A triangle of errors...

It was a cold rainy evening, when finally the hustle and bustle of a busy life seemed to part and Annie succumbed to a deserving solitude. She sat by the raindrop studded French windows, lost in thoughts. 

Thoughts,  which dint matter to her anymore.

Winding back to her college days was the last thing she ever wanted to do, but somehow the rainy evening took her to the doorsteps of that hostel room, the room which was undersized for two, which stood testimony to the rants and laughter of many friends. Especially, Diana.

She was still in touch with Diana, who wasn’t her roommate but her best friend. They shared every random thought that came to their minds. They were inseparable soul sisters who stood firmly by each other come what may. However it hurt when some people told her that Diana was not the person whom she thought she was.  But for her, it was like telling her that she was adopted. On those days when she fell sick, it was Diana who burnt the midnight oil checking on her, and made her rice soup..the days when Diana was a motherly figure to her. The least she did was to save Diana a space in her heart, right next to her parents and siblings, and established that water is sometimes blood thick.

She remembered that fateful morning when a casual conversation with the jovial and very mature batch mate Shilpa, led to a serious argument. The verbal argument may have stopped, but it continued even after she went back to her room, in the form of text messages. Of all the spiteful messages exchanged, she remembered that one message which came from Shilpa:, “Everyone knows about the affair Diana has with your classmate. But you don’t. And you call her your best friend?  Lol You don’t know you are a laughing stock yet”. It’s been at least 13 years since she got that message, she changed at least 5 mobile phones since and the message is long gone, but she remembered every word of it. She never questioned Diana and thus be the suspecting moron who doesn’t know that any relationship is built on trust. Or was it?

She recollected bits of instances when she felt Diana knew this classmate too well, but pretended not to take notice. She remembered the phone calls Diana made in her room and how she tactically ended them as soon as she entered. It happened too often to ignore. Was it friendship then, by any means? The fear of losing Diana to misunderstanding was huge and scary. But the thought of remaining a fool for the sake of losing someone was cowardice.

13 years. 

She remembered how it was she who started the argument with Shilpa and lost a good friend forever.  Thoughts whether she should try to make up with her stormed in her head, as the rain poured heavily on the window pane. Finally she made up her mind. She opened her laptop and typed a breezy, yet honest email to Shilpa fighting back any ego that came her way. Within a couple of days, came a heartwarming reply. Shilpa was equally touched and wanted to get back with her. Tears welled up her eyes as she read through Shilpa’s letter, and she assumed that she too must have cried as she typed it.

Annie closed her laptop, sat back and heaved a sigh of satisfaction that now she has no enemies as far as she could remember. Unless she wanted to create one. There is Diana and Shilpa. Continents apart, but they are there. It was a refreshing feeling, one that she hadn’t felt in a long time.

She closed her eyes, but sleep was not in the vicinity. Thoughts of being betrayed lingered in her heart. Did Diana hide the most important things from her and talk behind her back… when all she had was her and trusted her like no other? It was unbelievable. Or perhaps she dint want to believe it . Diana would never do that, would she…? She was caught in a whirlwind of contradictions. Is it the geographical distance that is making her doubt her best friend?  Shilpa was mature as a person, and even during an argument wouldn’t say anything untrue. All odds were against Diana. All those little incidents she ignored without questions. She couldn’t imagine being laughed at. She cried.

As she wiped her tears, she felt the rush of a fresh onset of thoughts in her mind. That Diana might have thought that she wouldn’t approve of her affair, and kept it secret for the fear of losing her. May be, Diana thought she was too precious to lose. May be. As the rain subsided, she lay back on that chair and noticed the clear sky. She breathed in the moist, fresh air and slowly drifted off to sleep.
 

The food path to happiness!

Its been over two years since I was uprooted from Bangalore and replanted in Muscat. I hated everything about Muscat initially, because I believed that Bangalore was an incomparable place. But then there is a destiny factor which plays the protagonist in our lives and we are the supporting actors who adhere to it. So two years down the line, I still miss my friend s in Bangalore, but I cant complain about Muscat too.

Although it took us long to settle down and find an amicable group to connect with, we found a cool place to hangout couple of miles from our home, quite early on. It is Camilia Turkish Restaurant, where we get the best Turkish Shewerma and Grilled Chicken, ever. I am not saying it is the best in the world ONLY because I haven’t been to a lot of places outside India, and hence do not have the proof enough to say it.

Now Camilia is the best thing that happened to us I must say. Every week, we have dinner there atleast once. To top it, we also get fresh juices ! What else does one need in the scorching Gulf summers!

Camilia is also reasonably priced, has open air as well as roofed air conditioned space, and very friendly staff. Although it is a casual outlet and one wouldn’t choose it for a birthday or anniversary dinner, hubby and me are happiest at Camilia and would prefer it over any high profile restaurants around. My one year old also enjoys the hot French fries they serve with the chicken!

So what I am trying to say is, wherever destiny takes you, just find a good place to hang out and most importantly to EAT, and you will be happy.

Here is a picture of the salt and pepper mills at Camilia – can these get any more creative? How cute! 

High School Gags...

It was one of those glorious high school days when we, a gang of nine brats popularly known as The Notorious Nine, were walking from school to the bus station at noon, after a boring three-hour extra class during the weekend. We were all the typical uniform wearing, hyperactive students who left no stone unturned to enrage teachers ,parents and peers alike. 

Among us, my friends Sandy and Ancy (names changed to protect my head their privacy :D ) were healthier than the rest of us.

As we walked, Ancy went on to announce, that since she and Sandy weighed significantly more than the rest of us, the school will declare two days leave in the event of their unfortunate demise.

 This declaration however, did not go down well with the rest of us. I screamed, ‘WHAT?’ . However Ancy kept walking completely ignoring my tone of speech and expression. The others of the gang rolled eyes at her. However, she kept chewing her gum, pretending to be completely oblivious to the air of terror around her. Well no one actually cared about the demise part, but the worry was for the two days she deserved, unlike one day which is the usual trend. Sandy also kept walking, nodding her head as if to acknowledge the praise she was bestowed upon.

I couldn’t control myself, when I asked her…”Then what about me…and Nimmy..and the others ?” She patted off some dust from her skirt, casually ran her fingers through her hair and said, ‘One day maximum, if it is not on a weekend’. I felt highly insulted and humiliated than I would’ve felt if I actually died on a weekend. 

The shortest and most malnourished member of our gang, G, then looked up, and asked in a low voice, ‘ And me?’

Ancy looked at her pitifully, up and down, and famously replied after a few seconds,

“Hmm… Five minutes silence, at the most”. 

Inappropriate Monologues.

Ten days into the month and finally I got to sit down to write a few words of how beautiful the last week of my life had been. Firstly, my parents landed on the 5^th of June, and in the next two days I was completely blinded by homemade chocolate cake. I can very proudly say that except for one piece I donated generously to my maid and another which I hesitantly gave my hubby, the rest of the cake has safely landed in my otherwise flexible tummy. However I do not feel even a bit guilty, because like my sister says, I am also sure they serve these in heaven.

Second reason I am happy about is that I completed one year of parenting, or in other words, my son turned one. My parents almost cant see me yet, as they are drowned deep in the whims and smiles of my little one. We also hosted a party for close friends, during which we cut the cake, played games, danced and ate a sumptuous dinner.

So before the birthday party, on Aaron’s actual birthday, we went to church in the morning, said thanks to the Almighty for the countless blessings, and at noon, we’d invited two of my previous housemaids to join us for lunch. I did this from a good intention, because I was sincerely thankful to them. So post lunch one of them showed no signs of leaving. As soon as she came she started talking about her diabetes problem which we showed concern and listened curiously. But her symptoms and hospitalization story went on and on until we could no longer hear her. Mummy, who actually is a good listener tried to change the topic by talking to my son in between but she paid no heed to her attempts. I tried going to another room and calling my mother on the landline which was in the living room,(so that she gets up to answer the call and the conversation would be disconnected) but my brutally innocent Mummy failed to read my intentions and asked me to answer the call K

Finally around 45 minutes of exaggerated details from her fasting and post brandial sugar count -to her doctor -his experience and family- to his mother tongue and expertise-to her hospitalization charges and treatment- to her daughter starving in sorrow, to the sandals which was stolen at the hospital. She left no stone unturned and then changed the topic.

 To suicide. About a girl she knows who apparently looked like me, and her husband who (obviously) looked like my husband

 ( **when people lie, they say some details which goes too far and makes the most tragical stories funny**** )who had a shaky marriage and then my looakalike committed suicide leaving behind a two year old. Remember, she is talking to my mother. I watched Mummy’s face going pale and at this point, I stood up and left the room and started planning an evening walk so that we could get rid of this calamity in human form which had settled down in my living room. I talked to Papa who was in another room checking emails and told him that we could go and check out a new residential building which had come up in our area. I convinced my husband also into this, and got dressed all of which took about 20 minutes and went to the living room again to hear her still describing about how my lookalike was found breathless after hanging from the ceiling fan in such great detail as if she was an eye witness. If I asked her where the lookalike got the rope to hang from, she’d detail that also, with route maps.  

Trying my best to cover the sheer desperation and anger I said, ‘Arent you guys done with this topic yet..? Remember it is Aaron’s birthday? ’…with a fake smile, winking at Mummy in between sounding as sweet as possible. That’s when she snapped back..’Anita if you don’t want to listen , you just don’t listen…I am talking to your mother’. If she weren’t that old lady who once cooked food for me while I was pregnant, I would have thrown the furniture at her.

Some people just don’t know what to talk, when and where. Leave housemaids, we can forgive her thinking she is not educated.

 On one auspicious day of my sister in law’s wedding we left to the parlor early morning with the wedding saree and jewels. Giving away a bride is a sentimental ceremony, more than just a celebration. Our home was crowded with relatives who had come from near and far, and the atmosphere seemed to be heavy with anticipation and prayers . In thirty minutes and atleast fifteen phone calls, we reached the parlour where the beautician who looked a bit sophisticated waited. 

It took around two hours, to be done with the saree, hairdo and jewels, during which she subjected us to details of all the road accidents she had experienced so far, first hand or otherwise. She also described that the corpses she saw in the accident the week before dint have heads and also the pool of blood on the road, in millilitres. I wondered, if she spoke like this on a wedding day, what would she speak about at a funeral?

Can it get any more weird?

I am sure everyone had their shares of experiences with people who are educated or illiterate, who just cant decide what to say and when. People whose tongues are faster than their heads. I can but boldly say, that education has nothing to do with knowing what to talk. What do you say?