Why I want to wish all of you a very Happy Friendship Day.

I have rarely been friendless. My life has been dotted with friends, in a way, that keeping 'FRIENDS' on Y-Axis and 'YEAR' on X axis, joining the dots would give you a flight of stairs. This stair upwards is a reflection of my evolution into the person I am today. And I like to believe that each of those friends have contributed.
Even if there were heart breaks and betrayals, even if I no longer speak to them. They will always be significant towards shaping my life because those dots cannot be erased.
In retrospect, I realise that I have been very fierce as a  friend. I have harboured extreme emotions and often my  'friends' have found it difficult to handle. Hence, many left failing to identify with my obsession with the relationship.
Today, I have this tiny group of friends, a couple of them sporadically located here and there across the country, some who have managed to survive this obsession and others who have embraced the madness.
Every friendship for me was for life. So, I ended up imposing my feelings and expected them to reciprocate, with an identical fierceness, in the absence of which I have felt dejected.
But, having lived 23 years of my unexpectedly eventful life, I wonder what I would I have done without all of you.
I know, wishing friends on a particular day is a cliche, but I am a fan of all cliches.
Most of the friends that I have today have come to develop dual identities.
A sister became a friend about 18 years ago, when I held her in my arms in a hospital ward. The memory has been recreated with the tales that I have heard over the years. Sometimes, I do wish I could remember the day exactly the way it happened but as this friendship strengthened, I have come to like this recreated version, making it dearer to me more than ever.
Then, there were friends who turned into sisters and a nephew became a friend. Meanwhile, bosses and colleagues became amiable. Friendship also gave me the person I would spend the rest of my life with.
I have inadvertently been part of trios, at school, in colleges.
Trio 1: Two girls from my days at coaching for engineering, which all three of us miserably failed at, made the failure so much easier to survive. Incompetence in a common subject was perhaps what united us.
Trio 2: We started off as a pair actually. Picking up t-shirts from the men's section, we loved to walk the streets of Kolkata in our sneakers with a backpack dangling over our backs. We were cool! Really cool! Then came along this third one. Slow, feminine but extremely talented lady-like classmate of ours. We wonder till date, how we came to become friends with this 'misfit'.
This a non-trio mention. She was not a part of any group for she was not meant to be shared. Kolkata wouldn't have been the 'City of Joy' for me had it not been for her. She was my mother, my sister and my friend all clubbed into one, for the three years in the city. She was my shoulder to cry on and my trove of happiness.
Trio 3: One of them became my partner for life. The other partner in crime. Frankly, I cannot remember the story of how the three of us came together. The brightest of the guys in our class and the most awesome (she likes it if you use the adjective for her) of the girls were my friends. I was sheer lucky, I suppose.
Here, I would like to make three more non-trio mentions.
This guy was my first friend in Dhenkanal. This obscure little place in the state of Odisha, became home as I took morning walks with him. He turned an anxious evening into a 'date' over gupchups and chaat. Today, we strangle each other and hurl abuses. But, he continues to remain close to my heart.
And another one, slightly older to me. My life would be nothing like what it is today, had he not said, "Bachhe!" and given me the best advice that I have ever received and I will be forever grateful to him.
In Dhenkanal, I also came across a man, who inspired me like never before; a teacher who had the capacity to transform a divided class room into a united newsroom; who was and will always remain our Captain!
I have also sought a friend in a brother/nephew. We have met what, three times? But, we have spoken for hours. He is the one who calls me half past midnight on my birthdays, just so we can talk uninterrupted and I? I forget to wish him when he turns 28? 29, I think.
It is said workplaces are not very friendly places. But, mine has given me some keepers.
Two madcaps - a dance partner and a Haryanvi dude.
A boss who is not bossy, who makes me want to go to work and a colleague stationed across the glass wall, who says I am her favourite.  
Last night I wished some of them a happy friendship day. One kissed me. She was lying beside me. One wished me back. One was amused. She sent back an 'LOL' for obvious reasons. And one asked me why I wished him, perhaps because we share a bond that encompasses emotions more than just being friends.
I said, "Are we not friends? Kuch bhi ho jaye, doston ki jagah hamesha alag hi hoti hai."

Why must I write? (1)

I had written two pages, when I realised that I did
not know why I was writing. The content of those
pages now only remain etched in my memories.
 Now, I am left with ink and paper, still unsure
Why I must write.

It is strange how I cannot write.

My head is heavy with concurrent thoughts,

yet I cannot write.

Why must I write?

I am aware of the ordeal.

Then why must I write?

In a book, on papers that no one must read,

by principle, none should read. 

My sleepless nights are mine, so are the drenched pillows.

I am aware.

How the clock ticks by and I refuse to sit up,

with dreams still wreathing over the lashes,

besides the salt creeks on cheeks.

I know it all.

From the throbbing in the ears to gasping for breath,

from muffled cries to shivering rage.

Then, why must I write?

Who must know? Of the throbbing, the rage?

None.

Or I shall be (declared) sick and mad.

I shall not write. I shall not write.

Picasso comes alive and I am Alice in Wonderland!

From what I gathered on my first international visit to Hong Kong, the city/country is a place that would not feature in a person's 'places to visit' list unless it is for work. 

It is not one of those holidaying locations that you can hope would give you some solitary time out from your otherwise maddening routine. In fact, with its tall standing skyscapers and fancy cars whizzing past, the city conspicuously demands sheer business.

The bustling city life in central Hong Kong. 

Double-decker buses whizzing past Des Voeux Road in cental Hong Kong. 

It's not like the city has any dearth of scenic sights or tourist spots. There is Disneyland, Lantau islands with adventurous cable car rides, an array of flea markets et all. But, (I am borrowing this line from one of the travel websites) if you can visit only one place in Hong Kong, it has to be the Victoria Peak.

The highest point in the city, the Peak, located right at the centre of all the urban hustle and bustle, will be your respite. For me, this place was a horizon where man and nature united in perfect harmony.     

I don't say this praising the impressive "development" that this tiny island country has undergone, because I am not a fan of glass buildings miraculously reflecting the world around them. I say this because, standing at the peak I was witness to the immensely popular tower-studded city skyline. 

The tower-studded Hong Kong skyline as seen from Victoria Peak. 

What I saw was spectacularly breathtaking, but not for the clusters of rooftops. It was how the serenely blue waters of the South China Sea breathed life into those tall concrete structures that stood on the edges of the Victoria Harbour, with lush green mountains guarding them from around.          

The magic of the peak lies in that unlikely sight of the grey shades of "development" diffusing effortlessly into the overwhelming blues and greens of nature.

The sea, the skyline and the lush green mountains.  

Also, since I did not get an opportunity to foray into the city to explore the flea markets, the Peak market was where I picked up little souveneirs for friends and family back home - chocolates, chopsticks, fridge magnets etc.

However, it will not be the skyline that will remain etched in my memory. The show stopper for the 4-day-long trip has to be the peak tram ride that I took to get to the top-most point. 

The 120-year old service that has evolved over time, took us up a steep mountain in a red colonial era looking tram, driving us through a dense forest, as we tried hard not to topple over with gravity pushing us down (literally).

The evolution of  the Peak tram over the last century. 

Our ride up the steep mountain to the Victoria Peak.

Looking outside the window was mind boggling and the entire tram was in a frenzy witnessing a world that was almost upside down. 

The skyscrapers which were built on the slope of the mountain were titled by huge angles. My years at school studying geometry and physics came crashing down as I saw high rises standing tall and firm while cutting through gravity. It was, in the true sense, unbelievable. 

The view from the peak tram. The photograph certainly does not capture even an ounce of what I actually saw. The   camera is parallel to the rails of the tram window, showing that it was not the picture that was clicked at an angle but in fact the skyscrapers are tilted. 

It seemed as if one of Picasso's cubist buildings had come alive and I was Alice in wonderland, caught in a dream that was real. 

It has been a week since I came back. And, it did not take me long to leave Hong Kong behind and get going with the new projects that lay in front of me, but that ride up to the Victoria Peak continues to baffle me, and words have often failed to articulate the 'once in a lifetime' experience.  

Tryst with a 'FOREIGN' land

     My first 45 minutes in a new country did not evoke any excitement whatsoever of having landed on a foreign soil.  In fact, after having stared outside the window of my ride like an owl for about 10 minutes, I was fast asleep, in the absence of being able to see anything “foreign.”

     Having been woken up from my clumsy car-nap by an abruptly sharp turn, what I saw was a seemingly infinite stretch of blue water on either side covered with a blanket of thick grey mist. But what left me gaping in awe was how the city enclosed the magnificence of this massive body of water making it look like a mere swimming pool, dotted with sparkling white ferries and the giant Ferris Wheel visible in the distance. The city looked vaguely foreign.

Victoria Harbour through the mist, with the Giant Ferris Wheel in the distance.

     With an entire day at my disposal, I was looking forward to venturing out and exploring the city, but the heavy downpour marred my plans and I resolved to stay back in my room and get over the journey’s fatigue by staring out of my window that overlooked nothing but a chic Prada store.

     After spending a few lazy hours capturing pictures of the monotonous urban sight, just when my enthusiasm was drawing to a close with the setting sun, the city suddenly lit up with shimmering lights adorning the highest of the buildings, and the double-decker trams and buses appeared to be bustling with spirit, as more people walked down the pavements with long umbrellas clinging on to their wrists. For the first time, the city looked distinctly foreign.  

The view from my window, while it rained in Hong Kong. 

     At the fancy dinner that followed later that evening with the directors and curators of one of the biggest international art fairs, the three-course meal served was undoubtedly the best in town, with multiple varieties of meat and what sounded like impressive innovations in vegetarian recipes. A slew of starters revolved on our tables as we made our picks with a pair of chopsticks. Failing miserably after several attempts, I resorted to a pair of fork and knife instead for the rest of the evening. Being a vegetarian, I was surprised at not being put off by an uncanny aroma of the food that looked tempting enough to dig in right away.

     But, what followed was an unpleasant treatment meted out to my Indian palette that has been cherishing the rich spices, with a customary overdose of salt and pepper since the last 23 years. Instead, it was offered Chinese delicacies that were, to everybody’s taste, devoid of any condiment. Being the only Indian at the bourgeois gathering, and also perhaps the youngest one, I had little courage to ask for an alternative and gulped down small portions of food with larger sips of red wine. The three days that followed were spent binging on chocolate bars and packets of chips. The land now exposed itself to be gastronomically foreign.

Steamed wintermelon with mushrooms. Picture courtesy: hongkongairlines.com

     What came as a sigh of relief was surprisingly the language; to tackle which I had come prepared with a trove of possibly useful words and sentences translated into Chinese. This precaution was taken based on an earlier experience when China was participating in the International Book Fair in Delhi and delegates from the Chinese publishing industry were visiting the capital city. With almost all of them unable to converse in English, I assumed it unlikely for English to be among the commonly spoken languages in Hong Kong.

Connaught Place in Hong Kong. 

     However, to my surprise all sign boards and advertisements written in Cantonese and Mandarin were followed by an English translation. It was not difficult running into friendly Hong Kong citizens walking down the streets and striking up a conversation about their country and mine. I had come a full circle, feeling at home, but this time the excitement was at its peak.