The Friend You Took For Granted

“No, I will not go for his dinner invitation. Not even if he puts up my plate the usual way he does”, “How dare he call me now, only three days before to break the news!”, she repeats in her head for one more time as stations pass by her. She’s in the jungle’s fanciest ride till date and yet still ‘trying’ to like it. But the kid in front of her is assuring with his unadulterated grin. Like he also shares the secret. Her secret. Their secret.

She tries to remember what was the moment that turned Little Wench and Old-World Sloth into friends. The common factor was a guy she hated and he loved. Soon, they were neighbours and colleagues who smirked at each other’s romances (or the lack of it) and had dinner together.

There was a new-found delight in taking shots at each other which gave grave concerns a casual air. In the Concrete City, where both of them were outsiders, he was the constant companion she never invited but inevitably celebrated every occasion/attended any party with.

She snarled at how he was a housewife-in-prep and he came to pack her up to his place when her apartment became a boat with a hole. She tricked him into giving occasional foot massages and he stayed up entire night talking to his fiancé when she needed to pull off an all-nighter for that office report. He smelled, loved and smelled her hair often and in return, she called him a creepy guy whenever she could.

His dinner invitation to her included him mixing rice and gravy Andhra style with his hands and making small balls of it, decorated on the outline of the plate. And she ate heartily with a boasting smirk and hidden delight. She, in turn, taught him how to imagine apple juice like it is flavoured wine during crisis and actually get high on it!

But for the love of God, she still can’t remember that moment. What she can remember is that Old-World Sloth is now married and about to become a doting father. The Old-World Sloth hasn’t shared a smoke with her in a long time. And the Old-World Sloth is now leaving the city for good.

When the Wench wakes up next morning, there is this sudden urge bubbling in her. Thanks to the wild gooseberries from Jungle she loves, things hit her late. She frantically searches for her eternally damned phone, calls him, and tells him she’s going to come to the Concrete City to see him. Even if it’s just a 10-minute thing. He leaves tomorrow and has a lot on his hands. But she isn’t listening; but he still invites.

The day is ending very slowly. “What would I say when I see him? What would I do if he panics? What could we eat together?” Fretting, she tells herself to shut up when there’s a call just when she’s about to leave.

Old world: Dude, werrr are you?

Wench: Just about to start.? Why were you not answering my call? I was going to check if chocolate is fine or wine.

Old World: Actually, I got stuck. Something needed to be taken care of. And urmm, I am running terribly behind time right now.

Wench: Oh, you’re really short on time?

Old World: No, actually yes. I would love to meet you but not like this. But anyway, tell me what time do you reach here?

Wench: You know what, let’s drop it. It would only get more hectic for you. And anyway, not like I was dying to see you. I will see you some other time soon.

Old World: You do know there would be no ‘soon’ again?

Wench: Yes. But saying soon sounds better.

Old World: I will call you once I reach my new home.

Wench: Of course. Take care, creepy guy.

As she hurriedly hangs up, she realizes she’s choking with something tangible in her throat. And something warm and gushing in her eyes.

Friends, no matter how predictable, annoying or routine they become; are friends and should be treated as nothing less than that. They may not be the one who hold your hand at the aisle or serve you dinner when you get home tired but they absolutely are a large part of what makes you ‘you’.

With a now-free hour to kill at her disposal, she packs her bag and heads to the popcorn guy.

*Just for this post, Little Wench is not Little Wench but Eva Mendes.

Love song for Taylor Swift

And so she said…

Oh Romeo, take me somewhere we can get stoned

Pizzas for munchies, and if you’d get me some old monk.

We both be made of butter and...dwell into one,

Getting high, some place nice, prolly a little closer to the sun.

I’ll wear a dress…

Made of raindrops and sunshine.

You’ll sing me stories that do not rhyme

Till we together chase the moonlight.

After sunset, you and I look (almost) perfect

For it’s no one who see, who feel, who live but us.

And I wish this warm gushing dizziness stays forever

But for now, let’s just focus on the last pizza slice!

…..Oh Romeo, take me somewhere we can get stoned

Pizzas for munchies, and if you’d get me some old monk.

Just Like her!

A little story to sing- la la la

…And after endless madness, eloping the routine and nuzzling laughter, he finally bid her goodbye. There had to be a sincere maturity about the whole thing; after all this was a story of a 12-year old boy and a 12 ½-year old girl.

What are dreams made of

A handful of contemplation that was initially mere fancy. A bountiful of thoughts that never saw the light of expression. A song that came to your lips as a hum and didn’t budge until you could remember the perfect lyrics. An article/youtube link you came onto that inspired the idealist in you for that iota of a second. That flimsy cone of ice cream with your favourite flavour being sold on your road to office.

That rose you chose, but could never give it to her. That perfect first kiss which happened hundred times over already in your head. The sweet revenge you waited for so long, but couldn’t play because that’s just not who you are. All those times you said ‘no’ to something when you desperately wanted to shout ‘yes’. Every sleepless night spent thinking/wishing/working something that just didn’t let sleep win over. That seemingly ‘dead’ leaf that delicately fell over you while walking just when you were about to give up on signs, giving the belief a new life.

After all, if not for all of this, what would be there left to the dreams to dream for?”

And suddenly the nib of the pen stopped midway after an inning of 10 minutes non-stop. But that’s how the Wench wrote. Impulsive, passionate squirt of emotions, to the point of diverting from the topic sometimes. But then, that’s how your thoughts-pumping mind (or heart?) works. Isn’t it?

Your mind doesn’t put categories (How good lingerie, or any lingerie, should not be spoken about when talking about your favourite instant mood lifters) or the elite ‘writer’ like finesse your piece should have (How I should think about ice creams and popular flavours in the market first before I can write about vanilla sex because that’s how an intro-body-conclusion prototype go).

A Dream Catcher.

Coming back to the topic of dreams, what if someone could be not just a dreamer but a dream catcher as well? Getting curious with it, Wench decided to give it a try too. So she picked up her bag and left for her favourite yet most hated city, the topic for most of her dreams. Favourite because she found her own set of wings there; and hated because at the end of the day, it wasn’t her jungle. 

Throughout the way, the excitement was watchable. She was actually giggling sitting in her auto as the City of Concrete approached.

But after spending half-a-day and continuous efforts, she couldn’t catch any of the dreams she had there. The entrance looked different, they had put bars what used to be her favourite spot, the corner where she buzzed often now felt strange and the people, her favourite people, even though the same, did not feel familiar anymore.

Perhaps dreams are not yours once you’ve dreamt about them. For you bring them into reality as you dream them, making them prone to changes, realization and some more changes.

It’s been a while that Wench doesn’t get her trademark nightmares anymore.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MKfDwChOoHI

“So how was your trip to kasol-Malana, eh?”

*Due to constant insistence by the nervous-excited geek, the 'geek' has been changed to 'nerd' now! 

The last stop to come. Up and down, down and up. 14 hours in the bus and still counting. The stop-down serving unappetizing food and overpriced coke. The last smoke sitting on the highway. Feeling thirsty. Feeling not-so-thirsty once you find the water bottle. Re-tasting the anticipatory thrill of trek. Excitement about the inner-peace to follow. Realizing that you need to pee at the worst hour and waking up the entire Volvo to go out pee, sing, fall, break your knee and sing some more in the wilderness at 3 a.m.

Checking on the rest of the group. The idea of putting nomads together who hardly knew each other (or hated each other, when last checked!). A mindless Casanova, a sugar-high photographer kid, a nervous-excited geek nerd who gets high on sugarfree sweeteners, a planning freak and the Wench herself! Pretending to get high on coke cans and catching giggling, budding love in new couples (The ride finished at the one of the cheekiest honeymoon destinations, Kullu).

That deep breath! That deep breath that comprised the cold from the adjacent jungle, flavours from the bakery at the street and mist from the nearby waterfall! Food. What good food! Eating that fresh trout fish grilled with amazing butter and garlic and stuff. That rare smile of warmth from strangers fellow people you don’t know with such ease here. 

 

With the rainbows~!

Cool dude, I say!

The café that has its décor after a ‘stoned’ version of The Garden of Eden. The footloose singer from Israel who performs there every night in exchange for his dinner and make some new friends. Daily! People not giving a shit about what they wear. I, not caring a thing about what I wear (or not wear). Patting a dog almost the size of a wolf and feeding him off your share. Starting a conversation with anybody just about anything.

The nomad singer!

Dedicating the night to a bottle of wine and a river in its full force giving you company bashing its way inches away from you. Looking at the river from a distance and dealing with the impulse of crossing it; dipping your hands and feet in the ice-cold water and realize it’s better to rather admire it while sitting on its bank with scattered sand and broken bottles. Passing out comfortably in the cozy arms of your friends.

Malana. The village of taboos. That original trek with creaky wooden bridge, steep and undefined route, and a naughty bunch of plants that stung every time you touched them (Actually, they found ways to touch you. But of course, they made it look the other way!). The trek. The marijuana leaves everywhere. In abundance.

That impulsive detour to the waterfall. Giving way to another impulsive jump in the water. Giving your head into the fall at the highest pressure spot. Get out. Breathe. Give in your head again. Let it hit you. Let it wash away everything that’s been there. Let it make you feel clean, hopeful and humble.

Getting lost, twice. Not finding a soul around. Despair catching up. Arguing with each other. Losing things on the way. The shaking up of beliefs with the new, the unknown. The curiousity of what lies ahead. The fatigue that comes from tireless guessing, doubting and of course, walking.

Noticing the first building, telling us we’re done. The skeptical locals, distancing themselves from us at the mere sight, sort of living up to their image. Excited children waving at us from the open school, half-filled with the skepticism inherited from their ‘adult’ surroundings.

Instant feeling of being an outsider.  Finding a group of people who back in town, work half a mile away from where we do and instantly feeling familiar. Getting high. On pure food, thanks to the sheer fatigue. That moment where a bunch of local women happily have a conversation with you in a different language. We spoke ours, they spoke theirs. Still a happy conversation!

Sitting on another river bank with a friend. And a lovely mountain dog who competes with your friend for your attention. Enjoying the view. Understanding that where you were sitting was a dam-enclosed area where water in full-force is released at random hours when two old men shout at you and get you out of there. Realising you could have been washed away like tiny leaves had the timing been wrong (or just right!) Two happy leaves washed away in cold, humbling water.

Metro announcement telling you you’re 20 minutes away from home. Blinking your eyes, you feel like it was just a long dream you had. But your sore legs, dirty socks and the body aching for pure sunshine and natural flowing water tells you another story. It takes time after all adjusting to the normal routine once the hills have owned your body!

She is a staple feature in our Jungle stories (in left)

Pictures credit: Prerna Nainwal

Because whoever said it's just a dog, obviously never petted one!

Yes I know i come back to this picture a lot, but this is among my all-time favourites! Tozz and me, having our 'What am I' moment at Triund Peak.

And her eyes are wide open again. She searches for her cell phone in the dim light floating around in her room from the night lamp rock at the corner. The night lamp was one of the many birthday gifts from Diplomatic Witch, and according to her excited story and the shopkeeper’s fancy tale, the rock was a piece originally brought from Antarctica which apart from melting/corroding in rains, spread positive vibes and ate up nightmares of those using it. Every time the Wench thinks of the story, she can’t help but get amused. “Eating up the nightmares, what a fancy superpower!” “What if another night lamp could eat up bad memories too!”

“3.55 A.M”, flashes the cell phone, forcing her to twitch her eyes as the light from cell phone hits her hard. Why would you get up at 3.55 A.M when you slept at 2.10 A.M after finishing FRIENDS-season 6 for the nth time! But that’s her, liking something too much or not at all.

Her flat mate can still be occasionally heard giggling every now and then in the background. It’s her weekly boyfriend night after all when he comes over. He’s also the one who eyes Wench suspiciously as some psycho-lesbian chick for some unknown reason!

She looks around to get familiarize with the setting. It’s been 2 months and she’s still getting used to the fact that she stays all by herself now in the same city, all away from her jungle and her parents despite being the super protective child.

The lovely room has all stuff of basic necessities along with a chain of twinkie-lights hung on one wall highlighting the weird looking chart she’s pasted on it. (Now that’s a nice ‘My Bar’ Paharganj touch, I would say!) A bottle of water, a make-fold ash tray and dear, old Snoopy lies right under her bed on the side towards the door, making it perfect winters for her!

The photogenic cool dog who posed on a high wall for us at Mcleodganj!

Eyes wide open again! Only this time, she can feel something warm, wet and rough on her right hand. Okay no, now it’s fuzzy and warm. And now, there is this strange sound. Forcing just one of her eyes to open, she finds Snoopy up as the morning sun, trying to wake her up with her tongue-n-rub routine! She can easily tell it’s well past 7 with the sunshine and Snoopy’s restlessness.

“Go away, Snoopy. Play with your mistress.” she pleads while digging her face deeper into her pillow turning onto her stomach. To which, Snoopy gives a ‘i-don’t-care’ look with a small moan and gets to it again. She knows it too well by now what gets Wench up. To and fro, fro and fro, a little jiggle game and she’s all up!

Snoopy has always loved back rubbing sessions. That’s the third thing anyone has ever seen her react to (after mangoes and Wench’s entrance every evening i.e) Every morning however, with her wet, warm nose she’ll pick on Wench’s hand hanging out of the bed. Once she maintains the balance, she’ll throw the hand up in the air with the proficiency of the famous circus clown who juggles bottles. By the time the hand comes down, keeping her timing perrrfect, she’ll glide three steps ahead so that the hand falls just upon her lower back. Her perfect hot-dog like shape and size helps in making the strategy only perfect.

Once the hand is set on the back, she starts moving one step forward, one step backward. Forward, backward. Backward, forward. Like she’s making you rub her back, reminding you the need to be petted, loved and assured. And coming out with that need of hers so courageously, so demandingly, like she isn’t afraid of putting her vulnerable side in front of you. Like she trusts you enough to put it out like that. Just like it should be, with everyone. Fretting, Wench would give in, get up, and give her a heavy back-rubbing session while showering abuses and pecks together combined.

The furry, werewolf-like mountain dog I met up in the hills. It took me 15 minutes and some intense communication to get his approval to touch him. Some experience!

Wench doesn’t really remember how and when Snoopy left her real mistress and adopted Wench as her part-time mistress and companion. Only few weeks back, she used to be this hesitant, aloof dog out of the three ridiculous looking dogs Wench’s flatmate owned- Coochie, Naughty and Snoopy (No offence, but what ridiculous names, I swear!)

While one was a cocker spaniel who was an impulse buy by the flatmate, the other one was a ‘loving’ gift by her (then) boyfriend. (p.s: The new one doesn’t like dogs, at all! And since he doesn’t know exactly which one was gifted by the then boyfriend, he hates them all as a rule.)

Amidst all this, Snoopy was an adopted case and the only female in that weird pack of dogs. She was new, she was scared and she was hesitant. The flatmate was a self-confessed animal lover and stayed home full-time with them, but Snoopy just had hard time trusting people.

Caramel coloured cocker Spaniard with an enviable flair when she walks, she picked Wench instantly after showing indifference for a week. Now every evening, after Wench finished her dinner with the flatmate and her occasionally frequent guests and moved to her room, Snoopy picked up her pace and followed her as a ritual to her room.

She would never shower affection like other two dogs on Wench, but just be there. Wench goes to the living room, she follows. She tip-toes to kitchen for a mid-night snack, she will alarmingly get an idea, wake up and follow her for her share. Wench can’t sleep and decides to sit in the front yard at 2 A.M, she’ll make a face, yawn, get up and sit next to her leaving the cozy room. 

If another animal or a guest took a fancy to Wench’s room, she makes it her job to keep them out and if not possible, show her displeasure at it!

But of course, she always made it clear that despite all the affection, mangoes came before the Wench for her.

Because people have their Itinerary List! Well, Mostly!

The Wild Ass: Let’s go fishing!

Little Wench: Or we could go do some sunbathing on the top of that rolling hill.? It would be fun!

The Wild Ass: !!! 

But it’s cloudy today! And it might rain anytime. How would you do sunbathing on that infamous slippery rolling hill, uh?

Little Wench: But it’s in my itinerary for the day!

Few arguments later, both of them happily went along to the rolling hill for their hide-n-seek sunbathing with the sun, while their fishing rods resting on the shoulders.

People have their itinerary lists. People have their ‘Mr. Perfect’ checklist. Heck, some mind-boggling people even have their ‘Things to be done before you’re 20/30/married/etc.’ They keep a copy of it in their closet, compare every potential partner they meet with their checklist and celebrate their every milestone in the ‘to-accomplish’ list. After all, more than the gratification or anything else, it’s the acute sense of time and space it gives you that makes it so prized a thing!

  

Sadly, the Little Wench lags pretty far behind when it comes to having a sense of time and space. Not that she’s any good in having an itinerary/to-do list! Her sense of time and day is as bad as guys’ sense of colours! (Not trying to be a sexist here!). Thankfully, no one at the jungle is judgmental here and so, everyone lives happily with their antics.

Like the Caramel fly who can’t walk one more step if even one strand of her hair is out of place….or the Dragon Chipkali who just can’t stop making those rather curious sounds when eating a dessert…or the Greek rabbit who gets instant blush from ear to ear that could put all the girls to shame!

Nevermind, here it’s not about the (lack of) sense of time and space! Coming back to the itinerary list, the Wench is finally picking up and learning to make her itinerary list. Although she does tend to get quite finicky about it at times..like the last time she chopped her hair by herself because it was in her itinerary to get her hair to pixie cut by her birthday and the jungle salon was a little too far for the rainy day (The jungle has pretty weird history for birthdays)!

Anyway, here is the latest addition to the itinerary list-

“This is how a part of my dream house would look like! I am yet to entertain a dream job/wedding/spouse idea, but swear on Frankenstein and his endless tragic rage, this is going to be a part of my house! Just. How. Self-Explanatory.”

And the latest one, which happened during the recent eloping stunt Wench performed:

“Have to do this, once! And before you ask me, not the drying clothes part but the 'travelling-on-the-top-of-bus' part.”

p.s: Images sneaked from the Wench’s diary while she was busy sulking and flying with the butterflies to find her lost lip balm! NiveaBlue (colourless, thick and hydrating one). Must have dropped it in the waterfall while trekking! :|

 

Weekend diary by Little Wench

Wardrobe malfunction, anyone?

With the office décor shouting out ‘bored’ in deep blue, the Little Wench takes one look around her desk to find one sign of life, at least one crack in the deep blue bubble!
Sighing, Wench almost talks to her laptop, “Oh what I’ll do to have ONE interesting, straight out-of-fiction thing happening, I swear I’ll not complain even if it turns out less than perfect. Just anything, anything out of the monotonous routine!”

And uttering this, she switches off the laptop and goes to the washroom. For funnily enough, this is her ‘escape place’ in the new city that she’s shifted to. As she gets up, she notices someone sitting next to her turning ever so slightly to look at her before quickly turning back to ‘work’.
“Yes, yes, I know. It’s  my favourite kurta!” said the wench in her head while rolling her eyes. She was happy she was perfecting the art of receiving compliments at least when performed in her head. In her head, in fact, sometimes she came across as cocky as it turned awkward in real life.

Few minutes later, staring at herself in the washroom mirror, she said to herself, “Life couldn’t be more boring! God, what would I give to get a tiny-little excitement in life!” leaving the door behind her to snap shut, as soon as she stepped out of the washroom, she realized she heard something croaking to its loudest. No wait, something shrieked. The front-desk guy sitting right in front  of me, staring me in my face. And then I realized whose shriek it was! It was my kurta, stuck between the door and me, tearing at one side all the way up till just the point where breasts begin.

Horror struck her in one split-second while one part of her brain smirked out loud, “Just what you asked! Entertainment. Entertainment. And Entertainment.”

Bordering on Bibliophile *sighs*

Yawning and indulged in her own little monologue in between, Little wench gradually comes to realize that she’s sitting in a bus with people around, all real and not in Ayemenem with Ammu and Rahel and Estha and of course, the God of small things. Nor is she sitting on a cold bench in winter nights at London with Philip Carey and his crippled foot. Cut to the office-
Sorted Colleague 1: So in short, getting on a plane and getting that hotel booked for a week is a luxury! Reading books and stuff is fine, I can always do that with my kindle and ipad what not, but luxury is this!

Wench: Do you know what real luxury is? It’s to have a book, to hold a book, a hard copy of a real classic in your hands that you can touch and feel, along with the text.  It is to have the time and space to enjoy the other world as you flick it over page by page. An e-version kills the book, no matter how convenient it gets!

A 50 bucks-thief~

It’s ridiculously crowded for an averaged sized bus. You don’t want to exploit the faultless, tired 
guys sitting on ladies’ seat, so you turn towards the other side to create a space to stand, only to realize that this upsets the guys even more somehow, as they get embarrassed looking at you, offer you their seat thinking this must be the only reason why you’re a girl and turn toward the other side. And even before you can explain them the situation, their inexplicable embarrassment makes you awkward too and you just find yourself settling down  eventually.

Now, window seat in buses while commuting from a new place is one of my favourite explorations! As you pass a Rs. 50 note to the fellow passenger for the ticket, you do your usual check-list and a quick scan of the stories (people) around you. Headphones are in place, right playlist is on play, the book is on your lap, and you are looking at every person around you with amusement, curiousity and a little hope The auntie who is tired, busy co-ordinating back home and looks like the last time she got her ‘me-time’ was at the gas-booking queue, the balding uncle with a mellow smile who seemingly doesn’t have a complain against anyone, in his life of odd 65 something years and willingly shares the warmth in his smile with you without expecting anything  in return, or the clean (and cute) guy who has a peculiar way of doing everything and you often find yourself checking him out in a very ‘non-checking out’  manner.

Just then, you realize your ticket hasn’t come  yet. Worried, for the T.C might show up anytime especially when you least expect it, you check with the guy. He explains he passed it long back. A lot of people find my story interesting by now, and tell me someone in the passing chain must have thought Rs. 50 was too big an amount to let go and got away at the nearest bus stop with the money. Amused, I politely refuse to believe it and decide to go check myself with the conductor. People stare at me confused as I pass through the huge rush from my first row-seat towards the other end.

Yes, they were right. And I understood this after getting myself touched/squished/poked through my way to the conductor. Yes, someone thought Rs. 50 was enough an amount to let their conscience go have a smoke a the nearest outlet as they took the money to their pocket. Or maybe, someone thought Rs. 50 was too small an amount to be justified being honest with. Or worse, someone’s life had such abundance of scarcity that it was hugely influenced by the ‘having/not having’ of Rs. 50.

Would i still pass on money next time i am in a bus? Most probably, yes. Would i still be willing to trust people around without thinking once about this incident? Probably no. Not without remembering this. Should i be happy, that i am not one of those unfortunate? Or should i simply feel sad that even  a small 50-rupee note can make you painfully aware of your conscience (or lack of it). 

Having a 'Bad Hair Day' with a 'Yaiyee'

Early Morning! Little Wench and Crazy Horse (known for their ridiculous fights and equally ridiculous cheeky behaviour in an attempt to ridicule it), pasting random nothings in their scrapbook together. 

While Wench’s scrapbook is a messy pile of leaves bound together (and each leaf of different type/shape, mind you!); Horse takes pleasure in calling his favourite plank he found at the shore as his scrapbook (Guys, I swear!)

Wench: So almost four years spent together, and we don’t have one (normal) picture in the entire scrapbook!

Horse: You know what? I just had an idea! Let’s try and look normal, click couple of pictures and get the best one on our scrapbooks.

Wench: YOU had an idea?

Horse: Should I just roll my eyes now, like you do? *makes a face*

Wench: Okay, Okay. Yes, yes, let’s do that!

An hour later…

                            

Wench: You don't even know how to smile!

Horse: Ya man, I know! Been working on it! But I've at least learnt how to stand, which apparently you still haven't!

Wench rolls her eyes

Wench: There, this is the picture you can paste. We look good! Almost normal.

Horse: No, hand me the other one.

Wench: No, this one is better. I swear!

Horse: No, I still want that one. The one where your hair is open. This one has you them tied up!

Wench: That is silly! What sort of difference does it make?

Horse: Well, for me, it does. Now, the one with open hair, please!

Little Wench: But they don’t look good in that one. *Makes a face* I am having a bad hair day.

Crazy Horse: Little Wench! It’s YOUR hair we’re talking about. There is never a good, or a bad hair day for them. They are always better, you see!

And so, the scrapbook pasting is still pending, however, the day is already begun! :)