Hello Stranger!

Ever noticed people standing in an elevator? Everyone seems to be looking in different directions. Someone is concentrating hard on the call buttons. Another is intently scanning the floor. Others are just staring into space, trying to avoid contact with any other pair of eyes. It’s so hard to be in the company of strangers, even for such a short span of time.

Somehow, we find it difficult to acknowledge the existence of people around us. I have always wondered if it’s criminal to smile at someone in front of you in a queue at the supermarket. Or to say hi to someone walking past on the road.

My mom has struck up several conversations and met many wonderful people at the unlikeliest of places - at restaurants, in movie ticket queues, even in hospitals!

We are all on the same planet, after all, under the same shining sun and stars, living similar lives, however different they might seem. There is so much that binds us together, even though we may not know each other’s names.

Why are we so afraid? I am not that naive to think that everything is hunky-dory in the world. But can we live on the assumption that no one is to be trusted?

Seems like a sad way to live to me. I’d love to spread a smile to everyone I meet! That can’t hurt. How dangerous can it be to just say hello to a stranger? :)

Ronnie & Me

In June 2000, our old family friend and neighbour offered to give us one of the puppies his German shepherd had just given birth to. So I went along with my grandfather, dad and my brother to see the newborns.

My grandpa saw the 6 puppies, and to everyone’s surprise, he picked the smallest and weakest of the young canines. He had a theory. The pup’s ears were straight, unlike the rest! “Never pick a dog with drooping ears,” he explained. And that was that. Considering he had kept about 12 dogs as pets in his lifetime already, no one argued.

We named the little one Ronnie. Ronnie Junior, technically, because he was christened after Ronnie Senior, a German shepherd who had been with our family earlier.

I was petrified of dogs. I found them very cute, but I was afraid of getting bitten! Ronnie, obviously, did not even have teeth, but my fear remained. My dad had put a small red collar with bells around his neck, to keep track of where he was! I loved watching the tiny black furry thing run all over the house with the jingling bells.

The bells were particularly useful for me. I would know exactly where Ronnie was, and stupidly, I would run in the opposite direction. Sometimes he even followed as fast as he could, bells jangling, to play with me. But I would quickly shut the first door I came across behind me, blocking his path.

Soon enough though, I learned the little dog really meant no harm. He was used to having me around, so he wouldn’t bite or bark at me. That eased me up a bit. But I still couldn’t muster the courage to even pet him.

I will never forget the seemingly insignificant situation that made Ronnie and me best friends, and took away all my fear.

A few months after we brought him home (he had grown a little in size by then), we had to move into a new house. We had hired packers & movers to help, and the whole house was swarming with people packing and carrying cartons and furniture out into the trucks. All the grown-ups were extremely busy, and Ronnie was getting restless and scared. I was the only one left who had no other use, but to hold him by the collar and make sure he didn’t snap at any of the strangers so freely roaming about!

So there we were, Ronnie and me, sitting together in a corner, a little scared, watching a scene unfamiliar for both of us. Nothing really happened, but in that one hour, my dog and I bonded, silently, as if some connection was being made between his collar and my fingers. I felt he was afraid, afraid we would leave him behind. I somehow overcame my fear and bravely pet his head, trying to keep him calm. It worked.

There was no looking back then. I became his favourite playmate, and in our new home, we used the big garden and driveway to play every evening. It was our daily ritual. I would literally put my hand right through his teeth to pull out the ring he so stubbornly clamped on too, and he was extremely careful never to hurt me.

Ronnie is 11 years old now, which is very old in dog years. He can barely walk, let alone run. But I would like to think he remembers, and misses, the summer evenings he and I spent together. I sure do.

No Kidding!

Since the time I can remember, I have had a fascination for everything animated. One would probably categorize them as cartoons, but I can’t bring myself to call something with intelligent humour a ‘cartoon.’

Time and again, I have been told it is ‘kiddish’ to watch, and love, animated movies. “Grow up, Nikhaar!” is what I usually get. Well, let’s just say, if growing up will make me stop appreciating the sheer genius that goes into making the magic, I don’t want to!

I believe it takes nothing less than superlative creativity and a vivid imagination to be able to create a blockbuster movie out of a simple idea. Imagine earning half a billion dollars just from the basic fear that every child has - a monster hiding in their closet. Who thought of it, in the first place, that a whole new world could be created based on that one small, universal reality? That a child’s screams could be the source of energy for a monster world...and that every fright children get every night is planned and premeditated, that it’s all a booming business! Wow!

There are the Shreks and the Madagascars and the Toy Storys and the Kung Fu Pandas...everyone knows them. They are unquestionably perfect in design and plot and absolutely hilarious. But there are those I feel did not get the recognition they deserve.

I remember renting a DVD once, it had 8 animations, and I watched them back to back. There was one in particular, Hoodwinked, that made me really wonder at the brains behind it all. It was like Vantage Point meets Red Riding Hood!

Wall-E, simply put, is brilliant. And it has a message too.

There are some in which emotions run so high, I almost cry. Sounds strange, but such is the impact! I did cry when Manny has to let go of the baby in Ice Age.

If you ever get the chance, do check the Pixar Animation Studios website. The 'How we do it' section is worth a visit. From the time an employee pitches an idea to drawing the storyboards to adding the final touches, it is an amazing process. It is on my wishlist to be a part of it, maybe someday...

I pretty much walk out of the theatre wishing, each time, that every movie ever made was animated! No kidding!

There Is A Place...

There is a place

Where I can go

When I feel low

When I feel blue

There is a place, where I can go, no matter how I feel. My memories of Mussoorie never fade. It has been my magical world since I was little.

People may trash the ‘commercialisation’ and the over-crowding, but the charm of the green hills is eternal. Nothing can change that. Every year, my longing to be back among the clouds and the mist has the same intensity.

The winding road that takes you up from Dehradun is the perfect beginning; it builds up the anticipation, the excitement of what lies ahead. You are lost in the view of the valley as you drive higher up, when suddenly you turn a corner and the entire breathtaking panorama of the quaint little hill town emerges in its full majesty. The drive with the sharp hairpin bends does make me a bit dizzy, but the beauty is overwhelming enough for me to ignore everything else.

There is something in the air that makes you feel at peace with yourself. The old shops lining the street know me as well as I know them. The horses trot past, transporting you to another century. As a child, I used to ask for the name of every pony I rode. Still remember a few...Baadal, Chetak, Raja...somehow it seemed I had befriended them just by knowing their name.

Going for a walk up to and beyond the clock tower (I heard it doesn’t exist now, one of the man-made disasters that recently struck) was something I didn’t look forward to. The uphill climb seemed just too long! But once we left the houses and shops behind and the clouds descended on us while we walked among the pines, it all seemed worth it. I had to tear myself away from the stunning landscapes that seemed almost unearthly and come back down to reality.          

My favourite memories are of sitting at the window of my wooden-walled, tin-roofed home, watching the bustling street below, the tourists shuffling in an out of the shops, listening to the sounds of video games in the distance. I would sketch, or read, or sit back with my music and just enjoy the breeze, my train of thought meandering.

It is these moments that I look forward to now. I will be back in my magical world next week after 2 long years. Can’t wait!

I Wish I Could Write

I wish I could write. I wish I could express myself the way I want. That I could let anyone who reads see the world exactly through my eyes, the way I see it, the way I imagine it, the way it looks to me. 

My world changes color everyday. Sometimes, I see it in pastels. Peach, with a dash of white, mauve, soft green, like you would imagine a garden wedding! With orchids, lilies and pink roses and flowing satin and a dancing fountain. That’s the way I’d like to see it.

There are days it all seems...colorless. My colors of gloom aren’t black and grey. I actually love it when the sky is dark; it feels like it might rain! No, when I’m down and out, it’s blank. 

Sometimes, my day is a whirl of fluorescents. Brilliant, cheerful, like the blinking lights of Vegas! The kind that makes you want to spread your arms wide and take it all in, makes you want to go dancing in the streets, feels like a carnival you wish would never end.

I wish I could show you the world I want to live in, with my words. I wish I could write.