To our silliness that travels with us

I was in Goa. It was Sunday. Kiki Bakshi and I were hungry. We decided to go eat a full english breakfast somewhere. So we set out on our hired red scooter. Name - 'Pleasure'. Kiki in front (and helmet to control mad hair). Me at the back (careful not to hurt already sprained foot). We got to some place, ate some Ham and cheese, Kiki ordered some bad papaya lassi and we were done. yeah, so much for english breakfast.

'Ab Kya Karein?'
'Chaltein hain'
'Kahan Jaogi?
"Kahin Bhi. We can go to the interiors of Goa. Find a jungle perhaps. We can get lost also. We have a lot of petrol in the scooter basically!'
'Chalo!'

So Kiki and I rode. We rode on a really sunny Sunday. Without sunscreen. Kept riding with the logic that if the beach was on our right, we had to keep going left. Into the interiors. We had plans to get lost. But how does one get lost when parallel roads and road signs all bring you back to the highway! We rode into dead ends of small hamlets, we rode up a steep road into a private property, got caught and were sent back. We rode behind a foreign cyclist who rode really really fast. We were determined to lose our selves on the road. And perhaps find something - a beautiful riverlet somewhere, a jungle with animal sounds, the controversial coal mines. Something! Anything!

We were getting desperate and I was getting bored. I cursed my broken foot. Lost interest in checking myself out the rear view mirror and complained about my tight bra. To console ourselves we stopped at an unimpressive river body, chatted with an old Konkani aunty, made stupid hand gestures to ask if there were snakes in the field, crossed a fisherman, slipped a little, laughed a little and sat in the sun. Harsh May sun. But feet dipped in muddy water felt good.

Then we were off again, we crossed another village, rode into a ferry with our scooter which dropped us to the village across the river. Suddenly we knew nothing about the place, or the road or the people or anything. We were no where close to the highway. We didn't use the 'go left' logic anymore. Our real adventure was about to begin. We drove past small villages, smaller lanes, crossing daring pink-yellow Goan houses, with men sitting outside on concrete chairs and women peering through small windows.

Then we drove past ghost villages.Not a single car, scooter or cycle on the road. Not a single pair of walking legs. Absolutely deserted. Although the place looked gorgeous. We were driving deep into it. Our narrow long road split the vast yellow landscape into two - spread out far and wide on either sides. Wind blew in our hair and ears. Suddenly Kiki decided to stop our scooter under an orange Gulmohar tree. I was relieved. We had been riding for hours. The tight bra finally came out, cold water splashed from a bottle to our faces and two cigarettes lit up as we sat down on the side of the road. After a while stood up to check myself out in the side mirror, wind dried hair looked perfect with orange gulmohar reflecting in the back. I looked on either side to check something. Not a soul. And then we did what we were dying to do in a secluded place like this.

We played Gustavo Santaolalla on Kiki's phone!

(Please play the following video to enjoy the music as you read)

 

 

Yes we played Gustavo Santaolalla! Reclining on our scooter that stood still on the narrow stretched road we looked to one side exploring the depths of the distance afar. We lived the moment. Allowed ourselves to feel the glamour of standing in the middle of yellow fields with a beautiful sun and a sky blue sky with strokes of pretty white clouds. The music played on and we soaked it all in - our silly little motorcycle diaries moment happened right there.

When we looked to each other - we burst out laughing. Uncontrollably. We laughed so hard. It was really some kind of madness. And my favourite so far!

Its Kiki's birthday today. So here's to you kiki - to our silliness that travels with us.
Happy Birthday.
I love you

(Now you can watch the rest of the video! or read this)

When friends grow in front of your eyes

A guitarist who became a designer who became a writer,
has recently written this:

http://pureslush.webs.com/afall.htm 

Nach na jane aangan taida!

Inspired by the flash mob video kiki shared with me (here), I shyly danced on the harbour line train today from Chembur to Vadala!
I was given a ginger toffee as consolation prize by an11 year old boy selling hair clips in the ladies compartment!
I love Bombay!

Weekender Girls

Once you start working, you have no choice but to find delights in weekend trips to a place reasonably close to your city. I wonder why in spite of having lived in Bombay for more than three years, I had not discovered Maharashtra's true potential. Especially in the magic that lies down the Konkan coast.

I learnt from my mistake and found myself planning the forth trip within Maharashtra this month. It was actually a matter of chance. Ms. Kiki Bakshi and I were looking for a mid point between our cities. Hence we arrived at Ganpatiphule, a religious place, about 25km by a ST bus ride from Ratnagiri. (Trivia: Ratnagiri is the home town of Madhuri Dixit, Sachin Tendulkar and Dawood Ibrahim - as shared by a rather sweet, sweet shop owner). Known for a big ass Ganpati Temple by the white sand beach, this place is easy to effortlessly fall in love with.

We fell in love.

The delights of having nothing to do!

So what does one do when there is nothing to do?

You sing. You sing to the sea, sprint a 100m race, chase tiny crabs, try cart wheels, bury things, bury each other, talk, laugh, feel silly, scream, stare at the dome like sky, yodel and scold the moon.

The science of silliness!

You feel silly. You tell yourself, honestly, that you are feeling silly. And then go a little crazy. Like nuts. Like two nutty nuts. (Two girls I know are experts at this. I am trying to get there!)

Beaching it 

So Bakshi and I found ourselves at the beach getting lost in the blurring horizon. For hours. To have an entire white sand beach with see-through waters entirely to yourself? How does it feel? How does it fee-eee-eeee-eeel? (Susheela Raman cover Like a rolling stone) No, we didn't feel like we ruled the world. We didn't rule the sea, the sand, the birds or the crabs in their little hole-homes. We felt like we were friends. Katti-Abba friends. Abba at the moment. We felt welcomed. We felt the warmth. We felt the cold in the breeze. We felt like we were their guests. We felt like we were let loose. We felt unrestricted. Full of fresh air, fresh thoughts, full of smiles and full of silliness. We felt so full!

A harmonica, a camera, a sun and a sunset! What were we missing? (though we did miss our dear little Bubbles) 

A swim. A swim with all our clothes on. A swim without any. 

So we swam. Jumped the waves, heard the water, watched the birds above us go home, we tasted salt. We floated like dead bodies which rose with the swelling sea belly. We swam in the oceanic blue, the glistening sun dipped blue, the metallic blue, the far away blue, the blue which smudged the skyline, the blue which made way for white soldier like waves. The white washed blue, the blue green blue, the aquatic blue, the purple blue. The blue of the ocean that refuses to just be itself. And we jumped the waves, chased the waves, waved at the waves  and danced like sea ballerinas, we fell, we swam, we sang and spluttered and splattered and laughtered! We laughtered our silliness!

And we did all this while watching the sky change on us, the sea change on us and grow on us. We did this while the night took over, while the stars twinkled one by one and the moon calmly took over the glamour.We got lost in the pitch of darkness, in the quite of the air, in the noise of the sea, in a place where the far away lamp lights tried in vain to reach us.

We talked. At times. 

Sometimes the over celebrated sunset is too pretty for any words, any lens or any song.
You just have to see it.
You have to sea it!

But we didn't see the famous Ganpathi temple after all. 

Among other things:

A fort, a jetty, a self proclaimed miraculous village museum, spasticated birds, a cinnamon tree, an exquisite auto ride, an all purpose kirana shop selling drum sticks, a perfect conqueror's picture, filter kapi, an exiled burmese king's palace, coconut water, some fish, some amul ice cream and some peace.

Kiki Bakshi

My friend just told me the name of her first school : Kiki Bakshi Nursery School!

No points of guessing which part of the country it is in.

No wonder we bond so well!