Christmas Celebration 2014

The party had started two weeks before the real event. Since I was recovering from my illness, most of my time was spent at home. But thanks to the technology, I was not really alone. WatsApp was my contact with outside world. Messages kept pouring all day long from the different groups keeping me entertained throughout the day.

And so the planning for the Christmas party began with my friends at ‘Elbow Room’ a group of friends who have lived at 36^th road, Bandra in the past and now are scattered to different parts of the Mumbai and some out of Mumbai too.

First discussion is always about food. 

The menu was sorted out assigning different food and drinks to all members. Two friends (one from Australia and other from Pune) promised their presence spiritually while one friend (from Bangalore) decided to send a Christmas cake. Over fifteen days, we discussed about the party, of what we plan to eat, (we wanted only home-cooked food made by each member, Red was the theme, so we asked everybody to dress in red, and we ordered Red-velvet cake) Watsapp messages were mainly chatting and joking, the celebration growing its momentum as the day approached.

 Since most of our planning was done on Watsapp, our cake was unique with smiley that we normally use during our chat.

On Christmas day, two friends arrived at 11am to help me with party preparations such as packing of gifts and sorting things for the party (balloon, party caps). The greatest charm of any party is the gifts, no matter what value the gift may be; it’s the wrapped surprise that brings joy. I had wrapped lots of gifts to give aways during games

By one o’clock most of the friends had arrived, (we were nine of us) after greeting and chit-chat, we sat for lunch. We had wanted everything home-cooked, therefore everybody had spend the morning cooking (someone complained that she was late because chopping took too much time) We had potato and cauliflower Parathas,  Channa Masala, Dhoklas and patras with spicy green chutney, mung salad, Bhoondi raita, berry juice, and one sweet dish.

Passing the parcel was the interesting game that had the most creative ‘punishments’, which was not actually a punishment but a creatively told story on the topic given, with mime and action. The winner was the one who expressively discouraged a friend from coming to Mumbai.

This was followed with the game of Bingo, no money exchanged for buying the ticket, but three surprise gifts allotted for full house.

The next game was the hilarious one that has us in splits. The person had to be blindfolded and was given a basket of cotton balls on her lap. One hand held the plate above her head, while the other hand held a spoon. In the fixed time of one minute, she had to pick the cotton ball with a spoon and place it on the plate above her head. The person with maximum number of cotton balls was the winner.

The final session was on karaoke and we spend most of the evening singing.

By 6pm, goodbyes began, everybody leaving in small groups, the last group left at around 9pm.

Visit to Buenavista Golf Club in Tenerife

Over the two consecutive years, I had made trip to Tenerife and had lived there for 2 months at a stretch. Brother says come to Tenerife this year again and I am reminded of the scenic beauty of the place, the brown hills kissing the sky, the wild flowers lining the roads and rock gardens everywhere.

Whenever I visit my family, long drives dominate most of my trip. My brother lives in the suburbs away from the main town, in the quiet village of Buen Paso. Most of the natives in his area are farmers nursing patch of gardens, growing fresh fruits and vegetables. It’s a hilly region and quite a difficult walk for me, but whenever I do walk, I pass by beautiful houses that have most creative balconies with artistic decorative ornaments, flowered potted plants and many of the walls have fresh grapes growing against the walls.

As I sit here, thousands of miles away, I am reminded of the long drive my niece took me to go to extreme northwest of Tenerife, to Buena Vista. We drove up to the Golf course that was designed by Severiano Ballesteros and was opened in October 2003.

I wanted to go inside to have look but only members were allowed.  I was able to see only from a distance although I would have loved one of those buggy rides down the course of 18hole, a 72-par-course down the total length of 6019 meters.

This golf course is the second best golf club in Europe with some holes so close to the coast that players seem to hit the ball right into the ocean or into the lake of holes 9 and 18 that are connected by waterfall.

We parked the car in the parking lot and could see the whole course from there.

Since we could only admire from a distance, we clomped on wafer and nuts imagining ourselves on the terrace overlooking the golf course and pretending to enjoy an invisible game of golf.

Well. Someday, I will sneak into the club with some member of the club, maybe…..on my next visit.

Uncle From Saudi Arabia

He wore a long white thawb and I wondered whether he was a priest or an Arab. On long conversations I found him quite interesting and he had many stories to share having lived in Saudi for most of his life. He said Sindhis were the most peace loving people who never interfered with state politics..they were only interested in making money..they were focussed that way. 

But I was more interested in knowing the food, life styles and culture of Sindhis who lived in Karachi before partition.. he was only ten when he had migrated during the partition.


The memory was distant..almost faint...

All he remembered clearly was eating papad during his childhood..the spicy roasted papad....the taste that he still relished during all meals of the day.....

Redevelopment 5 ... My Balcony

“This house looks exactly the same, it has your personality.” Said my friend who visited me the first time, after I moved into my new rented place.

I was lucky that I was able to find a completely empty house. That meant that I could bring my furniture, my personal possessions and jigsaw them to fit them all in proper position. The only difference was that this house was smaller than the previous one; hence I got rid of all the extra furniture.

In my new abode, the living room has the same set up, with same artwork decorating the walls. The kitchen has the same cabinets, arranged in the similar pattern, same beds, same mattresses, same wardrobes and the same dressing table. There is not much difference between my old house and the new one. The colors and the tones are also similar. Yes, I agree, it suits my personality.

But still, I am yet to find a new comfort corner.

I miss the balcony of my old home.

Nine feet by four feet balcony was the area where I would spend most of my evenings. As the sun slumped across the horizon, its golden rays filtered though the tall trees spreading its warmth over me. I sat in my balcony with a cup of tea on the ledge and a mobile in my hand. Many evenings were spent sipping tea and surfing through my ‘WatsApp’ messages. Sometimes I would listen to the music and sometimes watch videos on its tiny screen. Then there would be chats on social media, forward messages to read or the missed phone call to be answered.

Balcony appeared to float above a large open space between wing A and wing B defying gravity. It was a structural masterpiece as well as architectural one. Fancy cars sparkled under daylight and occupied most of the building compound, but the area between the parked cars was large enough for children to play outdoor games. On weekends and on holidays, children and their friends from neighboring buildings played various outdoor games that included cricket and football. Younger children played running and hopping games. Babies sat in their pram chewing on fingers. Old men walked carelessly, lost in their own world, distant.

A group of senior women sat on wide, rectangular platform, built over the water tank. They met every evening for endless conversations dissecting the TV serials, or discussing the news that they had collected during the day from their maids who were the carrier of tales.  The distance from the tank to my balcony was not much, two floors upstairs their murmur was audible. The news that I collected while surfing the net seemed pale against their juicy gossip. At regular intervals, they would glance up to acknowledge my presence.

My relationship with balcony is deep seated. During my growing up days, I was a loner. I tagged along with my mom wherever she went, but I was a child of minute importance, everybody ignored me. I was different, somebody to be left alone. I found solace in balcony. Most of my childhood has been spend in balcony, counting car on a busy road, differentiating vibrant colors on the street, reading ads on the moving buses, it’s the little game I played on my own. I didn’t need friends to sit with me in the balcony. I was happy when left alone.

One question I always pondered. If one is in balcony, is one inside or outside the house? The fresh wind stays outside, but the warm glow is inside the house.

 Many evenings I sat in my balcony, on a stone bench, cross-legged, with my back against the cool wall. Through the grill cage, I watched the sky change its hues from pink to red to blue to dark blue. I sat there immersed in my own thoughts, the sounds in the building fading away slowly, leaving the silence behind. On other days, I would cuddle up with few soft cushions flung careless against me, and be engrossed in an interesting book.

My balcony was also my rendezvous, a place to entertain my friends. We sat in the balcony, munching on snack and sipping coffee. The fresh air lifted our spirit. Laughter and happiness filled the crevices of the walls. Even on sleepless night, balcony was my refuge. Suspended mid-air between heaven and earth, I could solve the undeniable inner conflicts, I would sit under stars, watching the moon till the eyes drooped.

I miss my balcony. There is none in my new house. There are just windows that have been covered with long curtains. I feel claustrophobic sitting inside four walls.

After I moved from my old house, I revisited the lane to have a look at my balcony that I had loved so dearly. The grills and doors of my balcony had vanished. It was bare, with its mouth wide open; it looked like an old man without its dentures. I heard it complain that I had abandoned it. I could not bear to look at it.

Last week I went back again. The balcony had met its death. A big crane occupied most of the ground. Huge trucks transported the debris. There was no compound, no rectangular platform over the water tank. The golden rays still filtered through the trees but they reflected on the pile of stones and mud.

The beautiful memories of the time spend in my balcony are buried now deep under the sand.