Shit.

Cannot forget the smell
Faint, at first, then unmistakably foul

Cannot forget the colours
Vibrant. Yellow, orange and brown

Cannot forget the shapes
Blobs, mounds and pretzels

Water is an illusion

Wash my hands
Wash my feet
Wash my face
Wash my shoes
Wash my clothes

Water is magic

Don't smell anymore
Don't see anymore
Don't feel anymore

Water.

Note: One month after fieldwork in Shivajinagar, Mumbai, some images refuse to leave me. 

Change.

So simple. Everywhere. All the time. Obvious. Inevitable.

Yet, it is troubles. Uncomfortable. Unease. Why? Good? Bad? In-between?

Whenever anyone tells me, ‘S/He’s changed so much.’, ‘S/he’s not the same’. I wonder. Isn’t it obvious? Isn’t it the rule? To change? Isn’t change another name for growth?

Every second, I grow, I see new things, I experience, I observe, I react. Hence, I change.

The degree theory; I think maybe like most things even in change is it not just the end product but the ‘how’ and ‘how much’ of change that matters. Fundamentally, I still like to believe that we remain the same. Yeah, we have life changing experiences, people, cultures and places happen to us but at the core I think there are certain things that don’t change.

But then, where does this view leave people who bank on change to be their saviour? Isn’t change the hope for many? To turn over a new leaf?

When I come back home and see my bed in the same place, the Buddha statue sitting on the top shelf, smiling serenely, that picture at the beach on my table, I feel an odd sense of comfort and ease. When something is moved, I dislike it. It makes me uncomfortable, queasy. But sometimes I like that new feeling, the new painting, new sheets.

Pffft.

A friend and I used to very steadfastly maintain that changes and constants aren’t opposites but intertwined.

‘Change, my dear friend,’ he said, ‘is the only constant.’

To that I say, ‘Meh.’ 

*wild, new, unpredictable life*

As the sunlight floods into my room, the cool breeze blowing the curtain into my face, the scary white pigeon comes and coos near the railing and the sight of the little green plant swaying in the wind, defying everything and growing through the cracks in the concrete makes me smile.

The five-ten minute walk to college is pretty exciting itself.  My roomies talk about assignments and field work and I smile as I hear a familiar song, and see the municipal worker humming to herself as she sweeps, next to her a little boy waits for his school bus, face powdered a tiny hanky pinned to his shirt. The smell of incense overpowers me as we pass the temple, at the signal we wait to cross the road, trucks and buses stop dangerously close and their exhaust fumes travel through my respiratory tract.

A cacophony of bird calls greets me as I walk into campus every morning. I’d normally grumble if I have to wake up early and walk in the rain. But it’s beautiful, the keechad, the puddles of water, the leaf litter, the little rivulets of muddy water that crisscross and form patterns on the black tar.

As I approach the mess for breakfast I can smell the poha, and hear the chattering monkeys, the little ones playing and swinging on the rusty iron ladder, eating the fallen purple fruit on the ground. And my friend, the mynah, hops and runs, trying to outrun the worms, pecks at them and fly away to gobble it in peace.

Today I went for my first institutional visit and also travelled in the famous red BEST buses. As we crossed the Vashi creek, I could see little boats and fishing nets, my vision suddenly obscured by a train on the parallel bridge! Uncles going to work with their colourful unmbrellas,  aunties with flowers in their hair, the tinkle of the bell that signals the bus stops...

I’m learning so much both in and outside the classroom. The pink blossoms that form a beautiful bed outside the classroom window, the koel’s call, the line of ants near the window, the campus dogs PJ talks to in Tamil, they add colour to my canvas. 

mumbai mirror work

Whenever someone says “Mumbai”, the first thing I think about it is the chatpata bhel puri, the colourful Falooda and the rain. It’s the city where my Mother grew up; it’s also where I was born. I remember the summer vacations in Bombay, when my only agenda was to gorge on pav bhaji and go to Essel World (their butter popcorn is SO delicious!).

Now, I’m here to study, to do my Masters for the next two years and my basic agenda hasn’t changed much!

For the first time I’m away from home, away from the two people that mean the most to me in the whole wide world! And, I’m really glad that I’ve come to a place like Mumbai..the city is so welcoming and there are so many people for whom the city is home for at least some part of their lives..that one does not feel like an outsider. I’ve been here more than a week and I haven’t felt alone or homesick. Maybe it’s the new course, new life ka josh but I’d like to think that it’s the city and its people that are so endearing.

I’m in love with the Tata Institute campus; it takes me back a decade to Dehradun..the magpie robins navigating the palm fronds, the mynah that loves to run and hop on the driveway and realizes it’s better at flying, the black and blue butterfly that rests on a tree stump, a pair of mating frogs, a huge snail, the water droplets on the green grass and the leaf litter that carpets the tarmac...like my roommate P says, it’s a mini rainforest!

This weekend I went exploring with my friends, sat in a local train after a very long time, it was SO exciting; the crowd, the wooden seats, the paan stains, the smell of sweat, the sound of the train picking up speed, checking the little booklet for the next stop, the smell of samosa and chai, a train journey always heightens my senses. There is an explosion of sounds and smells and colours and I wouldn’t want to miss a thing!

We got off at Victoria Terminus, (that makes an appearance in every Bollywood movie shot in Mumbai) which is so typically British with the Union Jack carved in stone in the ceiling, the two lions guarding the entrance, it’s a majestic structure and somehow symbolic of everything Mumbai is.

We then took a bus to Gateway of India through small cobbled streets and wide tar roads, past the Reserve Bank of India and a pigeon coop to arrive at a place lined with Banyan trees with roots that look like school girl plaits and a line of Horse drawn carriages that take you along Marine Drive.  Little bubbles floated into vision as I looked at the Taj Hotel and the Gateway.  The smell of roasting bhutta, pink candy floss, chana and churmur chaat walas assaulted my senses as I tried to navigate amongst the what looked like the entire population of Mumbai that had ventured out for a fun Sunday. Next was Colaba, with the posh International brands and the roadside jewellery shop, old grandfather clocks and the kholapuris with their characteristic smell. All the smelling made us hungry and we freaked out on brownies and cheesecake at Theobroma cafe/bakery.

We then took a taxi to marine drive, with the wind in our hair and Praveen singing in the background! Just sitting and watching the Arabian Sea, the sunset, the crabs trying to escape the waves and clambering onto the slippery rocks was peaceful! There were people all around us, sitting shoulder to shoulder, one stranger to another, staring at the water, at the hazy buildings in the distance, asking questions and seeking answers...it is perhaps the water, so indefinable itself, that connects everyone who stops by.

The city is like the embroidered red ghagra-choli the little girl at the traffic signal was wearing, and I cannot wait for the mirror work to dazzle me!

Till next weekend!

Ghaas-Phoos

When you are a vegetarian in India you don’t fully realise what the hullabaloo about vegetarianism and turning vegan (fashion statements?!) in the West is about, especially, if you are a tolerant vegetarian and someone who has few reservations about picking from your friend’s chicken sandwich.

I mean, if you go to Goa, you can’t come back without tasting the seafood, right?! :P

(Don’t miss the golden fried prawns!)

But, I’ve come across few tolerant non-veggies…what do they have to tolerate, you ask?

Well, for starters: stop thinking vegetarians starve or that they’re missing out on “life”. When you’re a meat eater you often overlook the wonders that the plant kingdom has to offer!

And, vegetarian food in India is colourful, vibrant and delicious. 

We were talking about all the things that we love about India in class and I said, “FOOD” (yeah, yeah, I was thinking of yummy parathas and lassi, if you must know!)

My friend turned around and said, ‘Food? But, you’re vegetarian!’

OUCH? I can understand where she’s coming from though…she’s from Meghalaya and there are limited options for vegetarians in that part of the country.

It irks me every time people look down upon vegetarians. What is on your plate is a personal matter, whether it’s a lifestyle choice or just the way you’ve been brought up.

The web of different attitudes and values about food is intricate but both Vegetarians and Non-Vegetarians must co-exist. After all, it’s about balance in the food chain! 

And, ah, if you have any doubts about what herbivorous Homo sapiens eat (and enjoy), come home, my mother will banish all those doubts when she places 12 different dishes with *ghaas-phoos*, masala and a little magic from different corners of the country on the table! 

*sunny* Sri Lanka!

This summer was one to remember. And, I’ve been thinking about how to put together everything that I saw, all the happy people I met and the yummy food I ate, when people ask me, “How was Sri Lanka?”

I’ve decided to re-live some of the *crazyfuninterestingamazing* bits through some photographs!

Colombo

Since it was raining most of the first week I was there, we went armed with umbrellas (incase of rain and unwanted male attention!) and explored Colombo. We went to quaint cafes and welcoming boutiques. Barefoot, Coco Veranda, Commons and Paradise Road were some places that I really enjoyed. I really wish we had a place like BAREFOOT (http://www.barefoot.lk/home.htm) in our cities; it has a fabric/handicraft store, a bookshop, a cosy café and an art gallery. I could live there!

My friend also took me to Colombo Univ. which even during vacations is brimming with character: the torn posters & notices, plain tea in steel cups from the canteen and the sludgy grounds all hold a unique charm.

*Sizzle* as the name suggests is a restaurant where everything sizzles, from the main course to desserts! A must have is the blueberry cheesecake (in pic). It’s yummy. And, purple!

I’m vegetarian, so I did not sample all the sea-food that SL is famous for! (Except a tiny bit of prawn)

String hoppers, Kiribath (milk rice- tastes a little like pongal), pol sambol (dry-tangy coconut chutney like side-dish) and lamprais ( rice that is wrapped in banana leaf and baked is a dutch influence) all were new experiences at the table. I enjoyed eating as much as listening to the history behind some of the preparations.

And, Desserts.Mmm-mm. Apart from chocolates and ice-cream everyday, I had rhubarb for the first time and also curd with treacle (as dessert!).

Kandy

The first chance we got we headed out of the city towards the hills. Kandy, was beautiful. The hills, the mist, the Maligawa (Temple of the sacred tooth-relic of Lord Buddha), the lake.

Pinnawala Elephant Orphanage- on the way to Kandy, was where we got to see elephants of all shapes and sizes being bathed. The baby elephants were quite adorable!


Yala National Park- is my current favourite wildlife spot. (It’s competing with the rainforests of the western ghats!)

The view of the park from an observation deck is breath-taking. It’s tree tops and green shrubs that merge into the ocean. You can see the white sea spray, hear the waves and the crickets while you breathe the magical forest air! And, it was extra special because I saw my first wild leopard at Yala! :)

Galle

Reminded me of Pondicherry. An escape from confusion, it has this serene façade. The fort ramparts, the old shop fronts, the wooden gates and the churches made me want to conjure up a pot of paint and a sheet of cardboard so I could capture the colours and the peace.

Bentota Beach

Was the best day of the whole trip! And what made it that?!

We first caught the wrong train.*calm* Got off at the next station. Caught the right train. We stood and chatted about the many different shades of blue that we could see from the train, the dry fish stalls that left a lingering smell in the train for a few minutes, the many angles that the coconut trees made along the coast, Umbrella lovers on rocky beaches and prawan-vadai vendors on the train. I think we were SO caught up in the little thrills that a train journey provides, we forgot to get off the train at Bentota! Yes. We missed the station, even though we were staring at a board that said –"Lihiniya Surf Hotel, Bentota". And, we did the craziest thing ever.

We *jumped *off the train a few minutes later when the train made an unscheduled stop at a clearing! NO platform. I’m short. Yes, I could’ve broken my legs. But I didn’t. And, thinking about it makes my grin and burst into laughter. I think it always will!!! =P

That’s our train-

I think Indians sometimes don’t consider the little island as a holiday destination that is *not-to-be-missed* because they think it is Kerala part-2!

Sri Lanka is similar to some parts of our country, no doubt, but there is something distinctive about it. The monks in their saffron robes, smiling women wearing the kandyan saree waiting at the bus-halt, festivities during Vesak (Buddha poornima) and the beautiful, unparalleled coast-line are reason enough for me to want to go back!

Going Solo

I turned twenty about a month ago. It didn’t feel different or old. I was excited. Not just about the day but the days to come. Because, my parents (cool that they are) gifted their (now responsible) little girl a holiday in Sri Lanka. So, on the night of my birthday instead of partying I packed with much anticipation. Looking forward to two weeks on a little island.

Obviously, I couldn’t sleep. At the airport just before I was about to board the plane, I felt a sudden rush of happiness, and also gratitude. I strapped myself in and noticed a white band on my bare wrist. Perfect! I who meticulously plan and pack, had forgotten my watch. Secretly, I was glad. It was a sign. I was going without an itinerary, wanting to discover each place, and unwrap it like a surprise.

I had to take two flights, first to Chennai and from there to Colombo. On both flights, women who sat next to me, chatted me up; curious and a little surprised that I was travelling alone. At Chennai Airport, the Immigration officer looked at me with beady little eyes, and unsuccessfully hid her suspicions (juvenile delinquent, running away from home?!) after checking with another officer, she reluctantly stamped my passport. I was a little annoyed with so many people assuming I was too young to travel alone.

As I sat reading my book, occasionally glancing at the departure terminal, my mind hovered, as it tuned in and out of conversations around me.

A young couple, most probably Punjabi, newly married, were busy taking pictures, lost in each other and their newfound love, even wilting flowers in a vase seemed to hold their interest. An old man was speaking really loudly into a tiny phone, repeatedly telling his son/daughter that there had been no problem at the airport, afraid that they couldn’t understand. He fidgeted for a while, walking up and down, then, resigned he sat down clutching his bag tightly and stared at the departures screen. A foreigner in salwar- kameez walked past me and flashed a brilliant smile. I smiled back and sudden loud wailing made me turn around. A child had overturned her cup of hot noodles, the father was shouting, and the mother looked pained and embarrassed. I stuffed my book in my bag and thought about the time when I was little, and had spilt boiling tea over myself in a train.

As the boarding call was announced I looked forward to my first holiday alone, across the little strip of water, in the middle of the Indian Ocean, and felt a little old.

Creepy.

I went shopping today. Random grocery shopping. To one of those all-purpose air-conditioned supermarkets that make shopping boring.

My mother hovered near the vegetables and I wandered off towards the chocolates. As I was contemplating how many bars to buy, I noticed a pair of eyes on me. I looked up, and moved away assuming that I was in the way. As I weaved my way through shelves of shampoos and deodorants, the eyes (and feet) followed me. I ended up staring at a large advert of *Dairymilk Silk* (yummy). Again. I stopped looked around, straight at those eyes. Suddenly, the hands got busy trying to pick out the cheapest chocolates. I stepped back, made a disgusted face, mouthed a few unmentionables and stormed off to find mom. Thankfully one of the guards noticed the creep and ushered him- eyes, hands and feet, towards the exit.

Two minutes later, the store was plunged into darkness. Power-cut. And I was standing next to mom, picking out onions.

Unreasonable Hope

You woke up suddenly to the sound of wind howling and rain lashing on the windowpanes. You noticed the ferocity of the wind, the rain falling with determination.

The water formed little tracks on the glass. Like a complex river system, you trace their path with your finger.

You step out into the rain. The water hits you with a force. Plasters your hair to your face and neck. You are blind. You are blank.

*He is in front of you. Behind you. Above you. Below you. Everywhere. Anywhere.*

You breathe in, unconsciously. You feel the rain. You feel the cold wind. You smell the rain. You smell the wet earth. You taste the rain. You taste the unfamiliar taste. You hear the rain. You hear it whisper and you hear it shout.
You open your eyes. You see the rain. You let it sting your eyes. You tear.

You wake up, and forget your dream.

windswept

Children chattering. Pretend play. With plastic bats and guns. Like little detectives and criminals. My hair obscures my vision.

A pigeon coos and sits on the railing. Egrets pure and white fly this way and that. A brahminy kite calls and circles overhead, propelled by the strong breeze.

Blur. A flock of bright green parakeets.

Trees bend. Branches break. Pink and white blossoms fall to the ground.The coconut fronds sway with the wind. Swishing noises.A train whistles in the distance. Little spirals of steam. And it chugs into view. Dogs bark. A cat darts across the road startling a little baby. *crying*

Clothes flutter and a dupatta struggles to escape.

The clouds move and cover the clear blue sky. A sudden darkness. Lights come on and mothers materialize. The little children hurry inside.
So much before the welcome pitter-patter of the rain. The black tar darkens. Little streams along the road. A waterfall on my window.

A pigeon fluffs itself up and coos.

Bare.

Have you ever tried it? Removing a band-aid quickly from a still-to-heal wound? It's like a sudden wave of masochism overcomes you. It's painful.
The band-aid has bits of skin, flecks of blood and your wound stings and hurts. Looks ugly and oozes blood.

That's how I feel right now. Like someone unknowingly, unwittingly pulled back the little medicated strip. Really really fast. And without warning. And a conglomeration of emotions have been uncovered.

I feel lousy. stupid. unsettled.
I want to press rewind or fast foward. Unfortunately, those are non-existent options.

gleaming white horses and armour that shines

Recently I had this really bad bout of homesickness. Yes, I live with my parents at home. But somehow, I miss *Dilli*, and I call it home. No, I don’t know all the gullies of Chandini Chowk, and I have never ever been to Karol Bagh. But Delhi feels like Home. I think it’s the people.

So, I called one of my favouritest people up. And realised that I wasn’t the only disillusioned soul.
She exclaimed in her normal over-dramatic voice: “ Rosh, yaar, I give up. I’ve had enough. Boys are such ass-holes.”

Me: “Hm. Agreed. Calm down.”

Then she said some pretty obscene things about the species (bolstered by my enthusiastic approval).
I smiled to myself and told her, “Let me hear you say this when it comes to your handsome knight atop the prettiest white horse.”

She shattered my dream and said, “There are no knights.”

But I believe in *metamorphosis*. Hopeful, that.

Driftwood

I suddenly, seriously doubt my ability to not create problems. To not jeopardise a relationship, furthering people’s idea of me being *stuck up*. In the past year, a friend who meant a lot to me just drifted away.

I’m not jealous. I’m just sad. We didn’t have any major disagreement and I’d like to believe that we had fun together. It is so weird. Every time I see her now, I think we both feel a misplaced sense of obligation, to be nice, to be social, and to ask about things we no longer care for. And what can you say, when she asks, “How’ve you been?” or “Whatsup?” In those ten minutes that she now has for me, can I tell her how I’ve been sulking? Or all my superficial woes? My joys, my fears, the new clothes I bought and the fight I had with my mother?

I can’t.

So we just paste fake smiles on our faces even though inside I’m hurting and disgusted. Because it’s very easy to blame her for going away to more fulfilling and equal friendships.

When people leave like this, it makes my self esteem plunge a few notches. Obviously, she’s happier now. I try to be happy for her.

I can’t help but wonder, why?

Smoke.Sun.Sweat.

-the price you pay for *yummy* Punjabi food


Bobby da Dhaba, near Gurudwara, Ulsoor.


A little hovel in the ground. Brought back memories of long road trips and aloo parathas. Vaish, Thari and I went to satisfy our Punjabi food craving to this much talked/written about place.
Five-six rickety tables, loose roof tiles, cobwebs, grime and smoke. Not particularly attractive. Uh-uh.

As we waited outside in the sun, vying for a little shade, for a bit of newspaper to fan ourselves, smoke billowed in our faces, thick and grey. Making us tear. Along with it came the smells. *Hamare pet mein choohe sher ban gaye the!*
We could no longer restrain ourselves from cursing the ones already inside, sending them murderous looks in the hope that they would abandon their parathas and flee. It was not to be.

We finally set our eyes on our methi,aloo and pyaaz parathas, shahi paneer, lassi and achaar. Garam garam with a huge dollop of butter =D
Heaven. I’m going back there. Soon.


Bobby and Bobby ki mummy, Shukriya! =D

My little sister and brother

There were times when I fought with everyone. I was angry. I was weepy. I was alone. I was in my tantrum-throwing mood.
It was the best time to clear out my cluttered drawer, crush long forgotten to-do lists, and tear to bits secretly written love letters.

So when my crappy mood simmered down. And I no longer wanted to destroy all in my path, I slammed my door shut making all the windowpanes shake (yeah, so, the crappiness can’t disappear in an instant, right?). The fury giving in to tears. I hug my pillow like my life depends on it, and wish to god, I had little sisters and brothers.

I look at myself in the mirror, little salt rivers down my cheeks. I think. For twenty years, I have been spoilt. I have been loved. But, I believed my friends were my sibling substitutes.
The person in the mirror stared back at me. Tear tracks dried. Skin stretched. Incredulous expression. I did have siblings. Annoying ones too.

A sister and a brother. My amma and appa.

I know I’m a pain in the ass. Sometimes. Always.
Some genes, huh?

I love you :D

An Egg Roll.

It was that time of the year. College fests. Lots of crazy people and yummy food. After witnessing a highly amusing session of “disco-dancers”, Shahid Kapoor and Hrithik Roshan wannabes, I made my way home.

I got into an autorickshaw, plugged in my earphones, put my bag and egg roll parcel on the seat and hoped the traffic would be kind to me. 6.30 pm, on a Friday evening. What was I doing? Hoping for a miracle?

As the tuk-tuk of the rickshaw died down and I could finally hear the music again. I waited for red to turn green.
And then a little hand grabbed my leg, pulled my jeans. I was too much of a coward to remove my earphones. I shook my head and looked straight. She tugged again and gestured toward the egg roll wrapped in foil and tissue. I think over Kelly Clarkson crooning, “I’ll take a risk, take a chance, make a change, and break away” I heard her saying, “Didi, thoda sa de do”. I gave a feeble shake and the auto sprang back to life. The wind was in my face and in my hair. I looked down at the fluttering plastic wrapping. The egg roll.

Later, in the evening as I watched television, I ate the roll. Tried to. The food was tasteless. And when I washed down the last bite with water, it was bitter.

PS: I wish I had acted differently. I hope next time I have enough courage to do what is right. But is it right?
If I had given the egg roll to her, would I have felt better? Am I not encouraging her to continue this lifestyle?
But, all this is irrelevant. She doesn’t have a choice. I wish she had.

The other side of the glass door.

Sunflowers, roses and dahlias. Squirrels scurrying around. The garden looked beautiful. And there was a tall, huge man. Of Rajput or Pathani descent, the doorkeeper. Dressed in the familiar red, blue and gold.

At 3:00 pm on New Year’s Eve we reached our hotel. Hungry and tired. Dumped our bags in the hotel room and sat down to lunch in the dining area of the lobby surrounded by glass doors.

As I started to eat the naan and the paneer butter masala I looked up. I saw the doorkeeper looking in our direction and quickly went back to my food to avoid embarrassing him. When I reached for the achar, the sun did not catch the gold in his uniform and I did not shield my eyes.
I realised he had gone and stood on the other side from we could not see him. My mother remarked about his sensitivity and said, “pavam”.

I wondered how it must feel to stand all day and night; opening and closing the door for hundreds of people who are extremely capable of doing so themselves. That is when my father said, “The darwan takes great pride in what he does. There is no reason we should feel bad for him.”

I remembered the story of Prithviraj and Samyukta.

This gives me hope.

I was standing holding a railing in the bus. Evening. It was crowded. I could smell the old lady's hair oil. ugh. I wrinkled my nose and rummaged in the cavernous depths of my bag to find my wallet and buy a ticket.
Tired and wanting to get home I proceeded to stare out of the window. A few minutes later, someone taps on my shoulder. I turn around to see a man pointing at an empty seat. I nod and sit down. I sit still, bag clutched to my chest. Looking straight ahead.
Why did he do that? *my cynical mind*
Refusing to belive that strangers can be nice too.

I got off at my stop, feeling stupid for not thanking him.

Out the window. And onto someone’s head!

She must’ve been 30. Wearing a shimmery red saree. She sat at the window seat munching peanuts. The un-shelled kind.
I bought my ticket and sat beside her. The munching continued. Even in my sleep deprived state I noticed something I didn’t like. As she proceeded to eat her way through her packet of peanuts, she shelled each one, carefully, meticulously. Then, the shells flew out of the little gap in the window. I was disturbed. I wanted to tell her to stop. But what language would she understand? Will she laugh at me? Shout?

Before I could muster enough courage to tell a stranger to not to litter, she had finished her snack! AND to my utmost horror, she proceeded to throw the packet too. All I did was open and close my mouth like a goldfish…Ugh.

Next time, whether I know Kannada or not, I’ll protest. ‘Cause right now, I don’t like myself much :(

ten things on my mind

I thought I was losing my mind.
The past few months I couldn’t live without my little black planner, or everyday lists that told me what to do, when. I’d be a nervous wreck if I couldn’t locate the little piece of paper that said- “Water the plants! Eat lunch!”

First it was only important events, assignments but soon I had to depend on little bits of
paper to tell me to wash my hair! I just had too many things I wanted to do. And I hate that nagging feeling at the corner of my mind that says “there was something else, you forgot to do..what was it?” And I think for hours, double check, but can never be sure I’ve done everything I’ve wanted to!

One day my friend said that I was very *clinical* in most everything I do and that he’d consider me a freak if he didn’t know me better. It was true. My life has always had a plan. When I have to go meet friends I need to know venue, time etc a day in advance. Again, spontaneity, uncertainty makes me uncomfortable.
When someone says: we’ll do lunch somewhere, ok? It makes me squirm. Can you not be precise?! Where? When? Who’s coming?

But plans don’t always work. And having a plan doesn’t make things easier. I still worry, think and re-think. So, what’s the point?
I think I’m going to tackle one thing at a time. I often talk about independence and somehow dependence on pieces of paper doesn’t sound very appealing :P

PS: To let you in on a little secret, whatever said and done, crossing off a task that you’ve finished, gives one immense satisfaction. Such that I can’t begin to describe the feeling! :) :)
I’m hopeless, aren’t I?