Chapter 6: A Short Detour

I forgot to mention that I brought the food tray down, to use as a table, to write. This was one of those thoughts that slipped past me, as new came tumbling through. It has revisited me now and I can write about it. I am a little worried that while I do that, there will be more ideas that will disappear before I can catch them. I am going to have to let them pass. What I do not know won't hurt me. Right? 

I had the book on my lap and my sheets on the book. From the corner of my eye, I noticed her pull down the food tray from the seat in front of her and use that as a table. I kicked myself gently for not thinking of that earlier. Heck, I have too many things going on in my head to come up with ideas of my own. Anyway, I could not pull the tray down right then, lest she find out that I have been watching her. To save my pride, I forced myself to keep writing on my lap. 

I can not take it any longer. Down comes my tray. Wow. This is comfortable! Except, I should have taken out another fresh sheet of paper from my bag before I did this. I am pretty sure that I would have thought of using the tray as a table and getting all my sheets in order, if I was not so busy multi-tasking. I am observing her, trying to find out more about her, writing about her, looking out the window and watching the scenery change, writing about that, trying to ignore the pain developing in my fingers and moving up to my elbows. Being a writer is not easy, no matter what you are writing. Enough with fighting with myself. Moving on. 

I am thinking the words aloud in my mind and that is slowing me down too. I tried writing faster once or twice but my fingers fly about, making marks on paper which I am quite confident I will not be able to read later. I need to write legibly or this whole exercise will have been in vain. The nagging thought in my head is whether she has noticed that I am writing and whether she is on to the fact that she is the protagonist in this hour of my life. She probably has noticed and surely has no idea about her involvement. Imagine if I had one of my clumsy moments and one of my sheets landed in her lap! She would casually glance at what I am writing and, if I am unlucky enough, make out a sentence or two that I have written about her. That would be embarrassing and hilarious? I feel like laughing out aloud but I can't. 

Gosh, it is amazing how different it is to write than to type. The handwriting, the speed, the fingers hurting because I grip too hard, the pencil lead running out, etc. Not to mention, no smiley faces!

It is still blazing hot outside. It will be 9:30PM when I arrive in Melbourne. They are an hour ahead of Brisbane. The T20 match will be over. I wonder if we won this one at least. I am almost loathe to check. I know I will. I can't resist. I am not expecting us to win this one, given the way we have been playing recently but it will be welcome. Like an oasis in a desert. 

What is with all the desert references today? 

I may not have written in a while but I find that I remember most of the rules my teachers taught me in school. This is a pleasant surprise. The tab before a new para, the double arrowhead for 2 words inserts, that my teachers discouraged in essays but said I could use in casual letters to my friends. I took advantage of that alright. Letters I wrote to my friends, during school holidays, would be filled with arrows and asterisks. Every inch of the "inland letter" would be crammed. I had eventually moved on to writing in paper and stuffing them into envelopes, so I had more space for my news. The inland letters were reserved for short code messages. I always have so much to say. My thoughts would fly quickly, old ones pushing the new ones out of my mind and I had to write fast enough to be able to catch them all as they made their way past the window of my mind's eye. That is exactly the same thing happening to me now!

I keep forgetting that I am writing with a pencil and I can erase. Another of my habits my teachers absolutely hated and I could not stop myself from doing, was 'scratching and rewriting'. I am doing that now, even though I could just as easily erase and write over. I do not think I am going to bother much with that, anyway. It is easier to scratch and move on, at this speed. I am not being marked for this essay. It does not matter whether I score out words or I overwrite them.

Chapter 5: Fast and Furious

The scenery outside has changed now. The floaty, wonderland look has disappeared. I don't see any clouds around me any more. Oh, there they are! We have flown way above the clouds now. Down below me, the clouds form a desert-like appearance. It looks like an expanse of white sand with bluish-grey (or greyish blue) shadows of the little dunes everywhere. It is picturesque in a way that only deserts can be. The sky is a clear blue. It is a dark shade of blue. It looks hot. It is the sun that I can see from the periphery of my window and the flash of blinding white in the horizon that must be giving it that appearance. The air around me looks pretty hot too. The kind of air that one might find in the desert. Is it really hot out there? Isn't it supposed to be cooler as we go higher? I am a little confused by all the science and literature mixing in my head now.

I have always thought sky blue was a pastel colour. I am not sure why I thought that. I guess I just liked that colour better than the other shades when I looked up in the sky. As a kid, I used to want a dress of the pale blue shade of the sky, with white lace. I don't think I ever got one because I wanted the perfect shade or not at all. Even I was never sure what the perfect shade was. I was a strange kid alright. I even used to create my own words and attach meanings to them. I have always visualized words in pictures and colours. Sky blue was a pastel blue with pale edges. It almost sounds like Autism, doesn't it? I am not smart enough, so that can be ruled out.

Ellie, beside me, is scribbling away non-stop. It might appear that I am just looking out the window and thinking strange things but that is not true. I am writing real fast too. I am trying hard to keep up with the speed of my thoughts. She looks as if she has an epic novel in her head and wants to pen it down before she forgets something. I can see her referring to her big book every now and then. If I had not seen earlier that it was a book on Architecture, I would swear that it is a dictionary or a map. She is not quite reading long before she gets back to her writing. A quick peek and she is back to her script. The way she is making those elaborate notes, I am leaning towards project work. She is clearly not writing off the big book. Her body language is screaming to me that the words are dropping off her head on to paper. 

With one seat between us, there is not much I can see. I am looking at her through my peripheral vision, too, as I write. That is not helping either. It is the only way I can do this, though. If I stopped to turn and look, I would not only draw her attention but my thoughts would run away before I can put them down. It is hard enough catching up with the writing as I think. It would be near impossible to think, then form the sentences again on to paper. I already feel as if I am missing a few sentences here and there. 

I wonder if she has noticed that I am writing too. If she has, does she have similar questions running through her head as I do? She seems to be concentrating on her work but girls have a way of noticing things, without letting on. I am fairly confident that she is aware that I am writing. It is not clear to me how aware she is. Has she realized that I only started writing a little after she started? Probably not. She might just brush it off as me settling in, before I started to write. Not everyone walks in with a paper and pen in hand and gets down to scribing as soon as their bum hits the seat. Let me see. She knows that I am writing. She does not know that I am writing because of her. She surely does not realize that I am writing about her. 

Now, that would be funny. Imagine if she found that out. She might want to rip my sheets. If she is sufficiently freaked out, she might make some noise and get one of the crew to throw me out. Out of the seat, I mean, not the plane. That would be ridiculous! They would not kill someone for writing that the girl sitting next to me is writing about something. She does not seem to care anyway. I have nothing to worry about, for the moment at least. This is just me playing out weird scenes in my head. I don't think I have anything to worry about at all.

The air-hostesses are wheeling the food and drinks trolley down the aisle now. I used to travel in flights where they serve that stuff for free but, with the cheap flights these days, I have to buy food. Sometimes I do but today I am determined not to. I have eaten at the airport and I have a bottle of Coke Zero with me. 

"Mmmm, the coffee smells great!" 

I had better take a sip of my coke and get some caffeine into my body. The ladies are just one seat away from me now. I'm beginning to feel a little bit of stress. I have not decided whether I will polite refuse to buy anything or ignore them and pretend to be concentrating on my work. I am not good at acting and I really cannot ignore people. What am I going to do?

"No, thank you", I smiled at her. Not much thinking involved there. I did what I would do, inevitably. 

Elle is not buying anything either. She has a bottle of water she has been sipping from. Apparently, she has better dietary habits than I. I bet she did not buy chicken from Red Rooster at the airport either. 

All this movement inside the plane has increased the contents flying through my head. I am writing furiously now. My fingers are beginning to feel the pressure. More and more sentences are flying past, that I can't seem to pick up. It does not appear to be affecting my narrative, so I will let it be. There is no sense in going back to collect those thoughts now. I need fresh paper, quick. There it is!

Chapter 4: Alice In Wonderland

We are flying above the clouds now. Actually, we are flying through the clouds. It is a sort of white all around and a little grey. Every now and then we pass through the clouds. It gets misty and whitish. Of course, we do not feel a thing because we are in a plane but each time we pass through a cloud, I mentally prepare myself to feel cold and wet. My imagination must be working overtime. In reality, I might as well be in a car, driving through mist. It does not feel any different from that. There are no speed-bumps in the sky, if that counts for anything. If there were air pockets, or whatever it is they call those things that rock the plane, they would have made up for the bumps on the road. 

Sometimes it looks as if we will fall off the end of the road - cloud, in this case - if we kept going. Yes, it feels like we are riding on the cloud. I can see clouds splayed below me. We are most likely just flying in air but all of this is getting a bit hard to comprehend. I wonder how fantasy writers write their books. It must suck quite a bit out of them, imaging things and creating scenes in their mind that people must also relate to, even though they do not exist. I can now see why some of the stuff is written so close to reality. It is extremely difficult to completely move away from reality and create something that the readers can relate to. We understand Quidditch because it sounds like cricket and has similar rules. Imagine if Rowling had made up something totally random. Say, she called it Bingaloo and made up new rules to go. Even if the readers did understand it, it might be a little hard to retain as they cut through the book. I feel quite drained myself, when I finish a fantasy novel. Writing it cannot be easy.

I took off on my own train of thoughts there, didn't I? A picture of me sitting inside a train, in a fast moving car, just passed through my head. 

The end that I am worried about falling off of, is quite far. Well, there is no such end really, but it does look like all these clouds end somewhere out there and we will run out of ground to drive on. I can see gaping holes among the clouds now. There are quite a few on my right. Since I do not feel any bumps, I am assuming that there are no potholes where we are driving. The potholes (shall I call them cloudholes?) are quite fascinating themselves. We just passed by one of them quite closely. It looks like there are curtains on both sides of us. I am reminded of Hover Car Racer. Matthew Reilly describes it so well. I am going to steal his imagination here and say, where he had brown and grey hard rocks on either side of the path, we have fluffy white and grey clouds. Our plane is zooming past them, just like his cars. They were racing. We are not.

I might as well be in one of the adventures of The Journey To The Centre Of The Earth series. Yeah, it sure feels like it. It is like the real earth but with a touch of unreality. Does that make sense? I cannot think of a better way to describe it. It is exhilarating! I would do nothing else at this moment than be flying in the sky, in an airbus, experiencing the magic of floating through the clouds!

It is kind of funny but I have flown from the same airport at least 3 times, in the past, but I have never managed to find the toilets. It happened again today and I was forced to wait till I got on the flight. I still have not been, mind you. I saw this girl, Elle, writing and got bitten by the bug myself. The fact that she is on the aisle seat, writing so intently, has further deterred me from going. I have to excuse myself, break her line of thoughts and interrupt her. It just does not feel worthwhile. I would rather let her write. I need to go but I am going to wait for her to take a break from writing, before I do. Either that or I am desperate enough that I cannot not be bothered to be nice. I hope it does not come to the latter, though, because if I made a dash for it and found myself having to wait in line at the bathroom, I will just about burst.

She is writing non-stop. I wonder what it is about. I wonder if she has noticed that I am writing too. Does she think it is a coincidence or does she realize that I am copying her? I wonder if I will ever find answers to these questions. It would be funny if I nudged her and asked her. What would be funnier is if I told her that I was copying what she was writing, or if I actually did that. I don't think that is possible, from this distance. The thought tickles me, though.

Chapter 3: Of Clouds and An Architect

It is imperative that I forget at least one thing when I pack. That is why I make a list. The trouble with a list is that if it is not on the list, it will not go into the bag and consequently, what was forgotten at the time of making the list are items that missed the bag.

Once I, Miss Villager, got on the plane, I reached the point in time where, not only could I not retrieve what I had forgotten to pack but I could not buy them at the airport stores either. Obviously, that is the moment when the things forgotten are finally remembered. I strapped myself into my seat and it hit me all at once. No ear-plugs, no belt for my jeans or my dress and no dongle. All of which were on my mind while making the list but slipped off before they could hit the paper. Fortunately, none of them were so important as to hamper the weekend.

Soon enough, the crew made the usual announcements, asking passengers to turn off their mobile devices, strap on their seatbelts and explained the emergency procedure. I half-listened to what was being said, as I am sure most of us who fly often do, until the speaker said something about it being minutes before the "blast off". That made me sit upright! It was the first time I had heard that term being used for take-off. When I fly international, I see warnings on walls that terms like bomb, blast, etc, are to be avoided in conversations, at an airport. So, hearing the air-hostess (do they still call them that?) say blast-off set off warning bells in my head. Nobody around me appeared to be reacting to it and, of course, it was nothing to get worked up about. I spent the next few seconds running it in my head and wondering if that was a term they used internally, to describe the jet fuel being blasted off and what other terminology was used in their training that was different from what the rest of the world gets to hear. I made a mental note to watch more episodes of Air Crash Investigation in the future, to familiarize myself with the aircraft terminology and inside stories.

As the plane blasted off, I looked out the window. My favourite part of a flight is take-off and landing. I love looking out of the window and watching the changing scenery. The bird's eye view of the earth below is always so lovely. Brissie looked quite good from up above too. The picture of the vast expanse of light and dark shades of green, the dark grey roads, little brown hills, winding river at the bottom and cumulus clouds hovering above them, was marvellous!

As we kept ascending, more and more clouds came into view, blocking the view of the earth below. There seemed to be more clouds in the sky than I had noticed when I was on the ground. The clouds below me were pristine white and appeared to be stationary, while the grey ones above me were moving really fast. It felt strange. Obviously we were moving at the speed of the white clouds and the grey ones were moving at a different speed, so the eye sensed them different. If I put the science asshole aside, the scene that played outside the window was fascinating. As we moved through the clouds, I felt like I was in Wonderland. There were so many fluffy things around me. Every now and then, when we flew right through one, it was like walking through walls, in the Harry Potter stories. The initial excitement over, I decided that I needed to fly more often. Clearly, it had been too long if I felt like this during the first few minutes of a flight that I had taken at least twice in the past.

The view inside the plane was less scenic than outside but definitely not less enjoyable. The best part of my seat was not just being at a window seat but having no one next to me. It was a 3-seater and there was a thin girl, dressed in tight jeans, tee-shirt and a loose jacket sitting in the aisle seat. Between us, there was one empty seat. It left me enough room to watch her, without being too obvious about it. I could see her scribbling away in a little notebook. After a short while, she opened the bigger book on her lap and skimmed through the contents before writing in her little book again. While at first, I has assumed she must be writing some sort of literature, off the top of her head, I now knew that she was making notes. So, she was a student. Well, she could have been a teacher too but somehow, she did not strike me as being a teacher. Her body language was more of someone learning something or creating something. If she was not a student, she could be a worker. It was a book on Architecture, so she could have been an architect. She was definitely preparing for something. Maybe an exam, or a class next day or a project. Maybe she was just being studious.

I could not see much else. There may have been a couple of people sitting together in the 3-seater to our left but I do not recall much about them. There were a few people walking around but I did not notice them much at the time, either. For a reason I cannot explain, I was more excited by the girl in the aisle seat (let us call her Ellie), than the view I had just witnessed outside the window. Everything else around me was background. She inspired me to put pencil to paper myself. I took out a couple of sheets from my handbag and started writing.

Chapter 2: Happy Kittens

Once I got off the bus and entered the airport, I headed to the screen which announced flight times and status. I scanned the display for my flight, without really knowing my flight number. I assumed I would be able to figure it out from the airlines and the destination. I was forced to pull out my ticket and get the number, when I could not see my flight on the list. That was a little silly because I should have been able to find out with the logo of the airlines and destination, if only I had been patient enough to wait for all the pages to flash by on the screen. I could not find my flight anyway.

I was not really sure that my cheap, no-frills, flight would fly out of the same airport terminals as the rest. Some cities seem to have a terminal for these carriers, a little distance away from where the 'regular' flights fly. So, I went off to check at the information centre, where a cheerful young woman pointed me to the check-in counters. I was going to tell her that I did not really want to go to the check-in counter but a little voice in my head stopped me. I trawled in the direction she had pointed. On the way, I stopped at the display screen again and this time, found my flight. How funny is that! It was at that point it hit me that I did need to go to the check-in counter, after all. There had been no web check-in for this flight.

I stood in line and got my boarding pass fairly quickly. The girl behind the counter was one happy chick. She had "seen Daniel" that morning, which had made her day, as I heard her say to her friend in the adjacent counter. I have not the faintest clue who Daniel is but obviously he was a guy both girls were drooling over. Good for them. A happy check-in girl makes a happy customer. I got a lovely window seat out front. I could not have asked for a better one myself.

Once the check-in process was complete, the familiarity of the airport started clicking into place, in my head. Most importantly, I remembered that there were more coffee and food shops after the security checks than there were outside. I finished my pre-flight activities first and arrived at the lounge. That was easy enough. Soon, I was standing in the queue at Red Rooster for my chicken and chips, both of which were not too great. I called up a friend I was going to catch up with, during the weekend, and when that was done, settled down to play a game of Monopoly on my iPad. It was going to be at least an hour's wait, if the flight would not be delayed.

Thanks to the people around me and my iPad, I had no trouble killing time at all. The wait was absolutely delightful. That is a good start to a trip, I should say. It made me rethink my decision never to fly out of that airport again. It was definitely worth saving the $30 and the time was well-spent.

I could not finish my game before they called us to board the flight. I hit the PAUSE button on it and moved to line up for boarding. As I stood there, tucking my iPad into my backpack, it dawned on me that I now had 2 mobile devices to turn off now.

"Technology!", I spat and turned both my iPad and mobile phone off, before I chucked both in the bags.

The friend of the happy kitten, from the check-in counter, was at the door, scanning our boarding passes. I should have realized it before but I did not until I saw the girl there - the same staff did both the tasks - handing out the passes and scanning them in later. Well, that  explained why the airlines insisted on closing the check-in counters 45 minutes before boarding time. It was the most obvious thing and yet I missed it.

"Hmm... I need to be more alert!", I thought to myself.

At my turn, the girl, reading out the name of every passenger as she scanned their tickets, said to me, "Thank you, Miss Villager!"

I have known people to mis-pronounce my name and surname before. It happens so often that I expect it now. Yet, she managed to have me in splits. How could she possibly read "villager" out of that? As they say, it takes all kinds to make the world!

Chapter 1: Commute & Conversations

It was a really long journey to the airport, taking over an hour by train, followed by 45 minutes by bus. Thankfully, the bus would drop me right at the airport. All I had to do was step through the door and get in line to pick up my boarding pass. Sometimes I wonder if it is worth going through this, in order to save a few bucks. In exchange for $20 - $30, I was using up 2 hours of my life, to get to the airport. In this instance, flying interstate would take me about the same time as the trip from the city to the airport.

I have always argued that I could read a book while I am on the train and bus, thus it was not a waste of time. I would get some R&R during my journey. Also, reading tends to make the journey seem short. All I had to do was sit there, with my nose in my book, and a little while later, I would arrive at the airport.

The flaw in my theory was that on this particular day, I could not read. I was very anxious. The airlines had stopped allowing online check-ins and insisted on closing the check-in counter 45 minutes prior to boarding time. This meant that I had to be at the airport, latest within an hour of boarding time. Making an allowance for delays and based on the train time tables, the entire journey from city to city (train, bus, flight plus all the wait times) was going to take me 6 hours! That was a really long time, even if I were reading a book. All for $30!

It was too late to change anything and I had to do what I had set out to do. Sitting in the train, unable to read, worried about a zillion things, including whether I would make it in time for check-in, whether the queue would be long, etc, I stared out of the window. I was not really looking at anything outside and there were a number of tunnels along the way, so I occasionally looked around me, inside the train.

At one station, as I watched people board the train, I saw a casually dressed girl, with a pleasant face, walk in. Her attire almost made her a non-entity but yet I had noticed her. I had picked her out of all those people who boarded the train and followed her trip from the door to her seat, with my eyes. In the next few seconds, I had forgotten about her and gone back to stressing about my trip and staring out the window. That was true, until I heard conversation in the carriage that was quiet until then. It was a rather loud male voice followed by a soft female voice.

A guy, seated opposite a girl at the front, was making conversation with her. She seemed to have been listening to music on her iPad and reading or playing but she looked up when he spoke. It was the same girl I had watched earlier. Apparently, the guy had received an iPad as a Christmas present and was excited about it. Soon, the conversation moved on from iPad to iPad games, to Christmas parties and various other events that happened across different states they had both visited over the last year.

It is amazing how a simple comment like, "I have an iPad too!" can turn into a long, incessant conversation. That is just what happened. Without realizing, I had been sucked into the scene that played before my eyes.

I must admit I love eavesdropping on other people's conversations in trains and buses. It keeps my mind occupied and I find it entertaining. Most of the time. So, here I was, listening to a conversation between a girl with a very pleasant face, and an equally pleasant demeanor, and a guy whose mind had not quite caught up with the rest of the body, age-wise. The conversation was rather interesting too. They probably knew I was listening, or were at least aware that one or more people in the train were, but they did not seem particularly bothered by it. A good thing too, that. From them, I heard about different kinds of music, the Big Day Out at the coast that I had read and wondered about, similar events in other parts of the world. I found out where the guy lived and the girl, who they lived with, where they were headed and why. All information that would mean nothing to me once I get off the train and head on my journey but made the journey pleasant, as conversations tend to do.

I did not miss my book for one minute of the journey. I did not even realize how long the train journey had been. As they both got off one station after another, the latter reaching his destination one stop before mine, the carriage got quieter. It hit me then that I still had another 45 minutes of a bus ride, to reach the airport. I figured I might have to read my book after all. Only, I was not particularly enthusiastic about it that afternoon and I did not. I chose to look out the window and get a feel of the route that I had taken so often in the past but never bothered to check out. It was not too bad. Maybe it was worth the trip, after all. I saved 30 bucks and had a new travel experience to write home about.

Wander & Wonder

What do you like to do when you are in a new place? Are you there as a traveller or a tourist? A tourist is there for pleasure and just that. The experience is what life has inevitably thrown at the tourist. A traveller, on the other hand, is there first for the experience - the reason for arrival may be any, even not self-induced. A tourist fits into the realm of a definition of a traveller but not the other way round.

Having heard one too many times about quiet holidays and stinky crowds, I was quite surprised to meet a vacationer who loved to see cities - the bigger the better. It cleared a mental block, the myth that everyone on holiday is running from city life. He insisted that cities did not necessarily mean crowds. He visited places during the off-season, thereby avoiding the swarm. 

As I trawl through scores of travelogues, I notice the subtle differences in preferences. From a broad view of classifying travellers as tourists and travellers, then further as those who like to do touristy things or not or a bit of both, now I find that the list can be endless. The choices available to a traveller are far too many and permutations of those selections belie any earlier belief that one travelogue can cater to all. 

Why did you make the trip? How did you make the trip? What kind of places do you like to stay at? What do you like to see and do? Who do you like to go with? Do you like it planned or spur-of-the-moment? Long or short duration? How do you like to commute once there? How do you plan your budget? 

Give it a shot, try answering those questions. You will realize that for each question you answered, there are a subset of questions that follow. As those are answered, there are further subsets. You tick off multiple answers, for the sake of flexibility, and find yourself presented with a subset for the areas shaded with multiple colours (picture Venn Diagrams). What's more? That was not even the exhaustive list of questions, merely the ones off the top of my head.

As this realization struck, another questions jumped out at me. How do travel-writers write those guides that get so popular, without being too generic? Turns out that rule #1 of travel writing is finding different angles. Apparently, you should be able to find atleast 20 that are unique and worthy. Then you pick your best few angles and write a few pieces. Some sell, some don't. And you thought travel writing was easy? All you had to do was vomit your trip details on a page and clap the dust off your palms? There is an eye-opener.

All this is just what I have gleamed in 10 months and 4 countries of travelling. A little voice in my head says to me that there will be a lot more clearing mental blocks and sponging off dark spots before I am able to absorb enough to give some back. Disheartening but challenging. As the Aussies say, I will "see how I go".

24 Hours in KL

With the advent of Facebook, the line between the real and virtual world appears to be thinning real fast. Some complain about how fake it can get, with people lying about their statuses & locations, not to mention their details. Cut to the real world. Does every person you speak to tell you the truth? You get the point. With experience we learn to differentiate between the truth and the lies. Or maybe we don't but we probably don't care. Atleast FB allows us to make choices on what 'friends' we want to listen to. 

I've friends who have visited Kuala Lampur, I've seen pictures that they have posted on their FB pages and somehow I believed that KL was a tourist destination worth a visit. When I booked my flights to India a few months ago, I was flying via KL and saw it as my chance to take a peek. It surprised but didn't worry me that none of my friends I was talking to, in the real world (for argument sake we'll call it the real word and FB world), had been to KL or ever wanted to. I was flying there anyway, so I would check it out.

A fellow-worker who had made a trip to India along the same route as mine gave me tips on what I need to know. It made my life a hell of a lot easier once I got there, I must admit. What seemed like a long while after I landed, I finally arrived at my hotel. It thrilled me to no end to see that KL had a nightlife. At 9PM, I walked around the city. The teeming streets, the numerous pubs and the KLCC shopping centre that was open till late tickled my senses. Where I come from, everybody shuts shop at 5PM. 

The Petronas Twin Towers that the Malaysians tout as their tourist hotspot looked fabulous with the night-lights. I was raring to check it out in the morning. If you are big on malls, you will love the Suria KLCC mall. I am not. It was okay. What struck me most while I was at the mall was how the elevator worked. It took forever for the lift to come down 4 floors. Yet, people would rather wait than take the stairs. I was to find out, by and by, that it is the way the Malaysians function. Everything takes it's time. A lot of. People fritter away time like they have lots of it.

Don't let the picture of the Twin Towers fool you. While it makes a magical picture from the outside, it really is a couple of office buildings. People work there. It was built by the Petronas oil company and has become an iconic sight due to it's unique construction. The public can go to the balconies connecting the two buildings on the 42nd and 86th floors, for a price. The price is not so high in terms of the cost of the ticket but it is in terms of time. If you must visit, you probably could try their online ticketing system. Since KL is a city without much of a view, I found the effort fruitless. You might try their KL Tower instead, for it's cheaper.

You will see signs everywhere asking you to keep an eye on your things, so it is easy to believe that thievery is common there. I escaped that but found the Malaysians mostly hospitable instead (not counting the vagabonds on some streets). Their language sounds rather rough for someone who understands not a word and doesn't sound easy to pick up. It might have been a good idea to have learnt a few words beforehand, I figured. I took a chance with their local cuisine at my hotel and found it delicious. If you shack up at the Concorde, try their House Noodles with prawns.

My short stopover didn't allow for much other than that part of the city but I did read about the Cultural hub in KL which might have been good for someone who loves to experience different cultures. All said and done, I must admit that KL is not a tourist spot. It might be enjoyable for a short stay, though. They seem to have an  nightlife that you must try, a fair bit of culture and some other attractions that could keep you occupied in your daily life (viz Petrosains Science Centre, Batu Caves, etc). As for me, I will catch up on the rich culture if work took me there but otherwise, Malaysia has been crossed off my list and marked as done. 

I wish I'd seen this before I took off: http://www.travelintelligence.com/travel-writing/24-hours-kuala-lumpur

Think Of An Angel & Hear The Flutter Of Its Wings

The start of a long weekend. Saturday morning. Sleep in. Woke up at 8AM, wishing I could get a real hug!

Lucky comes, wagging her tail, when she hears me stir. My cutie-pie! I love her so much. Hugged her, rubbed her until she first sat down to enjoy the attention and finally lay down just below the bed.

The husband follows a few minutes later. First talks to Lucky. Then it's my turn. Plants a kiss on my forehead and goes out to make tea for me. Cute as it may be, I'm still wishing I could get a real hug. He suddenly turns around and flings my donkey pillow at me. "Hug this", he says. Surprised! I didn't ask for a hug, how did he know? If he knew, why didn't he hug me?

Sigh! Where is the angel whose wings flutter when you wish for...

Xmas Christmas

I always imagined Christmas as a white festival. Sheets of snow was the first picture that formed in my mind. Then came Santa in his red & white attire, reindeers, turkey (yumm), home-made wine, snow-laden pine trees, bells and balls, etcetra.

Last year, when the husband was in Germany, he painted a bleak picture of Christmas for me. All shops closed, streets empty, no restaurants, no crowds or colours. Rather disappointed, I looked towards my friend in London. Whereas the weeks leading upto Christmas are rather full of excitement and festivities, the Christmas week and the day itself are rather quiet and mostly indoors.

This year, I spoke to a couple of my colleagues in Melbourne. They do not make wine at home, one of them had not even heard of such a thing. Melbourne celebrates Xmas in summer, so there is no question of snow or reindeers. The only reference to Santa was in the email which urged me to bill my efforts on the timesheet before the week was through.

In short, the last couple of years have completely trashed the picture of Christmas in my head. The only thing common across all places were the decorated pine trees and exchange of presents. Well, not all trashed I guess.

I have a short tree that I re-use every year (artifical because we don't exactly grow pine in India, for Christmas). I decorate it. I switch on lights in the tree in the evenings. This year, I also bought a star and a wreath. I plan to bake a cake (my office has stopped distributing the small plum cake we got every year, in the name of cost-cutting). Maybe I ought to buy some wine and make some chicken.

I have been a good girl, maybe somebody will buy me a present. Here's hoping...

Lucky @ Diwali

Although I have very fond memories of Diwali from my early childhood days - sharing crackers with the kids in our colony, all the lights, sparks & colours, the dangerous tricks we tried behind our parents' backs - I haven't quiet celebrated the festival since I was about 15 years old.

Reason? I bought an adorable little puppy home then and although he didn't mind Diwali so much in the initial years (in fact he loved watching the sparks fly about), he grew up to hate it. The noise terrified him and he would climb all over us, scratching us generously with his paws and snapping at the slightest touch. He loved mum so much that if she went alone, he'd have to follow her, no matter how scared he was and he would bark at the top of his voice until she came back in. He worried that something would happen to her and that was a greater concern for him than his own fear. It's heartening to see that kind of love. I wonder if one human can give another that.

Three years ago, he passed away. It was just a month before my wedding and for a couple of years after that I did not want to participate in any celebrations. I still miss him sometimes but the number of times has lessened as the days roll by. I think of him often. Well, this is not a blog about Sonu, so I will move on. Maybe I'll write one for him later, there's so many memories I carry!

I say it like a joke but it could just be true. Lucky came to stay in my house almost like a dowry, a few months into my marriage. Like the maid-in-waiting of a princess who follows the young bride, to serve her in her new home. Although she was jealous of me when I first moved into my in-laws' place, she adjusted pretty well once she moved into my own place.

The year before my marriage, she had had a bout of fits during Diwali. All the noise had freaked her out. Ever since, we had been worried about her, especially around this time. It's been 3 years since then and she has shown no signs of relapse (thank God for that). On the other hand, she has grown to be curious. This Diwali she went down to the garage with the family, where they lit crackers - sparklers, flower-pots and the like. I missed the party but I heard stories about her that pleased me!

Instead of being scared of the noises or the 'fire', she was intrigued. She was excited about the sparks that flew about and went searching for them on the ground as they disappeared. She is the only dog I've heard of who would do such a thing.

However, I'm not too surprised. She seems to implicitly trust that anything that one of us in the family participates in, cannot hurt her either. She watches me light the lamps in the pooja room on some days and sits down to watch. She doesn't understand it but she knows it is harmless because I'm right there, doing something with it.

They have so much love and trust for us! No wonder they call a dog man's best friend. They give and they give and they give, no matter what. They forget the times you have been angry with them or the times you didn't let them have the treat they thought they deserved but they will not forget that you are family and they love you relentlessly.