• The Power of Hate

    Love and Hate are two sides of the same coin. Or at least that I was given to believe by the silly adolescent love stories that I indulged in as a teen. Georgette Heyer and Barbara Cartland who were the reigning queens of romance in those days were full of heroines who “hated” the hero only to fall passionately in love with them before the last chapter.

    I often wonder if love and hate are really two sides of the same coin and is it possible to hate someone with as much intensity as you once loved?

    There are some people in this world who hate you much more than you possibly dislike/hate them –  a feeling so deep rooted  that they don’t cross your path lest your shadow falls on them. They are curt over the phone which you just happen to  pick up when they want to speak to others in your house/office, they studiously avoid looking at you at functions which they just can’t avoid attending and judiciously avoid meeting you at functions they can avoid with excuses not to attend that are so flimsy that even a baby can see through.

    Over the last fifty years, there are many such people who have come into my life and who have exited for reasons best known to them. Of course there are some obvious reasons as to why we stopped talking such as a family fight , differences between parents/siblings/children but there are many other battle lines drawn up by people who take sides. Or people who chose to misunderstand your actions and words, taking slight at the slightest of things, attributing motives that never even existed and generally assuming the mantle of “poor me” versus the “wicked you”.

    These are the people I find strangest of all – those who are not actually involved in any confrontation but who choose to support what they assume to be the injured party without making any attempt at genuine arbitration or reconciliation between the warring factions. It is these people who make life even more difficult for the rest of the world who don’t know who’s talking to whom and who should be invited and or ignored.

    There is no contention without a difference of opinion and sadly it is the drum which beats first that is heard first. Having got the first sound advantage, the “injured” party digs in his heels and makes sure he rallies enough support to sustain a long silence.I feel sorry for those flies on the wall who take sides because I’ve known time and again that adversaries get together and those who’ve taken sides often fall by the wayside becoming enemies of both.

    History has shown that there are no real victors or losers in battle : each side wins some and loses some but the people who lose the most are those flies on the wall.

    p.s. I’ve taken this picture off the net.

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  • A lazy Sunday

    With two stiff pegs of a smooth peaty Ardbeg I had a wonderfully blissful sleep last night and woke up fresh and ready to sieze the day. After a long time I had a Sunday with nothing really much to do. I spent a leisurely morning reading the papers, sipping my frothy coffee and munching away on hot buttered toast when I suddenly had the urge to visit the fish market.

    The Municipal market at Grant Road has a fish and meat section which is quite dirty and messy and for many a month I preferred buying my fish through Pesca and the meat from Cafe Ridge. But today I felt the strong pull of the market calling out to me. So I picked up my basket and drove down to the fish market.

    And how delightful it was to meet up with my old friends :   Kala, the fisherwoman who wanted to swap her second son with my second daughter, Indrayani who is truly the belle of the bazaar with her fabulous skin, sharp features and sharper tongue and whose daughter is a computer engineer and whose grand daughter goes to Manekji Cooper and upmarket English Medium school in Juhu , Rekha who is the only one in the market who sells Sole and Indrayani’s aunt who sits across from her and is famous as the one who chased Pramod Navalkar (a now dead politician) out of the market when he dared ask for a discount. She sells the best lobster tails and I bought a dozen of them,  which she cleaned up in a jiffy telling me that  they are clean like the Brahmin, you just pull them out of the shell and you’re done!

    Indrayani convinced me into buying a Surmai which she sliced into thin slices and I just had to buy some prawn from Kala which I made into a prawn pickle.

    I am off now to enjoy the rest of the day with my family !

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  • The Downward Facing Dog

      

    Strange are the ways of the world.

    English: Downward-Facing-Dog Български: Адхо М...
    English: Downward-Facing-Dog Български: Адхо Мукха Шванасана/Куче с муцуната надолу (Photo credit: Wikipedia

    In my attempt to contain those creeping kilos, I have tried many things right from zipping my lips to moving my hips. Walking, running, dancing, gyming, I seem to have done it all. My last and latest shot at this losing battle of the bulge was yoga . With traffic being the way it is, the main reason to choose a Yoga class like the one at Home Villa was its proximity to home.

    The simple modern exterior of the building didn’t prepare me for the class which was reminiscent of a torture chamber in a medieval castle with hooks on the ceiling and ropes suspended from rings on the walls. There were wooden racks to arch your back on,bolsters to hoist your hips,  parallel bars to raise your legs higher and belts and bricks to align the pose. Luckily there were also mats on which we could relax and do our final stretch.

    Ours was a mixed class with students of all ages, sizes and proficiency doing exactly the same pose in rows along opposite walls with our instructor strategically placed in the centre to observe and prod and poke our bodies into perfect poses. The instructors were generally unkind and rough, not bothering about niceties but the results they produced were dramatic. So despite the fact that my instructor would happily exhort everyone in class to appreciate  my kilos of Porbunder ghee (ay joni, asli Porbunder nu ghee) as he grabbed and jabbed my flaccid upper arm, I endured it all. I endured the holier than thou posturing that many yoga practitioners somehow assumed in class, the deathly still silence that we had to observe till  class began, the rush for the yoga mats, the spine twisting poses that left me aching all day and gradually  began enjoying it all.My Suryanamaskars became more fluid and my headstands more firm but after two years of class, I began to feel distinctly uncomfortable.  I wondered what it was  – the mat? the bolster? I couldn’t help feeling some eyes other than that of the instructor peering at me,a stare that bore right through pose after pose. I looked around surreptitiously trying to find the culprit till one day I caught him looking at me. It was the creepy looking guy who somehow always managed to stand on the opposite wall exactly opposite me. I got out of the Trikonasana disturbed by the thought but dismissed it as something that could very well be accidental.

    From time to time I observed his strange behaviour and started doing Yoga in a different place each time. For a while I thought I had beaten him at his game till one day when we were bent over in the Downward Facing Dog, our hands to the wall and butts up in the air,  I caught him looking at me and then, before I could look away, he winked. I almost yelped in fright when I saw that distinct movement.Yes, it wasn’t a blink, it was a wink – a lewd wink, the kind that suggested “let’s meet up after class”. Needless to say, that was my last class at Home Villa.

    This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

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