The Inability to Stay in Touch

My Facebook feed is flooded with pictures. People getting engaged, people getting married, people having babies. In all of these photos, the persons in question aren’t alone. They are surrounded by loved ones. Family, of course, but also friends.

Back in school, we all had our cliques, some bigger than others. One of the biggest cliques comprised about 15 girls. Many of them were the most popular kids. One would imagine that since there were so many of them, with time, they would fall apart. Boy, was I mistaken.

Over the past 11 years since we’ve been out of school, many of these girls have celebrated milestone occasions such as the ones described above. Amazingly, most, if not all, of the other girls were present for those occasions. Sometimes, it was something much smaller – like a birthday, for instance – that brought these girls together.

And it’s not just them. They stood out because they were so many and yet they managed to come together for each other after all these years (many of them live outside India but amazingly, manage to show up at these events). But there are several other people I have watched over the years, who have managed to hold on to their old friendships. Flying across oceans seemed to be no hindrance to be present at a close friend’s wedding.

And yet, I haven’t been able to do any of these things. I like to think of myself as someone who cares about her friends. A lot. Sometimes more than is good for myself. But a while ago, I realized this was only true in the present. Two years ago, my best friend from school got married. And I didn’t show up for her wedding. Granted, it was a bad time as far as my career was concerned and, had that not been the case I probably would have flown down, but it seems a meagre excuse for a person with whom I once shared such a deep bond.

It’s not just about not showing up. I have been unable to remain in touch with more than two or three people from school. Even those are vague Facebook connections, with not a single phone conversation or even a Skype session shared in the years that I have been overseas. In the early years since leaving school, we made an effort to meet once in a while, but that didn’t last long.

It was the same with other groups. My SDIPA gang, for instance. Yes, we chat over WhatsApp once in a while, but I have no real idea about what’s going on in the lives of all my dance buddies – that is, no real idea besides the “How are you? I’m fine, thanks. And you?”

University was much the same. I’ve stayed well connected with exactly one person from Uni. Yes, one. That was probably more because I needed constant support and someone to bitch to until not too long ago, when I was having a difficult time in life. The rest have faded into the background of sketchy Facebook messages or once in a blue moon WhatsApp messages.

So it really got to me. Am I a terrible person for being unable to stay in touch with anybody for long? That is not to say I don’t devote myself completely to the friendships I have in the present. I do, but once the dynamics of those connections change, usually because of distance, I lose touch. Every single time.

I wonder if some of us are just meant to be like that – wholly present in the here and now, but with nary a trace remaining once out of sight. I don’t know. I don’t know if it makes me a bad person, an uninvolved person, or just… another person.

This is quite a pointless rant. But as I just learnt yesterday, stories don’t necessarily have to have a beginning, middle and end. They can just continue on for as long as we live, because stories are, literally, a slice of life and we keep living them, adding layer upon layer. Every single day.

When Life Brought 'A' My Way

I think Life has a wicked sense of humour. Every single time someone challenges it, she stands tall, shoulders squared, and says, "Are you sure you want to do this?" Now, the smart ones, they back down. But then there are some others, who are stubborn as rocks and say, "Nope, sorry, not happening." No points for guessing which category I belong to.

So then, Life, being the butt-kicking vixen that she is, sets out to make sure you pay for your ill-planned words. Let's call this particular concept we are about the speak of, 'A'. Now, I had imagined I would never succumb to A. Mind you, A can happen to anyone, and sometimes, if you're lucky (or unlucky) enough, more than once. So after the last round of A that ended in 2015, I had decided - no more A for me. Of course, Life heard me and challenged me; she warned me to take my words back, but I did not.

Six months passed. I was having a grand time, laughing, singing, dancing, hanging out with friends and generally being a merry nuisance. Of A, there wasn't a sign. There were shadows since end of last year, but so faint, I managed to convince myself I had been mistaken. Then, from early 2016, the signs became more persistent. I was still intent on ignoring them, and managed to pull through for a while until, in February, it became impossible to ignore these signs. It seemed like A had struck once again.

Now, I was furious - with myself, for coming across A again, and with Life, for throwing it in my path. But then again, I had challenged her. So the battle began. We fought hard, Life and I. There were almost times when I thought I was winning, that she was backing away, taking A with her. This left me a with a strange sense of relief and sadness, both inextricably intertwined. And then, suddenly, without warning, she would launch another attack. This happened a few times, until finally, one clear victor emerged.

Yes, Life had won. I had to succumb. And I'm deliriously happy that I did. But in the back of my mind, I can't wait for A to cause trouble again, and then I will have only Life to blame. All over again.

Because Life Comes Full Circle

They say life always comes full circle. Actually, I’m not even sure whether the instance that reminded me of this idiom is relevant to the occasion, but it seems apt.

I moved to Singapore in 2012, not knowing a soul here back then. During my early days here, Couchsurfing proved to be a blessing. I even spoke of an “outgoing CSer, who’s plenty helpful and really fun to be around (except for when he randomly gives you a brand new name or makes up stuff as he goes, so much so that you no longer know what’s true and what isn’t)”, little knowing how much he would come to mean to me.

Cut to 2016. It doesn’t seem like a lot, but when life (and your entire personality) has undergone a sea change during that time, 3.5 years can spell an eternity. And that’s exactly how it feels. Well, 2016 arrived with lots of positivity (including a new job!) but also, very importantly, the wedding of a very close friend. Who is this close friend, you might ask? No other than the crazy dude who liked to give me equally crazy names! After the initial few months of knowing him, he entirely dropped off the radar, getting in touch only intermittently and replying to messages after days and sometimes even weeks. I made some great friends thanks to him, and used to meet them fairly frequently, but Mr Groom was forever proving to be elusive.

So imagine my surprise when, in 2015, when I messaged to wish him on his birthday, he suddenly breaks the Big News. “Rashpal (yes, that is his nickname for me, and you’re forbidden to laugh!), I’m getting married in Feb next year. You have to dance at my wedding!” In my head I was thinking, “You idiot, you disappear on me for ages and then resurface only to tell me you’re getting married?” But out loud I said the only thing I could: “Of course I will!” And so I did.

So yeah, time has flown in the blink of an eye, and much has changed since I first came to Singapore. But I made some solid friends, one of them who has helped me with everything, from figuring out iftar timings to getting my mum a long-term visit pass. And for that, I’ll always be glad I met Darrumple (you’re not even allowed to laugh at my name for him). Indeed, life has come full circle.

A Dark Soul

A Dark Soul

"You have a dark soul," he said.
"It wasn't always so," she replied.
"What happened, then?" he asked.
"It was after my loved one died."

"I'm sorry to hear that."
"I am, too. It was futile."
"Futile in what sense?"
"He died before his time."

"You must miss him, then."
"Every minute of every day."
"He was lucky to have you."
"Indeed. If only you knew."

The Little Things

They say it's a sad day when one no longer finds surprise or pleasure in the little things in life. A friend who I'm no longer in touch with told me that. Today I found such a thing. It's probably incorrect to say I found it. I finally noticed it today.

I had forgotten what it was like to be a little girl at the mosque, at a time when I hadn't yet learned to pray. My emotions ranged from curiosity to impatience to a fake sense of self-importance. The last of these would surface when I pretended to know how to pray. But in reality, I would only be following the adults and copying their actions as they prayed. Today, while I was sitting in the mosque, not praying, I watched the little kids around me. And I noticed all of my emotions replicated in them. Here, one was looking at the adults who were praying nearby, and innocently trying to replicate their actions. There, a couple were pretending to know exactly what they were doing, even lip syncing the words of the prayers, and all but puffing their chests out with pride as they did so. In another area, some kids, who were sitting with their mothers while they prayed, looked at the maters as they continued their prayers, their impatience writ clearly on their faces as if to say, "Are you done yet?

It's hard to explain why such nostalgia hit home, but it did. Like a ton of bricks. Life moves at a pace almost impossible to keep track of, but reminders like these serve to cause one to halt, take a step back, and simply experience the emotion it brings. Yes, I still find wonder in little things in life. Guess I'm just blessed like that.

Barred!

Last week, I carried out a social experiment. I’d heard from a few friends (men, mostly) that hanging out at bars alone could be interesting. Sure, I thought unkindly, it must be for them; after all, it offers a great chance for them to chat up girls (who I figured hung out in all-girl groups at the same bars). But I was convinced it couldn’t be as fun for a girl to go alone. At least, one who isn’t looking to get picked up. (Word to the liberal thinkers: No, I have nothing against people looking to get picked up or those who do the picking up; just that it’s not what I wanted out of this experiment).

But how could I diss it until I’d tried it? So off I went, by myself on a Wednesday night. I couldn’t bring myself to do it over a weekend; I was too chicken for that. I figured I’d seem less like a loser and more like someone who enjoyed their own company if I went on a week night.

The intention was to go to Jigger & Pony on Amoy Street during Happy Hours, but one look at the interiors from outside made my already cold feet go sub-zero. The inside of the bar looked swanky, in dark, rich shades of red and black, with an ominous glow from low-burning candles. Definitely not the most boisterous bar settings, I thought.

On the other hand, Sugarhall next door, looked more inviting. There were a couple of groups outside, laughing and generally being more human. And the deciding factor was that I could actually see a bar that one could hang out at.

So I entered and, without waiting to be asked, perched myself on a stool at the bar counter. The three bartenders behind the counter and the usher who was about to guide me to a table looked at me in surprise for about 2.5 seconds. Then everybody went about the their business. Score, Rashida.

The waiter/usher brought two menus and placed them in front of me. I asked what they had going for Happy Hours. He brought me a different menu and said that Happy Hours ended at 7.30pm. “So, did I just miss it?” I asked it. It was probably around 7.33pm by then. “No,” he said, “it’s fine, you can go ahead and order.” Score, Sugarhall.

I played safe and ordered the Planter’s Punch. And after being asked if I wanted a snack, I ordered the hand cut fries as well. Turned out to be a darned good idea in hindsight, seeing as how generous they had been with the rum in a Happy Hours drink – score, Sugarhall! An empty stomach with that drink in a somewhat sleepy state would not have been a good idea…

So there I sat, with my fries and drink, and the bartenders kept giving me smiles every once in a while, but there was no chance of a conversation. The guy two stools away from me kept up a chatter with the girl bartender, obviously sharing his knowledge of drinks and, unless I’m very mistaken, exasperating the girl, who of course couldn’t say anything to him. seated as I was at the far end of the table, conversation with anyone else on the other side was impossible. Pity, because there was a group of three men there. The seemed more approachable at any rate than any other groups, which were bigger and therefore more formidable, or the couples, who were completely off limits on account of being happy with just each other’s company.

So I sat there munching my fries (again, glad I had them. The drink would have disappeared much sooner on it’s own and I’d have had to order another, or clear out of there otherwise) and occasionally sipping my drink. The girl bartender asked me a couple of times if everything was fine, but she was much too busy for me to converse with her.

It was quiet, with about three tables being occupied. One was a big bunch of girls obviously out for ladies’ night, another was two couples, and a third, two guys. Another couple walked in and went to the far end of the place a while later, and I couldn’t really see them from where I was seated.

After about 40 minutes of being seated there, one of the bartenders came over to my end of the bar and started wiping down glasses. This provided ample opportunity to chat while he worked, so he struck up a conversation. Am I grateful to him! The conversation went something like this:

“Is everything okay?”

“Just fine, thanks.”

“Do you come here often?”

“No, this is my first time here. I was supposed to go to Jigger & Pony next door, but I couldn’t see the bar table, so I came here!”

“Oh, they do have a bar, but it’s smaller. Actually, both the bars (Sugarhall and Jigger & Pony) are run by the same company.”

“Oh,” I said.

Then, after a while I asked, “Do you guys have a signature drink?”

“What are you having?”

“Planter’s Punch.”

“Oh, that’s the Happy Hours menu. What kind of spirits do you like?”

“I like rum. And generally drinks that aren’t too sweet.”

“We’re a rum bar, so we have over 78 (I think that’s the figure he mentioned) kinds of rum here.”

“Oh, great! Then I walked into the right place,” I smiled.

After that, he went on to point out a couple of other drinks he said I should try, but I thanked him and said maybe I would leave it for the next time.

After a little over an hour, I was done eating my fries and my drink was finished, too. I contemplated whether I wanted another but, truth-be-told, I was a bit bored. I’ve always looked upon going out – whether it’s for drinks or food – as a social activity. If I had to, I’d eat alone, but never at a fancy place; I just always found that very… sad. And as I’d expected, I was bored drinking by myself.

But, I must also confess that could possibly be because I chose the wrong bar. Not that there’s anything wrong with Sugarhall. In fact, it’s chilled out with good drinks and friendly staff. But for a trip alone, it probably wasn’t the best place. So, I might give it a go again later this week, and go to a real, boisterous bar and see if I can have myself a good time!

I Sat with Strangers

I sat with strangers,

Stared in their eyes.

Saw their emotions;

That was my prize.

A minute of silence;

Baring their souls.

Without manipulation;

That was the goal.

Many a stranger went;

I was about to call it a day.

Then the crowd parted,

And in walked Ulay.

A man I hadn’t seen

In three decades or more,

Sat in front of me,

My emotions in uproar.

The longest wall in the world

Had seemed even longer,

When we met in the middle,

The parting grief made stronger.

And here he was now,

Thirty long years hence.

Time had replaced the wall

With an invisible fence.

The tears ran,

He took my hand,

But neither said a word.

And then the minute was up

He left; I never saw him again.

This poem was inspired by this video.

Twenty Years Ago

On one fateful morning,

Twenty long years ago,

A little girl left school early

To return home to sorrow.

No one said a word;

They didn’t really have to.

The man she loved the most,

Was gone, this, she knew.

As the years passed by,

And the memories grew dim,

She learned to move on

But she never forgot him.

There were occasional barbs;

She was accused of not caring enough.

But how could they know,

What she felt when times were tough?

What would it have been like,

Growing up with him there?

Life would have truly been different,

It wouldn’t have seemed so unfair.

A bad grade in math class,

A rude remark at dinner;

Were he to rebuke her for these,

She would still have been a winner.

She never had the chance

To talk about a man,

To hear him telling her,

“Walk away while you can.”

She had none of these,

And she never would.

And twenty years later,

At the water’s edge she stood.

She wrote a little message

And put it in a bottle.

She watched it float directionless,

Like a boat without a throttle.

The message read:

“I don’t miss you enough, they say,

Because I don’t talk about you.

But I don’t have to convince them,

Just you. I miss you, Papa, I really do.”

Stepping Stone

The following poem was inspired by a movie. Details at the end.

I was just a stepping stone,

Paving the way to the throne. 

I was used like a guinea pig,

Like a drill leading to the rig.

To them I was a lucky charm.

 Failure, too, couldn't bring harm.

But if my power indeed did work, 

They'd find a prince, not a jerk.

So I was wined and dined,

Showered in cash and kind.

Then they headed to the altar,

In their chauffeur driven car.

They married Prince Charming,

And left me without warning. 

And yet again I was alone,

For I was just a stepping stone.

The movie I mentioned earlier was Good Luck Chuck. Was it close enough?

Balance

I hang in the balance,

I've lost my mojo.

Tell me your thoughts,

So I don't feel like a yo-yo.

This game is dangerous;

We go back and forth.

Tell me should I stay,

Or carry on North?

Our paths are different,

But our hearts the same.

Why keep up this charade?

Life is not a game.

And if you wish for it,

Just the same as I do,

Let your guard down,

Tell me your wish true.

We'll ride the wave,

We'll make it last.

We'll pass any hurdle,

That's our way cast.

But darling, before that,

I must know for sure;

Are you in it for good,

Or will you walk out the door?

Hello, New Year!

Before I started writing this, I went back and read the note I wrote at the beginning of 2014.

I realised everything that I had promised myself had more or less gone down the drain. Now, I’m wondering whether this is just me, or does this happen to a lot of people? I’m not one to make resolutions for the new year, never have been. But, I do hope to learn from the past and use that to avoid repeating the same mistakes in the future.

Last year, I promised myself a few things. To extricate myself from complicated situations and the company of negative people, for instance. Can’t say I managed to do that well, but in my defence, I tried. I also promised to learn from my past mistakes. Golly gee, did I throw that out the window! 2014 was the one year I made the most glorious mistakes; mistakes I’m likely to remember (if not pay for) for the rest of my life, ones that some of my not-so-sane-minded friends would be proud of me for making. But I’m also glad I made them. They’ve taught me so much about myself. I now know me better.

If I thought 2013 had been epic, 2014 completely blew that out of the water. With no job uncertainties to worry about, and with enough dough to spend, I had an unbelievable year. From travelling (solo and with friends and family) to three new countries, to finding a dance form that I love and am determined to pursue seriously, life has, in general, been very good to me.

In that sense, everything that I wished for at the start of 2014, came true. The year exceeded all expectations I had of it. And the mistakes I made (yes, I keep coming back to those) were great stepping stones as well. I’m a different person, thanks to them.

As for what 2015 will bring, I’m not going to set any goals or expectations for myself. Of course, I do hope that it’s a good year, but beyond that, I will just deal with whatever is thrown my way. Make fewer mistakes? Easier said than done. Earn more money? Will work harder for it. Achieve greater heights and be more awesome? That’s a lifelong aim; not just one for the new year!

Stay

Stay with me for now,
Stay as long as you must.
Stay with me forever,
Or until I've turned to dust.

Love is unconditional,
It brings peace to the heart.
But mine simply consumes me,
And tears my soul apart.

I want you to stay
Not just tonight and tomorrow,
But now and forever, 
And for all time to follow.

If you don't want to stay,
There's nothing I can do.
Except to let you go and hope
That you find love too.         

That's when you'll know,
What it feels like
To love someone deeply,  
And be rewarded with spite.

But who am I kidding?
I don't want you to go away; 
Neither find love elsewhere;
All I want is for you to stay.

As You Sow

As you sow
So shall you reap.
But do not weep.
Let the pain seep         
Into your soul. 

It's there for a reason.
And it'll stay a season.
You committed treason. 
This is your repentance. 

There is no solace.
Not even a trace.
Consequences you must face.      
For your behaviour of disgrace.

Let your heart bleed.
Of truth, plant a seed.
Let it not weed.
And once you sow,
Make sure to reap.

Moving On, is the Worst Thing You Can Do

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I read an article a friend once suggested. It offered the view that, no matter what circumstances a human being goes through, he/she gets over it and learns to be happy. Humans apparently have an innate ability to be happy—or rather, go back to a state of happiness after being unhappy—no matter what. In other words, we move on.

But ‘moving on’ is a palliative. It works in the short term. It even convinces us that we are fine; that we are leading perfectly normal, routine lives.

And then, one day suddenly, 19 years later, the memory comes flooding back. It comes at a time when you’ve succeeded in convincing yourself that you are fine; that you have healed. As a result, the guilt, remorse, anger or any other emotion that you associated with it, comes back, too. And it comes back with a vengeance. It comes back to mock you, because you dared to move on.

Yes, the human psyche was built to ‘get over’ things – seemingly so. But no emotion, when felt so intensely, can ever be done away with. Love gone sour simply turns to hate, because both emotions are too strong to disappear entirely.

George Orwell famously noted in the classic 1984, “…you could not alter them (your feelings) yourself, even if you wanted to.” Feelings are too strong to be able to control. All emotions that are felt by an honest heart are. Love, loss, grief, hatred – you can presumably move on from them all, but you never do, and never will. Because they will come back to haunt you. And you will never know what triggered it. Maybe nothing did. Maybe it was there all along, just waiting to make a comeback.

So, what’s the solution? I haven’t a clue. But if I had to wager, I’d say ‘get used to’ might be a more appropriate conclusion. Get used to feeling love, hatred and loss. Learn to live with it. This way, when the emotion rears its head again, you’ll be able to look it in the eye and face it head-on. Else, you’ll simply find yourself cowering, because you, you moved on.

The Best Intentions - Dashed to Bits!

I was a good girl. For 4 whole days. I ate sensibly and had been exercising for the week before that. And then came Diwali. And the Bohra New Year. And so, healthy eating promptly flew out the window.

But then again, festivals are a time to be merry and not worry about petty issues such as watching your wasitline! Aren't they? I like to think so.

So, until the festive season is over, I'm on a break from all things healthy.

I Used to Know a Boy

I used to know a boy,

His name was D.

His favourite pastime,

Was to make fun of me.

I used to know a boy,

His name was D.

Thin as a stick,

Tall as tall can be.

He used to be funny,

He used to be smart;

We became great friends,

Right from the start.

I used to know a boy,

He was my confidante.

But then one day,

He broke my trust.

I used to know a boy,

I thought we were best friends,

We used to share everything,

 Even our deepest secrets.

But things went wrong,

And he abandoned me.

My deepest darkest secrets,

He lay bare for all to see.

I couldn’t forgive him this,

I couldn’t let it go.

He said he was sorry;

But I wasn’t sure.

Then I had two options,

To give him a second chance;

Or ask him to be on his way,

Without a backward glance.

But friendship is strange that way,

It’s not easy to let go;

They say a tear can never mend,

But breaking up is a bigger blow.

So  I let it go,

And we were pals again;

And since that day he’s never

Given me a chance to complain.

So I guess what I’m saying,

Is to give up the strong stance;

To trust somebody once again,

To give friendship a second chance.

A LITTLE NOTE

A little note

For dear little you;

Friends like you in this strange land,

I have very few.

The drunken confessions,

The heartfelt chats,

The exchange of gossip,

The checking out of lads.

I could do it all with you

Without a single care,

And now we live so far;

Everything we cannot share.

But that’s okay,

For I know the truth;

You’ll be there if I need you,

Like a firm tree’s root.

I don’t mean to be soppy,

But I’d like to let you know;

I’m here if you need to rant or laugh,

Or talk your facial muscles sore.

Your birthday is over,

And this note is a tad bit late,

But the sentiment it carries,

Has no expiry date!

Singapore – Take Two

For somebody who remembers the smallest of details about the randomest of things, I often suffer from deplorable loss of memory when it comes to certain things. Such as the date I first set foot in Singapore. It was the fag end of July, the date being 23^rd or 27^th, I forget which. But that was the year 2012. It is now July of 2014. Two years. TWO years. Did I notice it’s been that long? Hell, no!

Time, to employ a cliché, really has flown by. And I can’t even begin to explain how quickly. Life until the age of 23 (well, a month short thereof) was simple, steady. Not boring, never boring; but… predictable. The levels of naiveté demonstrated by me were of stratospheric proportions. Knowing all of this full well, the sister decided to accompany me on my first foray into an ‘unknown’ land. Now, knowing—and loving—Singapore as I do, it seems a laughable matter that I or anyone else could ever have considered this place as one where I needed to be careful, on account of the ‘unknown’ factor.

The first year went by with life and, more importantly, my lifestyle, undergoing no major changes. Much as I dreaded becoming a student again, I found that I could slip into the role—the pursuit and achievement of good grades included—easily enough. Buddies were exactly the kind of people I had always befriended even back home – vice-less, rock solid and thus, to some, boring. The year was interesting enough to teach me how to multitask, how to survive writing the most boring papers while holding a myriad of different day jobs/internships. Getting out didn’t happen often, given that I lived on pretty much another planet. But when we did, it was fun. I did have a few friends outside of Uni, thanks to Couchsurfing, but I’d meet them only once in a while. I went to a bunch of cool places, too, thanks to the enterprising CSers!

Graduation was a time of great pride. It also brought the brother to Singapore. Considering how adamant he was never to visit, this was a major highlight for the year! Post graduation, the job search languished. In the meantime, I shifted houses twice—which would have been impossible without aforementioned Uni mates—and visited Bali for 11 days. A trip home ensued, in which a short term work project in Goa was also included. The Bali trip ensured I was flat broke by the time I got back to Singapore and, once again, the dear darling Uni mates came to the rescue, as did another Couchsurfing friend.

Amid all of this, life’s ups and downs did not leave me untouched. From the highs of living an independent life to the lows of losing a very young friend, it’s been a constant see-saw ride.

November was a period of desperation. Two months for the visa to expire, a mind-draining part-time position in hand, but no full-time job in sight. Well, desperate times call for desperate measures. And thus, when I got a call from a certain country club, I blazed in and pretty much put down an ultimatum. “You either hire me, or you don’t,” I said to them, though not in so many words. Contrary to my own expectation, I wasn’t thrown out. Starting January 2014, life in a stable job began. Early mornings and long working hours meant early nights! Add to that the daily chores before turning in each day, and I had newfound respect for all working women with families. Move over, Superman.

But let me backtrack here a bit. While the job search was ongoing, moving out of NTU meant I had more time, better access to people and places. And so it began that I started going out more often, meeting lots of fun people. It was always interesting because I met new people, learnt new things. And then, in early 2013, I met a few people who went on to become faces as familiar as my own. Was that necessarily a good thing, given that I now spoke to fewer ‘new’ people every time I went out? Maybe not. But did the experience of hanging out with them change my life? Yes – some for better, some for worse.

Essentially, I was now, well and truly, ‘on my own’. Even though I had lived in Singapore for a year, so far, Uni had closeted me. The outside world was a whole different ballgame. Between job searches and painful landlords, the list was endless. To add to that, I came to be in touch with some people who were so different from me, I think it was the wonder of it all that attracted me to begin with. I often felt ridiculously naïve; almost as often as I felt glad to know a bunch of people who had so much to teach and share; it was incredible.

But my time in the ‘outside’ world also brought me in touch with elements I had never experienced before. From not having my best friend standing next to me to offer a way to politely refuse the advances of men at clubs, to seeing the absolute recklessness and debauchery demonstrated by some people, I used to be left speechless. And then I was asked, “Why do you get so culture-shocked?” That’s when I knew I had to either get with it, or get out of it. So I chose the former – to some extent. Has that always been a good idea? Absolutely not. Has it taught me more in the past one year than I learnt in 24 years prior to that? Yes. I still can’t understand some behaviours, thought processes and attitudes, but at least now, I can camouflage my feelings.

Sadly, I have also begun to do something I never thought I would – I have begun to comprehend things that, in the past, wouldn’t have penetrated my power of reasoning because they were so alien. And that was a good thing. Because this, the new me, the one that comprehends all this, has also learnt to be less rigid. The world is no longer all white or black. The shades of grey that I had managed to avoid for the longest time have seeped into the lens that I view the world with, as well. But what hasn’t changed, is the way I feel about it. And that’s worse, because I now do things that are in accordance with my new behaviour, but not so with my old beliefs. And this constant internal tug-of-war is soul draining.

That’s life in Singapore so far. But it certainly wasn’t all bad. The only difference is, some of these are things I should have learned much earlier in life, to save me the multiplied effects now. It’s always better to learn late than never to learn at all, but the longer we take to learn life’s lessons, the harder the task of doing so. And I had to learn the really, really hard way; but at least I learned.

Friends from India who have stuck by my side like my shadow during this phase know the changes and therefore empathise, but I suspect those whom I haven’t met in the last two years will barely, if at all, recognise the person I have become.

So that’s what two years in Singapore have been like. I love my life here and I love the independence, the sense of accomplishment that I feel every day. So what if I don’t always like the me doing all of these things.

P.S.: I’ve sat in a car in Singapore plenty of times, but never on a bike. Just as the two year-mark was coming to a close, and I was panicking at crossing another year without a bike ride in Singapore, an angel heard me and I got the most perfect bike ride – empty stretch of road, at 2:00am, with a cool breeze. Dear angel, if you are reading this, a big Thank You! (And I wouldn’t mind another ride.)

The City of Hope

The city of hope,

The city of dreams,

The very heart;

This city never sleeps.

The sea by which

Promises are made;

People sit watching,

As the sun’s rays fade.

The streets chaotic,

Never a dull moment;

The night sky

Turns a cynic ‘to a poet.

The underworld and

Underhand dealings;

The endless wait at

Official court hearings.

The crowded trains

Are used by lakhs,

No thought for others;

Babies crammed on laps.

Yet there is something

About the eternal city;

It’s boundless love,

It’s versatile beauty.

Amid all the mayhem

You won’t be alone,

There will always be,

Another weary soul.

Of the city herself;

She doesn’t grow old;

She may be tired,

But she is still bold.

And if she loves you,

Be assured, my friend,

Your hard times are gone,

Your luck is on the mend.

She’ll look after you while

Bursting at the seams;

This city of hope,

This city of dreams.

Transient

Life’s not perfect,

It was never meant to be.

But it was worth it,

For you and me.

We met by chance,

Without expectations,

Going with the flow,

Respecting limitations.

We knew our time was short,

But that didn’t matter to us,

 We made the most of it;

We weren’t in a rush.

But in the aftermath,

I was asked the meaning,

Of this whole affair that

You and I were leading.

I had no answers;

Only feelings to show,

Of a love that was, and

A heart that took a blow.

And now you’re gone

My love, never to return,

Nothing I can do or say

Will make the fates turn.

So I will accept it,

For what it meant,

A love that had a tag;

It was transient.