A trip to Goa is almost always on my mind.
Its the sun, sand, food, pace and a general sense of well being that draws you to the little place with a big heart. This is my third trip to Goa this year.
The year started off with a bachelorette - 6 girls celebrating the last few days of a friends single life. Strangely, she'd always been double - but marriage is a whole different ballgame.
The second trip was my birthday in Goa combined with media awards that become cooler with the prefix 'Goa-fest'. In retrospect - feelings were mixed back then. But the sun, sand, food and pace created the general sense of well being.
The third time was spent with a newly wed couple. The circle was complete - started Goa with the wedding celebration. Ended it with Diwali. The core proposition of Goa continued even this time.
Had varied experiences each time. It was almost like a milestone.
I've stopped and assessed myself at each halt.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Monday, November 1, 2010
Homes for Sale
When a friend of mine was planning to buy a house, there were several variables that he was looking at. Whether it fit in his budget and the EMI calculation, the locality, the builders and proximity to work (which was flexible) and family (which was avoidable). All the jazzy, new age, promising buildings lacked in the four of his very basic requirements.
After several months of hunting, he found a house. A cozy, lived in house in a plush green, quiet society. He had to wait for several months before possession. Paperwork was endless, sometimes it was the bank else it was the society. He is an owner now and the days of flooring, wiring, painting, chipping, crafting has begun.
It gets me thinking, had he bought the newly constructed house - he would just have had to move in and fill it up as he wished. But then, this way he gets to make his home the way he wants with the hard work and imagination even though its time consuming and one doesn't know how it will look by the end of it.
Am grappling with this for myself - new place or renovation?
Or is it back to just paying rent.
Monday, July 12, 2010
When the Tewari's came visiting
Evenings in Allahabad - I do not miss them, but I cannot forget them either. Easily classifiable as when there was electricity and when there was none.
When there was electricity, there was a surge of life – children playing, maids gossiping, water replenishing, dog walking, cookers hissing. The flipside was the drone of crickets. Happy crickets. Sad crickets.
Since days would begin early, the evenings would miraculously blend into a new day. The only remote excitement was a yearly Miss Universe, exams getting over or a new fight around the block. Despite these high points, we ate dinner at 830 p.m, locked the main gates by 930 and were in bed by 10 p.m.
There was one particular feature which sent a heat and a cold wave in our house - the musical honk of a car and the clink at our main door, and a voice that said “Lalit!” which could be heard behind locked doors. It was almost like we were programmed to spring into life with the magic words.
The father would discuss politics. The mother would pull her husband’s leg. The daughter was solemn but a good listener and the son was almost always bored to death. My father would laugh at the expletives used by Mr. Tewari. My mother would make interesting snacks at wee hours of the night – and sing while doing so. I remember how our house was alive at midnight and that the other 11 houses slept.
I remember how I waited for Saturday nights – would hope and pray even in my sleep that they would come. There would be some mindless banter. There would be a late night. There would be a lighthearted exchange. There would be someone visiting us. Sometimes, my father would announce that we would go and see them – which would mean dressing up, a 20 minute drive and samosas at their place.
Their friendship continued for almost 3 decades after which things started waning. The Tewari’s were complete opposites – crass, corrupt, loud, wealthy and well-dressed. Over time, the differences translated into opinions. We stopped seeing much of each other. Kids moved away. Parents became more insular. My father confesses – he misses Mr. Tewari’s company sometimes. But then perspective fills him and he comments on not regretting the distancing.
With the current pace of life, I never have an uneventful evening. But I do owe them a part of me back home. With the Tewari’s – life became a tad bit little less lonely whether we had electricity, or none.
When there was electricity, there was a surge of life – children playing, maids gossiping, water replenishing, dog walking, cookers hissing. The flipside was the drone of crickets. Happy crickets. Sad crickets.
Since days would begin early, the evenings would miraculously blend into a new day. The only remote excitement was a yearly Miss Universe, exams getting over or a new fight around the block. Despite these high points, we ate dinner at 830 p.m, locked the main gates by 930 and were in bed by 10 p.m.
There was one particular feature which sent a heat and a cold wave in our house - the musical honk of a car and the clink at our main door, and a voice that said “Lalit!” which could be heard behind locked doors. It was almost like we were programmed to spring into life with the magic words.
The father would discuss politics. The mother would pull her husband’s leg. The daughter was solemn but a good listener and the son was almost always bored to death. My father would laugh at the expletives used by Mr. Tewari. My mother would make interesting snacks at wee hours of the night – and sing while doing so. I remember how our house was alive at midnight and that the other 11 houses slept.
I remember how I waited for Saturday nights – would hope and pray even in my sleep that they would come. There would be some mindless banter. There would be a late night. There would be a lighthearted exchange. There would be someone visiting us. Sometimes, my father would announce that we would go and see them – which would mean dressing up, a 20 minute drive and samosas at their place.
Their friendship continued for almost 3 decades after which things started waning. The Tewari’s were complete opposites – crass, corrupt, loud, wealthy and well-dressed. Over time, the differences translated into opinions. We stopped seeing much of each other. Kids moved away. Parents became more insular. My father confesses – he misses Mr. Tewari’s company sometimes. But then perspective fills him and he comments on not regretting the distancing.
With the current pace of life, I never have an uneventful evening. But I do owe them a part of me back home. With the Tewari’s – life became a tad bit little less lonely whether we had electricity, or none.
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