Finding Home

Dark bar, my bar, familiar.
Drink after drink
Footsie, fingers tangled
Drink after drink


He spoke my language
Of humour and heartbreak
Of resilience and soft corners
Of scraped knees and swimming

Lost in dusty roads

Among ancient barricades

Through bright speeding trains

And dark, twisted alleyways

What lit the night with magic,
Was it him or just the whiskey?
Couldn't wait, couldn't wait
Just kiss me already


Sentences spoken breathless
Catching up on decades missed
Brown eyes of honesty looked
Into me and knew my soul


I played a song upon his chest.
And he played one along my hip.
Their moods and melodies
Moved as if they were the same.


He left in the dark morning
No goodbyes or fanfare
But for the lingering touch
Of my fingers in his hair

"I hope you got home safe", I said
Wondering if he felt it too
"I'll see you again tomorrow," said he,
"I'm coming back home to you"

The Commuter

If there’s one thing I’ve learned after two years in Bangalore, it’s that commuting is a downright pain. Do not consider living more than 5 kilometres from your workplace or you will resent your decision every single day. Let me take you through the various ways in which the average person commutes in the city.

 Trusty Personal Car

This is probably your best option by far. At least to some extent you feel in control of your destiny (read: commute time). Begin with ignition. Next, turn on music/podcast/radio and cover eyes with dark sunglasses. Set a/c to high. This shall be your igloo for anywhere between 20 and 90 minutes. Before you make this your primary mode of transport, please note you must be well-versed in frequently used swear words and threats which you can promptly return to the auto/cab driver that cuts you off at the signal. Speaking of signals, these are the bane of every Bangalorean driver’s existence.  Trying to avoid as many signals as you can, you find yourself in a small, sparsely tarred by-lane that can barely take two scooters going opposite ways, let alone your vehicle and a mini-lorry.  Try not to overreact when the cow in said by-lane decides to plant herself right in front of your bonnet, exposing her aesthetically pleasing rear end. Breathe a sigh of relief when by blind luck you find yourself on a relatively empty road. Know that this will not last beyond a few kilometres and savour the moment. Congratulate yourself if your numerous time saving tactics (turning right from the left-most lane, giving yourself the liberty of taking illegal u-turns, running red lights, giving cows mild bumps to keep them moving and so on) have allowed you to reach office even 0.23 seconds ahead of time. It will help ease the immense stress you’ve put yourself through during the commute

Zippy Two-Wheeler

You can swerve and weave through any traffic jam on your trusty bike. Of course there are the limitations of only two people per vehicle but for those lone wolves, this is the ideal mode of transport. You may spend an unnecessary amount of time picking out the right helmet, not to mention a hideous raincoat that you'll need if you want to brave the rains. Top this will full length gloves to protect your arms from sunburn and a face mask to avoid the fumes exhausting from the water tanker humming next to you at the signal. At the risk of looking like an alien specimen you are now ready to brave the elements as you ride with the wind in your hair and construction dust in your eyes. Within two weeks you will be required to enroll in yoga classes or visit a chiropractor for your constant backache.

Namma Very Own Metro

I’m not sure this counts as a mode of transport considering it only has five operational stations. If you tried hard enough, you could walk the entire length of the metro and still have energy to spare. Owing to this limitation in stations, Namma Metro has assumed that any commuter must certainly know which way is which without the help of signs. After all, you can only either go up or down! The platforms are named 1 and 2. But of course, no one really tells you which one goes up and which one comes down. While you’re figuring out which platform to head to, you hear the metro screech into the station and by the time you run to the platform, the train has taken its leave. Remember what I’d said about being the controller of your own commute time? If you miss the train, please be prepared to wait another ten minutes for the next one. As most metro riders have learnt, no ride can be tolerated without a pair of headphones or a book. You don’t want to be caught staring at anyone and you certainly don’t want to listen to the incessant announcements telling you which stop is next. And by the way, if the lack of signs leads you to take the wrong train, be forewarned that you cannot just get off and switch platforms. You need to check out and check right back in like a monkey and conduct the entire arduous exercise again. But don’t get me wrong, there’s a silver lining. Unlike your trusty personal vehicle, the metro isn’t subject to the vagaries of traffic or weather and you don’t need to haggle with auto-drivers or struggle to find a cab. Just step on and step off.

The great KSRTC

Considering Bangalore is quite the cosmopolitan city, it is beyond me why KSRTC buses still have signage only in Kannada. Oh, there are bus numbers too. More than a hundred, it seems. Do not bother checking on Google Maps for buses nearby. It will give you bus numbers that never turn up at your stop or if they do, probably not at the time it says it should. Your only hope of ever seeing signage in English is on the new Volvo buses, but they come once every half an hour at best. Your best bet is to get on a random bus to Shivaji Nagar (they all eventually end up in Shivaji Nagar) and then swim through a sea of more Kannada signs until you find a conductor to guide you to the right platform. Try to refresh yourself with a contaminated lime soda or stale popcorn while you wait. This is going to be an adventure. After much sweating and mental swearing, you will reach your destination. You can reduce stress if you try not to wonder how exactly you got there. Instead think about the fact that you just travelled 10 km and spent only Rs. 15. Now that’s a bargain!

Bhaiya Auto? (No, this is not an auto. Can’t you see it’s the latest BMW 3 series?)

You’re waiting at Old Airport Road. Bhaiya, MG Road? He looks at you, completely disinterested. Bhaiya?! ”Nahin Madam” Move to next auto. “100 rupees, Madam” Move to next auto while anger levels gradually increase. You wonder what the magic location is that these auto wallahs want to go. If only you knew, you would change all plans to go there instead.  Finally, after ten minutes of pacing around the auto stand, haggling with numerous uncouth auto fellows and agreeing on an exorbitant 60 rupees to go till Trinity Circle, you take a breath and settle into the auto. Of course, our Bangalore roads are no friends of the three-wheeled contraptions. No wonder these auto guys are always in such a bad mood. They have to rattle and rumble from A to B every single day while avoiding minor potholes and making abrupt swerves to weave through traffic. The cost of your ride is directly proportionate not only to your distance but also to the level of traffic, amount of rain and general mood of the driver. Don’t even dream of telling the auto wallah to take you even an inch away from your initially agreed destination. You will immediately be met with swiftly delivered cursing in Kannada. Any by-lane you enter from the main road will be charged Rs. 20 extra because, “waapas koi nahin milega, Madam”. Auto wallahs are particularly brash to women passengers and if you ever find one who is pleasant and gentlemanly, please pay him 50 Rs. extra to take you to the Ganesha temple and pray for his good health.

 Can somebody call an Uber?

No, that somebody cannot be you because your Paytm wallet is so empty that there’s an animation of buzzing flies every time you open the app. Even if you manage to scrape 200 rupees every day for your daily commute, be warned of the demon that is “Surge Pricing” which is almost always active and invariably doubles (or when it rains, triples) your fare. Ditch Uber and head to Ola? The app has made it a habit to crash every now and then but even if you make it to the booking page, all you will hear are the sound of crickets because lo and behold, “no cabs available”. That being said, Uber drivers are friendly and it’s by far the most convenient way to travel if you have a reasonably high disposable income. Especially on Saturday nights when Auto wallahs take on an extremely pompous air and declare that your trip from Toit to the end of 100 ft. Road will cost you nothing short of Rs. 250.

So what do you do in this situation? It all really depends on what you can tolerate. Meanwhile let’s hope our auto wallahs learn to be nicer, our metro grows a little longer, our Ubers become cheaper and our cars learn to self-drive.

Something Solid

When they first spoke the word "solid"

I am dead sure it was to speak of a man just like you

You are like roots under a tree 

No matter how she sways, 

Or what stirs her fragile branches, 

You hold her to you as your own 

Ever growing, ever changing 

But forever the axis that she revolves upon

When they first rolled the word "solid" in their mouths

They tasted the soul and sinew of a man just like you

Because you are a bed of rock 

Beneath a sea of tumultuous waves 

When the moon tempts the ocean 

And pulls her in to dance, 

She holds on to your firm shoulders 

And anchors herself to you.

When I first used the word "solid" to describe a man, 

It was you that planted the word upon my tongue

Because you are a compass that never fails

A beacon in an inky forest

In these times of fear and trepidation, 

Your firm but gentle heartbeat 

Is the only guide navigating

This wayward wanderer on

Questions Posed in the Dead of Night

How do you dream
So vividly in your sleep
When I confessed to you
Just before you shut your eyes
That I was tossing in bed
Wide eyed and sleepless?

Did it not occur
To sing me a lullaby
Or whisper a sweet word?

Did it not ache
Even a little bit
Did it not itch
Even a little bit
To leave a comforting thought behind
To help me rest?

Was what I said
So cold, so hurtful
That you decided
I would be punished
With red eyed lonliness?

Was what I said
So unforgivable
That I was cursed with the knowledge
That you lay on your pillow
Your lids dewed with sleep
As mine sit open, following
The creaky turn of the fan?

How unkind it seems to me
How cruel.

I feel like a little girl
Robbed of her favourite
Bar of candy.

Comfortable

You are not the fireworks sparkling in the movies
Or the shooting star that I saw at the beach that night
No, you are not the confetti that rained after the concert
Or the rush of a tequila shot with a wedge of lime

You are a slow cooked chicken pie on a rainy day
You are my grey sweatshirt when I am sick
You are soothing orange juice the morning after the party
You are the piano song floating in my bedroom

You are not much for sweeping me off my feet
Or big gestures or fancy declarations of love
Those things are fleeting, my dear
Instead, you are the most comfortable thing I've worn in years

On Kindness

There's this thing about kindness that makes it very difficult. You give some, and it feels quite nice. You give a little more, and invariably some part of you, the part that makes you human, starts looking for some kindness in return. Not always commensurate to how kind you were, but you look for some good to come out of this.

I think that's where we screw up. We give and then we begin to resent when we don't get anything back. Even though we were taught as children that we must give with no expectation of anything in return, as we grow older return on investment is something we always look for. Whether it is financial investment or emotional investment, we want it to be worth it.

What happens when I meet someone who is altogether rude and uncaring? My natural tendency is to return the sentiment. Through actions and words, I would be rude and uncaring right back because, "man, that is what you deserve". So I end up perpetuating animosity, without even a thought, because that's just my default reaction.

What if I were to make a conscious effort and simply, be kind? One of my concerns were, "okay, assume I am kind. Would it even make a difference to anyone? What if my kindness just passed people by?" I've learnt now that this thought was what was holding me back from true kindness. Once I de-prioritized the effect my goodness has on someone else and instead gave more importance to the value my kindness adds to my own life, it wasn't so hard to be a good person anymore. I no longer cared if I was "taken advantage of" because my act of kindness improved my state of mind. It gave me the assurance that if I were never to see that person again, I have left him with as much warmth and goodness as I could offer. There are no regrets.

Why do we not always have conversations with people that are worth being last conversations?

Try this experiment. Try for a week, a month, just being good to other people. I don't mean, start distributing money to people on the street or saving the world. I mean, why don't you make all the time you spend with people 'quality time'.

Why don't you try your best not to resent people that hurt you and instead be good to them, because maybe that's what you (and not they) need to lay your mind to rest. As hard as forgiveness is, removing the weight of your grudges off your shoulders will ease you like a warm balm.

Why not send your best friend a letter, why not give your dad a hug? Why can you not say "I love you" to all the people you do, why not every day? It takes all of two minutes. It will make you feel lighter.

There's something about caring, about putting all these mushy, sappy emotions out on display that people perceive as weakness. This means that people have the power to hurt you, to tear you apart. Yes, I am more vulnerable because that human part of me, the part that so easily becomes selfish and wants kindness in return, does risk getting bruised.

To me, it is worth it. The peace of mind I have because I don't regret my conversations far outweighs my fear of getting hurt. I enjoy my hugs. I like the twinkle in my mother's eyes when I tell her I love her. I am warm inside knowing my best friends know exactly why they are indispensable to me. As long as I don't worry about what I get in return, it will all be okay.

All I am saying is that, why don't you try caring a little more? Why don't you try some goodness for a change? Try a little less hurtfulness, a little more empathy. Because if the sun doesn't rise tomorrow, at least you can be sure that the ones you love knew just how much you loved them.

"If I leave here tomorrow, will you still remember me?"

Yes, I am looking at you through tinted lenses, coloured with emotion and all those bittersweet memories that we have accumulated through the years. I do it without shame or apology. You are so beautiful in this light, with the rain pouring on you and the street lights filtering through the drops.

I remember the first day we met. It was blistering hot and you annoyed me. I despised you from my very core. Your food, the people you entertained and your million shades of hot and cold; it was a potpourri of awful. I wanted you out of my sight. I didn't have a choice though, and I tolerated you. I was stuck. I hated it. Everything around seemed to be coated in a film of dark dust – the beggars moving across traffic signals, the dented BMWs and Marutis, the roadside greenery and most of all, every single person’s mood.

It takes time with you, everyone knows this. Your first impression is your worst and leaves a sour taste in the mouth. But then you do these things, these hard-to-notice things that quietly but surely woo anyone who has gotten to know you. You are drenched wet in history - bricks and pavements that tell stories from centuries ago. Your branches reach out into these grimy skies and at the same time, your roots are planted in an earth that a nation's leaders built cities upon. Your mood swings have become a part of your charm, rather than a point of irritation. You wear your myriad dresses with equal grace, whatever the season. The fiery red of autumn and the white clean of the monsoon look just as stunning on you as the chilled blue of winter or the brilliant gold of summer. It is as if everyone in contact with you changes and moulds to fit the different your different personalities. You are a haughty queen that commands everyone's attention with your bold architecture and sprawling lawns.

No, you will not budge. You will bake us dry in the glare of your sunshine and you will chill us to the bone with a misty breeze. It is up to us whether we want to tolerate it or not, whether it is worth all that trouble just to be around you. Invariably it is, and we stay. You know this better than anyone and you take advantage of it.

Behind that dusty and well-worn veil you hide not only your mystic and conniving smile, but also a pair of dark and vehement eyes; eyes that have seen glory and gore in equal measure. You are as strong as you are stubborn. Your history and the millions of men and women you have been home to gives each person in your arms a certain sense of anonymity. This was my favourite part.

Because you are such a large entity, it is so difficult to know all of you. It reminds me of the story of the three blind men and the elephant. Each one of them felt a different part of the elephant and hence gave a different description of what an elephant is. It's just the same with you. Everyone has a different account about their relationship with you, disjoint and unrelated, making a skewed and distorted image of you as a whole. But each and every one ends up being hopelessly smitten if they stay long enough.

I can't bear to leave you tonight. As you look at me with those hardened eyes, my mind flits back to the lawns and the monuments and all the delicious food. It goes back to the friends I have made, the people I have loved and lost, the pain and the sweat and the shivering. I remember everything and I find it difficult to clear my throat and tell you how very much I will miss you. Because it's cannot be moulded into words, or feelings or tangible things.

Delhi, you have been Home for a long time now. I have cursed you, I have wept heavy tears because of you and I have also lived some of the best years I have ever had, cosy in your arms. You were some ride, and I promise this isn't goodbye. All those lessons you've taught me the hard way I will use. Although I never grew up with you, I still feel like you are now a part of me. You quietly stole a little bit of me to keep for yourself and that empty space left behind inside me you have occupied without invitation. I never knew how you did it, I never will. I try and remember all the reasons I hated you to muster up the courage to walk away from you.

Goodbye, my mistress. It's been a pleasure knowing you. Wait for me.