Midnight awakenings.

The blood to her heart pumped in an uninterrupted motion. The day's chores were done, vessels were washed, curtains were drawn, night lamps glinted dimly and it was time to retire to bed. Her eyes refused to close, thanks to her unwarranted evening nap. Her faithful phone lay next to her nudging her with flickering notification lights, eventually seducing her despaired mind. She picked it up in one mindless scoop.

She surfed from pages to sites, profiles to channels, opened Apps after Apps; her burgeoning mind didn't seem to catch a break. At one particular point she became mindful when a video of two friends conversing alerted her. It was a Q&A on fashion blogging. Her forehead narrowed with interest, and her hearing grew powerful as the video played along. The jist of the conversation was this: One friend asked the other how she managed to make her blog popular. Her friend answered that she would stay up till 3:00 am to edit the pictures from the photo shoot and would learn other skills needed to run a blog. She said she does not like to be dependent on anybody for her work and prefers to do everything by herself. Since she was passionate she could stay motivated and push harder everyday.

<Grammar screw up alert: No more third person. That She is I. Moving along in first person>

I abruptly stopped the video. I felt inspired. It was not news which I didn't know. If anything, I knew working hard has its rewards. But working and working with passion are two different things. Passion is the payoff ingredient and that really struck a chord with me. I could feel my heart beginning to pump a gallon of blood. I could feel my heart soar at that moment. The time was 2:15 am. It reminded me of my plan and the aspirations of my heart. The things I ever so excitedly talk about it, but words mean nothing when there is no passionate work? 

I straightened myself and grabbed my notebook. I looked for my favorite pen in a frenzy. I was heavily inspired to document the revelation of the last couple of moments. I couldn't find the pen. I frantically looked for it and was getting increasingly peeved. And suddenly it dawned on me; my moment of clarity. I could see the mess in the maze of my plan. I could see how I get put off and discouraged for the smallest things. I do have a vision but I operate like a robot. I am not open or flexible, though I claim that I am. I guess I am lying to myself. I need perseverance. I need to be willing to take new directions even if it is ambiguous. Above all I need to work my tail off.

One of my fears had been that I am not ready to make it in the big world. I need to be at a certain level to become successful. This has been the torturous voice in my head for as long as I can remember. But today I knocked down that mirage that had me trapped all these years. I don't have to be ready, I just have to be unapologetically me!. Borrowing the words of Elizabeth Gilbert to summarize, "An imperfect plan executed now is better than a meticulous plan executed never." Our time is now. Believe and act away!

Vysh, how I miss you! (1/2)

It was 1:00 am. I laid awake on my bed, staring at a pointed red light indicating to me my AC was running. I couldn't contain my thoughts, it was a raging night. I I tried to stay calm, I had an unamusing day, so I wanted to create my own muse by travelling through the labyrinth of my mind. I cannot recollect what catapulted my attention to Vaishnavi (Vysh), but that moment marked the beginning of a long night that was to unfold.

The serendipity

Most girls I went to school with do not know Vysh and I were good friends; damn it, we were close friends. It doesn't appear silly to me that they didn't know it, because we didn't speak much in school, we didn't have lunch together and we were not paired in any team or called out to be a part of any event. However, we existed in the same school. 

It was the year 2003, the dreaded 10th std. board exams were over and the good, better and the best bunch in school made it., yup we were in higher secondary, ya'll! We were on top of the food chain. We were the ultimate seniors! We were bitchin'. Wow, how unabashedly happy we were :D

On the first day after summer, when the school re-opened, the girls were summoned to classes based on the groups they had chosen. The class was full of familiar faces.  Faces we had seen over the years of middle school and high school. As clueless teenagers who like to act out like know-it-alls, we teamed up with girls we were already friends with. Finding your bench farther from the black board and making sure you have in the same row and in the adjacent benches all the girls you liked, was pivotal to excelling in school; or so we thought. 

And there was me. I was a wonder to many. People didn't know who I was friends with; they have all seen me at some point in time but they didn't know me. They didn't know if I was a dull or bright student, whether I was friendly or weird., who I sat in lunch with (that shit mattered a lot you guys). It was all a puzzle. Some still identified me as the "new admission" though it was five years before that I was new to the school. I don't blame them, middle school was not the best years of my life. They were however the years that shaped my expectation in relationships. The struggle was real. Deep stuff right? May be I will share later what went down in those years. Re-routing to Vysh: Kris and I were friends in high school and so it was a natural choice for us to sit together. Kris and Vysh were friends from elementary school, so Vysh was also in the same row with me.

Thinking back, Kris was too tall to be sitting in the second row, I wonder if the girls behind us complained. Anyway, we were in class, sitting in second row, doing calculus, understanding nothing but trying to prove the damn LHS to RHS. We sat through together pretty much for all classes. We enjoyed each others company, we still were just friends, we didn't talk about personal things or family affairs. We simply liked and cared for each other and probably, subconsciously chose each other more than others in class because we kinda were destined to be great friends.

The heartbreak

It was not even a good 3 months into 11th std, we were in class. It was between periods, which was obviously the best times. The classroom was a scene of riot, all kinds of gossips were being told and received. Jokes were cracked about classmates and teachers, the class monitor was trying to settle us down and we obviously had to make fun of her. I mean, common! Vysh and I were also playing the fool, I remember having a pencil in my hand and when I turned to tell her something, I poked her with the flat side of the pencil on her hind arm. She was a fair and good looking girl, her skin was of a yellow tone. The pencil caused a blood clot immediately and it was strange to see a beaming reddish mark form against her pale, sunny skin for such a small tug. 

It was the next day, we were in class, doing integrals, and I noticed the blood clot and it hadn't faded. I asked her about it, she evaded my question. I think there had been other symptoms and she was already seeing a doctor. She did not discuss about her health situation, may be she was embarrassed, may be she didn't want to make a big deal of it. Knowing her, I think that she didn't want to believe that something is going wrong in her body and she didn't want to talk about it because she didn't want to give her ailment the attention that it was demanding of her that was breaking her will and bruising her body.

To be continued...

11 Reasons why I do not suck at writing.

I always have room for food, hence the spoon. Stop judging.

The last time I posted here was on Jan 30th. It has been 5 friggin’ months since I’ve published anything here. But look at my title - talk about hypocrisy! <insert grin face emoji>.

I have five or six unfinished drafts lying around. Last night I was going through them, and it kept me awake. It was painful to comprehend my reasons for lack of execution, however it was fun to discover what really is the problem. Here are my top reasons why I don’t publish often but why I have no trouble writing.


1. I have many thoughts, many. Oh so many. You will relate better if you’re a woman. We enjoy dwelling in hypothetical situations, don’t we?

2. I can sound rhetorical, like directly from a self-help book. I don’t make an effort to write that way, I guess my thoughts are quite classic (see what I did there, winky face ;))

3. My words come out preachy, at least that’s how I feel sometimes reading through my prose.

4. I don’t think like the people around me, my views are generally surprising and interesting to my peers. It fuels me to write them down simply because they are unfamiliar.

5. I say ‘I’ way too many times, I really don’t know of other ways to start my sentences. I need help with that.

6. I try to keep at par with my vision of the article and then begin to question the reading pleasure associated with it.

7. I try to keep at par with the reading pleasure of the article and then begin to question if I have stayed true to its vision.

8. I am a paradox, I enjoy using oxymorons in my work.

9. I am generally not happy after I am done writing – I proof read and edit till my back hurts and I go ballistic.

10. I write everywhere, I don’t have a routine or schedule.

11. My references are unique; they are generally of my life and I seldom run out of it.

Now I have every reason to continue writing because even though the above pointers look like challenges and areas I need help with, I at least know where am slacking and that's a win. Problem identified is problem halved, ain’t it? I am not sure if I came up with that phrase or I had read it earlier. Thanks for stopping by to read, and I will see you soon here.

Did she have it in her?

Yes, this is my journal and no, that is not a vodoo doll.

She thought she knew what she wanted,

And she let herself believe in it.

She worked hard at it

And realised she wasn't going far

She sat back; asking herself,

If she really knew what she wanted

Her heart said it did; and

Her mind acted like a dud

She tried yet again; and this time

She put her mind to it

It looked like she was going to make it work

But her faith kind of faltered 

She looked around for help

A comforting face, a kind smile: None.

She looked within and Alas,

A friend waiting and a passionate soul

She got to her desk again, now feeling different

Not with a plan yet, but with a sure goal

She knew she had herself

And that can sometimes be too much too.

She leaned behind and smiled; Her mind echoed, 

'Life is not as bad as you thought, eh?'

But her heart thundered, ' Life is great.,

Just be willing and always believe'

You are what you work to be..

It has been six months since I published anything here. I have in fact written more than a dozen pieces but couldn't bring myself to publishing it. I kept procrastinating for lack of motivation and satisfaction in the quality of my work. I used to sit down and write every time I had a startling idea or a revelation, but in a couple of lines, I would feel the fire put out. I tried to rekindle it by thinking hard and long to the point of remorse but to no avail. I would roughly put some words together to save face before myself and fend it with few artificially enthused phrases. 

However one thing I did correctly was, I continued to write. I didn't want to stop even though I knew I wouldn't complete it, but isn't trying and failing better than giving up and sulking? 

I sat here writing this post.

This isn't something I can give up. I love writing. I love the feeling of having my thoughts translate into something relatable, enjoyable and powerful to my reader. I yearn the feeling of knowing I encouraged, upheld, caused one to smile through my words. It means a lot to me.  After about a barren time without publishing, here I am in a place of identifying my emotions without ambiguity. All the words I put down come from my heart and mind. I do not sew my words to sound artsy or sly as my intention is to be heard and not to be sold out. The heart is a sanctuary of truth and you don't have to sell the truth. Truth will make itself known. That has been my philosophy, with life and in writing - genuineness. 

Every passionate person is talented and their determination to follow it through makes them an artist. 

Obstacles and challenges are inevitable in the path to great things. A little bit of patience, a whole lot of practice and a great deal of determination is the recipe to realising your dream. It will involve long nights, wavering thoughts, faltering spirit, physical and mental agony but believe in yourself and never fail to work for it. If you have it, you will want it. If you want it, you will pursue it. 

Writing is my therapy.

You know how you have some horrible days when everything goes haywire and you feel you're breathing havoc? Yeah? What does a nominal person do to calm himself down? Take a walk, get in the shower may be, play with a pet, bawl in agony?

Well, I write.

I write not just to make myself feel better but because it helps me anatomize the situation. When I sit to write, thoughts don't flow, it pours. It pours like a mad man screaming from the middle of a street. Some other times I have a brain freeze. I cannot comprehend my own thoughts. I need to pause my wrecking mind in order to think; and because I look forward to penning it down, I think harder. I play my life in slow-mo, never skipping a scene as memory serves.

I continue thinking about what I should have done. I think of the possibilities, I think of my trail of thoughts in that situation. Basically, my need to write is not just an ardent desire but my catalyst for self-examination. Without a doubt every time I have completed writing a piece, I have felt liberated and redeemed. My best friends are my words. I knit them with the song in my heart and tune them to the thoughts in my mind.

Writing is meat to my muscle, cure to my sorrow and joy to my heart.

About last night.

In the glum darkness of the night, I sat up on my bed. My heart heavy as wet laundry. My tongue stuck to my palate, my eye balls hid under its lids in despair. I straightened my skimpy clothes and considered the life I was given. Contemplated on every opportunity presented, the decisions I made, the experiences I had, the pain I carried, and the tears I wiped.

The sound of thunder and lightning alarmed me and I looked at the fierceness of the bolts savage through my window. I watched nature in action from my melancholic room as the curtains swayed in the mild wind. Is the weather outside painting the accurate picture of the turbulence in my heart? Thoughts rummaged once again pressing my spirit to the lowest pit and I partially went deaf in the ear and numb in my being for a brief while.

Why is it I always feel like I am walking on a rope, why can't I take risks, face challenges and make something out of myself? Why can't my stomach be flat and legs be slim like its meant to be, why can't I have eyebrows that are arch shaped and not like a straight line drawn by a child. I investigated and dissected every meaningful, trivial situation I was ever a part of. Shed drops of salted distress on forgotten heartbreaks, unsavoured relationships, awkward moments, meaningless friendships, self pity and the need for validation.

Sometimes, we women look into our entire lives because we want to be in control, some other times it's just PMS.

Beware of the office flirt.

I have an appetite for unhealthy food and so does my heart for unhealthy relationships. The desire to feel belonged is the first hit of shovel on the grave of independence. Being in a relationship; the idea of someone dominating you out of their possessive love for you is what romantic best sellers are made of and what unadulterated teenagers in their adolescent prime crave for. But that is not what a liberal, forward thinking, independent girl like me can stick up with.

Boys come in all sizes and shapes (pun unintended, really). Yeah, there are the cute ones with vacant brains, the brainy ones with narrow minds, the douche bags border-lining as smarty pants and the wannabes trying to scale up at their charismatic game.

Every girl loves a little pampering, unfiltered compliments, a little tongue in cheek moments when *conversing* with the guy she is crushing on. You know the coquettish behaviour of flirtatious laughs, uncontrollable giggles and obvious drooling action? Yes, we all love it but hey, don't interpret all that coying to be a green signal to take things to the next level, cause buddy there is no next level in office flirting unless you are immature, sad and do not see your self-worth or is driven on attaining your full potential.

I am all in for socialising, cracking up, chilling out, even sharing inappropriate jokes and stuff, but hey, know what you want. Stay focused, don't let the circumstances take its own course, be in control. Besides, some people are really sweet, don't lead them (read as use them) if you're not planning on receive them at the other end.

He played me

I'll call you back, he said.
She waited for hours, expecting.
His sweet words of simple pleasures lured her.
She lolled around with never-ending anticipation.
He had promises of hope and care.
She surrendered to petty joys.
And succumbed to trivial temptations.

Hold on and let go.

Baby I love you.
But there's nothing we can do.
There's a time and place.
We don't have either.
I know you still want to do it.
And you think I don't love you enough.
I love you more, you may not know.
I say no because of the pain
You and I should endure.
I say we leave it here.
You say we go all the way.
And leave from there.

The other guy.

He makes me smile.
He makes me dream.

He runs in my mind.
He races my heart.

He excites my senses.
He seduces my hormones.

He lets me be me.
He lets me speak my mind.

He undresses me.
My spirit, soul and body.

He gives me hope, but he won't be around.
He says he loves me, but it is not without reason.

He makes me feel special,
Because I need validation to feel so.

He makes me feel beloved.
I enjoy that attention because I lack maturity.

He gives me much importance.
I enjoy how it feeds my pride.

He has a consuming effect on me,
Because he is not 'the one' but the other guy.

Go figure!

Every girl believes she is beautiful. How much weightage she assigns to this truth is relative, but in her soul, every girl thinks she looks beautiful (at least in some angles). I am no exception. Growing up, I did not worry much about my looks. My idea of good looking was neat looking and presentable, nothing more. Then came adolescence, that didn't change me either. I was mostly by myself and thankfully did not have a rebellious attitude. Late teens and early 20s - not much of a change, hadn't used a kohl pencil (eye liner) or a foundation on face up until then. Could say was the biggest make-up virgin in grad school.

Went to Bangalore for my post-grad. Met a bunch of good people and a lot of wannabes. Discovered myself, not necessarily my strengths, but discovered myself for who I was. I knew what I was made of, what I was inclined to, what I abhorred, what I fancied and that was a great learning. Worked for a couple of years there and moved back to Chennai, home of my heart. You know how you get your way around some things effortlessly? Like I didn't really have to work or strive for few comforts. It just happened to me every time, like I was entitled to it and the cosmic powers worked in unison to have that thing delivered to me. But with age, I got more wise and I think I jinxed it or real life happened.

I became intrigued observing and moving with people who did certain things in a certain fashion and always found good results. There was a plan, there was a pattern. They had a routine, they were conscious of everything they would think, say, do or not do. I figured the character mix of people who are beautiful and successful are hardworking, positive, genuine, kind hearted, friendly, cool-headed, empathetic, perseverant and they invariably had a high self-esteem. This list may not be exclusive but surely this is the combination. Every person's path of discovery of himself is different, but when the desire burns bright, the light is shone on the path. That is a certainty.

2015 as I know it.

What I think I know is misconstrued with what I wish I knew. On the evening of Christmas (not the same as Christmas eve) I am recalling the year that I had. I did not visit a new place or country this year. I pretty much stayed in the city. Don't remember having an adrenaline rush of any sort (well I went on a shipwreck ride at the VGP Universal Kingdom amusement park if its worth mentioning), pretty much have the same old annoying habits but in a much polished fashion *winky face*.

Though it may appear that my experiences are substantial to be accounted as "experiences", I sure have grown a lot as a person. I certainly appreciate the life that I have been blessed with. I now more than ever believe the coming of the Lord is closer than I thought. I have come to understand, that harboring anger or bitterness destroys you than the person you think it will affect. Actually I don't think it affects the other person at all. This year made me realize I am actually aging (no, I don't have any visible wrinkles ya'll and my skin has never been this radiant, thank you God! :D) but I have priorities that are controlled by the ticking of the clock (and no, I am not talking about getting knocked up.. oh well, that's there too *shmurr*).

I always knew the importance of friendship and maintaining relationships in my life.Thanks to my not-so-ceremonious school days. This year was however a wake-up call. We will encounter people in our lives at all stages and at unexpected junctures. It was surprising that people and relationships we make at any point in our life has a possibility of extending to a lifetime and that is HUGE! Well no one made it to that list, this year, but someone could have... almost and that to me is scary. Anyhoo, so I learnt if we're not careful enough we can make relationships for a lifetime and that's necessarily not ideal - at least for me.

Overall I had a wonderful year, read half a dozen books, became a more peaceful person, began to value myself better, shed no extra weight, still feeling fabulous as ever. Hoping everyone learnt something this year to make themselves better and are geared for a fantabulous 2016. Cheers!

Vaishnavi Kasthuri Rangan.

My friend, my dear friend.
My shining angel, my beautiful baby.
I have hardly seen your face.
But you have a face in my heart.
The face of a survivor, a fighter and a victor.

Friendship is a celebration of two hearts. Yours and mine.
I remember the time I sat next to you in a math class.
You looked so radiant, your brilliance shone through.
I remember the inline trebles in your voice when you talk, the sound of intelligence.
I raved in your companionship, in the acknowledgement of knowing someone so beautiful, elegant, bold and strong.

Every person has a path.
Yours was much different than most people I know.
That's why you were most beautiful than most people I knew.

Today I saw you,
Surrendered in a box.
I cannot speak, my heart is in my throat.
I saw the frailtiness of humans and the honour of a race won.

People may say you succumbed to your sickness. I think you surpassed it.
You went to the place you deserve.
You deserve peace my baby.
Rest from all pain and suffering.
Rest from all the medicines and tests.
Rest from all the heartaches and breakdowns.

You are bigger than what took you.

You are an angel. You have given to me what most people will not find in their lifetime. You have taught me what is love, courage, strength and modesty. You were unstoppable. There is nothing stopping you even now. Walk in the garden of God, make the celestial world bright with your smile and sparkle. You are a beautiful soul my baby, my miracle child. I loved you so much, perhaps I never showed and perhaps you'll never know. God speed Vysh. xoxo.

Moments.

When I recall the happy times in my life, I am immediately reminded of a particular moment in every situation. Its beautiful how our feelings have a breakthrough. I feel life should be full of those moments. You know that moment when you feel differently because of new knowledge, realization, touch or concern of a dear one? Why aren't we able to experience these moments often? I guess that's how God intended it. Is it that we are allowed a finite number of moments in this finite life? The marvel to a moment is in the unpredictability of it. Right?

Closure.

It was the first week and I looked my personal best. In my profession, it doesn't help to be passive, as marketers, we need to be ahead of our game to stay relevant in the game. I am chirpy, straight-forward and a no-nonsense person, so my personality naturally fit my calibre. I was sprinting around getting work done with unfaltering attention from the very first day. It might look too ambitious for a person who just joined, but not for me. I did not reckon anyone eyeballing me for I could care less. Sigh, I was mistaken!

Trouble.

Couple of days passed and I was all the more absorbed with work. The organisation did not encourage socialising and I sensed the need for it but didn't think it would lead to this. Cue for trouble, there was this guy. Lets call him dickson [makes a lot of sense actually]. I am not going to detail on what kind of a person he was, how he made me feel, what we shared, and all of that, because it was all very very good [insert excerpts from Nicholas Sparks or Cecilia Ahern's books]. 

What we had was so wrong on so many levels, but it felt complete, complementing and comforting to our lives, so the good or the bad was overlooked and mushy emotions overtook seasoned virtues.

Truth.

I am not going to rampage his character or ridicule his cowardliness. I still believe he is a nice guy. As Michelle Monaghan says in the movie Made of Honor, 'you are perfect, but not for me'. [I just gave that dickhead too much credit, whatdahell, he's doomed anyway]. No really, he was nice but not good enough for me. I stand by how good of a person he was. But not to me. Nope. Assassinating someone's character is a reflection of my character, and I am not that character. He hurt me, real deep. But I still think he was a nice person. [Nice, that's the only word I can use without cringing]. My expectations and order of life differed from his. Simply put, I had higher standards. I own up when I screw up, I don't give up and disappear. 

As compelling and difficult it is to remain unaffected by his folly, giving him another chance would mean choosing docile feelings over personal respect and that I will never do.

Treason.

If he really cared like he made me believe, he would not have chickened out. If he felt that I mattered and would never leave me like he said, he would have tried to reconnect. I am young enough to still wear my heart on my sleeve but old enough to know who is worth it. Life is not a Boyzone song to just use words and stay put. You have to stand up when situations arise and prove to people who matter that they really matter. Else you will just be a well known stranger and that's who you will always be. 

Because I know I am not losing a good person, to me losing him is not a loss. Peace.

Lost love.

He fought with my classmate so he can be my partner in terrace shuttle. He smiled at me when he won him over. We were 7.

When we came near the car park, he eyeballed me to make my dress right as my petticoat strap was seen. He smiled at me when I pushed it in. We were 15.

He surprised me by standing outside my gym with an umbrella on a rainy day, he smiled at me when he saw how special I felt. We were 18.

He accompanied me on a long journey for my personal work. He didn't want me going alone. He asked me to rest my head on his shoulder when returning home in the train. He smiled at me when I shyed away. We were 21.

After many fights and heartbreaks, I asked him if we can start afresh. He said he is too hurt to invest in me again. I smiled at him because I knew we were coming to an end and I needed to protect myself. We were 23.

I accidently looked behind and he was there. It's on a Friday, please come, I said. But I didn't write him a card. He smiled at me and I felt nothing. We were 25.

I stalk him on social media sometimes. I listen to the song he composed and played for me. I recall all the priceless moments of joy we shared. He still smiles but not at me. We are 27.

When Sending Off Goes Wrong!

Mistakenly had set the alarm for 23:45 in the place of 00:45. Got up an hour early, bullied myself to sleep and got up exactly at 00:45. Stepped out of the room to see if Pa was up and getting ready. It was spookily silent and dark. I stepped out, opened the fridge (I needed to stay awake, don't judge me) took a quick scan for any ice-cream, candy or soda, closed it in a hush and looked at my left where there is a door to the third bedroom.

Thought I'll peep a little and see if Ma is awake. Before I could see through the door, I thought to myself, what if she sees me first and gets scared that someone is looking at her in the dark? So I stepped back and quietly got into my room which is diagonal to this room, the lights still not turned on allowing the eeriness to expand.

Sat on my bed for a moment or two, then opened the room door and hit down the door stopper, switched on the corridor light adjacent to which is the room where Pa is sleeping. I was basically trying to be awake when Pa was leaving. Anyway, 5 -10 - 15 mins. passed, no sign of anyone getting up, or alarms ringing, lights going up, nothing. I began to think if Pa was indeed leaving tonight or am I plainly wrong? Why hasn't the cab driver called yet? May be he needs to Check-in at 4am uh? May be I gave my hubby wrong info on Pa's travel? Or wait, did Pa oversleep? What if he misses the flight? I was getting a little freaked out nonetheless the clock kept ticking without any concern and it was 1:00am and still I was the only one awake. 

Should I wake them up.., later to know there was still time for the flight? So let me check for his flight details I thought to myself. Now how do I do it without going into his room and checking through his files and draws? Mmm, easy and quick way, hack open Pa's Gmail account and I started looking through recent mails. No trace of job related conversations or travel plans whatsoever. Wait a second, is Pa lying to us and going somewhere else? :O Alright now it's high time, either I need to know whether Pa's leaving today or am I just sitting up foolishly and panicking about situations I am not even sure of.. just when I was concluding my thoughts, the old classic ring of the saving alarm rang! Phew! Welcome reality, I thought to myself.

Ma walked up to my room, her face twice the size and she looked uncomfortably at me and said 'you got up early huh?' I thought to myself yeah, way too early even before the beginning of the day! Meanwhile Pa's alarm rang, I got comfortable and straightened my thoughts. Walked up to the balcony, took some haphazard pics of the moon amidst barren branches for #instagram :P

Peeped down to see couple of cabs waiting. Good these guys are already here, I said to myself. Pa was in the shower. Ma was ironing Pa's pants mumbling under her breath he's gonna scold why is it hot while wearing it and I was walking up and down like I had to decide between Rahul and Modi. Anyway, Pa came out and asked me why did you get up ma..? I thought to myself, good koshtin!! ;) then dragged his bag out and started removing the cabin luggage labels of his previous travel still stuck on his bags. 

Ma made coffee, I had to have one by that time coz of all the needless, unproductive and exhaustive thinking I did in the past one hour. Finally Ma prayed (we always pray before stepping out of the house), we exchanged anbin muthangal ( holy kisses) and each of us took a travel bag. Me: suitcase; Pa: hand luggage Ma: carton box with the uniform, helmet and safety shoes. Scrambled through the hallway and off the lift we went down from the 3rd floor, not bothering to shut doors or turn off the light. Exited the lift to find Ramu (the night watchman) in rags. Tried to overlook him and went to open the wooden door which is the main door to the building leading us from the parking to the apartment. Ramu came forward with a sheepish grin to get the suitcase and other bags as we stepped into the parking area and on to the main gate to find our cab. Apparently the cabs I looked down from the balcony were not the ones we had called for. Secondly, the cab we called for was nowhere in the vicinity. As impulsive as Pa is, he jumped into a random cab and asked the driver to take him to the airport. Bewildered by the sudden savaari (ride), the driver who lay asleep got dressed up in a jiffy and began loading the luggage in the boot. Me startled at the turn of events took Pa's phone to find the driver details sent to us by Hola Cabs which we originally booked. Pa said its late and I got no time to look for the cab I booked, so I am good in this cab and he took off. 

We were like okay, as far as he reaches safely and we turned back into the building after waving him from the sidewalks, just to realise the wooden door was closed & locked, intercoms down and the Video doorbells not working! And the real tragedy is none of us had our phones. I begin to inappropriately smile and show my teeth when we are in a terrible fix/ordeal and I was just doing that but a little too much this time. The only person that can be contacted for help is Pa and he is already gone and how do we reach Pa, we hadn't figured that out yet. 

Three of us stood there looking at each other thinking to ourselves, damn it.. It was around 1:45am now, I took a small stroll surrounding the building making Rose Jackson noises, Help! Is someone there? Can you help us, (looking upward to the houses.) Knowing it's of no avail, me and Ma went to the police booth two blocks away to find help and alas the furious Hola cab fellow was waiting. Oopsie!! 

Moved passed him innocently and told the policeman the story of Pa's-airport-and-ladies-lockout, he was kind enough to give his phone so we can contact Pa. Ma took the phone to call Pa so he can call someone in the Apartment but Ma forgot Pa's number in the recklessness of the situation and I stood there with my eyes popping out and the uncomfortable teeth showing began. She panicked a bit trying to remove the cloud of hopelessness and thankfully remembered his number. She informed Pa to call Mehta sir, the secretary of the building to open the door for us. We thanked the policeman and got into the parking area with a sense of Yeah-we-figured-this-out and told Ramu, nothing to worry.. Mehta sir will open, let's wait here. He said Mehta sir is out of station from last week madam. Waow what a waow!!

My spirit sank into my deepest spot and my eyes started to look for a place to spoon in the basement, but trying to stay upbeat and controlling my lips from showing the teeth, I was thinking of alternatives. Thanks to Captain aka Pa, he called our neighbour Rupal who was at her mother's place for the weekend. Seeing a call at 2am, she was petrified not knowing if her husband was alright. Pa explained and she called her husband who was in the building, His heart failed seeing a call from his wife at such an hour in the night from 600 kms away and frantically answered hoping to hear nothing was wrong with her or the kids. She explained and he came down and rescued us.

After disturbing half a dozen people's sleep and giving each of them mini-heart attacks, we went into our house, turned off the lights, shut the door behind us and latched it while I opened my laptop to record the insanity of that night.

The End.

May 12, 3:05