Morbid...

It was a really bad decision to come to Bangalore for holiday. I don’t know what made me chose Bangalore of all places. May be the familiarity, may be the fact that I supposedly have friends here, with whom I can catch up? I don’t know, but right now it seems to have backfired on me.

I had fever in the morning, with my head splitting apart in pain, a pain I haven’t felt even during the hangover I had after gulping down a pitcher full of beer. I lulled myself into sleep, woke up occasionally and finally it was well past lunchtime when I forced myself to drink some milk and have a sweet, immediately followed by an antacid. I am on constant medication ever since I came here, what with bouts of sneezing, indigestion and extreme fatigue. I can’t but help observing that the place is not at all agreeing with me.

I had a grand time with Ani. Everytime I meet her, I rediscover just how strong our friendship is, that it has survived all the time and distance that holds us apart. Her daughter is this perfect doll, though poor thing is suffering a lot from various illnesses ever since she came to India. It could have been only Ani’s daughter who could inspire me to draw a full fledged cartoon card for her on the eve of my visit. Ani treated me to something called a foot spa in a parlor (which seemed very much like pedicure, couldn’t make out why it was costlier by 500 bucks), and she had her say and paid for my way back home (it was their known autowallah who dropped me back, and he didn’t take money, so I only paid him a tip), but I also had my say and travelled by bus (that too an ordinary one, because I waited for 15 minutes and no Volvo turned up) to Majestic. I stood in the bus all the way, my water bottle dropped from the pouch in my bag and an aunty recovered it and gave it back, and by the time I had reached my destination, I had lost my patience and took an auto to Malleshwaram. Last Sunday I met a kid from my previous organization, and it was a quiet affair and I did manage to have my favourite icecream from Corner House. There are some things I love about Bangalore. But then there are the threats. The autowallah whom Ani asked to drop me seemed to know every nook and corner of Bangalore. I could gather the Iskcon Temple road, the Sankey Tank road, the road next to office (forgot its name, you have that Nisarga Garden Restaurant there – Infantry Road is it?), a cross road that looked very similar to dairy circle, and I was just wondering how we reached this far in such a record time, when the Palace Grounds I guess, whizzed pass, I could make out a glimpse of Konark, my favourite restaurant in Bangalore, and then, it entered known territory. The St. Marks Road, and the exact route Boo used to take to drop me home including the place where he had plucked flowers for me. And I could feel this knife plunging in my heart, no no no, not these roads, no please…I found myself shouting in silent agony. The entire ordeal was enough to make me sick, next day I was barely able to stand up, and found myself shaking and dropping things and hardly able to stop myself from falling over. And I kept sneezing incessantly. I am sure, had I gotten my pressure checked right then, it would have been really really low. I ended up cancelling my appointment with this friend from office I had written here about. I managed to meet her yesterday, though briefly, along with a couple of other people from office as well (I actually went up to the 5th floor where most people from my former BU sit, but as luck would have it, neither did I meet my former best friend, nor my former boss). When I was coming out of the place, some more kids ran up to me. I was pleasantly surprised to find them calling me didi, instead of how they used to call me professionally, by my first name, earlier. Had a nice chat with them, took an auto to Shivajinagar Bus Stop and got into a bus that’d drop me to Madiwala (I had come by bus as well – don’t know why I am so hell bent on buses nowadays, in my last two years in Bangalore, I used to run away from buses).

It has been all about ticking off places I wanted to visit, so I ticked off Crossword on my way back (and we had dinner in MAS restaurant – one of the very first restaurants I visited in Bangalore).

I got the latest Clifton Chronicle and this curious book called The Mother-in-law - The other woman in your marriage. I don’t know why such books attract me. I had once got this book from Landmark, it was some research paper on why marriages in India are breaking. And these are books I read, on priority, like I have been reading this one, ignoring whether Sebastian lives or dies. What is it? Some crooked intention to drive in my mind that I am happier than the rest? Living like a vegetable, never to realize how it feels to be a wife, or to be a mother. Yeah, bliss indeed…

I remember Subhadeep a lot these days. Subhadeep used to be my class mate in school, almost throughout all the classes, right from nursery. I guess we got different classes in VII and VIII, for different third languages, and in IX and X for different additional papers. Then again we got together in XI. So he used to be this first boy in the class, quite plump and tall (I remember Gopa aunty explaining to us that the great wall of China would be as tall as four Satyajit Rays and one Subhadeep put together). And after class XI Puja holidays, he never returned to class. He died. He supposedly had this hole in his heart, and he knew about that, still he went out of the way to enjoy himself during the Pujas, would do late nights and eat and drink and dance with friends, and his health won’t have it – it gave way. For a long time, I kept wondering, why on earth, if he knew about his ailment, didn’t he take precaution? He was an only child, didn’t he think of his parents? Didn’t he have any sense of responsibility? Didn’t he want to live? Today I can somehow understand him. It is better to die perhaps, than to live a life full of restrictions. I can understand, because I too feel like dying. Another 30/40/50 years of this life, way it has been so far? No, thanks. I don’t need a husband, no. If only I could have a friend, a friend who lived near me, and I could get their company without feeling grateful for the time they have taken out for me, it would have made an immense difference. I can’t live such a lonely life. I simply can’t. Well, I have things to do before I quit. I have to get my brother settled down, for one. He is this stupid guy who doesn’t know how to live life. For him life is going to office, having food, sleeping and throw in bits of TV, sports, magazines and horror movies. I need someone to take care of him, even if she gets him estranged from our family (the possibility is always there, you see – all I pray for is that the girl should at least love my brother, if not us). Then, I go on living for my parents, probably till I can’t handle it anymore.
I am negative, very negative. I am always afraid that things might turn even worse. It is a nightmarish situation. I don’t like it. And you know what, when you have such a kind of life, there is no holidaying. Neither in Bangalore, not anywhere. So once I return, I am staying put at my home. Even that might stifle me, but it is at least better than putting up this false image of yourself – look, I am so happy, off on a vacation…and stuff. I am miserable, and so be it...

Thoughts, pertaining to Bangalore and beyond...

It's my 3rd day in Bangalore. The first evening was rather good. Early morning I had a show down with dad. He doesn't want to use "my" car. That apart, and having finally coaxed him into using it, the rest of the day went smooth enough. I entered the airport after a year. I have visited it numerous times to pick and drop my bro, but never had to enter it (unlike other international airports, entry into Indian airports is prohibited, you can buy a ticket and enter for a while but access is very limited - despite all that, India remains one of the most terror prone countries). 

 Once I was inside, I faltered a bit. Kolkata airport is different from the Bangalore one as even the check in luggage there is scanned. I had completely forgotten that and queued up for boarding pass, all thanks to my observant eyes, I saw all the large suitcases had their locks sealed off with the airline tag. So I went back to scan my suitcase as well. Old habits die hard, so I had packed intelligently, and consulted my packing checklist, although I could ignore staff on it like passport (I purposefully left it behind, my driving license...ahem! would suffice as an ID card - it anyways doesn't serve its real purpose), Forex card, Forex cash, spare pair of formal shoes, two shirts and a trouser in cabin baggage, medicines etc. I don't really need to worry even if my suitcase gets misplaced, I can buy clothes and medicines in Bangalore, and anyways I have put up in my bro's place only, there's plenty of spare clothes in the wardrobe. I remembered the hectic days, and smiled to myself. Once security check was done, I sat leisurely in the sprawling waiting place, and chatted off with mom and dad. Then, I wanted to do something, which would otherwise seem so not like me. I wanted to show off my Mac Book Pro. I giggled in my mind, took it out, along with the dongle, and posted a message in FB. Then for the n-th time, I was unable to figure out how the drinking water basins work, and had to ask someone. I looked around, saw chicks all decked up and suddenly felt extremely stylish in my jeans and T-shirt. as it always happens whenever I am sick, I have thinned down a bit, and the tummy doesn't jut out that much. Not sure if it is an illusion, but the double chin is also less prominent. Well the fever is gone, but cold is there and digestion problem as well. Still, I ordered a multigrain sandwich and coffee in the plane. I wanted to spend money. I got down, collected my luggage, walked out of Bangalore airport and filled up my water bottle (I had suffered once big time in 2.5 hours journey in the Volvo bus because I had run out of water - I never want a repetition of that). Oh there have been cab rides earlier, (with or without prospective reimbursements), but I had decided on the Volvo bus already. The safest one (there are 3 bus routes that come near my place) - where I do not need to cross a main road. I am very scared of the Bangalore traffic. Already, familiar Kannada words were pouring in, though luckily Hindi songs were playing in the FM Rainbow channel - very old Hindi songs, as it was supposedly Rajkumar's birthday (The Hindi one, not the Kannada one, of course). And a surge of memories hit me all of a sudden. Way people had gone mad with grief when the Kannada star Rajkumar had died, and all the buses that left the bus bay of my first MNC had his smiling photo on the windscreen (so that people don't hit it in anguish). Then I remembered, with a little effort, this curious name, Noteven Givingwa. Some such stupid thing. It was in parody of our then HR Head (who, goes without saying, had the same initials) and the way she had brought in some terrible policies regarding pay hike and promotions. I strained further to remember the name of that magazine which used to publish such parodies. I laughed aloud in my mind. Can I ever forget Bangalore? It shaped me up as a person, and it killed me too. The familiar roads passed by, the jacket got zipped up, as the rain intensified. I felt a lot of love for myself, as I relived my life at this place, and the fact that I had the guts to get back. I posted once again in FB that I am nostalgic. Both the posts attracted some likes and comments. But I lost heart. FB is not my cup of tea, when I need to express myself. Like the almost ethereal pleasure I felt today as I had a simple lunch of Bisibelle Bath and Pineapple Juice. I remembered the Thursday special lunches, again at my first MNC, where the vegetarian food court served Bisibelle Bath. I had a 4-5 members' gang of bosom friends. We would buy cold drinks and chips to go with it. Thursday lunch would be really special, something we'd look forward to. How I miss those days. I could easily tag those very same friends and mention this in FB, but what difference would it make? They are all different people now. They are not idle like me, they don't need to get lost in their reveries, they have a real life to live. I probably hoped against hope that my once upon a time dear friend would at least express some wish to meet me, once she knows I am in Bangalore. But no, she didn't bother. You see, FB leads to heartbreak. My blog doesn't. I can speak my heart out here. I have nothing to hide. I don't need to change colors here.

Well, I have got back. But I don't really feel like going out. Today, I was supposed to meet Ani. I was hugely reluctant. Didn't want to travel to Malleshwaram. Public transport in Bangalore sucks big time, and I hate the autowallahs here. Ani said something curious, like I can come by auto and she'll take care of it. I didn't understand properly what she meant. Did she want to reimburse my auto fare? Could she really have said that? I don't know. I was getting ready against my wish, when she messaged on Whatsapp that she is down with viral infection. I was relieved that I don't need to travel that far. I am happy staying at home, and reading my books. I finished Half Girlfriend yesterday. Today I am reading Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets one more time. I love that particular book. It is my favorite. Why, I was telling mom, even if no story book is around, I can find this "Statistics for Management", peeping through the set of my MBA books, I'd grab it and start doing sums, way I used to in my school days. I have some Hermione-ish traits, I can't help it. I wish I had a stupid Ron to love me as well.

My friend from my previous organization (who's become this avid reader of my blog) called me on the day of Laxmi Puja to tell me that she's getting married. I had mixed feelings about it. I had come to Bangalore to meet her as well, she's one person who has stood by my side through thick and thin, all through the last year, and has sympathized without showing pity, which in itself is a very rare thing. I really wanted to appreciate that, in person. Now, because of her sudden busy schedule, she probably won't be able to make it. I also reflected on my curious sixth sense. The other night, I was thinking about how she is becoming as lifeless as me brooding over her marriage proposals not materializing. And I had this strong feeling that in no time she'd be happy, her problems will be sorted out. Well, I have seen my sixth sense work at times, but always with other people. It never works for me. I remembered that Boo had his engagement on a Laxmi Puja day 2 years back. I fasted and helped mom do the Puja even on that day. This time mom wanted me to do the Puja. I refused but didn't explain why. I feel cursed being unmarried. Laxmi Puja should be done by a married lady, seeking prosperity of her family. I don't stand a chance to do this Puja. 

I did a good deed though. I made my dad very happy, by taking this one small step to visit his elder brother and his family. The brothers had fought over one inconsequential property, and got separated when I was in my teens. The property remains locked up till date, two brothers are dead, rest are distant. There was one time when we lived as a family, celebrated all the religious occasions together, oh yes, even I had my hey days, I was the most pampered and loved kid amongst them. A boat accident happened, it snatched away lives, and then this property dispute. The happy family was wrenched apart. The day I return (i.e. next Sunday), I have promised to take them all to my home. I don't know if I did this to support them, or to seek support for myself. All I can tell is that when I met my uncle after about 15 years, all I felt was sheer inspiration. This ex Indian Navy person still stands tall and healthy at 78, and what has he not seen in life. A son, who was finally born to him after much prayers and worships, after two daughters, was killed in an accident, even his dead body was never found. He used to be my favorite cousin brother as well, I remember years of believing that he was alive, and praying to God, and later giving up. His daughter suffered a divorce, and is now bringing up her daughter alone. I have written all this in http://itsraininglove.blogspot.in/2011/10/memories-feelings-and-views.html earlier as well - I really don't feel like repeating. But like I said, my uncle's strength amazed me. It was like cold breeze on a fevered head, it was like an angelic presence, telling me, that you can live, no matter what. I am glad I visited them. I am glad I am gradually doing the things I so wanted to do.

Yes, I could have never done these things had I stayed back in Bangalore. A visit once in a while is fine, but Kolkata is my place.

The inner turmoil...

I have been feeling terrible. The mental agony grew intolerable, and then, on Friday, the fever came up. I had come back from the community lunch that is organized during the Puja days in our housing society, and was feeling extremely tired, so took to bed. In the afternoon, when I woke up, I literally understood what they mean when they use the term - "legs felt like jelly". Mine did. I wobbled precariously as I descended down the stairs, I felt I might fall down anytime. Ever since I fell down on the road and hurt my ankle, my balance problem has become quite acute, I am more afraid of height, and feel I might falter, miss a step, and bring about some accident. Well, as soon as I reached downstairs, my parents and brother examined me and declared that I have fever, so after much deliberation I finally took half a paracetamol (I hate taking medicines, you see), along with an antacid. I had to continue the medicine till today, and now thankfully, I don't feel the fever anymore. But the mood doesn't improve, I am at a loss to know what to do about it.

Crux of the matter is that I am unhappy. It has always been my policy to allow myself to do whatever I want. I wanted to rejoice on FB. I put up this freshly taken photograph of my car, along with a hugely photoshop-ed photo of the car keys (I adjusted the brightness and contrast and removed the background), early Tuesday morning. Monday went unexpectedly well. I managed to wear a saree and reach office without any hindrance, dad stayed back home to deal with the bank problem (they refunded the money by the way - but didn't explain the cause of the lapse, I guess dad didn't press), we went to the car showroom, took the car, did puja and brought it home safely, and distributed sweets - everything was perfect. Tuesday, I woke up early in the morning on my own accord, and amid attending calls, chatting on Whatsapp, and other sundry jobs, I was editing the images on photoshop, imagine how much energy I had. After that, took bath and got ready in a jiffy, and set off to pick up my bro from the airport. And then it started raining really heavily. It has rained more when I have been with other friends in their cars, but I have never been so apprehensive. All the while the rain pelted on my car roof, I was quite out of my mind with tension. Everyone else tells me it is a wonderful car, which doesn't jerk or make any noise, but I can feel even the feeblest jerk and any untoward sound it produces. Perhaps these are the inevitable woes of being in "total possession" of something.

Everything was fine till evening, when news came that a neighbor, who was also the secretary of the local committee, has passed away. The scheduled cultural program was stopped midway, decision was taken to postpone the community lunch planned for the next day, and dad set off towards the office building to pay his homage. And my usual queries about life and its uncertainties came up once again. My usual fear took me in its grip.

Next day, I had planned to leave early in the morning with my parents and go pandal hopping. We actually managed to cover almost 200 km in the first 3 days itself. Despite the exhaustion, I felt elated. Though I haven't yet even so much as touched the steering wheel of my car, I was happy that I was finally being able to give my parents the convenience and comfort I so desired for  them. I knew it is a pseudo sense of satisfaction, but I still wanted to bask in it. May be that was what urged my to write this eulogy to all my near and dear ones, as a comment to my car post on FB. I did manage to mention Meenu, and she replied too (a reply that made me understand two facts at the same time, she misses me too, and there's no way the gap can be bridged), but I terribly missed my two boyfriends, whom I couldn't even mention. Andy anyways is not on my friend list, and Boo is an unmentionable, even if he's still there (though I haven't checked lately). I also realized who are the so called jealous people (mostly from my school) who kind of vowed not to like the post. I felt anger and a sudden urge to abuse them for being such lowly beings, for acting away being what they are not (though I am using plural here, I am frustrated with that single friend of mine about whom I have written here, she recently caused Ananya a lot of grief and I am even more furious with her after that).

I don't know whether it was these negative emotions that sparked off the ill feelings. Ashtami came with all its glory, Pushpanjali and the community lunch, and the evening program on a traditional dance of Bengal (পুরুলিয়ার ছৌ নাচ) was much enjoyed, but then, after I returned home, depression was manifest in my mind. I couldn't fight it. I hurt myself even more. I so wanted a friend I could trust. I so wanted a husband. There was this curious incident on the 29th midnight ok. A college friend had pinged few days back on Whatsapp, and I just replied back to him. He seemed to be online and started chatting. He was like, when are you getting married. He made a passing remark about me having been one of the smartest girls in the college, so he couldn't understand why I am not able to get a suitable guy. He even joked about being available if I was not finding anyone else, but I caught his lie and he admitted to being married. It was just fun, my college mates used to be like that, lighthearted about everything. I didn't really feel bad, but perhaps I did. I feel bad that there's no one on whom I can rely, nobody who cared to wait for me, or take my whims in their stride and still keep loving me. You know, as we were turning the road and entering our locality with the new car from the showroom, I saw the banker guy crossing the road. I didn't want to see his face that day, but well, all the major work had already been done. I still felt so bitter, I can't explain. He's such a mismatch for me, and still, all thanks to the arranged marriage concept, I was ok about even this guy, but he turned me down. They say, perhaps God has better things in store...yes of course, just that, I don't have more patience left in me, neither any bit of hope.

The next day the fever started. I haven't cried yet, no. I know that the key is to accept the situation and not fight it. But, oh, how I do want to fight it. I don't like this life, I don't want it. I never wanted it, I never visualized myself to be a spinster on the verge of 35. I don't want so much of responsibility and loneliness. The imminent need of learning to drive confidently presses on me. An inner voice who is so accustomed to doing things on her own, tells me, oh come on, just do it. but I feel old and reluctant. কতটা পথ পেরোলে তবে পথিক বলা যায়...I ask myself.

I don't think I'd have recovered, had it not been for the dream I saw this morning. The only person with whom I shared a guileless bond of love came in my dreams. He showed me his new phone, made me listen to songs he loves, way he used to do seven years ago. My bossie. Yes, he talked to me for a long time, small, irrelevant things, and managed to cheer me up. But then, what's there in a dream. A dream is never a reality, right?

I don't want to go to Bangalore. I bought tickets mainly because I wanted to meet Anitha and her kid, and also Bindhu, before her marriage. But I am scared to travel and stay alone. I am scared of the memories Bangalore might evoke. But having 10 days of continuous, worry free holiday is also something rather rare. Still it doesn't really excite me. I am too much in a pensive mood to care for any prospective happiness.