Ode to the good, the bad, the ugly

Okay, may be this makes no sense. But it just got me thiking -- without all the people mentioned below life just wudn't be the same! They add the sugar and the spice, and some of them ruin the dish. But then, it takes all kinds. Here's a lil' vote of thanks, for the bottom my heart! ;)

Thank you G_D for the power I have to dream. And the mysterious ways in which they all come true.

Thanks mumma, for being all that you are, for your skinny genes and thanks for the faith in me.

Thanks papa, for those long walks, stolen sugar treats, for the million stories. Thanks for all that you endured, without ever complaining.

Love you Willie, for being my chechi kuttan, adding colour to my life, leaving me with all those lovely memories. For making me stop, think, go slow. For being the best bro ever.

Thanks Mummichy, for being my mommy 2.

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Thank you Nazeer uncle for egging me to read Little Women — my first real book! Thanks for reaffirming my faith in Literature. For pointing out journalism as an obvious option. For clearing all the doubts in my muddled head.

Thanks Dr Uncle for introducing me to DC features — my first taste of feature stories. And thanks for chicken 65 and soup. Sec’bad club and Christmas carnivals and Nancy Drews. for my first pocket money and driving lessons. I forgive you for being a bastard.

Thank you Miss Sheeba for saying “I’ll shake you up if you ever, ever stop writing.”

Merci Miss Elvina for your silent support, always.

Thank you sir for helping me work my way to an 88 in Class X maths!


Thanks ed J for being my mentor. For giving me a chance. And for “investing” in me.

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Thank you Neha D., for proving that I can never, ever be friends with Nehas!

And thanks Neha Khanduri for proving that all the Nehas I come across in life are bitches. Period!

Thanks Monisha for proving never to trust women fully.

Thanks Angie Koda, Shilpa, for proving not all girls make bad buddies.

Thanks Wonko the Sane :) for being my sounding board, turning into someone I love and trust.

Thanks Priya for introducing me to Amitav Ghosh and all the lovely, spooky, weird, crazy things in your Anitque Land. Thank you for making me feel there is another person like me and that I’m not the only ‘weirdly nice’ one!

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Thank you Gav for adopting my family, mom, dad, us, with all our sorrows and quirks. Thank you for being there like no one else ever can, ever will.

Thank you for teaching me to make the perfect coffee; to say “Willie and me” and not “Me and Willie”; for introducing me to the world of prawn curries and rhyming verses and Hail Holy Queen.

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Thanks G for proving money ain’t all. That it can’t buy you happiness, peace, good health, contentment. Thanks for showing so beautifully that money can buy you things, not taste.

Thanks 'stie (did I ever tell you she's my alter ego) for playing along. I know your job ain't always easy...

Melbourne Memories

‘Doing’ Ozland was the most adventurous thing I ever dared to do. Well, I have dared to dream quite often — Pondy with Priya and co., Paris with Anjali to say ‘hi chica’ to Shilpa; Dubai, Goa — I can go on. But when it actually came down to doing something, Mission Australia won hands down, for having not fizzled out. Thanks
Ma(i)te!

‘Twas my first flight from the new airport at Shamshabad, and reaching there was a journey by itself. I didn’t mind. The excitement made me oblivious to everything -- the charminar traffic, that knot in my tummy that pops up to say hi, or bye, before every trip, and even the name ‘Rajeev Gandhi International Airport’ (Why Rajeev Gandhi? Again!). Nothing mattered.

My first self planned, self executed, and most of all, self paid vacation. With so much of ‘self’ invested in it, it was quite a heady feeling to head Down Under on Friday, April 11 2008, with my red Delsey trolley, (which has been travelling with me ever since Singapore) and Amitav Gosh for company.

Gosh’s company was short-lived -- cos’ SA, techie, ex Dell, now Maytas, decided to intrude. And how! Since he loved books (some real ones for a change) I let him show me his God’s Debris and excerpts from Shantaram collection, which was passionately typed out and saved in his notebook. A three-hour flight (to Bangkok this time) had never been shorter. Courtesy Adam Scott and Gregory David Roberts. Not SA.

Day 2, Saturday

Saturday: Bangkok, at 6 am, was bright, warm and muggy. This despite the artificial reassurance of the air conditioned airport . My first reaction? “Yippieee, we have a flashy, brand new, better airport. So what if it’s called Rajeev Gandhi, yet again!”

(Never knew I secretly loved Hyderabad. Never realised that I am secretly proud of the people and places I love, and I talk about them all the time. Like I did, and still do, about Willie.)

My flight to Melbourne was at 8 am. Had two hours to kill — which I did people watching at the Thai airport lounge. It is the best pastime, especially when your neck begins to ache, ‘cos of continuous reading. Lousy, shabby and that’s-so-third-world, once-white-now-greying banners seemed to weakly bleat ‘Welcome the land of smiles — Thailand’.

I looked around, but no one seemed to be smiling. Not one square-jawed, flat, yellow face looked even mildly relaxed. Morning blues, I thought. Till the lady at the juice counter slammed my much-delayed glass of watered down mango juice and screamed something at me in rapid, and definitely unpleasant Thai.

Too bad she didn’t bother me! It was my first taste of mango in summer ‘08 and my first self paid trip! I am kicked!

After a never-ending queue (that’s so Asia!) for my boarding pass, and some more quality time with Amitav Ghosh ‘In an Antique Land’ (thanks Priya, I swear I would’ve strangled that annoying-cranky-pink-cute-eatable-noisy Thai kid and her squeaky mom, if not for your book), I was all set.

I got rid of SA (who btw was on his way to Bangkok on a 3-day holiday to beat stress, Lucky Basket of flowers) and the now very watery mango juice, and stepped into Thai Airways 777 craft bound to Melbourne :). Surprise! The airhostess from the Land of Smiles too refused to smile, and barked a nasal Sawadee-ka instead!

Later someone said it’s cos they hate Indians — now, that I think, is more of an Indian complex, like Mrs De said.

Uneventful flight. Expect for the cool show nature put up for me at sunset — I soared above the setting sun and its orange sky, through a part that was still blue. And somewhere far away was a pitch dark, black strip. Imagine the sky. Orange. Blue. Black — all at once. (Fat window-seat loser, I hate him!)

Eight hours later, there I was, in Melb. The excitement died down to a nil. God, am I difficult to please or what!! Partly, that could have been my unwashed, ac ruined hair. Al mate, at the airport. It’s 18o C and that’s v-e-r-y cold. I had a strange feeling of nothingness till I reached the serviced apartment, which would be my ‘home’ for the next week.

To round up Day 2, I found myself sitting in a tiny Indian restaurant on the way to Melb city. Lousy butter chicken and rice, but it tasted like heaven till I felt a little full. Walked around chilly melbourne square, got my first glimpse of the Yara river and realised I was horribly ill-equipped to face the onset of Oz winter.

Day 3, Sunday

Confused biological clock. Cranky me. Lousy breakfast. Bad combo.

But travel brochure hunting at the information centre pepped me up. Friendly info officers, and 1000s of colourful, glossy travel guides and brochures, up for grabs, abso free!!! A far cry from our mana Yatri Nivas! Sigh!!!

Everything shuts down by 4 pm, even on weekends. So, post a tolerable Thai lunch, I headed for the Melb Aquarium. Beautiful...! Mammoth sharks and sting rays and gorgeously sinister jelly fish — I will fight hydrophobia just to jive with them on the deep ocean floors, I resolved.

Stopped by at the souvenir store and stocked up on stuffed starfish and bounce balls. Made a mental note of the bath salts for edJ.

After a tram ride around town, went back home to change for dinner with Sui and co at Crown.

I loved Crown. Esp. the casino. My first trip to one! And I won! some $40!!! $-)

The strange lil’ Italian place that served trotters, hooves, scrotum, eyes and what nots, all half cooked, and not to forget the stranger company — Karen, Sui and Hilda — killed me! After a while, I couldn’t fake it. Neither could they. We moved to a pizza place. Lousy pizzas! Hot waiters.

Day 4, Monday

Set out early, for what would be the highlight of my trip. A 273 km stretch of road along the South Eastern coast of Australia between the Victorian cities of Torquay and Warrnambool — the Great Ocean Road — constructed as a Memorial to those killed in the First World War. I had seen pics, heard about it, read about it — but nothing could’ve prepared me for what was in store.

As I set off in my silver Camry, with the wind blowing in my hair and Colbie Caillat’s Bubble on my lips, I watched the grey city roll past me into a distant oblivion. From dull grey to dusty brown and finally lush green — the changing landscapes seemed like layers of gift wrappers that had to be peeled off to get to my lil’ gift. The swift changing colours of nature, kept me guessing. But no guesses would even come close. I was restless. Till I made my first stop — at the gorgeous Geelong.

I hadn’t set eyes on any place that pristine before. My first glimpse of Geelong was the flash of bright blue ocean which played peek-a-boo even as the winding road went up uphill and down. I halted at a lakeside. Grey clouds made the perfect backdrop for the pale blue placid waters. Water birds, duck-like creatures in colours I haven’t seen before, waddled without a care in the world. With the wooden walk that cut right into the middle of the lake, the log like benches, the gravel path, the scores of white gull-like brids — everything seemed so perfect, as though someone just arranged it all that way, and ran across, camera in hand, to capture the beauty on film. Someone must be doing it, i said to myself, even as raindrops fell on me, ever so lightly, gently shaking me out of my dream. Everything seemed poetic.

I was in no hurry to leave the place, but we had to. this was just the beginning, not the destination, I was reminded. As we swerved out of the gravel path, I looked back one last time, to check if the man with the camera was back.

I was still spell-bound, I don’t remember for how long, didn’t count how many breathtaking sights rolled by — there were far too many. And then came Lorne — lovelier than all the scenes I had seen.

I had forgotten how hungry I was. And how cold it was. The warmth of an old steel heater at a restaurant which said “Indian” lured me in. I settled down comfyly only to realise that it was a Red Indian restro. Sighh. Some Madras meat curry and an extra helping of rice later, I strolled around Lorne to shop for some warm clothes.

Next came Torquay, a stunning township aka the gateway to the Great Ocean Road. A short break there and we headed for Aireys Inlet — a pretty lil’ town with a beautiful lighthouse, standing solemnly, as though to keep a guard of all the beauty around. Everything there spelt tranquility — the lil’ shop that sold homemade muffins and OJ, the board that said “for sale”, fixed on a slice of paradise, the artistique grey-blue branches of an ancient tree —everything.

We raced with the sinking sun to see who reaches The 12 Apostles first. The sun beat us to it of course. As dusk drew curtains on my fairytale trip, I pulled over at a hotel in Apolo Bay. I was sleepy and hungry. And most of all cold (though I had been inseparable from my hoodie, gloved, headgear et al, for sometime now.) Much to everyone’s amusement. It was still the end of summer for them.

A long long walk in search of food led me to a bright lil’ happy place filled with pink, sunburnt tourists. A glass of wine did the trick — I was warm, and gobbled up all the unpalatable food. And slipped into a dreamless, silent slumber.

The perfect way to end a lovely day.

Day 5, Tuesday

Destination 12 Apostles. We started early and stopped by at La Bimba for breakfast. The most delicious french toast and scrambled eggs, washed down with cappuccino was served to us by a gorgeous waitress. My first tasty meal of the trip. The view again, was breathtaking.

The drive to 12 Apostles was peppered with some stunning 5-minute stop-overs for photo-ops on . The day was sunny — a bright, warm, happy kinda sunny. Not the Indian sunny.

My first sight of the 12 Apostles is something I will never forget — time stood still, everyone spoke in whispers, a few gasped. And me, I cried.

The turquoise ocean, the winds that playfully tousled my hair, the distinct music of white, frothy waves lashing against yellow limestone rocks and the ancient, and the massive yellow Apostles — all that beauty makes you heady.

The translucent green-blue waters of the Loch ard gorge, the stunning Island Gateway that is like a little window to an ancient world we will never live in, the towering apostles, standing strong, upto 45 metres, eroding silently as the Southern Ocean’s massive waves churn into it — they all speak a foreign language to me...
... a tongue that is vaguely familiar — may be from another time, in another world, another life. I listened keenly and heard soft voices. Perhaps inside my head.

Even as I stood there, camera in hand, trying to freeze those moments in pictures, and in my memory, there was a change happening right there that my mind or memory couldn’t record.

The limestone rocks were dissolving bit by by bit, the waves were lashing out at them with a definite purpose, new apostles were being formed, old ones were shaking, readying to crumble into the ocean — big changes we cannot even comprehend. Surely time, place, purpose, dynamincs, everything has a different meaning here. Everything works at its own sweet pace, following wild rules we can’t comprehend.

A beautiful end to my beautiful day at the Great Ocean Drive — I saw something that will remain etched in my mind forever. The Sherbrooke rive, shy, soft and slender flowing down, slowly, gently towards the the great Southern ocean. And no, it’s not some unclear, melange in my mind. I could actually see the twain trying to merge — Unchained Melodies no longer seemed corny. It rang in my ears — as the river flows, to the sea, to the sea...

To be continued...