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There was no two ways about it – I was lonely. I was miles away from the crowds, the chatter, the open curiosity, concern and network of family and friends. It was a dull grey day, as I stepped off my Bowen Hills-bound train at the station. Even the beauty of the Brisbane river was unable to shake me out of my latest bout of homesickness and self pity. It was going to be a long, cold day.
I walked to university in the rain – wishing for the warm, torrential down pours of Bombay, longing for the crisp, newspaper wrapped kanda bhajji (savoury crisp onion rings) and a short glass of steaming, fragrant cutting chai. Even the little coffee shop with its aromas of freshly ground coffee could not wipe out the memory of a sip of hot, sweet cardamom scented tea. Heaving a gentle sigh, I prepared myself for a boring class amid strangers.
The ringing phone drew my attention away. I looked at its lit screen and rued about the fact that no one called me in Brisbane, except for the odd, short and snappy conversation. It was Rahul – a fellow Indian classmate, whom I had only just gotten to know, through a group assignment.
“Where have you been, Shruti?” he yelled into the phone – almost as if his volume was trying to compensate for the physical distance between us. His cheerful voice drew an instant smile from me.
“Nowhere. I’m just walking to class. Why?”
“Class? Oh no! And to think that I had made aloo paranthas. I wanted you and Dheeraj to come and try them”. Dheeraj is yet another Indian classmate – being a reserved person, I was yet to interact sufficiently with them.
“I really can’t miss class.” I tried to evade the invitation politely.
“Oh well. Fine. I’ll come and get you after class – You and Dheeraj can come home with me. I have made a whole stack of them. We really can’t be wasting good food.”
“But…But….”, I faltered, trying to counter him.
“No buts – I’ll ask Siddharth, Dimpy and a few more friends. We’ll have fun. You will like them”.
Oh well – I catapulted reasoning that a few minutes back, this was the very Indian quality that I was missing. I sat through class in anticipation of the wonderful home-cooked meal I was about to enjoy. Rahul and Dheeraj were waiting for me when I finished class. Together, we walked to the bus. I was suddenly peppy and enthused.
“Will we have aachar (pickle) and raita (yoghurt salad) as well?” I queried.
“We will have whatever you want”, Rahul replied magnanimously. “But first, tell me, how many potatoes I should boil for paranthas for six people?”
“Maybe about ten. But did you not say that everything was ready?” I queried suspiciously.
“Oh it’s all done”, he injected smoothly. “Its just that we have a few extra guests, and so my housemate is making up some more food and buying some more yoghurt.”
Appeased, I waited eagerly to get to his home. All prior loneliness was forgotten, as we babbled away in a cheerful mix of ‘Hinglish’; comforted by the language. Once we got to his house – a quaint Queenslander, things were suspiciously quiet.
“Right”, said Rahul, rolling up his sleeves. “Time to get to work. I’ll knead the dough, do you mind chopping the onions and the chillies?”
“But….but…. everything was meant to be ready. Now you want me to cook?”
“Only because there are more people coming than I anticipated.”
And so, I was helplessly cajoled into cooking up a storm for ten people. Rahul helped all he could. Different people – boys and girls, wandered in and out of the house – drawn by the news that there were to be aloo paranthas for dinner that night.
I was too busy trying to prevent the boys from scalding themselves, or burning the dinner, to mind. I felt like a schoolteacher with a bunch of impish children. Someone started some music and the atmosphere took on a festive quality.
I was pleased as punch with my cooking. These people would be so delighted with the home cooked meal!
“Did you not say that we would have raita?” someone asked.
“Oh yes I did. Well, where is it?” I responded. “Never mind. Don’t answer that, let me guess. I need to make that as well?”
The boys had the decency to look sheepish.
“No you don’t,” said one of them. “I’ll do it. All on my own. Er, what am I to do?”
Sighing I issued instructions, and watched with barely suppressed laughter as he burnt the jeera being roasted, forgot the seasoning and then added too much water to the yoghurt. Finally we managed to rescue the raita and salvage it to edible levels.
I can honestly say that the evening ended wonderfully – the aloo paranthas were some of the best I have ever tasted. We ended up sitting all night, chatting, singing and laughing.
And so, I was conned, kidnapped, made a bakra of and asked to cook for eight people – but I enjoyed every minute of it. Strange is it not? You can enjoy the quietness, the ease of travel, conveniences and everything abroad, but after some time you cannot help but miss home.
We Indians have a wonderful, inclusive, informal gregarious quality about us. No matter which corner of the world we are in, leaving someone to mope in a corner is not like us – we have to bring them out…even by making them cook!
What can I say… we are like this only!
I guess most of you folks have been reading the episodes of P and Kym for a bit now…and I don’t know about you, but I always love having a face to attach to a name (or in this case letter of the alphabet…lol!!) So, I’m uploading a snap or two from a lovely evening that we shared after work yesterday….splitting a bottle of wine and laughing the evening away.
It’s peak stress time for me – I have exams, assessments and submissions running back-to-back, work piling up, and my head was pounding with a giant sized migraine. That’s when P suggested a glass of wine…. Its funny how anxiety melts away into contentment and fulfillment, in the blink of an eye! Working with your best friends can be emotionally draining at times… but it is usually a very safe and nurturing environment as well. I must have loads of karma notched up, when it comes to luck in friends!! Touchwood!! 
Ever since classes resumed with a bang, I have had little time to spare. Work picked up pace a couple of notches as well, leaving me scuttling between the two like a headless chicken. Add to that a so-far dormant social life that suddenly decided to burst into life, and you have clear picture of the various obligations that I live with. Needless to mention, when managed badly, or when all these aspects simultaneously clamber for attention, I tend to get tired, cranky and frustrated.
After one such, long day, I returned home sombre and pensive. I was stretched too thin – nothing was getting the full attention that it deserved. I needed to plan and organise my life, and perhaps even brace myself for dropping a few activities. With so many thoughts running through my head, I decided to take a walk after dinner and clear the mind. Not wanting to appear too morose, I asked the girls if they would like to accompany me. Unexpectedly, they both peeled themselves off the couch and acquiesced.
And so we set off, swathed in shawls, since it was a chilly night and the air had a nip to it. The girls were walking ahead as I locked up and followed. Gloomily, I started to think about the day I had experienced. I had too much on my platter – maybe I had bitten off more than I could chew…..
“Shruti, which was your favourite Hindi movie as a child?” Rijuka’s voice sailed out to me over the darkness.
“Er… Mr. India I guess”, startled out of my reverie, I settled on the first name in my head.
“Lu la la lulu….Hawa Hawai”, announced Saee, prancing around in the middle of the empty road and aping the comical actress of the film. Her eyes were like little rounded marbles and she waved an imaginary folded fan in her hand.
I was distracted by the string of nonsensical gibberish that apparently heralded the start of the song. Somehow I had never really paid attention to it.
“Madam, our neighbours will get upset with your singing and call the police”, Rijuka warned matter-of-factly.
“Really? And what about all the times that you yell?” responded Saee
Sensing the onset of a vociferous Indian exchange in the street, I hurriedly changed the topic.
“I feel like an ice cream. Does anyone want anything?”
“I want a Diet Coke”, announced Saee. Sometimes I think that she will remain unconcerned by any drinking water shortage, so long as the supermarket shelves still remain burdened with cans of zero calorie, aerated waters.
We walked towards the all night counter in the nearest service station. The girls waited in the parking lot, while I walked in and picked up an ice-lolly and the soft drink.
When I walked back out, the conversation had moved along.
“We should meet even when we go back to India. But that will never happen,” said Rijuka.
“Of course it will”, said Saee. “Shruti will get married and have a big fat Punjabi wedding.”
I was still puzzling over how keeping in touch had led to the topic of my matrimony. Saee meanwhile steamed on.
“I will wear my Paithani sari. Can I be your bridesmaid and get a gift from your husband?”
Helplessly, I waited for the always-pragmatic Rijuka to tick her off for her flights of fancy.
“Good idea! What will I wear?” piped Riju.
Ah well! Everyone has her weak moments! I listened to them, amused by the castles they were building in the air. Gradually I got drawn in and we all sat in the parking lot, drinking a diet soda and eating an ice candy, planning my supposedly impending wedding. Finally we had worked it down to every last shred of detail – sufficient to shame any experienced wedding planner. Now that we had a respectable opportunity to meet up in India, it was time to go home.
We started walking towards the house slowly.
“Blooo blah blu blu blu bleah”, said Saee.
“What exactly is the matter with you now?” I asked in exasperation.
“Oh, I’m practising my French”, she announced cheerfully.
Rijuka stopped and glared at me. Maybe she thought I was the one producing those silly sounds.
“You were the one”, she pointed to me. “You met her online and agreed to live with her did you not? So you are the reason why I have to put up with her”.
“But, but, but….”, I sputtered indignantly. The rest of the sentence was lost in the cheerful cacophony of Rijuka’s accusations, my denials and Saee’s merry nonsense. We had reached home – maybe the neighbours will complain about the racket after all.
As I took off my shoes, I could not recall what the purpose of taking the walk was. Whatever the reason, I can die another day. Today had ended happily.
That’s what friends are for.
It is strange how most people make their best friends in their childhood and youth. As you sail further and further on the ocean of life, these pit stops called “Friends” become fewer and further in between….and you start experiencing the intense need to hold on to those few rare jewels that you have garnered in your lifetime. Unfortunately, this wisdom, inevitably strikes you at a rather advanced stage in life – at a time you can do precious little apart from rue lost connections and forgotten buddies.
Since every phase of my life was pursued in a different city – I made numerous new and varied friends, in each phase. Unfortunately, the sublime art of staying in touch was lost on me. Mum, in all her wisdom and foresight, often made futile attempts to get me to maintain contact with people – but I always found it too stressful. As I moved on in life, I seemed to have nothing in common with my old friends to talk about or share. (Yes, I know – all of you who have many-a special childhood friend would be understandably horrified with my callousness!)
But maybe I had notched up a lot of good deeds in the accounting book of karma, in my past lives, for unlike other people, good friends kept coming at me all through college, management training and even work. I am told that you need to work at your relationships with people to keep them going – but never me. Somehow, ties deepened, almost by their own will, with passage of time – when you were not looking. As friends gradually turned into extended family, I could not help but wonder if these bonds too would die a natural death, as I moved on in life.
But some ties are cast in stone – as I have discovered. And they withstand the test of time, history and geography with such ease – it is truly admirable. I find, that as I pursue my interests, I increasingly want to stay in touch with the precious few, who have been a part of my journey. Such bonds do not need constant reinforcements – even intermittent spasms of silence, cannot threaten these special relationships.
I realise, dear reader, that this is a much heavier post, than my usual ramblings – but this thought has captivated my mind completely. Technology has catalysed the process, but the driving force remains, the need to participate in each other’s lives. So if you have a special friend, whom you have lost touch with, stop just ruing over it. Reach out – in the words of the Nike commercial – Just do it! Like Richard Bach said, with such friends, “there is no such place as faraway”.
Maybe I am turning into my mum – there’s a thought!
When I was only a week old in Brisbane, my aunt and uncle took me for an exquisite Sunday breakfast to a lovely little cafe in Paddington – aptly named “Anouk”. As we sat in a bustling corner near the display of chocolate caked and muffins, watching delectably garnished plates of eggs and bacon fly past us, I could not help but wish that I could share this discovery with a like minded soul.
Three months and some days later…I mentioned this cafe to my house-mate Saee (aka Cruella…but that story makes for another post!) She was instantly enthusiastic to try me on my claim for knowing where the world’s best french toast was made. So one Sunday, I grudgingly agreed to take her to Paddington (I’m VERY lazy you know – it takes a lot to push me out of my reverie!)
As we neared the bustling cafe…we were greeted by the aromas of freshly ground coffee, eggs cooking in the skillet, bacon curling as it browned on the edges and fresh muffins. We also saw a bit of a line of waiting clientele snake around the pavement – all of which only served to whet the appetite and take the expectations one notch higher!
Finally, we were ushered to a little table, not too far from where we sat the last time I was here. We ordered our cups of earl grey and cappuccino and settled in to look at the delectable menu. Placing our orders, we started to chat and reminisce about our lives in India, our dreams and our ambitions.
The plates arrived – looking like a dream come true! Two identical wedges of brioche french toast – topped with whipped cream and syrupy raspberries, complimented perfectly with slices of honey dew melon and garnished with maple syrup, mint sprigs and sprinkled sugar. Poetry on a plate – for sure!
As we each took little melt-in-the-mouth bites of our sumptuous orders – Saee started to relate engrossing memories of her childhood. I was completely wrapped up in her tales – sometimes amused and sometimes sympathetic. We washed down our stories with some more tea and coffee – as we sat there by the window…sunlight streaming in and warming our heads.
We settled the check and strolled out – deciding to give the bus a miss, and walk back home instead. The talking and bonding made me realise that she was exactly the kind of person I wanted to share Anouk with. For with Saee, while the food was appreciated to the perfect degree – it was not permitted to take centre stage. Instead it was allowed to form the back drop to a wonderful session of chatter, memories and laughter – all the elements of the perfect Sunday morning brunch!
Ever wondered why people say that men and women are from different planets? I do all the time…especially since my best friends have always been boys. Save for four wonderful girls with whom I shared a house in Bombay, I have always found women to be fussy and picky and nosy and annoying!! Yes, i know it sounds stranger still, since all of this is coming from a girl! But the truth cannot be denied!
My first best friend was back from college – he was two years older than me, a basket ball enthusiast and a complete slob! It was our personal mission to watch every English movie ever made on earth till that time….and looking back, I’ll say that we came pretty close to achieving it!
The next and closest friend ever, I met in Management Training in Delhi. He was the brash, brutish, powerful kind of chap with a sharp mind and a quick eye. From the time we met, it felt like we were alter egos….we’d counsel each other through crushes and relationships, take walks with ice creams and coffees, work together and party together…to his credit, he’d show surprising flashes of soulfullness, to mine…he said, he’d never met a girl so unlike a girl!
Finally I met a gentle little soul while I was at work in Bombay…sensitive and quiet, I befriended him, more to see if he would come out of his shell, than for anything else! I was most unprepared for all the fun we were to have! We were culinary enthusiasts….exploring every new restaurant, critiquing their menu selections, dish textures and even desserts!
All three of them have now, either tied the knot, or are in the process of getting “knotted” up. I think what made them so special was the unparalleled rapport we had…no questions or reasons were offered from either end. After long gaps (usually induced when either one of us had our latest obsession!) we would just meet and pick up from where we’d left off!
All these proceedings are of course to the utter despair of my family – who cannot understand why they keep encountering a series of shruti’s “friends who are boys” (to call them boyfriends would inevitably be inappropriate!); rather than a life partner (Matchmaking for unwed, elligible girls is a national obsession in India)
Since coming to Australia, I was doubtful of being able to create such a rapport again. Getting lucky three times in a row is pretty spectacular…four is unheard of. Maybe i should finally acquiesce to the wishes of my parents and start thinking of getting tied down! Hmmm…Ill think about it right after I finish up my mail to my cousin…he’s in the states, and is wonderfully intelligent and funny – (anyone who can get through my mile long emails without complaining, has to be pretty special!!). Do you see a pattern emerging?!
Then again….maybe I wont! So what if men and women live on different planets? Till such time as the view is good, and there is no attempt from either party to move over…life is good!
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