It’s been a while…

I just happened to check my blog today and I was mortified to see that my last entry was made on the 16 of August 2021! That’s close to two years ago. Where did all the time go?

Quick recap in a seashell (intentional joke because of my profession)… Shortly after my dog Captain Nemo died (02 August 2021) my father died (25 August 2021) and I got to hear about it from a childhood friend. I hadn’t met my dad in a while but it was comforting to know he was still around. I had planned to celebrate his birthday with him that year and let bygones be bygones (I will be writing about this in my book at a later stage) and give both of us closure. Perhaps he needed it more than I did considering the stories I heard later but I guess the Fates were against us. Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, I immersed myself in my dream job. I got a promotion four months after my dad died. Along with that promotion came a transfer. Long commutes and long working hours. Months slid into years. Just like that two years disappeared. I had a major bout of Asthma last year and it took me six months to recover completely from it and to regain my strength. Barely recovered from that and there was another injury which I’m still recovering from. On the plus side, work has been amazing! We launched my department. I love my job. The long work hours and long commutes keep me busy. I have two books in WIP Mode, planned and drafted.

Now I’m back and hopefully I will blog more often. I’m definitely going to do the “30 days of gratitude challenge” in August.

The Electricity Department And Me

I’ve waited eleven years and eleven months to talk about this. I’m going to talk about my torrid love affair (curious about where this is heading?) with the electricity department. Today I get to talk about it all in detail and name names. A lot of you know about the hell I’ve been through with them. I did make a few posts in the past. Right through it all, I promised myself that if it didn’t get settled the way it should have been I am going to talk about it. And trust me, it is not for attention, I get more than enough attention at work.

The Bill

It all began one February morning with a bill of 1,86,000/- rupees… a ONE month bill of ONE LAKH EIGHTY THOUSAND RUPEES. When I first saw the bill I thought I was reading the number wrong because I had not worn my specs. So I called the man to double-check. I did read the number right! This was our first trip to the Taleigao substation or whatever it’s called.

AE John

This was when I met AE John! Remember this name. He was in office. I took the bill with me and approached him politely. I told him that there was an error and requested to have the bill rectified. He admitted there was an error and told me that I would have to pay the entire amount and then fight for the actual correction. I asked him how it was possible to run up such a big bill. He told me I have a FACTORY in my home. I then proceeded to ask him how an 80 sq. mtr. apartment could have a factory that was using such a lot of power. At this point, my level of patience began to drop. Keeping a calm tone I invited him home for tea and told him to feel free to find the factory in my home and I added that I would throw in some cake as well. He kept insisting that we pay the one lakh bill. I refused. I fought for a bill reduction and after a long time he reduced it to 80 thousand, I fought some more and it came down to sixty thousand, I fought some more and brought it down to forty thousand, I didn’t back down and he got it down to twenty and said he was stopping here and I would have to pay. Of course, I refused. I went to the billing department and they said they had just got new software for the billing and it was faulty. They said they know my bill was wrong but only the AE (John) could authorize the change. I refused to pay the 20k! I kept going to him with a letter, he would see me and start yelling, and this went on for months. Months turned to years and… AE John got transferred and along came Kutikar. I didn’t know and still don’t know who the bigger nightmare was. The story was the same but the characters were now new. I had to deal with Kutikar. AE John is now leading a happy, retired life.

AE Kutikar

Last Wednesday (January 17) I went to meet AE Kutikar. The moment he saw me enter he started yelling. He told me that he was not going to listen to anything I had to say and that he was going to cut my power. I tried explaining to him that I was out of work right through lockdown and that I now had a job and I could commit to paying. He still refused to listen. I told him that I was a lifeguard and I was on duty through the week and I get one weekday off. He wouldn’t budge. I went to work the next day and when I returned I saw there was no electricity. I had to do without electricity for five days. Now imagine a single woman living without electricity for five days. I explained to him that I was single and I was living alone and he chose not to listen. I have two more bills to be corrected and I want to hear some more epic excuses like “you have a factory in the house”, “your dogs were guarding the metre box”, “you open and close the refrigerator door constantly!”, “I know you! You are Dempo-Souza. This bill is nothing for you! Just pay it!” (LOL what the actual F!) “You have bad character because you are not paying the bill!” (a 1,86,000 electricity bill for ONE MONTH! Sorry for not paying that humongous amount!) Yes, I wish I was kidding! They’re obviously not made up because I’d never come up with such ridiculous nonsense! This is the way officials spoke. I told Kutikar that I would be forced to take up the matter seriously if I had no electricity, He told me to do whatever I wanted but he wasn’t going to give me electricity. This is how people get bullied and harassed by people in power.

My Silence

Why did I bite my tongue for so long? Good question! I was hoping for an amicable settlement for their mistake. They KNEW it was their mistake, they KNEW the billing system was faulty but AE John did nothing to change it. It is said that he purposely left it the way it was. However, records were tampered with and changed. I had to deal with such rudeness and humiliation! Worse still, get yelled at! These are the type of crassy people that get hired. The main reason for putting this post up is to highlight how people get harassed, bullied and yelled at for not paying the bills. No one should have to be bullied to pay wrong bills that are not their fault. People in high positions should not be allowed to bully people from the lower classes. Your power cannot be cut without prior notice being given to you asking you to pay within a time frame. I ran from pillar to post to get this bill sorted.

The Reason For This Blog

When this whole issue with the billing began I had made up my mind to go public about it as soon as it ended. It ended today and I think I need to create an awareness about what has happened. How we have to suffer at the hands of the electricity department. How things are hidden and twisted in there. I was told that they have been given monthly targets that they have to meet at any cost. If we’re getting big bills, well, here’s one of the reasons. They are also being forced to collect all dues irrespective of whether the fault is theirs or not. They target the middle class families. High class families have run up bills in lakhs but they are chasing after the middle class families. Probably because they know that the middle class families will pay out of desperation. The rich wouldn’t care less. Slip a few big ones towards the authorities and everything will go unnoticed. I want justice! I want an apology because eleven years and eleven months of my life have been ruined trying to get a settlement here. My basic human rights were violated and I want that man to be taken to task. I want answers. I want to know why records were tampered with, why numbers disappeared and made to appear like there never was a problem in the first place. I want people to take responsibility for their actions. I want this to end. No one should have to go through what I did with the electricity department. I want to create an awareness of what happens behind the scenes. I want compensation for the amount of food I lost and the delay I have had to grit my teeth through.

The good thing is that this is finally over but not put to rest because I believe the world needs more positivity.

Justice Will Be Served!

Beaten

I ran all the way home from the playground without stopping. The older boys had beaten me up a little worse than they usually did but I still managed to muster enough strength to run as far as I could from them.

I knew my mother would be the next one to thrash me for getting into a fight which was ironical, if you know what I mean. But I had no choice. I couldn’t tell her the real reason the boys picked on me.

We were the poorest on the block, my mother was a sex worker and I had no idea who my biological father is. This is a massive taboo in my society. The kids would call me “Stinky the Pooh”, “Smellind” (my name is Milind), “the bathless wonder”, “the Ren and Stinky show”, these are the slightly better names.

I kept looking over my shoulder to see if I was being followed. The coast was clear. I saw the boys huddled up together as if they were plotting my next round of torture. I shuddered partly out of the fear of facing my mother’s wrath and partly over what had happened.

Today was different. Today they got iron rods instead of their regular punching, hitting and kicking me to the ground.

I opened the rickety gate cautiously and looked around for my mother. She was drawing water from the well. She must have been engrossed because she didn’t hear me. Judging by the number of buckets she had to fill, I knew I’d have enough time to wash up and hide the bloodied and torn clothes.

I slid in through the door and went straight to the bathroom. The sounds of the rods raining blows on my body echoed in my head. The pain was so intense that I couldn’t tell which part of me was hurting.

I washed up well making sure there was no evidence of blood. I looked in the small cracked mirror that was placed above a broken sink. There was no blood, no bruises, I looked completely fine.

I stood on the bath stool and peeped out of the small window close to the ceiling. Mother was still drawing water from the well.

I went to my bedroom, rummaged through a small rusted trunk that was kept under the bed and pulled out a fresh pair of shorts and a t-shirt. I then proceeded towards the front door. I stepped out apprehensively and began the walk towards my mother.

Someone came to our gate. It looked like Jairam. Jairam was also like me but less smarter so the other boys didn’t look at him as a threat.

“What’s he doing here?” I frowned.

He ran to my mother. He seemed almost hysterical about something. I walked towards them.

“Aunty-ji, you need to come with me,” I heard him say.

“Jai, what’s the matter?” I asked but they had already run out of the gate.

I ran after them. I saw my mother wiping her hands on her pink sari as she ran, the bun she had tied her hair in had become lose and her hair cascaded down her waist. My mother was beautiful.

They were heading towards the playground. The boys were still there huddled up in a circle. They looked like they were discussing something.

My mother charged towards them and pushed them aside and dropped to her knees. She cradled a mangled heap of blood and bones in her arms. I moved closer.

“Amma,” I tapped her lightly on her shoulder. “Amma, I’m okay, don’t worry. I’m right here by your side.”

My mother looked up at the skies and let out a bloodcurdling scream.

“Murderers! You killed my son,” she hollered. “Why? Why did you do that? Why did you kill him?”

“What? No!” I was stunned. “Amma, I’m here. I’m okay.”

My mother wept hysterically as she rocked back and forth. I looked down at her arms. The face was bloodied it was hard to recognise who she was holding. That was the shirt I had on when I left the house, it was torn now and soaked with blood. That was me she was holding. I was the mangled heap of blood and bones.

(Experimented with a slightly different style. Decided to Indianise this story a bit. The first paragraph and part of the second was from a writing prompt and I built from there.)

(Say “No” to bullying!)

30 Days Of Gratitude – Day 29 – A Book That I Love Reading

Day 29 of my gratitude posts and my second last post of gratitude. I didn’t really think about this one before. I love reading in general and I dislike choosing one particular book.

A book I love reading. I honestly cannot decide between the book that gave me months of nightmares when I was a child or my first Stephen King.

I might have mentioned before (several times) that my mother banned horror in our home. No horror books, no horror books, no ghost stories. She was scared. I got horror curious. Why was horror banned? I needed answers.

She could control us in our home environment but she couldn’t control us in school and in friends’ houses. No one else had a lifetime horror ban. My classmates in the Class 1 would exchange ghost stories because their parents and older siblings would tell them. I would listen with bated breath. How I loved those stories.

One rainy evening when my friends, brother and I couldn’t play outdoors, we decided to read. Each of us chose a book from our friend’s shelf. I took my time browsing through their bookshelf because I had read most of the books. My eyes fell upon “Turn of the screw” by Henry James. I picked it up and read the blurb. I liked the concept. I settled down and started to read it. I finished the book before we had to get home. I had nightmares for weeks after that. I had to tell my grandfather what I had done and that was our little secret. I was six years old. Mother never found out. I kept reading that book over and over. I have my own copy now.

Now “all grown up” at fourteen, my parents would drop me off to the library I was a member of and go do the weekly shopping. I was done with the classics and RL Stine books, Tales from the crypt, and I wanted something more thrilling, something scarier. I walked over to the horror section and I found Cujo. A shiver ran down my spine, I was holding the proverbial forbidden fruit. Cujo was my first Stephen King novel and also a favourite. I read Cujo several times later after I had read most of Stephen King’s other books. My mother never found out.

I wonder what her reaction would have been if she knew I now write horror of my own. I guess I’ll never know.

30 Days Of Gratitude – Day 28 – Something That Made Me Laugh Today.

Day 28 of my gratitude posts. Almost at the end of these blog sessions. Since I stay at home most of the time this blog will obviously be home-related.

Something that made me laugh today. My pups and their antics. They were fighting for the same toy… 

• 

  Gidget placed her toy on the bed and Nymeria…

• 

  Tried to take it from her…

• 

  They tug-o-warred…

• 

• 

  Not giving up…

• 

  Gave up…

• 

  Gave me this look…

• 

  She won!

My pups Nymeria (after Arya Stark’s Direwolf) and Gidget (after the white dog in The Secret Life of Pets 1 &2) are always up to something. There’s never a dull moment with them around. They’re full of energy and mischief. Blessed to have pets.

30 Days Of Gratitude – Day 25 – The Item I Value The Most

Day 25 of my gratitude posts. Hmmmm! I never really gave this any thought at all. I’m not materialistic and items mean little to nothing to me. If something is there, it’s there, if it’s not there, it’s not there. Life goes on… I guess.

The item I value the most. I am going to have to make this plural and go with books! If there’s anything I value, ever, it will be my book collection, my pride, my life. I spent most of my “early” life collecting Enid Blyton books. By the time I was twelve I had more than 300 Enid Blyton books these include rare editions and some editions that are not even in print. Many of her lesser known books. I had the entire Famous Five series, Five Find-Outer series, Secret Seven series, school series (Malory Towers, St. Clare’s and the naughtiest girl in school), The mystery series, the adventure series, the Adventurous Four, Amelia Jane, Mistletoe Farm, Cherry Tree Farm, Enchanted tree, Pink Whistle, Simple Simon, Naughty children series. My grandfather completed most of the series for me and my parents helped after he died.

I kept all my Enid Blyton’s until I moved out and now I just have a few surviving ones. The rest got lost and I won’t speak of it now. I actually went into mourning for a few days. I spent four days crying my eyes out, stayed away from social media. I would break down at the mention of “books”. How my heart broke. But yes, my most valued items will be my books. I have started rebuilding my collection. My Enid Blyton collection is another happy memory now.

Books make me happy. Buying books, having books, keeping books, smelling old books, smelling new books, gazing at my book collection. No photographs unfortunately. I never thought I would need photographs because I thought I would always have my books. The surviving books have been donated to a library because I don’t like seeing incomplete series.

Books would be the item I value the most. My entertainment, my go-to… my life. I have some nice books now. Not rare but rebuilding is a task. I’m up to a hundred books right now and counting.

30 Days Of Gratitude – Day 24 – The Best Gift I’ve Ever Received

Day 24 of my gratitude posts. I have to admit I have been lazy. I’ve written most of them in bulk and scheduled them. I knew I would get caught up with something or the other and I really wanted to be consistent. There were certain days that required me to write on the day itself and I diligently kept a reminder to make time to write those ones out.

The best gift I’ve ever received. This is a tough one and it has to be something that doesn’t involve books and pets (I’d have to write books on these). I’m going to go with someone I have not blogged about in my entire blog history. Someone really special. Someone I have a lot of respect for and hold dear to me.

The gift was my Teddy Bear and the “Gifter” was my Godfather James Telfer. He was so similar to my Grandfather in his ways and mannerisms. Gentle and kind.

The first time he visited me, my earliest memory of him. I was in my grandfather’s arms when he arrived along with my father’s sister and their daughter. That was the first time I met all of them. I was two years old. My Godfather stood at the gate with his family, and while he waited for someone to open it, he pushed a Teddy Bear through the grills straight into my arms. It was an orange and white bear with a red plaid ribbon around its neck. From that day until the bear disintegrated, it was my most valued gift. I had it right through my life.

• 

  Me and my Teddy Bear.

• 

  My Grandfather, my Teddy Bear and me. The picture quality isn’t too great and I cropped everyone else out for privacy purposes.

Every time my Godfather visited he always had a special gift for me that he personally chose. Once he gifted me a Peter Rabbit plate set. I loved that set. It had a mug, a bowl and a plate. The bowl and plate broke when I moved but I still have the mug that I treasure. Another time he gave me a heart pendant. The chain broke but I saved the heart in a box. I still have the heart in my tiny box of treasures.

We never really got a chance to spend quality time together but we did exchange a few emails when I was all grown up. My memories of Uncle Jim are all happy ones. He taught me proper swimming techniques. Both my parents swam but they didn’t know techniques and it was my godfather who would teach me when we went to the beach. I loved those moments with him.

Whenever we’d travel, my mother would put it safely in a plastic bag and keep it on my bed. I am not ashamed to admit that I had him by my side at night right up until I crossed my thirties and that was when he fell apart. I had to throw him out because I was allergic to the dust the cloth was turning into. And now like everything else my Teddy Bear is just another happy memory!

Let’s Tattoo ’bout It!

Finally, something I have been planning and mulling about happened today and I’m over the moon about it. I got inked!

I wanted to get a phoenix tattoo ten years ago when things fell apart and the Phoenix is my favourite mythological bird. Somehow time and me couldn’t sync and I never got around to doing it. However, the research never stopped and my tattoo list kept increasing.

A couple of months ago I saw a signboard of a Tattoo Artist with an arrow pointing to my street… now if that wasn’t a “sign” I don’t know what was. And so the planning got more intense. I went through scores of designs to find the perfect one. I knew I wanted a subtle outline tattoo on my forearm.

I made that call. I set an appointment and I was all ready to get inked. That date didn’t work out. I had to cancel. I made another appointment and decided to stick to it no matter what came up.

Today was the day. I told myself that if another obstacle came up then this wasn’t meant to be. I woke up to a message rescheduling the appointment. My heart sank. After a short discussion we worked out a time that suited us both and I got my beloved tattoo.

I had narrowed my choices down to two and I liked them both equally. I couldn’t get two tattoos. I worked with the artist and combined both the designs and came up with a unique design that had all the elements I had planned.

Surprisingly, I wasn’t nervous. This was my first tattoo and I was excited. Now, if you’ve known me long enough you know that I used to have a fear of needles. That was only because the needles were thick when I was a kid and the injections were humongous. Now the needles are incredibly fine and getting an injection is not painful at all. I even had an epidural that wasn’t painful and those hurt like crazy! I was thrilled to get this done.

All I can say is that getting a tattoo is less painful than threading. Ugh! I’d rather get ten tattoos than endure those few minutes of threading. It isn’t as scary as people claim it is but it all depends on your ability to handle physical pain. I have an abnormally high threshold for tolerating pain. Allow me to elaborate, I never take painkillers post surgery. I was calm when I met with an accident and dislocated and fractured my ankle. I can handle pain.

I got my tattoo done at Diggy’s Tattoo Studio and I was impressed at the quality of work. The artwork took about ten to fifteen minutes because the designs I had in mind didn’t seem to work out. After playing around, mixing and matching, we managed to combine two tattoos.

The studio is clean. The work is good. I am thrilled about my tattoo. I had booked my appointment a month in advance and kept reminding Diggy about my appointment. I sent him sample designs. One can make an appointment twenty-four hours prior to the desired date but I like to plan ahead. This way I know I have to allot a particular time for a particular task and quite honestly, I hate shifting and shunting my schedule. While I am not a stickler to routine, I do not like disruptions. I like knowing how my day is going to pan for the most part, at least work wise. I like winging it after work.

• 

  Phoenix-semicolon Tattoo

I highly recommend Diggy’s Tattoo Studio for tattoo work. I’m a sucker for convenience and Diggy’s Tattoo Studio is around the corner from me. Here’s to more tattoos when time and I can sync.

The Taboo Topic – Domestic Violence

I really was not going to talk about this so soon but there’s something I need to address and I might get a lot of flack for it but that’s okay. I just need to make a few things clear.

Someone who is enduring domestic violence (physical or psychological abuse) is not going to openly say it. “Oh hey, my spouse is abusive and my home life is a living hell!” How many people have you met would outright admit that they are victims of abuse? Trust me when I say this, it takes a lot of guts to say “I walked out because my spouse was abusive.”

When you ask a friend how they are doing and they avoid eye contact when they tell you that everything is okay… that is the friend who is hiding domestic violence. The friend who smiles with an emptiness in their eyes. A friend who makes it a point to help as much as they can. A friend who is constantly on tenterhooks when they’re out without their spouse. There are telltale signs if you are willing to spot them but the real question here is that are you willing to spot them? Do you have a friend who just stopped calling and messaging as often as they used to?

When someone admits to you that they are in or getting out of an abusive relationship or marriage there’s no need to tell them to make it work. No one should have to stay in an abusive marriages/ relationships not for their parents, not for society, not for anybody.

It is never the victim’s fault that they are in an abusive marriage. No one makes a conscious choice to be abused. Psychological abuse is so insidious that the victim doesn’t even know what’s going on until the damage is done. Here, the abuser chips away at the victim’s self confidence like a sculptor until the victim is just a shell of what they used to be. No confidence, apologetic, barely making eye contact, excuses to meet up and trust me, no one is that busy that they cannot put aside some time to meet especially if the meetings are sporadic.

Asking the victim to make an abusive marriage work is a big fat no no! Why? Why should a victim remain trapped in a marriage where they are disrespected, invalidated, invisible, and ignored for most of the time if not all the time?

Telling someone that it’s their fault that their spouse is abusive is another humongous no no! No one wants to be abused in the first place and there is no way they are going to be contributing to an abusive relationship.

Someone who comes from an abusive home could turn out to be abusive but on the flip side might also want to be in a peaceful atmosphere. Someone who wants to experience a calm, loving home.

Please don’t say “But your spouse is such a fantastic person…” when you don’t know what truly goes on behind closed doors. A public facade can be quite the opposite of a private persona. Think Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. What you see is usually superficial. A charade.

Sometimes what you hear about “abuse” could just be twisted information. Victims will not openly declare they are being abused. Most times one needs to either look for clues or observe the victim’s behaviour. There will be telltale signs. One of the main signs is isolation. The friend you haven’t seen for a while because they suddenly went off the grid and have not been in touch for months.

The clothes they wear and overall appearance. Do they look stressed, haggard and unslept? Someone who is enduring abuse has difficulty sleeping, relaxing, will be dealing with weight related issues (they’ll either be overweight or underweight). There will be a nervous air about them, they’ll either be constantly glued to their phone or on their phone. They’ll be distracted or preoccupied.

I will be talking about domestic violence in depth during the Domestic Violence Awareness month which is October. But for now, if you know or even suspect that someone you know is a victim of domestic violence please do not invalidate them. They approached you because they trust you. They chose to talk about it because they want to create an awareness not because they want attention or they want sympathy.

30 Days Of Gratitude – Day 4 – My Favourite Memory

Day 4 of my gratitude posts. This is definitely a no-brainer.

My Favourite Memory… and I’m smiling already, just the thought of it has got me grinning like a Cheshire Cat. I have to say, sitting with my grandfather and listening to his stories and he seemed to have a never-ending amount of those spanning across a variety of topics both fantasy and reality. We would talk about absolutely everything a child was allowed to discuss.

My favourite memory is sneaking a moment during every birthday celebration, house party or social gathering to listen to my grandfather’s stories. My parents would entertain a lot and my grandfather was a bit of a recluse (I probably get this trait from him) and would discreetly seek moments of solitude by going into the kitchen to check on the food or looking out for me. Most times he would catch me trying to find him. My parents used to throw lavish parties with nothing less than a hundred guests and everyone was so stylish. I used to find that so overwhelming and yet, I loved watching them dance and sing.

Somehow or the other, my grandfather and I would find a quiet place and exchange stories. The crowd and noise would fade into the background and it was just my grandfather and me in our own little world full of fantasy and magic. Sometimes he would talk about his childhood, sometimes he would tell me stories about the second world war, other times he would tell me about his first job or how he tried to join the hockey team and failed miserably because he couldn’t get the hang of being the goalkeeper. He would tell me about how he revived mining in Goa along with his best friend Dayanand Bandodkar. He would speak of the Portuguese rule and how glorious those days were. How he would get invited to all the governor’s parties. I would get lost in worlds I would never experience. Sometimes he would leave me with bits of advice that made absolutely no sense to me and when I’d ask he’d just smile and say “you’ll figure it out when you grow up.” Then I’d be scared I would forget.

Everyone was busy dancing we found our peace away from the crowd. 

I am who I am today because of how he moulded me. His stories, his cryptic advice, the way he rose from nothing, his determination, strength and a wisdom beyond his years. Now that I’m all “grown up” everything makes sense. It was like fitting missing pieces of a jigsaw and completing the picture.

Sometimes people tell me I’m like my father. I smile, shake my head and disagree. I gently tell them that I am nothing like my father but everything like my grandfather. I have his attitude, his temper, his habits. I spent most of my life with him and in a way, I feel I am him, definitely not in looks but in intellect. I definitely have his storytelling prowess and his eye for detail.

After he died, I’d play and replay everything in my mind because I wanted to remember every single second. Every time I miss him I go back to one particular memory and stay there for a while listening to his stories once more.

1984. The dress I was wearing here is my aunt’s dress from the 1950s. 

One month before he died. This dress was designed by me. I started designing my own clothes when I was ten. I don’t know how to stitch though.