Saturday, April 16, 2011

*Late at night*
Ma: Tui ki bichanaa'r chaador jherechish?
Me: Hyaan.
Ma: Ekhono kutkut korche.
Me: Haath diye er beshi jhara jay na! Jhaarte hole jhaata keno!
Ma: *making waving hand motions* Emni kore chaador ta tule tule jhaarbi!
Me: Ota ki lungi??
Ma: Tui kaar abaar lungi uthiyechis????

Monday, April 11, 2011

She had been having vivid dreams for the major part of the month. Some days, if she was lucky she did not remember the dreams as she woke up. Other days she woke up tumbling from an alternate realm, clutching in relief at reality. The dreams were disturbing, they were recurrent and they were always scenarios that could happen in a psychopath's twisted sick visions. They involved people close to her and random fragments that peopled her memories. They shifted and heaved throughout the night, and never did she arise feeling well rested. She had been eating her dinner by 8, going to work and watching funny sitcoms. It was a fairly uneventful time in her life, where nothing really extraordinary or dramatic occurred. So tonight, she decided to watch something disturbing. She put on Girl, Interrupted and identified with Lisa being dead inside, Suzanna trying to fill the monster within her, and the deep fear that everything was meaningless. Then she turned off the lights and slipped into bed.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Fond memories of my brother, the Brat

* Ma, Baba, Bhai, and me sleeping in our luxurious hotel room in Cyprus. Ma and Baba all cosy in the big poofy hotel bed and me and Bhai in the sofa-bed pull-out. Bhai is a VERY clingy sleeper- when he was young(er) him and Baba used to curl up like caterpillars and sleep. Ma requires her own space to sleep, though she would always put her hand on my thigh when I was a kid and used to sleep beside her. I take personal space to a whole new level. I cannot BEAR it if somebody is even touching me; I require the illusion of vaaaaaast space to stretch out. But I like having someone beside me I can lean against. Yes, I know the blatant hypocrisy. Anyway, so that night Bhai wound his legs around me, put his arms around my neck and clung on fast in his sleep, while I wrestled with him and freed myself only to have him do it again 5 minutes later. So I tried futilely to kick my poor brother away rather viciously, while retreating to my side in a mad attempt to eke out some smidgeon of space. And Bhai kept edging closer and closer. This simply could not go on,  I decided. Being VERY inspired by Enid Blyton and Mallory Towers, my 12 year old brain formulated a plan. I went to the bathroom, took a towel and ran it under the tap until it was soaking wet. Then I crept back into bed and wrung out the water on my blissfully unaware brother’s face. I threw it under the bed as he woke up sputtering and going, “I’m drowning!” Ma woke up and told him to calm down- “You’re dreaming! Go back to sleep” Bhai ponders this advice and then bursts out- “BUT MY FACE IS WET!” Obviously, I got caught, but I was a very self satisfied criminal. Take that Bhai!

* At the kitchen table in Dubai, one night during dinner
Bhai: Samarth’s father is Ronaldo!
Me: I thought you said he was Ronaldinho.
Bhai: Sometimes he is. He is RONALDO AND RONALDINHO!
This is during the FIFA World  Cup in 2002, where Brazil support is at fever pitch and we blast “Braaasiiiiiiil! Arararara!” in the car everytime we’re in it. Ma and I actively supported his delusion for a while just cuz he was that darn cute.

* Another instance at the dinner table
Bhai holding up his squash: My potol is leaking!

* Me and Bhai re-enacting Lion King. No specific age for this, since we did it up until a little while ago.
Me (hanging over the edge of the bed- well technically on my skinny knees cuz my legs at that point do not belong to a toddler) : Scar! Brother! Help meeeee
Bhai (crouched on the bed, digging his nails into my hands) : Long. Live. The. King.
*he unclasps my hands*
Me (flailing my arms around and looking at him in shock and despair) : AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
Bhai: Heeheeeheee!
Me: Wanna do it again? You be Mufasa, I’ll be Scar.
Bhai: OKAY!

* Bhai and Ma are in an auto full of people, whizzing along the streets of Calcutta. He is somewhere around 5 years old. Suddenly,
Bhai (pointing excitedly at something): MA! GORILLA! GORILLA!
Ma looks out confused, along with the rest of the passengers and beholds- a cow.

* In Dubai- our family and Krishnakali aunty and Partha Uncle- all of us eating lunch at a cafĂ©.  Bhai is around 10 years old and missing his two front teeth. Suddenly,
Bhai: LOOK!
Everyone looks. Everyone: What?
Everybody: Whaat?
Bhai *very gleefully*: HIS BUM! IT’S BIG!
Everybody: Ooookay.
Bhai * very very happily displaying his missing teeth and beaming* : HIS ASS IS HUUUUUUUUUGE! 

Note: My brother is very much alive and everything. Only, he turned 15 this March 3rd and it's getting harder to believe that he was once this sweet little baby boy. Today he is a very intelligent politically inclined, sports fanatic, articulate brusque teenager. 15! Every time I realize he's 15, I have a minor heart attack. At 14 I was dating my first boyfriend and falling in stupid love. At 15, I thought I knew it all- as undoubtedly so does he. Of course, he is a lot less meek than I was, and can be a lot more scary and set in his opinions than the eager to please girl that I was at that age. The age difference between us is 4 and a half years but he treats me like I'm the younger one. There was a point earlier on in our lives when he used to copy everything I did- from my sense of humour to the pranks I pulled. That stage is long gone, and I remember being an absolutely HORRIBLE sister to him when we were younger. I did everything from bashing his 5 year old head against the floor to stuffing his mouth with a dupatta, tying his hands and legs to a chair and locking him in the verandah gleefully. Very willingly he complied with me in all this. Today, I can look back at my pathological 9 year old self and laugh or be horrified, but I cannot help wishing he was born when I was a bit older, so that I could have appreciated him as a baby, rather than view him as competition. Somehow, God only knows why-  he does Not hate me, and we have a pretty healthy relationship. Living in another continent doesn't exactly foster closeness, though I really wish we were as close as pea-pods. Being very reluctant to grow up, I played pretend games long after he grew out of them, and I can remember many enjoyable afternoons spent building trains with cartons and tents, going on voyages on mighty ships and getting shipwrecked on deserted islands. Then came the bubble baths and cricket cards. Made up games for the backseat of the car- rock-paper-scissor, lady-hunter-tiger,fire-water-lady, hand-chess, zoom, antakshari. Then WWF, then Life with Louie and Drake and Josh and Naturally Sadie and Life with Derek and Black Hole High. Then coming to India, being miserable, being sick, constant fighting, then unexpected support in the form of a mail to SJB, when I was heartbroken during the ugly time. Then the move to Canada and barely staying in touch, being dismayed to find it matter of fact-ly easy. It's strange. You spend your life growing up with someone, fighting over food, the remote, clothes, everything, and then when you go off to university, you miss them but not nearly as much as you expected. And it's mutual. So either my family is heartless, or life is just plain weird. But then there are those moments when you really Long for your sibling, miss sharing a joke or ganging up against the grown-ups, resolving a fight together, squaring up in the face of parental conflict, comparing popularity and friend-lists. My brother has amazed me, annoyed the constipated crap out of me, brought out murderous tendencies, hurt me, stood up for me, beaten me up, and made me laugh till my jaws ached. He has given me company for 15 years and I am truly blessed and grateful to have this spoilt Brat in my life.
P.S- If you've read till here, I salute you. This was a random urge to put it down-post. May have something to do with the general happiness today or to do with The Mad Momma's blog.

Saturday mornings make it Soooo hard to get out of bed

1) Nouvelle Vague- Dance with me, This is not a love song
2) Norwegian Wood- Haruki Murakami. Maybe someday I will name my daughter Midori, only I know someone who has named her cat that, so.
3)Raske bhare tore nain- Ustad Barkat Ali Khan
4)Broken- Lifehouse. (Canada beginning hystericalmelodramaticsong)
4) Sing again?
5)Cook honey garlic/chilli chicken and/or egg do piazza, mustard mayo dip
6) Keep up with India Srilanka finals score. Was watching match since I woke up to the sound of India's innings, but then Sehwag got out, and people kept getting out so I followed the old superstition and stopped watching. Last I checked no more people had gotten out, so I guess it's working?
-Just checked again. Whatthefuckiswrongwithlivecricketstreaming?! Aaaaargh
7) Poetry- Auden. Must.