Renu goes to Raglan

Now if the horseride was not enough where Renu was bouncing like a rubber ball on a hard wicket, wait till you hear this.
I should be studying but I am wtiting memoirs. I am hopeless.

Well after I met the EsSalaam Aleikum gang (Arabic language Club by Yahya: Not yasseer I had got his name wrong) and discussed the Arabic women’s legs. We are both in the danger of being shot. But Yahya has a big heart that he gives to the most cruel women as you do and loses romance out of life. Anyway the food was great and next day chooks and me decided to go to a hot springs pool south of auckland near Hamilton.
Incidently that’s where Gaurav and gang live. Now renu is a cook of high acclaim with her initial flirtations with garlic so powerful that Natalie my firstr crush who lived on top of the Ramavat family could have died of Ramavat Garlic syndrome. So high were they in use of garlic and onion that as a child gaurav ate onions like we eat apple. Slurp Crunch Yum.
But then hey Renu is a great cook in line with Neeta Mamee and my mom who is no longer a cook.
I told Chookee if she enjoyed the Arabic feast which was a delight (sorry to repeat myself) She would love Renu’s home cooking. Anyway, we went.
It was a sunny day and than started drizzling and then lightning and than downright stormy. Priya gold the famous daughter-in-law was seated on the couch and thinking of assignment. Capture this Kodak moment please. She looked as if she was eating cotton soaked in kerosene because the assignment date was due. It is a pain in the ass, these bloody assignments and i have around 40 to do in a journal but I am writing the adventures of renu.
The meal was sensational and Chooks (all 5.9 kissed all of them, on the cheeks) and the food that tasted like mung was bean seed and bloody sensational plus the dal that grandmaa specialised in.
The ginger was perfect and the fenugreek seed and Kokum. You may ask what the F is KOKUM?
Kokum is made from Ratamba (Garcinia indica), a fruit from the plum family. The pulp and peels of the Ratamba are separated. The peels are soaked or smeared in its juices and sun dried. This is repeated often till the skin shrivels up but retains the red/purple colour and the slightly astringent flavour. This is now kokum, which is used as a souring agent in cooking.
Yes so the dal was perfect and thus we decided to go for a drive around the country may be to a hot sulphur spa pool. However, I explained to Chookie the slight problem of Baby and Renu and a public spa and swimming costumes and Chooks understood since her father used to call her a slut if she put perfume and thus her Maori mentality caught up with Indian modesty. Lets call it Culture.
We went off to Raglan after setting out in the opposite direction for 60 Kms. And the countryside was filled with sheep on hills and the horses (yes, horses, the ones that you ride on) and than we went in the right direction thanks to Mukeshbhai, a gujju dairy owner setting us right.
Raglan in the Maori legend is a healing place and I know it for sure. We were racing against sunset and storm and the hilly ways were very much like Piha beach pathway (Kaho naa pyaar hai) where Ms patel danced in a skimpy and looked gorgeous. It was spectacular and chooks was careful since we had precious cargo: Baby nad Renu. It was a beautiful drive and luckily my duvet was there in the boot that they used. NZ is having bad weather and rumours of a coming Tsunami.
And thus, mom had called up to find out if i was OK. It was heartlessly cold and i decided to invite them outside in two of my jackets also in the boot. It was a Tornado-ish wind and both started running in the jacket and before we could reach the bridge, a small white monument that looked like something out of Saagar the movie in which Dimple showed her true self. These two wear shivering and thus tried running with the oversized jacket looking like small sheep and then finally we felt sorry.
We ran back to the car and bought some chips, cooked in Veg Oil not Beef Talo. I ensured that since Mcdonal had a huge backlash from the Jains of NYC. the jains in New York and the US are the second richest community after Jews.
There they were in raglan running on the slippery path and screaming and happy after $8 chips on their lap from the Chinese who looked half Maori but than due to NZ Sun Kiwi Chinese do look peculiarly brown.
Raglan is a healing place for Maoris and the black sand beach combined with Stella’s weed smoking that makes her kidnapped by Alieans. notice how aliens only kidnap the maddest human beings for anal inspection.
But the weather was suddenly clear and colder and the stars came out in a crisp night and Gaurav’s Veg Makhanwala was great as was the rotis who cooked. Now gaurav may not be a lot of things but good cook he is. I had once tried butter chicken in a Maori household that had cute daughters and forgot to put cream and butter and burned their mouths and noses.
Gaurav cooking was great and the heater stopped B & R from shivering. Chooks and the ramavats loved eachother and we drove back late leaving them shivering. But if rumours are to be believed they enjoyed the trip but i still cant get over them shivering and screaming and running like ants in a bugs life.

Renu Goes Riding

It is 2:37 in the morning of 4th October 2007. It’s somebody’s birthday but I don’t know…wait it’s Kim Red’s birthday. But never mind. Write(?) now I have more green tea in my veins that Lalit Ramavat has alcohol. I am intoxicated.

Who is Lalit Ramavat? Well, Lalit Ramavat is the guy who wooed Renu, my maternal aunty in the years of 1976 to 1979 in Anand Society by acting cute on a small bicycle. A Lilliputian bicycle and disturbing her when she gave Tinnu(a boy who puts coconut oil in his hair) tuitions. And then of course, they fell in love and produced Gaurav and baby (everyone calls her that). Anyway, Renu is not the fastest on her feet. I remember once she took part in a race in Anand Society (an apartment with
three wings…not red bull but three buildings A B and C). She ran this race and borrowed a pink floral Salwar Kameez from Kishori Sharif (her sister, mother to Sameer, wife to late Abdul Rehman Sharif who wrote the movie burning train). Now Renu fell during the race as she tried running and Renu being Renu laughed. But Kishori was pissed off and the dress had to be darned since it was a pink Salwar Kameez with flowers. Renu once tried swimming in the Andheri Recreation Club where She
closed her eyes and flapped and flapped and flapped wild as a dolphin. Shobha was watching over her. Shobha is the youngest sister and a tough nut to crack and a lady with immense self control. Shobha once jumped into the pool from a height of two stories and hurt her hands but did not even budge. She got married at 29ish and yet she was pure if you know what I mean. Now I don’t know any white girl or black girl or brown girl with that kind of self restraint. Anyway. Renu was flapping all
this time and when she opened her eyes…she was in the same place…ladies and gentlemen…not a mean feat this. Most people would have reached the opposite end and back.
But Renu was right next to Shobha in the pool when she took a deep breath, flapped like hell and after 5 minutes was in THE SAME SPOT. Something similar happened at Nainital where she was so proud of her cheeks turned red that she wanted to catch a helicopter to Bombay Walkeshwar where we lived and show off. And once said look how fast I can walk. And she flapped and flapped and did not reach far. That’s Renu. Who once called prostrate ‘prostitute’ by mistake and the doctors and my grandpa
And my mama (Unky Pandey) were embarrassed in a Dadar Hospital where Grandpa had an operation. She barged in all 4.10 inches of her and asked if the ‘prostitute’ was done. That’s Renu. Now she went riding. Her daughter in law Priya Gold wanted her to ride and I could not give her adequate warning though I am on a free phone away. Priya thought that she should show her mom-in-law a good time. She was all excited the night before but I was not. I actually forgot to warn her though I did remark
One cannot trust animals giving the Christopher Reeve example but did not ask her not to go. Priya was thinking if I ask her not to come she will be offended and Renu was thinking if I don’t go, Priya would feel bad. Both waited on ceremony as Indian women do. Both waiting for the other person to back them out. Anyway. The day arrived and the horse was a huge madafaka. Huge. Taller than Renu. She was given a yellow helmet and words of encouragement by the white instructor and you know how
Polite and sweet they are. Ladies and gentlemen, don’t go away. Now this horse was a moody bastard and in India the horse-Cooley runs besides you but here you are given instructions and Off… you go. it’s like being given a manual to car driving and sends off on a long drive. No horse Cooley ran besides her and the horse vibrated off the ground like a spring toy on an electronic motor. The helmet was jumping and Renu thought this was it. END OF THE STORY. But It did not stop there.
The horse went faster and Renu was sweating in 10 degrees cold atmosphere over a hill route that was perilously closed to the valley and than the horse! Then the horse got into a bad temper and started fighting and competing with the other horse. Renu was closed to crying but the horse kept going to the other horse and FINALLY after an hour or so it was finished. And Renu was scared white. You see!

Meal at two palaces (aftermath of Ramzan)

The palace is Herne bay and does not have any bus routes. Now, I got an invitation from Yasseer, the Arabic teacher (its a club not a course) and the food was plenty and thus, I went. Chookie came with me. She’s not my girlfriend and we reached Herne bay. I thought of amy. I should not have but I did. Anyway it was a huge house that these people the hosts, cooks and servers did not own. But it was like a white Saudi Arabian house that belongs to an egyptian and his chinese wife from malaysia!
Noo…Singapore. We removed out shoes outside and saw galeechaas spread on the floor and we were home. My granpa had a thing for galeechaas or the carpets that looked like flying carpets from Arabian nights but did not fly. Now this red carpet was in Andheri and it came out during diwali and i am glad it did not fly or we would have hurt the crackers and the rockets and the fireworks that Jetli, a mad bastard send from the floor and laughed. he drank too much Chivas Regal.
Anyway so we went to this palace and had koftas (no not of sweet gourd or dudhee but they were made of mince) and lentil soup also known as dal. There were too french girls who had come and i was talking to chrisbarretto@gmail.com. His real name is Chris Barrett but that was taken. Too BAD. Anyway he confirmed my theory that people on vodafone have vodafone friends and people with telecom have telecom friends. Both Cell phone companies that allow free text to ONLY their company. It’s like Airtel
vs Orange or now it has become maroon or purple or lavender. Anyway the food was gorgeous. Humus and baba humous and dates (not dry but fresh) tasted like leechee and the yellow small fruit the skin of which stuck to my tongue. The doctor woman was great and chookie pointed out only in hamilton where we went next day for another feed that I should have spoken to her. She was beautiful. Yasseer introduced me as a mentor and master as he thought I was a great poet. i think the guy who wrote
humpty dumpty was better than me. I told Yasseer, whom I call yahweh (Jehova in christian) that Arabic women were the best women on earth and he confirmed that they had lovely legs. and i wonder how one can see the legs through burkha and yasseer confirmed times had changed and i was happy for arabia and told Yasseer that he would never have a chance in taliban since he did not offer namaz and he confirmed that the prophet said food came before prayers just like the POTOBA_VITHOBA theory of the
Marathas. We went to renu’s house next day but that was great. By the way, renu went horse riding.
The horse was larger than an elephant and her helmet moved as the horse jumped and the horse went to fight with another horse. Reminds you of that fat girl in Hum Kisise se Kam nahi…Kajal Kiran. that’s the name. But renu was petrified. I will send the details soon.

Southland, ChristChurch, Queenstown…It’s all happening

I just returned in the blistering, rain-filled streets of Auckland and now having lived in 22 different parts of the city, I can safely say I hate Auckland. I am sick of the rush rush and construction concrete flying out as I have possibly just completed my Graduate Diploma in English and Drama and come to tie a few loose ends before I move somewhere, anywhere outta here. I have been Auckland’s proudest supporter as Auckland has been mine but it’s time to move.
The South Island is a different country altogether and before I went there I was toying with the idea of going to Wellington or Hamilton and working fulltime. I love relief teaching but to teach full time a bunch of thankless teenagers is not my idea of job satisfaction.
We flew into a red evening via Christchurch from Queenstown and I was deeply satisfied at my seven day trip and I will sending you bits and pieces of the travel journal through the night as I am inside graduate centre having been dropped by my cousin Gaurav Ramavat, who has drove us around South Island. I had a falling out with this particular cousin since I did not hear from him for a long, long, long time. My hostel office is closed and I am doing my last journal at the all night place which
is filled with people doing their academic shit.
Thus I am about to embark on my writing journey.

When my cousin Utkarsh left Proper Bombay

We always called it proper Bombay and heard names like CP Tank, Hanging Gardens , Gowalia Tank and Capitol Cinema. My first memory of Proper Bombay since I came fro what was then the last suburb Borivali, was the million pigeons eating grams on the roof of Third Bhoiwada, that’s were Utkarsh my cousin lived. For a while we had a charpaee or those beds that were made of wooden brackets and coir rope. Very comfartable and highly portable. We were both nine and eleven and Utkarsh (officially Utkarshbhai) had to get up to get milk. I went with him on some days and on other days I did not. I spent a few holidays in 3rd Bhoiwada in Swami Narayan building and as we walked into the row on houses in a square on the second floor with an almost clean dump where we played cricket. Utkarsh grew up in the mala and often we would go to buy kalakhatta and sugarcane juice and were secretly allowed to eat Pau Bhaji that had onions and garlic and potatoes that the Jains did not eat. We promised to go to one place and ended up in another and that was our source of deception that Utkarsh cherished. We were given some money and his kind mother and intelligent father often suggested where we should go. I got my first scooter from them. Scooter being the small petrol free thing that you swayed one leg and gathered momentum.
Something like this it was an old green one that mom had to carry for me with a love and dedication only a single mother (dad was away at that time and came back and forth and coming and going) could.
Right next to Masee’s (maternal aunty mother to Utkarsh) house was a colourless house with a a young girl that had severe head aches and water retention in the head that eventually killed her. But that apart we sometimes slept on the mezzanine floor that was huge and danced on it’s wooden base and the grandparents would get upset. The grandfather read with a huge magnifying glass and we brought Bakor Patel books (something akin to Brer Rabbit) except in this case the lead was a goat. When Utkarsh left Proper Bombay we lost an interesting part of the childhood that went back to Mahavir nagar and kite flying on the terraces and discussing Natalie my first crush and what a crush she was.

You are right, I am reading Shantaram by Gregory ‘Australian chap with an NZ passport’ and have forgotten Mohan Iyer’s birthday and which reminds me of throwing buckets full of water on innocent (notice how passersby are always innocent) passersby from Binto’s house who died in a bomb blast that happened in the Share Bazaar in 1993 where Utkarsh worked as a sub-broker but Utkarsh is safe, at least on that accord.

Tiger Tiger Chickening Nights

There he goes. He’s hiding here, the bastard.” came the voice from nowhere on a summer’s full moon night in Manurewa. Followed by another: “Yes…Yes. I can see him. He’s here”. South Auckland was filled with angry shouts and screams just near my window. I woke up with a start and actually broke into cold sweat. I was sure it was me they were searching for. I could not move lest I was seen. I stayed paralysed for an eternity of fifteen minutes. I was sweating all this time. My pillow had gone damp.
I always fancied myself as a bit of a tiger and a brave-heart. Talking of brave-hearts I always maintained that Maoris have a big heart. In the summer of 2002, sometime in November just before I moved in with my ‘Pakeha’ girlfriend, I stayed at a Maori mate’s house. Wakena was returning me an old favor. Waky (as I called him) and me hadn’t always been friends. Sometimes I knew for a fact that if he wasn’t a Christian, he would have killed me.
We were working at the warehouse of The Warehouse (where everyone gets a red bargain) at Wiri. That day, as I was moving the bottles out of the dispatch trail, I suddenly saw a big Maori fella leaning over me. His face was totally tattooed. He looked at me with what I thought were kind eyes, for someone with tattoo for facial skin. He proclaimed, “He is coming.” I knew this was an abstract statement and didn’t bother to look around for ‘who’ is ‘he’. I just smiled at him and he said, “Isu is coming”. I knew Isu was Indian for Jesus and I said, “Oh, that’s nice”. After a cross-fire of banter we became friends.
The Clendon ward was surprised to see an Indian and a Maori as friends. “A lot of people are surprise to see a Maori walk with an Indian but you are in many ways like me…not easily intimidated.” Wakena said. I was ‘wow’ as I looked at the tattoo-faced seriousness. I just nodded in a cool-sort-of-a-cowboy-knows-his-way-across-the-sunset way. I was dreaming of other imaginary glories like taking a hat trick, making love to Irene etc. as I dozed off.
That day I decided to retire early since it was a Friday night and I had nothing to do after the spicy Pau Bhaji I had made for the family. Waky is the only guy in the entire world that can eat the spice I dish out.
It had been a tiresome week and I was still intrigued by how close the state houses were. From my window I could see the lesbian women’s ‘living in sodomy’ house. They were the butt of every church going Mormon’s joke in that clammed neighborhood. I could see three other houses. I was thinking of the compliment Wakena had paid me as we were walking home besides his bicycle, Yeah, yeah…the same brave heart one. I was slow-motioning the walk on tar road and relishing the moment; the sun was setting on the green hills as I was re-runnning the compliment.
I fell asleep and was soon dreaming. Ancient Mongolians were attacking the enemy on the green fields that stretched on and on. Then it happened.
At two I heard voices and screams. “There is the bastard”. “He’s hiding here.” “Catch him.” I gasped, did not dare to turn the lights of the ghetto house, since I slept in the nude. “Fuck… why did I ever come to stay here. They were after me!” I was scared shitless. I heard another set of footsteps in the house, running everywhere on the wooden house…through the green toilet that had floating toys in the bath tub around my room and towards Waky’s room. My room did not have a latch as I inched my way after a good twenty minutes, frantically ducking from the window line of vision.
I was searching for my faded wranglers in the dark. Under the small single bed..no. Besides my cotton sheet that kept me from itching in the night…no. Hung on the old oil heater. I was crouching tiger – gutless dragon. I found it. Was on the floor on my back wearing it. Luckily no one opened my door. After about fifteen minute of abject commotion, I stared out of my small, sneaky window (that opened only half an inch for oxygen). All the lights in the neighbourhood were ablaze. I decided to venture out into the lounge. My manhood was at stake. Remember, I was the guy who could not get intimidated.
I looked at the whanau. They were all untouched by this violent night, where punches and screams were thrown in for the added interest. Waky was trying to start someone’s car. I did not speak just looked around and ensured that I was safe.
I even boldly went up to Waky and said, “Hey! What happened?”
Waky shrugged off “Oh a fight in the neighborhood.”
I smiled at Kathy “That happens?”
“Oh! All the time.”
Now my curiosity took precedence over my fear that I hid rather well. Ok so what’s happening? I ventured nearer to the gate and saw lots of cars and Police lights and Waky driving the car a fair bit. I did not completely risk going out. What if someone says, “What’s this bloody Indian doing here?” And, suddenly everyone realizes his point and starts smashing me. But hey! I had proved that I was brave inside. So there! It was time to sleep.
I later put all the fragmented pieces of information together and realized that there was a party happening in the cream house besides the Lesbian Villa and someone got drunk and mistook someone else’s wife for his. Actually he just molested her. And hell broke loose. The culprit ran through the backyard into our house and ran through the door. Whew! That was a close shave. These New Zealanders didn’t they ever bolt their doors? I had generalized till I saw how meticulously Emma turned the alarm and bolted the every little window in the house.
My stay at Wakena’s house was fairly comfortable but I was awakened by Mormon readings of the Bible in tongues from the other room. I did enjoy chips dipped in white sauce. Waky loved my curry. However, one morning when I heard Waky and Kathy fighting over ‘how he’s not interested in touching her’. I realized that I was a mouse not a fgiery warrior. I decided it was time to pack.
I did not mind them occasionally turning my God’s picture frame face-side-down because they were sure it was the Devil. But, when husband and wife start fighting, it is time to leave. So I am not brave. But I’m alive and whatsmore everyone thinks I’m James Bond himself.

Exorcist in Dahanu

Dahanu is a sleepy little town that looks like a Pacific island, with its endless palms and coconut plantations, on the western coast just hundred kilometres above Mumbai on a map. The fresh Neera or coconut toddy, a sweet morning juice that can ferment into an intoxicating drink in the afternoon, is pure nectar.
The brown train on a winter morning, with visible specks of white dust in February sun promised that it would be a fun trip with my cousin and her husband living with the in-laws of the in-laws. It’s slightly complicated, so let’s just call them the others. The others live in a huge apartment in Dahanu.
The first three days were untainted heaven with long walks, nights under rural starry beaches, good vegetarian curries, lentils and pickles. My cousin’s husband, technically my brother-in-law (since in India, we call our first cousins cousin-brother or cousin-sister) is a hilarious comedian. We were staying at his sister’s house thus, the in-laws of the in-laws.
But on that fateful day, we were warned in instalments by the others. “They are coming”, said the stupid one. “We need the bhuwa (exorcist) as lots of bad things are happening in the house.”, said the mother. This was following a shouting match between father (in-law) and the stupid one.
We went for dinner that evening having forgotten the small snippets of talk that day. When we came back the lounge or the hall was filled with strangers. Everyone was drinking and the lights were on full blast inside the house.
“They are from London, they don’t believe all this”, said the father to the exorcist almost as a challenge. My cousin looked thrilled at being called a London-returned. Actually, none of us have been to London. I live in Auckland and my cousin has travelled to Dubai and Nairobi.
We quietly went to our green room with an ancient air-conditioner that worked like a breeze. Indian winters are warmer than Auckland summers. We must have nodded off, when suddenly we heard loud noises. Clangs. Singing. Clapping.
My cousin said, “Looks like they are dancing”. We ran to the door. Ghosts and possessions or divine haunting do happen in India. Divine haunting are more common in Navratri even in Mumbai. During the nine nights, it is said, that mother-deities come out to play garba. When mostly the women dance around a the goddesses and sometimes people get possessed as they are singing garbas.
But belief in possessions is uncommon among the learned folk, drawing an invisible line between the ‘educated fools’ and the God-fearing rural people.
Kneeling, we placed ourselves behind the door and opened it slightly. As a guest in India it would be unwise to jump out of the room and say “Hey! Let me watch!” Protocol had to be followed. That was part and parcel of being born in a country of arrange marriages, five thousand years of civilisation, extended families and the caste system. The caste system did not affect the metros, in a big way anymore.
Coming back to the action through a gap between the door and the wall, my cousin had already joined in and her husband eventually followed. My cousin is a staunch Jain and thus, does not eat non-veg and would never hurt a living thing and did not believe in ‘hocus pocus’.
Hocus Focus can be exciting to life especially if you on all fours with your cousin was bending over you and her upright husband economising the half inch gap between the door and wall.
My cousin said rhetorically, “Are they singing?”.
Suddenly, we saw someone come towards us. We immediately jumped to our nonchalant positions on bed, playing scrabble, reading, staring philosophically into the ceiling etc.
It was lady of the house, who extended a warm and insistent welcome. You can come out and join us.”
“No. We are fine but Suneal, if you want to go it’s alright”, came the approval that is so crucial in times like this. Then, one can run out. They eventually followed.
The group was animated and wearing colourful clothes as they were singing bhajans and garbas – hymns to evoke the goddess mother deity Ambe and Chamunda, essentially. We sat on the thick cotton-jute carpet on the floor.
The other daughter-in-law already looking possessed; swinging her head at a radius of three feet in a circular motion that allowed her leverage of three feet in height. Something like the earth’s rotation and revolution. Sitting next to a possessed individual is a an experience.
The red sindoor, not the small dot on the forhead but a long, blood-red liquid going from between the eyebrows all the way into the hair, was looking ominous. The woman was moving frantically and when prompted by the ordinary looking exorcist, who you would not have given a second glance in the fruit bazaar except for his bulging eyes. He was of medium built and had had a few pegs of whiskey before.
“Show your true self… WHO ARE YOU!” He said to the woman.
She, in turn, stuck her Maori-haka tongue out and looked like a replica of the picture of Mother Chamunda, with her eyes wide open and tongue almost touching her chin. She rotated and revolved at full burst for a good half an hour. Almost everyone instinctively started touching her feet out of reverence, awe and sheer respect for the goddess. Some did not.
Bowing to keep the peace and making sure the unknown does not suck you in is a wise option. The whole thing seemed slightly overdone and aggravated for the benefit of non-believing foreign returned-s. One could bow in submission or be hexed.
My cousin’s attitude of being someone – she is not, came out in full flavour. The wannabe tough, educated feminist ‘from hell’ and the greatest gift to any one who comes in contact with her.
The noise decibels were increasing as people were summoned to ask questions. They later told me that the answers were accurate.
Suddenly everyone got up. Actually, some of them got up as the exorcist led them out. We later learned that they had gone to the family factory and the women had found an article or a lemon that was burried by ‘evil eyed’ as a curse to the family.
The possessed woman found the article and then they destroyed and had gone to the crematorium, the Hindu ‘graveyard‘. Going to bury a lemon or an article that captured all the evil spirits, bad luck and possible family misfortunes, can be avoided. Was.
After an hour or so, the nice other lady was in our room talking about evil things and insisting that she didn’t want to get into these things as it went against her beliefs. She was religious and believed in Shiva.
The ardent father-in-law came in and asked her to get religiously possessed. “It is nothing, don‘t be scared”.
Once again, we found ourselves in the yellow lamp-lit hall with pictures of goddesses and a skull. She was asked to drink some whiskey. She insisted that she did not want to get possessed as the exorcist said, “My child don’t be afraid”.
Even as she was pleading not to get into a trance, suddenly, out of no will of hers, she began rotating. She kept insisting that she did not want to go through this. The roller coaster.
She was fine, educated and graceful one moment and convulsing the next. It was difficult not to believe. My cousin was her cool self. The lady in the meantime, went for gold and in her trance – rotated. Her voice changed. Soon, she was answering questions that onlookers posed. Wanted her spell to be broken would be anybody’s natural wish. My cousin asked a few questions as her non-believing confused, husband looked down at us from the sofa.
It was finally over leaving a huge impression. The exorcist had been in a lineage of exorcists and was an ardent worshipper of mother deities. He insisted that he did not accept money but some money had changed hands. The parents- in-laws were happy and proud of their daughters-in-laws.
The lady insisted that she was fresher than ever and did not remember a thing about her possessed state and it seemed she was telling the truth. Dahanu had left a mark and that evening was like Bengal where goddesses and spirits change people’s lives and the eastern state is believed to be a land of black magic.
The incident remained close to my heart till an opportune moment, when I actually digested my brush with the after life. There was definitely something there. And, even as I tried to send this story across before the d-time, the computer shut on me for no reason thrice and I had to rewrite the story over and over again and actually hand it in, one hour and eighteen minutes late.

Just a small art form

I think fonts are wonderful. Have just made a small thinggy (melanies word) to keep something I have designed plus a little memento to my favourite country.

Into the Heart of Gujarat with the wind on our faces

No matter what country, place or religion, there is a subtle yet strong bond of culture between the coastal areas of the world. The fishing folks around the planet have incomprehensible similarities. Assuming that the spice of the lives of the fishing folk could give us just the dimension and freedom we were looking for, Arun and me set out from Malad Manori on his Enfield packed with Bisleri bottles, black and white rolls and a lust for life which tripled when we saw those gals with ‘legs’ on the launch that took us across to Manori.
I had half the mind to follow the legs and get to know them better but I said hey- that could wait. We rode through greens and grasses and tumbled down forts and stopped to click schools, churches, horses and a rocky cliff I tried to get on. Gorai served us omelettes and tadgolas. We filled Lassi and petrol at Bhayandar when the smooth ride started on this side of the highway. Stopping for occasional piss, we bamboozled into a country road on our way to Dahanu. There was a low-lit moon and fireflies and smell of warm grass in the night as we stopped to snack at a village shop. The night was lit with stars and the rustle of grass whispered to us. It was too good to be real, it took us 2 hours to reach a real restaurant where Arun guzzled his Kingfisher, and I stuck to my egg masala, being a renegade vegetarian.
That night we bunked in a local lodge besides a Sai Baba temple on the Dahanu beach. Since the next day, we were planning to go to Bordi beach.
Next day early morning, we hit the misty road passing cool windmills, cow carts, more beaches, heavy breakfast and reached Umergaon – the gate way to Gujarat, Umergaon is a cute place with broken brick houses and old, old schools that go back 1901. We could not click the school since the principal was an asshole. We struggled back through a jetty in a trawler where we literally had to hold the 300-kg bike with prayers. We reached the other side of the Dahanu creek, the smell of fish inspired my friend, and we were off searching for fried fish, which came to us at Boisar.
I stuck to my patent egg masala and Arun guzzled his Kingfisher. The road back was hot and dusty with occasional Lassi and iced towels for gratitude

Kerala

Kerala is rightfully one of the 10 best destinations of the millennium. During the monsoon of 2000, we headed for Kerala on an impulse. Originally, the plan was to go to Himachal Pradesh, which is a dream come true for campers and hikers. But impulse is fun, like life on the edge in a mini version. We took the Konkan railway, which has nothing less than 200 misty waterfalls, endless coastlines and 100s of noisy tunnels. I suggest earmuffs for the journey. Interesting food! Sam, Sonali, Kashyap the hubby and little me reached Ernakulam at 4.00 in the morning and shacked in a nearby hotel. The dawn saw us at the coast of Cochin, gorging on idlis and malagapuddi. Ernakulum is a twin city of Cochin. Alleppey, of the Dil Se fame has exotic backwaters. We went in a small ferry paddling through the Venice of the East, through rope-makers, white birds, small bridges, rice fields, dead cats and curious people. I wonder if the curious people killed the cat. Villagers were staring at us, trying to decide on our species. Later, we had a 35-rupee local meal that consists of rice, sambar, rasam, aveeal, pysum, and tair on a long banana leaf, in a five star hotel at Ernakulum. They serve you hot water, which is absolutely great for your stomach. After the meal, we took a luxury boat around Cochin City. We saw the Dutch palace, some exotic fishing nets, some cute Jews at the synagogue etc. Man, our country has been invaded by every Ching, Dick and Scary! In the evening we went walking around the city and culminated it by watching the worst Nick Nolte movie ‘Gone in sixty seconds’. I fell asleep in 60 seconds and was gone through the rest of the flick. Next day we took off to Thekkady, the wild, wild country, which is on the border of Tamil Nadu some 7 hours from Ernakulum by bus. We had food at Kumidy and went up to Thekkadi, which is an absolute animal country. You are not even allowed to walk around alone. The boat ride through the jungle on both sides had wild boars, tigers, elephants, sambars, deers, pelicans and some ants I’m sure. I felt like TinTin or one those guys at the National Geographic or Discovery. We had the option to sleep in a machang that is a watch tower in the middle of the forest. But mosquitoes literally give me sleepless nights. Sam, being more Canadian in his approach, went for elephant rides. As for me we have road jams in Mumbai because of some elephant every 18th day. A night and some exotic food at the Periyar lodge, later we went down by the bus through tea and rubber plantations to Kottayam, took a train and went back to Ernakulum, our first crush. Actually Kerala has seaside on one end and the hills on the other and the hills are generally alive with the sound of music. But wait a minute! What had I come to Kerala for? I wanted to sleep in a clean river and drink coconut milk. So quickly we took a second look at Ernakulum. St. Francis Church, Dutch palace and dipping in a local well (it was getting hot as hell). In the evening we headed to Malayatoor, where the Periyar river starts. We got down at Aluva went to Kaldi ate some Punjabi food. Went up to Malayatoor. Periyar is the widest, clearest, sexiest and longest river in Kerala. In the next 3 days we dipped in the river for 6 hours, stayed by a lake hotel, where we were the only residents for 2 nights, on the last nights some drinking party was held in the adjacent room. We climbed up a old church 8 kms up at 65 degrees to reach a 300 year old church of St. Thomas. St Thomas happens to be one of the apostles sent by Christ and reached Kerala in 0072 AD and thus Keralite Catholics are the original Syrian Catholics. The Mangoloreans and the Goans were converted by the British or the Portuguese like their East Indian brothers. The old church is called Ana-something -or-the-other which means “The church hit by a wild elephant”. On a wall you can clearly see an impression of a wild elephant. We also visited the Adi Sankara Charya temple. ASC is the 13th incarnation of Shiv. The 12th was Hanuman. The 11th is Surya. This information was giving to us by Surya (not the sun god) but an educated guide, who is a retired bank officer, absolutely free-of-cost. ASC was born in the compound, the only son to a lady who was widowed when Adi was 4 years old. At 6 when he had decided to lead a life of an ascetic, he told Bramha the creator to come in the form of a crocodile and hold on to his leg in the Periyar to obtain the permission from his mother to renounce the world. Luckily this happened 1200 years ago and there are no crocs in the Periyar anymore. We also saw an elephant-training centre on the other side of the Periyar, (Periyavoor) where cute little elephants took their bath. Well Kerala isn’t God’s own country for nothing.

Arabian Nights

Nothing can give you greater pleasure than watching a seagull in mid-flight as it flaps its wings ever so gently, gracefully in the most romantic manner, just a few feet away from you. The Seagull goes on to glide over a clear, green, transparent ocean( and you see the fish inside) on a bright, hot afternoon. Cool. Freedom is accentuated by birds and envied by humans. ‘As free as a bird’ would make a handy cliché. Strangely, it reminds me of a peacock on a misty morning in Rajastan just a hand away dancing, leaping, flying.
Freedom and travel are highs, which elevate you beyond spirits or drugs. The Dubai creek has exactly stood where it is for centuries with small markets (souks) on either side, where the locals resided and sold spice, water, fruits to pilgrims who stop-gapped their way to Mecca, Saudi Arabia. The creek divides Dubai into Deira and Bur (the other side) Dubai. Deira is more cosmopolitan and Bur Dubai is India. Shit I just don’t seem to lose my countrymen, no matter where I go.
Dubai is just another international city with well-constructed and very contemporary architecture, with parks in their proper places and between roads, with tasty Lebanese restaurants on the roads, pollution free, non stinking and noise resistant. The Police are handling the law and order without much corruption. Looks-wise, it’s like Bangkok. I guess Bangkok got rich on Arabic money. Dubai is the least Islamic province in the Middle East. If you get pork and wine (which is haraaam in Islam) it’s an absolute wonder. Pig is the ultimate sacrilege in the least of un-holiness. Yeah, Dubai is nice with its sprawling malls, ice-rings for skating, swimming pools, discos and those super discount during the colourful light and crackers Dubai Shopping Festival. But as soon as I think of going overboard, I remember the bloke in the customs in India, where corruption is an established pride. What a shame!
The Jumeira Beach is beautiful and rather baywatch-ian. The winter is just departing, leaving the mist for a hotter steamy and humid summer. As I walk on the creek side I see a few losers, sitting and staring at the sea. The losers sit and stare, while the winners travel in BMWs, cultivate artificial accents, go to discos and listen to music they don’t understand, visit Russian whores, celebrate AIDS with their wife and family. Oh the jetsetters!
Sharjah is bigger than Dubai and Fujeira is a rugged mountain trail all the way to Sultanate of Oman with rich red sand desert in between. I’m told that the redness of the soil is a good predictor of oil content. Ajman is a free port so drinkers can buy duplicate wines. I’m yet to visit the Krishna Temple, the museum, the gold shouk, Heritage village, Sharjah and bits and parts here and there. I’m yet to say hi to the Filipino who stays bang opposite my house, the one with amazing legs.
The radio FM is strong here with a million Arabic channels, three English and two Hindi channels, which are actually better than the one back home. Which is not saying much anyway. Arabic is spoken in over a dozen and a half countries. Try Yemen, Oman, Saudia, Sudan, Iran, Iraq, Egypt, Lebanon and some parts of Kerala. Global village is a fair with all the countries participating with life size tourist attractions of their country. Kuwaiti forts, Chinese houses, Red Indian wigwams, Charminar etc. It’s massive. Dubai is nice.
I heard Bombay is trying to hold a Shopping Festival. That could pose a few minor problems. Where will the travellers stay? How will the beggars suck the life out of them? And more importantly, where will the Biharis and the UPites shit?

Letter to a friend: Why NZ is home..

Hey that was half enthusiastic all right. Yes I’m coming home to people who love me. To movies and popcorn. To green hills and waters that are cold. To Mission Bay and Mt. Albert, to Roskill and Eden and Waterview where Napolean lost his heart to Emma Turner. To ACE and a paper that’s half compromised. To Maori women and Chinese who are native English speakers. To Falafel and Margerrita. To Justin Joe and Daniel and May and the other Justin from the wild west. I’m coming $ 7 Indian curries and corn chips with tomato dips. To Fiji Indians and the real thing. To North shore and a rugby game and a university called Massey. To the library where I first met Emma and to the museaum where I saw Independance day or was it ANZAC. To that splendoured dream…somewhere at the edge of oz. To a small church that prayed for my Mom.

Rajashtan

Rajasthan, which literally means the land of kings, has a colourful history of warriors and princes, artisans and farmers, forts and palaces, of honour and love, of betrayal and conquest. No matter how many travel books you have seen with pictures of delicate miniature paintings of elephants, tigers, rajas, maharajas, queens, hunting parties, wedding receptions, colourful women dressed in a mad array of rainbows painted in the form of the most extravagant geometrical poetry; nothing quite prepares you for Rajasthan.
In the first instant, I felt a loss of what to absorb and what to ignore. If you take in the sprawling mountains and the cool winter morning misty breeze, you might miss the villagers carrying their water from miles of barren land. If you take in the houses with their curious shapes and mountains on one side, you might miss the forts and palaces on the hillocks. You could miss the marble quarry. You could miss the poetry of the dialect or the spice of their simple food. (I hate simple food). You could miss their smiles, which have remained intact through centuries of invasion, endless years of drought, extreme climate and hard times. Let us try to get a little more specific and go one place at a time.
Let us talk about Nathdwara, which means the door to the Lord. Nathdwara is in South Rajasthan. You could get there by train, bus, or a plane to the nearest city Udaipur. I took the train journey, landed at Falna, and took a jeep to Nathdwara after banging in a few cups of Tea and Coffee with some fried stuff that dietician’s would give you a life sentence for. Early morning jeep rides are slightly chilly, especially in the northwestern part of the country. Nathdwara is famous for the temple of Srinathji, which was founded there in 1671. Srinathji is yet another form of Krishna and enjoys more than a fair following amongst the Vaishnavas. I personally am a believer. The first day at Nathdwara could pass in seven visits to the temple and seeing the various forms of the Lord. You could take a discount by taking the first prayer at 5.00 am and setting off to Udaipur, which takes an hour in the bus. Discounts are my speciality. Udaipur is probably the only green place in Rajasthan. It has its shares of zoos, gardens and palaces. However, since I had just a few hours, I walked to the City Palace, which has a museum. The museum is full of heavy artillery, rooms for the princesses, colourful rooms, balconies that face the city, brief history of the brave Rana Pratap, who took on the mighty Akbar, old chariots, mind blowing pictures of hunting parties on tree tops on hills shooting at a dozen or so tigers/panthers in a single painting. Udaipur has always brimmed with artisans who painted for the royal family. There are seven lakes in all in the city, which makes it ‘the city of lakes’. Beautiful women have their afternoon bath in these lakes. The best way to see a city is on foot. I did exactly that, passing through shops and hawkers, drinking lemonades and keeping my curious eyes on cows and dogs, bicycles and video parlour showing ‘Octopussy’, which incidentally was made partly in Udaipur. Roger Moore is a nice guy and girls must have found him charming and all, but hey, he is no Sean Connery. Udaipur is beautiful, slightly full these days. A proper city resembles Delhi.

The plot thickens

The ICICI OneSource job has started sucking. Three sessions on demotivation and plus the frustrations of the trainer.

Where’s Ayakkad, Maa?

Ayakkad is a small village in the rural out-backs of Trichur in Kerala. Three decades ago, the place was filled to the mark by Brahmins. But then suddenly the need to go to cities for a livelihood took precedence and there was a mass exodus. The nearest town is Palakkad. The area is surrounded by green mountains with a strange flavour of the yellow sand you see in the neighbouring state of Tamil Nadu. Ayakkad was a part of Tamil Nadu and the four Brahmin families that are left behind still speak the Tamil dialect of Malyalee script.
Ayakkad has three ponds. One is a huge pond infested with water snakes and surrounded by coconut trees, where the respective genders take respective ends of the pond which has recently acquired a stone walled exterior. The snakes look cute but if you are bitten by the water snake than the local remedy is to fast for a day.
Of course, the speckled band which we saw outside the village temple has no remedy only death, in 2 minutes. The speckled band was first mentioned in Sherlock Holmes’ book by the same name. There are other huge snakes that are non poisonous.
Oh these snakes are so much like women. You never know which one is lethal.
The second pond is deep and has dried out. The oldies say that there was a huge python in there just around twenty years ago. This is exactly behind the temple. It is a fertile piece of land which has banana trees and coconut trees that look menacing on moon lit nights. This is Mowgly country.
The third pond had a crocodile that ate the cattle every now and then. That was thirty years ago. This is opposite the temple and today is filled with lotus leaves and millions of snakes.
The temple is beautiful and makes wishes come true. Lord Ganpathy has granted this people all their wishes. And the faithfuls still come back every year for the annual function.
But I forgot the fourth pond which was actually used for bathing just about fifteen years ago. My friend in his school days bounced inside this very pool like a monkey. This pond is in the middle of the fields, which are again filled with snake holes and there’s a river on the other side.

Kerla at last.

I did get my beauty sleep. And talking of exotic foods in Southern India; I had five kinds of wadas. Let’s see Mendu (the one with the hole), Banana wada (if you have it once in your life that’s enough) which was seething in oil, Onion, Dal and Bonda. And the winner is Bonda in Calicut. Bonda has an edge over potato wada it has a dry onion, garlic currie in it.
The crescent moon was still winking at me when Kerala came. And suddenly the landscape opened up with rivers and coconut trees everywhere. That’s what KERAL (in local language) means; The land of coconuts.

The lady in the next compartment, who I had mistaken for spice was actually a pain. Her cacophony in top treble kept life moving and other people’s conversation stagnant. The Eunuchs could not scare me into giving money.
Anyway forget her. Kerala is here.

Cooler because of a cold wave in the North, which has Bombay shivering; I hear. The dawn shadows of coconut tree right out of a James Bond movie namely Dr. No have given way to a morning filled with all tshades of green. And I mean all shades. Even Corel Draw would not have done a better job. The gold is there in the skies and will be pilfered by the afternoon. The clouds are gray and then the green like a multi-spendour dream broken by occasional red flowers. And grey fences. The fisherman are early birding for the fish. The storks or are those crane, are flying in elegant grace.
Let’s be fair to Panvel and the Konkan. It is equally green there but Coconut tree are curiously different from the palms.

There is a variety of green at display. Vineyards, red contrasting yellow and green. There’s smoke on the distant hills and water every 3 minutes. I can be in a pond forever. I can eat curd rice with minute slices of green mango spicy pickle forever. The small tar roads with cyclist and lungi clad people romping the ramp. Mossy stone walls. Big old bridges; small old bridges. Man with kids wearing red caps. Mountains and a stretch that goes on and on punctuated by coconut trees.

Daytime Scenery

Daytime Train to Kerala: The journey continues

Konkan Railway is a new addition to the world’s largest network in India. The British can be thanked for installing the network, if one is in the mood. Last time I had crossed this terrain I had mentioned a million tunnels. But I think I was slightly mistaken. There are 200 odd. Land slides are common and the rocks are tied by net wires like huge sharks (and just as menacing. However, I was in a gay mood. No pun there. and found myself singing Dire Straits out of the blue. The tunnels do inspire Rock. Pun there.
And then the beggars came. An emotional attack on the heart. But luckily I have none. The Chicken Biryani and thought of going to Kerala made my Indian trip worthwhile. The Diva Mountain reminded of a time when I had tracked to Haji Malang from Ambernath, a mere 50 km affair. Also in the same trip I had climbed the temple in Diva. The Thana Bridge reminded me of how we had scaled Bhimashankar heights: 7 hours to the top. Train brings a certain nostalgia and turns you into a 12 year old. Gapping at tunnels, waving at people: feeling sorry for them, thinking of Mario Miranda’s cartoons. The picnic to Vasai fort. Trivandrum during Murali’s wedding and Padmanabhan temple. The king of Kerala and how I was stopped from jangling the bell because it is the temple of sleeping Vishnu. How Umesh came to my rescue in Tamil. That white lungi. I like the way Emma pronounces it. Last time I had passed this place there were coastal, misty waterfalls and before that Mrs. Iyer had brought the Curd-Rice with small mango pickle. All of a sudden we are in Konkan.
On the way back I will be toying with the idea of buying a house in Chiplun because there is so much water. For now I will be recharging Vishy’s mobile at Chiplun and Ratnagiri in tea stalls and station master’s office.
Travel has its moments. My first foreign trip was to Bangkok in 89 and I remember how the 11 o clock sunshine seemed golden.
Last time Sam and I had bought lungis in Ernakulam. I brought it along just in case. Last night I slept in peace thanks to an antihistamine. My work on the web has been so addictive that I have forgotten to sleep. That’s the thing about my life. If don’t do something for 3 days, I forget about it. Someday I may rediscover it.
The Barren yellow, yellow, light green landscape has started. The cacti have made their presence. I buy some bottled coconut water. Can you beat that? Yeah… Cacti are at times nicer than flowers. They store water and are hard outside soft insides. Appealing eh? These coastal people are same everywhere. I’m thinking Samoans. They have their coconuts and their colored floral luva luva. Their love for straw furniture and typical green colored walls.
The train is bellowing smoke. Even that pollution is romantic. Crazy aye? I romance places. They remain etched in my mind. The small lanes of Bulsar. The heat of Ahmedabad and cricket in cobbled streets. The farmers follow the scorch earth policy to prevent soil from turning lifeless. This was first brought to my notice in Matheran, where I had biked with Mohan. He pointed out the distant plains from one tree hill. The nature is everywhere.
Sheep and shepherds. Trees with roots hanging out. Sounds bizarre but looks awesome. Yellow cream rural office houses. Red post boxes. Well there is no camera so you will have to do with words for now.
Luckily Vishy’s mobile is roaming so called mom twice. The waters are becoming cleaner. The palms are here. Did you know Bombay was an island once? Then the waters were clean. Now the waters are gutters.
It’s night and sleep is evading my shiny eyes. A line from one of my poems. The police are up and about checking for liquor bottles. So they can have some. It’s 4.30 and I’m in Mangalore. Reminds me of Reshma. A rare beauty. Udipi. This is where all those south Indian restaurant cooks come from. They train in a temple in Udipi, Mangalore and get their spice right. I think I will sleep.

The journey begins

When Mallus (nick name for Malyalees, the people of Kerala) go to their villages, they go back to clean environment and fresh air. This advantage is obliterated for other parts of the country.
As for me, Kerala is the favorite-most place on Earth. I am thrilled to go back.
Making last minute entries is an art perfected by me. Must be all those Bond movies. I must break this habit of reaching on the dot. Vishy is waiting for me with his bag on wheels at Kurla Terminus, where I have reached thanks to four trains at various junctures. One of which I had to leave because of the 4-glass-water-therapy and Oh-God-I-got-to-pee syndrome.
2 minutes to departure is when I arrived. As soon as I saw those South-Indian woman eating their idlis and malgapudi, I knew I was on the right train on the way to my first rural spot in Kerala: Ayakkad. The train is dirt free. Certainly, South Indians are a cleaner breed than their northern brothers.
Wow! I love this trip. Kerala here I come. Oh Kerala.

The train stutters (with a bit of love) to a start as I notice buildings on the Central railway have this black soot, which if scratched can destroy your nails. The question being, why on Earth would you wanna do that? The train moves on and my heart is singing. We call Arun and ask him to meet us directly at Ayakkad in Kerala but he can’t make it. Damn. Last time when I had taken Ernakulam-Allepey-Cochin-Kumili-Tekkady-Kottayam-Ernakulam-Cochin-Alapuha-Kaldi-Malayatoor-Periyavoor-Aluva-Mumbai trip, I had taken the 11.40 night train. This 11.40 morning train will allow me to see all the places I had slept through last time.
Oh! Kerala if heaven ever had a name. The Wada-coffee people are selling their stock from the train pantry as I order Chicken Biryani. I also have my first mouthful of dal wada and ask him for chutney because I need the spice; which came in a form of a dark Goan woman in the other compartment. I asked the fellow to forget the chutney.

Letters from the edge of Oz

Illustration and content by Suneal Varma. © WildBlueSkies.com 2005 . All Rights Reserved.

Letters from the edge of Oz

The Return of the King of Typos !

I landed in Auckland on 10th August 2002. This is a random collection of the letters that I sent my friends through the year in NZ and yes, as you may have guessed it, it is a document full of typos just to add the touch of passion, reality and carelessness: Explaining rather boisterously why I did not get A’s at ACE.

intensewords@yahoo.com

Hong Kong

9th August 2002

7pm Local Time

Hong Kong airport is huge with all shapes and sizes of Chinese people walking through you. The ride from Bombay to Hong Kong was bumpy and at one time I thought is this it? Was worried about my mom more than me. It’s raining here and the clouds are kissing the skies. It’s nice but people are sparse.

The young generation is nice and understands English. I’m here waiting to catch the Auckland flight. Am ok just incase anyone cares. Just a bit of a headache.

NZ Day 1: Grazing Cows – Galloping Horses!

Was tired, terrified and home sick at the Hong Kong airport… Not to mention vomiting… Hadn’t slept a bit… and the plus of eating bland food… It was terrible. The air bumps caused by stormy rainy Indian crossover. Hong Kong was cold, wet and the airport was a huge glass structure that has more than 70 terminals. Facing planes. And lots of shops but no character. All shops are stacked in a row allotted for them in a dead neon way. Plus the continuous rambling in Chinese at top cacophony… Perfect start. The Thomas Cook at Hong Kong was a cute confused Chinese babe (good legs no brains) who did not give me a good rate. The plane kicked off thru a tired, sleepless, headache day. But the airhostesses of Cathay are nice and helpful with the shawls and all and I asked them for 5 sachets of Chili Sauce and that cleared my grogginess.
The flight was smooth but suddenly a Chinese kid blared at top treble that Sony could lose to. It’s a Sonny. A Chinese brat. I slept and it got smoother. Seeing Auckland woke me off. The land of the long white cloud. With a sea of green gray and blue below me. It’s miniature authentic and good old rural like England 18th century with Sherlock Holmes and the works.
It was amazing and the most beautiful place that balances both the rural and the future. Shops and malls like Dubai but the whole green world of horses and cows is amazing.

New Zealand Day 2: Wow! What a place!

Ok New Zealand is a superb place to be in. On the Puhunui Road that’s where I live at the moment courtesy an old acquaintance, who makes a real good friend since he is broad minded to let people be. And generally goes all out without being meddlesome to help you. It’s perfect. His wife Bhavna can really work and is an expert in sewing and cooking. The two kids are smart and good looking.

It feels like home both in Jignesh’s house and NZ from day one. The houses are Victorian and generally a single-storied, all-equipped cottage. This town Papatoetoe (pronounced papa-toey-toey) has the works. Talking of work it’s 6.30 in the morning and today since it’s a Monday is a big day, when I make my advent into the world of work.
The peace here is amazing really. And, I’m extremely happy to be here. It’s a little cold but I have got used to it. Almost. Saw the park yesterday and the mall on the first day. Hey things cost almost the same year as in India. People are generally nice here and it’s relatively safe too.
I’m fine and not missing anything or anyone. I have come here with an obsession: to get my family off to a flying start. My goal is to make a cottage in 3 years time and make sure my family and Mama gets here. My focus on that is so single minded that I cannot see anything beyond that. Once again I’m happy and just fine thanks partly to the family I’m living with.
Ok at this juncture my mails are not to persons and thus not personal (and though Jignesh does not mind at all and has activated a new account just for me) today I’ll get a account and get realllllly personal.

The land of the long white cloud

New Zealand – the country is rugged and soft. Warm and cold. Ahead and behind. Good old and sophisticated. The houses are like the houses in America – only smaller. This could have been Los Angeles or New York. This could have been paradise but it’s real. This could have been life but it’s a fantasy. New Zealand has hilly roads and can get cold at times but enjoyable.
Went to Work and Income New Zealand, exchanged rupees, Went to library, police station, a public school, a mobile mart, a cycle store, got a prospectus for Auckland University, a walk on the road. The houses have green roofs, brown roofs, no roofs – they are exotic. The cars pass by without noise or pollution every day. The Pau Bhaji that Bhavna (Jig’s wife) cooks is flavored and exotic. Well, couldn’t be better.
I am happy but thinking of all of you – the situations guys, Supriya who is as pretty as ever, SAIPL, Dadaji – who’s proud of me but not half as much as I am proud of him, baa who’s with me always, Danielle – the one and only, Renée – my friend in Christ church, that bastard Nash, Sweetoo, Amit and Aditya – the Wrong Brothers, Sundeep, Ipsy, Iyer, Yogesh, Prasad, Vishy, Vinesh the tiger fist, Harshad, Shoeb – my true friend, Mirageeye the greatest designer in Dharavi, Natalie my first crush, Neha the girl I loved and lost, maasis, Subu and Mohan – the guys who believed in me, Ajit – the sheikh (shake) of Dubai, Umesh whose birthday I have missed, my cute cousins, mama and Ishan’s family, – mom bro and Sims. But not with tears in my eyes. That would defeat my purpose. Call me an extremist – but it’s all or nothing for me- always. Zindagi mein aata hai moka ek baar – aar ya paar. It’s all your prayers and wishes that have got me so far. I might have missed my family but Jignesh has made sure that I miss nothing – Nothing!
Love you…..Leave you…See you soon…Khuda hafeez

Walking on the Motorway

It was a lazy start spiced up by last nights pau bhaji that was amazing this morning too. Leftovers always taste a little better the next day. Now, that’s the rule. Don’t ask me why? I don’t know. But that is that.
Had a hot, hot bath to kick-start the day!
I went to a model agency after reading an advertisement – thought what the heck! Jignesh dropped me at Hillsborough that’s where the agency is. Tracy…? Yeah, Tracy that was the name. She was praises about charm and confidence and blah blah. She wanted me to enroll after I get my IRD (Inland Revenue Number), which is a must to calculate your tax and other stuff.
On the way back I decided to walk. First I went down the hills – cars on either side blaring and speeding like hell on fire and fire on wheels. I was on the soggy grass with my faithful Lee Coopers, heavy and safe. Went down and passed the small bridge, the lavender villa with acute white wooden roof the way Englishmen preferred in the last century. Walked on, the sea on the far side and suddenly Old Saon, a Samoa Islander stopped his car and informed me that walking on the motorway was illegal and dropped me to the Mangere (pronounced Mangerry) bridge. This is where most Maoris live. Maoris are the original inhabitants of New Zealand before Captain Cook arrived and they have their set of allocated rights given to them. Maoris as other aborigines of the Pacific Ocean are called Polynesians. Well I was standing at the bus and met this Terry fellow another Polynesian from the Cook Islands, who was trying to introduce me to his sister, invite me join his driving academy and ask me to hire him if I open a Pau Bhaji store. Nice guy! Any way my patience ran out and started walking uphill. There was a school up there and children were giving the stop – go signal to cars. I shouted across to them that they were doing a good job. The teacher smiled with all her radiance, she looked good.
The hill was fenced on the other side and you could imagine all the sheep, what a pretty picture they would make. Passed a brook that said, “Man will come and man will go but I go on forever.”
Changed 2 buses from there. That was fun via Mangere Town Council: the gate is wooden art gate by Maoris. The bus reached me to old Papatoetoe market that mainly has old Spanish architecture and is filled with Chinese and Indians. Good Bargain stores too.
So it was good! The chill was in and I was wearing my black cotton shirt but my walk had kept me warm.
It was Nag Panchmi and we went to Bhartiya Mandir. It is like being in India. The shloks, ved, ramayan and mahabharat books. An authentic fat pundit – (if he’s not fat – he is not authentic, trust me). Only when you see dollars at God’s feet that you realize – hey this is NZ not IN. Anyway Cheerio.

There’s a white mist in the blue mountains

There’s a white mist in the blue mountains today. As I walk down the scenic Mount Roskill that’s closer to Auckland city, where I live now. There is a blue splendorous hue that makes the mountains a little cold and a little sexy. spring is coming and the trees are more vibrant and there is a song in the breeze.
I have joined a gym a week ago, though I met my fitness instructor only yesterday and am starting today. Have gone for two job interviews. The winter is wearing off and days are thankfully warmer. Life is good and going on.. I have moved into a Kiwi’s house and am eating in an Indian’s house. The best of both the worlds. Last week was marred by rains for two consecutive days. And when it was sunny, on the third day Jignesh and I thought its going to be a great day. Have been to Police training school, Auckland University and The North shore. Auckland looks breathtaking from the North shore. As the bus goes over the bridge it looks a little like Dubai Creek and Gorai. And, as you know all places have a charm of their own. Auckland is the city of sails! Have applied at Sky Tower, Bike Barn, Portrait Place and 15 other places in Auckland. :Let’s see. Initially they are weary of new people since they might not know about NZ.
Jignesh’s house was a great experience and the hospitality was immaculate. The new Kiwi house is very comfortable and has thick ruggy blankets that refuse to let you get up in the morning. Bus trips are scenic and social and one meets the odd Chinese or Afghani girl to pass time.
Thinking of getting an Auckland University MA Certification. Life is good. Jobs are tough but so am I. I’m fine and have bought a new black suit, mobile and trackers. It’s okay. I’m okay. See you. Have a nice day.

Stars are out in full number

Seeing the stars come out where you can reach out for them reminds me first of Asterix and Obelix and the banquet they had on the last page of each of their books. Cacofonix was always tied up, of course. It reminds me of my walks with Neha in the dark but safe bylanes of Juhu. Also reminds me of Poona and Supriya’s house. Even the only Scout camp I have ever been too in Manori in my ninth standard, where I had to stand watch in the middle of the night. Plus there was a full moon in Auckland and I stay at one of the higher points of Mount Roskill. It was gorgeous.
Well on the other hand I have a part time job, which will pay my weekly expenses. It’s at a mall and I am in promotions that would involve meeting people from all strata of life. Fine start. Have got a few good friends, who can be trusted.
Life has started. Job will start next Tuesday. Gym’s getting better – early days yet! Take care.

Summer Spring what will it bring

The new job is good and fun. People are friendly, nice and supportive. Auckland is confused. It is supposed to be spring but it rains. The long winter is over and the southern hemisphere is all set for a summer. The skin creams must come out since the direct rays especially because of the hole in the ozone layer, in extreme cases can cause skin cancer. But that will be in December. The downtown area is not New York but is breath taking like London especially on Queen Street on neon evenings. Amazing.
If you take the North Shore bridge (that looks like a squeaky clean version of the Howrah bridge and no Rajesh Khanna or Sharmila to bhadkao chingarees) on a car and get into Auckland, it is a heavenly sight, something that post cards will be proud of. The streets are beautiful too that is the Queens Street, East Victoria Street, Nelson Road, St. Lukes Street, Three Kings Road and other colorful names. The English have not left much to desire for and the Maoris are not far behind either. There is East Tamaki, Whangerai, Papatoetoe, Manakau etc. Very Red Indian names! Anyway we also have Kashmir Street, Tagore Street, Surat Street and Nanadana Ave etc.
I miss Bombay sometimes, no tear jerking but I think Bandra is good. Parts of Santacruz and Juhu, Aarey and Madh Island; and then there is Gorai.
Devonport is a beautiful part of North Shore, it looks like LA and is not contaminated by multi culture. It is like you picture New Zealand before you come in. Green, open, wild stretch of lawns, just like the rest of Auckland but more! Absolute, New Zealand. But then there are Indian curry restaurants, there too. There is Shiva, Curry place, Kashmir restaurant et al.
It’s cold this morning but what makes my day is the way stars hang out to dry on clear nights. Just reach out and touch them… Go ahead.

The clothes are drying in peace

Hi I bet you remember my abysmal fear of dogs. Well, Chappie was a huge dog who stayed at Joe’s garage. Joe is the white guy I board with. Rajesh is the Indian family I eat with: The best of both the worlds. Anyway to dry the laundery I had to pass through chappies garage. The first day was barks. Then it quelled down but no not my fear. Afterwards I could almost at will ask him to ‘Chappie go in’ and Chappie would do so. Just when I was toying with the idea of taking him for a walk having found a brave heart within me. The SPCA took him away since most days he was alone. But that’s that! No more jumping around fences. No more taking the longer route. No more Dogs. Yes, I hate dogs. I love bitches.
Met Emma at the library. She’s a librarian. Cute, nice helpful. After 4 meetings we decided to go out. Point Chev is a beautiful place. The food at the café is tremendous. The greenery is amazing. She kisses well.
Summer has come in and there is a fire within the spirit and one can walk amidst the green fields and golf course and hear birds singing. There is a Bird Song Street here. Though birds are free to go anywhere.
New Zealand is still beautiful. Life is going good. Looking for a full time job to send money home. Got 3 almost-jobs. But that happens. You are there and you almost get them.
My clothes are drying in peace.

Into the soul of North Shore with a bird song

North Shore is an awesome place. The country is surrounded by rugged and green hills and mountains carved by the winds. The beach is mindblowing and the water is crystal clear. I drove down from auckland city to the soul of the North Shore yesterday. Haven’t got over it. The sheep are on the mountains like Aesops fairy tales and there are old, old wooden country homes like in a cowboy country except its green. and just the view on the bloody highway. The winds have carved sculptres on the side of the hill. You have to see it to believe it.
The birds in the Windmere Holmes can sing. Somewhat like Tithal Beach. Reminded me of my Gujrat and how Highways and Nature make a fatal, intoxicating, bewitching, sexy and seductive combinations. w had packed plenty of oranges, apples, Turkish garlic bread, Kiwi fruit juice and bhavnagri sev.
I cooked dal fry when we reached her house and left her home at 10.00 pm sharp. What kind of guy do you think I’m???

Massey High School

Well I have change my address and that change has come about because of two reasons: One, my cousin Utkarsh is stubborn and does not want to change his mail id and my id collides with his. Second, Having just broken off with Emma on very good terms and a lifelong promise of friendship: I’m feeling free and that’s a great thing. those of you want to use my previous ID loveatiger@yahoo.com may do so.
Well, here I’m at Massey High school watching adolescent students doing their thing. I’m in a teacher training program and am here for internship: two weeks. The kids are talking to each other but the teachers here are fine. Reminds me of the time when I use to teach students.
I’m doing a diploma in Teaching secondary kids (read devils). It’s a nice day after 3 days of rains and grey weather. Though I love grey weather: it helps me sleep better. India is kicking ass in the world cup and I’m having a great time.
I was working at the warehouse for 4 mths before this and man, it was the best time of my life. My next letter will inform u of my life, times and adventures at the Warehouse.

Computer Science

I’m presently studying a diploma that will allow me to teach Computers and ESOL to students. I attented a job interview for UK yesterday. It was bad. I’m happy here saving enough to send 10 grands to my mom every month but the assignments are here. Emma is really a good girl an Indian (vegetarian) in white skin but we just did not get along. I moved out on 30th March. Changed 3 residence since then. Life is fun but these assignments are bastards. The government lends you living cost so its cool. I work 16 hrs as a cashier in BP Pump. I’m now with a hyderabadi family and my new number is 006496305222. Food is good but rice is pissing me off. No friends Met a cute Korean girl who promised her phone number if I see her today. I might. I have to do a big MotherF assignment today and I always leave it to the last minute so thats me!
I will come to India to finish my MA II in Sociology and life will go on from there. Let’s see what happens. Arun, Annu sounds like a good …
My moms fine and you have helped when it counted. My brother had a slight knee problem so I still owe you 5 grands. It’ll be resolved soon. BYE

My Best Friend is a Pakistani

Serials like Dhoop Kinarey had always given me a good feeling about the common man in Pakistan, which works very well with my philosophy that the common man is the same everywhere. But this chap Mashood is a helpful guy who works so that I can do assignments, picks me and drops me home at times and advices me! In fact they were so gracious at the defeat in World Cup that I was amazed.
Well winter is finally here and i sleep in peace now – 16 hours a day! Am concentrating on my studies and sleep. Summer was fun – in fact in Christmas we were at a holiday home (batch) in a North Shore beach. It was beautiful and will haunt me always. Breezy and open and bright and rural. I had stayed with Emma’s family. I actually felt at home there. Those two days were fun and I won at scrabble and saw a marine reserve. Now emma and me are good friends but I do hope to see the rest of country with her. If we dont fight all the time that is.
Have settled in my new house and am actually very happy and relaxed. I’m eating quality food and even thinking of exercising. Now I’ll be working only one day at BP.
I’m going to visit Gaurav in Hamilton next weekend. assignments are happening and I’m happy.
See you guys. Keep in touch.

My Cousin Chelna

I first saw chelna four days after she was born in the that saree galli hospital and she looked like simooo. My mom said we were not supposed to touch her but I just touched her to see why NOT? Many
things happened after that we shared batata wadas on trains that went to Bulsar. Read TinTin comics, discussed my girl friends, met on the beach etc. And now she’s married. So life moves quickly.
Now I dont want a single mail asking me when I’m getting married? For heavens sake! No. Just in case you have noticed I’m sending this letter from rediff address thats bcoz Utkarshbhai’s mail does not work with my yahoo address and always bounces back.
I’m at Hamilton which is a beautiful countryside town. And after teaching in that girls for 12 days in a row. I needed a break so I just caught the first bus out to hamilton which is like 150 kms from Auckland.
Bhabhoo is fine in fact, fantastic. He’s living in a big house. Has a car that he has borrowed, a cycle and generally lives better than me. Auckland is Bombay and Hamilton is Poona. Right now, I’m enjoyin Hamilton and am here till Sunday. I slep at 12.00 last night and woke up at 1.00 that is thirteen hours. I had a fleetin meetin with Emma in Auckland where she was still a little tear-jerky. But like I said Emma is an Indian born again as a
white. I miss her. but Forget it.
My cutie tanooo has reached England while the great musician stays back in America. I meet Bhavesh on and off on the net. I hope Utkrashbhai’s reports have come clean. I heard the marrige went well and the food was exotic. Good!
I’m fine and am planning to sleep for another six months. Will goto see Hamilton today in the evening. Lets see!
It’s cold here and Autumn has painted the tree in a million shades of red and yellow.

Been a long while

I’m at Hamilton – a city that is 150 kms from Auckland. Its Autumn and the trees are showing off their bright yellow and red colors. Hamilton seems a nice town in the morning and the fact that I slept 13 hrs and am just waking up to it is not a bad thing either.
I’m visiting Gaurav, who’s doing his MBA at Waikato and am presently perched on a chair in one the many computer lab rooms that look like a cross between a second world war ship’s cabins and rooms in the star ship enterprise. The alarm went wild yesterday night and I met more Indians than I have met in my life. I have been teaching in a girls school for 13 days as a part of my Diploma. I mean someone got it wrong – sendin me to an All Girls School. But everything’s just fine. Am getting on with life and resting in this reasonably cold city. Lets see what happens next. I was toying with the idea of going farming in the cold.
Been a long time but I have been bizzy changing homes after break off with Emma, doing 15 assignments (our course is a two year course combined into one), working at BP which I have reduced to a single day.
Strictly speaking, I have seen various parts of NZ by living in various parts of Auckland. It’s been Great

Hamilton to Auckland

Well, Hamilton is a beautiful place and I met some rather nice people which would include and not be restricted to Vishal and Saurabh, Gaurav’s flatmates. It did get lonely with Gaurav busy working though he did take good care of me. And was emotional when I left but between his assignments, work and play he did not have enough time. He did not even know I was coming, which was my fault because I had been promising him that I’ll come all the time and not giving him the actual date. I saw great movies there includes Singing in the rain. We cooked some great stuff and ate more garlic then ever before. Besides meeting the nice fellas I met more Indians that I ever met. And for me being the renegade that I’m was not a pleasant experience.
Yes I missed Auckland and when the bus pulled in I was happy and felt that the city had embraced me. Have changed residence and have a flat mate that farts like a hog and thus had to sleep out last night. The mists are back and DOVE is helping my skin. Life is better. I have rested well in Hamilton and have even been invited to a DESI Party. The news is Gaurav is FINE. And is doing well in his life. Eating good food, working hard, has a car that he has burrowed. He’s settled. Something I have not been for 35 years.Well I would like to sincerely thank Vishal, Gaurav, Saurabh. And inform them that I have reached well and am fine.

Anniversary

On August 10th I finish a year in this country. Its been great. I have changed (Jigs-Joe-Anu-Wakena-Emma-Robin-Shagee-Uncle) 8 residences and lived my life. Had a nice relationship and am being killed by 18 assignments in teacher training college. Life is cool. I have started drinking more water. Adjusting to the changing temperature. More or less happy. But this 12 module course is a killer lika a bloody MBA. I have changed 3 jobs. Am ready for a new girl in fact there’s some one I’m writing poetry to. Life has gone ahead have learned a lot. The winter was back but I had heat rashes. I’m still faithful to my cottons. Am about to start a 45 day stint at a school teaching computers. It’s part of my requirement as a teacher. After this degree I’ll take on teaching. I’m living in a Maharashtrians house. The food is sensational. Will keep u guys posted. The weather is clear and cold goes up to 4 degrees. see you. Its been a great year….

Off to India

Went to Britomart today. That’s the new railway station in Auckland. It’s underground and extremely beautiful. It’s been a good year. My boss from BP Express was always a fair person even when I handed him my resignation to him today it was a good reminiscence of the good times I had at BP Express Waterview to be confused with Waterloo – where Napoleon lost. This is a place I had joined after another great job at the warehouse. It was hard work and really fun. The first day a lot of the people there looked like jail birds but Maretta my manager was a drop dead cute chick and was fun good-morning her. BP job I took up since it was a two-minute walk from Emma’s house where I lived. And its been a great job really. I will miss working with the likes of Chris – who shares my passion for women. He’s going to Australia. I’m going to India for 6 months. It’s about meeting MOM, Utkarsh-Cheloo and Mama and Daddu Tum. I already miss New Zealand but India will be fun. I’ll meet my friends, get my MA, my driving license (License to KILL) and make sure I put my mom and simoo on the plane safely to Dubai and take the next flight to complete my teaching diploma. Responsibility over everything else. This college is nice but been
sometime since I ate wadapavs and pissed on the railway track. So much for today.

Flight From Sydney

Well, the flight from Auckland to Sydney had its bumps and the weather is sullen and even little gray in parts. Auckland is nice but its time to go. The security checks are rather stringent and I’m at Sydney Airport. Not the worlds best place. Good enough. Has free internet. The sun’s coming out and Sydney looks beautiful. I’m off to Bangkok in another 10 minutes. Its nice to be above the clouds and am seriously thinking of coming around by December if i can see my mom off safely. Good Movie in airplane – Thai. A slight hiccup when a certain gentlemen hopping off without taking his baggage. But post 9-11 that’s life.

One Night in Bangkok

Nothing I write on Bangkok can give you an idea of how awesome Thailand is. Its my first love and I’m eternally grateful to Utkarsh for taking me with him in the summer of 1989. I had heard about it from Murli.And it is so much like Kerala (another place I’m infatuated to) that its just not funny.
In fact I had said this to Mrs Iyer at Muralis wedding in Trivandrum. The sun is a lot less harsh in the Asian sub continent. The women are cute with their mini skirts. The jet lag was awful. I hate planes which are like flying coffins really. I miss Daniella. She is in Thailand or was whn she last wrote to me.
I travelled by bus an ac bus and was glad to be sweating after the dry feel of NZ. But i love NZ.. Its home now. Travelling again however is awesome.
I still remember the tales and ads Umesh and Mohan brought home from Australia in 1987. Sydney airport is nice but looks a bit worn out. Does not have the freshness of Auckland.
Thailand is great and feels better after the cold shower I had in months. I slept well on a huge huge bed. The pagodas look like temples in Kerala. And the road is so Kurla – Bandra kind. I feel like staying back. But now mom knows andd she’s waiting. People here are pretty honest and good natured. This is where started my international travel 14 and half years ago. This is my life and I love it. Miss Emma and her crying eyes.
Travelling on the bus with locals is one hell of a way to see how people live. I’m struggling with the two language keyboard (bi). So this is it. I have just had cold coffee and in search of the nearest Mc donald if I dont find Guru da dhaba. Tanoo the answer to your question: Why India? is MOM COMES FIRST. Mom above all. Umesh belated happy b’day to you. Gautam I’m just going to see my family. I’m worried about Utkarsh.

The Smell is unmistakable!

Yes there was a blast in Mumbai. That’s the price one pays for living in a corrupt, spineless country governed by jokers who are self sufficing bast…s. I’m fine and its good to be back. The poor suffer and the ricj binge on the bloody trade.
Dont get me wrong there are lots of nice people in Mumbai but not on official levels… there are wankers.
Anyway the good news is people still have good spirits and this is a pity because Indians and Pakistanis want to get along – away from the dirty politics. Lots of innocent blood has flown down Mumbai drains and life goes on.
The flight from Bangkok was shaky and short. I hate to admit it but this shaking aircrafts scare the shit out of me. I wish these pretty hotesses would give diapers with the sick bags.
Mumbai smells better and its those incence sticks. Its crowded and more polluted than Bankok. Feels as if I never left. My friends swear that I havent changed.
I’m alive so far. But unless our spiness bastards doint do anything – one can not be sure. I miss NZ – in fact on the very first morning I thought of the bus there.
Having said this – I must say Mumbai is technologically growing leaps and bounds and ahead of most cities. In fact most software companies have come to Mumbai and they have regular JOB fairs in USA to lure people back.
It was great meeting mom and YES I’ll stay till I get mom on a plane to Dubai. Amit got engaged and it was a pleasure being there. Have been sleeping like a dead log. The walks will start. Nice to be with friends. Still Miss Emma.
Michelle I hope your kids developing fine. Think twice before coming to India. While it is a progressive place and the poorest have mobiles and other gadgets – they are also having a blast.

I words I pictures I philosophy I travels I etc I

Copyright © 2005 Wild Blue Skies

Letters on the way back to NZ

Letters on my way back to NZ
Wed, 11 Feb 2004 00:02:56 -0800 (PST)

Bangkok
I caught the mid-night plane from Bombay Airport and for the first time in 13 flights I had a smooth flight. In fact, I was at the window admiring the stars. Sleep ofcourse, was out of the question. I should reach Auckland by the 12th at 1300 hours. I had a good six months in India – bowled some fast balls. Met few good friends and missed out on meeting so many others. It’s a pity really. I had not seen level two of bangkok airport and its a bright and sunny day today. This is the colorful section of the airport. i’m travelling with a 12 year smart kid who was travelling alone and I decided to accompany him and make sure he reaches safely. Have a little mixed feeling about Auckland. But then, its been a long time and I have missed writing. See you soon

Mon, 23 Feb 2004 21:06:43 -0800 (PST)

Warehouse
I’m back at the Warehouse for a while. The hard work is fun and the big plus of seeing Maretta who’s cuter than ever. I have a bin chucking job and am getting much needed exercise. College starts back on 1st March but this semester I have just 4 module compared to the 8 mad modules I did last semester. Auckland is a bit empty without Emma. She’s still at the library. We are still not talking. feelings gone. thank God for that. My site www.wildblueskies.com is done – 35% that is. Still needs more (?) content. Went lawn mowing today it was fun. Met a lot of old cronies at the Warehouse. gave away a watch, exchanged a mobile, pissed off a boss. The usual. Bin chucking is fun but not as happening as despatch. The dust and heat there reminds me of India. Just Jokin.Am in touch with mom. The reason I keep going to Warehouse is that when I did not have a job they gave me one. Whatsmore I could send money to mom. That was then Warehouse has changed but yet the same. Nice yet different like MT’s hairstyle

Tue, 2 Mar 2004 23:28:55 -0800 (PST) College
College has started again and I have just four more modules to do. Drama class is good. Its a 3 hour class but I am dramatic enough to do the needful. I was toying with the idea of doing two courses at once but then I thought why screw around. Auckland is sunny after a week of rains. Winter is around the corner and life is slow and steady.

Sat, 20 Mar 2004 19:26:18 -0800 (PST)
Subject:Meeting Winston Peters
Scene I – introductions

What happened at 11.30 morning on a sunny thursday in Auckland:

While I was doing fund raising I met Winston Peters. He was sitting at the Starbucks cafe on Custom St by the harbour. I had waited for this chance this the bill board against immigrants. I walked up to him with Green Peace folder in my hand and said ‘How would you like to help a new immigrant on his first day of a new job? He was taken aback. I persisted that i thought and still know that most Maoris had a big heart and he could help. He did not have the words Mo. Fuck. His tall white gal friend also made space. He did not have the words and looked confused. I said Will you have a nice day if I insist on it. he smiled. Asked me where i was from and what I was doing here. when I told him I was at ACE and had five tertiary qualifications and knew computing like God. he wished me luck and i insisted he have a nice day!
I had waited for this moment for six months. It was his bad day that he met me – a immigrant who can kick ass like no other.

Please Note: Winston Peters is the Bal Thackrey of NZ.
A MP who does not like immigrants.
Suneal Varma is the fastest ass-kicker in the West

Date: Sun, 28 Mar 2004 18:57:51 -0800 (PST)

Subject: Dancing in a bar

Well

Normally, I hate dancing in socials and pubs (or discoes), but I had a torrid time when i went downtown to Auckland City to Margarittas. I went with one of my two best friends Justin, the other being daniel and it was great. I had a great time and so did the Japanese chick i was dancing with. in fact she bought me a drink (just a Coke, of course). I was there one the floor with her and there was this white kid who was eyeing her, who said to me “Hope u get this saucy babe!’ I introduced the jap to him and was dropped off by Justin. I didn’t like her skin it had a few pimples. Besides I dont pick babes from Discoes. you never know what u r getting into — literally.

Date: Tue, 27 Apr 2004 21:20:18 -0700 (PDT)

Subject: Bushes and dawn services

The other day, I went trekking through the Waitakere Ranges (also known as the bushes) in West Auckland. If anyone should have any doubts about New Zealand being an Island. Check the bushes. It looks a bit like Borivali National park actually but the main difference is that it is much greener and more hilly. It looks like the South American rainforests especially the one showed in the movie ‘Romancing the stone’ (the Michael Douglas – Kathreen Turner one). I started at 5.00 in the morning, changed three buses and reached Henderson Valley Road. I walked two and a half kilometers to Justin’s house, had some breakfast and his mom Candy dropped us at the foot of the bushes. The forest ahead looked as dark as Sherwood forest of the Robinhood fame. We went off track in search of a pond and were back on track through flat grasses, tram way, trams, tram stations, hills, mud, sloth, slippery track where I slipped twice since my shoes had a sole that was smoother than the inside of a banana peel. We reached the dam in around two hours and stuck to concrete since I was slipping on my $15shoes. This felt better than the monkey yoga I did with Jenny; it involved jumping on your tail bone and stretching like a dog. The New Zealander lady who taught the course may have lived in India for a decade but she obviously knew nothing about yoga. I saw Emma’s sister Melanie there. Actually I recognised her ass. Coming back to the trek, we were given a lift in a back of a truck and it felt like India in a bullock cart through the jungles. We kept on the concrete once we were back on our feet and the best bit was candy picked us from the bottom of the hill, where we were sleeping on the grass. It was a divine feeling which made my omelette which was acually salty taste even more divine. Justin loved it. Candy pretended to like it but she dumped it in her garden. I saw it with my very own eyes .

Anyway am in great condition physically. Went to a community night in trivial pursuits and the Anzac day dawn service at the musuem.

Date: Sat, 1 May 2004 13:44:37 -0700 (PDT)

Crazeee Saturday!

It was a crazee saturday! I tried calling my cousin Utkarsh in the morning but he was not available. need your prayers as a whole church will be prayin for my cousin today since he has an acute kidney problem. I will also get to Daniel’s church tomorrow. Otherwise it was a saturday when I watched a movie, went dancin and it was raining like Bombay,

Date: Wed, 12 May 2004 20:07:12 -0700 (PDT)
This and that

Today morning I moved out of the Bhosale household. The relief is tremendous. Uncle – or Mr. Bhosale is nice and so is the wife but there were some absolute assholes living there. There was a mallu king piece of shit Sudhir, who would go on trying hard to hide his inferiority complex, giving all my mallu friends a bad name. Than there was the stammering bastard child of the Bhosale’s Vijoo – Read bastard of the universe. Any way in the evening that place was a hot house of gossip and a pain, generally. Anyway I have moved to a separate part of town called Manurewa in South Auckland. I have a whole, clean neat nice house to myself. It’s great. I have my own queen size bed, TV, fridge and everything… That feels fantastic. I’m a bit worried about my mom and utkarsh since there are health issues. Those concerns are running in the back of my mind constantly. Otherwise life is great. there was heavy mist in the morning and no one could see anybody. It’s clear day now and I’m happy to move to a better place.

Sun, 16 May 2004 19:22:14 -0700 (PDT)

Fantastic Place

Papatoetoe High school is a fantastic place. It’s happening and pulsating with knowledge, learning, understanding and growth. It’s a melting pot culturally. And I have had the opportunity to work with absolute genius associate teachers. Of course, this is the last time I work absolutely free and it is fun to be here.

The land is flat, the grass green; people are nice and students are really tolerable. They cover a lot in school as far as computing is concerned. I like this place and my department has great teachers.

The new flat I have moved into is breath taking and am away from those gossipy, obnoxious, hypocritical Indians I was living with. I’m very happy and grate to you Clair (or is it Clare) for placing me here. Sterling Job! As usual.
I still remember that comment about three year wait as I have a few interviews lined up.

Thanks for your confidence in me!

Five Months from Feb to July 2004

Old letters come back to bite
This is a sequel to letters from New Zealand. nzletters.blogspot.com. Written as I left Bombay and then returned to India to find my mom sick and dying. She’s fine now.

Never order a Seafood Pizza in Auckland

It’s YUCK. We partied after a basket ball game of under 10 boys. One of
the players was my friends son. We lost 78 to 1. And the only basket we
scored was in the final seconds of the game. Thus we celebrated. I
don’t eat most non veg so i settled for a sea food pizza. It was yuck.

Flash the Program

Sun, 23 May 2004 18:59:07 -0700 (PDT)

Flash is a pain. I’m trying to learn Fireworks in during my practicum at Papatoetoe High School. The place is generally good. The party on saturday eve at a bar ‘Cayote Ugly’ was not fun. Justin tried his best to make sure I was there and stuff. But that’s Justin. He’s a good friend and I trust him. Most of his friends were great too. But there was not enough dancing space and too much smoke. Besides there were one or two who didn’t like me being there. Or that’s what I feel. But there was Tash who was absolutely great. She lives in a house I lived in a year ago. Of course, now it was a holy mess and could hardly recognise it. She was really nice so was Justin. His new girl friend forgot to introduce me to everybody. We agree on mutual dislike, I suppose. But it got a bit unwelcome. Plus, I was afraid Luke (read 130 kgs) may fall on me as he was drunk and dancing on a table.
But that’s life. I reached home late having to trek 7 kilometers after the bus ride. But I was initially ready to trek 30. So that’s fine. Reiterating my favourite philosophy when the choice is between losing dignity and a long and lonely walk: Start Walking. After all, one must walk the talk.
Fireworks is essentially a design package and looks impossible at this stage to learn. But it’s possible. I hope.

Mom sickness: Appeal for prayer

Sun, 30 May 2004 18:04:48 -0700 (PDT)

Pray for her! Whatever your faith. I’m in a dilemma because she insists that she is fine and I would rather send her the money than spend it on a plane ride. Pray for her

Mom will be discharged from hospital

Wed, 2 Jun 2004 14:30:38 -0700 (PDT)
She is fine. There was slight water in her lungs and a mild inflammation in her liver. Lavina is going back to India. So everything is fine. She will be discharged today. She was in ICU but Doctors insisted that it was nothing fatal or serious. So she is fine. I was not willing to leave India in the first place but in Febraury she insisted that the only way she will become independant is If I went to NZ. And she was well that time. So I came here.
Even when I called she insisted she was fine. Chelu bore the brunt of her sickness by handling Utkarsh’s house because he had a kidney transplant from his wife and her family life and Simran plus Balaji telefilms job and sleeping at the hospital.
And I believe renu masi, mama-mami, usha masi helped a lot. But even Chelna insisted that she was fine and she can be blunt if required so I was a little wee bit relieved. Now Lavina is going back and mom is being discharged. So thanks for your prayers

Singapore Airport

Sun, 4 Jul 2004 02:29:13 -0700 (PDT)

When I handed over Emma’s stereo as a gift to the Airport personnel, I was breaking my ties with my past.
The flight was smooth as silk. I had a lot of apprehensions before I took the flight but Singapore Airlines is great compounded by the fact that I met Sally who is going to Ireland. She is a wonderful human being and we talked about life, which was nice.
Right now I’m at Singapore airport using the free internet service here.
I was touched by Hepa and Sassa and Abish when I saw them plus my eternal friends Daniel, May, Justin, Rao and Jignesh Rathod who dropped me on a cold Auckjland morning. So far it is fine and i have a five hour wait before I take the plane and finally meet mom. I’m also very worried about Utkarsh and dont know whats happening.
Singapore is nice and warm and I had some hot pickle on the plane and everything is fun and frolic.
I will be seeing my mom after 5 mths and first time since ICU. I hope all goes well with me- so far the Lord has been most kind.
Singapore is stunning and warm and green and humid and has one of the best airports on this planet. Bigger than Auckland Airport that has its own charm that no Airport can beat.
The warm and distant asian sun is warming my back after a few stormy days in Auckland.
Keep Praying for my mom.

Winter

Fri, 21 May 2004 22:37:03 -0700 (PDT)

It’s late evening of a rather warm afternoon. But the winter is here. And my new window in my new house has great condensation (that means drops of water from overnight mist) trickling on my grey bedroom window.
My life is considerably fantastic. I am feeling lighter and brighter. a few teaching offers are coming through. Though there was St. Peters School which need a computing teacher and did not shortlist me. Well, you win some and you lose quite a few. That’s life. I’m a bit excited because my friend Justin has invited me for a party of a friend. It’s a fancy dress and people have to dress as pimps and whores. It will be
fun. It’s a pity I gave my black shining shirt to Ishan.
I’m still worried about mom and her breathing. Don’t know what to do. I’m in my last 5 weeks of my course. It’s killing me.
It will be a cold night unless something hot happens!