Feel

The bulb flickered. The rain smashed against the windowpane, the force, alarming, the noise, deafening. But the silence was worse.

She looked at her flickering shadow on the wall, and realized the temporariness of its company. She hugged her knees tightly to herself as she shivered in a corner on her bed. The bed that sometimes was the most comforting place in her life, and sometimes was nothing more than a plank of wood disguising as comfort.

There was no trace of sleep in her eyes. It wouldn’t come. She didn’t even try to invite it.

She felt a hot sting in her eyes, and inhaled sharply. The noise disturbed the silence, dissolved in the rain.

Her mind rushed to the safe haven it had once known. The place. It knew the place so well. It had been there so long. It had been safe, protected, defensive. Nothing could ever hurt it in that place. Nothing could ever reach her.

She wasn’t sure when she discovered the Place. But she had, and she would visit it often. It was tempting at first, the nice numbness, far away from reality. The lack of emotions. The clear distance from love. The Place looked after her. She trusted it.

But the Place was a prison, one she simply could not escape from. And she didn’t really want to. There was nothing out there in the world to make her want to break out. It was never worth it. People didn’t know about the Place, until it was too late. And all the while, she stayed there, safe, protected like a a little baby protected by her mother.

But life, and fate, eventually caught up with her. She saw a helping hand extended towards her, and she realized how stifling the prison really was.

And she cried.

She cried like she hadn’t cried for years. She cried emotions, feelings, love, and sadness. She let them engulf her, drown her, resurrect her. And she ran. As far away from the prison as she could. Far away to never ever come back, to never let go of her helping hand.

She rocked slightly, as she crouched in one corner of her bed. Back and forth, back and forth. She felt the sting in her eyes. She felt a trail burn down her frozen cheeks, as first one, and then another tear rolled down. She felt the pain cut deep into her. The prison was destroyed, forever.

She smiled.

And waited for the doorbell to ring.

The Week That Was...

In one week, I bought 2 dresses, 3 belts, 1 pair of pants, 1 shirt and new shoes. This was after I thought my shopping for the year was done and over with. You have to be a girl to understand the kind of pleasure that brings. Or maybe a closet shopaholic guy.

In one week, I travelled comfortably all the way across town to watch two movies.

In one week, I stayed as dry as possible and walked in the rain. By choice.

In one week, I’ve had chicken omelettes, sausages, juice, special scrambled eggs, innovative French toast, sautéed mushrooms, marmalade, cranberry, pineapple and mixed fruit juice, chicken barbeque steak, chicken curry, butter chicken, chicken biryani, pahadi chicken, Caesar’s salad, tequila chicken, pesto chicken, Philadelphia cheese cake, New York cheesecake, Merci, Toblerone, and extremely gooey chocolatey cake. This isn’t even the whole list. I know. Like wow.

In one week, I’ve worn my favourite pair of pants to work every day. Might sound gross, but it made me feel nice.

In one week, I’ve realized I’m comfortable, warm, nourished, the recipient of a lot of affection, have belief, a fragrant life and can now document all these memories ;)

In one week, I’ve realized just how special my friends are.

In one week, I have been happier than ever before.

In one week, I saw life just the way it should be. Always.

Words cannot possibly do justice to this one week.

Because that’s how super-amazingly-ass-kicking-awesome this one week was.

Thank you.


P.S. At the end of the week, through all the happiness, I somehow firmly believe that my flight got delayed yesterday cuz all my extra weight caused the jet to lag (getit?? getit???? Oh come on!)


P.P.S. Ok, fine, so I added the 'P.S.' just to try out my awesome joke. Hmph!!!

Fate

He came into this world

A little bundle of joy

He looked around impatiently

And waited for her to join

She came into this world

Farther this world round

She basked in his love

And waited to be found

They grew up in two corners

Knowing deep in their hearts

They were meant to be together

Existing far apart

Somehow they always knew

Somewhere they were meant to be

But in the name of growing up

Mature was he, and she

Years passed and so did dreams

Of destiny love and fate

They chanced upon each other

Too little, too late

Why did you take so long? She asked

Where were you when I cried?

I was waiting for you right here, he said

Waiting the entire time

Why didn’t you wait for me? He asked

Why did you give up?

You were a figment of my imagination, she said

It was time to grow up

As fate shone down upon them

Victims of their own belief

This world claimed many a cynics

And drowned them in its grief

But two souls brought into this world

Meant to be, meant to be

Lost faith and yet found each other

And made their own destiny.

Lost

There’s no other word for it. Because I can’t describe it. I just can’t. I’m feeling something, I don’t know if it’s an overload of something, or a void, suddenly cracked open, left for me to leak out of slowly, undetectable, unavoidable…

So here I am, using my blog for what it does best, to think. Here are the thoughts in my head, right now, at this very moment, and in the few moments that have led up to this moment:

Are you a hypocrite, if you have spent your entire life rebelling against control, and suddenly not only willingly succumb to it, accept it, but ask for it?

Is hypocrisy bad?

If your priorities change in life, is it really that big a deal? Have you changed as a person? Or have you finally grown up?

The small brown round things in my oregano, are they some kind of seed, or dead bugs?

How long have they been in there?

Would it really have been so difficult to have spotted them before I polished off my generously garnished meal?

Why did I choke on my medicine?

Why do I find it impossible to hold down a thermometer using my tongue?

Why did I break the thermometer?

Why does something as poisonous as mercury look oh-so-pretty on the bathroom floor?

Why did the last five thoughts and events occur in a span of five minutes?

What has the maid been using to cook, when there seems to be no cooking oil in the house?

Why do I suddenly feel emotions? Why do I like it?

Why am I so happy? Then why do I feel so sad?

Why am I suddenly homesick?

Why does the ship feel lost without its Captain, even if it has been safely anchored?

Why do I actually know the answer to each of the above asked questions, and yet, still ask?

Snippets

Mumbai monsoons. That damned season of the year. It’s back again. Early apparently. How sweet of it.

It’s raining cats and dogs outside right now. Cats and dogs. Funny phrase. I wonder what would actually happen if it rained cats and dogs. A lot of yelping and screeching, I think.

Saw the latest X Men last night. Oh speaking of superpowers and movies, I remember the time I went for the most boring movie on the planet with some friends and Morrison turned to me in a crucial scene and asked, “What’s your superpower?”. First time I met Morrison. And I didn’t know my superpower. Of course I also didn’t know that his name wasn’t Morrison till like a year later. I did find out that he could fly under water, though.

Oooooh, and I’m in love. With my new umbrella. It’s dark blue, with little white hearts, and a white frill at the end. No no, don’t adjust your glasses, lil nerd, or your lenses lil-nerd-in-hiding, you read right. A blue umbrella with hearts and a white frill. Yup. It’s the cutest gift ever. And it’s mine….my precious! <3

Did you know that if you find a fly in your food in Mainland China, and don’t make a fuss about it, you get a free starter? And a membership card? Next time I plan to swap the fly for a dessert. I'm sure the fly won't mind.

Ooooh, I could do with some nice dessert just about now.

I miss Nirula’s HCF. Gooey chocolatey bliss.

Blah, now I miss home.

In the past one month, I have had Iranian food, Kashmiri food, Mughlai, chopsuey, food cooked with love, and food cooked by me.

Ok, so I might have lied about the last one.

In the past one month, I have not looked at the weighing machine.

I forgot what I wanted to write about. I’m forgetting so much nowadays. Should start writing them down.

I want pweetty shoes.

Yes, I’m talking like a girl.

Yes, I’m restless and in a random mood.

Duh.

Congratulations, Einstein.

The Cho Cha!!! – Two in One

It’s been some time.

It’s been a few busy weeks.

It’s been two chopsueys.

Yes, I got lazy.

Here’s two in one.

__________________________________________________________________________________

The challenge is simple.

Mumbai.

Random tiny Chinese Restaurants.

One American Chopsuey.

Every week.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Location 1: Fat Kong (Santa Cruz)

Location 2: Ordered in, Gyoza Banjara (Andheri East)

Order: Chicken American Chopsuey

Disappointed.

One put too much of everything.

The other too little.

Too much tomato, too much ketchup, too much sugar.

No sugar. No ketchup. Nothing.

But both were enjoyed.

With company.

Because, while it does spice things up, prove theories, make you believe…

You have to admit,

Life isn’t just about chopsuey.

Strange Love.

The Cho Cha!!! - Part 3

The challenge is simple.

Mumbai.

Random tiny Chinese Restaurants.

One American Chopsuey.

Every week.

Week 3

Location: Stomach II (7 Bungalows, Andheri West)

Order: Chicken Schezwan, Chicken American Chopsuey, Fresh Lime Soda, Iced Tea

I know, Stomach??? Doesn’t sound too appealing by its nomenclature now does it? But my suggestion…swallow all critical raised eyebrows and step into this place. It is absolutely completely worth it.

The restaurant is lively, to say the least. They were running at full capacity on a Monday night. The place is small, but colorful, with no dingy lights or dragons hanging anywhere. No pseudo chinki waiters, no pseudo chinki uniforms, nothing to remind you that you’re sitting in a supposedly authentic Chinese restaurant. It’s as Indian and normal as it gets, with no pretenses, and well, a few chinki jokes on their menu thrown in. Oh well, what to do. We are Indians. We are like that wonly.

So when the Captain suggested the restaurant, I was rather skeptical at first. Oh wait, I haven’t introduced Captain till now, now have I? Dammit… *drum rolls* Captain is the original, pure and better form of Shreya. The supposed non-screwed up form, but that is still to be verified over time. I’ve known him forever. In fact, Captain deserves much more space on this blog and a dedicated post, but that will come with time. Till then, ladies and gentlemen, kindly put your hands together for the debut appearance of Captain on this blog! *holds Applause cue card*.

Haan, so where was I? Oh ya…I was skeptical. Not to mention tired after a really long day. BUT…The schezwan chicken was good. The fresh lime soda, perfect…not over or under saturated with sugar. And the iced tea…it was….wait for it…..actually tasting of tea!!! I’m sorry, but a place which actually makes its own iced tea, and doesn’t use Nestea powder, definitely gets brownie points from me!

Which brings us to the main stuff. The chicken American Chopsuey. IT-WAS-GOOD.

• Sweet, but not in excess
• Right amount of gravy-noodle ratio
• Right thickness of noodles
• No pieces of tomato
• Right amount of vegetables
• Non-sunny egg
• Perfect quantity
• Heavenly

Oh, that’s another thing, you can choose between small and regular quantities. Small of everything was absolutely perfect for us. And cheap too.

So my final words of wisdom for Week 3:

• Not everything is the way it looks
• Sometimes Indian aint that ghastly
• Pretense usually is though
• Originality and flexibility count like hell loads in my head
• Food always does manage to set the mood for the day ahead
• A better version of me is possible
• The Captain knows best

Oh well…until next week!

P.S. Plan to step out of Andheri next week for the challenge. Any suggestions?

American Chopsuey trivia of the day: Chopsuey comes from the Cantonese term 'shap sui' literally meaning 'mixed small bits' or 'odds and ends'. 

The Cho Cha - Part 2!!!

The challenge is simple.

Mumbai.

Random tiny Chinese Restaurants.

One American Chopsuey.

Every week.

Week 2

Location: The Golden Fork (Oshiwara)

Order: Chicken sweet corn soup, American Chopsuey, fresh lime soda, Thums Up

So now this place looked tiny and dingy from the outside, making it the ideal next stop for the Chopsuey Challenge. On entering though, it seemed like a pretty decently done up restaurant with nice little lampshades (highly tempting to steal for home), and two waiters. I should probably not include the furnishing and the waiters in one sentence, but believe me, there was good enough reason to do that.

The order was taken fast enough. We were starving and thirsty, and specially asked for the drinks to be brought in immediately.

We waited. And waited. The hunger made the wait seem longer, but I do think they were on time with the food.

But that’s the problem.

They got the soup.

No drinks.

We called the waiter and reminded him about the drinks. Now here’s a problem I seem to face with a lot of waiters. They start nodding halfway through your sentence, and suddenly their eyes are glazed and concentrating on the kitchen door or a table on the other side of the room, and you know you’ve lost them. So while the waiter heard “Fresh lime and Thums Up”, I’m really not sure whether he heard what to do with them.

So we waited.

The soup was removed.

No drinks.

We called waiter number 2. Who nodded after the first two words itself, and headed back to the main door. Not his table. Not his headache. Clearly.

The food came.

No drinks.

We concentrated on the couple behind us who were trying to concentrate on each other waiting for their food and drinks. We wondered if he was aerating the drinks himself, however gross that sounds.

And then he emerged, victorious, our knight in shining armour, with a tray full of drinks for all the tables.  A collective sigh of relief went through the restaurant. The supposed bar was finally open. The fresh lime was placed in front of us. The Thums Up was shown to us, then slid out from right under our noses and displayed on top of the cupboard, for us to drool over, while he served fresh lime everywhere else. I could half imagine Akshay Kumar doing a super dive across the restaurant for it, but alas, us mere mortals, sat there and waited in-stead.

The sweet corn soup was standard, so was good. The chopsuey itself, I don’t really feel like writing about. It just wasn’t right this time. The noodles were a little too thick. So eventually, in-stead of the tangy-sweet taste of the sauce, all that was left was the floury aftertaste of the noodles. As for the sauce itself, it wasn’t sweet, and that turned me off completely. Just a few things that I wish Chinese restaurants would keep in mind when making American Chopsuey:

• It is supposed to be sweet. Sugar is one of the ingredients.
• It is not supposed to have chunks of tomato in it.
• An omelette on top is usually a better topping than a sunny side up egg, specially when the yolk starts leaking all over the chopsuey. But that’s more of a personal preference, so I don’t hold that against anyone.

Overall, the chopsuey wasn’t to my liking.

But that’s ok, not all chopsueys can match up to perfection now, can they?

American Chopsuey trivia of the week: Did you know that you’ll barely ever find American chopsuey in the Chinese restaurants in America? 

The Life Boat

As I lay here

In front of you

I bare all

In its truest form

O Captain of my ship

The master of my fate

Rescue me.

Slow Down, Speed Up

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always known one thing for sure. One day, I want to be really successful and rich. I want to be the CEO of a company. I want to have enough money to bore myself into the state of zero temptation altogether. Sure, every other person has such a goal. Sure, people laugh. It somehow never mattered. It somehow was never that far-fetched.

Over the years, it took better shape in my head. I knew what I liked, what I wanted. I knew how and when it would be. And it wasn’t forced. I could see it. A profession I loved, was genuinely interested in, was naturally keen to grow and live in. Every decision in life somehow eventually logically traced itself back to that.

Logic.

That word that I live for. That omnipotent factor in my life.

Perhaps this would be a good time to mention that I wasn’t living in some dream world where I would be happy and rich and loved. There was always a trade off. And I was very clearly aware of it. You don’t just become a CEO by getting married and staying at home. You don’t have time to cook and look after your family. Popping kids isn’t a priority in your life anymore. I was always painfully aware of it. Just that it didn’t seem like too big a sacrifice to me. I never was interested in any of them to begin with. These things were always just ‘To-do’s’ to be ticked off somewhere in the long list of life. Technicalities. Hygiene factors.

And then things changed.

I somehow popped the bubble I was living in.

I decided to grow up.

I decided to actually give myself a chance.

I decided to believe in the Chopsuey Theory.

I want to be home now. I want to have a happy personal life. I want to have a family, and I want to love them and be loved in return. I want to cook for them. I want to do everything in my power to protect them. From the world. From the idiotic child that used to reside in me.

I smile now. All the time. Like a complete idiot.

I want it to stay that way, forever.

I know I’ll still do well in life. I know I still won’t sit at home popping lil babies all over the place.

But I also know.

That I’ll be happy.

That I’ll live.

And not just exist.

The Cho Cha!!!

For all those people who either actually know me, or have actually read my blog in the past (Hugs!!!), there is one thing that might, just might, be a teensy weensy bit apparent by now.

I’m interested in food. Like… it does hold a bit of importance in my life. Like…my life might just revolve around it, you know…just a teensy weensy lil bit.

So the food I have does tend to alter and determine my moods, my actions, and sometimes life altering decisions.

So there happen to be a few rules, a few theories revolving around different food items in my life. The Chopsuey Theory is one very important one among them. Now I can’t go into details about it…its really top secret, and I am still waiting for the patent to come in…but it has held true these past twenty three years, and deserves due respect. And recently, to pay my respects, I have embarked upon a Chopsuey Challenge.

The challenge is simple.

Mumbai.

Random tiny Chinese restaurants.

One American Chopsuey.

Every week.

And so it began.

Week 1.

Location: Celebration (Authentic Chinese Restaurant, Lokhandwala Market)

Order: Pepper Chicken, American Chopsuey, Pepsi

Time Taken: Torturous

And I kid you not. I thought my watch had stopped. All time and matter stood still, not even a slight ruffle in the chicken’s feathers as it faced its last few moments in a kitchen somewhere. That’s how long it took. But there was a very valid explanation for it, as I will soon let you know.

The place was nice, the way a Chinese restaurant should be. Because in my experience, the best Chinese is not the Bercos, Golden Dragons and Five Spices of the world…even though I love all those as well. There’s something about sitting in a small, brightly lit chinki* family run restaurant, with one Chinese fan adorned on the wall to make it look more authentic and a little stained menu with at least two price revisions scratched out with a pen…it just makes the experience…well…an experience. And the food’s usually good, to boot.

So I placed my order, and waited with bated breath.  And waited. And waited some more. Just when all the oxygen of my before mentioned bated breath had run out and stars were popping before my eyes, I spotted the reason for the delay. Some ten packets of home delivery.

Hmph.

Oh well, the food came.

I tasted the chopsuey. The crunchy sweet orangy chopsuey. I opened my mouth to comment on the taste, but the conversation on the next table proved to be rather distracting.

Two women with extremely painted and botoxed faces (I swear they couldn’t smile even if they wanted to) walked in and were greeted rather warmly by the waiter.

“Ok, show us the photos.”

The waiter eagerly bowed, ran in and came back with his fancy phone. He then showed them some photos in a rather conspiratory manner. They nodded at each other and smiled (or at least I think that’s what the frozen face muscles were trying to do).

“Oh, they’re cute!”

More nods.

“They have been with me since they were babies. I have taken really good care of them.”

Awww…his little adopted chinki kids.

“They’ll adjust to our home well.”

Huh? Suddenly my full attention was with them. Lil cute chinki slave traders.

“So once we take them, do we need to give them cooked food? Or just raw food would do?”

Huh??

“No no…don’t bother cooking. Just make sure you give them enough water throughout the day. That’s enough for them.”

Wtf…inhuman ^%&$*!!

“So your final price is 8000? Nothing less?”

Nods. Looks exchanged. Handshake.

The price of a lil cute chinki kid = Rs. 8000 wonly.

“Don’t worry…they’re very well trained. They won’t take flight.”

Hmph.

“Yes…I really love pets…and I think birds are perfect.”

Ok…so you knew what that conversation was about right from the beginning. But believe you me, when you’re sitting in that tiny restaurant, starved by the wait, hogging away on crunchy chopsuey, your mind does take you in weird random directions.

Oh…the chopsuey!!

It was…perfect.

Well, it did come late. And for some weird reason there was no egg on it. But it was perfect.

It was just the right amount of crispy.

It was just the right amount of sweetness.

It adhered to the right gravy to noodles ratio.

And the noodles were broken just the right size.

It was really worth the wait.

23 years.

P.S. It might be important to mention here that the birdie negotiations were being handled by the waiter…erm…the sole waiter. So for half an hour, all orders, all payments and all requests of each and every person in that restaurant (read: three tables) came to a standstill. After all, the raw food eating birds’ futures were at stake.

P.P.S. 8000 bucks for birds? Really??? You know the amount I can shop in that much?!?

*I hate the word ‘chinki’.  I know its racist and derogatory. But I’m hoping I’ll be excused here on the pretext of creative liberties.

Under the Stars

She lived, she lived

Life, controlled

Emotions, ignored

Weakness, hidden

Longing, forbidden

And she saw, she saw

Goals, achieved

Fame, received

Comfort, established

Happiness, believed

But she knew, she knew

Hope, denied

Love, deceived

Void, engorged

Numbness, concieved

Then he showed, he showed

Stars, so fierce

Wind, so meek

Feelings, tormented

Life, the way it should be

She felt, she felt

Perfection, untarnished

Protection, unrelenting

Care, undemanding

Love, unyielding

So she wished, she wished

Mirror, uncracked

Eyes, relaxed

Dream, held on

Never, to wake.