we" just this once. I always have this idea that all my Bong relatives speak English in the Bengali way. With elongated vowels, and a "V" that sounds more like a "W", and a "hiss" that actually goes "hissh" (Not being condescending there. Just exercising my powers of observation). However, this gentleman spoke perfectly unaccented, highly educated English dating back to the days of the British Raj. Lovely!

And old people love to comment on the pitiful state of the young people of the world. He spoke about how we never have time to stand and stare at sheep or cows any more. (How I love that poem – Daffodils by Wordsworth). I nodded in agreement as I always do when I'm not interested in getting into a debate -- which is most times. I'm more of the spectator. Let others get into the fight. I'll be part of the circle that forms around them, watches the fun, does nothing about it, goes home and writes about it in their blog. :D
Apathy, your name is Pooja!

I did see a fight on the bus today. Old man got very excited about something and kept shouting in his once-deep-now-shrill voice. But this happened at the other end of the bus. Two standing men were blocking my view. Such a pity!

Watched That 70s Show after ages. Fez was having a feud with this gay landlord (The lord of the land, if you prefer). And now I want to feud with somebody. Not quarrel. Not fight. Not wrestle. Just feud. The elder brother of the grand-aunt was right. We are missing out on so much -- no time to stand, stare, or even feud. (Yes. I will put that word in italics every single time!).

A friend of mine was looking through her inbox and came across some mails I sent her almost exactly two years ago. I had just shifted to Mumbai, was having adjustment issues, and took every free moment to crib about the place. My only outlet was my diary and these superlong mails that my friends got in their mailbox at least twice a week. Except that, I was apparently entertaining enough for them to get their best friends and/or significant others to read :D Even now that's an ego boost.

Here's an excerpt from two years ago. Mail to a friend who I was scared would remain boyfriendless forever:
"Find yourself a nice bf soon. I’m not saying cute... coz cute guys have become obsolete. I have yet to see a really cute guy in Bbay. It’s so sad. All the guys I see are like a 6 on 10. Mostly less than that. Have seen two or three 7s on 10. But no more. It’s so sad!!!! Where did all the cute guys go????????"

That last question still holds, with a few (very few) exceptions of course.