How many times have I thought of what I would change if I could turn back the clock...The first would be to choose my friends and relationships a bit more carefully. The second would be to avoid a lot of things I did back then, a lot of decisions I made and so on. And then I wonder,...

What kind of a person would I be today, if not for my yesterday.

Would I be happier or more sad?
Would I be richer or poorer?
Would I be busier or more relaxed?
Would I be more stressed out or less?
Would my relationships be better or worse?
Would I still have the same set of best friends?
Would I be loved or hated?
Would I be a leader or a follower?
Would I be prettier or uglier?
Would I be thinner or fatter?

Would I be me?

Some old stuff

These are some couplets I wrote in Urdu...

guroor kar baithe they ham apni
taqat-e-ishq par
sab bikhar gaya jab
nazrana-e-shikast diya mehboob ne!

abr ke sadr se paani nikla
to garaj garaj kar bola
hairaan hain ham
dil ke tukre hazar huey
aur unki uff tak na nikli
[from the heart of a cloud, when it poured, it roared. I'm amazed, his heart broke into a million pieces, yet I heard nary a whisper....]

yeh faroz mere dil-e-noor ka
chandni se kahiye shikast maan le!
[The briliance of the light of my heart, Ask the moonlight to concede defeat!]

ik sada nikli is dil se
mere tukre na kariye
munh mora unhone
aur goli daag kar chal diye
[My heart begged of him - don't break me, he turned his face, shot at my heart and walked away]

had hui beyrehami ki
in ashkon ka voh
jaam bana kar pi gaye!
[The height of cruelty, My heart cried and he drank the tears like he would a drink]

siql na bane mohabbat hamari
bahut koshish ki hamnein
aankhon ke sailaab par, afsos,
koi zor nahi hamara
[A mockery should my love not become, I tried really hard...Alas, I have no control over these torrential tears of mine]

is ishq ka soz
hai suraj se bhi tapta hua
aamad o raft me the hum yun mashgool
janaza-e-mohabbat ke hum khud hi haamil ban baithe!
[so engrossed was I in communicating with my beloved, i became the bearer of my own demise]

Yesterday once more

Sometimes when I close my eyes and lean back, listening to the whispering breeze,
I walk back in time, and it's yesterday once more.
I come back to the day and place where we first met -
That and bright day that I just knew somehow, would turn out to be special.
I can still feel that surge of a new emotion I felt then,
Because a few moments with you, and I had known,
You were the one I had always been waiting for.

Yet today, you and I are at different crossroads in life.
I don't know what you're doing and you don't know where I am.
I can't help but wonder how your life's turned out
I can't help but wonder if you wonder about mine.
I can't help but wonder how life would have turned out if we were together.

But then, I wouldn't be able to turn back time and say...
It's yesterday once more.

My dear love,
Love doesn't only mean spending long hours together....
It also means finding unabounded joy in a mere glance or a soft caress.

Sweetheart,
I just want to tell you that
I don't want to be with you only when you're glad,
I also want to hold your hand through a downpour.

Baby,
I don't want to sail only on smooth waters with you,
I want to row you out of troubled waters too.

Honey,
With you, i don't only want to see the most beautiful gardens,
I want to explore the deepest darkest dungeons with you.

My sweet love,
I want to walk to the last shore of the world with you

Some of my old writings

My promise to you

It isn't about getting you the moon and stars,
It isn't about scaling the highest mountains
Or swimming the deepest oceans.

Love of my life, my promise to you
Is to hold you in my arms
And to protect you from any hurt or pain...
And to love you....forever.

Love of my life

With you, I'm so comfortable
With you, I am who I am and not who I should be
With you, I can hear the silence speak a thousand words
With you, I can spend my life just the way I want to
With you, I feel warmth
With you, I know love.

You are my strength

When I'm happy
When I'm sad,
When I'm quiet,
When I'm mad,
When I've been nasty,
When I've done a good deed,
In any shade of my emotions,
And however I am,
I know you love me
And that gives me the strength to go on being who I am.

Let's get away

Let's get away to a place where it's just the two of us together
No phone calls to attend, no letters to answer.

Let's get away to a place where it's just the two of us
And discover each other all over again.

Come, let's get away...just you and I.

So, we're all technologically almost-there people, right? How close has it really brought us all? Or has it actually taken us further away from each other?

Let me cite a case in point. I came back home from work today to find the fragrance - yes, i say fragrance - of saag wafting in my whole house, not just in the kitchen. And I was instantly back to one day in my childhood, when I came back from the colony's sole square of grass, which we happily called a park. I got back home just in time to see my mother holding a cooker with both her hands, as strongly as she could - no one can call my mother fragile, so it was quite some strength - while my father had a strange looking wooden ladle kind of thing in his hand and he was churning away at something rather suspiciously green.

Curious child that I am, I stood on a tip-toe and looked over my father's shoulder and into the gooey green stuff, i'm sure imagining some clawed monsters jumping out of it. My parents were clearly sharing a joke, they were laughing, but that was all background noise to the terrible fight that the green monsters and my favorite pet dragon were having over me. And I'm digressing.

The point being that there they were churning away at the saag, hoping it would become a smooth, non-lumpy pasty kind of consistency. Cut to circa 2006. Today. I immediately called out to my father, surprised that he would be back home so early on a Tuesday evening. Turns out he was still at work. So I asked my mother if my pa had gone late to work after helping her with the saag.

She pertly tossed her hair - THAT'S where my niece gets it from! - and said "food processor ka kamaal hai!" Not that we didn't have mixer-grinders back then. We had this cute thing (I now remember it as cute. When I was younger, I was terribly miffed by the sound) from Moulinex or Moulimex something. But somehow, today, when I realised that mum had done this all alone, I felt sad.

Advanced technology has robbed my parents of a free chance to share a good laugh over churning some good-old wholesome saag.

Starting a new blog to share...so, what better than to first write about the first few people I knew when I became aware that there was a world around me, made of people who felt something or the other for me.Let's start with the very obvious: my parents: What are my first few memories of them? Mum in the kitchen, making breakfast, pa all ready in his black lawyer's coat, white shirt and pinstrip black trousers, smelling fresh and nice - of Ponds talcum...those days it wasn't such a feminine smell...we were still in the male-dominant age - ma packing his lunch for him in an aluminium two-tiered lunch box, dad hugging her from behind, giving her a peck on her cheek just before leaving for the day. Where was I? Sprawled out on the bed with a feeder bottle in my mouth, looking at them and smiling. Didn't kmow why at the time...just smiling.

My bro: Lovely eyes, a head-ful of very curly hair, smooth skin, shy smile. Someone to hang out with and go cycling with. Where did we lose that? :(

Daddyji: my grandfather: the soft man in the white kurta pajama with snow white hair, who would sit on the chair, soaking in the sun, newspaper in hand, cigarette dangling from pursed lips. He called me "Kato" coz I was such a sharp child. Where did I lose that rasor edge over the years? i've mellowed down. Comes with nearly turning 30, I guess! :P

Biji: my formidable grandmother. With flaming orange and white hair, neatly tucked into a bun at the nape of her neck, and waves on her forehead, a la Marylin Monroe.

Bauji: my soft, gentle nanaji. I still remember my tiny fingers in that big, soft paw of his. Folding skin, perched glasses, always in a suit or a kurta pajama.... guddo rajkumari he used to call me. W'ed go together to his "hospital". Him, with his strides and me hopping and skipping...like a skittish lamb. And on the way he'd buy me sweets. And at the end of the day, give me all the change in his pocket. And at the end of the vacation, a purseful each of a LOT of shiny coins in different shapes...round, square and hexagonal. And of course the atta buscuits. Oh my darling. I was terribly upset when I lost him. I used to feel this engulfing sadness when I would go back to the house. We never went there too often after, anyway. Never knew my nani too much. So...

Bhuji: My father's sister. This is what I started out with calling her. My best friend after my parents. Our relationship has gone through a lot of changes...From being an aunt, to being a friend, to being a confidante, to being someone I can talk to about anything- even her own children. She's now my "atya" - maratha for bua.

Amma: tall, proud maid...the woman who brought me up with my mother. Such a handful was I. I needed two women to bring me up.

These are the people who shaped me. Before my school could. That of course, is an entry for another day.