A week...
So a week has passed.
* A week of basking in mum n dad's warm smiles.
* A week of cooling in Mumbai's approaching winter.
* A week of of catching glittering stars in window panes; and fiery flowers blooming in the dark skies; of bomb blasts and silent prayers; of a rising stock index but dipping home finances.
* A week of tooth-tales and numb sensations; of re-introducing old nerve cells that tingle in pain as the final memories of the torture slowly withdraw.
* A weekend of forgotten road trips; of a matted golden country-side dotted with lazy cattle and women in brightly colored dhoti-sarees scattered in the fields, washing by the partially dry rivers, on the dusty roads, peering from behind mud huts, uploading haystacks on laden carts - the cud-chewing bullocks don't mind the extra load. The sarees are green, bright blue, yellow, orange and magenta.. but the blouse is always white, and so are the men's kurta, and their dhotis / tunics. And whiter still are their Gandhi topis. Every village, same men, same women, same cattle...
* A weekend of 2:00 am alarms, lukewarm baths while the outside tempertures continue to drop below 15°C, of special chai - malai maar ke, piping hot idlis and finger-licking dosas, a family of four huddles together to keep warm.
* A weekend of devotees, old n new, packed in the new premises of an old temple, watching an age-old pooja on the latest Japanese TV sets, strategically installed to avoid the pushing and shoving, of dutiful temple workers, politely but firmly egging the large festive crowds to move on.
* A week of tête-à-têtes with old college pals - over bun-maska or pizza, blue lagoon and tequilas, of latest gupshups and time-preserved buffoonery, of comprehending the subtle mystery behind a Sweet-natured, dusky beauty's failed attempts at finding her soulmate in a city full of 'eligible' bachelors, of learning how arranged marriages prove to be their own fallacies, especialy when it involves a 'US-settled' boy.
* A week of perfect dal, aloo and mutton, rotis and kheer and poha, chivda and chaklis, but above them all the world's perfect besan laddoo.
* A week of childhood playmates now turned hi-fliers in the Middle-Eastern skies, or sailing the northen Atlantic seas, or running responsible HR shows in large companies, the pride on their mothers' faces, in their voices, the thrill of being happy for someone who starred in your happiest memories long before either of you could spell happiness!
* A week of snuggling into mum's fragrant hair and the curvature of dad's neck, of brother's jokes and brand new playlists of old n new songs, of maid misadventures and long distance webcam images of a growing niece, of yahoo messengers and reliant calls to other cities, of a delightful parsi family's story at bedtime, of promises of plush cinema shows complete with recliners, a trip down the memory lane to Aksa...
A week of home... and I'm already dreading office next week!
* A week of basking in mum n dad's warm smiles.
* A week of cooling in Mumbai's approaching winter.
* A week of of catching glittering stars in window panes; and fiery flowers blooming in the dark skies; of bomb blasts and silent prayers; of a rising stock index but dipping home finances.
* A week of tooth-tales and numb sensations; of re-introducing old nerve cells that tingle in pain as the final memories of the torture slowly withdraw.
* A weekend of forgotten road trips; of a matted golden country-side dotted with lazy cattle and women in brightly colored dhoti-sarees scattered in the fields, washing by the partially dry rivers, on the dusty roads, peering from behind mud huts, uploading haystacks on laden carts - the cud-chewing bullocks don't mind the extra load. The sarees are green, bright blue, yellow, orange and magenta.. but the blouse is always white, and so are the men's kurta, and their dhotis / tunics. And whiter still are their Gandhi topis. Every village, same men, same women, same cattle...
* A weekend of 2:00 am alarms, lukewarm baths while the outside tempertures continue to drop below 15°C, of special chai - malai maar ke, piping hot idlis and finger-licking dosas, a family of four huddles together to keep warm.
* A weekend of devotees, old n new, packed in the new premises of an old temple, watching an age-old pooja on the latest Japanese TV sets, strategically installed to avoid the pushing and shoving, of dutiful temple workers, politely but firmly egging the large festive crowds to move on.
* A week of tête-à-têtes with old college pals - over bun-maska or pizza, blue lagoon and tequilas, of latest gupshups and time-preserved buffoonery, of comprehending the subtle mystery behind a Sweet-natured, dusky beauty's failed attempts at finding her soulmate in a city full of 'eligible' bachelors, of learning how arranged marriages prove to be their own fallacies, especialy when it involves a 'US-settled' boy.
* A week of perfect dal, aloo and mutton, rotis and kheer and poha, chivda and chaklis, but above them all the world's perfect besan laddoo.
* A week of childhood playmates now turned hi-fliers in the Middle-Eastern skies, or sailing the northen Atlantic seas, or running responsible HR shows in large companies, the pride on their mothers' faces, in their voices, the thrill of being happy for someone who starred in your happiest memories long before either of you could spell happiness!
* A week of snuggling into mum's fragrant hair and the curvature of dad's neck, of brother's jokes and brand new playlists of old n new songs, of maid misadventures and long distance webcam images of a growing niece, of yahoo messengers and reliant calls to other cities, of a delightful parsi family's story at bedtime, of promises of plush cinema shows complete with recliners, a trip down the memory lane to Aksa...
A week of home... and I'm already dreading office next week!