Postcards From J

I've been meaning to write something this month, but so much has happened since June. The brother got engaged (wedding's just 4 months away!) and work is a little too hectic at the moment. So, instead of doing a random post, here's something I wrote as part of a future assignment for DD's Travel Writing Bus. It's based on a theme we were given and it's supposed to be longer (got stuck and haven't been able to rewrite since). I'll aim to write from scratch if I can't add to it. As always, feedback is welcome. ----- We drove in silence. The darkness outside was strangely comfortable. He placed his hand on my knee. "It will be ok. Don't worry." "Hmm..." I drifted off again. "What's on your mind now?" "Nothing." I noticed he had taken a detour. 'Great! Now he wants to talk.' But silence again. Suddenly, he pulled over to the side of the path. Where are we? I turned to...

... Dilip D'Souza ! I'm thrilled to let you know that Dilip , our writing mentor and friend, has won the Newsweek & The Daily Beast-Open Hands Prize for Commentary in South Asia . Long name for an award, no? But hey, it's going to a very deserving person. For a report on the event in NYC last week, click here . And below is a video chat with Dilip himself: In case the video doesn't play, click here to watch it. Congratulations, DD! We are so proud of you.

Of late, I've been disturbed with how Bombay/Mumbai is turning out to be. I love the city to death (appropriate, no?) but increasingly I'm running out of reasons to defend my love for it. They say it's the city where dreams come true. But whose dreams? The rich are getting richer and the poor are getting poorer.  And those in between? Well, we are basically fucked.  The common man - or woman - is helpless. Everything seems to run in this vicious circle. People give bribes, people take bribes. People want a corruption-free system but are forgetting we are the system. If we don't stand up for what is right, if we don't speak out against injustice, then who will? The politicians? Judiciary? Police? But who put them in those positions in the first place? Think about it. Maximum City, can you magically revive yourself? Any more of this disillusionment and I will give up. Sincerely, ~j~

... and feel so helpless after reading this: http://blogs.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/extraordinaryissue/entry/why-i-love-mumbai And to think I posted this photo on Instagram just yesterday... When did my city go to hell? Or rather become hell. RIP, Bombay. RIP, Mumbai.

23 days into the fifth month of the year, and I'm wondering where did the days go. And I also realise that I haven't blogged at all this May. Largely, I've been busy with domestic duties and a few social engagements. You'd be surprised to see how much housework can take out of you! May - when flowers explode with colour! In other news, we had a really wonderful writing class at MCubed Library a few weeks ago. And you know what? I discovered that I could write a bit of fiction (meaning something that didn't get inspired by my own life experiences). And that really thrilled me no end. I'm feeling horrible, though, for not doing a round-up of that and the previous meet-up of DD's Travel Writing Bus. Maybe I should combine the two in one post? Maybe. Fingers crossed. And then, earlier this week, a few of us dropped in at I-Bar at Bandra Reclamation (never knew it was packed with so many F&B outlets) for Music at The Big Mic - a platform fo...

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 ...