Walk Down Memory Lane

Recently, I was walking by Mota Arcade (I think that’s the name) at Brigade road, and I was struck by a memory of the first time I had been there as a 6-year-old, and how excited I was to step on the escalators there. I think the excitement was less about the escalator, and more about the novelty of the whole experience. That incident took me down memory lane, and I started reminiscing about several of the things that have now become a routine part of my life, but at some point, when they were first introduced, had been such a source of joy.

Here are some of the memories in that list:

• The first time I stepped on an escalator (and took several seconds to successfully land on that first step)
• The first time I ran in the opposite direction of the escalator (and jumped triumphantly on to the other end)
• The first time I went in an elevator (and looked out of the glass doors on the other end, where I could nervously see myself go up)
• The first time I pushed around a shopping cart (initially, my brother and I fought for a chance to push it around. Soon we were fighting to give it to the other person)
• The first time I used a vacuum cleaner to clean the house (and also the last, as the enthusiasm waned, leaving only the chore behind)
• The first time I sat on a plane (and was disappointed to find out that it wasn’t as big as a train)
• The first time I saw a computer (how many of you remember that?)
• The first time I typed a letter on Microsoft Word (and was horrified to realize that hours of laborious typing had only yielded four lines on the printout)
• The first time I was introduced to the internet (and was worried about where we would place it, because the computer table was already filled with the monitor, CPU, keyboard, mouse and printer)
• The first time I saw a multi-storey building (and by multi-storey, I mean over 3 floors) which marked that we would soon be reaching Delhi
• The first time I saw a handset phone (and thought it was incredibly cool, because now I wasn’t confined to one spot in the house)
• The first time I saw a person talking on a mobile phone (and thought that people looked too weird walking around with their hands on their ears)
• The first time I went to a mall (which, I don’t think it qualifies as a mall anymore)
• The first time I saw snow (and spent the remaining vacation locked in a hotel room due to a ‘stomach pain’ *truth was I was just too cold*)

There are several other things I wish I remember, like my first train ride, the first time I jumped into the sea waves, the first time I went to the movie theatre, and many more…but I guess memory lane can only dig out so much.

Rain Dance - Part 2

Two years ago, at Teach for India’s training institute in Pune, I found myself in the middle of a rain dance [see:  Rain Dance] with a bunch of strangers who were enroute to becoming friends. Today, in a completely different part of the country, I found myself in a very familiar situation.

 *****

It’s funny. I was sitting at the steps, watching some of the guys play football, and thinking to myself that I really wanted to join them. But I was held back partly by my own lack of knowing-how-to-kick-a-ball, and largely by my inhibitions.

Never thought I'd actually end up playing.

*****

It was a Friday afternoon

Classes were over

The laziness was engulfing

The wind refreshing

The weekend inviting

Conversations relaxed

The football game, entertaining

The sky was dark

So dark, that
It was hard to tell it was still afternoon
We knew it was coming
After all, it’s Bangalore
It rains all the time
Usually for a few seconds
And if it so decides
Then for a few minutes
A few droplets here and there
 
But today, the sky was dark
The clouds were rolling in
One after the other
Leaving you wondering
Just when they would let go
But they didn’t
They just seemed to pass by
Or maybe
They were gathering reinforcements

Because the moment did come

Not with a few trickles falling down your cheeks
But with heavy drops
Enough to clear the basketball court
Enough to push a surge of people
To the safety of indoors
And enough
To push me in the opposite direction

I have no idea why I did it

But standing in that cramped room
Watching the rain come down in a frenzy
I just knew that the place I wanted to be
Was on the other side of the doors

So just this once

I decided not to care
About the fever
About hypothermia
About the incredulous stares

And stepping out

I could feel every drop drench my clothes
The wind smattering me in the face
Shoes quickly filling with water
The cold numbing my ears
A smile on my face that refused to leave
Excitement that I hadn’t realized was there
Surrounded by half a dozen friends
Friends, as crazy as myself
And most importantly
With a football in my hand

And I kicked it

(Incorrectly, as I was later informed)
And we ran
And we jumped
And we sang
And we yelled
And we fell
And we froze
And in those few moments
I felt so alive
Playing football
On a basketball court
In the rain

It felt great
Knowing, that

The rain dance

Was back again
 

A Purple Lollipop

So in an attempt to overcome my perpetual writer's block, I've enrolled in a creative writing class in college. So, chances are, my next few posts are going to be mainly fiction. This particular one was a paragraph written around the prompt "A purple lollipop".

The mission was simple: get to the target before the enemy. As his eyes surveyed the corridor, he found several candidates that potentially matched the enemy description. But he wasn’t too worried, because his keen and experienced eyes had already locked upon the target. It was lying innocently on the ground, as though just waiting to be stepped on by an oblivious person in the crowd. Luckily, such a catastrophe had been avoided thus far, but he knew better than to count on luck. He carefully made his way towards the target, ignoring the glare of the sun reflecting off its surface. Almost there, he thought to himself. Stopping less than a foot away, he bent down slowly to pick it up, trying not to attract attention. Just as his fingers were inches away from their target, he felt the earth shift from under his feet and found himself in a firm hold in the air. “Calvin, how many times have I told you not to pick up food from the ground!” shouted the voice that resembled his mom’s, and before he could protest, he saw a hand swoop down, pick up the purple lollipop, and throw it into the nearest bin.

Inspired from my slowly-becoming-favourite character of Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes :)
 

Domicile

6 years in Dehradun

6 years in Bangalore

4 years in Kuwait

2 years in Bangalore

4 years in Toronto

2 years in Bombay

…and that’s 24

****

“Where are you from?”

I cringe every time I hear that question – not so much for myself, because I personally love the answer. But I feel bad for the person asking the question, because I’m sure the answer they receive is far longer than the one they had bargained for.

As a kid, I used to complain often about moving around (by grade 2, I had attended five different schools. And no, I wasn’t kicked out). Being socially awkward, it took me a long time to get comfortable in my new surroundings and make friends, and it seemed like every time I managed to settle down, it was time to move to a new place again.

Somewhere along the line, things changed. Or I changed. Because the last few times I’ve moved, it’s been out of choice. I spent four amazing years in Toronto, making friendships that I know will outlast me. Yet by the end of college, I was ready to leave and go back to India. Similarly, my two years in Bombay were better than I could have even imagined, but towards the end, I wanted to move to something new. That kid who loved normalcy and comfort and hated change suddenly became the one eagerly packing bags and changing homes every few years.

A while back, I was filling out an application that had a section for ‘domicile’. I had no idea what that meant, and actually had to look it up. Apparently, it means residence. Abode. Home. Dwelling. Etc. Not something I can fill out in the 3-centimeter space that the form provided. It’s definitely not a one-word answer.

Sometimes, I think it still bothers me – not belonging anywhere. Not staying anywhere long enough to become a part of a group of friends that’s closer than family.  Last night, I watched over 40 people take time off from their work day to come home and celebrate mom’s birthday. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it – that feeling of knowing that you’re surrounded by people who would be there for you no matter what. I do have family and friends like that all over the world, but that’s the thing: they’re all over the world. And Facebook and Skype can only do so much (and yes, that includes smartphones).

But it’s a fleeting moment of doubt, because at the end of the day, I have thankfully never regretted my decisions to move till now. I’ve been happy at every place that I’ve called home, regardless of the longitude it was at. And to be fair, two months ago I was with friends in Bombay; two weeks ago with family and friends in Canada; today with my parents in Kuwait, and in another two weeks, with more family and potentially more friends in Bangalore.

Can’t complain J

Besides, from what I've heard:

Home is where the hugs are.

And there are hugs all around!

Ruchi Mittal, officially 24 years old, at home with all the hugs, signing off!

Destination: Montreal

It was a trip initiated by an old friendship, controlled by our wallets, and guided by our stomachs!

We were trying to save money. That’s really where the whole story begins. (Alright, fine. If you want to be technical, it begins when the two of us decided to take a trip down to Montreal, made plans, made bookings, etc etc – but the fun part of the story starts with us trying to cut costs). With one of us flying down from Kuwait to Toronto, and the other from Calgary, I think we could safely say that we were low on funds and wanted Montreal to be a cheap holiday.

In our desperation, we decided to cut costs on the only flexible part of our trip – the accommodation. Following vague recommendations, we booked a three-night stay at…a hotel? Motel? Hostel? Not entirely sure what it was, but definitely closer to the last option. After dragging our luggage across the city, we arrived at a 3-story townhouse filled with beds peeking out from behind curtains. Our request for a private room was initially met with blank stares, but thankfully, a few seconds later, we were shown into a room with two queen-sized beds – and asked to choose one bed and stick to it (I should mention here that one of the beds already had luggage on it, so we weren’t exactly left with that much to choose from). The bathroom was across the room, and was shared between at least 10 other people living on that floor. And while our first night was relatively peaceful and solitary, we didn’t realize at that time that we would soon be joined by a third person (the owner of the luggage) – someone who makes it very difficult for light sleepers such as my friend to, well, sleep.

For the next two days, we explored as much of the city as we could. Our roles were clearly designated – one was the researcher and the other the navigator. Equipped with maps and walking tours, we walked through as many of the streets as our legs allowed, and ate as much as our stomachs allowed (and possibly a bit more).

But this was all well into the future. That first evening, as we dumped our luggage on our bed, I remember there was a moment when we looked at each other, suppressing incredulous stares and the urge to laugh uncontrollably at our situation. I think it was decided at that particular moment – Montreal was going to be a trip to remember!

*****

Enroute to Montreal.

The door-knob of our room. If you pulled it too hard from outside, it would come off. But if you yanked it back in too hard, the one on the inside would fall off!

Realizing (a little late) that we were staying at a place that would obviously not be providing us with toiletries, we decided to go shopping. But being the cheapskates that we were, we were only willing to spend on hand towels (because a full-length one would have been so expensive), and the cheapest most outrageous shampoo we could find: outrageous.

Our favourite bagel place, where we started each morning with cream cheese and nutella.

Mexicans have tacos, Italians have pastas, and apparently Montreal has poutine. Not a big fan, I must admit. 

Notre Dame: a church with the most spectacular light-and-sound show that I have ever seen. A must watch!

Catching up on the last eight years amidst Mojitos and Long Island Iced Teas!

Boustan – the best shawarma place ever!

A view of Montreal city

Jacques Cartier – a street in old Montreal city!

And of course, a special thanks to our transport manager (sounds cooler than chauffeur): for getting us started on the journey!

The Toronto Chapter

Closing Toronto. That was what this trip was supposed to be about.

While I have never regretted my decision to move to India after studying in Canada, every now and then I found myself missing structure in the midst of Indian chaos, missing the snowfall when wading through the monsoons, and missing old friends while trying to make new ones.

So when I decided to visit Canada after a two-year hiatus, it was in part to visit old friends, but largely to wrap up the country once and for all – to assure myself that I had made the right decision by leaving; to find closure; to close Toronto.

And I think I did accomplish that. I realized that some friendships of the past had become just that – friendships of the past. Other relationships that had ended bitterly were given a second chance. And the campus where I spent four years of my life – while still bearing old memories – hardly felt like home without all the familiar faces.

But while I was basking in my closure, life was still moving. I met old friends and acquaintances from different walks of my life, and could feel the beginnings of new friendships. I got a chance to spend time with people who will soon be a part of my family, and to build new relationships. I met friends who have always been there in my past, and will continue to have a solid place in the future. Most importantly, I got to spend three weeks with my brother – something that I now realize I haven’t done in the last 8 years.

This trip was supposed to be about closure. Then again, closure is overrated. At the age of 24, this is hardly the time to be closing chapters in my life (not that I think any particular age is appropriate for that). Nobody said it had to be either or. Beginning life in India doesn’t have to mean ending my time in Canada. I think there might be just enough space for me build relationships in Bangalore and in Canada. With a foot in Kuwait. And another in Dehradun. And of course one in Bombay (let’s ignore the bizarre anatomy for now, shall we?)

I had intended to write that with the end of this trip, I can now officially close the Toronto chapter of my life. But instead, the last few weeks have seen the strengthening of so many bonds, and the creation of so many new ones, that I feel the chapter of Toronto is far from over.

Perhaps – to be continued?

The Departure Lounge

I once wrote, “What is it about New Year’s, sunsets and birthdays that make you so reflective?” Apparently, airports have the same effect. Or maybe that’s just when you know that you have stuffed in two-years-worth of your life into 30 kilos of checked-in luggage (not an easy feat, I assure you).

That’s exactly where I am. At Mumbai’s Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport. Physically.

Mentally? I’m already gulfing down Mom’s food and stretching out in my bed at home. A.k.a – I’m excited. And surprisingly, not at all sad.

Don’t get me wrong – I’ve loved every single minute of the last two years, and I wouldn’t change it for anything. From landing in the middle of the crazy monsoons to changing worn-out floaters faster than I lost my umbrellas; from house-hunting without any money to paying every possible bill imaginable; from being overwhelmed that first day in the classroom, and then the day after, and the one after, and so on, until slowly, I began to feel like I belonged, to getting engulfed in a massive 43-student hug on my last day; from catching up with long-lost friends to finding familiarity in new ones; from preparing myself to run after buses and trains to unashamedly hailing cabs out of laziness; from the sweltering heat of summer to the best winter ever; from the wind of Marine Drive to the waves of Worli Sea Face; from Wada Pavs to Long-Island Iced-Teas; from Aksa beach to Panchgani; from the slums of the city to the 35^th floor of skyscrapers; from my roadside Hakka noodles to mac n cheese at Phoenix mills; from spending a few grands in a single weekend to surviving an entire month in just fifteen; from standing scared on one side of the road to confidently shoving my hand in front of drivers’ faces as I crossed between traffic; from the deepest trench of depression to the height of inspiration; from the best moments to the worst – these two years have been exhilarating!

Ever since I was a kid, Bombay had seemed like the kind of city every youngster needed to experience on their own – something like an initiation rite. Don’t ask why. But I think that was part of the reason why I opted for this city when I joined Teach for India, and I’m glad to say that I managed to survive it. In one piece.

Before, every time I visited Bombay – I hated it. All I saw was people, traffic and trash. Well, that’s still there. But there’s so much hidden in this city that you just have to live in it to allow yourself to fall in love with it.

And so, my stint with Bombay (I still can’t get myself to say Mumbai!) comes to an end. And yet I’m excited – for what’s going to come next. Maybe I’ve just said goodbye to too many people and too many cities that it just doesn’t bother me anymore. Or maybe I’ve just grown up and become better at accepting change.

I prefer to go with the latter.

Ciao!

PS: My only regret? I still didn't get to see Shahrukh Khan or Shahid Kapoor!!! :(