Just like a good laugh, I like a good cry sometimes. I don’t know whether ‘good cry’ is grammatically correct but what the hell!

Guy friends have often wondered and aloud: “How can you enjoy crying? It doesn’t make any sense.” I just smile and nod for I absolutely refuse to spend time on something or someone who will simply fail to understand even if I were to explain it to them in detail the nitty-gritty of crying and enjoying the feeling.

But my soul sisters understand very well and it brings peace to my heart that they do.

It is a completely different feeling: Watching a sad (preferably romantic) movie and feeling and going on the emotional journey of the characters. The pain of waiting for someone (Lamhe) or losing someone (Salman leaving Ash’s house in Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam), oh the pain!!!! And then the pleasure when the tears are shed and we feel light as a feather! Nothing could compare with this feeling.

When I was little I watched Hum Aapke Hain Kaun and how I cried when the elder sister (the very pretty Renuka Shahane) dies after slipping from the stairs and hits her head. Or when sense is knocked into Ash’s brains and she finally goes back to Ajay Devgn (Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam, again! I know) and he asks her to pick one hand (ohhhh, I feel so mushy right now). Isn’t it an amazing feeling when warm tears flow down your cheeks and you feel like a huge burden is off your chest/shoulder? I bet it is.

Recently, on a superb trip to Jaisalmer with my good friend Chara, I met a Danish actress. And when we got talking and slowly as the talk moved towards human emotions (she’s to portray it so often), I almost felt like I found my soul sister. She understood what I feel and we both were like “Yes, that’s what am talkin’ bout!”

It’s the warmth, the bidding goodbye to hurt, pain, agony, the lightness, the calm after a good cry that I like.

Science has also termed it good for people to shed tears sometimes. Also, I had read once that men are more prone to heart attacks because they don’t shed tears, no matter how much it hurts!!! So gentlemen, it will only do you good if you didn’t shy away from those tears. But please spare me the river and don’t expect any extra tissue rolls from me!

He was busy counting money and wouldn't even look up. I was losing my patience and started tapping my feet. The girl in front of me stood motionless, it didn't matter to her how long the process was taking. Probably she didn't care for her time, I think.

My gaze went back to the man and his grey hair. There were a few strands of black, as if in competition with the all-black crop on my head with a few strands of grey. I think he coughed a bit. His hands were all wrinkly and they had turned a bit dark. Is it with all old people or only the ones I know and meet? All old people have dark skin - too much sun bathing i think.

He reminded me of my grandmother, he clearly looked as old as her. My grandmother is 79 and has 16 grandchildren and two great-grandchildren and a Lhasa Apso named Brownie.

How many kids does he have? Does he have any grandchildren? And why he is working? Shouldn't he be home, enjoying the comforts that he must have worked all his life to collect/gather/work towards?

He was wearing what looked like a scruffy grey sweater, grey/brown pants (I couldn't see his shoes behind the counter) and an old white shirt underneath. Often when we look at old people and especially those whom we see working, we feel sad for them. I don't know why but we do. But of course we never stop to chat with them, ask them things, just keep them company.

So I felt sad for this old man, working away even at such an age. But it never struck me that may be, just may be, he wants to work. He wants to be there at work, following his daily ritual of getting up at 7 every morning, brushing and getting ready, just so that he feels relevant, feels like he isn't redundant now, feels like he still has it in him to do things, to make sense of things or just to know that he's living. It never struck me.

My mother once called me and said, "Your grandmother screamed at me today saying 'you don't let me work." We both laughed over it and forgot the episode.

My grandmother (my father's mother) has worked hard all her life. She bore seven children, her husband died very young, so she had to take care of all her kids by herself. The god of money also didn't cosy up to her very much, it was a difficult life. But that under 5-foot woman is so strong that till recently, she was around 76/77-years-old, she lived on her own. Only a couple of years ago she decided to throw in the towel and stay with one of her sons (my dad).

Having my grandmother living with us is great. We get to hear stories we never knew, about how I made my father give up smoking when i was little, telling him he was a bad person because he smoked (My eyes filled with tears somehow when she told me this), how I used to declare i will write till "one thousand" (i don't know what) but give up after one line. But I see her feeling desperate sometimes and it isn't a good feeling.

I think it was one of those frustrating days when she screamed at my mother, telling her to shut up and let her cook. So now my grandmother cooks regularly, she even sends me my favourite karela whenever my folks come to meet me.

I think this is my grandmother's way of staying relevant, staying in control, just like the old man in the bank.

A quiet return



One fine day she was not there anymore.
I am coming back to my blog after more than two years and what years!!! My whole world turned upside down in these last two years but i have only emerged stronger and much more loved than before.
One of my best friends decided to leave all of us, her loving parents, friends, all of a sudden. Very-very bad of her but all of us have forgiven her. She is such a loving child that no one could remain angry with her for such a long time. But every day i wish you were here with me Sou so that I don’t have to remember you.
Then some tragic things happened at home but we have only got stronger – the big rock that my mother is and the bigger and stronger foundation that my dad provided all of us but especially her, his wife/partner/best friend/travel companion/room mate/agony aunt of 30 years, keeping his promise of being there in sickness and in health.
And now here I am today, two years down the line, happy and contended (almost...the excuse of we r humans, blah, blah).
Delhi is getting more and more polluted day by day but my love-hate relationship with this great city is somehow sustaining me, making me continue in the city i want to leave the moment i get a chance.
But the love of my life is here, how could I leave. My sisters have found a niche for themselves in this big bad city. I hate to say it but it has become a second ‘home’ now, no matter how much i want to deny it. So i am giving myself some time to see for how long this flirting continues. May be i will develop a lifelong relationship with Delhi, who knows.
But my relationship with words continue, and thank god for that. My books keep me company, they are my best friends, making my metro commute easier and filling and aiding the silence that i enjoy so much after being away from home for so many years.
PS: Some of my best, beautiful friends got married during these two years to wonderful boys, who are now handsome, responsible men. Here’s to the wonderful partnership these ladies have formed with these gentlemen par excellence. Wishing them a very happy married life .