alice's peephole

Do we ever really pay attention to the safety briefing before the flight? And if we do, is it because we want to be polite to the demonstrating air staff or because we truly believe that there may be a time when we would need to recall this information and act on it, and it could save our lives? I think about this as I sit in the safety of my home, fresh after a spectacular Sunday afternoon nap, right before I sink into the pre-Monday slump. I went through my twenties not really knowing why people got so grumpy about Mondays, what a decadent privilege that was. As I watched S4 of “The Bear”, I realised that though my mother didn’t drive a car through the living room (would be tough as we live on the 10th floor), but I do share some  PTSD with Carmie. The journey of healing from the daily humiliation and berating that comes from having a narcissist, toxic boss is longer than I anticipated. In fact, I seem to have only survived because of deep, deep denial of how bad things wer...

I read that the world is changing, theatrics and chaos now trump logic. I’m told that the planets are realigning, bringing more prosperous times. I hear the winds of change at home and at work. How do we maintain our compass when everything around is moving? How do we find our North. Mediator at home and leader at work, without much credit in either role, it feels like a boat without a bottom. Tough shoes to fill, huge shadow to outshine, is it even worth the fight? No vote of confidence, campaigning without a seat, is it self worth that’s missing? A life plan in jeopardy, the wait is never ending.   And yet, there’s decks to be made, documents to be reviewed, Relationships to manage, chores to be completed. Is the busy-ness an escape, a way to fill the void? Or is it acceptance that life is not problems devoid... Is it in the moments between those milestones, Discovering a new song or great book, an evening with a friend or a call with a few, Eating t...

 I’m a lover of classic coffee. As a millennial, I cling to the quintessential South Indian filter coffee and scoff at that new fangled, pretentious, cinnamon flavoured 'Tired Bird’ dip bag coffee-like products. So, when I found this great cafe close-ish to home that does a good flat white, I quickly settled into a weekend routine, popping by there for a weekend post workout treat. It comforted me to have a favourite cafe again, after having lost Black Coffee Pharmacy in Bonn ( to the hippies ), and then Kaffeesaurus & Treibgut because I moved. The cafe has a large outdoor space, so once the oppressive heat gave way to only mild sweating and discomfort, they decided to organise a handicrafts festival in the backyard. I headed there and impulse bought some earrings and stickers, before my resolve to ‘support the arts’ gave way to grumpiness at the humidity. I found the kitchen and asked the guy manning it to make me a non-sweet, refreshing drink. It was 8 pm, so I was expecting ...

  A new friend recently said, “when people who have lived abroad say ‘here’, they mean India, but when I say it, I mean Ahmedabad vs Mumbai. In that moment it seemed like the usual random nonsense someone high on Diwali vacation vibes + weed might say. But as I think more closely, there is a grain of wisdom hiding behind the benignity. Our outlook is defined by the exposure we have gotten, either gathered through travel, movies, discussions, upbringing or simply by living among people whose world view is different from our own. When I decided to move back, I was prepared for the physical differences of living in India vs Europe, I knew it would be hot, crowded and loud, people would be unpunctual, and that would get on my nerves. I think I was partially unprepared for how difficult it would be fit in emotionally . Before I left, I did often feel like a misfit or a rebel, sometimes being Bengali in a pretty Marathi city, but largely due to my experiences at a rigid and unwelcomin...

  "Oh, my life is changing everyday In every possible way And oh, my dreams It's never quite as it seems Never quite as it seems” Dreams – The Cranberries I say this because I didn’t quite expect to be grubbing around in 40 degrees heat, in the Nashabandhi office, when I decided to move back to India to work on the Olympics bid. Let me start at the beginning, or at least the middle. Gujarat decided for various reasons, to be a dry state. Now, prohibition has never proved effective, but the Government, striding atop its high Gandhian horse, is undeterred. Thankfully, as a Foreign Passport Holder, I am not expected to give up my sinful ways. However, I am still answerable to the Government in the amount of alcohol I consume. As a non-desi, devoid of the burdens of cultural heritage, I am allotted the highest quota, i.e. 4 units of alcohol a month. Mind you, this amounts to 50+ bottles of beer or 4 bottles of hard liquor, so it is quite enough for even most high function...

Of course, I knew there would be moments of reverse culture shocks. I tried to imagine what they would be, and prepare myself for them. I reminded myself of the loudness of Indian cities, with unabating construction noise, neighbours quarrelling or partying and traffic sounds. I laughed along when my German-y friends pointed out how poorly I would deal with the summer, seeing as I complained the loudest in the stifling German heat. I prepared myself for the lack of work life balance. But as I sit here writing this, with the Cricket World Cup Finals from the society’s public viewing blaring through the windows, I have to honestly admit that nothing could have prepared me for the actual shocks when they came. The first one was a few weeks after moving into my new apartment. I decided to check out the nearby gym, and cramped as it was, it would have to do. As I lay sweating and stretching on a yoga mat post workout, I became suddenly aware, from the corner of my eye, of a gang of 5-6 ...