Today, I met a woman at a train station. We were standing together on the platform.
We exchanged smiles, and I went back to reading something on my phone.
When I looked up a few moments later, she was still looking at me. I smiled again. She smiled back. We looked away.
1.
A boy and girl within earshot are bantering on the metro. They're friends, evidently.
But it's the kind of friendship that often slants into undertones of all sorts. Where eyes catch, as do hearts—I can tell.
The girl, it seems is on her way to a date.
THREAD.
We're passing by the airport when my cab driver turns down the radio. He asks me for a moment, and then receives a call—on loudspeaker.
A little voice bursts from the phone, "Papa aap kaha ho, kab aaoge?" [Papa, where are you, when will you come?]
1.
Where did the love like this go? How did it all become about sex, how did bodies become utilitarian, and hearts "fair game". How did we get from wanting our first kiss to silent, awkward goodbyes after "hook ups"—when drunken passion fades to sobriety, desire clears to reveal
Ladies please STOP trying to compete with women who have spent 3 hours in hair and makeup with the industry's best professionals (and doctors🔪)!
Y'all just ran across Andheri station, having dodged 26 random people, are sweating from everywhere, and still manage to look
If you are still here with me—I am sorry I have nothing profound to say. I wish I could use my words to end this thread with some direction, some reassurance. But I have none. All I have is a strange anger and restlessness that I do not know how to deal with.
Yet.
@buitengebieden
Absolutely love this :) but would also be a little uncomfortable with any person, even if a medical professional, kissing my baby so much.
How easily I had assumed.
How easily I had forgotten that education is STILL an ugly privilege in this young, developing country.
How easily I type this in a language, on a platform, she will never read.
10.
I don't like posting personal stuff, but this merits a post:
The only man I've ever loved is getting married the day after tomorrow. For the longest time I was in denial, then angry, then in some strange form of bargaining. How could he choose to get arranged married to a
Upset? Tweet about it. Send a text. Use language. Any language. That is your voice.
But what about those with no language? What of their voice?
This is something you know. And something I knew. But here's repeating another thing we both know—even THIS is Mumbai, in 2019.
Fin.
My train rolled in, and having explained to her where and when she should board, I bid her farewell.
On my train, I took out my Kindle, began to read. I couldn't. Each word I read yelled out privilege to me.
How easily I had recommended an app to her.
9.
The intimacy of taking someone's spectacles and gently cleaning the grime/fingerprints off of it, as they smile at a hazy you; their visibility diminished but not their love.
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I get into the lift, it's 10 o' clock.
The crowd in this Mumbai hospital has thinned to just a few relatives, regulars and every day staff.
On the 10th floor two men enter.
Alarmed, the lift man stands up.
THREAD.
A voice in my earphones sings about flowers blossoming in the courtyard when a lover comes home.
Well, really, we are all those flowers, aren't we?—at the cusp of blossoming.
Waiting for someone to come, to call us home.
FIN.
I lost my ma, my "Memo", yesterday at 6.33pm after a 4½ year battle with cancer. At 5 she had insisted on sitting in a chair (a huge effort for her) and taking a photo. It is now her last photo in this world.
Why did you leave, ma? Will you really never answer me again?
I met a woman on the train last night.
Well, technically, not met because meeting suggests interaction. More like looked at, observed, admired.
It's been nearly a day, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about her. And no, it's not what you think.
Let me explain:
Thank you all for responding to me with so much heart. This gives me so, so much hope.
I am a little overwhelmed by all the tweets, responses and DMs. I will try to reply to as many as possible.
Thank you. Thank you.
We got talking and I learnt that she had lost her husband of eight years a month back in a construction site accident. While he was alive she rarely moved out of home, rarely found herself staring at boards and letters she cannot read.
Now, things were different.
7.
Could she read another language? Could she learn now? Why hadn't she received even a basic education? Why hadn't her husband taught her? Why was she embarassed.
I had many questions. But I didn't ask. She didn't tell.
8.
If we don't find anyone, we'll get engaged at 30.
I remember having 'deals' like this of my own—with friends I haven't spoken to in years now.
'Romantic Insurance Friends.'
Because in your early 20s, '30' seems so distant, so far away.
5.
Strange shapes, undecipherable symbols. She knew 'S' stood for slow train, 'F' for fast, what the numbers meant, and had learnt that the 'P' corresponded to Panvel.
'S', 'F', and 'P' were symbols to her, indicators. But not letters in the way you and I see them.
6.
A couple on a train, giggling by the door where the rain sprays. Their hands secretly touching, even as the stand "respectfully" apart. The train jolts, his hand shoots out to support her, lingering even after she steadies at her waist.
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Three years back, when considering a job in Delhi, I found a broker online.
I saved his name as "Noida PG", spoke to him once about a flat, eventually didn't move, but somehow never landed up deleting the number.
Three years on, I feel like I've been a part of his life.
THREAD
I met a man in a cab the other day. He was awful, impatient, terribly rude.
He honked at every car he saw, and almost knocked down a lady crossing the road. When I asked him to slow down, he glared at me.
I clung to my seat, counting minutes; hoping for the best.
THREAD.
"This pays well, Madam," he answers. "And well, if slightly less time with her now means she'll be on your side of the taxi when she grows up, it's okay, madam."
My heart clutches. An ad has started on the radio. Something noisy about mosquitoes and a family.
8.
Thank you all for reading sharing this story celebrating parenting. :')
Please, one request. If you are sharing it on Facebook/Instagram/etc, kindly credit it to me. This is my story and my writing.
Please.
A short while later, when I looked up, I found her looking at me again. The expression on her face was troubled, embarassed, as if she wanted to say something to me, but couldn't.
"Everything okay?" I asked her in Hindi.
She gave me a pained smile—
2.
A minute later, she told me softly, "I cannot read. And all of this is in English." Having said that, she looked around us, sweeping the station with her eyes before landing on my face again. I followed in her—moving from board to unreadable board—seeing as she must see them.
5.
—pointed to the train-status board hesitatingly and said, "Can you tell me when the train to Panvel is, please?"
Explaining that the incoming one was to Churchgate, I helped her find the train she wanted using an app.
She nodded enthusiastically.
3.
Because in your early 20s, it seems entirely reasonable that in the 10 long years of your 20s surely you'll find atleast *one* person you want to spend your 30s-70s with?
Yet, sometimes, 10 years isn't enough.
6.
Then, I added nonchalantly, "You should download this app (M-indicator). It is very helpful."
She nodded.
"Tells you what station to take, from what platform, has a live chat as well."
She smiled, nodded again.
We fell back into silence.
4.
And oh, I hope they talk. I hope those two young lovers figure it out! I hope k-drama style he tells her–"No more dates! See me."
I laugh, at myself, mostly.
Because, maybe, it's best if they don't, a girl on the train next to me makes me think.
8.
And well, some other times, despite them being right in front of you, you fail to take the leap.
I think back to the boy and girl on the train, who couldn't stop smiling at eachother. Whose eyes certainly ran off and caught on, and said a lot more than their voices did.
7.
I will always be amazed that despite being stuck in bad marriages for years, all that so many Indian mothers hope for, is to see their daughter married.
Says a lot about what the happiness of women and the institution of marriage means to our society.
I laugh. "You tell her stories?"
"One everyday," he answers. "About people I apparently meet while driving my cab which she really thinks is a magical car."
He is smiling a little. The smile of a grown man spinning worlds of silliness for his little girl.
4.
Okay people from Delhi and Bangalore have GOT to stop posting pictures of their houses on Twitter. 🤬 The furniture, the decor, the books, THE RENT!? PEOPLE BE LIVING IN WHOLE ASS 1BHKs for 15k while one can rent half a toilet in that much in this shithole city.
I met her, a couple of Feb 14s earlier, on the way back home. It was post-9pm, the compartment was empty, save one girl.
She was dressed up—dress, heels, lipstick—the whole deal. She quickly wiped her tears when I walked in, switching to looking out, resolutely.
THREAD.
To, the woman in black pants and a red blouse on my 10.45 Harbour Line Local.
Dear Stranger,
You are probably not on Twitter, and you will probably never see this—but I want to thank you.
Thank you for being vigilant, and careful and better than I could be.
1.
"I don't know why you're even going on this date," says our guy.
"I'm going to die alone if I don't look."
"Oh please," says our hero. "Remember our bet, if we don't find anyone, we get engaged at thirty!"
The Metro's doors open, and I am expelled onto Andheri station.
4.
"Dinosaurs, animals, her cartoons—I meet everyone in this cab! Sometimes making all these stories I wonder how to come up with more ideas. Her mother helps!"
My cheeks are aching from smiling. I remember my father and his stories of Hodulkutkut, man who walked on his hands—
5.
The boy, it seems, approves of the date, but not the party his friend has elected to meet.
Laughing, they're bantering through a list of the worst possible outcomes to the date.
"What if he turns out to be boring? Or worse, has awful person hygiene?" he says.
2.
Two male colleagues at lunch time are discussing who's the better husband.
One asks the other, "If your househelp doesn't come, what all will you do to help your wife."
"What's even there to do?" says the second, drawing a blank.
Both turn towards me.
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"Still okay, atleast I'll have a story to tell you and *random friend's name*!"
The guy's eyes twinkle, he shakes he head. The girl is coyly twisting her hands about the train railing.
The compartment is crowded, everyone is annoyed.
But not these two.
3.
Okay, storytime.
Last week when I was sitting by myself and reading, dadu shuffled up to me. He hates 'disturbing' me and so he hovered around for a bit, till I realised he was clearly trying to begin a conversation. I patted the sofa next to me, inviting him to sit.
1)
"Son?" I ask.
"Daughter," he tells me. Four years old.
"Quite late for a child to be up," I observe.
"She won't sleep unless I'm home," he tells me. He tries to sound indignant, but I can hear the warmth in his voice. The little balled up happiness that she cares. So much.
3.
Ma would have been 56 today. 7th May, a birthday etched into my mind from 25 years of wishing her happy birthday. Three years have passed, and while neither of us have aged in this photo, my grief has.
Unlike in its infancy, my grief is quieter now. More at peace, less given to
Until my grandmother was diagnosed with cancer, every Saturday evening she and dadu would sit and read to each other. Around 6.30pm, they would send Shondha, their housekeeper to fetch momos from a local joint, and then settle in, in their living room with green walls. (1/n)
Last year, today, was the last time ma sent me "safety instructions" & advice—I was going physically to office after a bit.
Neither of us knew that 20 days later, she'd leave forever.
In a few days it will be a year. I'm not sure how this time has passed. One year, Ma.
I'm back at TATA again for my yearly cancer check up.
The same building, the same memories, the same people—reams and reams of them with bags and bags waiting day to night for their check up. Nothing has changed.
At the gate, the security guard stops me.
THREAD:
My cabbie is all smiles. "I'll be there by 12," he says. The little voice giggles and asks softly, "Did you meet anyone nice today?"
Cabbie says, "Haan, baba! Will tell you all about it."
"Come fast!" our little friend pleads before hanging up. My heart is all wrung out.
2
At this station too I imagine, the eyes will do the talking. The shoulders will be squared off, the lips screwed into a smile. But the eyes—the eyes always get away.
Getting off at my station, I begin my short walk home through the damp Bombay galis.
12.
—ate with his ears, wore his trousers on his head, and was the source of much laughter when I was little.
"You must really miss her," I ask, feeling a little like Captain Obvious.
"I do," he nods.
An old Hindi song plays on the radio, filling the car's silence.
6.
"What do you mean why do I keep my phone on silent? I have a job!" You keep your phone on silent when at the gym!!"
Her anger has moved to indignation now.
She waits a moment before saying, "Okay, bhad mein jao." (Go to hell!)
And, CUT. ☎️
11.
For
@ArnabMallik8
, my baba, the creative genius behind Hodulkutkut—the character who was more description and less story, which was the real reason for all the fun. ♥️
Thanks baba, Hodulkutkut was the original rebel—will always love that guy.
After dinner today, Dadu & I have an ice cream date.
Post the usual catch-up and the regular mutual complain-session about baba, the conversation moves old v/s new.
Dadu in many ways is my real-life (slightly-deaf) time machine.
Today, we talk cigarettes.
THREAD.
"I swear my phone was on silent, I missed your call by accident," she is saying, repeating, protesting, breaking down each moment of the last hour.
"It was not intentional, & you were at the gym," she is saying, the anger in her voice rising, her throat tripping over "aap".
10.
A beat goes by.
Then, as if letting go of something, he continues, "She stays up late, and then has trouble getting up for school in the morning. But what can we do."
"Can't you leave this," I ask, slightly naively, slightly hopefully. "Get a different job? Better hours?"
7.
"Madam, yeh gulab le lo," he says—A young boy, perhaps my brother's age, outside my taxi window in the rain.
"Nahi Bhaiya, thank you."
"Please Madam," he is persistent, and there are 120 seconds left on the signal.
THREAD.
The girl looks around at the rest of us in the compartment. None of us as much as blinks.
Three stations go by.
The phone vibrates once again.
"Haan, I'll get off at the station," she says this time, still angry, but the edge off her voice.
"Fine. See you."
11.
This story isn't written with any purpose. It does not intend to hurt/disrespect anyone's values. It is simply an experience I wanted to share. Full disclosure: the incident happened quite a while back & I first wrote about it on my FB.
If you're still here, thanks for reading:)
My team and I wrote something we're tremendously proud of. If you have 2 minutes to spare, watch this video and give it a retweet? ♥️ Would love to know your thoughts!
I think it's only after ma died that I realised how ubiquitous mothers are. They're everywhere—in people's Insta stories (doing cute things, smiling, gifting), in Twitter threads, in casual "Yaar mom will yell if the Tiffin isn't complete" comments—
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ASPIRATIONS?
A few fancy consultants were working out of my office for a few months this year. The usual 20-something B-school grads in crisp blacks and white, pontificating over graphs and charts, Starbucks in hand.
Having descended from their iron and steel tower in BKC to
The lift doors open, we leave.
"Excuse me," the woman calls out. I turn. She asks, "Should we have offered to help?"
I wonder. We would have helped today, but what about him tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow?
What about the eternal curse of being alone in this world?
FIN.
This is one of the last dresses Ma bought me, now almost 4 years ago.
I didn't like pastel pink then, but she did
—she loved her pinks!—and insisted I get this, despite the deep-ish neck. I still remember my trepidation while getting out of the changing room, her confidence, us
It is 10am on a Monday.
I am in the crowded bowels of Mumbai’s Tata Memorial Cancer Hospital.
Outside here, Mumbaikars have pulled back their chairs, surr-uped their chai and gotten down to a new week of work.
THREAD.
It's 9pm in the cancer ward.
I am walking towards the shared pantry which has a microwave where we, attendants, can heat the food given to us.
Today there's quite a crowd. The heavy-set man from Room 7, and the woman from 11.
I've seen here sometimes.
THREAD.
People see sex and nudity in a MYNTRA logo!
And they'll still blame women for dressing "too provocatively."
I mean, "No, sir, it isn't about whether my navel is covered or uncovered. An orange "M" can do the trick."
Idk who needs to hear this, but being in a relationship is a terrible idea. You're existing fine & then suddenly you're missing someone 24x7. It's like having the common cold, only you can't stop smiling about it. Your brain is full of cotton wool, and you make terrible company.
Perhaps all 100 moments of Celine Song's Past Lives boil down to this one, overlong moment as Hae Sung bids goodbye to Nora. As they wait for the taxi, they turn to each other, and your heart turns too. As they just stand, looking at each other with so much emotion, the pensive
"But that is not enough. Loneliness, madam, is not the absence of people. It is the absence of the feeling of being loved. It is having no one to share with."
I listen. Someone honks. He shoves change towards me. He's been counting all along.
His eyes harden.
8.
Since thamma died, my dadu has been wearing the most boring clothes possible. Naturally, I decided it was time to spice up his wardrobe.
Presenting AC Mallik - handsome as ever at 84.
1.
Please don't tell me she is in a better place, there can be no better place than here with all of us.
I am devastated. And also very, very angry—with cancer, the world, theories of religion and even her. She'd promised me she'd stay. She lied?
Sometimes when I really want a hug, I miss my mother most. She was so so soft and cuddly, and whether at home or in the hospital I'd just go and lie down next to her and cuddle. Even on the rare occasion that I'd have a nightmare, she was the only person in the world I could
There is a hellacious hullabaloo at the Mallik Household tonight.
The senior most Mallik (my Dadu), has been told by Jr Mallik (my father) and Fledging Mallik (me) that his Sugar numbers are off the charts. Amends need to be made.
But Sr Mallik is staunchly in denial.
THREAD.
5 months today since ma died.
I have relived her last day a 100 times—in prose, in therapy, in courage and in tears.
Today I saw the final death summary—clinical words with no emotion, just cold information.
It was heartbreaking, and yet, a wake up call.
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Nothing much - just a video of my three-time cancer survivor mother singing as brilliantly nas always.
Cancer thrives in your cells. But so does music.
So proud, ma.
(Harmonium - baba, tabla - mama)
How real is the moment that the body goes into the furnace. My flesh & blood who made me, now enveloped in smoke.
Nothing remails of you now, ma. Just your memories, your things, your writing, your hope—that will live on beyond you through me.
I will always love you, ma. Always
I'm so overwhelmed by all the love this story about Dadu and Thamma has received. Thank you all for reading.
Here is a picture from their wedding day in 1958—weren't they dazzling? And here is a link to another story about Dadu-Thamma:
All of this feels quite terrifying. How is it that a woman's role has (rightfully) evolved to so much more—professional, social entity, householder, wife, daughter, mother.
But men's roles have barely expanded because they are not sensitive enough!?
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I feel stupid for thinking most of this happened only in movies.
And fourth, does love really change people so much? Will Noida PG truly give up his old ways?
I don't know.
But I hope whatever happens, they stay happy.
FIN.
When I was six years old, dadu used to come to pick me up from the bus stop so that we could walk the 1km back home in Sarvodaya Enclave, Delhi.
On days I told him properly what I'd learnt at school, he'd buy me a two-rupee chewing Fusen chewing gum.
1.
1951, that's when they first met.
20-yr-olds with their striped Kurta, cigarettes, new bike keys and slicked-back hair. They were the real 'Badboys of Behala'; the heartthrobs of the 50s who would congregate at Coffee House when it was more adda than nostalgia.
THREAD.
So much love for me!? Is this real or is a dream!
Whoever said Twitter doesn't read was so wrong. Thank you to every, every one here who has read, commented and reached out to me. I feel blessed. I will try my best to reply to every reply. Thank you!
It's strange how we're always looking for love, for that "something magical". But when it stares us in the face, perhaps a breath away—or in a city too far—we're full of excuses.
Because we know: It's always prettier in the stories.
And in stories they're always braver than us.
Amazingly, though, both these men have wanted to be fathers their whole life. Mr Two describes the moment his son was born as the happiest in his life.
Yet, somehow, fatherhood hasn't changed their lives too much.
Unlike their partners who are now mother first, woman later.
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