Confessions of a Carnivore – Part I

You might as well ask the leopard to shed its spots or the zebra its stripes! That’s exactly what I first thought when I decided to give vegetarianism a flimsy chance. Well, in normal circumstances, I’d never ever have dreamt about taking such a drastic step. But, considering the fact that I’d left normalcy a zillion light years behind, I faced it with surprising equanimity.

Since this is a confession, I must reveal that I’m an absolutely ardent non-vegetarian (that would explain the title). Shocking, isn’t it? And now, the next logical question would be an astounded why? Well, it’s not just the plight of the poor animals who sacrifice their lives for the noble cause of feeding mankind. I’m a firm believer of the ‘circle of life’ theory. Like for instance, I believe that meat adds life to the meal (an oxymoron, I agree) and completely relish the leg of lamb or even chicken and the mere mention of fish simply makes me to weak in the knees. But, I digress. What I’m trying to theoretically say is that I might be reborn as a bright green sprig of delicious grass and an enterprising lamb would want to chew my head off (ouch)! Ah! The sweet taste of revenge, for the lamb at least and not really an exciting prospect for my grassy avatar! Got the drift?

Returning to my vegan intentions, I decided to go about it in a very orderly manner. Fired by enthusiasm and never the one to take half measures, I decided that such a monstrous task cannot be undertaken all alone. So, I went about in search of a comrade, a partner who would fuel my determination to steer clear of meaty temptations. Coincidentally, my BFF (Best Female Friend, in case you’re baffled) returned from Delhi – a vegan by tradition but after having succumbed to the magical powers of butter chicken so freely available on the capital streets, she was eager put an end to the non-vegan mania before it morphed into an obsession. In her, I found an ally who would toil it out with me. And, her vast experience in an enterprise of a similar sort would obviously be an added advantage.

My BFF devotedly announced that a venture of such large dimensions would require divine support. So, we implored lady luck to smile in our favour and decided on a “good” time to start our new mission. 14th of January, 2010 was randomly picked and we’d set our minds on going meatless since that day on. Hailing from a vegan family, BFF was quite used to this but for me; it was a mammoth task especially when there’s meat being cooked on a daily basis. And, my mother’s culinary skills are simply wizard and she’s the true Moghul of meat (gastronomically speaking)! Difficult times lay ahead but I was mentally prepared to meet them!

The next step was to announce my noble intentions to the world. With a million questioning glances and after a couple of boasts, I’d have to keep up to my decision – at least to save my pride. Nothing succeeds like the fear of failure. So, I chose two candidates for this highly esteemed designation – my colleague and another friend (positively carnivorous themselves) who I’d be in touch with daily. Their reactions ranged from astonishment to anguish to pure perplexity. I must admit, their bewildered expressions were totally priceless.

Finally, the day dawned brightly sunny and nice – it happened to be a holiday! Rotten luck! With maternal instincts rising to a record high on such occasions, the best way to display love is by dishing out delicious food. And, my mother did just that! Devious thoughts flitted across like a million butterflies every time I looked at that delectably curry sitting pretty on the dining table. Why couldn’t I start tomorrow? Do I really have to go vegan? But, the principal reason why I’d embarked on such a mission flashed across the retina of my mind. I chose to go vegan out of my own personal whim (however foolish that may sound) and more importantly, it gave me a chance to understand how it feels like to give up (voluntary, I emphasize) an integral part of your life to yet another central element. I guess that did the trick – I felt incredibly happy at having added an ounce of discipline to my usually chaotic lifestyle.

No, it still wasn’t a lark. The first day was the most difficult and as the day progressed, withdrawal symptoms began to raise their ugly heads. I nearly ended up with a mighty nasty headache! Putting it as an intense test of patience would be an understatement – it shook my steely cores and turned it into shaky jelly. I even thought I’d stick to this for ten days and later see where the winds of destiny (aided by sails of human fortitude) take my humble plans.

On a closer inspection, you would realize that it’s hardly been two days since I’d taken the vegan plunge. As I write this, day three looms large and at times like these, the grotesque figures of the veggies dance before my eyes and my will power is at its weakest, ready to give in to temptation. But, ours is just to try and not to reason why. Mind you, I still consider egg to be vegetarian. I’m contemplating on adding fish to that list! Now, that’s some food for thought, isn’t it?

A moment of sordid beauty

As I write this, I can hear the pattering of the rain drops as they crash against my window pane, howling in collective unison. My favourite rock band tries to feebly drown out the wailing winds with their sonorous guitar chords. But, like nature's unrelenting traits, this one too persists.

Late evening, I stand on the road waiting for an auto rickshaw to take me home. It's raining heavily and the brown puddles near my feet announce their soggy intentions. The muddy water seeps into my beige sandals, embracing my soles with their wet embrace. The breeze ruffles my unruly tresses as the rain drops fall on my spectacles, blurring my vision. I wipe the droplets off my lens but in a matter of seconds, fresh drops make their presence felt. I abandon all efforts and let nature take its willful course.

Minute by minute, I feel the rain getting deeper into my skin. The delicious coldness is interspersed with its unpredictable sharpness, surprising me with its crude chillness. All around me, I could hear the smattering of footfalls as people scurry towards the closest roof to shelter them against the barrage of wetness. I, on the contrary, stand still and feel perfectly light. It was one of those rare moments when words fall short to describe the feeling, an instance when life comes to a halt. And, at that very moment, there's nothing more important than listening to the peculiar melodies crooned by nature's raucous orchestra.

The moment has passed and life gets back to its frenetic pace. Sanity strikes! I get an auto and zoom across the slippery streets. I wonder why that moment was special. I have no answer. I guess life sometimes slows us down to make us realize the unusual beauty around us, even in sordid cragginess of a rainy evening.

The hangover of that unusual moment manifests itself deeply in my mind and lingers on. I feel a deep sense of warmth coursing in my veins. I am sleepy yet reluctant to let the effects of this heady concoction wear off my senses. I don't know what tomorrow's volatile intentions might be. But, I don't care. The magic is here and in the now. I enjoy the brief rendezvous where I delve deep into my inner self and hear that small voice inside me heaving a contented sigh of pleasure mingled with unbridled exhilaration.

A mirror image

Nostalgia is a very funny feeling. It makes you miss all those intricately small details which you'd hardly remember otherwise. Last night, I was unwinding after an incredibly hard day at work and, my favourite music was playing in the background. As I felt myself relax, I looked around me at the intimately familiar room with its cramped comfort.

Tomorrow would usher in the occasion of Eid but on a casual glance, no would tell that it is the eve of a festival. I could feel the walls closing in around me. The air had a quality of limpness which I'd never experienced before. The unnatural quietness was unnerving and I could hear the sounds of the television screeching its way to my tired ears. There was nothing out of the ordinary - no hurried hustle or the peaceful calm or the peals of laughter which ricochet seamlessly around the house, lighting up the ambiance with their joyous ring. I scarcely realized it but I was crying - for the gloom had penetrated deep into my core.

The next morning, I fondly observed all those rituals which add meaning to my festival, though one of it was conspicuous by its absence. I didn't know why this would bother me but for some inexplicable reason it did. And, some people do have a gift of putting anyone (especially me) in a bad mood with their pathetically egoistic rudeness. Simply put, not a great start to the day. In despair, I turned to the paperback copy of 'The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes' (one of my treasured possessions) to prevent any more attacks on my already bruised mood.

Sam, my best friend who incidentally happens to be my favourite cousin chooses to call me up. I don't know how but he intuitively reaches out to me each time, especially in that critical moment when my emotions nose dive into the dark abyss. After exchanging the festive wishes, we indulged in the usual conversation about plans for the day and so on. When the call ended, I was feeling much better! Sam always has that effect on me and I desperately wished that I could meet him right away!

Now, Sam and I are quite close despite the numerous family disputes between us. Simply because, we have that deep connection which is stronger than a million other peccadilloes. At any given moment, Sam can understand how I feel and translate those emotion into words - this reaction is quite mutual. I like his gentle firmness and respect his pragmatic judgment. But most importantly, I value him for his individuality and in my eyes, he is the best!

Thirty minutes later, I heard the doorbell ring. My mother announced that one of my cousins is at the door (a custom followed over the years). I thought it was Sam's eldest brother who usually makes it a point to visit us every festive occasion. Reluctantly, I put the book down and made my way to the hall for a round of smile-and-greet courtesies. I got the shock of my life when I found Sam seated on the sofa with a sheepish grin. I couldn't stop smiling! After our brief and formal interaction, he called up to inquire if I had liked his "surprise". Liked? I was ecstatic! Sam and I are mirror images of each other but tinted with our special yet unique shades.

As I go back in time, to those childhood days of unending bliss dotted with naughty antics and innocence, Sam and I would always play together and were as thick as thieves. I try to be there for him each time he needs me. When he says that I mean a lot in his life, it rings as the best compliment ever. During the rough patches of life, I'd crib that there's no one to take the burdens off my shoulder and let me rest for a while. But, when I look back, Sam had stood silently behind me, taking the heavy load off my weary shoulders while putting the smile back on my face as I get ready to face the next battle on life's bumpy terrain.

The Zephyr

Last night, I saw her again. I cannot see her when I am wide awake. And, our rendezvous would be limited to the annals of my dreams till we meet again at the gates of paradise. It was common understanding that I could no longer see her physical form and she cannot reveal her astral avatar to me. I know not where she is but I do know that she is happy after breaking free from the earthly bonds which chained her soul to the peccadilloes of life.

My first memories of life were of Tach (as I call her) and I, in the ancient house surrounded by a large posse of relatives, aunts, uncles and grand parents. I use to be the apple of her eyes and my tiny world revolved around her. To my eyes, she was the most beautiful woman in the entire Universe, chubby with a dimpled smile. The moment she would see me, her face would break into a grin and her eyes sparkled.

One summer afternoon, she read out my first story from a Tinkle comic (when I could barely read). It was about friendship-a tale of an arrogant girl learning how to make friends. Together, we would enter the magical kingdom of stories filled with kings, princesses, wizards, legends and dreams. She was a dreamer and she taught me to look beyond the horizon, leap into the universe and reach for the stars.

Tach was the focal point all through my childhood and even later on. She would jump over the parapet and pull me across, as I squealed in fear. We'd get drenched in the first showers of the monsoon or eat pori on the terrace, watching the sky erupt into a million hues of gold, yellow and pink as dusk dawned with its dark glory. Natural phenomena fascinated her - be it an eclipse or the occasional sighting of Venus, she would let nature wash over her senses with its pristine marvel.

We'd scramble to the sofa and watch the wrestling matches (WWE) or laugh over Tom and Jerry's hilarious antics. She would make my school scrap book filling it with beautiful pictures of flowers and animals. As we walked at the beach, Tach would take me deep into the water to experience the huge waves despite pleas from my mother to come back. She was a daredevil who taught me to be brave. She was my guide, my teacher who patiently suffered through ceaseless questions and the quest for answers.

Tach was my solace when the walls of expectations closed in, suffocating me. To her, I was flawless and the feeling was mutual. As time passed, our paths changed but when we managed to meet, it was the same old magic. Despite the distance, her voice would cheer me up, leaving behind a warm glow and the courage to face life. She taught me to smile despite all obstacles and enjoy life's bounty to the hilt.

Tach loved to dress up in the latest fashion. She was impeccable in her appearance and proud of herself. I used to watch her as she wore matching bangles and shimmering ear rings, dabbing her eyes with kohl and wearing her favourite jewellery. Through those painful times, she never let the ordeal affect her personality. As usual, she was quick to smile with a witty retort ready to roll off her tongue despite the physical struggle.

My love for Tach is like the warm rays of the sun, penetrating through the cloudy days. The intensity of our love for each other was as obvious as the Earth's spherical shape. As we relived those moments, the silence between us conveyed those myriad emotions. The spark in her eyes would tell me that she felt the same as I did and words weren't required. She was the Zephyr in my life's sails, sheltering it from the stormy sea and leading it safely to the harbour.

A few months ago, when she decided that she has had enough and just wanted eternal peace, she just slipped away. As her body lay on the table, covered in the deep purple cloth surrounded by wailing women; she had a smile on her lips-like she was just taking a short nap and dreaming about the wheat fields, golden sunsets and green valleys with sheep and cows grazing in idyllic pastures.

I can never believe that she is no more. Tach can never die; I know she is somewhere out there. I still feel that she would walk into the room anytime and start telling me about the championship match results of last Sunday's showdown in WWE. Her memories are frozen in time adorning the archives of my soul-a snapshot of that dimpled smile and twinkling eyes.

Every time I feel lost or scared or clueless, she comes in my dreams. I dream about her in that gray salwar, hugging me and reinforcing my faith in life and that everything will surely be alright. I would see her smiling always and I would wake up warm and comforted. I know she is incredibly happy, where ever she is. And, I am happy for her.

The Cocktail of Life

As torrents of rain soaked the sun-parched city in its wet embrace, the roads were a mass of dirty puddles and garbage strewn carelessly. Walking along the roads, especially after rains, is a harrowing experience. Firstly, the ground is slippery and you never know when you would here the 'thud' followed by your body somersaulting into the slush.

Then, there is garbage all around which is usually accompanied by an obnoxious odor. If that is not enough, the motorists have a field day playing muddy paint ball and splashing the dirty brown mixture of mud and slush to the poor souls who are walking on the road. But, that is just one part of the monsoon season in Chennai.

When the monsoon announced its grand arrival, I was stuck in a sequence of events from pleasant to dangerous. As I got down the bus (with a million muddy shoe prints, wet seats and a musty smell in the air), I decided to walk to the theater since the weather was pleasant and the rains had decided to take a nap. That moment, I realized the monstrous task which lay ahead of me as I picked my way to the Sathyam Cinemas Multiplex.

Being a movie buff, I quickly grabbed the opportunity to watch Quentin Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds screened especially for the press. True to his style, the maestro of monstrosity delivered a masterpiece with ultimate style. Star struck, I made my way to meet a very close friend of mine, a mirror image who had come back to the city after a two month hiatus (read as holiday) at the Capital. A long pending visit to Zara Tapas, a perennially favourite hangout, was finally fulfilled as we sat on the plush leather sofas exchanging stories over delicious pasta and martini. Too soon, it was time to bid adieu till we met again (the very next day).

A pleasant day at work with ample socializing and friendly bantering ensued and as the work day closed, it was time to head back home. Ra (my travel companion and much more than that) suggested that we get drenched in the rain. For my contemporary bent of mind, this seemed to be a great idea! I rushed to our usual meeting point and enjoyed the light drizzle as it tingled our skin with its wet freshness.

Standing there under the dim streetlight, we let many 23C buses go past us deliberately in an attempt to grab as much of the magical moment as we could. Finally, when the inevitable could no longer be postponed, we got into a bus and managed to find two empty seats next to each other. The rest of the journey broke the last shreds of any barrier of formality as we decided to let the romantic mood prevail. Ra had her headphones and each of us plugged our ears with one ear plug as the mushy songs washed over us despite the cacophony of the usual sounds around us.

The monsoons symbolize much more than mere weather changes. It is a signal to cherish every drop from the cup of life, a reason to celebrate our existence and forget the past or the future and stay suspended in the confines of the present. On retrospection, the monsoons didn't just bring the rains but composed the medley of life on a single tune. Monsoons, movie, magic, martini, madness and music - in short, the cocktail of life!

The Beach Blitzkrieg

If I ever were to leave Chennai, the only thing which I would miss will be the beach! I guess it is an inherent trait of anyone who had the pleasure of living near the coast. Personally speaking, the beach is the place to go, if you are feeling sad or happy or anywhere in between.

Of all the beaches, my favorite happens to be the Elliot's Beach. Why? Well, every time I go to this particular beach, there is something special in store for me. Each time, it is a new experience - like falling in love all over again and again with the same person.

One fine Saturday evening, the night sky dazzled with a thousand twinkling stars. A gentle breeze engulfed us in its cool embrace. A million tiny sparks flew around as the aroma of roasted corn wafted into the air. The myriad stalls adorned the dark shore with their incandescent bulbs casting a warm glow.

I walked bare foot on the silky sands letting the fine grains caress my feet. At that moment, I felt that Mother Nature was embracing my sorrows, slowly eliciting strands of sadness from every cell of my body. The frustration, the angst, the million questions and the futility of it all were gently lifted away from my soul by the cool breeze. I closed my eyes and let the salty taste in the air penetrate my system. I felt a tingling in my skin as I could feel Nature lay her soothing hand on my shoulder.

The water was just a few feet away from where we sat. As we watched the waves rollick into a gigantic white mass and crash against the sandy shore, the evening was magical. The sounds of our laughter reverberated through the shores. The World was far, far away and a moment of absolute peace had transcended upon us.

Every time I head to Elliot's Beach (or any other beach for that matter) and lay down my cares on its consecrated shores, I feel liberated. The beach is an indication for us mortals to cherish the simple joys of life - like walking barefoot in the sand or chasing half-inflated balloons or eating the spicy bajjis or listening to the gentle rumble of the waves or just the feeling of infinite happiness which slowly creeps into your soul at the sight of this beautiful vista.

23C - the ordeal and respite!

Public transport is the most outrageous joke in the city. Especially in a place like Chennai, the buses are the most popular mode of travel. The auto rickshaws do not qualify as public transport as they plunder the hapless citizens. These auto drivers are uncouth fellows with a nasty scowl and lofty ideas of service as they charge a ransom for short distances. There are a few exceptions to this rule but the majority of them fall in the above category.

So, to escape the auto atrocities, the buses are the only solace. Now, traveling by bus is not for the weak hearted or the wobbly limbed. Worse still, if there is only one bus which travels around the city - from one end to the other. I take the famous 23C from the Aynavaram depot and I must confess, I have learned what patience is all about.

If you are not aware of the 23C series, here is what you should know. The bus is packed to its brim, regardless of the hour of the day. The only time it is empty is when it is at the depot. So, a wide cross section of the society is at your disposal with their unique expressions - ranging from boredom to anger to open disgust.

Etiquettes are unheard of and the most useful tool which one should be armed with is a wide vocabulary of choicest expletives in the local lingo. These buses seriously defy the law of gravity and how they safely reach the final destination is nothing short of a miracle considering the numerous souls who hang on to anything they could hold on to for dear life.

I am one of those mortals who go through this ordeal every single day. Now, I think I got extremely lucky. After a few days of silent observation, I spotted her near the window seat furiously talking on the phone. What caught my attention was that Ra (that's what I'd call her) was speaking in Urdu and in an accent which would not be qualified as poetic.

I must confess that I was eavesdropping on her conversation. This is quite normal considering the fact that I had 45 minutes to kill and I desperately needed a diversion from acknowledging the fact that my hands were aching from hanging on the overhead bars to stay upright. We got off at the same stop and we mutually acknowledged each other with a nod.

A few days later, we chanced to be in the same bus but this time, sitting next to each other. With nothing else to do but speak, we started rattling off in Urdu. She was two years younger than I and worked just a couple of blocks away from my work place. Ra called me 'didi' and I guess that sealed the pact for us.

We travel together to work and when our schedules permit, we return at the same time. Ra is my source of unlimited entertainment - slapstick humour at it's best with a tinge of innocence. I look forward to traveling by bus because I know she would be there and the moment I speak to her, I feel light and happy. She is the sort of younger sister who I longed to have. We share all aspects of our lives despite being like chalk and cheese.

There were times when we'd waited for two hours for a bus but we never realized time fly by. The moment we see each other, time is no longer a burden and the long, tedious commute by bus is no more a chore. I don't know what I am to her but in a short time, she has become an indispensable companion to me.