#TheBlindList: For the love of Paris

 "If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast." 

- Ernest Hemingway

I recall standing at the window in my hotel room, a huge glass facade separating me and the city I loved the most. The city I was visiting for the first time, but which had ironically visited me in my dreams ever so often. 

The wonderful sight of the Champs-Elysées, stared back at me, in all its glory.

Gai Paris!!!

It was just minutes since we had reached (after a two and a half journey via Eurostar from our last stop at London), but the cheerful nature of the beautiful city had already started warming the cockles of my heart. 

There is this whole different vibe to Paris, something you will find in no other country in the world.

Those who have visited it will testify for the overwhelming feeling one experiences while watching the city especially in the night time. It can make a romantic out of anybody.

Reluctantly, I tore my eyes away from the mesmerizing lights outside my window and jotted down a quick list of all the things I had wanted to see, a travel itinerary (very similar to #TheBlindList ---a concept now introduced by Lufthansa and Indiblogger.)

My mind was trembling with excitement, trying to visualize all I had seen in Hollywood movies and travel magazines (the only source of information on Paris I had had until now). 

"Patience," I told myself. "It's real. It's happening."

I couldn't wait to know the city of (my) dreams up close and personal. It felt so much like a blind date.Here was a part of the world I had long since admired from afar but never met for real.

A little backdrop for this memory: Until a few days before, I had absolutely no idea about this surprise trip that my family had planned for me. So you can imagine my surprise when my folks, at the end of our stay in London, enthusiastically announced that our holiday wasn't over. It took me a moment to realize that London was just the first half of the two part journey they had planned. 

The surprise on my face that had turned to elation quickly escalated to ecstasy when they revealed to me our next destination. 

"Paris," they grinned, and I jumped to hug them. It was almost the same kind of excitement that a child feels when she is told she is being taken to Disney land.

So cut to a few hours later, I was recollecting this beautiful turn of events in my hotel room in Paris.

Next morning, I woke up even before my phone snooze alarm was set for. We had planned to make an early start, so that we could make the most of our three-day staycation. 

It was my idea to visit the Champs first. It had already tempted me with a sneak peek, and also was the central point to all the other attractions we wanted to visit. 

Champs-Elysées is a beautiful promenade, known for its architectural symmetry and style, surrounded by rows of Elm trees and flower beds in a symmetrical fashion, this street has been rightly described as 'heaven on Earth'. It further leads to Arc De Triomphe. At its western end, there is a bevy of cinema halls, designer stores, and cafes. After a little shopping (that included lots of window shopping), we proceeded to our next destination, promising to come back here again before leaving.

Arc de Triomphe

A close-up of the Arc

Next on the list was the Louvre.

Visiting the Louvre was an experience in itself. It was fascinating to experience the works of Renaissance artists and sculptures. Although I got a far view of the Mona Lisa, the thrill of being in the throng of so many besotted lovers of art takes the experience to a whole different level. While standing there admiring the famous works of famous men, a powerful realization hit me. The only reward of true art is its immortality. I was struck by the magnanimity of the sculptures and paintings. The age old adage, 'A picture speaks a thousand words' was definitely created with these paintings in mind. Art was indeed ageless. 

Unfortunately, due to the teeming crowd, I could not capture pics of good quality (sharing the best ones here). But nevertheless, they are imprinted on the mind.  

The Louvre

Add caption

The Mona Lisa

Aphodite also known as 'Venus de Milo'

By the time we left the Louvre, it was already afternoon. My stomach was rumbling with hunger. So we made a quick break away. Lunch consisted of a delectable meal at a small little French restaurant. While my folks feasted on Normandy pancakes, I ordered Chestnut crepes and instantly fell in love with the taste of Chestnuts. 

Later in the evening, we visited the 'Shakespeare & Company' bookshop, a quaint book store that was once the haunt of luminaries like Voltaire, Rousseau and Verlaine. 

As I touched the walls adorned with author-signed title pages, I could actually feel their palpable presence, an experience I wouldn't have wanted to miss for anything. As I inhaled the air infused with the smell of books, I wished I could save it all in a bottle and take it back home. In that one moment, I felt as if the whole world had shrunk to fit itself in that one room. After all, isn't that what books are supposed to do?

I literally had to drag myself away from that place, consoling myself with the fact that I could revisit it every  any time I wanted; all i had to do was pick up Hemingway's book titled, 'A moveable feast'.

On the way back to our hotel, on the suggestion of a local I met at the book shop, I bought myself some freshly roasted chestnuts, a quick evening snack that I enjoyed very much. So far, my taste buds were happy. So were my eyes. There was so much in Paris, to be devoured by both. 

The next morning, after a delectable breakfast of some wonderful French toast, and pancakes, 

we headed to see the Notre-Dame Cathedral. Representative of gothic architecture, this is a magnificent masterpiece that is a sight to sore eyes. There is a long spiral stairway that leads to the Cathedrals most scary gargoyles, the thirteen tonne 'Emmanuel' bell and a breath taking view of Paris. The three rose windows of the Notre-Dame Cathedral is one of the greatest masterpieces of Christendom known to mankind, and a sight to behold. Somewhere in between, I stopped clicking pictures because clicking too many photographs meant a distraction from the spell binding effect of the Basilica...an overwhelming and enlightening experience. 

Notre-Dame Cathedral

Stained glass windows  

If you have been to Paris and not seen the Eiffel Tower, then you haven't been to Paris. We had specially reserved an evening for the visit. 

I had always imagined standing in front of the Eiffel and getting clicked in a thousand different poses. (Yeah, I was young and impressionable back then.) .But when I actually reached the Eiffel, I was so mesmerized by its beauty, that I forgot all about the poses I had practiced. I just stood there, awestruck, devouring the beauty of the illuminated tower. It's majestic framework, its magnificent architecture. There it stood towering over me in all its 300 m tall monumental glory, gleaming and glittering with pride. 

Overview of the city from the tower terrace

Such is the magnific glory of this city of love, this city of dreams, this city of fashion. We had only one more day here, and there was so much to do, so much more to see. So we did the next best thing. We wined and dined...the French way. On cheeses of every kind, especially Camembert, Chèvre and Roquefort. I ate so much cheese on that trip, my family jokes that I had gained 5 pounds of cheese weight.

Also the crepes and pancakes were not very polite and proudly flaunted themselves in the extra inches around my waist. 

I was baffled. How on earth do the French keep themselves so well maintained when there is so much good food around? All around me were floating (they seemed so light) bewitchingly attractive Parisians, with their perfect patrician noses, delicately carved (although stiff upper) lips, and slender bodies  Was the 'wining and dining' only limited to the tourists I wondered. Did the fine wine and champagne; the Bordeaux, and the Burgundy, the gateaux, the black truffles, beckon only us guests? 

However, it was a bit challenging to find vegetarian options, but we did find our way around it. We also visited a local farmers market and armed ourselves with lots of fruits to snack on during our day trips. 

Healthy options

Eventually, I gave up wondering and blamed it on my metabolism. The brasseries and cafes around the Montmartre neighborhood were too good to resist. Every macaron tasted different from the next. 

Paris Macarons from 'Pierre Herme'

While we were at Montmartre, we stopped at Place Du Tertre---abound with painters, artists and art aspirants were showcasing their talent. Surrounded by easels, canvasses, paints, and other paraphernalia, they sketched portraits of eager tourists in the medium of their choice. 

Mom and the sibling was busy buying some souvenirs from the trip. Dad had found some friendly Parisian who was could speak a few words of English. And I...I was standing there soaking in the joy of that random moment with my favorite people in my favorite city in the world. 

Bustling with creativity, beauty, passion; a melange of myriad emotions coming from all directions, Paris was making me fall in love with life...with the world. 

Montmartre

With my heart bursting with an incomprehensible kind of happiness, I checked my list again. There were so many things still left to be seen. But I was happy. Satisfied that I was soaking in all the joy each moment here brought me. 

We gave the Catacombs of Paris a miss, because...err...I freaked out a little. It takes a lot of courage to walk in dark tunnels lined up with heaps of bones and skulls of six million dead Parisians. "Next time, maybe?" I told my amused folks. 

The sibling was a tad disappointed but all was forgotten and forgiven when my Dad brandished tickets for the night show of Paris's most famous attraction...a lovely evening of music and dance.

The last day was spent visiting the Palace of Versailles and the Place De La Concorde. We also visited the Paris Opera House, Opera Garnier, where 'The Phantom of the Opera' (movie) was filmed. On our way back Mom and we (my sibling and I) had a little last minute shopping to be done, and so we stopped at Le Marais, one of Paris's famous shopping precincts, while Dad rolled his eyes and passed some of his favorite one liners about how the three women in his life were still not done exploiting his emotions and emptying his wallet. We ignored him and continued shopping.

Opera Garnier

A lovely French Cafe

We had an early flight next morning. Our brief stay in Paris had ended, but we had created loads of wonderful memories of new sights, new tastes, new experiences. 

There is something about this place. The air itself is infused with so much of beauty. Everywhere you go, you will witness beauty and art in some form or another...in the monuments, places, architecture, people. Paris makes sure you take with you memories to reminisce about and stories to regale. 

That night, I made notes in my diary about all the things Paris taught me---

1) Take risks. Explore. Sail away from the harbour.

2) Every moment is an enriching experience. A learning experience. Go with the flow.

3) You will find beauty everywhere if you look for it.

4) Be open minded about accepting other people, their culture and habits even if they are different from yours.

5) Last but not the leart, always #SayYesToTheWorld

While on the flight back home, the sagacious sibling suddenly remarked, as if she was sudden making a poignant revelation.

"We are going home," she sighed, mixed feelings in her voice. The disappointment of a holiday ending, evident on her face.

Putting one arm around her neck, I tugged at her gently, knowing exactly how she was feeling.

Then looking outside the airplane window, I thought of the famous lines from my favorite movie. Humphrey Bogart to Ingrid Bergman; Rick Blaine to Ilsa Lazlow.

"We'll always Paris..."  

I smiled, as the plane took off homeward.

This post was written for #TheBlindList - A blind date with the world, a contest by Lufthansa and Indiblogger. All pics used in this post are courtesy yours truly.
If you liked what you read, please vote for it here.

Kashi Art Cafe #WordlessWednesday

This is my entry for #WordlessWednesday.  The above pic was taken at Kashi Art Cafe during one one of my trips to Kochi. The installation comprising of five metal human-heads arrayed one on top of another conveys varying emotions, and it is this amalgamation of art and psyche that, to me, speaks more than a thousand words. 

You can check out other #WordlessWednesday submissions here.

Musafir diaries: the travels of a gypsy heart

"The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page."

~ St Augustine 

I was bitten by the travel bug rather early on in life. As a child, I recall looking forward to the end of every academic year. Vacations not just meant freedom from exams and school but also meant adventure and travel. Come summer and I'd already be dreaming of the trip that lay ahead. This triggered in me an irresistible wanderlust that with time only grew stronger.

Cut to present day, I am always up to venture and explore new places. However, the meaning of travel for me has evolved over the years. Traveling, to me, is no more only about the destination. It has become more about the people I meet, the experiences I share, and the lessons I learn along the way. It has become more about the stereotypes it helps me break, the conclusions it helps me draw, the roads it helps me pave for the journeys ahead, an exploration of the deeper nuances of other cultures and customs.

In a way, I can say travel has shaped my personality to a large extent as well. Then again, it could also be just an extension of my personality. Either way, I'm not complaining.

Those who know me will know about my fascination for nostalgia. I like to think of myself as a memory keeper, someone who carefully procures, polishes and preserves these precious nuggets of reminiscence, only to render them sacrosanct. And travel caters well to this habit of mine.

However, holidays cannot be always organised well in advance. But some of my best holidays have been spontaneous decisions. And why not? Haven't you ever felt the need to disconnect from the busy humdrum of life and break free from the monotony and madness of a mundane existence? I know I have. At times, we need to desperately fall back in love with the universe, and life always presents us with a choice---continue living the same tasteless documentary or turn it into a commercial feature film replete with new people, new cuisines, new environs and more importantly, new possibilities.
With travel being the perfect recipe for a delicious cocktail of adventure and therapy, all we need is good timing, and VOILA! There we are, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to love the world by embracing it with open arms.


So when Indiblogger with Lufthansa organised this contest, my mind immediately started playing the feature film of my travel experiences, urging me to present a collage of memories for the occasion.

Accordingly, I have jotted down my travel inspiration and experiences; particularly the ones that made me reconsider my opinion, revise my outlook, broaden my horizons, and open my eyes to a whole new world. So here goes...

**insert flashback mode with dreamy effects and soft music**

• In Nuremberg Germany, when I was introduced to this car pooling service called Mitfahrzentrale...

I was thoroughly impressed by the States initiative to conserve energy. Mitfahrzentrale are facilitation centers that provide unique, low cost, car pooling services that provide those traveling cross country or cross continent travel (with shared fuel resources) at a nominal fee. These centers also serve as pick up and drop off points to help avoid delay, confusion and further expenses. I liked the idea, and silently wished for similar safety standards back in India that allowed strangers to commute together without worry. Being Indian, I was slightly wary of traveling like that. I recall thinking of all kinds of misadventure and mishaps that I could have met with. But the pleasant company put me at ease. And although I didn't get a chance to share food or drink with them, we shared our travel experiences and regaled each other with stories. By the time we reached our destination, my irrational fear had dissipated by the incessant chatter in the car, and I bid a warm adieu to my co-travelers, happy to have connected with them and brushed off a bias.

This experience taught me something.

1. The most interesting encounters are sometimes the briefest.
2. Geographical distance doesn't make us any different from each other. At the end of the day, we are all story tellers living the same life, just different stories.

• My first encounter with Durian in Singapore.

I was wandering through the local fruit market, when a strange intense odour caught my breath. I was about to run away from the place when I realized the odour was coming from the direction of the local fruit called Durian. Curiosity got the better of me, and I asked the vendor to pack me a slice. I had to give it a try. Pinching my nose shut, I bit into the fruit and immediately regretted it. It was only much later that I realized it was an acquired taste, and I was glad I hadn't given up on it.
That day, I decided that I would not hold bias against any kind of food. And although I still have my priorities, I am of the belief that if someone somewhere is eating it, you can eat it too!

• In Sri Lanka when I realised the real meaning of meditation and inner peace...

We were visiting this Stupa when I saw a monk immersed deep in meditation. Eyes closed, glowing visage. Just looking at him made me happy. There was a lot of commotion around him. Tourists clicking pictures, talking among themselves, discussing itineraries. But the monk stayed undisturbed. On finishing his meditation, I went up to him and asked him why he hadn't instructed them to maintain silence.
His words will always stay with me. 'I cannot ask the world to shut up,' he said, smiling calmly at me, 'But I can listen better to myself.'

• In Amsterdam, when I visited Anne frank house and Van Gogh museum...

It was heartwarming to witness in front of you what you'd only read in books and seen in pictures. I could feel the overwhelming presence of Anne and her family. How they must have sought shelter in that cramped little secret annexe was beyond me. The pieces of furniture, the notches they made in the wall (to mark heights of family members during the incarceration) were all a reminder of how terrifying the experience must have been. I'd read the diary of Anne Frank multiple times, but standing there, breathing the air she once had breathed, touching the things she once had touched felt like an emotional holocaust in itself. There was an eerie silence amongst us tourists who had traveled back in time to pay homage to the place. But somewhere we knew there was a silent bond being shared between each one of us. The bond of empathy. Of feeling a common love for a girl long gone, someone we had all read and heard about. Of respect to all those who struggled to fight the holocaust. Of hatred for the dastardly Fuhrer who was responsible for the inhuman concentration camps

The Van Gogh museum presented us with a similar experience. Here we were all linked by the love of art and empathy for the disturbed life of a genius who had left us all a legacy of paintings to reminisce and admire.

• In London, when I witnessed the overview of the entire city in the London eye...

London Eye

I also had a wonderful time at Madame Tussaud's wax museum, and despite the teeming crowd of over enthusiastic tourists, I did manage to get a few hasty clicks with Mahatma Gandhi and the Queen.

Lesson I learned in London

1.  No matter where you go, you will always find friendly Indians smiling at you, making you feel comfortable in foreign land.
2.  The British might not miss much from India. But they surely love the butter chicken.
3.  The Brits couldn't get heaven on earth. So they opened Thorntons instead.

• In Kovalam, Kerala when we bargained a fantastic boat ride through the marshy back waters...

  

  View from the boat
  

A beautiful opportunity to explore the aquatic life and birds there-the abundant flora and fauna God's own country is blessed with. There was a young couple accompanying us on the ride, and the man turned out to be an ornithologist who was only too happy to identify and explain about the varied species of birds we saw. However, this did rob the local boatman of his share of attention as all doubts and queries were now directed towards the young specialist instead of him.

• In Brussels, we were only too happy to reach in time for the annual 'flower carpet' festival...

Grande Place - Brussels

It was a beautiful sight to behold, with the whole of Grande Place carpeted with brightly coloured flowers in full bloom. The mannequin piss and other tourist attractions faded in comparison, hence proving that nature has its own way of impressing mankind. Be it  the wonders of weather or the sights of Spring, we can never beat it at its game. The magnificent experience of the 'flower carpet' festival only accentuated the feeling of comfort as I sunk my teeth into fresh, hot, made-to-order waffles and crepes, reinforcing my belief that food forms the deepest connections in the most wonderful ways. From butter chicken to waffles to scones and cream. From the simple to the complex. We are bound to each other by the tips of our taste buds. And as scientifically improbable as it may sound, I still think there must surely be a special undiscovered relation between our taste buds and our heart strings.

• When we visited the artisans of Dandasahi...

The Pattachitra I bought--- 'Dasha Avatar'

Located 12 kms from Puri, Dandasahi is a small village in Odisha renowned for its craftsmanship and artistic talent. I visited 'Ananta Maharana Gurukul' and was left mesmerized by its famous art of 'Pattachitra' paintings. The canvas for these paintings is mostly cloth, and the colors used are natural made from seashells, powdered stone, soot, leaves etc. Stone carving, papier mache, mask making are other dying arts that need to be preserved as a part of our heritage. Interacting with these craftsmen in Dandasahi made me realize that talent does not discriminate or differentiate. It is distributed without any bias. These craftsmen may be financially backward but are blessed by Goddess Saraswati. They were only too happy to showcase their work and talk to me about it. Their work was their passion. So much so that even though it may not make their pockets jingle, it surely made their faces beam. I bought a couple of paintings and left the place feeling positively inspired.

With that, I come to the end of this post. I have loads of stories to regale, myriad more experiences to reminisce about, but I think we will keep them for another day. Globe trotting has invariably taught me countless lessons, thus showing me how much I still have to learn. It has made me far more open minded...about things, people, and their opinions. It has taught me to approach new people, embrace their thoughts, listen to their views, and understand them better. I have met and conversed with various people during my trips. But each person, each place has its own unique quality and something special to share, making me believe that the world is such a colossal sea of experiences and knowledge, and I am but a mere speck.

However, every journey till date has inadvertently made me understand one thing about life---we are all in this together; working towards a common goal, exploring the world, discovering one another, and perhaps leaving a small part of ourselves wherever we go, with whomever we meet along the way. That way, we are all connected, each bearing a piece of each other within ourselves---each a part of that one big story.
So be gentle to everyone you meet along the way. Walk a few steps together. Share some smiles. And make lots of memories...

Life is this huge unpredictable adventure, part beautiful, part scary. We are all travelers on the same road, heading towards the same destination, with no one road map. We are all fighting the same battles, nursing similar wounds, and hiding matching scars. Sometimes we stumble and fall. The trick is to learn...always learn. Making notes may feel exhausting at times.
But never forget; Adventure is out there! 
And with the right balance of compassion, positive attitude, and will to explore, we can unravel all the mysteries of the world.

In the famous words of Mark Twain, 

"Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the things you did. So throw off the bow lines, sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore, dream, discover. 

So let's pack our bags, flip open the camera of our mind, and say yes to the world...
As cohorts....
As co-passengers...
As friends!

Random

You never realize when or how it slips in. But by the time it makes itself evident, it's almost always too late. It has embroiled itself into your life, made its way through the labyrinth of your thoughts, and depending on how it shapes, is destined to liberate or destroy you. You attempt to ignore it, perhaps even succeed for a while. But then it comes right back, gnawing at your neurons, demanding your attention, distracting you off the imperative in your life until you allow it to hold you by the hand and lead the way. Even then it is seldom satisfied. It does not rest until it has consumed you completely. You are tempted to give in. Tempted to see where it will take you. But you resist. Moments of incertitude and self-doubt begin to creep in. Should you or shouldn't you?

Eventually you learn. It teaches you to channelize, focus, and finally surrender. Fighting it is futile. It's not leaving, and that only means it's meant to stay.

You cannot kill an idea once it has made a home in your head!

V for 'VIBGYOR'

As a child, I'd never seen a rainbow for real. But I remember dreaming about one.
I'd memorise the different colors and wonder if they could be shifted and mixed. I'd wonder if one color drained into another when it rained, like the way my water colors would when I dipped my paintbrush in a palate of water for a little too long. I'd fantasise about collecting pieces of coloured rainbow falling from the sky. I'd even dream of  eating them---savouring their taste which I'd imagine would be akin to Poppins, the popular multi coloured hard candy available those days.

But my flights of fancy were soon to end, and one day, I finally witnessed a real rainbow. There it was, peeping at me from behind the clouds, sharing the same sky as the golden sun. I immediately started counting it's colors. But I could hardly discern all seven. This rainbow was nowhere like the mesmerising one I'd seen in books and animations, the one that my childish imagination had fallen in love with. I felt duped...cheated, sold off an inferior quality version when all I'd wished and prayed for was the VIBGYOR of my dreams.  My brain and heart, all of seven years, felt terribly let down. And that is when I first realised that reality is never as beautiful as you hope and imagine it to be.

Later in life, I learned that most things are like that. Expectations are often braced with disappointment. But human as we are, we never really learn.
Even now, there are days when I still expect that rainbow, all bright and flashy with seven strips of color and leprechauns flying over it. But soon enough, reality strikes making me feel heavily disappointed and disillusioned.

Nevertheless, the child in me still believes!
When the world is whitewashed of joy and I see no hopeful hues, I reach out to that imaginary rainbow I'd first witnessed in books and animations; the one I'd fallen in love with, the one that set the bar so high that reality couldn't  match up to it, the one I still adorn and immortalise with my words and imagination from time to time---My VIBGYOR with all its colors intact, perhaps waiting at the end of this mystifying yet  magical experience called life.

__________________________________________________________
V for 'VIBGYOR' is the twenty-second post in the 'A-Z Series' of posts, a chain of scribbles by me on topics starting with each alphabet of the English language. Read back and forth for the other posts, and please feel free to contribute your thoughts on the subject.

Dated March 11th 2017

My happy place

I have always been a gypsy. My family tells me, as a kid, I'd find it difficult to sit still. They'd try to tempt me with chocolates and toys. But no amount of bribing or coddling would ensure my immobility (unless I was asleep of course, the only time my family could catch some much deserved rest).
So there I was, a curious little brat, stopping in the middle of the street to watch couples fight, peeping over tables at restaurants and solemnly pointing out to food stuck in between teeth of the diners, peering at kids my age get excited over toy trucks and doll houses, and keeping my folks on their toes with my suspicious silence and sneaky disappearances.
Nothing could hold my attention from wavering for long though. I'd soon want to move on to some other thrill. Perhaps it was a keen sense of learning, an unquenchable thirst of adventure that propelled me forward, or perhaps I was just born that way, a curious cat searching for new possibilities in everything she saw and in everyone she met.

Growing up didn't help much either. Of course, I had my share of fun like all other children my age. But I was still distracted. The constant search for something else...something more...something different was on. There were days I wanted to slip away from the harsh wrath of reality into a cushy zone that could truly make me happy. A private space that would give me the comfort of home, and yet satiate my hunger for adventure, rejuvenate my spirit, and set the world in magical motion. Some place I'd leave with the silent promise of returning as soon as possible, and wait and want to go back again.

In hindsight, perhaps the quest for such a thrilling adventure land would have started and ended in my overactive imagination if it wasn't for my older sibling. It was she who got my interest piqued, and much to my chagrin, proved to be my 'Pole star' guiding me into the 'Narnia' of my imaginings, a wonderland that actually existed outside my dreams and made me instantly fall in love with it.

My happy place was right there---in my very own house. How exciting, I thought. It had a special login system. I could enter it from literally anywhere in the world. I felt like a happy snail, content in carrying it's home on its back. My 'happy place', full of surprises, would be furnished differently every time. The moment I entered, I'd be subjected to beautiful revelations, scintillating surprises, and needless to mention, oodles of adventure waiting for me.

I would never tire out here. My intrigue and interest would soar with every visit, and I'd come back for more every single time, just like I'd imagined. This was exactly the kind of happiness that I'd imagined, and I'd finally found a place that warranted it for keeps.

Since there, I've always been visiting. I spend hours at a stretch there. Sometimes, the entire day. At times, the whole night. The interior keeps changing, but that gives me the opportunity to live a million lives. Perhaps that is the secret---the provision of a chance to break off from the drudgery of a mundane reality and experience life in another persons shoes, if only for a while.
As a child, I loved eating alphabet soup. I remember sieving the noodle-letters and eating them first. The enthusiasm for the vegetable broth would eventually fade, and I'd try to find reasons to skip finishing my dinner. But during that brief period of strain-sieve-swallow, I'd be happily lost in the jumble of words formed from the alphabets in my soup.

Years later, words still brings me the same kind of joy I'd experience as a child. As the popular maxim goes, 'Old habits die hard'. I open my bag and fish out my current read. A small voice from between the pages beckons me, causing my heart to flutter and fly.

It's time for the snail to disappear into its cocoon. It's time for me to slink into my happy place.

Woh beete din yaad hain...

Do you remember who you were before the world told you who you should really be?

Time...how quick it slips away like a fistful of sand from between your fingers. Days change to weeks, months, years and decades, and it feels as if it all happens in an instance. Behold! We are seen as another generation, the older generation...the generation from yester year...

Today, as I see teenagers moving around in funky branded apparels, carrying the latest versions of iPhones and iPads in hand, bragging to their friends about their latest possession back home-the new PlayStation, the new plasma flat screen TV, and sporting designer haircuts, I cannot help but reminisce about the good old days when life was adorned with simplicity and fun.

Those who grew up in the 80's and 90's will surely connect and enjoy the fragrance of nostalgia of these magical moments in this golden casket of memories. Let's have a quick peep inside, shall we? L

Lets take a long walk down that familiar memory lane...

Do you remember our school days...when life revolved around homework, class work, report cards, and picnics. We didn't have to worry about salaries and pay checks. If we did not fare well one term, we would work harder the next. Our only worry then would be about getting our report cards signed. In today's busy struggle, where have those days of innocence disappeared? Now every waking moment is burdened with the thought of an upcoming deadline. Project reports have to be signed. There are hardly any picnics, and praying. Our prayers keep getting more and more selfish by the day. A better pay check, an increase in allowance, better job prospects...these expectations have caused our priceless memories to be buried under a thicket of stresses.

Yet, the  childhood innocence we once possessed does not fail to bring a smile on our lips.

Do you recall those good old days?

• The grey and white school uniforms that would often turn a muddy brown after sports class as compared to the plump, lethargic kids in crisp white uniforms and PS2 clutched in hand.

• The neatly polished canvas shoes we took out time to polish every morning, 

• The plastic or steel tiffin box with the small triangular bread-jam sandwiches or roti sabji that we would share with our best friend, and the brightly colored 'Hello Kitty' water bottles (with the straw that we'd chew more than we'd sip on) that later progressed to 'Milton' water bottles in sober shades.

• The Camlin geometry set (the ruler and protractor from which we'd have a tough time safe guarding).
  
• the green & white fragrant Chinese pencil erasers we used to take such great pride in, the tiny crayon box that usually had not more than seven crayons, those Apsara and Natraj (and special 'Pinky', 'Rainbow' and 'Turbo' pencils for exams.)

• Wearing plastic raincoats and gum boots and still reaching school half drenched, secretly hoping the teacher would tell us to go back home.

• Returning home everyday after school to watch our favorite soaps. (Remember 'Shanti', 'Swabhiman', 'Vikram aur Betaal'). How can we forget Sundays when we would sit glued to the TV set to watch the epic 'Mahabharat', and other favorites like 'Chandrakanta', 'Potli Baba ki', 'The Jungle Book' (Remember the title track? You are humming it right now, arn't you? Haww!). 
• 
• Sometimes homework would be completed while sneaking a peek at on going commercials. The famous 'Humara Bajaj', 'Vicco Turmeric, 'Gold Spot, 'Titan', and last but not the least, the Parle G' ad ("humko pata hai jee,") had some of the most unforgettable tracks during our time.

• The untainted enthusiasm to write with an ink pen (the classic golden capped 'Hero' fountain pen). More than the calligraphy, it was the sucking ink in and out of the Camel inkpot with it (that we proudly referred to as 'filling ink') that interested us. We didn't mind our ink covered fingers, the occasional blots of smudged ink on our notebooks, and the fragile nibs that when pressed too hard were susceptible to snapping. We were young, bold and brash. We were ready for adventure, even if it meant getting our spotless white uniforms blue.

• No birthday party was ever complete without the latest Bollywood tracks being played on the tape recorder. Audio and video cassettes that have now been replaced by dvd's were a rage back then. Birthday gifts would be pretty predictable too-'Barbie' accessories for girls and He-man or a 'GI Joe' set for boys, until they were old or curious enough for a 'Tell me why' encyclopedia.

With a 3kg school bag slumped over our shoulders, we traversed school life without complaining. There was the regular glass of Complan or Boost that provided us instant energy. But the real reason of our enthusiasm back then was we enjoyed everything we did. We did not brag about flashy cars and expensive games. Life was simple. We were happy with having similar accessories---matching book covers, labels, tiffins and water bags. There was no distinction amongst us. Today, as I see school kids sipping on Gatorade and Diet Coke, comparing cars their parents come to pick them up in, I can't help but smile at how things have changed.

It is said, that the taste of childhood is never forgotten. That is the precise reason why a lot of chefs and culinary experts strive to create the exact same magic their taste buds had once experienced.
The world is constantly changing. But how can we forget...

• Toffees like Melody, Lacto King, Poppins, Kismi Toffee Bar. Tiger mint (the mint without the hole), phantom cigarettes,Mango Bite, Pan Pasand.
  
• Drinks like Appy, Frooti, Gold Spot, Citra and Seven-Up (Remember Fido Dido, with the noodle hair?)

• Those cream filled wafer biscuits (in strawberry, pineapple and chocolate flavors).

• Another fond memory of childhood is 'Pepsi'. I'm not sure how many of you have had this, but for me this was the case of the forbidden fruit. There would be a guy selling 'pepsicola popsicles'-frozen pepsi in cheap plastic wrappers that we'd suck at until we drained it of the last drop--in different colors and flavors just outside my school. My mum had warned me against eating it, since I being a sickly kid back then was extremely susceptible to throat infections after having any kind of street food. So as the rules goes, if mom didn't want me to eat it, it HAD TO BE eaten. So I'd save up my pocket money and sneak out from school and indulge in every 'pepsicle' possible....until the day Mum caught me red handed. (by that time, I was bored of it anyway.)
  

• Rasna---the quintessential drink in every household. The Indianized version of 'Tang'. Of course, we all loved it.

• Ice creams by Kwality, Yummy and Joy which then got replaced by Vadilals and Dinshaws. I particularly remember loving this 'Push-Up' ice cream that was available in the 80's. Tutti Frutti was another favorite. 
  

I could go on and on forever. The joys of childhood are so simple and yet so difficult to encapsulate in a single post (I plan to write more in this series). I am sure kids of today will look back at their own childhood some day and have their own sweet memories to cherish. Perhaps they as adults (just like us now) would find their childhood to be far less complicated too. Perhaps somewhere down the line, in another 20 years or so, someone would be writing a blog (hopefully blogging will continue even then) post about how obsolete ipads are, and how much fun their childhood was with them around then. I can imagine a hundred odd kids adults experiencing pangs of nostalgia on reading it. Life will go on...
As for us, we will always miss that wonderful phase of life when we did whatever we wanted without the fear of being judged, when we didn't spend the entire day texting on phone, or updating messages on social networks, when we did not care about how we looked, when the only 'hurt' we knew was when we would graze our knee while playing tag, when friendship meant sharing your favorite chocolate with your buddy, when we believed in fairy tales......

However, these souvenirs---memories of a childhood long gone by will keep springing up from time to time gently reminding us of a life we once led...the simple life!

Together from the start...

They say we can repress certain memories if we want to. I sometimes wonder if that is really possible at all. How does one forget to remember?
Perhaps we can jumble up our memories...like fix them in order of preference, pretty much like a jigsaw. Change the sequence, shuffle the deck, do what you want--some memories just fail to leave you. They become a part of you.

One of the most memorable moments in my life revolves around my best friend, Rashmi. It's rather bizarre, the way we became friends. I was the shy intern, she was a senior resident.
It was during one of my postings. I was doing my internship then. Dr A.K, a senior consultant in the department, had just returned after six long years in the United States. Suave, smart and American accented, he was the talk of the whole department. He was in his early fifties, a perfectionist in his work, and a seemingly mild mannered person. We interns did not have to interact much with him, except for the rare occasions when he decided to hold group discussions.
I had a very good impression of Dr A.K until he started calling me to his cabin a little more frequently. Initially I would ignore this, but as days went by, I started finding his behavior a little odd. Amidst sniggering co-interns and embarrassed patients, he would compliment me on my attire. He would ask me to leave aside my case history and assist him in another case. I was aware that his behavior was getting really weird. Besides he was a senior consultant, and a person of his caliber did not usually take interest in teaching interns. But those were the days when I was naive enough to believe that decency has something to do with age, and that all men your father's age must see you as a daughter (now I know better). Hence I would go to his office when called and listen to what he had to tell me (usually an elaborate textbook concept that did not need any explanation but would consume a lot of time) This happened for a couple of weeks.
They say every girl/woman possesses this innate gut instinct that alerts her of anything fishy. My intuition warned me to stay away from Dr A.K. I started bunking clinics on days when his unit would take ward rounds. I exchanged duties with interns from other departments. I feigned headaches. I avoided him like the plague.

This went on for several days until all hell broke loose the day Dr A.K asked the peon to examine a new admission and present the case to him. The memory still manages to get my blood boiling. I remember me stepping into his cabin with the patient. He asked the patient to leave and told me that he wanted me to present the case without the patient. (This was when the warning bell in my brain went on) As soon as I started reading from the file, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and called out to the peon outside, asking him to shut the door on the pretext of the OPD being too noisy and not allowing him to concentrate on the case. With the door closed, Dr A.K got up from his seat and walked towards me. There was something about his smile and the look in his eyes that made me shudder.  Alarm bells were clanging in my head by then. My palms had turned sweaty, my pulse was racing. Without thinking any further, I made a dash towards the door.
"Sir, I have forgotten one of the case sheets in the OPD," I said, pretending to shuffle the papers in hand.
Before the a**ehole could even respond, I pushed the door open and scurried away.

That was when Dr Rashmi Kamath stopped me. Dr Rashmi was the senior resident in the department, the only female resident amongst a group of six doctors. Looking at my face, she had sensed something was wrong.
"Is everything alright?" she asked me.

It was then that I couldn't bottle it anymore. Fear, panic and anger were bubbling within me. I burst out into angry sobs.

"Shh...Let's go to the canteen. We can talk there," she comforted me.

While at the canteen, I narrated the whole incident. I also confided in her about my decision to leave internship midway. I had three more months in that department, and Dr A.K would make my life hell. He would see to it that I get an extension....especially when I insulted him by dashing out like that. I panicked. It was better to quit voluntarily...that way I still had a chance to complete my internship elsewhere.

That was when Dr Rashmi told me about her experiences in medical school, of the pressures she had to undergo during her internship year, of the discrimination she had to face being the only female in the PG batch.
"You can't run away like that. You will meet a Dr A.K in every college. You got to stand up and fight. Every step from here on will be a new battle. You will meet people like these at every step. Don't give in, and more importantly don't give up," she said.

The next three hours saw both of us talking like sisters...old friends. Dr Rashmi was no longer just a senior resident. She had become my guide, my confidante, my buddy. She told me she had faced a similar situation due to which she had lost a year. She said she had been a coward, she did not want me to be one. She told me she had realized her mistake a little too late. One year was spent reflecting on decisions, sorting priorities and organizing life.

"Quitting is always the wrong decision. Winners never quit," she told me, as we were just about to leave.

I was feeling better after having spoken to her. I had finally opened up to someone who seemed to understand what I was going through...who had once been there herself.  Dr Rashmi's encouraging words lit a spark of positivity in me. Dr A.K was in the wrong, I did not have anything to be afraid of. I would not give up, I decided.

As we re-entered the hospital corridors, Dr A.K crossed our paths. A wave of nervousness hit me. Perhaps I still needed time. He still managed to unnerve me. Dr Rashmi noticed that. Holding my hand, she went up to Dr A.K.

"Hello Sir. I have been noticing you are taking special interest in our intern batch. I would want to relieve you of that burden. From tomorrow, they will present their cases to me. I hope that is okay with you."

"Er..uh..Y..Yes...why not?" Dr A.K fumbled. His gaze shifted from me to Dr Rashmi. It was his turn to be nervous now. Her choice of words had made him realize that she knew more than he wanted her to know. He knew she was capable of complaining the matter to the dean.
I, on the other hand, had regained my confidence on seeing his displeasure. Dr Rashmi had convinced me that I was not alone. We were in this journey together.

Years passed, but that day's memory is still fresh in my heart.
Today, I am far more bold and self-assured than I once used to be. I have come a long way. Life has taught me to stand up for what I believe in, because nobody else will. I have learned to face my fears, fight my own battles. I have learned to never allow my faith in myself waver.
Dr Rashmi and I are still the best of friends. We lean on each other for professional and personal advice and suggestions, just like best friends should. We are still together in this journey.

Thinking back, it is never the advice that we depend on people for. It is their company that provides that small little nudge that is required to push our life back on track.

And just like that, a life long friendship is born...