I FELL IN LOVE ALL OVER AGAIN

As the year 2005 was about to end with the advent of the new year 2006, I fell in love… though ‘strangely’ this time with a place, not any person… while living amongst strangers… a place I had never been to before… GOA. It was a totally unplanned trip. I had it in my mind all the time but I couldn’t just figure out how. And then, the next thing I know, I was in Goa, instead of being at my home, for my Christmas and New Year’s vacation. The first time I was on my own, far away from the comfort-zone of my loving friends, folks, relatives and my not-so-long-lost lover, on Christmas eve. Confusing? But then, that’s just me. I preferred to travel alone this time as I had broken off with my boyfriend of four-years, for good.
I have a duffel bag into which I threw my essentials in a jiffy, my photo-identity proof and papers, bought myself a ticket to Goa and I was in a ‘to go’ mode. Clutching my very heavy bag (being a cancerian, I have a tendency to want to carry everthing while traveling), I got into the train. I instantly made friends with two Indian girls from Delhi (both first-timers like myself) and two Austrians (the been-there-done-that duo), all of us been thrown in the same ladies’ coupe. And then, it was all non-stop girlie talks-discussing everything from books, bikinis to naval-piercings. I handed out yoga and reiki tips to the foreign travellers, in exchange of which they offered me suggestions on which beaches were the most ‘happening’ ones, the cost-effective ones and THE best ones to be on. I got out of the train at Thivim while the others had to get down at Margaon, and I headed straight towards North-goa, where there was enough action for a life-altering experience and more, as suggested by my ‘Firang’ friends from the train.

The first thing I noticed there in Goa, was that no one noticed me or paid any heed. Now, I know I am no head-stopper drop-dead-gorgeous-looking Babe, especially after travelling in the train for about 30hrs. But having lived in Delhi for the past seven years, I was so used to the discomforting stares and the up-and-down surveys of most men (regardless of their age, stature or educational background), especially when you’re alone, unescorted. But there, suddenly in a strange city, amongst strangers, I was free of the age-old habit of constant vigilance, and everywhere there I got away without a local even batting an eyelid. In Goa, no one just bothers who you are, where you are from or what you are doing. And I was swept off my feet at once. The colours, the sound, the energy, the delicious Goan sea-food (and I have no food allergies, thanks be), the hottest swanky night clubs, the endless beach shacks, from rave parties to genteel live entertainment, acid-trips, street shops, tattoo-artists, North-Goa throbs with activity that could make your head spin, depending on how many feni-shots you’ve gulped down by the end of the night.
I fell in love with the freedom that came here with sheer anonymity. The varied cultures and the simplicity of the locals, took my breath away. While the Goans are traditionally ‘susegad’ (laid-back) in their attitude, and mind you, you won’t get breakfast there at 7am and dinner after 11pm and almost all shops close sharp at 1pm for lunch and the afternoon siesta, but then again, who wakes up at 7am in Goa, especially for breakfast?
I spent my Christmas evening with jazz and retro rock blues at the ‘Souza-Lobo’, an open-air restaurant at the Calangute Beach which had authentic goan food and ‘live’ music by a handsome goan-born internationally renowned singer, while my New Year’s eve was spent swaying the night away to the psychedelic and techno trance and house music (by DJs from India and Israel) at ‘Club Paradiso’ and ‘Hill Top’ at the Anjuna Beach. Here, the party doesn’t end even as the sun comes up. ‘Club Paradiso’ has amazing fireworks at mid-night as the clock strikes 00:00 hrs to a brand New Year and ‘Hill Top’ is an open-air new-age hippie’s answer to alternative clubbing. Getting to and back from the clubs were relatively easy, as taxis were available at all hours of the night, though horrendously expensive. Women partying without escorts are seldom harassed there, almost never heard of… but then, in Goa you are never unescorted. ‘Club Tito’s’ at the Baga Beach and ‘Club Cabana’ at the Arpora Beach, were the other hot clubs I covered in my nocturnal hunts on the other nights. They had funky music and in-house as well as guest DJs spinning great tracks.

In Goa, you feel hungry almost after very half-an-hour. It must be something in the hash-induced sea-air and sunshine. In the daytime, besides hogging on the mouth-watering local cuisines of prawns-curry rice, mackerels, king-fish, tiger-prawns and crab-dishes washed down with port-wine or feni, I took time out to go street-shopping for beach-wear and junk-jewellery at the Wednesday Anjuna flea-market, bought port-wine, giant cashews, feni, goan-sausages and home-made prawn-balchau from the Friday market at Mapusa and souvenirs from the Saturday night market at Arpora.

I fell in love with the spirit of life there… the largeness of the vast, vast Arabian Sea, with beaches where I could get lost… where I wanted to be alone, but could never be lonely… where I could smile at strangers, accept a dinner date from the cute Italian who occupied the beach-cottage-room opposite mine at Anjuna or go club-hopping with the Lebanese group from Dubai, without wondering if I would be raped or robbed or plainly taken wrong. It was cool to do drugs but equally as cool to say NO to it. Nobody would insist, persist or trap you into anything. It was a constant discovery all the time, be it taking a walk on an unknown beach early in the morning to see the sun come up, or learning to climb into a local bus with 50 people, in 30 seconds flat, striking up conversations making tentative new friends who would exchange life-stories till I reached my next destination. Or better still, I could just drink myself silly on all the cheap booze, lazying on the beach, ignoring the sun-tan, really working on absolutely doing nothing.

Then a few of my friends joined in for the last couple of days, when I had already had enough of the frenzy of the north. So, we then seeked respite to the more calm and romantic beaches of the legendary Donna-Paula and Miramar Beaches, a day before we were to return back to Delhi from Vasco.

There was something about Goa that left me refreshed even after the mere eight days that I spent there. I fell in love with it… head over heels… so much that I had to return again… by February end again, to attend the Carnivals (or Carnaval, as the locals call it there). This is the most vibrant and colourful of all Goan festivals, which offers four days of non-stop fun and feasting, from the 25th to the 28th of February every year. This time, I had one of my girl friends with me and it was all about the fun of travelling together, rooming together, enjoying new water-sports, trying out the delicious pork-sorpotel and mussels-fry, talking in low-voiced ‘assamese’ lingo so that no one understood our less-than-demure comments about the four hunks from Chandigarh in the train sharing the same coupe with us, or laughing together at the strange 'firang' who was jogging on the beach right under the bright afternoon sun at 2pm with a really drained-out-looking pup who he had 'adopted' after his wife left him. And it doubled our fun to watch Goa break out into a riot of colour, music, dance and lots of fun with massive and glittering ‘floats’ parade in Panjim, Margaon, Vasco and Mapusa (in that order), filling each town and village with street plays, traditional carnival dances, costume parties and fireworks at night.

Refreshed, I happily came back to my routine to the city where I live, to my friends, my colleagues, my workplace, to do my share of daily call-targets on the week-days and the fun-jobs on the weekends… everything I am familiar with, firmly placed back in their own places. It was like coming back home. But there was a difference. Now I’ve got a song on my lips, a smile in my eyes, a spring in my steps and a renewed zest to overcome every obstacle that comes by. I have now got a memory of the adventures I had, of the fun, the non-stop partying, the freedom I experienced, the discoveries I made, the people I met and all the delightful things I did. It made me realize the actual person I am (free-spirited) and the kind of person I’d like to be (a hippie)… and it makes me smile… it makes me feel like I’ve fallen in love all over again… with Goa. And mind you, once you get there, you’ll fall in love with it too. And then you will feel compelled to return to your beloved again and again and again… just like me!

DARLING DOGS can never be COOL CATS

The domestic cat has always been a contradiction to the term ‘pet’. Cats first purred their way into human hearts thousands of years ago, and have been our treasured companions and soul-mates ever since. No animal has ever developed such an intimate relationship with mankind, while at the same time, demanding and getting such independence of movement and action. Cats lead a double life. At home it is an overgrown kitten which needs attention from its human owners. Out on the roads, it is fully adult, its own boss and a free-living wild creature, alert and self-sufficient. By living both with other cats and with humans during its kitten-hood, the cat becomes attached to both world, and considers that it belongs to both the species. It may be a cat physically, but mentally it is both a feline and a human. But once it is fully adult however, most of its responses are feline ones, and it has only one major reaction to its owners—it treats them as pseudo-parents.
All this is rather different in case of the dog. For thousands of years, dogs have been cherished as devoted companions and exuberant playmates—their unconditional love, limitless affection and unwavering loyalty never fail to melt our hearts. The dog may be man’s best friend, but it is rarely allowed to go out on its own to wander from streets to gardens and off to the jungle. The obedient dog has to be taken out for a walk. The dog too sees its human owners as fake-parents, but it has an additional link.

To justify what I mean, I would like to quote the instances of the series of pets we have had back home, both from the canine as well as the feline societies.The earliest memories that I have of any of our pets is that of our adorable ‘Johnny’—a hairy local breed from Bhutan which looked more or less like a Lhasa Apso—all white hair with a few black patches on the back. He was brought home almost the same time I was born and we grew up together. I have memories of Johnny being a brat of a dog, who could be tamed only by my dad. But he was a ferocious hound to strangers and outsiders. He did not cause any harm to my new-born sister when she was brought in from the hospital after my ma’s delivery or even later after that. But he would never spare anyone unaccompanied by any of our family-members who would try to access our main door or the back one. He would often break loose out of his iron-chain clasp to scare beggars or street children who would stop by to steal fruits from our garden-trees within the compound of our house. As a child I had a very weak appetite, which resulted in me sneaking away my unfinished meals to Johnny on the sly, when not being watched by my parents or our caretaker, and he would gulp everything down as fast as he could. We were the perfect ‘partners in crime’. He was poisoned to death by someone in one of his usual chain-breaking-escapades to the neighborhood. He returned to die at my mother’s feet. He lived to be six.

After Johnny, my ma almost swore never to keep a pet again… except for a few ducks and hens on and off. She could never forget the pain of Johnny struggling to death in front of her. My Aita (granny) often told us stories about my ma being more of a cat-woman in her pre-marital days when she could not be separated from her pet cats. But we could never imagine having a cat as a pet. My dad was not found of cats and I hated them to the core of my heart. My younger sisters were of-course too indifferent to the idea. But as luck would have it, one fine day, a glossy jet-black cat (Ma named ‘Kalu’) took to visiting our home-ground on an almost-regular basis. But this cat was actually a ‘saint of a cat’, I admit. He was gentle and docile, never scratched, never stole and maintained decent distance, never trying to access into our house. He was almost a wild cat who preferred to hunt for his prey, but on a dry-day when he could not kill a mouse or a sparrow or anything else, he would come by, sit outside our kitchen window and meow to ma, demanding food. Kalu’s good nature amazed my dad and made me curious about his ‘cat-life’ beyond our kitchen window. His favorite amongst our home-made dishes prepared by ma was a fish-curry cooked in a special local herb, which has medicinal values. My ma was convinced that Kalu must have been her child in ‘their’ previous lives. One day Kalu mysteriously disappeared.

My ma was heart-broken, yet once again, but not for long. ‘Cause after a few days, maybe a few weeks, another jet-black cat, almost like Kalu, appeared all of a sudden. At first we all mistook it for Kalu and were happy and relieved that it would finally end my ma’s grief and mend her broken heart, but ma was the first and only one to notice that this cat was younger, slimmer and more elegant than our sturdy Kalu. It was a she-cat and her emerald-green eyes were scared and wild. She was at first a little scared to befriend us, but amazingly, she had all the good-natured-ness of Kalu, which of-course made ma calculate and establish that this cat must definitely be Kalu’s alleged daughter. We instantly named her ‘Kalu-jr’. She continued to visit us on and off like her ‘parent’ whenever she couldn’t get her day’s kill, and whenever she prized an extraordinary one, like a fancy-looking bird or a giant rat, she would bring it to the ground outside our kitchen window to show off her skills to ma.

Then what happened is far from what anyone can imagine. There must be the word-of-mouth culture practiced in the world of the wild too. Otherwise, why would an unfamiliar pregnant cat come to our compound and give birth to two identical golden-brown kittens, leaving them to my mother’s nursing and care. Ma, being the cat-woman she was, welcomed the beautiful new-born kittens gladly. She brought new feeding bottles and plates to feed the kittens. Within a few weeks, they grew up into cute, chubby golden-brown kittens. The naughty and lazy one (we suspected to be Garfield re-incarnated) was named ‘Tuku’ and his very opposite-natured twin brother with no cunningness of a cat was named ‘Babu’. Kalu-jr. took all this in a good spirit without any jealousy and played a very responsible elder-sister to both the kittens, in her infrequent visits for lunch or dinner. Tuku and Babu were the in-separable twins who grew up in our house as complete pets. They never went out to their feline society to experience real cat-lives. My ma was their only mother they knew. Both of them were drastically opposite in their natures. I adored Babu for his straight-forwardness of a dog and hated Tuku for his laziness and cunningness. On a couple of occasions, I even caught him trying to steal food from our kitchen. He was like a real cat which I hated. My ma and my sister adored and loved him for his catty habits. They would spoil him with all kind of pampering to make up for the punishments I would carry out on him. I never liked that grin (of revenge) on his fat lazy face.

Come the next mating season, another set of four kittens this time, for my ma to bring up. We were beginning to believe she would have to open up a nursery for kittens. She welcomed them too with open arms. Meanwhile, our response was swift and firm: No more cats! The lonesome four were not welcome by us and we gave ma a cold shoulder about the new kittens. Seeing everyone behave the way we did, ma suddenly lost interest in the new-born kittens too. She would give food to Kalu-jr., Tuku and Babu in their respective meal plates, but the new-born kittens remained hungry and homeless. Two of them died in about a couple of days and two of them survived. Kalu-jr. played her same sisterly-role, while Tuku-Babu remained indifferent. I was touched by the cute young things trying so hard to survive on love, play and tap-water. Alas I had to intervene. I stepped in and vouched to take them into the family. Ma agreed to keep them long enough for them to grow up just a little so that they are safe from scavenger birds or other enemies. Then they would have to go—no arguments.

These two kittens were totally different to look at. ‘Foxy’ had a thin pointy fox-like face and was of a reddish-brown color. The other one which had grey-black catty stripes, had a very beautiful face. We named her ‘Bhotokla’ (like a ‘Bhokot’- a pious saint). Both Foxy and Bhokotla must have somehow understood their situation. They seemed to study the other three cats and their interactions with us. When the other cats were aloof, these two were attentive. They came when their names were called, and would behave well. Finally persistence paid off and they were accepted as a family. Our family of five with the family of five cats. We separated when we sold off that property after a couple of years to move into our present property at the other end of the city.

After moving into our new home, my ma of-course missed her five children of cats. She even tried to find out about them from the family who bought our old place. They informed that the cats did not come around any more. Ma was just beginning to feel depressed again, when dad brought her a cute new-born pup, a local breed from Nagaland. She was distracted from the thoughts of her separated kittens and more concentrated on her new pet. She named him ‘Tuktuk’. Tuktuk was totally pampered and spoiled by ma. He never liked dad and was totally scared of him. On one occasion ma had to leave Tuktuk for a couple of days with dad, when she went to visit granny. Both dad and Tuktuk had a non-co-operation movement between them. Tuktuk refused to touch a morsel of food or even a drop of water till ma returned after a couple of days. This pup of ours had a funny fascination for crossing lanes, unattended. He was killed instantly when he came under a vehicle while crossing one of the neighborhood lanes. He was about six months old. That was about two years ago.

Last year in February, when we had gone to Arunachal Pradesh for a family holiday, ma fell in love with one of the three new-born pups of the dog of a roadside food-vendor. So, on our way back home, she bought the pup she had earlier set her eyes upon. This pup was a ball of black fur with light violet eyes. He was the strongest of the three pups. I felt bad to see the mother and the father dogs search frantically for their missing pup after it was quickly picked up and put into our car. But I knew ma would take better care of it than its own mother. Everybody said the pup would not live as the climate in Guwahati(my hometown) is much warmer than that of Arunachal. But he survived. We named him ‘Laddoo’. After we reached home, I washed it clean and got rid of its ticks and germs, as my 'vet' sis could not be bothered with anything related to animals...(she's the butt of all jokes for that). I fed him with biscuits softened in milk for him to swallow. He was a ball of fur on four feet who was overweight and would roll off the stairs when he tried to climb them down. I then had to leave him to my ma’s care and nursing and return to Delhi. When I went home in August, I was shocked to find that he has grown up to be the size of an Alsatian. My ma informed me that he was re-named 'Dhunu' (meaning 'good-looking' as he no longer resembled a 'laddoo'). He forgot me completely and barked at me ferociously but quietened down to swallow the toffee I had bribed him with, which he is generally not allowed. After I showered and changed, he refused to recognize me again, and I had to start the introduction session all over again. He is the dumbest of all dogs I’ve ever known. He chews on you when he likes you, but doesn’t know how to bite. The milkmaid and the fish-hawker are his best friends. He blocks the road when let out in the mornings, wanting to play with the passers-by thinking he is also a human, but does not befriend other dogs. His best friends are two black goats from the neighborhood. He is extremely jealous of kids or babies, especially the ones my ma picks up or cuddles with love. Every time he is angry with ma, he tears into tiny shreds leaves from the indoor-plant pots kept in our living room. Or swallows one of the tiny Ganeshji idols from the display table and then fall sick. He cannot stand the word ‘vitamin’. The situation of 'Dhunu' not recognising me remained the same even when I visited home again this April. I am convinced now that either he has no smelling power that dogs are so strong with,or that his memory is really poor. My sister has no clue on this whatsoever..

With a series of both feline and canine pets at home, I realized that cat-lovers tend to be rather different from dog-lovers, and as a rule, they have a stronger personality-bias towards independent thought and action. The argument will always go on—feline self-sufficiency and individualism versus canine friendship, loyalty and good-fellowship. But in reality, there are many people (like my ma) who enjoy equally the company of both cats and dogs. Nearly all of us have both feline and canine elements in our personalities. We have moods when we want to be alone and thoughtful and other times when we wish to be in the centre of a crowded party. But the fact remains that we humans have entered into a solemn contract with both cats and dogs and have developed an unwritten and unspoken pact of love and bonding with them.

THE TRUST OF LOVE

I walked down lazily to the 3Cs complex in front of ‘Westside’ in Central Market of Lajpat Nagar-II, New Delhi, feeling very confused. It was the morning of diwali-eve, some four years back. He called me up in the morning, asked me to meet him at about 11 o’clock in front of Westside for my Diwali shopping, mumbled something quickly about someone else also supposed to be there, and hung up. It had never been like that before. We had been in a one-year-old relationship by then, and whenever we needed to go, he would always pick me up from my place on his bike. This was the first time he was asking me to come down somewhere on my own….. never mind if its just a 5-minute walk from the other side of the ring-road, where I live. I felt there was something more to it and more strangely, something about the other person who was supposed to be there with us. I could sense something was being hidden from me and I hated that.Before even reaching there completely, from in front of 3Cs Cinema Complex entrance, I could see the love of my life, engaged in conversation with another woman. The woman’s back was turned towards me, facing him, and I could see that she was nicely dressed in a salwar-suit made out of rich south-silk with gold borders. Her long jet-black hair was braided and adorned with small white flower garland. The gold trinkets on her ears and gold bangles completed her look. She had a good shapely body, accentuated by the nicely cut salwar kameej, and was almost my height. Being slender with curves in the right places gave her an upper hand.I suddenly felt under-dressed, in my casual Tee, low-waist jeans and sandals with no make-up, no accessories and my wash-n-wear hair…. A thousand thoughts crossed my mind. I felt like turning back and running home for a quick change and magic-makeover. I was suddenly filled with inferiority-complex, jealousy and confusion, all at the same time. I did not know what to do next. And most importantly, who was SHE? I remembered him talk about his two ex-girlfriends from his school and college days, but neither of them had been South-Indians. So was this woman his new-found love or a fiancée-material that his parents might have chosen for him? But why had he brought her here? I became more and more jealous as I proceeded step by step towards them. After all, being a ‘cancerian’ I am an extremely possessive, clingy and jealous lover.He saw me approaching as he looked out at me out of the corner of his eye, and knew immediately that I would be extremely upset. He smiled... his usual mischievous dimpled smile, and kept talking, waiting to see what I would do. As I made my way over to them, the conversation was clear, though I did not understand a single word of it as they were speaking in ‘Malayalam’- a South-Indian language, spoken by the natives of Kerala. They laughed and she giggled. This made me even more furious and I quickened my steps until I finally reached them. As I was about to demand an explanation about who this woman was, she quickly turned around as if by instinct of my presence. Suddenly my anger was replaced by extreme guilt, nervousness and shamefulness, for what I saw in her face was an exact replica of him… only with a few silver hair surfacing her forehead and the vermilion-filled middle parting of her hair.He introduced her as his mom who had come to meet me for the first time and to do some shopping together, for diwali. And the whole thing was a part of the surprise package that was kept under wraps by both mother and son.
That whole day we laughed and ate and shopped, but the guilt of doubting my love and losing my trust on him, even for that tiny fraction of time, remained with me forever…