U is for Up Above the World

This post is part of the A to Z Challenge.

My new office is on the thirteenth floor of one of the tallest buildings in central Bangalore. I only discovered yesterday that it WAS the thirteenth floor, because the builders seem to have bowed to Western superstition and named it one storey higher. (I remembered Stephen King's 1408 when I saw the lift buttons. PLEASE read that story if you haven't already.)

Thirteenth floor or not, the office is brilliant because of the view. It's only when you climb up that high that you realize that Bangalore isn't that tall a city after all. There are so few skyscrapers, and the few tall structures are all apartment buildings rather than office blocks. 

Our building is right next to some Army land, which means that we get to look down upon a scenery of green trees, empty roads and brown playgrounds - very un-Bangalore-like. I sometimes stand at the windows in the afternoons and look down upon the toy vehicles moving slowly along the roads, and the Lilleputian kids playing cricket in the playgrounds. Half a dozen eagles are always visible in the sky  - majestic creatures gliding on the wind. 

My colleagues tell me that Nandi Hills is visible on clear days. Which seems a bit of a stretch to me, to be honest. But I haven't been able to test this claim yet, because there hasn't been a clear day since I joined. 

Gray skies have greeted me pretty much every day, and there was even a mild thunder storm a couple of days ago - we had samosas to celebrate the awesome weather. The clouds started piling up in the early afternoon, and the sky went black. Sporadic lightning soon started. The wind whoom-ed so loudly I initially thought some machine had malfunctioned somewhere. Somebody opened the window, and a warm breeze blew in, carrying a few rain drops and that wonderful smell of rain.

I've tried to figure out the names of the few tall buildings I can see from the window. But the distances are very deceptive up above. I got a big shock when I realized one day that the nearby buildings I could see from the lift lobby were the ones on MG Road. MG Road seems so far away when you're at ground level, because of the signals and the traffic. But up above, it almost seems like I could hop there from the roof.

The guy I replaced in the team has asked me to make sure that I look up from my screen and take in the view every once in a while. In my case, self-confessed tree-lover and rain-lover that I am, I'm having to make myself NOT look at the view all the time. I just hope that I don't get used to the view over time, so that its beauty fails to move me.

Winter

It smells like winter. It smells like dusty sunshine. Like naked trees and wandering leaves. It smells like hot smoky bhutta, fresh off the coals. Like morning mist and warm afternoons. Like sleeping in the sunny afternoons, and waking up for tea and samosas. Like reading in the sunshine. Like being taken aback by the beauty of the golden sunlight on the warm green leaves. Like lazing around, secure in the knowledge that tomorrow will be the same as today.

How I miss the Delhi winter. And yes, the Jamshedpur one, too.

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Swarathma

The first rain of the season. I can hear it through the window. I can smell it, though I'm closeted inside. I can feel the sweetness on my face, I can feel the wind on my arms.

I'm lost in music. Music about the rain, music about longing.

This is heaven. An image of brown earth, a red sari blowing in the wind. Loneliness, romantized. Possibilities.

Music really does make life worth it, doesn't it?

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Full Moon

Eight in the night, and the Fin folks and I are all alone on the floor. Today the rest of my own team has left early, for some reason. The music of choice today for the Fin guys is Enrique Inglesias. "You can take my breath away," the sweet Fin guy croaks gently. I hide my smile, because he's a sweet guy.

Outside, the office grounds resemble a resort. Bamboo groves and paths of rough stone; hidden lights and croaking frogs. It's so peaceful in the nights - partly the reason I prefer to leave at seven or eight rather than at six. I look up and almost trip over the pavement stones. It's a full moon night - or near enough as to make no difference. I stare at the moon for a full five seconds quietly. And then walk on, neck still craning to catch a glimpse of it behind me.

On nights like these, I think of XL. I think of the same moon rising over XL and I feel a strange sort of connection.

Full moons were always my favourite nights there. I would go for walks in the dead of the night, just to catch glimpses of the moon. Somehow, these nights more than any other used to remind me of how little time I had; how every day, every hour at that place was precious and should be enjoyed. At the same time, they were calming. I could sit back and relax and just watch the moon. Sometimes it was silver, sometimes it was golden, at other times it was almost a battle red. But always it was large, looming over the hostel terrace like some pre-historic God keeping an eye on his people.

And here in Bangalore? I only notice the moon on nights like these, when I'm coming out of the office in the night. Last month I noticed that it was a full moon when I went out to buy something, and took an extra round of the colony just to keep seeing it. And the month before, it was on MM's birthday, I remember. I came out of office talking to her on the phone, saw the moon and said, "Oh! It's a full moon!" And she said, "It is?" in that typical MM way. Of course, it turned out later that it was the day after or something.

I think I must have been a werewolf in a previous life. :)

Chasing the Sun

Early afternoon. I'm out to get myself a pineapple juice, to make up for having skipped lunch. I give the counter guy the token and wait for him to make it. Just then, I catch a yellow gleam from the corner of my eye. I look up and see that it's The Sun, winking and beaming down at me.

"Why, hello Sun!" I say. "This is a pleasant surprise! Been some time since we've seen you around here!"

"What - what are you saying, girl?" says The Sun. "I've been here almost every day! It's just that I get here a little late because of the rain, so you don't quite see me when you leave for work in the morning."

"Oh right, okay. And it's late by the time I leave, so I don't catch you then either. Right, yeah," I say absent-mindedly, wondering where my fruit juice went. "So what's up? What are you up to these days?"

"Oh, same old, same old. Rise in the East, set in the West. You?"
"Oh I recently started work, ya know. So that's pretty much it," I say glumly.

"Yeah, I was just thinking the other day that it's been some time since I saw you. I remember when you were at XL, you used to sit outside almost everyday, chatting with your friends or maybe reading a book."

"Yeah, those were the days..."

"You know, I like seeing you around. You should get out more in the daytime. Look at you, your skin so pale and your hair so dull."

"I know, I know. But what can I do? Job and all, you know how it is."

"Why don't you get a job that lets you be outside? It would do you a whole lot of good. You're wasting your youth, sitting at a desk all day staring at a screen."

"I know," I say, sighing. I look at the trees waving in the wind and feel a certain longing.

"Imagine," says The Sun temptingly. "Imagine watching a sunset sitting on a cliff. Imagine tramping through the jungle. Imagine swimming in a clear pool. Imagine..."

"Okay, okay. Stop being John Lennon," I say crossly. "It's easy enough for you to say all this. But how do I pay for my expensive education and support myself? Anyway, all this is pure romantic garbage. In reality there would be mosquitoes and heat and having to pee in the bushes and... and I bet it'll all get very boring pretty soon."

Pause.

"And where will it get me at the end of the day anyway? At least I'm doing something here. At least I'll get promoted in some time and reach somewhere and earn some more money. Something to look forward to."

"Oh right," says The Sun with a snicker. "I forgot about the rat race you're part of. Alright, whatever. Have it your way. I'm leaving. See you around, girl."

With that, he hides behind some convenient clouds, leaving me to my suddenly disturbed thoughts.

"Ma'am, your juice," says the counter guy.
"Thank you," I say automatically.

I make sure I leave early that day, just to prove The Sun wrong - in some obscure way. Unfortunately, it's raining and dark and he's nowhere to be seen. I shiver and hug myself and walk all alone to my bus.

Rainy Morning

It's one of those wet rainy mornings in Trivandrum. Where you wake up knowing that it has rained all night. All of nature is wet and subdued, there's barely any wind. The only sound is the drip-drip of water from the leaves. The very sky is colourless and dim.

The rain started at around three in the morning. I woke up suddenly at a quarter to, and discovered that the fan had died on me. So I opened the windows to let the breeze in. Lightning flashed sporadically, though without any thunderclaps or rain. I lay on my bed under the motionless fan and stared out at the lightning. Hypnotized by the flashes, I soon fell asleep. The rain must have started soon after.

I remember such mornings from back when I was in school in Trivandrum. The way to school would be peppered with puddles full of muddy water. The poorer kids would come to school wearing bathroom chappals so that their shiny school shoes would not get ruined. If it was a Monday, even the rich kids would wear black shoes - though Mondays meant white canvas shoes. And the back of the class would be crowded with black umbrellas set out to dry.

The morning assembly would be held inside the classroom or on the verandahs rather than in the open quandrangle. And only the people in the front bench would sing. All of us taller people at the back would just move our lips studiously, heads bent, eyes closed and palms together. The braver ones would even whisper and giggle together.

Of course, the joy of classroom assemblies would die down as the morning wore towards the PT class in the afternoon. If the rain continued non-stop, there would be deep sorrow and anger amongst us, especially the boys. But if it thinned to a drizzle, the entire class would form a line - tidier than usual, to show how good we were - and go to the PT room. Mr. Vincent would come out and look at us. We would form puppy dog expressions and say, "Sir, please sir, please sir!" And he would judge how heavy the rain was and whether it was likely to get any stronger.

If he let us go to the ground, then - ah, no other such joy in the world! The basketball court would be wet with puddles, but the weather would be just right for playing. Splash, splash, the ball would go, but who cared?

Purge

I want it to rain. A long endless storm, complete with thunder and lightning. A storm so big that everything else ceases to matter. Something to clean up this place and drive all the negative things away.

The sky should become so dark that daylight is forgotten. The sound of the water must pound in my ears and remind me of waves crashing on jagged rocks. Bird calls and car noises must be silenced. The trees must fear for their very existence and bow before the wind in supplication. Leaves must scurry from place to place in search of shelter and finally, finding none, die a sodden death.

The purging should be complete, at whatever cost. Even if a few innocent things are washed away in the whirlwind. There must be no mercy.

Rain in XL

How I shall miss Jamshedpur weather. I must have said this many times on this blog before, but I just can't get over it, so I'll just say it again - it rains in Jamshedpur all the freakin' time! It's amazing. And it makes for excellent moods, despite quizzes and submissions.

Yesterday, for example. I came out of the hostel in the morning, on my way to class. The wind riffled through my salwar-kameez and tried to steal my dupatta. I had to shield my face and my hair against the leaves flying about. But soon enough, I gave up and just raised my face to the wind, enjoying the way it tickled my face.

Then, in the afternoon, the sky was overcast again. The mess was giving out samosas with tea, and Anu and I brought our plates out and sat on the hostel steps. The trees were waving, and there was a wind ruffling our hair. We discussed our Kerala plans for September, and talked about everything we wanted to do. It was brilliant.

And then it started raining. We moved off the steps and onto the veranda, and sat there and watched the rain. It was more of a downpour than a drizzle - something that you rarely see in Jamshedpur. People were running to and fro, shielding themselves with books. The sports guys coming back from the field were the only exceptions. It was nice sitting there in the protection of the veranda, hugging our knees, eating our hot samosas and being sprinkled with cool water droplets.

And then, today. I spent a couple of hours in the library in the afternoon, studying. And then came out at 4:55 exactly, because I had a meeting at five. And oh, the weather - it was gorgeous. The thing about the XL campus, you see, is its trees. Other campuses may have more trees and more greenery, but there is this.. quality about the very trees in XL. They are simply gorgeous. You walk through the campus, and you'll be dazzled by their beauty.

There is a path leading from the acad building to Bodhi Tree. It borders JLT and the admin building, and is lined by trees on both sides. And whenever I walk this path in the daylight, on my way to the library or the sports field or outside campus, I get amazed by the sheer beauty of the trees - every single time. There is this sparkly green-ness to them that is so breathtaking. They wave in the wind, and the colours change, a thousand shades of green, all around me.

At around dusk, I was sitting with V on JLT. Again, under an overcast sky, with a bit of a drizzle. The drizzle suddenly became stronger for a while, and then dwindled down again. It left the whole of the lawn full of water drops, which caught the fluorescent light from the big lamp on top of the hostel, and sparkled like a carpet made of a million diamonds.

And I looked at the sight, and wished I could take mental pictures, and sighed, and got frustrated, and burst out with, "V! Do you realize that we won't be here this time next year?" V got shocked by my sudden outburst, I think, and he said, "Arre.. That's a long time away, baba.." "No, you don't get it!" I said, even more frustrated. I didn't bother to explain more, but I had suddenly realized that I would see no more June's or July's here. It made me profoundly sad in a way I can't explain.

"You know," V said after a while, "We think that we'll never have as much fun during the rest of our lives as we had here, and that way, the rest of our lives actually does get ruined." Or, well, words to that effect.

So yes, the profoundest statement of the evening, ladies and gentlemen. It is all about the self-fulfilling prophecy. I shall now look forward to years of being bound to the desk, and of office politics, and loving Fridays and hating Mondays. Yay.

I can feel the time slipping through my fingers. Less than seven months now.

Kerala

For anyone who loves Kerala - the rain, the people, the green fields, the elephants, the poorams, those little moments from other lives glimpsed for a few seconds. Oh, Kerala rain - how I miss you.

(Not all the pics are worth it, but most are.)



My Public Shoebox

Thoughts on Rain

Of all the kinds of rain in the world, gentle rain is the saddest. Uncertain, nostalgia-inducing - umbrellas lying crumpled up inside school bags; the sudden wetness on the head as a raindrop wanders in; dark-leaved trees against grey grey sky; squelching through mud and ruining shoes.

Of all the kinds of gentle rain in the world, early morning gentle rain is the saddest. Who is it raining for? The streets are almost deserted. It reminds one of a theatre performance before an empty room - row upon row of empty seats; perhaps a few friends in the front row, looking uncomfortable.

Delhi as a city gets transformed by rain. Overnight, it becomes green and lovely and cold and nice and well-behaved and romantic. And then overnight it changes back into its hot hellish self. Everyone knows this. Everyone feels this. This city is different when it rains.

I offer you proof: every Delhi blogger has, at one time or the other, blogged about the rain. When it rains in Delhi, you will know, because you will read about it in some blog or the other. Have you noticed this with bloggers of any other Indian city? Do any of them say this? Or this? Would any of them even think of posting, "Oh, it rained today. Wow, it's so awesome. I love rain. I love rain in this city. I love this city." Mind you, they can only say that they "love this city" when it's raining. Otherwise it doesn't count.

I love rain. I love rain in Delhi. I love Delhi. On days such as this.

Winter

There is a chill in the air. The trees have lost their colour. Hastily dug out jackets abound. People hug themselves in vain. Fans shall not turn for the next six months. Airconditioners, unused, are about to gather dust. Blankets and rajais are being brought out from hibernation. Sunlight is sought, not earnestly avoided. A breeze bring shivers, not delightful coolness. 

Winter has arrived. 

Time for change: from 40 degree C to 05 degree C; from cotton to wool; from skirts and tops and capris and hats to sweaters and mufflers and jackets and gloves; from glare to gloom; from cursing the heat to eagerly welcoming it; from cotton sheets torajais; from airconditioners to heaters; from mangoes and musumbi to mushrooms and litchi; from sunscreen lotions and cleansers to moisturizers and lip balm; from cold water to hot.


From Summer to Winter.