August 7th, 2006: Through rain & heavier rain, we shall persist. Unless it’s dangerous - Part 2 of 2 :o|

So then, we ran out of the house at full speed and managed to reach the meeting point just as Pankaj and Avinash were arriving in Avinash’s car. Also waiting for them was their friend Milan. We hopped on and were off before you could say “look it’s getting dark cause the clouds over head are getting thicker and it looks like it’s gonna rain somethin’ HEAVY!”

Avinash is a pretty good driver. The fact that he knows how to drive is something of a novelty amongst all of us because for one reason or another he was the ONLY one who knows how to drive of this group. That said, he did take three wrong turns (two of which were at the urging of the back–seat symphony). The trip down was good except that I kept getting more and more worried by the downpour and its seemingly onwards trend to getting heavier. We did take a breakfast break at the Panvel McDonalds after which was the third of three wrong turns.

We also had to pass under a train–bridge which was getting flooded before our eyes. That made me want to panic even MORE. Memories of the flooding on the 26th of July, 2005 kept me from falling into a cozy slumber; I’d only got three hours of sleep and was constipated to top it all off! I was beginning to look less and less forward to the climb up whatever it was we were going to climb.

Against all odds and all wrong turns and flooded patches of broken up highway, we STILL managed to reach the Karnala Bird Sanctuary 15 minutes before the rest of the Gay Bombay group (which was on its way on two full mini–buses).

When we got there, Utkarsh suddenly broke into a cold sweat because he too hadn’t had the time to clear his innards at home. I know that feeling well and can honestly say that it is one of the few sensations that can keep me at home no matter what. India is WOEFULLY bereft of clean and serviceable public toilets. In fact I have, on occasion, bought myself a coffee just for the sake of using the cafe's toilet. This Bird Sanctuary was no different. What REALLY pissed me off was that we had to pay Rs. 50 for the entrance of the car and Rs.20 per person as an entry fee. I was silently outraged at the fact that this was a government owned and run property. It is NOT expensive to create and maintain a clean toilet in such a venue and I was very, very miffed by the lack of it. What in God’s name was the government charging for then???

This park also had rooms for rent (as if people would want to stay in such a barbaric fashion – strangely enough, some do because one of the cottages was rented out). There WAS an out house with a classic style (squatting–style) Indian commode behind the decrepit cottage where the park staff were lounging around a teapot being brewed. The singular small run down structure of the outhouse was nothing more than a stall of four walls with that toilet merged into the floor and a nasty looking container jammed into it. We both yucked our hearts out at the sight, but seeing as Utkarsh really had to go, he got a stick and coaxed the container out of the toilet.

The one good thing about the Classic–Indian–Toilet is that one does not sit on a seat; one merely squats above it and (hopefully, if not suffering from major gas built–up loose–ish stools which will spray over your heels cause of the way they shoot out of you when you let loose... too much info?), and whilst squatting without any need to touch your bottom to a dirty toilet seat, you let your matter drop out of you.

I don’t know if many foreigners know or realise it, but the majority of Indians worldwide douche themselves clean – therefore there is generally no toilet paper in the toilet stalls here. What you do find in a toilet stall here (Classic Desi toilet or European toilet regardless) is a faucet, a bucket and a tumbler. Our agitation with the lack of proper sanitation facilities in the sanctuary was exacerbated by the fact that the faucet was dry... no water, no clean after dooty, no clean after dooty – no want to do dooty...

So... Utkarsh decided to hold on because he figured that we’d be up and down the “hill” before you could say “let’s waddle our fat, city bred, unfit butts up this hill”. That turned out to be something of a mistake as well.

The rest of the Gay Bombay crowd arrived at the venue; 90% of which were hot looking, cold and drenched guys – a sight to keep you moving through most adversities. The organisers went through the usual motions of “what now?” and “do we go this way or that way?” and “where’s Uma? He knows where we’re supposed to be heading.” After which we all started to clamber up a mild slope with the light of salvation shining in our monsoon soaked eyes.

The rest of the trip was hell.

At the end of it all Avinash decided to spew his gall by blithely saying on the drive back home, “You know, I get irritated when people blame the organisers for whatever problems they have during such excursions. If they just bothered to read the posts covering the details on the GB website, they’d have gotten fair warning about all that they needed to prepare. This was a trek... what do you think a trek is?”

This was followed in the honest to God, true gay spouse, queen-on-her-throne-denouncing-the-culprit fashion with Pankaj reiterating Avinash's spam with, “You know Prakash, I’ve been on such a trek before and the group leader told us then that if you don’t feel such hopeless, disconsolate and inconsolable discomfiture during the rigours of the trek; why, you’ve not experienced a trek at all.”

Thank you Pankaj for telling me that now, as you smugly think about all the pain you’ve endured and surpassed. Dear Pankaj, you want pain? The next time that you feel this masochistic need for the thrill of being hundreds of feet above level ground, being pounded by torrential rains, navigating precarious vertical climbs of more than seven to eight feet, harassed by the incessant search for safe footholds on moss–slicked, lichen blanketed, mud–entombed rocks; please COUNT.... ME.... OUT...!

I was forced to agree with Avinash though. It was entirely my own fault. The whole idea of going on this “trek” was Utkarsh’s idea. He was informed by the blithe Mr. Avinash and did not read further. I trusted Utkarsh, and through him, Avinash about the safety and comfort of this trek. My faith was sadly, utterly misplaced.

Here, I feel the need to very clearly state my mind. Very clearly, so that no one can misinterpret my thoughts and opinions:

If you consider yourself to be a close friend of someone, does that not make you responsible for knowing the likes and dislikes of said person? I know that I would NEVER take acquiescence to partake in a risky venture of ANY sort for granted on my friend’s part. Avinash and Pankaj did just this.

How can you trust your friends after such an incident? I tell you, I did not feel safe in the LEAST on that trek!

While in my school years I NEVER succumbed to peer pressure to do the silly antics that youths require as the charge for initiation into popularity. I’m a very play–it–safe sort of guy. I am not ashamed of the fact that I want to live a full and long life with all limbs intact. No amount of peer pressure could ever make me step beyond the limits of what I knew to be physically safe.

No, it took the pressure of love to do that.

I love Utkarsh with all my heart and he was SO keen on reaching the top of the hill with that gang. He is very much a sucker to the goading of peer pressure. After only five minutes climbing that mini–mountain without any gear, any supervision and torrential rain, my gut instincts were HOLLERING at me to stop this mad climb up insecure footholds and to return to the security of flat land. I even thought of mentioning it to Utkarsh three or four times but couldn’t work up the courage. I’m bitching about this climb like I almost died, I know, but I am NOT exaggerating when I say that the climb was TRECHEROUS. If I didn’t know that Utkarsh would be mortified if I opened my mouth and complained about it on the group, I’d write in to the organisers and ask them why they didn’t cancel the climb or at least warn against the dangers of proceeding?

You know what REALLY pisses me off? Everyone brushed of the danger as if it was nothing! NOTHING! What absolute bull’s cock’s piss! Frigging insane they are I tell you! This climb was blessed by the God of Fools with and full frigging TRUCKLOAD of Fools Luck! Some of the plateaus we walked across were only around six to eight feet wide. I admit that during the dry season this climb might have been not only feasible but very much enjoyable as well. But one misstep, one loss of footing could have sent an unfortunate over the side of the hill and rolling a nearly sheer drop down thirty to forty feet of slick vegetation, over God knows how many sharp rocks or tree stumps.

Why don’t people here in India appreciate the fragility of the human body? They seem to take their wholeness of limb for granted.

Well, no matter how much I rant on about the riskiness of the whole journey (driving down flooded highways included), I will not be able to portray just how chancy it was.

The whole climb up Karnala Hill took me and Utkarsh around one and a half gruelling hours (maybe more, I don’t remember clearly). After around 45 minutes of steadily worse terrain we reached the first plateau and it was when we reached another steep climb that I finally pleaded that we not go further. He was adamant that we move on as we “must be near the top anyways.” What could I say to that? I thought to myself, “Ya... the top must be around the bend”...

I was horridly wrong as that first plateau was only the half–way point of what we ended up climbing.

When we’d climbed up another 40 minutes worth (across another two deceptive plateaus which only lead to more steep climbs), we reached a third plateau. There was a miniature temple of Durga Maa there which made us think we were at the top. We stopped and paid a minute long obeisance to the Devi and continued forward, eager to catch up to the first few (hottest and strongest) guys of the group.

Two guys were sitting in the pouring rain, a portly fellow in his mid–thirties and a younger guy in his early twenties. When I enquired about how much further the fort was Portly Guy said, “Just forget about it! It’s not even close! There’s another steep climb after which you just simply cannot go further!”

Hearing this I was pretty disappointed. Both Utkarsh and I thanked him for the bad news and insisted that we would press on to see for ourselves. If you ever read this Mr. Portly Guy (I’m sorry for using a physical description of you as your name... truly I mean no offence!) then you should know that you were SO right and pressing on was just a waste of effort and if could have seen it through your eyes I’d have spared myself the exertion!

We encountered the steepest of climbs that day just a couple ten or twelve metres further down the path. After climbing it was another short trail which lead to a boulder type of stone protrusion that was around twelve to fourteen feet high. There were two paths to the top of that – the first was to climb the vertical face in front of us (very difficult seeing as the rain had made the surface slick). The second was to inch around the protrusion to the other side where there was a less steep and (if not for the rain) more manageable climb over it.

We turned back there at my adamant insistence. I was truly scared at what lay around the side of the boulder because the path to the other side was a two feet wide mud–slicked goat’s trail with a pure as–you’ve–always–imagined–it cliff face. The drop from that goat/dear trail would have been at LEAST 30–40 metres – for an amateur climber it was a 90% chance of “enjoy the ride, it’s your last, and it lasts only 20 seconds”.

I forbade Utkarsh from even stepping on the trail (I’d taken a few steps forward on it) because he was wearing smooth soled sneakers. I had leather shoes with a certain amount of grip on them which made me feel a teensy–weensy bit more secure.

More guys were appearing at the foot of the protrusion and I made my way off the path–for–over–confident–goats exclaiming all the way that “Really, it’s not worth it, just turn around and congratulate yourself on getting this far. Don’t risk it, we are not professionals!”

We then started to bum slide our way back down to the temple–plateau. That was our first taste of what the exodus back down the “hill-or–should–I–say–mini–mountain” would be like. We met Mr. Portly Guy who was still sitting dejectedly with his erstwhile young friend. There we also encountered Avinash and Pankaj and gave them the good news. They both had silly grins on their faces that I very much wanted to sand–paper off of them.

Milan heard the news and continued up to see the “large rock” and just how impassable it was. Duh... what is this called? Herd mentality? I wonder...

Anyhow... Pankaj was beyond soaking, he was soaking and turning blue with the cold caused by being drenched and standing in a high wind. Talk about silly dolts eh? Mind you, he deserved every ounce of discomfort because of all the over–confidence he was and does continue to ooze from his smug self–assurance. Utkarsh and I had brought with us three rain jackets of which the third was passed on to Avinash. All talk of reading prerequisites and requirements for the trek aside, Avinash and Pankaj did not bring any water, nor did they bring a knapsack to carry supplies in; and to top it all off, they did not wear a single thread of wet/cold weather gear. Duh... just duh.

We waited for Milan and began our arduous and ever–so–slightly­ less risky bum–slide down the rest of the mountain. Utkarsh’s stomach decided to start openly protesting his insistence on holding his potty inside when we got down one plateau later. From then on the bum–sliding was punctuated with thirty second to one minute stops for him to “push it back up”. The poor dear... I TOTALLY get what he was going through and had wasted some ten minutes during the McDonalds breakfast stop trying to push out SOME amount of potty so that I’d not feel the pressure on the trek. I don’t know why God decided to side with me that day but even though I’d not defecated one iota I was okay in that aspect throughout the whole trek, from home to hill to home. This is not a usual behaviour for my body so I’m pretty sure it was Divine Intervention. Thank you God, I appreciate it!

Well, we got back down the hill (no amount of writing can describe this experience and just HOW AWFUL it was). By the time we’d reached the half way mark I was constantly in need of Utkarsh’s support. Every step I took, every bend of my knees was agony. For a dancer that is a very scary thing... the date is currently Friday, August 11, 2006 and my knees are still complaining, albeit, less than that day and the few days after it.

Knee pains signify the end of your career in dancing.

I REALLY wanted to rub the smirking, smug and self–centered twist–of–lips–called–grins off of Avinash and Pankaj’s faces!

In the car on the way back I told them (in a polite and civilised way, very much against what my whole being was screaming to do) that I wish they’d not have made this trek sound like a simple walk up a very steep path.

You see, Pankaj and Avinash had come here before (Pankaj twice), albeit, not in such wet and heavy rainy–conditions. Still, on the drive to the Karnala Hill when both Milan and I asked about the nature of the terrain, he made it sound like it was a paved path. Frigging Goat–On–Smelly–Cheese–Hell; he made the whole of the Bird Sanctuary sound like a piece of heaven. The reality was FAR beneath all our (mine, Utkarsh’s and Milan’s) expectations. I know that if I said to Pankaj that I was disappointed that there was no toilet he’d laugh at my city–dweller ways.

Well, city–dweller I am. I slog my ass off throughout the week doing my chores and duties like everyone else. I HATE it when other people decide what is right and good for you. I feel like smacking them and reminding them that I am an adult now and that they should trust me to know what I like and don’t like by now! I DO NOT slog my ass off all week so that you can beguile me into an arduous, treacherous and extremely PAINFUL trek! I do NOT enjoy pain, especially if it is accompanied with dangerous conditions. As a dancer I am no stranger to pain, but asking me to risk life or limb of my partner or me goes WAY beyond what I’m willing to acquiesce to! What gave you the right to downplay the onerousness of this excursion? It was a lie by omission if you ask me.

I make very few friends in life – some of you reading by blog by now will probably be thinking “Well, as bitchy as this guy seems to be, it’s no tall wonder!” But tell me, don't you have a right to be able to trust those you think are close to you?

I’ve made few friends in life because I give a lot to them if I feel they are worth befriending. I don’t befriend a person without a relative degree of certitude in their trustworthiness. Such occurrences as what happened on that day, the behaviour I observed and the lack of sensitivity in regards to my personal preferences has always been a sign that the end of the relationship is in sight.

I’m not a hypocrite my dear reader. If I know that a person doesn’t like something, I don’t try to beguile them into doing it. If I don’t know their preference, then I bloody well make an effort to find out what they would prefer. I don’t this whatchamacallit behaviour. I don't do it cause I hate being on the receiving end of it – this being one of the few lessons of Christ that I have heard and follow; something that goes like “Treat thy neighbour as thou wouldst have them treat you.” Or something close to that, I think you get what I’m trying to say.

Moving on... (at last you sigh :o)

After everyone met up at the bottom of the hill again, our group started deliberating on exactly how we were to change into our spare clothes. I got fed up with their indecisiveness and went to beg leave to use a dirty little side room I’d noticed before the climb in the administrative building. I kept thinking about how we (including the rest of the GB group), a group of some 40 people paid at least Rs.20 per head and did not even have access to something as simple as a clean toilet cubicle. The guy in charge, one Mr. Marathe, was very obliging in letting us use the lobby of one of the cottages to change clothes in (he did not specify if we could use the toilet of the said cottage and we were all in full throttle cow mentality so did not think to step beyond his “good will” Rs.20 per head or not).

That done we had a subdued lunch in Avinash’s cramped car. Avinash had tripped while walking down the cottage’s steps after changing and his scraped shin was bleeding when he returned to the car. Pankaj, being a doctor and all, did have a medical kit with him and handed the requested gauze and antiseptic to Avinash.

The drive home was disturbed by two more things. The first being that same flooded underpass that I mentioned. It did get worse in the hours that we were climbing and bum–sliding and so the car almost stalled while we were pushing through the two feet deep water. Some of the water came in on my side thereby soaking my feet again. It had been so pleasant to be dry after the two and a half hours of miserable soaked–ness and having to go the rest of the one hour drive with wet feet in a miniature puddle was almost teeth–clenchingly too much to bear. Avinash did stop a minute later at my adamant insistence and I bailed out the puddle.

The second annoyance came in the form of Pankaj’s subtle self–centeredness. As we were driving back Utkarsh asked Avinash if he could drive us home. As my place is no more than an extra ten minutes from Avinash’s place he said yes and we said that everyone could come up and we’d all have a nice hot cup of tea as my parents are out of town. Agreed and happy. Then just as we were reaching the junction from which Pankaj’s house was accessible he turned–coat and used that polite and commonsense tone that makes arguing between “friends” “contemptible”. He said, “Hey, since we’re so close to my house, why don’t we all head there to have tea instead?” Pankaj’s parents were home, there was NO way any of us would feel comfortable in our dilapidated conditions being prim and proper doing the “Namaste Aunty. Namaste Uncle...” routine.

Do you ever just know what the intention is behind something someone says? I knew that the offer of tea at his place was just a way to me and Utkarsh off the boat so that he and Avinash could go to his room and get comfy instead of driving the extra ten minutes to drop us off at our house. Inconsiderate along with conniving – if I’ve ever seen an evil combo, that is it.

We got off with our politely fake smiles denying his insincere hospitality. We had to wait an extra ten minutes of agonised foot shifting for an empty auto–rickshaw to pass by and carry us home.

Reaching home we bathed and slept.

I can HONESTLY say that that Sunday was one of the most painful, scary and unpleasant days of my life. Blame, who to blame but myself for allowing myself to be dragged there when it had been raining continuously since the previous night? Who to blame but myself when I allowed myself to be convinced into climbing an imperiously dangerous mountain without proper gear or guidance? Who but myself can I blame for being afraid of Utkarsh’s disapproval if I called him down for being susceptible to peer pressure?

Who would believe that at twenty–seven years of age a man can still be as childishly susceptible to peer pressure as Utkarsh is???

If their’s a moral to be learned here I think it isn’t just one. I also think I already know and understand the lessons of that Sunday but do I really have the strength of character to follow what is right? I know I’m not talking about world changing debacles, but then, what is a mountain if not millions of pebbles put together?

What fliberty–gibbet foolishness is that, you say...

Guess what, the Namaz is proclaiming the time as 5am again, maybe that’s why I’m spewing such drivel now... or maybe it’s enlightened insight of the highest order... the decision of the wisdom here is entirely up to you...

God bless you :o)

Until next I write :o)

August 7th, 2006: Through rain & heavier rain, we shall persist. Unless it’s dangerous - Part 1 of 2 :o|

So, this is the day following my ordeal concerning wires, routers and cheating networking–engineers from customer–unfriendly cable internet ISPs.

Utkarsh woke up at 4am cause this was the day of our long awaited trip to the Karnala Fort in the Karnala Bird Sanctuary; located some 17kms west of New Mumbai. He got up to make preparations for food and clothing as this was intended to be a picnic–type trip.

I got out of bed ten minutes later thinking to help him; I was greeted with a ghastly sight (for me at least).

Following is a tirade of complaints that 9 out of 10 people I know will think would have been unwarranted by their standards. If you are among the 1 out of 10 people who agree with me I’d REALLY like to hear your consent cause all my friends disagree with me. This makes me feel like some sort of monster and I wonder – is this what it’s like to be a parent?

My dear and beloved Utkarsh is victim to premature greying. I on the other hand have been 40% bald since the age of 16 so in my books his greying is a matter of negligible concern. The thing is that Utkarsh is nearly fanatical about his appearance in many ways (not including his waist line of the shape of his muscle–tone; he is overweight but some 10kgs and not very concerned about THAT). I don’t complain about his weight problem because, contrary to what you might think, knowing that I’m a dancer, I’m also constantly struggling with my weight and build.

Well, Utkarsh started going grey at around the age of 20 and since then had been using hair colour once a month to keep his hair dark. When I met him I expressed my deep concern about this as my Dad and Mom both had great hair until they began colouring it in their late 40’s. Their hair condition went rolling down hill steeply after that. It was too late for anything when they consulted a doctor about it and were told that it was the hair colour that was causing (especially in the case of my Mom; Daddy’s hair loss was bound to happen through pattern balding but Mom’s was avoidable if only she’d not coloured it), was causing the thinning.

I related this to Utkarsh then (sometime in the September of 2003,) some months after he’d moved in to live with me. That was one of our most memorable fights. Very loud and full of resentfully exclaimed exclamations. Anyhow, that fight came to a close when I laid an ultimatum down saying that if he wished to destroy his hair he could, but then I’d simply shave my head bald in protest. Utkarsh couldn’t stand the thought of me TOTALLY bald so he very reluctantly agreed to stop colouring his hair and to get used to a few flecks of white oh his head. Very honestly speaking, he doesn’t have more than one white hair per every four or five square centimeters so it really is not worth very much notice.

So this past Sunday morning when I go to the kitchen (in our 2 bedroom apartment) and see him looking at me sheepishly with an expression on his face saying “Yes Prakash, I know that I’ve broken another one of my few solemn promises to you and I know that you wanna shout at me and scream about broken vows – but I hope that you’ll not do anything and not get upset...” I just turned around and went back to bed.

Can you imagine what it’s like to have your puberty ruined by immature and insensitive classmates harassing you by asking you if you’re going bald? What do you say to that? Imagine that you’ve been obese since the age of eight and have been teased to tears (which you shed in the school toilet wishing life would just be over and done with)... and then, to compound things, you move on to high school hoping to grow out of your obesity and to find some favour and acceptance, only to be taunted for not JUST your wildly fluctuating waist line (I’ve been losing and gaining weight to various degrees since I became chubby at age eight), but also your now thinning hair.

With my experiences meeting Utkarsh and feeling proud about his full head of thick silky hair was part of his charm. Seeing a few grey specks in it was beneath the notice of a person who’s been without a full and solid head of hair since his mid–teens. I didn’t want him to lose out on the blessing of looking normal in at least that physical aspect and that’s why I’d asked him to not colour his hair anymore. Colouring your hair definitely ruins your hair quality in the least. I can guarantee you that for SURE! I’ve seen it with my own eyes – end of argument. Even hair colour that is ammonia free is not good. It is a touch less harmful than those with ammonia but what is 1^st hand smoke compared to 2^nd hand (2^nd hand smoke being more deadly than 1^st hand smoke – but then, is there much difference when you are a chain smoker???).

I lay down in the bed and thought bitterly of how our friends think I’m full of hot air and am a control freak for demanding that Utkarsh NOT colour his hair.

He came into the room and sat beside me and I ignored him. I was fuming with thoughts about how I was gonna shave my head and come home to him to show him a bald and shiny pate. I was visualising his response and his remorse at finding me fully bald at last. Imagined revenge is sweet you know; I didn’t carry out my plans though.

As is the tradition of such arguments and disagreements and tests of endurance, we started with coldly muted voices which were followed by an increase of temperature as we both got worked up further and further. Then he said “I know that I’ll always lead a suppressed life as long as I live with you!” After which he got up and began to leave the room. I lay back down on the bed and turned my head away from him. As he put his hand on the door knob he halted and then with a sort of puppy–dog–whine sort of sound he sat back down and put his head on my chest saying, “I’m sorry.”

We both knew what that sorry was for – not for the actual root of the argument, for breaking his promise but for saying something so unforgiving and ultimate as that statement of extreme discontent. When you’ve managed to live with a person for three years, you know that you are compatible in most ways. Saying something like that is like saying that those last three years meant nothing to you because they were nothing but hurt. Saying something like that is like saying that you are living with a person who gives you nothing but pain because you love that someone – who in turn must not really love you; otherwise, why would they be so insensitive?

Anyhow, things got better from there for about two minutes and then it was as if he realised that he had compromised some unspoken part of his ego. He then proceeded to start flinging accusations about my behaviour with him over the last three years. I answered all these arguments with comments like, “You are forgetting what this fight is about. You promised that you would never colour your hair again and today you broke your promise for the third time!”

Yes, he had broken this promise twice before. Both times we fought about it but not as badly as this. My main point was that when you promise something you don't break your word, otherwise how can you be trusted thereafter?

This is all really shaky ground because the basic current of trust and respect for your partner does NOT hinge on the maintenance of such promises. It DOES depend on the respect for your partner’s reasons for extracting a promise and his right to communication and debate when something is disagreed about. You don’t just go and do whatever you want without first clearing it with your partner. This is a two–way street and both partners have to be clear about what they feel are important issues. When an issue is declared by one partner as being important, then it is IMPERATIVE the other partner not make a joke of that issue, or take it lightly.

I’ve noticed that Utkarsh has the “offensive–defensive” habit. Whenever he does something that is unfair/unjust he tries to get away with it by going on the offensive and bringing up issues that are irrelevant to the issue being fought over. I hate this thing; my sister does it all the time to. When I first got involved with Utkarsh it was because it seemed that he was level headed and had a strong sense of right and wrong. That meant to me that I’d never have to worry about him lying to me. I hate lies, I know I’ve mentioned it before. I also hate it when people dig up things you’ve done wrong from the past to take attention away from the mistakes they’ve done in the present. That’s a real bitch of a way to make an argument drag on.

I didn’t mention it, but we were supposed to leave the house by 5:30am so that we could meet Pankaj and Avinash at their house. Avinash was to be the chauffeur for this journey to the Karnala Hill. By the time Utkarsh and I had reached the heated stage of our argument it was already 5:20am. What a mess no?

I guess we really started shouting at each other because we were both feeling the pressure of being late to meet with the others. This argument had become even more harrowing because I was mortally offended by the supposedly “small” indiscretion of Utkarsh colouring his hair and he had been hoping that the fact we were supposed to be leaving the house quickly would forestall any upset I might feel at this offence.

So... what did we do?

We shouted louder and louder until my sister woke up and came and told me to stop shouting.

She then went on to ask Utkarsh why he bothered to stay with me as all I ever did was make everyone blame everyone for every small thing I felt. She also started to recount numerous fights that she and I had in the past and how I never did anything but give ultimatums and bully people into doing things my way...

I don't like my sister. I don’t get along with her one single bit. I have tonnes of things to say about her so I’ll just keep that for another blog too.

Utkarsh told me just yesterday that no one likes a cribber. I’ve spent most of my life listening to people crib, complain and whine about their problems and upsets. I listen to them and offer a shoulder to cry on. I sympathise with them and try to see things from their point of view. I try to feel an empathy with both them and those that they are complaining about and I try to find a way to resolve the complaint. I’ve been doing this for my Mom and Dad since I was small.

It really irks me that Utkarsh thinks I whine a lot. The thing that makes it worse is that he is right when you compare him and me. He is Cancerian (for those of you who follow astrology... you know what that means!), which translates as a close mouthed individual who never talks about those issues which are eating them up from the inside.

It never ceases to amaze me when I think of how I used to think we were so alike and now over three years have slowly found out about how different we are! That doesn’t mean I don’t love him whole heartedly! It just means that things will never be as smooth as I dreamed they would be at the beginning of our relationship. I know that he feels the same. I also know that he doesn’t want to live without me, in the same way that I don’t want to live without him.

When my sister came into the room to announce her feelings on how I was a control freak without waiting to hear about the who–did–what, I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I very coolly said “No, I won’t shout anymore; you are all right and I’m totally wrong and I’m just sorry I am such a control freak.”

I went into the bathroom that sits in Utkarsh and my bedroom, locked the door and sat on the toilet to stew in my cold fury.

Minutes passed. My sister had intruded on the lover’s quarrel at 5:40am and I sat in the toilet until around 6am (the time to leave was at 5:30am you’ll recall). Then at around 6am Utkarsh knocked on the door and asked me what I was doing and if I still wanted to go to the trek. I answered after a minute or so by opening the door and asking him to come in.

I pulled him to me as I sat on the toilet and hugged him around the waist as he cradled my head to his stomach.

When he’d knocked on the door, there was in his tone of voice an announcement that he was sorry that I’d had to hear my sister spew venom because of something he did. That one small show of sympathy was enough for me to want to just dissolve.

As he stroked my hair he said he was sorry and asked me once more if I still was up to going. I said yes and asked him the time. From there it was a mad rush to make up for the time spent arguing...

It’s 5:00am on Tuesday, August the 8^th and I’m REALLY tired! I guess that I’ve made a novel out of just 4 hours worth of life yet again!

I’m gonna post this on the blog now as part one of maybe two or three parts to cover the events of this last Sunday – and then I’m going to sleep before the damned Namaz Loud Speaker Society of Insensitive Muslim Clergymen, Jogeshwari Branch, decide to blast at full volume, once again, as they do EVERYDAY (and remarkably at the exact same minute), about how they LOVE God and greet the day with full gusto!

This post is officially, to–be–continued...

Till next I write :o)