I'm thinking of a summer day last year, when my cousin, N, was here on a visit. N is the least talkative of my cousins. Usually, she just smiles while I chatter on, slightly hysterically.
It was a Sunday morning and we were headed to the Adventure Island. The Island is an amusement park way up in the north of Delhi. N loves rollercoasters. I wanted to prove that I was brave. We marched out to the metro station at nine in the morning, draped in cotton scarves, hatted and sunscreened up. We reached the island by ten, and were almost the first ones there. N was excited and it was infectious.
We'd worked out a plan of attack so we could go on as many rides as possible before it was time to return home at five. We picked a ride called the Tornado first, which was a giant spinning roundabout to which chairs were attached with metal chains. You sat in a chain and as the Tornado spun, your chair would shoot outwards and turn, so you were sitting almost parallel to the ground and screaming your head off. I certainly did. N was laughing.
We went on ride after ride, and on each I screwed my eyes tighter shut and squealed louder. I was slightly green when N led me excitedly to the rocking boat. The boat didn't just rock, it also rose about thirty feet high and then spun round and round several times, turning you upside down. I told N to go on without me and stood on the side, trying to control my weirdly churning insides. The boat operator was particularly sadistic, and laughed up at me while he left them hanging upside down, thirty feet in the air. N got off afterwards and told me she wanted to go again.
I joined the line with her. I'd made a promise to myself a few years ago to always try everything once, and to never allow myself to have regrets. I know what it's like to play something over and over in my head, and wish I'd been braver, done something different. I didn't want to regret my cowardice later, over getting on the ride. So I climbed on beside N, held on to my seat's arms tightly and closed my eyes. I forced them open briefly while we were hanging upside down, just so I wouldn't regret not looking later too, and then closed them tightly again.
I stumbled off that ride, insides churning wildly and was later, quietly, miserably sick. I thought about it today, and I realised that I don't remember the sickness or even how it felt to hang upside down, thirty feet above the ground, with the blood rushing to my head. All I remember is my pride. 

The most important thing in the world

Appa and I were talking today, about the telecommunications industry, the 2G spectrum scam, the economics of the whole thing and about culpability. Big, important, very cool sounding stuff. He was doing most of the talking, because I know very little. I was listening intently. And beside us, a little dog was getting very very impatient. 

He began by chasing his own tail round and round and round, till he was a black and white blur. I did my best not to watch him and focus on appa instead. 

When he tired of that game, he trotted up to us and barked, shrill little barks. Even without a language, he communicates very well. I pushed him away. Optical fibres were being discussed. Then Panda escalated. He jumped up on me and began scraping at my arm. He does not respond well to being ignored. I finally caved and took him out. 

We stood outside in a patch of winter sunshine, with sparrows hopping about around us. It was then that I realised why it is that I love this little dog so much. He puts things into perspective, no? His demands are peremptory and insistent, and always make me laugh, so comical is his seriousness. The rest of the world could wait, while Panda chased the sparrows. 

Again

I'm afraid I am become such a cliche, reader. You and I are the opposite of fair-weather friends, no? I come here exactly when I need comfort or simply, unburdening. I write to you in half-sentences and subtext and leave here quite pleased at my own cleverness. I don't know if anyone out there is listening, and it really doesn't matter. I talk anyway.

This blog, I realised today, has become exactly what I intended. A place that makes me happy, and maybe makes some of you happy too? When I read through my older posts, after I'm done cringing at the syntax errors, I remember those sharp stabs of joy I used to feel. They're more muted now, when they're from memory, but they exist. Nostalgia doesn't always make you sad. It can bring joy too.

The past few days have been... hard. So I turn to this white place which is my little corner of the interweb, and I talk to you. I also listen to an awful lot of Leona Lewis, luxuriate in the romance of the sadness I feel, and laugh a little at how silly I'm acting.

Laughter is good. I laughed till my sides ached today, at Panda. He was really excited about our evening walk, and reared up on his hind legs as is his wont, to paw me and urge me to tie my shoelaces faster. Today, his leg slipped and he fell on the floor, hard. He bounced right back up, don't worry, and I'm still chuckling when I think of the expression on his face. He's such a happy dog, and some of that inevitably rubs off on me.

You're probably going to see quite a lot of me in the next few days. I plan on going back to my old format of remembering the things that make me happy each day. And I'll do my best to ensure that not all of them involve Panda.

Until tomorrow then.

I'm writing this from Coimbatore. I'm here for the best of all reasons. A wedding. This time it was my cousin, J. I've been here four days now, dressed in sarees and high heels, with jasmine buds in my hair. I met relatives I never knew I had, some who I vaguely remember, and an increasing number of familiar faces.

On the evening of the reception, when I sat down for a little while to give my sadly abused toes some rest, a little girl sat opposite me. She picked the petals off a daisy and blew them in my face.

I've gossiped with my grandmother and aunt, acted as wingman for J till his best friend showed up, sung till my throat turned hoarse. I've smiled at people whose names I no longer remember and promised to visit them, someday. Promises we both know I won't keep. I've soothed hurt feelings, cleaned and packed, carried messages and baggage, talked and listened. Listened more than talked. I've also not slept very much.

The wedding vows they took were basically a dignified pinky-swearing, to be best friends for the rest of their lives. I liked that. I stood and watched J get married in a shower of rice grains and rose petals. The music got very loud for a second, everyone was standing in a tremendous crush, and then it was over.

I'm alone now for a little while, after being surrounded by people for three days. I'm not smiling because it hurts my face. People keep coming in every once in awhile to talk. We've formed tenuous bonds, working together for a common cause. I've done this before, more times than I can count. Each time, a few more bonds last. Here, after all, we are already bound by blood. I feel very rich to have so many people who care about me.

I leave here tomorrow, back to my old life, but slightly changed. Change is good. It is sameness that is frightening. I think we need occasions like these, so we give pause and reconsider our own lives, but also so we realise it isn't always about us. For a little while, we celebrate the lives of the people we care about.

I stop typing every once in awhile to look at my henna-stained fingers. I'm very tired, but I think, at peace. Tomorrow is another day.

I'm not doing so good, Reader. I'm afraid, and I'm not quite sure of what. I've done this before. Sat around and waited to be rescued. No one ever comes. There's a reason why we write white knights into stories. They're mythical creatures. The mistake we make is believing that they can be real.
It's hard to realise that you are your own white knight. Rescuing is a tough business. It's never as simple as jumping up on a horse and galloping away. No. There are dragons to slay first. And not fire-breathing, scaly ones, but long, tedious ones, the sort that you can't fight with logic or fire. They don't make for very good stories. And they're all inside me.
No one is coming. 

It's raining in Delhi today. I'm lying very still in my bed. I've sprained my neck, the result of a fall a couple of days ago, and any movement is painful. Panda is keeping me company. He nibbled on my sleeve for a while, but now he's curled up under the bed. I reach down to pat him every time the thunder gets particularly loud. 
I can hear the rain and smell it. The lightning flashes illuminate my room, eerily. Otherwise, it is as dark as night. I tried turning on the light earlier, but turned it off quickly. It felt harsh and blue and intrusive. This darkness is better, if a little frightening. How quickly the clouds change day to night. 

I tried listening to music, but even Zila Khan sounded strained, singing as she did, over the rain. I didn't bother queuing up another song after she lapsed into silence.

I made a sandwich for us earlier. Honey and cheese, toasted and melty. I cut it in squares, and we ate it piece by piece. Afterward, we had coffee, strong and black. I drank that all by myself, because Panda didn't seem to appreciate it. 

It's nice, staying at home on a rainy day, even if it hurts to nod. 

Images

I’m confused, reader. I feel a little like a hamster running on a wheel, just because it’s there. There are so many things I wish I could do, so many things I want to do… Picking one and sticking with it seems so scary. I settle for creative inertia instead, but now even that is grating on my nerves.

I took a long walk with Panda on Sunday morning, and tried to think. It didn’t help that Panda kept enacting different versions of this scenario.

(I'll credit this as soon as Ken tells me where he got it from. It was too good not to share.)

It had rained the previous night, and I was constantly distracted by scenes such as this.

Panda ran in mad circles about the lawn while I photographed mushrooms.

And I went back inside after my walk, as confused as I’d been before, but curiously comforted.