The Flanagan clan with its god fearing aunts and warm hearted uncles, wild older generation and goody two shoes young un’s, portly little tykes to devilish girls has two things in common.
One : Lizards scare the shit out of them…
No family gathering is complete without at least one discussion on their latest nightmares starring lizards. If Titania dreams of being under attack by a ruthlessly well planned army of lizards then India ‘knows’ that a breed of flying lizards will soon sweep in. Myrine avers that if you stare at them, they lift their ugly little heads and stare right back contemplating jumping on you. Piper has threatened Philip (her husband) that the next time he thought to play any trick on her involving them, she’d be heading straight for the divorce courts. Mars and Mrs. Havisham still shudder when they recall their particularly close encounters with lizards. (Mrs. H and her three kids have spent a good part of their lives in a hot village with lots of little creatures for company. This would be when Titania, Mars and India were between 3 to 11 years old) There was the one time that a monitor held Mrs. H prisoner outside a bathroom and her kids inside a tub as it held court on the bathroom floor. But that’s another story. Suffice to say that with a lizard in your hand you could get a Flanagan to sign away their child. Or at least their house.
The second thing that can set them off is their dog – Cykie. Short for Cyclone. This gorgeous, giant sized Alsatian with the dopiest brown eyes you’ve seen is the most adored dog on the planet.
Cyclone is Mars’ dog. He was gifted to Mars by an old, dog loving neighbour and got home against much opposition. The opposition lasted the first 5 minutes. Cyclone was born to be loved. A fat, cuddly looking cotton ball, he abhorred movement. Mars, his siblings and their cousins spent an entire afternoon wondering if Cykie was deaf because he refused to move. He just looked at them patiently as if waiting for them to realize that he doesn’t want the ball and he really rather sleep. By the time they finally caught up with this ‘Why bark when you can sleep?’ ethos, he had cultivated new ideas.
Everything was his. He must be the centre of attention always. All humans are friends and all animals are enemies.
This last caused as much trouble as pride. While they could gleefully laud how he had single handedly mauled a pack of street dogs that attacked him, they also had to contend with him seizing and shaking a neighbours dog by the throat. He was a great conversation starter. People everywhere stopped to sigh over him and for years the three were known as Cyclone’s owners in the neighborhood. But this was also the single minded dog who dragged India all over a thorny field because a pig had pissed him off and he just had to take a bite out of it. Never mind the chain tangled in India’s sweater.
This force of life, a vegetarian (!!!), music loving zen master was the focus of all the love in a mostly non-tactile, undemonstrative family.
If India had one shadow in her heart, it was the thought at the back of her head that Cykie was a dog and dogs get older faster. While traveling for work, she’d often try to grapple with this fear and then abuse it with a ‘oh.. he’s young yet. Just 10.’ And then a hurried prayer ‘let it happen when I’m not there. Let me be busy. Let me be away.’
It didn’t happen that way. One very normal day, Cyclone vomited while on his walk. It was not out of the ordinary. Mars decided to take him to the vet. India went along. The vet gave him an injection and put him on a ice cream diet – cold liquids were what they were to feed him. Grin. Cykie was going to love this. They rode back home in a rickshaw. Cykie imitated a flying dog the entire way. He periodically pushed half his body out of the rik, ears flat on the side like helicopter wings to feel the cool air. Then he’d dizzily slink back, shove his nose in a corner and cover his eyes with his paws. Only to do it all over again.
On reaching home, he got his belly rubbed while the three discussed changing his food to some special pedigree dog product to avoid colic in future.
He didn’t want to chase the ice cube but no one wondered about that.
Early the next morning Mars and India came back from their jog to find Titania hugging a wheezing Cykie. His stomach had swelled up more. Mars called the vet. It’s 7 in the morning. He isn’t in. India called a friend to get his vet’s number. That vet isn’t in either. Meanwhile Mars gets the vet’s home number. The vet gives a medicines name. Mars runs out to get it. Titania and India sit by Cykie hugging him, pleading with him, please stop wheezing, crying. Mars rushes back with the medication and tries to drip it down Cykie’s mouth. But Cykie’s prone and can’t lift his head. They’re all crying. The vet’s asking them unrelated questions, ‘Is his tongue turning blue?’
Somewhere they know what it means. ‘NO.. NO.. the tip’s still pink, the tip’s still pink’
I don’t know what the vet said to Mars. As they hugged and kissed Cyclone, he passed away.
Mr. and Mrs. Havisham were not in town. They called to talk and in the manner that only elders have of working around grief, brought up burial. He had to be buried. Mrs. Havisham suggested a cousin’s garden. The three refused. India suggested a tree near the river where Cyclone had been sniffing the previous day. Mars checked it out and refused. ‘My dog will not be buried in such filth.’
Finally, the perfect place. Salvatore’s garden. If Cykie had loved anyone as much as Mars, it was probably Salvatore.
Wrapped in a blanket with red and blue bikes racing on it, a 20 year old keepsake from Mars childhood, Cykie went to Salvatore’s garden. They took turns digging the ground. And still wrapped they lowered him in. The memory of his black, brown, golden body covered in white salt with a yellow flower on his soft nose has stayed with India and afforded her a peace she would have doubted when she thought of this day. And India is glad she was there to see him enjoy his last ride. He’s the happiest memory she has.
And another favourite topic of discussion. His acting skills, his willingness in letting Eve, Pearl and Ray maul him, his love for beer, him.. he’s still the most adored dog in the world.
------
An excerpt from India’s Sleep Travelogue:
Later that night I slept only to dream of a narrow bathroom. I’m trapped in a corner of it watching the fattest, ugliest lizard. The damn thing is looking right at me. Then suddenly it falls to the floor, scuttles around a bucket and disappears.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Artless Observations
The reason for the lack of faith in the world is probably the excess of it.
Scared by the bunny boiler gleam in Maya’s eye I shall be using her representation of Mars.
I'll put up art work on Monday. But I can wait no longer (my face is turning blue), so here are the protagonists in the Affairs of India Q.
The Cast of Characters:
(in no particular order) (what nonsense.. ofcource there’s an order.. even if it’s random)
Paris (of no surname): the friend. Drop dead pretty, put together and supremely competent, Paris has but one failing, okay two.. uhh.. maybe three.. a memory that would make a goldfish feel proud, the attention span of a flea and an astounding lack of tact. On the plus side, she remembers that she loves Mars and that she has no choice but to love India.
Mars Flanagan: the older brother. Mars has transformed over the years from a ‘I’ll-bash- u- before- I-speak-to-you’ kind of guy to a yoga loving madman. He’s an automobile enthusiast/designer with thoughts he calls ‘brain passengers’. The boy older women dote on; his inability to be anything but nice (even with the neighbours!) causes Paris immense grief.
Salvatore: Mars’ oldest friend. An honorary member of the Flanagan clan. (not an honor he always wants). If James Bond was also the boy next door, you’d get Salvatore.
Piper Gardiner: a married cousin. While no one can say for certain what lies beneath the dark eyes, Piper is still the one stop place for a sense of comfort, discussions, troubles solved and fun.
Myrine: The oldest Flanagan sister. Big woman, big voice and big heart. Brash and naïve, the word for Myrine is simple.
Ms. Sheila Havisham – the mother. Has a tendency to be a camel on the verge of just getting the last straw but with the survival skills of a cat. A woman of many parts, she passed on her expressiveness to India, her creative flair to Titania and her nose to Mars. Thankfully she kept her sense of humour.
Mr. Havisham – the father. Mr. Havisham is the absentee father who one day decided to wreak havoc in his kids’ lives by ‘becoming involved’. A widely traveled, social and generous guy, he’s a split between the saint and the dictator. Unfortunately charity doesn’t begin at home in this case.
(note : yes.. the surnames don’t match their children’s.)
Titania Flanagan – the older sister. She did Mars and India no favours by being the perfect daughter. A shrink, a cooking artist and a budding jewelry designer, Titania is freelancing on all of this while looking for an actual job – she’s groom hunting! Now, if only they could find her either Tarzan or George of the Jungle she’d be really be happy.
Carmen: a maternal cousin. Excruciatingly polite, Carmen’s the original iron hand in the velvet glove. Don’t expect him at family functions (unless they don’t involve family), don’t expect him to answer questions (unless with another question) and don’t expect him to sit around (unless it involves drinking beer). But you can expect him to turn up if you need him.
Alanis: If birds of a feather really did flock together, the chances of Paris, Alanis and India hitting it off would be dim. Flap flap. Alanis is the original wild child. Though she says, she’s hardly wild, it’s a relative world. Highly intelligent, grimly displeased and warmly generous, no college memory seems complete without Alanis’ presence or marked absence.
Katharine: The fourth of the three. The four friends spent most of their time either in India’s house or Kat’s car. Infact her chauffeur has been privy to more girl talk than any man alive! Which reminds me, If Katharine has a problem, it is that she’s a member of business royalty. And believe me, that’s a big problem. From restrictions on career choices to men, Katharine is the original poor little rich girl. Disarmingly down to earth, suddenly wicked and inherently grid oriented, Katharine has but one passion – to dance.
J.B. Aldair: India’s first love. A smooth talking charmer with rare moments of sweetness. India caught a couple. Whether passionately arguing or coldly contemplating, J.B always has a point with three sub points and they’re always going somewhere. His being a lawyer is really just incidental.
Shade: India’s friend from college. Now in another continent. The friendship has only grown with distance. While Shade thrives on pretending to be cynical, India thrives on pretending to be a romantic. They’ve both fooled themselves but not each other.
Smith: A friend of Mars. Descended from one of Medusa’s victims, stoical Smith is a constant source of bafflement to friends and family alike. Dry, practical and inscrutable, the one reason his friends have hope for him is because he suffers from the restless leg syndrome. Obviously something’s waiting to come bursting forth.
Quinn Bingley: Another friend. While his father is aiming to launch Quinn as the next big CEO, Quinn’s ambition is getting people to acknowledge him as the funniest guy they’ve ever met or to lead the country’s cricket team in the next World Cup. The fact that he has absolutely no training will obviously make his triumph all the greater.
The friends who were also fellow lodgers:
Sky Bennet: also a cousin. As happily spaced out as a doper on a binge. Somewhere in her self induced haze, she’s transformed from a highly energetic mad person to a single minded workaholic. The tabla and ghungroo’s that medleyed in her soul either aren’t playing or the auditorium’s empty. And she doesn’t miss it.. India does.
Gaia: A diminutive Hitler with space issues. Can be prevented from going to war by a strategically timed game of badminton or a movie watching plan. Loves all things living except humans.
Sytar: a bespectacled recluse who only gets animated when you discuss Rhett Butler, pasta or books. A voice like a siren while singing and foghorn while talking. Sytar marches to her own drum, plays a secret tune and waits for her serenade.
Harry: Harry read her first film magazine when she was 4. She had her first breakdown when she was 5. She ran away from home 6 times. Got into fights x times. Fell in love a couple of times. Now she’s not just writing movies but living them. One unforgettable scene at a time.
A huge family with close ties, a gaggle of adorable nieces and a nephew.
Other friends: Audrey from post grad and George from school.
Nieces names : Nikita, Eve, Pearl, Anya, Rosalie.
Nephew: Ray
Maya Jones.. whom you’ve already met is going to continue with the art work. It is my intention to always use her work (that is.. some of it) simply in acknowledgment and appreciation of her sheer umm.. zeal and irrepressible spirit.
Scared by the bunny boiler gleam in Maya’s eye I shall be using her representation of Mars.
I'll put up art work on Monday. But I can wait no longer (my face is turning blue), so here are the protagonists in the Affairs of India Q.
The Cast of Characters:
(in no particular order) (what nonsense.. ofcource there’s an order.. even if it’s random)
Paris (of no surname): the friend. Drop dead pretty, put together and supremely competent, Paris has but one failing, okay two.. uhh.. maybe three.. a memory that would make a goldfish feel proud, the attention span of a flea and an astounding lack of tact. On the plus side, she remembers that she loves Mars and that she has no choice but to love India.
Mars Flanagan: the older brother. Mars has transformed over the years from a ‘I’ll-bash- u- before- I-speak-to-you’ kind of guy to a yoga loving madman. He’s an automobile enthusiast/designer with thoughts he calls ‘brain passengers’. The boy older women dote on; his inability to be anything but nice (even with the neighbours!) causes Paris immense grief.
Salvatore: Mars’ oldest friend. An honorary member of the Flanagan clan. (not an honor he always wants). If James Bond was also the boy next door, you’d get Salvatore.
Piper Gardiner: a married cousin. While no one can say for certain what lies beneath the dark eyes, Piper is still the one stop place for a sense of comfort, discussions, troubles solved and fun.
Myrine: The oldest Flanagan sister. Big woman, big voice and big heart. Brash and naïve, the word for Myrine is simple.
Ms. Sheila Havisham – the mother. Has a tendency to be a camel on the verge of just getting the last straw but with the survival skills of a cat. A woman of many parts, she passed on her expressiveness to India, her creative flair to Titania and her nose to Mars. Thankfully she kept her sense of humour.
Mr. Havisham – the father. Mr. Havisham is the absentee father who one day decided to wreak havoc in his kids’ lives by ‘becoming involved’. A widely traveled, social and generous guy, he’s a split between the saint and the dictator. Unfortunately charity doesn’t begin at home in this case.
(note : yes.. the surnames don’t match their children’s.)
Titania Flanagan – the older sister. She did Mars and India no favours by being the perfect daughter. A shrink, a cooking artist and a budding jewelry designer, Titania is freelancing on all of this while looking for an actual job – she’s groom hunting! Now, if only they could find her either Tarzan or George of the Jungle she’d be really be happy.
Carmen: a maternal cousin. Excruciatingly polite, Carmen’s the original iron hand in the velvet glove. Don’t expect him at family functions (unless they don’t involve family), don’t expect him to answer questions (unless with another question) and don’t expect him to sit around (unless it involves drinking beer). But you can expect him to turn up if you need him.
Alanis: If birds of a feather really did flock together, the chances of Paris, Alanis and India hitting it off would be dim. Flap flap. Alanis is the original wild child. Though she says, she’s hardly wild, it’s a relative world. Highly intelligent, grimly displeased and warmly generous, no college memory seems complete without Alanis’ presence or marked absence.
Katharine: The fourth of the three. The four friends spent most of their time either in India’s house or Kat’s car. Infact her chauffeur has been privy to more girl talk than any man alive! Which reminds me, If Katharine has a problem, it is that she’s a member of business royalty. And believe me, that’s a big problem. From restrictions on career choices to men, Katharine is the original poor little rich girl. Disarmingly down to earth, suddenly wicked and inherently grid oriented, Katharine has but one passion – to dance.
J.B. Aldair: India’s first love. A smooth talking charmer with rare moments of sweetness. India caught a couple. Whether passionately arguing or coldly contemplating, J.B always has a point with three sub points and they’re always going somewhere. His being a lawyer is really just incidental.
Shade: India’s friend from college. Now in another continent. The friendship has only grown with distance. While Shade thrives on pretending to be cynical, India thrives on pretending to be a romantic. They’ve both fooled themselves but not each other.
Smith: A friend of Mars. Descended from one of Medusa’s victims, stoical Smith is a constant source of bafflement to friends and family alike. Dry, practical and inscrutable, the one reason his friends have hope for him is because he suffers from the restless leg syndrome. Obviously something’s waiting to come bursting forth.
Quinn Bingley: Another friend. While his father is aiming to launch Quinn as the next big CEO, Quinn’s ambition is getting people to acknowledge him as the funniest guy they’ve ever met or to lead the country’s cricket team in the next World Cup. The fact that he has absolutely no training will obviously make his triumph all the greater.
The friends who were also fellow lodgers:
Sky Bennet: also a cousin. As happily spaced out as a doper on a binge. Somewhere in her self induced haze, she’s transformed from a highly energetic mad person to a single minded workaholic. The tabla and ghungroo’s that medleyed in her soul either aren’t playing or the auditorium’s empty. And she doesn’t miss it.. India does.
Gaia: A diminutive Hitler with space issues. Can be prevented from going to war by a strategically timed game of badminton or a movie watching plan. Loves all things living except humans.
Sytar: a bespectacled recluse who only gets animated when you discuss Rhett Butler, pasta or books. A voice like a siren while singing and foghorn while talking. Sytar marches to her own drum, plays a secret tune and waits for her serenade.
Harry: Harry read her first film magazine when she was 4. She had her first breakdown when she was 5. She ran away from home 6 times. Got into fights x times. Fell in love a couple of times. Now she’s not just writing movies but living them. One unforgettable scene at a time.
A huge family with close ties, a gaggle of adorable nieces and a nephew.
Other friends: Audrey from post grad and George from school.
Nieces names : Nikita, Eve, Pearl, Anya, Rosalie.
Nephew: Ray
Maya Jones.. whom you’ve already met is going to continue with the art work. It is my intention to always use her work (that is.. some of it) simply in acknowledgment and appreciation of her sheer umm.. zeal and irrepressible spirit.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Waiting to Exhale
I was not planning to be tardy.. the introductions are all written and ready to go.. to give you an idea.. 19 of them. Friends, family and sadly no foe. The drama shall all be inhouse.
But my artist..Maya Jones, a cherubic dimpler with a witch's laugh, nasty actions and pure thoughts, who was thrust upon me by her enthusiasm (and mine).. is acting temperamental. She insists on delivering sketches a little later in the day.
Since the only thing i excel at are stick figures (innumerable kinds) and blocks of colour (what an eye i've got!), i'm at her mercy.
As i have never seen any art work ever from Maya, (not even a stick figure), this is a leap of faith.
And since all art is about faith (what shit!) (but i've got to round this up).. I will wait.
But my artist..Maya Jones, a cherubic dimpler with a witch's laugh, nasty actions and pure thoughts, who was thrust upon me by her enthusiasm (and mine).. is acting temperamental. She insists on delivering sketches a little later in the day.
Since the only thing i excel at are stick figures (innumerable kinds) and blocks of colour (what an eye i've got!), i'm at her mercy.
As i have never seen any art work ever from Maya, (not even a stick figure), this is a leap of faith.
And since all art is about faith (what shit!) (but i've got to round this up).. I will wait.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
The Introduction....
This blog has been in the works longer than Rome. One would think it was owing to my laziness, but one, two and three would be lying. It is infact owing to my perfectionism.
The decision over what to blog about can only be rivaled by my confusion over what tattoo to engrave on self or whether to finally switch from chocolate ice cream to butterscotch. But my conundrum has been solved by the Hand of God. While sneaking around (as is my wont) (obviously you will get true representation of characters here), God handed me my muse. The Diaries of India Q. This is no paltry collection. Ranging from everyday incidents, things to do when pregnant lists, games invented, actual dreams noted, poems to philosophical observations on life, I had found my material. I’ve stolen the stuff. Now I’ll make up pseudonyms and protect my rights. Ha ha.
So finally..
The Affairs of India Q.
Because:
If I’m lazy, she’s made an art of lying about; if I’m practical, she’s immensely so; if I’m boring, she’s spontaneous; if I’m attractive, she’s gorgeous; if I’m a great liar, she’s charmingly candid; if I have multiple personality disorder, she just has multiple personalities.. in short not only is she more write- worthy but she also possesses a motley crew of friends and relatives that defy caricatures and hyperboles to make moulds so original that, in fact, I shall stop here to introduce them all.
The decision over what to blog about can only be rivaled by my confusion over what tattoo to engrave on self or whether to finally switch from chocolate ice cream to butterscotch. But my conundrum has been solved by the Hand of God. While sneaking around (as is my wont) (obviously you will get true representation of characters here), God handed me my muse. The Diaries of India Q. This is no paltry collection. Ranging from everyday incidents, things to do when pregnant lists, games invented, actual dreams noted, poems to philosophical observations on life, I had found my material. I’ve stolen the stuff. Now I’ll make up pseudonyms and protect my rights. Ha ha.
So finally..
The Affairs of India Q.
Because:
If I’m lazy, she’s made an art of lying about; if I’m practical, she’s immensely so; if I’m boring, she’s spontaneous; if I’m attractive, she’s gorgeous; if I’m a great liar, she’s charmingly candid; if I have multiple personality disorder, she just has multiple personalities.. in short not only is she more write- worthy but she also possesses a motley crew of friends and relatives that defy caricatures and hyperboles to make moulds so original that, in fact, I shall stop here to introduce them all.
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