Designer, in training.

Today was the first day of my second Typography class of the week. Went to the first one yesterday, but learned the same evening that I was being kicked out of it since there had been a glich with the system and the student who's seat I had grabbed was dropped out of that class mistakenly. Lucky me is back in the same night class I had so elegantly dodged. Oh well. The evening class dude seems cool and dedicated and I feel I wouldn't mind not reaching home until after 10 O'clock every Thursday if my sixth sense is sensing it right.

While going over typography nomenclature in class, we hit river, orphan and widow. Immediately I went from partly paying attention and partly dozing off to completely recalling my high school years when I wasted most of my time trying to avoid these exact things while trying to write scholarly essays and satires that went above and beyond the expectations of Mr. Kirk and Ms. Schernekau.

It makes me happy.

And it makes me sad.

Then I come back to reality and accept the fact.

Happy because I've always had this in me. Naturally.

Sad because I didn't know what it meant. 'cause no one could point me towards the direction in my head.

And then I accept it, because I'm here now. And it's not too late. Not too late to fret at all.

:)

arre bhaiya all iz well

An A/C Less Summer. May be.

I love the sound and feel of a fan. It takes me back to the summers spent in our [less than] mediocre home in Model Town, Delhi. Lying on the cool farsh (floor), staying protected from loo-full afternoons, drinking Thumbs Up poured from [dirty, recycled] 500ml glass bottles while watching Chhutti-Chhutti.

Atlanta weather, this year, has been playing a game of finally hot! nope, chili again :P in the middle of May. So chili that it demands a sweatshirt and so hot that it makes you wanna strip. Either way, the central heating or air conditioning at Punti's stays put at "off." During the hot part of the summer, comes out the fan along with nostalgia and both him and I indulge in reminiscing conversations of our separate - yet similar - childhood summers :)

Atithi Devo Bhava (A Guest is a Reflection of God)

A lot has been going on since November 2008. I guess, it all began from and [in a way] was a result of the India trip.

I finally got a chance to visit India after 7 years, 3 months, and 10 days. I left India in 2001 and hadn't been back since. For the first 4 or 5 years I really missed the life I had back home, after that I think I lost all hope and just let it be. Forcing myself to believe that everything was in the past and didn't matter anymore. But this belief - of making peace with the circumstances and moving on - was shattered completely when on the evening of November 13, 2008 I checked in my baggage, cleared security, boarded flight NW8622, buckled myself in, and tweeted the following:

Sitting in seat 37J. 15 more minutes till departure. I AM GOING TO INDIA! Seems unreal.

Yes, I was immensely excited and whole heartedly looking forward to go on bumpy rides in small cars, zig-zag through traffic while sitting on a motorcycle, inhale large amounts of car exhaust, go hours without electricity at a time, ride in a whole lot of public modes of transportation, eat street side food, haggle for everything with everyone, being proactive for the littlest things - be it crossing the road in traffic or buying something in a crowded place where the concept of lines did not exist. I wanted to meet people and visit places that used to be a part of me. Family, friends, neighbors, teachers, home, school, local markets, temples, parks, everything! I wanted to re-see everything.

However, at the same time, I somehow did not have any expectations with anyone or anything. I've known for some time that I despise the word and the concept of expectation. But I, Geetali, actually practicing non-expectation-ness and not being a hypocrite was realized in full swing in India, probably during the last week. Whole idea of zero expectations, having nothing on the agenda, and just going with the flow is probably what made the trip so full of surprises and an ultimate memorable experience.

Overall, my 5-6 weeks in India were Amazing! Rewarding. Refreshing. Energizing. Full of fun, laughter, appreciation, respect, conversations, realizations. I enjoyed each and every second spent with each and everyone. I was amazed by how happy people were to see me and spend time with me. Their willingness to get to know me and efforts of helping me out with transportation and planning my whereabouts, left me with nothing but appreciation and respect and love. The people who swept me off my feet came from every city I visited and every group I met. Several people left me spellbound and I think their actions changed me in a way. I can't help but continue to feel that the Geetali that landed in India was not the same Geetali that left India.

The last week, I saw myself doing things that I would never have done before. I cancelled plans with friends to spend time with family. Given that I wasn't in Delhi forever and obviously felt more comfortable with people my own age, I can't help but go WTF! when I think I blew off friends to spend time with my father's siblings. But I did it. And I enjoyed it. When nani asked me a question the night before my return flight - the same question that left me furious several weeks ago - I listened to her, inside me a throbbing realization that she's concerned because she cares; I answered calmly, logically, maturely. The very next second - after 1) Deciding to spend time with family and not friends. and 2) Answering nani's question - I thought back to what I had just done. I sat there, amazed and proud, with the hopes of never going back to the person I was 5-6 weeks ago.

I believed in some things before but while in India I saw those in practice and they made me an even stronger believer. Little things that sometimes don't even require a lot of extra effort can make someone feel so special and appreciated. Being welcoming and treating people nicely equally rewards both the receiver and the provider. Memory is a great fuckin' tool and if you remember the right thing, you can make a person feel week in her knees.

My prep grade teacher - from SEVENTEEN years ago - remembered my name, face, my parents' occupations, and my younger sibling. Damn!

One of my grandmother's colleagues was shocked that I specially came to see her. The kiss that she landed on my forehead and the blessings she gave me with both her hands placed on my head were more than enough to convey her emotions.

Friends alternating their daily schedules to sync with mine, traveling with me within or out of city, and making me feel so much at home made me realize that in some cases distance and time doesn't really matter.

Three different groups of relatives willing to take me to the airport the night of my flight. Either trying to get rid of me asap :) ...or trying to make sure I'm comfortable throughout. Seriously, I don't know what to say.

Yeah, India was Amazing! But, India didn't feel like home anymore. At every step I was reminded that I'm an outsider, a visitor, a non-resident. For the first two weeks I felt like a complete alien. The moment my flight touched base with Atlanta, I looked out the window and thought, "Back to work!"

India was a vacation, not home. Now, I really have come to terms with it.

Three Weeks...

3 airport visits
1 arrival, 2 departures
2 vacations, 1 for good
4 adults, 1 infant
8 huge luggage's, 7 carry ons
a lot of hugs, a bit of sentiments
...and then, they were gone...

Mood: Sound of Silence, lyrics here.

Maa Tujhe Salaam! - II

Figured out something after 12-14 years.

While standing in the balcony, I saw a kid-mom combo strolling around the apartment complex. The next thing I see, the mother is running and the kid is trying to catch her. Reminded me of my bachpan. We - Mom, Hansag, and I - used to do the same. And just like this kid today, Hansag and I could never catch mom either. It never made sense to me back then. I mean, she's a MOTHER for god's sake! How can she be fast and tricky and all. She used to tire us out, ending up winning herself.

But today, the mystery unfolded in front of my eyes. It's pretty simple, I don't know why it never made sense to me back then. Well, adults are taller and can cover a greater distance with just one leap. DUH! One adult step, equals two or three kid steps. It always made sense to me when walking, but not when running. Reason? Simple. You walk beside your parents... but don't run beside them in a park, when playing.

Another Salaam goes out to the Birthday Woman (IST)!

Maa Tujhe Salaam!

Seeing Tripty and Siya today reminded me of Mom. The way Tripty was playing with her little daughter, and the way Siya was enjoying everything her mom was doing. From playing drums on Siya's back, to tickling her until she couldn't laugh anymore. From giving her enough time to catch on her breath, to doing the round-circles-on-hand followed by fingers-running-up-the-arm to make the excited Siya laugh a little more.

Of course, I don't remember any such playful moments from eighteen years ago, when I was two. But I can bet on my life - literally - that I had several of those. Make that numerous. Countless actually!

I remember when Hansag and I were old enough to start building memories for a lifetime. Back then they didn't seem so beautiful, or something to hold on to... but now, unfortunately, they're all I have left.

This is something that happened probably everyday around second or third grade. Our bedtime was something around 8 PM (or maybe 7, who knows).. but neither Hansag or I could fall asleep that early. To pass time we used to talk, or have a fighting match on the bed (the bed being the ring), or call in mom every five minutes and ask her for a glass of water. After drinking every drop, we'd ask for more. Two glasses were more than enough to make our tummies feel full again. So, we'd just stand up on the bed and hug and kiss her for several minutes. It must have appeared silly to her, at least it does to me now. What a silly way to pass time, to avoid sleeping, to talk a little more, to have an excuse for not waking up on time the next morning. Yet, a beautiful memory. A silly childhood routine, turned into something I often think about.