Weekend with Jake and Murray

A while back.

You know about Jake and Murray, yes you do, dear reader.

And isn’t it obvious that I will have had the best two days in recent times in their company, in NYC? Theirs have been parallel, eventful mini-lives to mine as well…

Murray has become warmer, more human, Jake and I agree.

I have become more mature, Murray and Jake agree.

And Jake, thankfully, has not changed at all, Murray and I agree.

This, readers, is the best case scenario.

They have never been judgmental. They have had great lives themselves, and have wonderful stories to share.

There’s respect. There’s banter. And surprising as it is for different brands of macho retrosexual jocks, there’s affection.

I am glad I know these guys.

Snippets of talk.

CH slurs, after he nibbles on the bits of fruit — steeped in alcohol, and yet the healthy part– from my favourite drink, “I don’t know what to do with my life. I don’t know where it’s going.”
CH, for info, is all of 19. And has just joined school for Engg.
–
So I tell the aforementioned story to Mike, while he talks of his 14 year olds. “I didn’t know how to answer him”, I say. Mike pulls the chain of thought along on and finishes with a question “Life, universe and everything. You know the answer?”

Mike needs to read more Indian blogs. If there is one number infinitely abused, and prime factorized — it’s 42.
–
I use the word “angst”. This other guy I was speaking to didn’t know what it meant.
–
I ask the girl if she has a map of the city. I don’t want to get lost, you see. She tells me, “Mine is torn, but can you, indeed, read maps? I get lost on a map.”
–
The fifteen year old American gets confused when I mention Nadal. Who? Tennis? World number 2? But isn’t that Federer?

Well, we don’t know, he soon may be.
–

Excellent English!

You have excellent English!

Mentioned the Boston-Brahmin to me. You know the concept of whites and grammar, you read stuff white people like, don’t you?

But somehow, I am not chuffed, as Indians are expected to be when similarly praised by whites. There is something just not correct here.

Well, we both got it from the same source, the English! I mention.

He is way senior to me in the organization, but we get along really well, so instead of getting angry, he smiles it away. Backs off.

So, touche, Mword.

There is no reason to be proud of me for having gone on a trip alone.

I understand. Wrong compliment.

Elder brotherly

Scene 1:

She comes down home. Aerosmith has come down to town, and I have a ticket. she forces me to get one for her too. I crib, but oblige.

During the concert, she gets lost. There is no connectivity on the cell phone, and I am scared. She doesn’t know anything or anybody in this city. Enjoy the music? You crazy?

Then, outside, I meet her. Where the hell were you? What the hell were you doing? I scream. Relax, I was headbanging with that gang over there! I am hysterical. But also extremely happy. She had a lot of fun.

Scene 2:

She takes a flight (I pay for the tickets) and comes down to my place. I have my marriage coming up in 3 months, and I need moral suppport.

I get her home from the airport…. and she looks around the house. Steady gaze at the wine celler. I have a good one at my place, dad-mom don’t, we are kinda conservative this way, back home. Drinking at home is taboo.

I open the vodka for her and the whisky for myself. She literally wolfs down 2 pegs, and then a few more. I give her some gyan on how to drink like a human being, and she couldn’t care less.

Scene 3:

My marriage. Her friends come along. Never met them earlier, but they act as if I am some kind of a god! The guys stammer, the girls try to be impressive. They have been told that, indeed, I AM a god. Like, are you kidding me?

And they literally tell MTM that she is the luckiest woman in the world.. Like hell! Are you really kidding me?

Scene 4:

She says, get me liqueur chocolates from the US. And MTM and I have a laugh. She is not bothered about the chocolate, she will have the liquor and throw the chocolate away, MTM says.

Scene 5:

I am a little worried. What happens when she starts earning? Will she become a drunkard? I decide that I will get one extra perfume, and give the liqueur chocolates a skip.

____

I want her to be all that I am, and all that I am not.

Yes, protective, yes, in a way. Of course. Say for example, if you dare to hurt her, even a little, you might just be bumped off by one of the contract killers. Hell, I have the money.

But I really also want her to have the kind of wild fun that I had when I was her age. Or travel out to an alien country like you did, Mword. Or pass out after alcohol. Or have a dopey-punk-rocker boyfriend. Or both. I want her to have all the fun that she can. I know she is. And I know that she knows how to take care of herself. How? Simple. I ask, could I have somehow taken care of myself in such a scenario? And the answer comes, yes. That’s good enough. and thereby the fear, during the rock concert. And I know all about addictions. I smoke.

I don’t track her daily movement to ensure that she is safe, that is NOT elderbrotherlylove, I have a truckload and more faith in her ability to handle herself, and also know that if she is in the kind of trouble which she knows that she cannot solve by herself, the first person she will come to, is me.

I never ask her about her whereabouts, and neither does she ask me about mine. We never ask, are you alright? But instead the more prosaic Are you having fun?

____

Yet. She knows that I created the roadmap for her success by my (relative) success. And she never followed. Better than I ever was at Math or Science, she went ahead and studied medicine because I had already done Tech. She never read books as a kid, and all because I did. And never quizzed, because I did.

She understands the roadmap, yet never took the road.

And Ma says that she’s never seen two siblings, with a half a decade and more separating their births, fight as much, as often, or as ferociously.

____

You wouldn’t understand, Mword. Infact, let me rephrase that. The failure over here, is in my explanation, not your comprehension. I cannot explain.

Let me just say this…

Being an elder brother is nothing similar to being ‘just like an elder brother’.

On playing against stereotype

After coming back, the toughest part has been answering questions on why I decided to travel alone. (I did get the question there a lot as well, but they seemed a little less judgmental.)

–

Ma finally hyper reacted, like I had originally expected her to. I told her about the little fight, she blew her top saying I should let JT be. That he cares, that she is scared. She said in her own characteristic way one or many of the following -

- You are mad. You will drive PD mad.
- I will send him a blanket and an umbrella. He would have to become a monk.
- He made a mistake marrying you.
- I haven’t told anyone, I am ashamed of you.
- The whole family is mad. All you people are like this.
- This is not the way to live your life.
- Why cant you want normal things?

I was terribly jetlagged and she could have well played against the mother stereotype. So to match the drama, I hung up on her. Ekta Kapoor could have taken tips from us.

I secretly hope she doesn’t mean it when she says all of that. I really hope. Even if she did, I really don’t think I can do much to change her or help the cause. So all I need to learn is to not let it bother me. I am 28 (drumroll), and one has to come up with a number they set for themselves after which it would be okay to say fuck without checking from the corner of your eye if your parents are within earshot. I had set the number to 27. And even then -

Going into the “It’s my life” rhetoric would be easy. I could say it’s none of anyone’s business, but that would make me a rebel without a cause who wears a weed t-shirt to prove they have a “life”. I am not interested in that. What I truly felt, is that a human being is capable of finite number of experiences. And there is nothing wrong in being greedy for new ones. One should NOT be ashamed of wanting them.

And I know that everytime I step aside from three weeks of rigmarole to experience something new, I am learning to stand tall against fear. And stepping aside from mediocrity, even if it’s ever so slightly. And I will have to go through this cycle again.

And trust me, given a choice, I will do it again. And again.

–

And in that way, I realized why people are scared of getting married. It just changes something the way people perceive you. I could have well been 35 and seeing PD, and it would have been fine to travel alone. But being wrapped around his finger at 28 is not the same.

In which we talk about the emotional one.

There are three sections I categorize my male friends under. A, the type who can’t stop talking about how much alcohol I can guzzle. B, the type who assume the role of the protector, and can’t stop talking about how insane or mad I am. And C – the ones who are genuinely happy for me, and cant stop talking about why I should not be afraid.

–

JT and I have known each other for the longest time. We are very different people and if and when you find us in the same room, you would be surprised we even know each other. And in any case, we haven’t spent much time together in the same place, but phone calls and emails always worked. For everyone. Over years we grew close. Hell, he even knew my password at one point of time. I did confide in him to get an opinion, to get the occasional reassurance.

JT takes the role of the protector seriously. He worries about my well being, worries about who I meet and worries about how long I stay out and how much I drink. He even worries about what I write on my blog, and if I indeed am in trouble. Much more than PD. PD has a sense of trust in me, JT doesn’t. I thought being married would change it all for him, that he will be busy with his wife and times. Doesn’t seem to have done a thing. Needless to say, when I informed him I was doing this trip thing on my own, he freaked out. Needless to say, he was the last person I dared to inform. He asked me four hundred questions of hows and whys and how-could-you and why-should-I. Needless to say, it upset me to no end. Because I assumed he would be happy for me.

–

So during the trip, I made the (fatal?) mistake of sending him my phone number to inform I was safe and sound. Which started a barrage of texts and phone calls at odd hours – real late nights, real early mornings.

I accidentally left my phone at home one day, came back to see 6 texts all of which said “I am freaking out here, there is noone I know who is with you, call me back, text me back, why did you have to do this?”. I called him back the next day, a little unsettled, and said “I am fine. Safe. And, I assumed you would be happy for me”.

Then that day, in the height of all that excitement, there were only two people in the world I wanted to share it with (PD not being one of them! And sorry Retro, I didn’t have your phone number). JT called, I screamed on top of the crowds’ euphoria saying he will have to call back in 10 for it was all madness and that I really want to tell him what was going on. Like, give him a live feed. He texted back saying he is freaking out, he is worried about me getting back home. He didn’t pause for a second. I assumed, he wasn’t happy for me.

That did it for me. I called him back in ten, and fought back. People around me assumed I was fighting with my boyfriend. After which, I didn’t take his calls, or reply to his texts. Occasionally 6-7 would come at one go. Some would threaten. Some would say “Screw you. Goodbye”. I didn’t reply. I didn’t pick up the phone. I did a mean thing, I know, but it was getting too much for me to deal with. And I wanted a peaceful 7 days.

He is like family. And family is entitled to obsess. But more than anything, he is a friend, and it bothers me to see that I can’t be honest to him. That I am so afraid of him.

And I really am not sure if I need to explain to him. I have no siblings, so I am not sure how this elderbrotherlylove thing works (Post idea: Retro). I feel 28. Old enough to not inform people constantly of my whereabouts. To PD, maybe. My parents should have realized by now that it’s an impossible task. (I left home roughly 10 years ago) And I realize, again, that people (family or otherwise) will do this to me only if I give them the liberty to believe I am answerable to them. Constantly.

I know this too shall pass. We will patch up and apologize. But I am heartbroken, somewhat.

And in a moment, I have figured what really makes a friendship tick: it’s honesty. You can have selective truths in a marriage, but not in a friendship. I should have the guts to tell you everything. Don’t get me wrong, I want you to worry. I want you to care. I want you to ask if I am doing fine. But all that shouldn’t take over the one premise that’s precious in friendships, that I want to very unselfishly share my emotions and experiences sans fear.

PS: There is no reason to be proud of me for having gone on a trip alone. (My mother now claims, she is ashamed of me) There were 20 other <25 year olds. At least at my age I can pay my way out of troubles.

Before Sunrise

Mike is the most self reassured person i have ever met.
Men automatically assume the role of the protector when they meet a woman. He didn’t. He didn’t assume anything. He didn’t ask me to text him back once I reached home. He just sat and spoke to me like I needed to be spoken to. And I did too, without being scared of his stray hand wrapping itself across my shoulders and my head finding a place to rest on his shoulders. Sans the fear of his intentions and my loosened inhibitions under the influence of alcohol.

So that evening, Mike and I, strangers until then, discussed art: Man Ray, Dali and Goya. We discussed why Duchamp used the urinal as a fountain. And why I thought Picasso was messing with people’s minds. And why he liked abstract art and hated the impressionists.

We discussed music: The Beatles, Shakira and Suzanne Vega. And Indie bands. Why he liked George and I liked Paul and why 64 was a good age to die. We discussed Cirque du Soleil, and his ignorance of it.. We discussed alcohol and why Talisker is good and Tinto de Verano is tempting. We discussed Pratchett and that he has Alzheimer’s. He confessed to not reading much. I confessed to not reading much off-late.

We discussed why he considered Catherine Zeta Jones pretentious. And unpretty. Why I loved Purple Rose of Cairo. Why he hated Woody Allen. Why I couldn’t stand Sex and the city, the movie and why he liked the series. Why i found Fabregas cute, and why he thought Dravid was the best. We spoke of being dyslexic — of him not being able to figure the troupe of soldiers from the troop of clowns. And me not being able to put-i-before-es right.

We spoke of where I was born and grew up, and why it was his favourite place on the planet. And where he was born was now mine. And of the day Rajiv Gandhi was assassinated, and what we were doing when we got the news. We exchanged stories: of his punk days, and my research days. And his once-upon-a-pierced nose and my tattoo. And scars – we shared stories of how and how-old. We even laughed at how brown he was on the inside, while he teased me for being the opposite.

That was the best conversation I have had in this entire trip. It wasn’t just pub talk. It wasn’t lust talk. It wasn’t four a.m. drunk talk. It wasn’t pillow talk. It was something more. The more I try to remember pieces, the frames of that conversation, more the honesty, the unpretentiousness, the level of comfort — mine and his — amuses me.

And I realized how hard i try to fit into people’s conversation. Alter my tastes so that I only speak about things that others like. And he didn’t. And I didn’t need to. And then and there, I had it all figured.

Mike is 36. Mike is British. Mike teaches Physics in high school. Mike loves his job. Mike hosts a weekly trivia contest in a pub [here].

Even if I had allowed myself, I wouldn’t have been able to fall in love with him. Or maybe I would have. But more than anything, I want to be like him — self reassured, confident, unafraid of speaking of anything. If old age is what it takes, so be it.

There is nothing wrong.

I did nothing wrong.

I am tired of explaining to people. I am tired of people calling me insane. I am tired of people telling me that they pity PD for he married me. I am tired of people thinking I can’t take care of myself. I am tired of people repeating to me that I should live by the F/28/Indian/Married stereotype. I am tired of people telling me that I am not normal. That I am wrong and insane and stupid and did i say wrong.

I maybe wrong, but first tell me who are you to decide the right? You are telling me to be ashamed of myself because I did what I felt like.

And if you ask me the one reason why I hate the state of being married, it is this.

And the answer

is Bluegrass….

The question, if you were wondering, was asked a while back….

In which we are a little sad

Like all good things, this too must  end.

And I have had enough, I want to go back to my comfort zone. Enough wandering.