For V and Skaty

I have been asked to blog. There have been complaints in certain corners of New Delhi that getting married has affected my urge to write. The man I share a home with suddenly wakes up in the middle of the night and urges me to write. He says, ‘I don’t want you to change. You must write.’ So, for once in my life I am not writing just because I want but also for these two special people in my life—one, I call a friend and the other, people refer to as my husband.

To be honest, being married has changed me. Actually, more than being married, having to shoulder the responsibility of managing my own house has changed me. Updating my blog or writing figure on very low ranks on my list of priorities right now. Going to the kitchen to straighten the third coffee mug kept in the top shelf of the second cabinet somehow seems like a task that could possibly change my life or to be honest, the world.

I am still getting used to being promoted from being called gudia or bitiya or beta to being called, madam, bhehenji or the deadliest of them all—bhabhiji. The maids call me bhabhiji. And almost every morning I look back over my shoulder to see if they are addressing me or someone else.

I take more care in choosing the plants that decorate my balcony than I took in choosing the jewellery for my wedding. And the people who went shopping with me for my wedding know that I was very particular in even choosing the safety pins needed to keep the pleats of my saree in place. But I digress. I was telling you the ways in which marriage has changed me. My mother says that I treat my husband like I have treated no one else. Ever. She observes that I treat him with a lot of love and extreme patience. My husband, let’s call him V because saying husband again and again is a little annoying and also very un-nerving for me, tells me that he lives in constant fear. V is a scared man whose every breath depends on my approval of the next step he takes. He of course exaggerates. I am not such a dictator. Or at least, so I like to believe.

My friend Skaty, along with two other friends, has gifted me a mixer and grinder and an iron. She, now, wants me to invite her over formally. I was informed today that plans are in the pipelines of Skaty shaking things up a bit and maybe, just maybe not being a part of the Delhi cityscape for long. I will not lie; I had tears in my eyes and tried hard not to let them spill over when I came to know of the said plans. Over the last couple of years I have explored a lot of corners the city with her. Although I haven’t been on an exploration with her for almost six months now imagining she not being a part of Delhi as I have come to know and love the city is heart breaking. Skaty is one of the best teachers I know. If I have a child someday I would want him/her to be tortured by Skaty with one of her lectures on history. So, she needs to be in Delhi and she needs to urge be at regular intervals to write.

This blogpost is my humble attempt at combating the writer’s block that has had me engulfed since the better part of 2014. Hopefully, I will pen more posts in the months to come.

To unlikely friendships and spectacular experiences

Difficulty is a state of mind. Or so I would like to believe. So far on this trip things have fortunately been easy for me. Except for two things: 1. It seems I am not meant to open the seals of mineral water bottles. The task seems Herculean, even though I must have opened at least 10 bottles till now in the last five days. 2. Explaining to people what I do for a living. I tell them I am an editor. They look at me quizzically. I start to elaborate and tell them about textbooks, and what role I play in my office and they seem to lose interest.

Coming to things that are falling into place. I was welcomed in Hospet with the visual of colourful plastic pots. Now, you need to know that colourful plastic pots hold a very special place in my heart. I had seen such pots for the first time in Madurai in 2006 when I had gone on the adventure of my life—a documentary shoot. For me the sight of colourful plastic pots was a sign that things on this leg of the trip were going to be spectacular.

Fortunately, my faith in signs continues. I had a fantastic time in Hampi today. I visited the Vittal Temple, saw the stone chariot, and requested a stranger to play music from the pillars of the temple and heard music. This day had wonderful written all over it. The highlight was the boat ride on the Tungabhadra River. Seated in the middle of the round boat, chatting with the boatman, who knew little English, little Hindi, and a lot of Kannada. The only problem was I know no Kannada. But that did not stop either of us from talking. The best point of the boat ride was going under a rock. The kurta wet with all the water that had seeped into the boat, I got out of the boat smiling like I had won an Oscar.

Had a generous helping of sugar cane juice. The vendor told me that the sugar cane was from his farm. Somehow this information added to the taste of the juice. I also had the small sized bananas. I have never had such tasty bananas ever. Lunch at the Mango Tree lived up to all the praise I read about it online. For someone who generally thinks chewing is a waste of time, I am enjoying my meals in Hampi.

I saw several ruins, a whole city that once used to be. Most of these structures are still standing tall. Makes one wonder why don’t the architects of the present times study these old structures and incorporate some of their brilliance in what they design and build today. Even in regions where temperatures rise to as high as 40 degrees Celsius, the chambers where the kings and queens were to rest remain cool without any air conditioning. If only such techniques of building are incorporated in today’s times we would be successful in battling global warming.

And yes, I think about serious issues even when I am on a holiday.

Coming back to my trip and its awesomeness. I climbed steps, jumped from heights I would usually shy away from, and also hummed to myself. Spoke to strangers in Hindi, English, and Marathi. Shared a few laughs, some wisdom, and lots of smiles. Also, answered questions about travelling alone.

In the morning, I waited for Sharat for more than an hour and called him thrice. When he did not answer my calls, I got impatient and angry. So I hired another autowala. Santosh took to me around the city in his auto today. The name Gajendra is imprinted on the back of his auto. This was also a sign. This name reminded me of my friend ‘Titu, the Tiger’ (I am friends with a bunch of people with really interesting names). The song, ‘Look beautiful, Gajendra Rana is coming’ sprang to mind. I missed Titu and Sangy, and also felt comforted in the knowledge that they were with me as long as I was in the auto.

Santosh kept repeating, ‘Madam, aapko kush hua na mere saath ghoom ke.’ Since morning, he asked me several times and several times I smiled politely and said yes. But when he insisted that I go to the sunset point today itself and enthusiastically climbed with me all the way to the hilltop. Of course, he helped me a lot during the climb. He also clicked pictures of me when I requested. And then the big ball of red dipped into nothingness and I was glad to be sitting there. Alone, yet with an unlikely friend—Santosh. Santosh spoke to me about his family, places he had visited, and why he enjoys driving his auto in Hampi. He also asked me what I did. The fact that he thought I was a college student earned him brownie points.

He played the pillars for me at the sunset point. It was magical to say the least. And he has promised to take me to sunrise point early tomorrow morning. He says that will be even more spectacular. And I believe him.

And as per my friend Santosh’s instructions, I must go to bed early today.