loss and longing

the nights are empty and all the emotions that i keep at bay during the day come howling out.

a shrieking banshee lives inside me; the whole day long, i feel her beating her hands against the cage.. i ignore her,

but at night she unlocks the cage and steps out .. she is a creature of the night and reigns until dawn when yet again i push her back down into her prison

another day that i dread to face but must do so. pin on a smile, get busy and manage to forget the utter horror that has overturned life.

the dance of democrazy

i marvel at the fervour that ordinary Indians exhibit in wanting to vote. while the comfortable classes have just now found it fashionable to espouse universal adult franchise, the common man and woman are uncommonly diligent. scene at ward no. 70, shantinagar. the very same place where i found myself in tears last year where despite brandishing my brand new voters ID card, i did not find my name on the list. i was surprised at the strength of my own feeling of deprivation. a couple of days ago, i heard that the list of voters was up at the ward office . the scene was as chaotic - a couple of mild people could not control anyone who snatched various sections of the list to eagerly scan for their names. housewives, old men, busy working people like me who have snatched a crucial half hour off in the morning hoping to avoid queues - the variety of people who want to vote with no urging is amazing.

my 18 year old son was keen to register himself too - gung ho about being a first time voter and we found ourselves redirected to Mayo hall. to save time, we downloaded the form, filled it and leaving him to study for his board exams, i set off to submit the form. reaching the booth, i was told to get a xerox of the filled -up form ( why was this not mentioned on the website? off i went to the other side of the building, and stood in line to hand it over. then i gingerly mentioned that my name was not in the list. the man guffawed and told me to check on the computer inside. if it was not on the list, i would have to register all over again." this time, come with the xerox copy" he he". 

two young guys sat cramped in an airless office, the old ceiling fan hung motionless from the high ceiling. while the rest of us lined up, a society dowager with ayah in tow, scorned the masses. she clutched a chair and kept repeating every few minutes, " please check for my name". i exercised strong self restraint and quelled the urge her to get outside and join the line. mercifully, my turn came quickly; the youth listened smilingly when i told hi my tale of woe. " my voters Id has my dad's name as my husband; puts me on a street that i do not know; but i don't mind - i just want to find my name". he clicks , finds nothing. senses my anxiety and smiles again . and presto - my name comes up. he scribbles on a piece of paper and says," madam, on election day, go with this paper and your voters ID card. don't worry this time you can vote". 

despite the bitter burden of our politicians, isn't it marvellous that so many of us still believe in our power to change? Jai Hind!

premier book shop's last hurrah

the end of an era. good old premier book shop is closing down and it feels like the death of a good old friend. shopping for books will never be the same again; never mind if there are other book stores that are huger, have better displays and yes, even offer better bargains.

the quietly amused mr.shanbhag had a stranglehold on my heart - from cheeking me for picking up chicklit on wind-down weekends to saving the latest alexander mccall smith to stocking the latest harry potter- which i could pick up for my son and his friends without the angst of queueing up at dawn-, to keeping my selection hastily called out on the phone ready to pick up enroute to the airport - premier was the place which i loved for its sheer unpretentiousness.

it was like visiting a slice of the past - a golden opportunity to push aside the curtain and step back into mellow times 

its goodbye finally - for a while now , my friday evening/ saturday afternoon book buying binges at premier followed by a pint or two at the nightwatchman next door  - with the tastiest masala peanuts- had been winding down. can't help missing the haze of smoke in this good ol' pub as unfussy as the bookshop next door, with great music and v proper waiters who kept an eye out for you.

the times, they are a-changing....