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Things keep happening. We keep moving. We keep needing. and we keep doing.

Goafest.Campaign.Photographs.Cameras.Lenses.FlashflashFlash. Soundpad.Music.Flash.movies.

It's not stupid.It's me.

Oh, and don't forget to stabilise it from the bottom.

Kya dekh rahe ho?

The one thing that I learnt whilst living/working in Delhi was that Defcol is a great place to live, Lodhi Gardens a gorgeous place to walk,  qawalli night at the Dargah is my favorite thursday night outing with cousin S , Martina was a rockstar hair styist,Wills fashion week is a pain in the ass, nothing compared to chinese food with Dev and our brilliantly hectic pool visits to the farm . Did I say the "one thing"? I obviously meant the gazillion things I  learnt and loved. AADI, B-5, talking trees, the roads, the weekend home visits, the Shatabadi, PG, Saroj.....and the autos.

Autos. How many autos denied me a ride across town? Why? Because I wouldn't pay the insane amounts of money they asked for, because I was asking to go from one end of the city to the other, just because they didn't feel like it? How many hours did I spend in the sun BAKING waiting for an auto to take me to my destination even though I was standing opposite an auto stand? Hours (not to mention i had huge bags with me one particular horrendously hot day). They just didn't want to take me. Oh! The arguments over metres and fares and the waiting...I'd have rather walked most of the times.

This I thought was a Delhi phenomena. Mumbai was so much nicer, they put the metre on without so much of a peep (peep peep , don't sleep), took you wherever you wanted, forever available. The dhik chik music, the funky colours, the little light in the autos- bliss! 

A year later and I am back in Mumbai eagerly awaiting my happy rides in the autos. It took me a day to get into one, now that there is a car (and brother) to ferry us around. Looking forward to my day in an auto, I walked/semi skipped out of the house- looked around and didnt see my three wheeled chariot anywhere in sight.Ten minutes later, we were off. Little did I know how the day would turn out. I was denied by two autos, told a metre wasnt working then waited on the side of the road for thirty minutes trying to catch a ride home. My half-skip eventually become a near crawl thanks to sticking my hand out for so long and asking the same question fifty times and hearing the same answer ,"Gas nahi hai, madam.". Finally, when we did get an auto, the chap didn't know where four bungalows was. So here we were, in Mumbai- my auto dream shattered, driving aimlessly into the horizon and wondering how we are going to get around tomorrow. 

I know it is partially because of the strike but why!! why does it have to be like this?

This post is like a Simpson's episode- it started somewhere and has ended nowhere. D'oh!

Insomniacs

Ten thirty and I get a phone call. Random shootings in Bombay. Watch NDTV. There it is, watch it for a while and go back to everyone. No one thought it would go on. But it did. One a.m.- Uncle S is in the Taj. Stuck.I go home. I switch on the TV.

One thirty: we speak to him- he is with a hundred other people.Safe he says.

Two a.m : Can't get through. 

The Taj is on fire.

The army has been sent in.

There are bomb blasts.

Gunfire.

People escape. They have seen dead bodies on the stairwell. Where is Uncle S?

Four am: Fresh fire breaking out. More gunshots, more bombs.

My eyes shut for a minute- I think I fall asleep. But I won't- I can't. He is in there. Seventy seven years old, all alone , in the middle of a WAR. He went for work- and he is a "hostage". Mum and Dad try to lure me into their bed but the chair is my friend. I have found my spot. I won't move. I can't.

Six am: Still burning, still fighting and still no news.

Scarsdale, Boston, Islamabad, Andheri west, # 51, #105 are sitting and watching- hoping against hope he will call.

Sunrise: Mum and Dad decide to go across to #51 -it's been too long. WHERE IS HE?

Seven a.m: I lay down, I fall asleep. 

Eight thirty: I am up again. Call mum, no news. I call his number. Nothing.

I watch the news thinking I will see him maybe on TV. 

Nine thirty: He is spotted!!! on TV (Headlines Today).

He is ok!!!!!! Well, physically ok. Twenty minutes later, we speak to him. He has spent the night in a six by eight foot bathroom with five other people with no room to move or sit or breathe. Spent six hours in utter silence listening to the battle right outside their door. At nine am, the army finds them. 

On the twent seventh of November, he is sitting with us at the dining table- shaken and shattered but he is with us. Just like after nine eleven Bee masi walked out, scarred from what she had seen and been through, but eventually coming back to us.

Can we can sleep now?No, The war wages on.

No knowing when it will end.

This has been close, closer than ever before. Will we ever be able to sleep again?