First to Thirty First

Today is my parent’s thirty first wedding anniversary. In the past eight years, I have either been out of town or out of country on their anniversary day. And it is only in the past eight years that I have developed a sense for what anniversaries mean. 

Unfortunately, I have never been there on the Day to be able to spend it with them. So I call them.

I called on the landline hoping to get hold of both of them,

“Hi, happy anniversary dad. How does it feel ?”

“Hello, hello, good. It feels ok,” he acknowledged.

I said, “31 years hannn”

“Yeah, thirty years is a long time. We continue to understand and accommodate one another. She does more accommodating and understanding than me. It is great,” he continued, “She got you some t-shirts. She is going to ship them. And she gifted me pants. Good ones.”

I admit, “Thirty years is really a long time. That is great.” Jogging my memory for the longest 

relationship I have been in my adulthood.

I ask, “Is mom there? Can I talk to her?”

He replies, “She is in the other flat. Call her on her cell phone.”

We recently rented a unit across the hallway to have more space. Mom was there, helping my grandma out. I ask, “Which cell phone – her work or personal ? or does she have your cell phone ?”

Yes, between two of them they have four phones – three cell phones and a landline.

“Try any, they should all be on the desk.”

I dial and after two beeps, mom picks up.

“Thank you,” she says.

“So how was it ? How do you feel?”

She tells me, “Your dad gave me thousand rupees as a present for anniversary and I got him track-pants.”

And a few things run through my mind, Thirty one years, pragmatic nature, zero expectations, and content.

I enquire, "How was first anniversary, do you remember ?"

She answers, “Does he ever remember anything? My sister had to remind him that it was our first anniversary. I was pregnant with you and celebrated our first anniversary at your grandpa’s, far away from Bombay. Your dad couldn’t make it to grandpa's.”

She adds on , “Since I was pregnant with you, I only had ice-cream to celebrate.” And breaks into a laughter.

I thank her and chuckle at her sense of humor.

“Thirty years is a long time. I am too busy with your dad and grandma. I would have loved to visit you otherwise. How is the weather?”

And she goes on. I don't quite get what she is saying, until I snapped out of the trance, wipe an indecisive tear off the corner of my eye and I said what one says when they don’t know what was being said…”Hmmmm….ahannn....Right”

I ask, “Did he (younger brother) call?”

She replies, “Yeah he did just after midnight. He arranged for a bouquet. We got this nice bouquet in the morning.”

I say, “Wow, he has grown up. Matured.”

“I feel like am a bad son. Maybe I am.” I don’t say.

“I have to go. But please email me what all you need because I am getting ready to ship you things on Monday. Take some time over the weekend and send me the list. Bye,” Mom hands up. 

Happy Anniversary aai-ba.

Neo

Paul

“I am sorry that we had to meet under these circumstances. Visit to a body shop is never pleasant,” said Paul.

“I don’t think we would have met otherwise or under any other circumstances,” he doesn't say.

He punched the door opener and after the initial crackling of chain and levers, the giant door to his body shop began to retract.

She unbuttoned her overcoat, put her bug-eyed sunglasses on and got into her Honda. With the turn of the key, her car came to life and she drove away and disappeared into the traffic.  

Paul punched the button and door started to shut as he watched her disappear. As he had watched most of his customers leave. All of them secretly hoping and praying that they never had to return to Paul’s shop. And Paul wished the best for them.

He had been doing this 40 years and he had met all kinds of people. He had helped mend 1970’s Ford Mustang Mach 1, never to see the customer again. He had fixed an ordinary Honda for a not-so-well to do family that didn’t carry any insurance. He had heard plenty of stories about – just drove off the dealer’s showroom and …. , stories about – I was just pulling out of my drive way and stories about – I was southbound on I-94 and…

Customers often left out the details about what ensued a few minutes before the crash or often lied about it. More often, customer left out details about personal injury and attachment to the vehicle.  Paul didn’t mind that but sometimes wondered why.

Paul fixed cars and fixed them very well. Perhaps, he had the best gig in town. For that he charged an appropriate price as well. He didn’t expect anything more but every now and then, a cab driver turns back to see the passenger he just dropped, a first responder makes the mistake of checking on the patient, and a flight purser thinks about the courteous passenger in 1B on JFK to LAX, Paul did too.

“I fix their cars. Make them so - like nothing ever happened. Remove all traces of the incident, so that they are never reminded of that terrible moment in time when they met with the accident.  I do get my compensation and curt a thank you but rarely a smile (that an artist would for his painting or sculpture).” 

In That Alley

My fantasy lives from when I cut into that alley until I pick you up or drop you off.

In my mind, you have planted a kiss on my lips a couple of times in that tight alley. In my mind, the goodbye has lingered longer; in my mind, I have picked you up there plenty of times.

Piles of powder snow, carefully tucked onto the shoulder of the road. Tiny dunes of that snow spilling over the pavement. Cars parked on both the sides, making it impossible to pull over anywhere on that street. Somehow, all the traffic in town wants to pass through this tiny 50 yard long alley, short end of which is where your apartment is.

In my mind, I have always found a spot to put my car into park and lean towards you. In reality, you may have had one of your legs out of the door before I even come to a complete halt. Your seatbelt is off long before I cut into the alley.

In one such tight alley in my mind, my naïve, young, silly self is fighting the oncoming traffic of my worldview and mildly pessimistic self. “Have you seen how she smiles at me” is met with, “she was out of the car even before you could tilt to see her leave.” … “look it has been three hours since I met her. Time just flew by..” is countered with “She split the check and gave you that good ol ‘see you soon.’ Wake up Man.” “No, I think there is something here. It is just taking time” is answered by a silence and then the thud of the door closing after her.

She never turns. I know this because I don’t want to miss out if she does.

In one such tight alley, I have held your hand and meandered.

So if one gorgeous evening, you decide to turn around, please do.

I still will be in that tight alley.  Fighting.  Hoping.

Neo

He Knew

“Are you ok ? Was that the first time you saw them together?”

“Yes”

“I walked in with them. I would have texted you but I saw that you had already started the work out”

“Oh Well”

“Why did you guys keep quiet? She happily introduced him to me.”

            “ “

Why did he? Why was he afraid, was it what people may think? Was it the fear that if they didn’t work out what then? Was he waiting for it to go more steady …

Was it the first time he had let it happen

No.

That last text message, sent him 12 years back. Back when he met his first ever girl-friend. He was 17 and she was 18. A little bolder, smarter, outspoken than him and gorgeous like no other 18 year old.

Relationship ran its course, he had his heart broken two and half years later.

Never even once he spoke the word “meet xxxx, my girlfriend” All of his friends had met her and he figured what is there to say, they will figure it out.

Sure they did. But did he ?

Fast forward a few years forward, he met this girl who played ‘plastic jesus’ by jack Johnson in room lit with candles in heart of the city of Berlin. He knew what he needed to know. A year later, when he was parting ways at the airport, unbeknownst he had gone this whole year without even once saying out loud – “Hey Sebastian, meet xxx, my girlfriend.”

And names and stories flashed in front of him as he rolled the dial on years passed - forward. Same stories with different time stamps yet similar endings. Sad.

And when his mind steadied on the present and he returned to his tungsten lit living room, there was only one face, one name in front of him. Someone he met a few weeks ago. These weeks have felt like months, perhaps, years to him. And he picked up the phone and almost rung her up but then stopped and looked at the watch and kept the phone aside.

That night as he slipped into bed, and pulled the blanket over, he knew, he had to get out of his own way of finding happiness.

He had to stop romanticizing hurt and pain post-facto. Rather, he had to embrace the likelihood of denial and happily ever-after, alike.

He knew, what he needed to do, what he needed to say.

Neo

Prom Queen '71

“Oh! So you are his elder son. Sit. Have a seat first..” she said

She is Shashi. Introduction followed immediately. And as I settled down in my chair, “Oh! So your are that girl. I mean lady” I said to myself in my mind. Trying to smother the grin on my face.

You could notice her presence. She wore Saree. And in a way that I know my mom wears it – graceful and classy. She looked straight into your eyes and wore a hearty smile.

My dad has had the best set of friends and still does from his undergrad. The kind of friends you hear about in the stories told at the bar, or see in movies, but more importantly friends you wish you had. Friends that have been together for over four decades. Friends that have celebrated birthdays, anniversaries, new years and have now mourned passing of members of friend circle. Friends,  I call – Kakas – uncles. At times I feel closer to them then my actual uncles. After all, uncles that let you have some beer with them while you were in eighth grade tend to be close to your heart.

I had just flown in a day before from the US and I had heard that it was 100 year celebration of my dad’s college and all these uncles were going to be there. Class of ’71 one more time. Not having seen my favorite uncles, it was a no brainer I was going to try to crash the alumni party. It turned out easier than I thought.

Now I did take the seat as she asked me to. And I don’t know where it came from but I heard myself saying something to this effect – “Oh I had heard stories about how beautiful you used look. I see they were true and you still look so pretty.” Now I know this had something to do with a few stories I may have heard from dad and rest I think I filled in after my own undergrad experience. I mean how different could it have been in 60’s and 70’s.

I thought I received ‘apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’ look from her and then her words contradicted – “ Like father like son. Always flattering.”

Yes, I am a proud son of my father. I smiled.

You should know, earlier that day my father was hospitalized. He was stable by the time I made it to this party. I spent an hour or so there, all of that time talking about my dad and hearing from his friends about him. I really don’t have words to describe how it felt. I felt I was walking a walk of his life, living this moment on his behalf because he couldn’t be here. Paying compliments because I think he would have if he was here.

And as I was getting ready to leave, in the most tongue-in-cheek manner I asked her, “So what else should I know about my dad.” She smiled, leaned in and said “He is a wonderful man. Nothing more and nothing less. You should know that.” 

Neo

Stay

Until very recently I couldn’t understand how people lingered in their cars a little longer once they were parked. Why would they stay there any longer than they absolutely had to. I just couldn’t fathom it. I just thought it might be an American thing… you know free refills, big cars, fast food that sort of a thing.

Until this morning.

I drove in the dead of the morning to work. I was listening to this true story on podcast. And as I cut the last corner to pull into the parking lot, for my car stereo to echo the applause and my tear glands to let go, was the same opportunistic moment, the moment as I just stopped before ramming my car into the concrete.

And I stayed. Lights on, heater running, seat belt off, hand on my mouth and other on the hand rest, toggling podcast streaming. I am not sure how long I kept staring into infinity. Cars pulled up on either side and the old lady on my left, interrupted my staring contest with her warm, elderly smile. I managed a polite smile as well. And then took a deep breath and couldn’t help but chuckle at myself – you silly bugger.

And in that moment I understood, the importance of staying a while longer.

It is no different than, when a kid wakes up from the dream and wants to close his eyes for a moment longer so he could finish building his castle, it is when your father pulls up outside of the school and you want to bury your face in the backseat and refuse to leave, when a sales guy takes that deep breath, goes over his pitch before stepping out of the car, when you wait a little longer to open your cab door as you are at the departure gate, when you hug someone and as they are drawing back you feel them slip through your embrace, when you want him or her or something to go on a little longer.

So the next time, Stay! Stay a while longer, it is ok. 

Neo

Before Sunrise I

Two single ride tickets for BVG – Berlin Metro were still sitting on my work desk until very recently. In some sense like breadcrumbs to help steer through memories of that evening.

It was September. I had just travelled 1800kms just to have dinner with my host family in Freiburg, Germany. The look their face when I walked in the room made every single mile I had traveled worth it. Now, I was flying out to Berlin. The city I adored. The first city I set my foot in, in Germany.

I amazed right from the day I landed with the differences between the East and the West. The history, architecture, Jewish quarters, abandoned building turned into art studios, concentration camps, falafel and beer on the street, the dome of German Reichstag and the silent witness to all the river Spree – that serpents  through the city.

When wheels touch down at Berlin Tegel, all that I experienced as a 21 year old, flashes in front of my eyes. As I walk down the walkways in the airport, I remember, the last time I walked through these, I was looking for Air France’s customer service office as they had misplaced my bad.

I make my way through the gates and exit the airport. And I wish if I could get another chance at making an entrance, another chance at seeing her through the sliding doors for the first time. I am expecting her to be there and I am excited. But I haven’t seen her in 6 years. It has been 8 years since we parted ways.

The tattoos, piercings, and haircut, she has changed since I saw her last. She is wearing all black and an orange colored scarf. Her piercings reflect the light from the overhead tungsten lamp at the arrival terminal.

Then I think about myself, what about me – a business suit instead of torn jeans, a roller suitcase instead of a backpack, and a credit card instead of cash.  Tonight I have a hotel to check in versus someone’s bachelor pad. Things do change.

As I make my way to her, I remind myself it is a business trip and we are going to have a drink and that is that. And then she hugs me.

We jump on a metro to get to my hotel. I drop my bags and we are out on the streets of Berlin. Bus – Train – Taxi, we finally make it to Kreuzberg – a so called hippy neighborhood close to the wall. Well, at least what remains of the wall.

We sit down by the river and try to catch each other up on our lives and the 6 years that have gone by. There is a rescue operation going on in the background. Someone jumped off the bridge and emergency services are looking for him.  30 odd minutes pass by and we realize that we are all caught up. Once the adrenaline of meeting someone after so long drains off, we realize it is pretty cold by the water so we decide to walk. Walk by the great Berlin wall.

It is too cold so we must duck into a bar. A dingy, smoky place. She orders and we now have beer. There aren’t too many people there. I couldn’t tell you what we spoke about but in that moment it felt engaging. You know when you rather not blink because you may miss something, it felt like that.

The charm of the evening is just overwhelming. I try to recollect how the 22 year old felt when he met her in this city and if I could be 22 just this once.  And she brings me right back to my senses, when she say “Bist du Ok? Was ist loss?” – simply put – “Are you ok ? What’s up?”

I am fine but I think I need to walk a little. Clear my mind perhaps. We walk over to the Spree and we are standing by the river again. It is some ungodly hour and I don’t want to know how long before Sun shows up on the horizon. Standing by the river, looking at the Alexander Tower – I say “We are finally here.”

A promise, rather a wish both of us made / had when we were together – We ought to have a night on town in Berlin – she once said. I seconded.  

And this is it but it is nothing like the 22 year old and the 19 year old imagined it to be. You know that time in your life when you think anything is possible and it really is in that moment.  

In between hopping bars that stay open all night long, and getting something to eat, jumping on and off of Metros – somewhere in between we realize we have grown up. And as the first light of the morning is about to descend, we are ascending on the escalator at the metro station – ‘Under Den Linden’, coming up on Brandon Burger Tor. The Berliner Gate. A place that is very special to me.

I clasp her hand tight as the gate begins to come into sight of our vision and we can feel the sun rays on our persons.

Just like a kid trying to shut his eyelids tight in hope of going back to that dream he was woken from – I close mine for a second. She notices me and smiles like she always does.

We are now right in front of the monument. I sip on the last sip of the remaining coffee and light a cigarette and she steals a drag.

I realize that I have a meeting in an hour. I must get back. She has to work on a paper. Sun light - now floods the sidewalk, the rood, and all those nooks and corners one could hide the evening before.

It is time. She looks me square in the eyes and says –  “Find yourself and you will find happiness. I am going to do it myself. One is meant to do it individually.”

I want her to get on the metro first. As she hands me those two tickets for BVG – Berlin Metro, she vehemently explains where I need to change the trains, which street I need to turn on to get back to my hotel. Then she hugs for one last time and doors closed behind her.

I jump on the train in the other direction.

We ran into each other in three different countries but Berlin is where we met for the first time. So in some sense it is poetic that we met there the last – at least for the near future. 

Neo