Missy to Mbak

When I first came to this big city in a large archipelago, people called me ‘Missy’ . Now, its been over a year, and they use ‘Mbak when they address me. In translation: Missy and Mbak are about as different as ‘a young girl’ and ‘a lady’. 

That’s what this place has done to me. 

When I packed my bags and made my way here over a year ago, I hadn’t expected my stay to be a year long. What I had not expected even more, is for this place to affect me the way it has. I have learnt a whole lot of life lessons: some grave and some petty ones. My learnings have ranged from knowing when to raise my voice to assert myself to developing the trick of chasing lizards away. 

In due course of time, I realized various aspects about myself which I would have otherwise never known. I am OCD about keeping things in place, and keeping my house clean. I like to cook for myself, by myself and I experiment with recipes. I love Mexican food and sometimes even more than Indian dishes. I like typical Bollywood music, and my favorite song(s) play on repeat for days at length. Even my taste in books can pronounce me as a hopeless romantic. I like traveling, but I panic if you put me on a last minute schedule. When my head hits the pillow, the following day’s to-do’s jog around in my mind but the next morning I snooze the alarm at least five times until I finally get started. I use an old oregano container for holding my tooth-brush, and I sometimes forget to store peanuts and chips in air-tight containers. I leave my clothes in the balcony for just the right amount of time, lest they get dirty again due to the pollution.I change and wash my bed linen every weekend. I like to eat and drink alone. I don’t think its a sign of depression: its just quality time you spend with yourself. I have found my favorites in lotions and creams, herbs and spices; figured that my favorite pieces of garments are scarves and socks and even realized that I cry easily when I am alone. 

I have learnt, figured out and realized all these aspects about myself when I stepped out from ‘Joy’ into Jakarta, and created memories which are dearly tagged #jakartajoys on my social media. The hashtag, I realize now: is the perfect amalgamation between where I came from- the City of Joy, and where I came to. It makes much more sense now, on retrospect. 

As I pack to leave this place and go back to where I belong, I feel a slight pull in my heart for what I have shared with this not-so-foreign city. They say you pick up survival strategies when you live outside home. I think mine were more than just survival. I enjoy keeping lists  and if I were to list out the odd habits I have picked up here, I think collecting tissues and coasters would top it all. I am not sure when the habit started, or from which restaurant specifically but I think I did it because that is my favorite pastime: eating out. I will easily be the most unhealthy person you have seen around, and when I eat I don’t give a dime about the effect caused by all the cheese, chillies and chips, dressings, drinks and dips. I have tissues from most diners that I have visited. Trust me, the pile of tissues I am carrying back home does not fit into one, single envelope. If I am searched at Customs, I’m not sure they will believe me when I give them my reasons. In fact I am not even sure what I will do with all these tissues that I take back! 

I have made friends who have seen me grow tremendously. If God uses technology and fancy diagrams to record each person’s life, the graph of my growth will be most steep over the last one year. Most of my friends are from my workplace. They are the coolest set of people you will meet in this city. Each of them is different from another. Yet, how we manage to spend several hours together in one peaceful room, is a mystery to us all. During my time away, I explored the option of meeting strangers and took the safe way out when I used www.meetup.com.  It helped, and worked partially towards adding to my local network. I found myself at nearby islands on three weekends in the last one year and I think this specific piece of statistical information says a lot about who I am. Nonetheless, they were fun trips that can plot nice memories on my graph of life. 

As I bid adieu to this city, I look back at the past year well-spent and I can literally scroll through the moments in my mind. I can remember the times I have strived for vegetarian food in this all-eating place. I recall the various instances when I picked up the local language to make my point and I also reminisce the times when I got the translation completely wrong! As I head back, I hope I don't continue to use the Bahasa word for Thank You. (If I do say "Terima Kasih" in thanking someone, I hope I say both the words in unison!)

This is an ode to this city that will always be the city of my youth: to the times well spent, the hard lessons learnt, the well-served food at fancy bistros and the polite conversations struck in every BlueBird! To all the friends, I met here: I will see you, when I see you! :D 

Foodie's Eyes

You come to a new city and you look out for touristy places. And then, you spend 10-12 hours a day looking at the city's 'restaurant oriented' data. You spend half your time dissecting the city into parts that would classify it in this way or that. You look at it like a lush green park, and wonder where to begin your morning run. Your efforts go into making restaurants' data collection do-able, possible, approachable and all the other adjectives that fit within this bracket! 

Gradually, you look at the city only through those eyes. People tell you "Oh! There is a pretty museum in XX area." And you reply saying, "Yeah we can go there some day and eat at the Spanish restaurant around that corner."

When you're charting maps and directions in your head to figure out the best route, your brains map is not the usual Google image. Your image of the map has tortillas and tacos at the crossings, pizzas and pastas at the turns and you missed the burgers and fries just 'cuz your destination led you to the left! 

That's what makes you a true blue foodie: The analysis of a city based on its restaurant density. You only think of fancy restaurants when people ask you what are the tourist places to visit in your city. People may expect to hear exotic locations when they ask, "Where are you going during this long weekend?" You come up with a long list of restaurants covering all your favourite cuisines, cutting across the length and breadth of the city; and all of those seem to make a better plan than a white sand, virgin beach somewhere afar. 

What do you see at your next turn? Is it puffs or rolls or the place that serves the yummiest Chinese food, you've ever had! 

Put on your food-lens and explore! 

An everyday ride in Jakarta

Every morning, I walk across the street from my building to take the mini-van that brings me to my work place. This mini-van, called an Angkot in the local language in Jakarta, is one among the few modes of public transport that this city offers. I hail one of these light blue coloured vans, and try to get on to it. There are days when it is empty, and then there are days when it is so full that one man is hanging off the door-less entrance. I think such transport systems are very typical to this part of the world. There is no dearth of similar sights back home, in India.

The sometimes-empty-sometimes-full nature of the Angkot seldom has a fixed pattern. It is not like I can step out of my house and assume that it is 8:15 and therefore it will be full. Nor can I tell myself that since it’s raining, it will be empty. There is no predictable pattern, whatsoever! And that makes the choice between a cab and an angkot even harder, everyday.

Nonetheless, I prefer the angkot over taxis. I choose to forego the air-conditioned comfort of the taxis, the smooth leather seats of the Blue Bird cars to enjoy my morning moments of people watching. (If you have ever been to Indonesia, you will know that people swear by Blue Bird as the safest company running the maximum number of taxis here)

The angkot, bigger than an Ambassador taxi in Kolkata, and smaller than a mini-bus: can ferry exactly 13 people at a time. They huddle on, to go in the same direction as their fellow travellers and soon find their spots to get off and along. It’s no fancy ride- no luxurious leg room, not enough room for your bags if you don’t want to rest it on your lap and if you’re sitting on the far end, the sun will shine down brightly on you. You may or may not like that but you will surely be happy to see how peacefully the group traverses the distance. People seldom know each other, though sometimes you notice acquaintances exchange niceties. Smiles come easily, and so do frowns. You will see groggy eyes, scarred faces concealing a story, dishevelled hair and then you will see people smiling into their phones, lost in thought or even catching a quick nap in the evening traffic. That’s the nature of any crowd, after all: diverse yet united, lost and unknown, oblivious yet careful in their own ways.

I enjoy people watching. On this ride, I do not get lost in conversation with my friends and colleagues. I look around; catch a glimpse of the young girl struggling to sit uptight in her skirt, the man who decides to give his eyes some rest, with his spectacles resting lightly on his long nose. I don’t peek into people’s phones but while they’re at it, I can’t help but notice their updates on Instagram, Path and Twitter. Every small detail goes up on News Feeds these days. Sometimes people are putting up pictures of the traffic.

I’ve had my own set of memorable experiences on these journeys. There were times when a girl in a bright yellow dress, was not comfortable and chose to sit close to the entrance. The driver wanted her to shift further in because she was giving his potential passengers the impression that the van was full. She couldn’t shift in, and therefore she simply got off, to avoid causing trouble for the driver.  There was a time when I thought I could read in the van on my way back and the dim light from the single lamp in the far end did not allow me to indulge in the murder mystery. When I shut the book sighing from my failed attempt, I raised my head to smiling faces. I realized they noticed how naive I was, in this simple act of ignorance. Then, there have been days when I have skipped the ride to evade traffic and walked the 2 kilometre distance back home instead. While on the vehicle, I’ve had my own share of feet being stamped by pointed heels, boxes of non-vegetarian food emulating a fishy smell and then there was one specific instance of translations gone utterly wrong:

My stop to get off the angkot, on my way home is actually at the start of a bridge. In Bahasa, the word for bridge is “Jimbatan” So, by way of urging the driver to stop at the spot, I need to call out to him saying “Jimbatan, Mus” and he will stop. However, for the longest time since I was here, I kept calling out to him saying, “Jambutan, Mus” There were times when he would smile back at me and nod his head disapprovingly. Sometimes fellow passengers would repeat the phrase for me in case the driver didn’t hear. At that time, I didn’t pay much heed to the difference caused by the few letters in a syllable or two. I was an expat and people were looking at me like that, smiling at me and even exchanging funny glances. I passed off all of that, assuming that it was probably because I was not a local. Until one day; a local colleague of mine accompanied me on the ride back home and laughed until her stomach hurt when she heard me use the word: Jambutan.

Jambutan means vaginal hair.

10 Years Later

In movies, and especially Bollywood movies, the story writers' favorite part would probably be to depict a shift in timeline. It is amazing how the shift depicts an overall transition of all things: from the upholstery in the lead actor's house to his personal car, his face suddenly becomes more lean, more handsome; his city of residence- more elegant and the world seems to have moved at the speed of 1/10th a light year in a blinking second.

I love such movies and I particularly love it when the text rolls by with Ranbir Kapoor in the frame. The way he walks: pea-sized tears rolling down his cheeks, his head raised towards heaven, hands in his pockets and his Oh! so manly stride. Just then the scene fades and Tada! there's the start of a new era in his life!

With these images in my head and the lyrics of the song Ilahi Mera Jiyae in my heart, I had left home a couple of months ago. Only, the transition was not as perfect, I was not clothed in a Ralph Lauren jacket and a pair of Gap jeans, I was not in a rosy garden with first, the snow falling behind me and then, the sun shining down brightly! No, none of that happened. It was a very slow, experience-filled (sometimes painful) process of transition, one in which every day, hour and minute taught me a great deal. Patience, tolerance, resilience and stress-control were just a few lessons which had begun. These lessons and more, are still far from completion of the course! I am still learning, still growing, still coping with the lessons of adulthood and taking baby steps for fear of tumbling, tripping and falling flat on my face!

The directors, spot boys, video-graphers and editors cover up Ranbir's mistakes. Whether it is induced in me by these Bollywood movies, or it is one of my many unrealistic streaks; I am not sure: but, I have always feared mistakes. I fear committing mistakes more than I fear the improbability of correcting them.

As I live through the 10 years of my life which I will look back upon in my old age; I am trying to make beautiful memories, take chances, learn, live and enjoy so that everyday of my life is interesting, vivid, cheerful and beautiful. I want to leave no scope for a "10 years later" line when my life-story is narrated.

As much as I know that each day and every moment cannot make it into my special diary of memories; I am tempted to make every day worth its while, worth narrating, worth remembering and most importantly, fulfilling!