Please come home...

Life is never easy, just when you think all the i's are dotted and all the t's are perfect, life reaches out and washes away all the markings leaving you with a handful of memories.

This isn't a story and this is way too close to my heart. My maternal uncle has been missing since 4/14/09.







My uncle is a chief engineer with ESSAR shipping. His vessel was docked at Haira port, Surat. The last time anybody saw him was probably at 1am on 12th April when he was seen going to his room. Except for his shoes and the clothes he was wearing, all his other personal belongings were intact in his room onboard the vessel, so its assumed that he left with what he was wearing.

He had asked to be relieved from duty, a couple of days prior to his disappearance but he had not been relieved since they were waiting on a replacement for him. With what I have been informed, the vessel leaves the port at night and docks back at 5 am. He was discovered as missing at 7 am when someone from crew went to go fetch him for breakfast.

My parents who live in Mumbai, India have posted advertisements in local newspapers. They have also tried to contact news channels with no success. The police are doing what they can but there have been no leads so far. Please pass this link on to as many people as you can, maybe someone can help us with a lead.

When all else fails, hope and faith is what keeps us going.

Say what ?

Ever felt like just hitting somebody upside the head and asking them SAY WHAT NOW!

Proctor & Gamble has a new slogan for their line of Always maxipads - "Have a happy period" . They probably didn't realize the word happy and period are oxymoron's and don't go along in a sentence together.

If you are a guy and are married or have a girlfriend yada yada yada you probably know this by now and if you are a girl, then you probably agree that someone needs to bitchslap the person who wrote this slogan upside their head.

Well I'm a stayfree girl, don't ask me why, something's in life are unexplainable. Finding the right pad is like finding the perfect position to sleep or the right amount of sugar in a cuppa joe or the genteel whiff of perfume that wafts by. Once you get used to a certain something then old habits die hard.

Happy Period. Its hard to envision happiness when you are a leaky pistol from one end of your body and a raving lunatic with raging hormones from the other end. Whoever heard of PMS being a happy state. If bloating is supposed to make me happy why aren't men trying it.

I would have liked it if the slogan had read hope you have a painless period OR making you feel better one day at a time ... something that would describe the comfort that they are trying to offer instead of making it sound like valium.

I just have one question to the innovative be happy writer who could be a half witted guy with his face up a horses mouth or a snort nosed I-know-it-all dumb witted damsel which of you would like to be shoved down the john with my pad first ?

Man do they just eat a bowl of stupid for breakfast everyday !!

The Cataloguer

I am the worlds greatest archive, I process and catalog every nano second of your lives. I haven't won any awards or acclamations so far, they have all gone to you while I wait patiently for you to acknowledge me. I live not far away from you in a dark place with illusions of brightness. I am old but my wrinkles are unfathomable.

I am the one who makes you cry and I can make you smile. I am your friend if you let me be and I am your greatest enemy too. I can protect and I can betray, I chose to be with or without you. I give you your transitory semblance or the modicum of eccentricity that makes you unique. You cannot separate me from you, but bind us and we are a deadly combo. I live your life alongside you.

I am your gateway to the world, a portal connecting your soul and collecting resource. You owe me your understanding and perceptions, your achievements and failures. Generating emotions and senses, creating art that you never even knew existed. I am your drive, your passion for life, your biggest fan and also your greatest critic.

I numb and plague you with past remorse's, I bring in love and you overcome resentment and disappointment. I forward and rewind, flashing back and forth with ease, I keep the flames of desire burning deep. I am your keeper of memories, I am what holds the key. I am ever powerful but yet so weak.
As you read these words today please bear in mind, I reflect who you are and you are just my mere reflection.

I am the human brain***.

I wrote this a while ago for Caferati. As usual I did not make it [make a surprised face as if you were shocked with a can you imagine that expression and it will make mua happy ;-) ]

Jokes apart, there is more talent than one can possibly imagine and I write coz I enjoy it more than anything. Even today, the thrill of waiting for the results is something else, it drives me to bits. I enjoyed it when I was a lil girl, and I absolutely love the feeling even today. I also do cry with the losers and laugh with the winner.

Congrats to all the Caferati finalists and winners.

*** I was almost gonna write what I usually do I am a figment of your imagination (chuckle) but regained my composure at the last second. Tx to my brain that still does good. If it were left to me I would be a goofball, as usual....no surprises there.

The Panwallah's legacy

CIRCA 2008. Ashok Charan Tiwari jingled the last few coins in his pocket. He cursed and kicked a pebble as he waited for the bus. The bank had rejected his application for a loan and that meant his only means of survival was at stake again.

 

 

He opened shop at 8 am and there were his regulars, a pack of wills, banarasi 120, banarasi katha, special mava, sada mava. His body moved mechanically, a couple paid cash and the rest were written down in his little green book as IOU's.

 

 

 

His father, Ram Charan Tiwari had inherited the shop and the clientele in the 70's from his grandfather and later passed it on to him in the 90's.

 

 

 

The city had changed colors over the years but his customers were loyal, ranging from businessmen to college kids. As a kid he had been fascinated by the entire process just watching his dad sing and cater to the customers all day.

Life had been good to him too until last week when the society management had told him that the old building was to be demolished and rebuilt. This meant paying a huge amount to get his shop up and running again.

 

He closed shop at 11pm and took the bus back home. He stared blankly at the parcel in his hand, the hotelier next door had packed goodies for his family. Next day he was back to the grind, making pan and mixing mava's.

 

 

 

 

 

A month passed by and he had to pack the stuff from his shop and get ready for demolition. Some of the junk owned by his grandpa had been untouched for years and he fingered them fondly before he threw them in a box. He would sort these out when he was home, there sure were a lot of books similar to his green one.

 

 

 

Ajay eyed the address on the envelope and wondered what it could be. Strange he thought he never knew a plaintiff by the name of Ashok Charan Tiwari, but the court was demanding a payment of Rs. 32678.33 as the repayment of principal and interest owed. He called his travel agent and booked a flight from Bahrain to Mumbai.

Somewhere in London Pratibha sat sipping high tea and reading the litigation notice sent to her. Apparently the old man had chewed a pan too many and she would have to pay up for it.

Amritha's eyes moistened as she remembered her childhood days, she would often run errands for her uncles fetching them cigarettes and pan. The panwallah had been a kind soul, sometimes laying some sweet gulkand on her palms, on other afternoons he would give her a piece of mint asking her to recite twinkle twinkle for him. Damn! these gas prices had made traveling a pain, she decided to mail a check and an apology.

 

 

Pics are from the net.

My auxiliary memory

~ Sometimes we can write a page and it wouldn't amount to a sentence and sometimes a sentence can speak volumes ~

I had always had a five year plan for everything in life. Five years to graduate from school and land a job, five years to move up the corporate ladder and tie the knot with Abe. Another five and we would have kids. The pages were alive and full, of dates and schedules. Today was the 23rd and according to the yellowed moth eaten pages it would be Joella's birthday today.  I still remember jotting the entry down several years ago. She had been a five year plan and she looked perfect with little feet and hands, blonde hair and blue eyed, waiting to come out of the picture and start cooing.

Our house had been just cozy for the three of us and then Isaac arrived and surprised us. There had been no entry in my diary about him. He had been a contrast to Joella's blonde haired blue eyed look, with dark hair and green eyes. Isaac's arrival threw our lives in a merry hustle bustle and suddenly my diary with its dates and schedules didn't matter after all. Our family had been perfect and complete.

Sometimes old habits die hard and sometimes we wish habits had not changed. Hurry up and get dressed were my last words to Joella and Isaac sixty years ago as I woke them up and got them dressed to be sent away to Holland by the train out of Cologne. Joella and Isaac never made it past the next year. The last I heard, they were being transported to the extermination camps in Poland. Many said they died on route due to extreme heat while others said they were gassed. My babies died alone and probably hungry along with thousands of others that fateful day.

Today as the world prepares to remember the holocaust and celebrate its survivors and watch the commemoration of a poignant train journey that will end, as it did those 60 years ago, at Auschwitz, my 87 year old hands bake a birthday cake for Joella. Isaac, with his dark brown hair and green eyes exists in my memories alone, his pages in my diary are blank and will remain blank forever.

 

Note: Inspired by the tidbits I have read about the holocaust and the fascinating stories of heroism and courage of Jewish parents and kids in a struggle to survive and escape the holocaust.

 

 

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