How I was a changed man ( woman ) after the World Cup ....

Love is hard. The passion, the ecstasy, the joy, the pain, the heartbreaks. Oh! the heartbreaks. It’s hard on you, especially when you are young.

As a girl of 12, I was introduced to the game of cricket, but that is not when the affair started. It was then only a casual acquaintance. It was when came the year of 1996, with the famed world cup, that I found my heart beating to the rhythms of fours and sixes and swings and paces. Most of the time in school was spent in passionate discussions about players, discreetly trying to know their likes and dislikes; desperate waiting with flutter in my stomach for the impending evening rendezvous, daydreaming of the next match’s outcome, crying after a bad day and unbound love on a good day. Well, suffice to say, that I did everything, a girl of 14 would do when in love.

And well, we all know how that ended. A big heartbreak. But that did not mean that I gave up on my love then. I kept the faith. Days and months passed and I kept the perseverance. I kept our dates and religiously followed and cheered it up. But despair came more often than happiness. And after a long time I decided to break up - that it was just not worth it. I ignored cricket, refused to do anything with it and cut up all my emotional ties. I became a neutral third party who would just watch sometimes from the sidelines and make fun of them when they lost and dismissed when they won.

This world cup has changed it all. In those three hours of the final match, I opened my heart once again to love, and the possibility of heartbreak and pain. I sat there without steeling myself from the possibility of pain, without shying away and distancing myself. It was in those tough hours that I realized that it was an inevitable path - of pain and ecstacy - you had to embrace both to experience any of them. Or else it would just be a flat and safe road. I also learnt that belief and faith were more important and and tougher to embrace than cynicism. And I believed in belief once again.

That is how I changed this season. What about you ?

Letters to Husband - 1

Sometimes, I thought that I could do better than you. That I could get someone smarter, funnier, more handsome, intellectual. But then, not wanting to make the efforts of finding another guy, I got up and got married to you. Laziness, past commitments and all that had a hand in that you see. Together we came to Mumbai to build a home (only metaphorically!! Literally would be wayyyyyy impossible).

On the first morning of our days together, I woke up, opened my eyes, and the first thing I saw was you - you working on your laptop. At that very moment, you looked up, saw me and smiled from ear to ear. And that is when, I patted my back and said to myself "Well done gal"! For what is better than being married to a person who starts your day with a beautiful smile. And makes dinner of course ;)

Edited to add: I wish I had a camera in my eyes to capture that smile. :)

Slices of life - Luck

If you have been in Mumbai, you cannot not love Colaba !!

The feel of South Mumbai, exotic art shops, Leopold (of Shantaram fame) and other bars and eateries, crowded tourist population, tatoo makers, colorful street shops. You cannot miss the energy and vibes in the air. Oh how much I love Colaba!!

While I was thinking all this, walking along the streets of Colaba, and trying to take it all in, I saw a blond, very young girl. Wait! I saw a blonde, very young, beggar girl !! I looked again, and again. And yes, she was blonde. And definitely a beggar. Although with a brown skin. She was with two other Indian kids and a young woman. All of them eating off someone's leftovers. There seemed to be some similarity in the features of the young woman and the little girl. Who was she? How was she here? Was she really the daughter of the young woman? I observed from the side and they did seem like a family.

Maybe the young beggar woman had fallen in love with a run-away poor foreigner living in slums (like Shantaram) and had this girl. Maybe one day a good, gentle, solitary tourist, returning from a bar, had seen this woman being sexually assaulted by a street urchin and had saved her. And taken her to his hotel to protect her. Somehow resulting in a steamy night and this girl. Maybe she was just raped by a violent foreigner. Or maybe the woman was a sex worker and had the girl with one of her foreign customers.

I sighed. Whatever it was, luck was not in favor of this blonde. What do you think could be her story?

Slices of life - Courage

Damn!! Damn!! Damn !! I was fuming inside.

What the heck. Where the hell was he. I call him again. "I am almost there", he says. 'Yeah, right !! You were supposed to be here forty-five minutes back' - I am angry on myself . Why the hell did I have to ask him to come here. I could have gone to my usual pick up location .He is a moron. Why does he run the cab if he does not know the roads and landmarks of Mumbai.

I am standing on the roadside at the highway, in the burning sun , drowning in my own sweat, cursing myself . The events of the day were adding on to the heat and making me madder. I just managed to "not buy" the TV that we so needed today. First, the shop opened half an hour late , then we were not able to decide on the TV model. And finally, when we decided, there was no discount on that model. And even if we were to order today , we couldn't get it delivered on time. My office cab driver decided that this was the day he wanted to be one hour late, without so much as a word of notice in advance - leaving me stranded on the highway here. I have an important call scheduled for today which I am just on the verge of missing .What the heck ! I want to shout on the driver and the cab agency and virtually everyone around me .I find the anger coming much more frequently to me these days. Why does nothing works the way I want it to? Why does everything has to get screwed up?

My thoughts are interrupted by him. He is standing near me. I try to ignore him. I do not have time for this right now. The driver said he was almost here, and if i try to do anything now, I could just miss the cab. I am sure someone would help him. He doesn't know I am here. Someone passes in front of us. He tries to stop him and ask for help. The man doesn't stop. He waits again .. with me. Few more minutes pass. I say to myself - someone else will come very soon. No one does. Okay, fine. I throw my hands in the air. I go near him and ask if he wanted to cross the road. He says - yes, he needed to go to the mall across the road. I feel a little surprised. I hold his hand. I cannot but notice how fragile he is. We cross the road together. I leave him near the steps of the mall. He says 'thank you'. And proceeds to go to the mall. Clicking his blind stick. I cross the road again and wait for my cab.

I am not able to concentrate on my anger anymore. He keeps interrupting my thoughts.Why was he visiting the mall? What would a mall hold for a blind person? It is a place to do window shopping, to see and buy stuff. What could he do there? And why was he alone? He seemed to be from a middle class family. Sure, someone could be there to accompany him. They would know that he could not reach the mall without help. Maybe it was some emergency for which he had to come alone. Maybe to buy medicines for his mother. I discard this thought. No one comes to a mall for medicines. I search for other alternatives before accepting that perhaps he did come there to have some good time.

Suddenly I am filled with a sense of admiration. He knew that he would have to take a stranger's help for a little entertainment. I try to imagine how it would be to step out of the house for a movie, knowing that you would have to stand in the middle of a road to reach that theater. To wait for someone to pass and ask for help. To wait for 10-15 minutes, maybe half an hour, before someone would be willing to help . And to accept that help graciously. To take the rejections of those who did not help graciously. How much of courage would it take! How much of acceptance would it take! How much of belief in humanity would it take! And how much of love for oneself would it take. I know that had it been me, I would rather reject that small pleasure to myself than depend on others.

Suddenly i feel ashamed. Ashamed that I was unable to take small ruffles of my everyday life, when people like him coped up with the biggest adversities, and still continued to enjoy the small pleasures of life.

That day changed a little inside me.