Postcards From J

Dreamt that I went back to Class 10 in school to study all over again with the same classmates in our present avatars. — vodkaholic (@vodkaholic) April 29, 2012 I rarely recall my dreams. Encouraged by @krist0ph3r who asked me to blog about the one I tweeted about (see above), here are the details:  We are seated in one of the 10th Standard classrooms of my school. No uniforms. My best friend in school, P, is also there. Strangely, I can't recall any other 'faces' or 'names' but it felt like everyone was attending. We were definitely there to study. Definitely not a reunion. P says that now with her child (a son), she's not sure how regular she'll be at class. While I, the single one, am quite enthusiastic about studying again. Suddenly, I notice my bag/books are actually missing. Even my mobile phone is not there. Thinking that I left it somewhere on the school premises, I leave the classroom. First, I go and meet Ravi - the school watchman....

My mother is an avid reader. Has always been for as long as I can remember. Her funny sitting position perched atop a chair or the sofa or even on the floor with any reading material is an enduring image in my mind. That love for the written word has probably been passed down to me genetically and I remember how we'd devour all the newspapers and magazines that were borrowed from our old Goan neighbour, Cajetan Menezes (God bless his soul!).  Uncle Cajee used to work with The Times Of India and had a free-flowing supply of not just the daily broadsheet, but also magazines like Femina and Filmfare and those amazing Indrajal Comics. As a child, I never really had access to a lot of children's books. They were far too expensive to keep buying and the only ones we "invested" in were the massive 22-volume hardbound World Book Encyclopedia series (still have the full set!) and a few books that some travelling nuns sold to us at our doorstep. Some books came by way of ...

Here's yet another one of my spur-of-the-moment projects: bookmarks !  You may recall my posts on the lovely writer's group that I've been part of recently. For that first meet in Thane, while I was burning the midnight oil over my assignment, I thought why not make something with a personal touch for everyone as a little token of my appreciation. And what could be better than bookmarks, no? Now, it was really late that night. So I didn't have much time to ponder over the look and feel of the bookmarks. I decided to make them of plain - but slightly textured - paper along with polka-dotted red ribbon to go into the punched holes. While going through my notes from the Kala Ghoda Travel Writing workshop, it made sense to jot down learnings from it on the bookmarks. They'd serve as reminders of the insight we gained and the fun we shared. See some pictures below of those bookmarks (click on them for a larger view): 1. Folded the paper sheet sharply a...

A picture postcard from the Rajasthan Royals vs Mumbai Indians match I went to last night at the Wankhede Cricket Stadium, Mumbai...   Kevon Cooper fielding close to the boundary line near our pavilion Detailed post with some more photos to follow. Watch this space. ~j~ PS: Since no cameras are allowed into the stadium, photos were clicked on the phone. Hence, low on quality.

"Here we go 'round the mulberry bush,  The mulberry bush, the mulberry bush.   Here we go 'round the mulberry bush,   So early in the morning..." And then I learned that mulberries don't grow on a bush. Ok. My first memory - and the only one till recently - of the mulberry tree is from childhood. Probably as far back as 20-25 years at least. That tree was in a neighbouring compound but its branches hung over the wall that separated its owners and one of the buildings in our colony. Behind Building No. 2 actually. Where the water tank was. Still is. We'd sit on the tank surface to play make-believe games like Teacher-Teacher and House-House (was the word repetition for effect?). And during the hot summers, we'd happily fight for the red mulberries that were within our tiny grasps. Red because we were impatient. Red because we didn't trust birds or insects or friends enough to let them survive to be purpley-black-sweet. Along with the ti...

Walking around Bombay certainly has its rewards. Like this little gem we found on the sidewalk of a badly traffucked (Twitter term for being stuck in terrible traffic) lane of Bandra last weekend: Massage Raju! Was that a title? Or a sentence where "massage" is a verb? Ewww... And then S used G's phone to call the advertiser in question who said something about doing "chest massages" which left us in splits. Maybe madame can update us on the actual conversation sometime soon...?

At the cemetery of St. Peter's Church, Bandra

April is already here! Just imagine... three months of the so-called "new year" are already done and dusted with. Time just doesn't seem to like us human beings, no? So little time, so much to do.  Anyway, in another attempt of making the most of the little free time I get, @culturelites and I decided to go rambling around random lanes of Bandra. Our route was short, but the Saturday turned out to be extremely enlightening and fun.  What our day was like in a nutshell: Visited a cemetery, plucked mulberries at a transit camp, almost walked into a celeb's home, prank-called someone, and learnt math today!!! — vodkaholic (@vodkaholic) March 31, 2012 Watch out for some notes and photos in the next post. This is a crazy week! *goes back to email wars*