All by My Self

 
Last weekend, after my event in Dallas was complete, I found myself free for remainder of the evening. No more disillusioned that I will make friends or find a partner for company to enjoy the same pastimes as me, I resolved that I should not deprive myself of the entertainment and distractions I deserved after an ardorous week.

Being late in the evening, after 6pm, I ventured solo to dip my toes to test the water. Just 10 mins from home, I knew I could always take a cab back home if things go south. I took the Trimet to the cinema hall which I'd seen quite often passing by. Slightly shy, even a teeny bit embarrassed, Ii bought a single ticket and Q-ed up with rest of the crowd for refreshments. I was the first person to walk into the cinema hall, and just before the jelly-stomached panda Po launched himself on the screen, I had tots filling rows around me. We all laughed together, squealed with delight, and were joyous at Po's victory against the evil peacock. Journey home started just after sundown, which is 9.30 pm here, but I made home in good time for an unaccompanied supper at the cafe in the valley and playtime with Todd Turtle before he retired into his alcove for the night.

Since last two weekends the plan to visit the Oregon Zoo was being postponed on some whim, mood or inclination. So I took matters into my hand once again. After a heavy oat-meal breakfast, with snacks, water and a sturdy jacket (rain clouds were lurking), I set off to meet the delightful wildlife which had made Portland home over the last century. After 2 hours of bus, metro rail and shuttle rides, I reached the zoo gates slightly breathless (its not that far, but I lost way and ended up walking for 45 mins needlessly). Here again were hoards of squealing rug-rats, saying hello to the wilderness they'd most likely only witness in such captivity.

Here are some pics i shot with my phone, since carrying the camera was an additional burden.

They even had an Indian elephant family, just as the shuttle driver had mentioned during our chat. And an interesting indoor building connecting the history of Indian elephants with Gods (Ganesha), Maharajas (the battles they fought) and Mahawats.

The volunteer at the petting zoo, where I touched the wild turtle's shell, informed me that turtles have their vertebrae right under the shell, which is why they are squeamish on touch. Nothing to do with being ticklish, as I'd been led to believe. That 13-year kid knew more about turtles! *embarrassment*

On return journey, the same shuttle driver picked me, so we chatted for long as it was just both of us for most of the circuit. Being an Indian, its so easy to get into conversation with anyone; not because we talk English, but there is so much of diversity in India - sights, people, languages, weather. And each American I speak to knows a different piece about the country. Like this guy was surprised to learn that besides horses, I'd ridden a camel and elephant. Kept in large enclosures with moat all around, so let alone ride, you won't even come close enough to see a fly on his flapping ears. Makes me appreciate the fine piece of patchwork our frailly strong democracy is.

I am so refreshed by this outing, am set to make plans for next weekend with myself. I love the summer, and more so the connectivity in this city. Keep watching this space for my next adventure.

Bath

Loofah, showers gels, bath oils & salts, bubble bath and what not. What happened to the simple task of bathing? The only objective was to scrub yourself squeaky clean and boot out the grime collected all day.
Winter's were the most painful. Early morning school along side mom's hygiene-craze meant there was no respite from the chilly waters. And washing those tresses while carefully balancing them on the top of the head after shampooing was such a tangle. Unfortunately, they hadn't begun producing silicon serum for lustrous silky hair after-washes.
And just when classrooms and benchmates seemed like a lot of fun, came the final exams, and heated up the scenario. Mugs of water streaming down every limb seemed like an exercise which brought a comfort like none other. We only sucked on mint rings to cure parched throats. Bathing with bars which spread an icy sensation on the skin were still unheard of. Sometimes brother & I did try globs of ice to chill out.
Cycling round and round the compound ringing the shrilling bell as we turned each corner, cricket on the beach, a quick dip in the sea and then back on the bicycle dripping wet, with the breeze cutting our pickled faces.
A schoolmate once took us to her newly furnished house. The first place we landed into was her colossal bathroom, which had a majestic bath tub, standing on four regal lion paws. I had never had a bath tub. Did take bath in a tub though, the one used for keeping clothes after they came freshly washed out of a spin session from the washing machine. I wondered - How do you soap yourself, if your body is immersed in water, neck downwards? 'I bathe under the shower silly!' Then what's the bath tub for? 'Uh, you know, special days...I sit and relax with a book sometimes.' Wouldn't you prefer reading on your bed where the words aren't threatened to drown...? Before my thought was completed, we were ushered into her mom's bedroom and the tub walked out of my thoughts.

Summer of 2007 - Groom in Arabia

The Arab world is a fascinating and spicily flavoured with incomprehensible restrictions, prejudices and hence dilemma. To make that simpler, I find them an exotic and untamed breed of humanity, which makes them fascinating and hence magnetic.
Till date, I have never had the opportunity to befriend an Arabian; the closest encounters have been at the Dubai airport immigration officers.
On my transit journey to Bangalore today, I found myself amidst the Arab world. Replicating my last stopover at Dubai two years ago during pilgrimage to Karbala, I lug-gaged myself with all the chocolates I could carry, and the last Filing could buy.
Brother had equipped me with a thick and interesting plot of a fantasy tale to fill the void of five hours at the airport. But when I reached the gate designated for my flight departure, I took off on my own trip of fantasy.
In the lounge area I chanced to rest my eyes on the most brilliant looking Arab. He wore a cream robe which had a high buttoned-up Chinese collar and flowed till below his ankles, so I could not even see his footwear. Unlike other Arab men, he did not have his head covered with a red checkered scarf. Instead, he had styled and gel-ed his cropped hair and was clean shaved. His sharp features and serene poise had me magnetically drawn and I found my eyes glued to admiring his confident persona.
I am not clear on what and how good men are at picking up signals of attraction (prior experiences are blurred due to short memory span), but I think his receptors did pick up vibes from my antenna.
The transit bus, which transported passengers to the flight, chanced to bring us face to face with each other, with a sole pole between us. I was a bit surprised to find him there, because I had been glancing back during the walk down from the lounge area to the gate, and he had tailed behind, and did not notice him anywhere amongst the bobbing heads.
We gazed in each others directions alternately, waiting for the other person to look away, so either could unashamedly stare, while pretending to study the geographical goings-on in each others background. There was a single moment when our eyes accidentally met, and instantly turned away.
A hundred questions raced in my mind - was this even real? Could we talk, or atleast exchange a greeting before parting ways? A smile, or a nod?
I don’t know how these things are acknowledged in the desert land. Doubt it will happen on this encounter - he just stepped into the Business-class, and I’m in Economy.

Summer of 2007 - Lovelorn

Today my parents and I went exploring the area near the house. It wasn't windy and had stopped drizzling; the sun made a appearance promisingly through white tufts of clouds in the bright blue sky.
After some alterations of walk and rest, mom declined any inclination to see what lay beyond the curb; even discovery of another grocery store did not entice her. So dad and I waddled towards the junction, and were soon out of viewing distance from mom.
After crossing across the traffic junction we glanced at the stores which were preparing to close for the day (it was drawing to 5pm, an OMG-lets-hurry-up moment for working population in UK). We DID find a grocery store across the road, and dad suggested we check out the place for a review to mom later.
There was a large signboard 'Fresh Fruits & Vegetables'. We walked up and down the 3 aisles, but found nothing. Then I noticed - there was a 5-basket stand sparsely filled with bunches of apples, tomatoes & potatoes and a pineapple. Now I know why that signboard was so huge; its easy that these would have gone un-noticed to my eye.
We turned, and began walking homewards. Mom could not be seen at the spot we had last left her resting, but dad spotted her in the bright orange wind-jacket. She was strolling on the other side of the road, but was out of yelling distance. Dad gestured with his cap, trying to see if he could catch her attention in any way. He trampled along on the grass, next to the walkway in the hope that she would look back and notice us tailing her.
By now our pace had gathered speed, but not enough momentum to catch up with her any time soon. After brisk walking for two blocks, a jogger passed us by. That struck an idea. Dad challenged me to jog, which I lamely, in my four-layers of woollen declined. I thought it would appear funny to see a jogger in jeans and a trenchcoat, with a muffler, skull cap and gloves.
But Romeo did not lose heart. He sprung out and jogged till he had reached across the road, and gotten mom to stop. As I saw him slowly pace up the road, a smile crossed my lips. Dad long ago crossed his youth, but watch him persist his loved one seemed like they were teenagers forelorn in love.

The last drop

It’s a hot October afternoon. Global warming. My throat is parched. The ice caps are melting. I reach out for the last can of beer from the chiller. The globe is undergoing a new climatic phase of disaster. The air conditioner is humming drearily.
I pick up the newspaper and begin to read. Hurricanes. Kathrina & Rita. Always knew women cause havoc. But this spell of disaster is unnerving. I pick up the sweaty can, and take a long sip.
This is depressing. Let’s listen to some groovy music on radio. The RJ’s chirpy voice lightens the mood.
The ozone layers are depleting. Horns are honking. Tempers are flying. I switch off the radio. Another deep plunge from the can. I slump on the couch.
I hum to myself – He’s a jolly good fellow – feels nice. I bring out the guitar and start strumming some old tunes. The pace has picked up. Dedications going out to every person I can think of. I’m a better radio channel, I think.
My heart is light. I squint into the can for that last swig.
Suddenly, the lights have turned off. Another load shedding afternoon. I hold the can upside down; wait for that last drop to leave its cool metal abode, into my rounding paunch.