And Then There Were None

13th September 2001

Sometimes you stand alone, you feel alone and you cry. You can’t believe that a single body can be wracked with so much loneliness and grief. And then in the middle of a good cry you suddenly realize that life can’t be coming to an end as there will be many more nights like this one.

December 2007

I found this year’s old entry last night. And it’s true… there is always another night like the last one. I think maybe I meant it well… that life goes on. Though if you’re still crying over the same stuff 7 years down then God help you. I didn’t. Phew! That sure is a relief.
(I’m a silver line watcher.)

Points to be noted:
1. Crying blocks your nose but clears your head.
2. Crying in the middle of the night when the world around you is dark and silent really adds to the drama. You hear every shuddering breath. And every whimper sounds louder than it is.
3. If you can't find someone to call and cry with - 2 extra minutes of salt water shedding is due to you.
4. The morning after headache is bad. You might as well have sleep walked and funneled down a couple of bottles of undiluted vodka.
5. I look ugly when I cry. (I checked). So I do it rarely.

Greater Expectations

Calvin: Here I am, happy and content. ...but not euphoric. So now I'm no longer content. I'm unhappy. My day is ruined. I need to stop thinking while I'm ahead.

I beamed as Sytar opened the birthday present I’d got her. Everyone waited for the unveiling. (I’d talked a bit about the splendor of it) The silver wrapper came off and Sytar smiled at the candle holder. Light the candle I commanded. She did and oohed. I smiled wider. The others hmmphed.
What?
India, you said the dragonflies dance on the ceiling.
I thought they also glowed green.
Sky just shook her head at me.
What? I repeat. It’s pretty.
Mars explains to Harry – India’s fatal flaw is that not only does she have excessive imagination but she actually seems satisfied with how little reality matches it.
I blithely ignore them all. So the dragonflies didn’t dance on the ceiling but they’re flickering merrily on the green glass of the holder.

Mars got back from Shanghai with kites. Unlike me, Paris implies more the less she says. A hint here, a word there. They were dragons with impressive wingspans. A medley of colors and flash like a battle in air. There were even pandas that the dragons were fighting to protect. So we went for a kite flying evening in a relaxed burb of Cesspool. The sun was gentle, happy groups flitted around with strings. Paris started to take the kite out of its packaging.
The dragon’s mine, the dragon’s mine. I book it hurriedly. Ha ha.
The kites unfold and I stare.
That’s a dragon? It’s neon pink! Isn’t it supposed to be a commanding bronze?!! It looks like a butterfly could fell it!
Paris tries to look nonchalant.
Mars mutters a sotto voce; Kites of a feather fly together.

So it figures that a few weeks ago when Myrine and Piper came in for a day’s visit Paris and I had plans which envisaged them having the most fabulous, exciting, never-want-to-go-back time in Cesspool.
This was our city. We’d take them to Bagel Shop and for a walk up to the fort to enjoy the sea, to some lovely shops that are stories on their own and for a night of hard drinking and dancing. Fortunately we got a reality check even before their arrival. I heard that not only were another cousin and his wife planning to be here the same day but also Mrs. H.
Hmm... Suddenly the visions of hazy fumed revelers and afternoon long gossip sessions in a cozy hamlet receded. Paris and I sucked it in (not very well). Nothing of the day went according to plan (plan A that is) and instead all we did was shop. I felt like the parent of an ungrateful child. All those days of planning and putting together the best day for them and all Myrine and Piper wanted to do was shop.
Lesson learnt – sometimes your expectations have to be tempered with other people’s.
I figured the evening can only get worse. I was trying to picture Mrs. H who can’t control her tch’s in the middle of F.R.I.E.N.D.S and who I’ve never even let in the same house for Sex and the City come with us to a den of iniquity. But by now I had achieved Zen. Or more correctly I just didn’t give a damn anymore. So we dressed up and went clubbing. I saw Mrs. H do a quick glance around. She sat down in a corner while we burst out singing the minute we entered. Then Elvis belted out a number and she shimmied onto the floor. I grinned. Piper’s resolve was bolstered. She dug out her pack and lit up a cigarette.
Hippy hippy shake. I bobbed up and down to hide the Classic Milds from view. Shake it to the left. Twisted. Shake it to the right. Slid back. Suddenly a hand snakes its way around me, Mrs. H gives me a wry-smug look and takes a drag from Myrine. I shake my head. Paris’s jaw drops open. Not for long though. Mrs. H passes THE CIGARETTE to her daughter-in-law. They turn a bend together.
And another lesson was learnt – Sometimes, just sometimes I find that I have low expectations and people can be and do so much more than I let them in my narrow imagination.