Category: 2019

Today was my mother’s birthday. Which naturally calls for a grand celebration.

My mum’s birthday has always been a very special family occasion. She’s basically a young child at heart (and in appearance too), so the birthday is an added excuse to demand the attention of both males in the house. Of course, we always give it to her. Anything to see your mother happy, right?

Over the past few years, we’ve seen various avatars of her birthday. There was the birthday bash she planned and executed for herself (invites included) inviting about 80 people. That was actually quite the scene. Right toward the fag end of my Grade 10 Board examinations, with my dad in Dubai, she learnt how to design her own invitation (which she printed and circulated personally to people), scouted venues, figured out a cake place and a menu, and a theme, on top of that, assigned roles to family members, and had everything laid out perfectly for the party. It was a really fun day. That was the first ever time I spoke in front of a crowd giving a toast where I ripped her to shreds.

Good times.

Then there was the birthday that we celebrated last year. Just the three of us at Bollywood Park in Dubai for an entire evening. It’s pretty rare that the three of us are together for my parents’ birthdays (although we end up together for my birthday really often), so that was really special as well. We did activities as a family, enjoying attractions themed like movies from the yesteryears and the present day.

Then there was the birthday where my dad and I bought her an iPod I had been eyeing. Using miles. Which means we bought ourselves an iPod.

Then there was yesterday. A birthday buffet, spent in the company of people we enjoy keeping company with as a family (another rarity). I could’ve slept, woken up & eaten some more food. It was heavenly. A real quiet evening, spent with all eyes on the birthday girl AND I got the opportunity to crack jokes at her expense through the evening. There’s not much more I could ask for.

I napped in the car today.

Honestly, there’s not much you can compare to a nap in a moving vehicle. If you give me a blanket (I don’t need a pillow), and leave the AC on in the vehicle, I genuinely believe I can get a good 8 hours, without much difficulty. What wakes me up isn’t moving on a hump, or even a sudden brake/accelerator shift, but rather when we come to a standstill. Even if it’s for 15-20 seconds at a traffic signal that’s halted for too long, I feel that. It disrupts my sleep.

Maybe it’s the rocking motion of vehicles I’m really in love with.

I wonder how I’ll survive driving full-time.

More shoe shopping took place today.

In other news, I made my mother sit through this:

I left the United Arab Emirates when I was 10 years old, on June 30, 2008. I left, knowing that my visa would have a big red “Cancelled” stamp right across it, and I wouldn’t be able to access the country the way I did for the past 10 years of my life – literally all of my life at that point. I left on an Emirates flight with my parents.

Far before we moved, on one of my earlier trips to Bangalore, my dad took me to a few schools. He had prepared a shortlist of sorts, but wanted the final decision to be mine: for me to pick a school I was happier at, based on the first impression it created. Schools in Bangalore were so grand, they had this grandeur about them – their campuses were massive, there were swarms of people everywhere, they had just about every facility one could imagine. I knew I would really enjoy my life in the Bangalore schools I had seen. However, the thought of losing the comfort of the friends I had here, and the school routine I had settled into in Dubai, was a little unsettling. What my parents and I were most concerned about was how I’d adapt to the new crowd, but also, how I’d manage to pass time in a 1.5 hour bus ride to school, when I had previously lived 600 metres away from my school and could walk back in under 10 minutes if I wanted to.

You see, my school was my home. I was a lifer at the school, I knew that myself. Dubai Scholars, where I studied till Grade 5, was not going to be a school I was ever going to leave if we continued to live in the UAE. We joined the school because my mum’s boss’ wife taught HKG over there (she ended up being my class teacher only – which allowed mom to have more eyes on me than usual), but I had really blossomed into a fun 10 year old, looking back – in large part because of my school. My friends circle at home was the same as the people I spent time in school with – we literally went together everywhere.

It was fantastic. The activities were great, the concerts were always super fun. The field trips were the best field trips: to the beach, to parks, to shopping malls, to 5-10 dirham stores.

And I met the coolest people. I met people who I was continuously surprised by, every day that I showed up to school. Who made me really happy to be in school every morning, and whose evenings I was super curious about. I spent time in the company of people who enjoyed the simpler things: like Caesar’s pizza, and a nice set of doughnuts. It made me really happy.

While my family’s destiny meant I continued to visit the UAE, I had no touch with any of my school classmates. We were separated before the age of the new social media, and only connected via old e-mail IDs that were now defunct, or on chatrooms that no longer existed. Aside from becoming virtual friends on facebook and vaguely knowing what we were upto, I had no idea what each of them was doing, personally. I was only in touch with 2 people who continued to be in the UAE. Two of my best friends. The others had relocated, and whenever I visited, I never saw reason to go back to school.

I did visit once in Grade 9 – where I went till school so I could pick my friend up, and also meet some of the administrative staff and some teachers, and then once in Year 12, again, to pick the same friend up.

Not much had changed, facility wise.

On this trip, one of the two friends I stayed in touch with told me about a reunion that was happening, and told me I could join. It would be a fun “surprise” for everyone, he said. I was super excited, so I said yes, instantly. However, a few days later, I wondered if I would know anyone in the crowd over there. Moreover, would anyone know me? Forget knowing me. There is so much context in their lives I’ve missed out on, and vice versa. What if we’ve changed completely.

Yet I went.

Best decision I’ve made.

They had rented out a party hall in someone’s apartment complex. And there was the bare minimum aerated beverages. Aside from that, t’was just enough seating arrangements to accommodate everyone and really catch up through conversation than much else.

I had a whale of a time. Managed to catch up with everyone, and really recall all the time I spent with them in school – where we went after, and what all transpired broadly in our lives ever since. We caught up with Grade 5 gossip also.

We also played musical chairs (I came second), and ended up ordering pizza (which I refused, would you believe).

I was welcomed back with open arms. Like a friend quipped, “Scholars is family”

It really is. 10 years may have passed, but nothing has changed.

There’s this place in Dubai called La Mer that I really, really like. The name itself makes me very happy, it’s a literal translation of “the beach” from French, which brings a smile to my face every time I hear about it. It’s quite literally a boardwalk they’ve constructed along the beach, so you can play in the sand and touch the water and soak in that awesome beach feeling, but there are literally a 100 types of food/shopping outlets you could go check out if the sun is scorching or if you’re done with the beach for the day. The walk is phenomenal, it’s a very picturesque setting, and it’s got the coolest vibe I have seen.

The vibe stems from the amazing lighting, and the speakers they’ve installed around the walkway which plays really great “bounce”-style music. So fun.

Here’s a glimpse:

It’s very difficult to find people who have similar tastes as yours – in anything, really. But this applies a lot more to pop culture than it does to food. Largely because everybody appreciates well-cooked food, but not several show similar appreciation trends to pieces of music, or art, or writing that one may consider to be done well. That’s a very convoluted sentence, but you get my drift.

Thus, finding someone whose recommendations you will trust blindly in and invest both your time and money in, is a rarity. When you do, though, it can spark some of the happiest moments, and can broaden your horizons in terms of the amount of art you end up consuming.

I’ve been privileged enough to be surrounded by several such individuals. Today I got to meet one such classmate from college, who picked a movie I didn’t feel to keen on when I saw the genre, warmed up to with the trailer, and loved by the time it finished. Worth my money, worth my time, great company, 10/10 fun day.

Today was spent trying to figure out why on Earth our house had wet floors when it was so bloody hot outside and the air-conditioning was on a cool 24. Turns out it’s too hot for a 24 degree air conditioning temperature, and with the humidity levels being as high as there, some wiring has gone crazy and lo and behold, our floors are a little wet.

Weird.

In other news, I have rediscovered my love for dates and will now be consuming them everyday on the rest of this trip. That is all.

Sometimes, being in a country where Sunday is the first working day of the week puts a  lot of things in perspective. The “Monday blues” become “Sunday blues” for one, and well, it means you’ve got a day off where the rest of the world is working. But it also means you’re working when the rest of the world has the day off. The dilemma also stretches to making international calls to call home. Either you call on Saturday, or you’re unable to because of work.

When you’re on holiday though,  none of this matters. It’ll never matter what the first day of the working week is, for it is always a holiday. That feeling is one I’m holding on dearly to, especially as I inch closer and closer to my internship, and closer and closer to becoming someone to whom working weeks and holiday leave days matter. What a world that must be like.

I literally spent today buying one pair of shoes. You see, since school gave us some neat sports shoes as part of our uniform, I never spent time buying all-purpose sports shoes, or a neat pair of trainers to use for activities. I did own specific pairs of shoes: for basketball and tennis, and several things, but I never spent the same amount of effort in figuring out a pair of shoes I could wear as casuals and as sportswear. My school shoes just sufficed. Today was one of the first times I had to figure that out, and that was a bunch of effort – especially with the kind of technology they’ve come up with for shoes. Each brand literally offers the same technology with a bit of variance (like the material they use for their insoles and outsoles, and the material with which the shoe itself is knitted), but it makes for such a massive difference to the way the shoe grips your foot and the kind of comfort it provides. Add to that a bit of bias owing to brand loyalty and advertisements and second-hand reports of shoes, and boy oh boy are you in for a treat.

It took me four hours and an avocado milkshake, but the decision has been made. Shoes have been purchased. I guess now comes the part where I actually use them.

You know how I was pleased that I was getting into a routine? I think the issue with routine is that it’s a lot tougher to find something intriguing to write or blog about. Your day begins to feel less interesting. This blog gives me that awesome avenue to write about all the things that are turning in my mind, but it also gives me the chance to reflect on my day and find something that stood out – something that no other day has given me, and something to be grateful for, that I can share with the interwebs – a void that I assume 17 people read, at most.

Today was the second day of the weekend. The weekend in the UAE is Friday-Saturday, which is a massive change from the Thursday-Friday I was used to for a very long time. My weeks started on Saturday. When everyone around the world celebrated Friday evening as the beginning of partytime, I slept at 8:00pm to be ready for school the next day. Gone are all those days. I still can’t believe I slept at 8pm once upon a time.

In my house, Saturdays bring with them the fresh smell of potato-onion sambhar and ragi mudde. If you don’t know what ragi mudde (pronounced muddhey) is, there’s a couple of things you need to read, of which “A Horse and Two Goats”, a short story by R.K. Narayan is right on top of the list. That piece was the first time I heard ragi mudde being described in literature, and it made the story so much more relatable for me. I digress. As I was saying, Saturdays have always meant this in my house.

The weird thing though, is that we partook in this family activity when we stayed in Dubai, and I remember burning my tongue because I tried to eat the ragi when it was far too hot, but we didn’t ever consume ragi mudde in Bangalore, a place where ragi mudde would’ve been amazing. I have eaten it during my internship – because it was available at the Court complex and I was super eager to try it out, but I haven’t eaten it the way we do at home, with both my parents, and that’s something I sorely miss when I’m at college.

You see, my earliest memories of eating at home come from eating in the kitchen. While we had a dining table, on the weekends, we used to spread out newspapers on the kitchen floor, place cork mats on the paper, and arrange all of our food. After that, my parents and I dined on the floor with steel plates. I used to be given small tasks in this, like laying out the paper properly, and arranging the cork mats appropriately, while my parents put in the hard work. And ragi mudde was best eaten like this. I also remember my father yelling at me for something, but I can’t remember what. I feel like it was mostly because I disliked something, or because I spilt water – a very common occurrence.

My memories today are naturally more vivid. Mudde day is when….Oh My God. Mudday. What a great pun. That’s how I shall refer to it henceforth. Mudday is basically the only day my father enters the kitchen to do anything apart from washing dishes and putting things in order. It’s the one day in the week he actively participates in, and thoroughly enjoys preparing food. My mom makes a pretty mean onion-potato sambhar, and the smell of sambhar powder wafting in the air can bring anyone to their knees, I do believe. Seeing my dad in action is what I enjoy the most though. Ragi mudde is basically a massive ball made out of ragi that’s cooked over flames for a while. You put some ghee at the center of this ball, plop it in sambhar, and belt it with your fingers. You occasionally spill sambhar, and then you drink all the leftover sambhar + ragi from your bowl. There is NO other way to consume this.

Spoons especially are a farce.

But preparing that ragi ball is some serious work. The substance is bloody sticky, especially as it cooks, so there’s a lot of heavy kneading involved. The separation of the massive ragi into consumable mounds is also a challenge – since the substance is hot and pretty much glued together (someone needs to research its chemical properties). Speaking of, small footnote: I genuinely wanted to learn about the specific heat capacity of ragi when I learnt the concept in Physics, but I forgot and I’ve forgotten ever since and it has now been 4 years since, and I still have no idea.

Coming back.

That ragi ball making is what my dad does. His face gets animated as he pounds and kneads the dough thing with a wooden spatula, and my mom is usually the one he cross-checks the “cookedness” of the ragi.

It’s a real family moment, and I genuinely feel like a Prince when I receive the first bowl.

Damn man. 3 more Saturdays and I’m out of here.

In other news, I met a very cute cat today.

I’m slowly settling into a nice little routine in Dubai, which is something I’m quite enjoying. This is especially since my life is devoid of any schedule when I’m at University, and even more so when I’m in Bangalore – since it’s absolutely impossible to predict when a “scene” will pop up. Dubai is relatively a more quiet time for me, which gives me the opportunity to use more time for personal goal fulfillment. A large part of this – in this break especially, is centered around meals and learning to prepare/enjoy them. That’s been exciting.

In other news, I find myself longing for the pool more than much else these days. The reading appears to have taken off ridiculously, but I haven’t reviewed a book or an author in a while – so there’s probably some time I must devote there soon. I’ve been using the nifty little keyboard I bought myself and doled out a few covers, which are on my SoundCloud. That’s gotten me pleased.

Today was spent largely in the company of family friends who are pretty much family, and have played a massive role in my upbringing – taking care of me for a whole week, on occasion, and pampering me no end. It’s with them I feel most like a 10-year-old, the age I exited the United Arab Emirates, and the last age at which I spent a large amount of time with them. I haven’t seen one of them in over 6 years now, and we only ever chat when I’m in Abu Dhabi, or when I genuinely feel like irritating her on social media (which has become rarer as time as passed), but nothing seems to have changed.

I love that.

If you read one thing today, please read this:

https://www.theguardian.com/business/2017/may/02/where-oil-rigs-go-to-die