Charlotte Airport

A lady wearing blue jeans and a pale yellow jacket walks across the Food court area. She is carrying a black background, white polka-dotted handbag on her side. She heads straight for McDonalds and stands in line to place her order. So, that is her favorite amongst all of Pizza Hut, Subway, Quiznos etc. Her standard fall back option. Mine would be Quiznos. (Only because I can expect a decent vegetarian meal from it). Another woman joins the line soon. This time its a a blue shirt over embroidered jeans. Good taste I think. After spending a few hours of shopping in New York over the weekend, my taste for fashion is certainly ignited. I can see myself taking special interest in watching what people wear. I remember we used to do this often as a pastime during our college days, it was a lot of fun. Another woman just crosses my table. She is carrying a multi-colored Jaipuri printed bag. With blue and brown as the foundation colors on the bag, I notice that she wears a coffee colored skirt and a light cream top alongwith it. Everything matches so well. Would she wear any other dress while carrying that bag? Or is she one of those who have a matching bag and a sandal for every dress they own. I see that she also wears a white pearl necklace.

Amidst all this, I hear the siren of a moving cart. There are two old ladies and one young woman sitting on it along with a lady driver. They have a smile on their faces. A smile as if they are class I travelers in a train. Lower class people have to walk on their own feet carrying their luggage. They would also give them way as the cart moves across. All the driver needs to do is blow the siren constantly. But he is patient about it.

A guy comes and parks a cart close to other carts and takes out his 25 cent reward from the machine. My friend F and I exchange a glance. We both think the same thing at the moment. We then start reminiscing about how Tom Hanks earns his money in the movie Terminal. We calculate, 25 cents * 10 (carts) = 2.5 dollars. So, you can at least get one burger a day if you can get hold of ten empty carts and park them here. I go a step ahead and calculate 25 cents * 20 (carts) = 5 dollars. So if he can manage 20 carts then he should be able to get food twice a day. How difficult would it be to manage getting 20 carts in a day, my mind prods. Somehow, I want to settle in my mind that it is not difficult to do that. I want evidence that someone doing this can easily manage to have food at least twice a day. If he remains hungry, it would be sad. I feel a perturbation about it.

By now, I feel a slight pain in my wrist. I realize I am not using any support for the writing. I am scribbling uncomfortably on my lap and my hand posture is not good. Deciding to take a break, while I take a short glance around exercising my wrist, I see people looking at me suspiciously. They seem puzzled about what this woman is upto - looking around and scribbling something constantly. My neighbor even sneaks a peek into my writing but I am sure at the speed with which I scribble, my handwriting is so illegible, that she would only worsen the suspense for herself. For a moment, I feel like a criminal. I try to look normal and make a logical conversation with F. I am not insane or prodding into your lives is the message I want to get across. Finally, I choose to stop writing.

Those treasure hunts

Car keys and I don’t go together. In fact keys and I don’t go together. I can also add that wallet, and cash and hair bands and safety pins and buttons and umbrellas and all that paraphernalia and I, don't go together. We constantly elude each other. We like to play hide and seek. We have a distant relationship. It is some conspiracy of nature, some joke of God, or some repulsive magnetic field thing. Or wait, maybe it’s simply that my mind likes to ponder about bigger things. The higher stuff. Alright, enough of blah. The truth is that I am absent minded and I agree.

Here is something that has often happened with me. I come home with some really important document or key or gadget or anything like that. Of course, my extremely careful self puts that thing in some real safe and logical reasonable place. And then after that my mind forgets about it completely. Now, after a few days or months, the time for fruition comes when that very treasure needs to be retrieved. And the search begins. And ends with the thing nowhere in sight. And then as days pass and one fine evening, I am looking for something else I find my old treasure (it is accompanied by a small private moment of pride and appreciation on what a fine place I had kept it in).

Like it happened last time when I was on my India trip this winter. I had taken my winter jacket and was wearing and flaunting it most of the time. Winters are pretty cold in Delhi although they are nothing compared to US. Anyways, so I was wearing the jacket often. One of those times I noticed that the button on the top front side was loose. I immediately removed it and kept it in a safe place waiting to fix it sometime later. Incidentally, the next few days were warmer and I did not have to wear the jacket. Then one day it became very cold again and I took out my jacket suddenly  remembering that the button had come off. Obviously it had to be fixed now before I put it on. I started to look around for the saved button. After looking around a lot I couldn't find any.

Anyways, I managed the winter there with some other jackets, shawls, pullovers. I knew however, that I was going to take this jacket back to US because it was really a warm and nice one. So, with many more search operations (private ones while faking to look for something else) and no success, I reluctantly bought a whole new set of buttons and got them stitched onto the jacket. Reluctant because the older buttons were really fashionable and went very well with it and I did not find any new ones even nearly comparable in style or look. I eventually settled my mind for this new compromise.

Time flew. Soon the trip ended and I was back in US. As I began to unpack guess what happened? I found the lost button. It was in the handbag I had checked umpteen times before. How you ask? In a way it was in the handbag but in a way it was not. Kind of like Hai bhi aur nahin bhi hai (I am suddenly reminded of the scene in the Bollywood movie Chupke Chupke, where Amitabh is trying to tell Jaya how Corolla is a flower and yet it is not; something like that... that movie is my all time favorite by the way). Let me unravel the mystery quick. So, it was inside that handbag, but it was inside a small purse inside the handbag (kinda small pouch where I keep most of my important stuff like, home keys, some jewelry, important receipts and all that). So, when I searched, I searched in the main big handbag, but not in the bag inside the bag. You see? ... It is really sounding a bit like hai bhi and nahin bhi hai, isn't it? :)

So now, I have the old jacket with the new buttons sewed onto it and the old nicer buttons all safely tucked in some 'safe' place. And … do I know where? Umm... I 'll have to check with my mind and get back to you on that.

Aesthetics

Recently I have been spending some time in brushing up the looks of my blog. It is sure a recreational activity for me. Although the recreation sometimes does overlap with my work time. And then I have to punish myself (cough). The whole process generally begins with one small thing somewhere that catches my fancy like maybe the background color of the blog title. For example, let's say I don't like the grey color because it makes the blog look really dull. Hence, I begin the process of changing the background to something brighter. And that's how it starts.

So, I google for images that would suit my current blog-aesthetics and am elated to find one. Then begins the process of adjusting the template code. Nothing very technical, just change the font-color or background-image url etc. This is followed by checking the preview. The new title background definitely looks brighter and improves the blog's looks, but now the title font-color does not match the title background anymore. So, various combinations are tried which eventually do not remain restricted to the color of the font but also the type of font. At times I also get caught in the flow of creativity (cough cough) and suddenly remember a beautiful font I saw somehwere (which I now want to include in my blog). So, back to googling again.

In fact, this reminds me of my childhood when I would go for shopping, (say to buy shoes) often with a very fixed fantasized image in mind. Would have got the idea perhaps from some movie or magazine. Then in the market I would look for those specific designs and obviously never get what I wanted. The shopkeeper and my parents would try hard to allure me into some other beautiful styles but I would not budge even by an inch. And so another day would be planned for my shopping (this time with some prior instructions and warnings )and I would eventually agree to settle for something. In my later years though, I was encouraged to go for shopping alone. The reasons were never talked about but both parties knew that it was a mutual understanding of no brain racking for them, and total freedom for me. And since then I have enjoyed my singular all-by-myself shopping escapades thoroughly.

Back to topic. Obviously, after spending like 20-30 minutes for some font and being unsuccessful, I give it up and settle for less and decide that's it. No more time on the blog. But when I see the final look of the blog, it still pinches me. So, I decide to start from scratch again. After all there should be some value add for the time lost (cough). With that excuse the timelines get extended again. And this continues till I have wasted enough time and just decide that I have to quit. End of story.

A more regular scenario though, is that I have wasted so much time that the time that is left is no more valuable and so the best choice is to continue what I have been doing. At least be productive in some thing is the bottom-line then. The worst case happens when I decide to blog about it, like now. Then it becomes something on the lines of an extended vacation. The good part being that it completes the process and after that there is really nothing left to do. In short this whole thing is almost an addiction. Just like deciding to take only one peg of whisky in the beginning and then getting tempted to take just a little more and then just a little more more until you and the bottle become one. Whew!

ps: I have changed the title of my blog to Of bamboo and elephant grass. Just got bored of the old one. That's in fact another reason why I indulge in this blog changing thingy. I get bored of things easily. Hopefully, I am going to stick with this look for some time.

A paranoid's account

The decision
She: After contemplating the pros and cons a number of times, "Alright, then I'll go for it".
F: "You can still think about it and get back to me by the evening".
She: "No, I think it should be okay. These days sunrise is pretty early so 5:00 am would not be bad. By the time I am there, it would be bright already."
F: "Okay then, we'll see you soon".

The conversation ends there. A decision has been made. There is still an uncanny feeling but she brushes it off. Recently moved from India taking a cab at night is a big deal. Or not. She is brave. 'It's all in your mind', she comforts herself. The day goes in reading, planning and packing. There is excitement about meeting old friends.

Calling the cab
Soon it is evening. There is call from F again and whatever jitters remain calm down. Time to call the cab guy (CG).

She: "Hi, I need a cab at 5:00 am in the morning to go to the airport"
CG: "What address?"
She: "260, Milson Rd, Apt A-7, Drexton."
CG: "See you in the morning ma'am", in a gleeful, high spirited voice.

Did the driver sound too friendly? Now he knows that there is a woman who is travelling alone in the morning in the dark. Even if it's morning, it's as dark as night. The am or pm doesnt really matter, does it? Was it a wrong decision?

The phone rings again, its mom's sweet voice and there is peace. Time to sleep.

Morning jitters
Wakes up an hour before the alarm is supposed to ring. A bad dream. An uneasy feeling. Can this be an indicator that something bad is going to happen? Her intuition is strong. But she is also paranoid, she knows. She again brushes off the negative thoughts and focuses on the chores.

Its 4:50 am. She is ready. The phone rings.

Caller: "Did you call for a cab for the morning?"
She: "Yes."
Caller: "I am at Wilson st. Do I need to take a turn ...", asks for directions.
She: "...." gives directions.

After 5 minutes, phone rings again.

Caller: "Baby, I am here, waiting for you outside."
She: "Okay, I 'll be there in a couple of minutes."

It's a weird male voice. He addresses her "Baby" without even meeting. That's eerie. Anyways, she musters all her courage, remembers all the Gods, locks her door and walks up to the cab. It is dark outside. Very dark.

The Close shave
Driver: "Hi" in a feminine voice.
She: "Hi" a pleasantly surprised voice after knowing the cab driver is female.

But wait, she looks really weird. She is bulky. Curly hair, lot of make up on the face and heavy jewellery. Why would she wear all this? The fears are now coming back. Shake it off, woman, she says to herself and tries to make a conversation. She knows that is her only chance to make her feel better. Otherwise, her mind is going to cook stories of its own.

She: "So, you had to wake up early in the morning to pick me up?" trying to sound like one with a sense of humor.
Driver: "Oh no not really." And then she turns back and makes a weird face and smiles sarcastically, "you know, I am a night driver. I like to travel in the night. No one around. Empty streets."
She: Gulps and manages a bleek "Oh ok", but the stress on the word night has shaken her to the core.

There is silence. Butterflies in stomach. Trying hard to brush weird thoughts aside. Suddenly the cab turns to a street that would go on to meet the freeway. It is a two miles long stretch. There is forest on both sides and the empty road. And darkness. All noises would be easily muffled. What chance does she have if the driver stops the car onto the side and decides to be hostile. Heard of being at the wrong place at the wrong time? The 80% forest area in NC was only beautiful in the day, she thought. At night, she would prefer to be in the ever busy streets of Manhattan, NY.

More butterflies. If bad is going to happen anyways, it rather happen now. Make a conversation. Dig deeper. Face the truth, now!

She: "Are you taking Gorman to I-40?"
Driver: A curt "Yes", in a matter of factly tone, as if she knows what she is doing and she does not want to reveal more.

She musters her courage again and tries to break the silence.

She: "So, how long have you been in Drexton?"
Driver: "Quite a while actually. I came here many years ago. So its been a long time, yeah." Sounds a little warm this time and real.
She: "Ok. So do you like it here?" trying to sound cool hiding her shakiness.
Driver: "Umm .. yeah ... actually yes. Its a nice small place. Its warm. Nice people."

'Nice people' she said. She likes nice people. That sounds comfortable! But it's still dark. Some more conversation would help.

She: "Yeah. I like it too here", sounding as amicable as possible, trying hard to connect.
Driver: "Do you study here? Going for vacation for Easter haan?"
She: Getting comfortable now, and genuinely interested in the conversation for a change, "Yeah, I am here with my husband, studying ... Going to friends on the long weekend..."
Driver: "You married so young?"
She: Clarifying, "Well, I turned 30 this year. That isnt so young."
Driver: "Oh ..I have two daughters in their 20's ... like you my older one doesn't look her age ...".
She: "..."
Driver: "..."

Back to good old days
Soon the passenger discovers that the driver is not a threat to her life after all. In fact she is a nice benign person who knows about the Indian "Chapatti", "Parantha", "Tandoori chicken". Add to that she has also learnt a few words in Hindi through her Indian friends. She is from Kenya. There is a regular mention of her family during the conversations. In between, she cracks a joke or two and chuckles. Her laughter is no more evil. It is genuine, innocent and carefree. Even infectious. So much for the paranoia and the butterflies. The rest of the 20 minutes are plane friendly chat. They wish each other Happy Easter. They also discuss how they wonder why Easter was on a Sunday when it is supposed to be on the third day after Good Friday, which should be a Monday. They both feel strongly about it, but let it go. Soon they are at the airport. She leaves her card and says anytime they need a cab she could be their personal driver. They wish each other good luck and happy vacations. The driver gets a good tip.

So maybe the lady driver likes to travel in the night because there is no traffic after all, she contemplates in a light mood during the flight. On reaching her destination she shares this account with friends. They find this atrociously funny and unbelievable. They cannot understand how someone can be so paranoid.


It happens.