Tag: Tropical

SHORT STORY| SOUL SISTERS – Part Two

On By Mahvash K. M.In Fiction, fictionlog, Short story, writingLeave a comment

Karim sat at the desk in his office, looking at a piece of random poetry that had found its way to his “Friends and Frenemies” WhatsApp chat group. The group always came alive on Friday afternoons. He was now re-reading the verse for the third time, a slow smile playing about his lips.

There is this wooden bench I like
It’s not fancy; quite the common type.
Cloaked in by the dappled canopy
Of a gracefully pirouetting Mara tree,
It sits in the park like a dear old friend
It’s well-worn embrace ever welcoming....

He was reminded of a bench of his own; in a private little place that he occasionally went to, away from the cacophony of life. The little stanza had been forwarded a few times so there was no indication of the original author. He took a sip of his tepid tea, grimaced and decided it was one of those bench-visiting, soul-appeasing days. He picked up his laptop and descended into the imposing atrium of “Karamat and Sons Steel Works”. He looked at the newly refurbished company logo across the reception wall and sighed inwardly. Whether he liked it or not; despite it all being what he hadn’t quite aspired for himself, he was the scion of the Karamat and Sons empire such as it was, and he was going to have to fill in those shoes.

He got into his jeep and drove “into the sunset” as he liked to imagine. So private and precious was his little place of solace that he dared not refer to it out loud. For the heart and the mind have a precocious way of conspiring sometimes, exposing sentiments and truths that were supposed to be forever held in the most hidden recesses of one’s being. It had been a month since he was last there and this little ditty that had serendipitously, unexpectedly floated in across the cyber ether had suddenly rekindled his solitude yen. He longed to sit on that incongruous little bench on the beach. Placed exactly so on his specific instructions, it sat at the very edge of the lapping waves. Behind him was the biscuit coloured hut, made deliberately obscure against its golden-tan background of sand and rock; before him was the vast expanse of the sea encompassing his secluded world in her vital arms. The hut was built on one of the little promontories that jutted out to sea on an otherwise, gently undulating beach front. This secret place of solace, on more than a few occasions, had inspired Karim too, to muse poetically; with always the same refrain serenely coming to mind:

**I am monarch of all I survey;
My right there is none to dispute;
From the centre all round to the sea
I am lord of the fowl and the brute ...

Today, however, he didn’t sit on the bench. He took off his shoes, rolled up his trousers and walked along the beach. One of the silent meditative motions he inadvertently engaged in while sitting on his bench was to assiduously keep his feet dry in the frolicsome advance and retreat of the waves. Today, he sought out the gentle waves, the soft foam breaking at his ankles, leaving lacy outlines around his footprints in the sand. Today, instead of William Cowper’s soothing verse, the two lines, somewhat adapted, of the mystery poet, came knocking on the periphery of his solitude …

It sits on the beach like a dear old friend
It’s well-worn embrace ever welcoming....

He was in love! With whoever had written those words! He laughed out loud at his usually Victorian Judge-sober heart as it somersaulted in time with the dancing waves. He knew he was momentarily infatuated with a figment of his imagination; but he allowed himself to grin widely as he created blitheful footprints in the sand around his wooden bench.

It was late evening. Layla sat on the floor, leaning against the footboard of the bed in Sumaira’s room, her legs stretched out in front of her. She was concentrating on a piece of a poetry that had flitted into her mind in the comforting haze of a post dinner, eve-of-the-weekend stupor.

“Layla, I think I’m done with the single life. I think I’m ready to take a husband; to have kids and become a matriarch in some elegant home!”

Layla looked up at her friend for indications of the tongue in cheek humour that was such a large part of her personality. She saw a contemplative Sumaira, lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling, her face wearing a thoughtful expression.

“What do you mean? I mean, this is sudden!” said Layla still waiting for the easy chortle of her free-thinking, conventions-defying friend.

Layla looked keenly at Sumaira and thought, “Good God! She’s avoiding even looking at me now. Is she really serious…?”

“I know! But look, I’m 35 and now’s the time … “ Sumaira said a little hesitantly. Because what she left unsaid was what they had always laughed at; the norms of society on when to marry and when (and whether in fact!) to have children or to instead, adopt.

“You know what Layla, we should both think about settling down. It’ll be fun to become a part of the mainstream for a while. We can always “lovingly” rebel when all’s said and done … you know, to keep it from getting old. To keep us from getting old and jaded.”

“Settling down? laughed Layla. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you use that turn of phrase. Wasn’t it being shackled down that you called it?”

“Sweetheart, I’m serious. We’ve done what we had to in the ways of being single and unattached. I want someone significant in my life now”, said Sumaira looking directly at Layla at last.

“She means it! Damn hell! What am I going to do? Be the eternal spinister? God!–– What’s wrong with me? It was bound to happen. It’s not such a bad thing…. She’s right, I should think about it too…” Layla was putting in copious effort to rein in her inadvertent wave of anxiety.

Sumaira looked at her friend fondly as she saw a myriad emotions flash in quick succession on that sweet face. Change, no matter how natural, organic and sequential in the larger scheme of things, always took Layla by surprise. She was a creature of habit and loved her constancy rituals of friendship, loving and living. But she was resilient and an oddly beloved child of the universe. She wouldn’t be surprised if somehow, somewhere, even before Sumaira had cherry-picked a potential mate from amongst her coterie of admirers, Layla found her great love.

** Verse from William Cowper’s “The Solitude of Alexander Selkirk”

Read Part One here: https://theroamingdesi.org/2021/04/22/soul-sisters-part-one/

Read Part Three here: https://theroamingdesi.org/2021/04/28/soul-sisters-part-three/

Read Part Four here: https://theroamingdesi.org/2021/05/03/soul-sisters-part-four/

Read Part Five here: https://theroamingdesi.org/2021/05/06/soul-sisters-part-five/

SHORT STORY| SOUL SISTERS – Part One

On By Mahvash K. M.In Fiction, Short story, writing2 Comments 
LISTEN TO AN EXCERPT FROM THE STORY BEING READ AT: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZSdL1S8BN/?k=1

There was a nip in the air as the sun settled rosily into the waiting horizon. Layla looked across the Arabian Sea, directly into the heart of the still bright sun. She did that sometimes when she was looking beyond her world for ethereal clues; cosmic answers. In her transiently altered reality, as grey-black floaters swam around her field of vision, she imagined some message, some intuition taking form. She thought she saw a face this time … a mouth … a pair of dark brown eyes …

She looked away from the horizon and glanced guiltily at her companion; she wanted to make sure Sumaira hadn’t seen through her “sunset illusions”. She needn’t have worried; her friend was immersed in her own world of imagination and thought. Layla smiled, basking in the warm vestiges of her little vision from the universe.

Sumaira and Layla were the quintessential best friends. They’d known each other only for the last 10 years but their effortless bond belied just a decade of friendship. They were each other’s soul sisters as they liked to say. Their friendship wasn’t based so much on similarities as it was on their happy incongruities. Layla was the nerd, a whimsical poet and a shrinking violet of the post modern variety – an introvert with occasional, blitheful bouts of extroversion. Through most of her adolescence, she had been beset by insecurity and a few unnerving moments of “ending it all”. She was born with a slight facial deformity that favoured the right side of her face. While it was barely noticeable when her face was at rest, it did give her a lopsided smile. To those who knew her, it was an endearing part of her personality; to her it had been the savage hand of karma at work. With time and the wisdom life is wont to bestow on the fortunate few, she had learnt to accept and even embrace her little peculiarity. It helped to keep her introverted bubble intact while doing away with the inadvertent negative qualities of arrogance and aloofness that the world tends to otherwise bestow on the quiet and the restrained.

Sumaira was the looker, the social butterfly and the life of the party. The world had always been her oyster and she had partaken of it sumptuously, delectably. Despite the generous loving hand of the universe holding her in its plentiful trough, Sumaira had also learnt a wisdom, a sageness about life and its fickle quality. Surrounded as she was with admirers and opportunities, she unremittingly took to her friendship with Layla to balance her emotional and spiritual equation. The two had struck a chord at the very heart of their being and so it was that the most sought after bachelorette in town and the ethereal child had connected and become kindred spirits.

“Are you going to Hasan’s party tomorrow?” asked Sumaira breaking through their companionable silence.

“You know, I do feel the diva inside me flexing for an evening out, so yeah, let’s go!” said Layla with a cheeky grin.

Sumaira laughed and pinched her crazy friend. She loved Layla’s delightful bolts from her reclusive bubble. When she put her mind to it, she was quite the charmer! She linked her arm with Layla’s as they walked slowly to the car. Clifton beach was now bathed in a hazy luminescence as it held on delicately to the sun’s afterglow.

Layla lived alone in Karachi. An endeavour that at first had appeared fraught with unsurity and anxiety, was now a providential panacea to the bustling, crowding world outside. Her family home was in Lahore which she visited often and gladly. But she always looked forward to coming back to the quiet joy and peace of her own place. She had a handful of friends in Karachi that she occasionally met. Sumaira was the exception and she was happy to regularly, unreservedly share her mental and social space with her best friend.

Tonight, Layla felt an odd elation. She sat looking unlisteningly to Fareed Zakaria on CNN. She was trying to recall the source of her hazy euphoria …. her sunset illusion…. She’d seen someone; the outline of someone in that moment of solar blurriness. She’d seen the face that had launched a thousand what-ifs in her mind for the past two years now. She had actually seen Karim’s face this time. She grinned like a loon. It didn’t matter that they had only ever just nodded at each other in fleeting acknowledgement. What mattered was that she’d had a sign from the universe.

Read Part Two here: https://theroamingdesi.org/2021/04/26/soul-sisters-part-two/

Read Part Three here: https://theroamingdesi.org/2021/04/28/soul-sisters-part-three/

Read Part Four here: https://theroamingdesi.org/2021/05/03/soul-sisters-part-four/

Read Part Five here: https://theroamingdesi.org/2021/05/06/soul-sisters-part-five/

FEATURE|CHILDREN OF THE WEATHER GODS*

On By Mahvash K. M.In SriLanka, writing2 Comments 
This piece is inspired by the dramatic elements of surprise that are innate to tropical weather. An ethereal tribute to Sri Lanka.
Title inspiration from Mark Medoff’s 1979 play titled “Children of a Lesser God”. Screen-adapted in 1986 by the same title. 
Indra: Hindu storm god
Yu Shi: Chinese rain god
Zeus: Greek storm god
Calandra: Greek goddess of rain
Olympus: Abode of the gods and site of the throne of Zeus
Having lived in the golden arms of a tropical island in the Indian Ocean for over 5 years now, I have had ample opportunity to experience its whimsical flirtations with the weather gods.  From a spirited lightsaber play with Indra*, to a blitheful dance in the rain with Yu Shi* to a gladiatorial display of stormy rage and thunder with Zeus*, the tear drop island of Sri Lanka has perfected a celestial theatre all its own.  The spectators, all its creature denizens, are left sometimes daunted, sometimes dazzled but mostly awed.

Here’s my attempt at describing a not so unusual day in the equatorial climes of Serendib.

Act 1 - Scene 1:
I wake up to a pale amber light filling the space above the curtain rails in my bedroom.  The usually glad-eyed sun is in a somber mood today as I draw back the drapes on an overcast day.  I can feel the fickle aura of the atmosphere seep into my bones and I know it’s going to be one of those weather-wise dramatic days.  I arm myself with an umbrella as I step out into the late morning torpor.  For, while the heavens prepare to unleash their elemental surprises for the day, the moisture laden warmth of the tropics continues to caress all and sundry with sticky-wet fingers.
The clouds continue to gather in thick-bodied eskers along the horizon while the sky above shifts between a myriad shades of grey.  The trees sway to the side favoured by the wind, rustling prophetically of things to come.  Then suddenly they are still, silent.
A storm is brewing.

Act 1 - Scene 2:
As far away as the rain bearing clouds appeared 20 minutes ago, they have magically, mysteriously traversed the curvature of our atmosphere and are now directly overhead.  The grey of the sky becomes opaque like thick wedges of granite.  Even though you’ve witnessed this drum roll of a scene a million times, it stops you in your tracks, makes you look up, sends the smallest of cold shivers down your spine.  If you’re indoors, you look on from the safety of your enclosed space.  If you’re in your car, you hurry home; if you’re walking, you quicken your steps to the nearest shelter. 
And then the weather gods begin their ethereal orchestra as big fat drops of rain begin to pelt the earth in an opening prelude.  

Act 1 - Scene 3:
Lightning forks through the sky in an ever widening mesh across the city, its jagged ends tearing into the clouds overhead.  Jeering, threatening, laughing Thunder strides along with its booming megaphone.  The stuporously falling rain has now transformed into sinewy sheets that cut diagonally into the stinging, singing earth. The usually bustling streets are almost empty; when the gods are at play, the mortals look on from safe distances.  Maternal Calandra* cloaks the city in a gentle haze, blurring out the most riotous parts of the explosive crescendo.  
And the rain continues to come down. 

Act 2 - Scene 1:
The glistening leaves on the rain-washed trees rustle in the evening breeze, shaking off their watery burdens drop by drop.  The Earth rises from her lotus position, stretching out her arms, a sweet petrichor exuding from every pore.  Flying, crawling, creeping creatures poke out wary heads, blinking at their shimmering world.  The more intrepid venture out for a last meal before their day is finally done.  Fledglings raise a stridently petulant clamour, instinctively aware that the beast has moved on and their world is once more safe and bounteous.  
People hurry on with their lives, still guarded, still weather-anxious but impelled by that unceasing urge to get up and go on.  
There is a final roll of distant thunder as Zeus laughs one last time. 
The clouds clear and a rosy orange sunset appears on the horizon as the rest of the deific thespians head back to Olympus*, their cosmic romping done for the day.

Act 2 - Carpe Momentum:
The late evening breeze is cool and crisp as it darts nimbly into gardens and homes, nipping gently at sun-browned skin.  The sky is clearer, brighter as Orion and Taurus blink in nocturnal wakefulness.  The smaller creatures are abed, while the bigger ones slow down in the gentle luminescence of a clear, fragrant night.  
Tomorrow will be another day with its own atmospheric act and aura, for that is the way of the lusty tropics.  And the children of the weather gods will awaken to a new day, fresh beginnings and another chance to get it right.
I want to know, have you ever seen the rain?
I want to know, have you ever seen the rain
Comin’ down on a sunny day?
– Rod Stewart

TRIPPING GOALS | CALAMANSI COVE VILLAS – Part Deux

On By Mahvash K. M.In Holidays, hotels, SriLanka, writingLeave a comment 
HOTEL: CALAMANSI COVE VILLAS BY JETWING
AT: Wijerama Road, Balapitiya 80550
TYPE: LUXURY BOUTIQUE HOTEL (with 12 villas in total)
DISTANCE FROM COLOMBO: ABOUT 2 HOURS DOOR TO DOOR

So back we went a-tripping to Balapitiya; the second time in a month – that seafront is quite fabulous! (Read about the first visit here: https://theroamingdesi.org/2021/02/11/trippinggoals/ )

I have to spend some time waxing eloquent on the sublime quality of the beach at the Calamansi Cove Villas. The soft, powdery sand is only the beginning. If you’re a sea-splashing adventurer, nicely ensconced between the swashbuckling surfers and the comatose horizon watchers, then this place is perfect! We treaded the satiny sand into the sea at around 5.15pm on both days that we were there.

The sun was hanging at a pendulous 70 degree angle to the horizon, its daytime energy already transformed into eventide warmth. The sea, at that time, was calm and lovely, like a sheet of shimmering glass. We floated along on gentle swells watching a strawberry pink sunset putting itself to bed. And then suddenly there were clouds overhead and the breeze whipped up the waves into a lively frenzy. The benign undulations became cresting and crashing waves that would have been perfect for a bit of body boarding. Not having access to any boards, we just expended our energy standing our ground (or turning an inadvertent somersault) in the rushing undercurrents. Throughout, the water was almost tepid, warmed by the tropical sun; it was like being in a giant jacuzzi (with the heat setting at its lowest!)

The rest of the trip kind of unfurled around our sea experience. The only difference from our last trip being that this time we stayed at the Calamansi suite situated on the first floor as opposed to the villas that are all at ground level. It was a beautifully appointed apartment, and was spacious and bright. The only thing that detracted from the ultimate experience of seaside luxury was the lack of a tub or a jacuzzi. That would have been the superlative frill in the sumptuous resort experience. But like I said, the sun-warmed waters of the Indian Ocean made up quite nicely for the lack of any man made tributes to the same. The view of the ocean from the airy balcony was somewhat impaired due to the regulatory fringe of tsunami-ready palms waving their green fronds at eye level.

I’d be doing a disservice to discerning resort goers and the establishment if I didn’t add on some Opportunites for Improvement.

-The set menu was fabulous at breakfast but became increasingly lacklustre by dinner. The Calamansi kitchen produces excellent local fare but struggles with continental cuisine. A little more effort/ finesse on that front would make a big difference to the overall food  experience.
-The electric kettles (we experienced 2 in quick succession!) are a boiling water disaster waiting to happen. They don’t go off on their own and by the time I switched ours off from the mains, the whole kettle was scalding hot, including the on/off button. Got a first degree burn on my hand to show for it. The resort also ran out of regular black/ English breakfast tea bags ... while the ginger, green and earl grey sachets danced around in unmitigated abundance!
-The duvets continue to be made for the tundra freeze; I was obliged to play a seemingly endless game of hide n seek with mine all night. I suppose some like it hot!

The service team was exceptional as always. From graciously obliging us with culinary favours, to arranging a taxi post haste when our car refused to start (yes, karmically gentle misadventure to balance out the happy times!), the Calamansi crew are quite the hospitality champions. Thank you again, to the whole team for another memorable getaway.

I have yet to capture the gorgeous sea. Time for a waterproof camera!
The Calamansi Suite

VERSE| HARRY HARRY, QUITE CONTRARY

On By Mahvash K. M.In Foot in the Mouth, poetry, verse, writing2 Comments 
This is well meaning satire.  (Clarifying for the benefit of those readers who are still in awe of the Royals and may feel quite contrary about such outrageous literary endeavors 🤓)
Read to the lilt of “Mistress Mary, Quite Contrary, How does your garden grow?”
Harry Harry! 
You’re so contrary 
How does this scandal go?
With Meghan talking 
The Monarchy balking 
And the Commonwealth all in a tizzy so.

Hairy Hairy!
The story’s getting scary!
As Archie’s peaches’n’cream glow ...
Was once under suspicion 
Since the pasty skin condition 
Is vital for the bluest blood to flow. 

Marry Marry! 
In crowns and skirts a-flarey
You had to jostle the imperial bough ...
Daddy did the right thing 
Big brother duly followed him
You went and started a socio-cultural row.

Goblins and Fairies! 
You wish that you could tarry 
In Nevernever Land with Cap’n Hook ...
For reality’s a-biting 
This game of thrones is frightening 
And it just seems nicer to be hiding in a book.

For Friends and Adversaries!
To know was necessary 
That is how great changes take root ...
So keep the commoner cloak on 
The scandal’s far from being gone 
Granny too’ll want to stomp her august boot.

But when all’s said and done ... 

Its hurrah hurrah Harry! 
You’ve been extraordinary 
For calling out the system so ...
The bigoted beast’s a-fester
Of king and queen and jester
Dang! It’s been a cracker of a reality show! 
*America’s Hat: a colloquial nickname for Canada

VERSE | LOVE ACTUALLY – Part Deux

On By Mahvash K. M.In Foot in the Mouth, poetry, verse, writingLeave a comment
Almost but not quite beleaguered and bemasked – February 23rd, 2021

In the spirit of well-meaning satire, a droll little tribute to our visiting PM, Imran Khan. You’re still our best hope.

The flags are flying at full mast
The PM’s coming to town
The green and white, oh what a sight 
For diplomatic, foreign affairs of the heart.

He’s also got the go-ahead
To traverse through enemy space
The Indian stratosphere, oh dear oh dear
What if he disappears before arriving here!
A conundrum, a tragedy, a veritable geo-political disgrace.

But when all is said and done and he brings 
His cooperative politicking to town
Then if things go his way or the way of the Modi
Is superfluous as he leaves some of his aura behind
That persona, that charm, oh what a man!
It is Love Actually* that i feel for Imran Khan.
The icon, the enigma, the sportsman turned statesman of Pakistan.

(Yes, with sugary sweetness this verse is replete,
But I hope you can read the gentle comic relief) 

And so I end this tribute with a nod and a cheer,
You’ve got your hands full our PM dear, 
So while you’re trippin’ around, 
This erstwhile seaside town
Do get some R&R with Lanka’s favourite Arrack and beer.

A view of the Galle road, Colombo from my cafe vantage point today

*Read Love Actually – Part 1 here: https://theroamingdesi.org/2020/09/21/love-actually/

FILM PICKINS| STAR TREK – VOYAGER (1995 – 2001)

On By Mahvash K. M.In Movies, writingLeave a comment
The crew with hearts of gold pressed latinum and the luck of the devil!

My trek across the galaxy that began with Star Trek, Deep Space 9 (DS-9), has continued with the constant state of high adventure of the Voyager. Although I’m still traversing the Delta quadrant with the intrepid crew in the middle of season 6, the glimmers of home in the alpha quadrant seem brighter with each episode. And after almost 150 episodes, I feel like I can put some pixel energy behind the cause of the on-screen Voyager effort.

Straight off, I have to get this little confession off my terran, earth-bound chest: the Voyager despite its majestic galavanting across uncharted space, just doesn’t warm the cockles of the heart as DS-9 did. The fact that DS-9 was a space station and therefore some semblance of “solid ground” where the inter-galactic shenanigans took place, could have been the magic bullet; or it could just be the quirky wholesomeness of all its alien characters. Either way, my sojourn with Voyager has seen its fair share of hoping for a quick photonic catapult to Earth, which would also gracefully allow me to wormhole out of a few episodes! And when frustration with the elusive Caretaker and his speed devil of an invention becomes over-powering enough for me to pull the plug on the whole thing, a fabulous little episode or two come along and I continue to fondly persevere through yet another ST-Voyager cloaked pandemic evening.

All the main characters of Voyager appear to be doppelgängers of the primary DS-9 crew: Tom Paris is fashioned after our endearingly narcisstic Dr. Bashir; B’ellana Torres, like Kira, is as fiery as she is compassionate; Harry Kim is the youthful avatar of Chief O’ Brian; Tuvok is as painfully forthright as Odo and carries himself with the same idiosycratic panache of one who is obliged in his professional capacity, to deal tolerantly with the rabble around him; Neelix is like a glorified Rom, compassionate and wise under a jocular exterior; the good doctor is a combination personality imbibing traits from across the spectrum while holographically catalysing the episodes where the usual flesh and blood would put a quick (and gruesome!) end to the story. With his cool temperament, Chakotay is the Jadzia Dax of Voyager, bringing that essential equilibrium and balance to the management equation. Seven of Nine is definitely the embodiment of many an adolescent male’s fantasy: beautiful, robotic and not shy. Captain Janeway though makes a much better captain than her DS-9 counterpart. That husky voice and the southern drawl combined with her peculiar professional maternity quite nicely clinches the part.

Other Deep Space Distillations:

-The staff quarters are like 5-star hotel suites, roomy with panoramic views of the stars and any number of cosmic aurora borealis. The experience is further authenticated with the complimentary chocolates (read: replicators!) and floral arrangements from across the galaxy.

-Many of the episodes are tear jerkers in their overload of drama and emotions. I admit to having wiped a tear or 3 at the fag ends of an unusually large number of episodes! (I did put it down to PMS the first few times but the Voyager and I have been steady roommates through the last 5 weeks and the lachrymal glands continue to keep pace).

-There is little to no chemistry between Torres and Paris, except maybe of the phonetic kind regarding their last names. The directors did well to keep that relationship nuanced rather than giving it an all-out screen presence. However, Seven of Nine’s largely unemotional “Borgness” and the Captain’s authoritarian maternal aura were spot on; permanent/ deep-seated love interests would have detracted from the believability of their characters.

-The little red thread that goes through most of the Voyager episodes is the almost fable-like quality of its various plot lines. Social issues across a wide gamut are sometimes playfully and sometimes poignantly portrayed. From wars, to parenting, to AI/ holographic rights and ethics, to sexism and racism, the intergalactic heart is mostly in the right place, even if human ethnocentricity does come across from time to time. (After all, as far as we know, the audience species for the series is one: Earthly and humanoid!)

-Since the DS-9 and Voyager productions overlapped for over 4 years, there was a fair amount of character trading as the same actors embodied various species and personalities aboard the 2 galactic strongholds. A few noteworthy examples are Tony Todd who was Worf’s brother and an older Jake Sisko in DS9, was also an alpha hirogen in Voyager; J.G.Hertzler who played General Martok on DS-9, was also a johnny-come-lately, well-meaning hirogen in Voyager; and Jeffery Combs who played Weyoun and the relentless Ferengi, Brunt in DS-9, continued to be the wringer of inter-galactic skill and strength in Voyager as Penk, the insidious organizer of galactic gladiatorial competitions.

I have about 40 episodes to go before Voyager reaches home or arrives at the fate sketched for it by her creators. And I still have to see a heart-warmer akin to the Vic Fontaine episodes of DS-9. The Voyager crew, however, does make ample use of their holodecks to recreate 19th and 20th century European utopias such as they are/ were. And so, between leisurely trips to Sandreine’s in scintillating Paris, and Fair Haven in old world Ireland, the crew and I are calling upon all our Netflix binge prowess to go a-tripping across the last 30,000 light years or so to the final finish.

Will I be embarking on another Star Trek sojourn after this? Unlikely until Discovery puts forth new material.

Until then, live long and prosper and while you’re at it, stay safe and be kind to one another.

Read my blogpost FILM PICKINS | STAR TREK- DEEP SPACE 9 here: https://theroamingdesi.org/2021/01/22/film-pickins-star-trek-deep-space-9/

SHORT STORY|A BRAVE NEW WORLD*

On By Mahvash K. M.In Fiction, fictionlog, writing3 Comments

A tribute to the brave young men and women who battle everyday to come to terms with their identity and a perennially judgmental, dogmatic society. May each of you find the strength to be the truest and best version of yourself.

Geena woke up with a monster of a headache. She sat up slowly, disoriented, the neurons in her brain firing a piercing staccato. She held her throbbing head as the events of the previous evening flitted across her hippocampus in discordant technicolour… a night out with friends, B52 shots, Neelu was there, more shots, they’d talked, vodka shots, she was definitely the one, they’d danced, even more shots, they’d kissed…. The memories bounced around her head in weird harmony with the stabs of pain in her body, making her grimace. Geena, the fighter of causes, the Robina-hood of small but essential kindnesses, the dogged agent of change for others, was a frightened, anxious little girl when it came to herself. When did she become so weak? She frowned against the whipping, curdling flow of her boozy blood, arming herself with the shifty valour of self-suggestion.

Say it Geena! Just own it! SAY IT OUT LOUD!

Her head pounded harder, punishing her… for what? For what she wanted to say? For what she couldn’t say? She quivered with the effort.

She couldn’t voice it; her identity, her very being continued to hide inside her like a deep, dark, dirty secret. She crumpled, her spine bent, her voice as silent as the tombs of long forgotten conquerors. No, this wasn’t the day she was going to be her own hero.

Geoff came inside the house, tossing his keys onto the console table. He was glad to be home; it had been an unusually busy Sunday morning. He went straight up to Geena’s room and found her still in bed. She was asleep. He looked at her, at the exhaustion etched in her beautiful face, at the sweet innocence that still enfolded his 18 year old daughter. It had been another one of those nights when she’d arrived home drunk, angry and tearful. How he wished his wife, Ruwani was still around… was still alive. She had been the loving, grounding anchor for this now somewhat dissonant family. He sighed… Ruwani would have known how to handle this teenage angst. He had tried talking to Geena but had always come up against a wall as fortified as it was high; she wouldn’t let him in. He got himself a glass of ice cold water and sat down, mindlessly switching on the television. Anderson Cooper on CNN was saying something about America’s decaying morality…

Something was nagging at him. It was something about morality and uprightness. About righteousness. It was about family values, about being respectable and … being normal. There was an elusive element of normalcy that seemed to be missing from his life… from Geena’s life…

He shook off the strange, disconcerting feelings – like he always did. He’d have to talk to Geena about her drinking. And he’d make it a point to ask about that new boy he’d seen with her group the other day. He never thought he’d say this to her before she was 30, but a nice boy in her life would actually be good for her.

Geena woke up at past 6pm, splintery glimmers of her hangover still keeping her company. She took a couple of panadols to quiet the tumult in her head and lay back in bed, looking at the ceiling overhead. As the pain receded, she became aware of a faint little feeling in her chest… a feeling of something new, something spirited, something honest. It warmed her, tickled her, strengthened her. She smiled tremulously, blinking in the anticipation of the ultimate truth-telling, of a final release from her demons. She was going to talk to her father about it. She was going to tell him that she … she liked girls. She always had. She was a lesbian. That word… still awkward on the tongue and yet that’s what she was. She let the idea float around her head, felt it fuse with her thoughts, sensed it coursing through her body.

She grinned widely – hopeful, nervous, anxious… but mostly hopeful.

It was another Friday night at apartment TP-1.

Tonight though, there was the ragged aura of broken hearts. The truth-telling, the sharing of confidences, the spiritual reckoning had been had. A father sat slumped in his chair, wounded, silent. A daughter stood looking at him, shattered, resigned, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Despite everything, he wanted to reach out. Even in the abyss of her despair, she looked at him, willing him to reach out.

De Khudai pe aman

*A Brave New World: Title inspiration from Aldous Huxley’s dystopian social science fiction novel of the same name.

FEATURE|THE ENIGMA OF LEISURE TRAVEL IN 2021

On By Mahvash K. M.In travel, writing1 Comment

When I thought of travel 5 years ago, images of copious, laborious intercity bank visits always came to mind. Job related travels to metropolises, townships and little rural outposts were the sum total of all my hours logged on the road.

Then I embarked on my sabbatical and the whole meaning of the word Travel changed for me. It embodied everything from a leisure trip to Europe or the Middle East, to amiable walks along my own city’s tree-lined, sun dappled walkways. My journeys, big and small, slowly but surely morphed into trips of not only the body but the mind and the soul too as I roamed around and smelled the gardenias, the araliya and the roses. The mind-numbing fumes of business travel were a distant memory in my newly acquired state of finally being free enough to follow my own heart rather than the terse instructions on my work day scheduler. And so it came to pass, that yours truly went from being a reluctant traveller at best, to feeling a rush of endorphins at the very idea of a trip away from the (not entirely unloved!) sweltering bustle of the city. I had become the quintessential Leisure Traveller and I basked in the glorious serendipity of the role.

I also came to realise that Leisure Travel does not have to be limited to trips taken during time away from work. The astute traveller with a love of roaming, can quite successfully combine business and leisure travel with some strategic pre-planning.

-Do a little homework on your destination.  If you’re visiting the place for the first time, it’s always a good idea to take in the top 3-5 tourist attractions.  Take a guided tour for the maximum bang for the buck.  If you’re the intrepid, adventurous type, pick a couple of the places that interest you the most and go it alone.  Some pre-planning on the most optimal modes of transport will be helpful to ensure you don’t find yourself woefully light of pocket post your very first taxi ride.  

-Consult your hotel/ motel concierge. These personages are surprisingly wonderful founts of knowledge on the best, most budget-friendly local sights, sounds and tastes. I have visited some of the nicest little local hot spots and had some of the choicest local cuisine at the behest of their friendly bidding!

-Come prepared with sturdy walking shoes (preferably waterproof), a lightweight umbrella and a light jacket. Whether you’re in the sultry tropics or the cool alpine heights, you’ll be prepared for that unexpected monsoon or seasonal shower.

-Carry a basic medical kit with bandaids, pain killers, anti allergies, mosquito repellant and oral rehydration salts (foreign cuisine can be dicey!)

So what does Leisure Travel look like in 2021?

In our current lives, buffeted as they are with uncertainty on so many fronts, I would define leisure travel as any trip that allows you to relax and/ or rejoice; to realign body, mind and soul to attain some semblance of inner peace and quiet. Whether it takes a solitary retreat in the middle of a forest, or a full moon party at a crowded beach, the purpose of leisure travel is to rejuvenate the traveller. To revitalise the trip-maker to get back into the fray of life, feeling less burdened and more prepared to take each day as it comes.

Given the pandemic and the far reaching limits on travel generally, leisure trips need to become increasingly more creative and out of the box. After a year of enduring pandemic-fuelled lockdowns and curfews, people are more than ready to get away from it all.

Leisure travel can be as simple as a day trip to a spa or a hotel a little way away from home. Little bubbles of rest and relaxation that allow one to get away from the milieu of every day life while also keeping within pandemic defined geographies.

Another increasingly popular avenue of holidaying is to rent a bungalow or a villa somewhere. This is a fortuitous remedy for larger families allowing for both, a change of scenery as well as ensuring pandemic health protocols are observed. There are no busy hotel lobbies or crowded pools or overflowing dining areas to contend with. It’s a pandemic leisure traveller’s dream come true; a kind of “home away from home” holiday.

For the intrepid travellers with dogged wanderlust, there are still places around the world where life goes on undisrupted. With the addition of certain basic health obligations like a negative PCR test, wearing masks in all public places and observing state postulated social distancing rules, these places continue to welcome visitors and indeed have much to offer in the way of travel experience. Some tropical destinations fall into this sphere of venturesome travel.

I, in the meantime, vaccinated and boosted, am content with traveling to my neighbourhood cafe and escaping into the world of abundant imagination across vast spaces through the keys of my iPad. And for the occasional temerarious shock to the system, I and my partner in all crimes of high adventure, pack our overnighters and get away to a nearby beachy or green locale, all the while basking in the simple pleasure of the journey itself.

Leisure travel during the pandemic really is akin to living by the compass and not by the clock, as we tend to our bodies and our spirits in the overwhelming tenuousness of our current lives.

LOCAL SIGHTS FOR SORE EYES AND SPIRITS

FOOD SWINGS|The Capital Bar and Grill

On By Mahvash K. M.In food, opinion, writingLeave a comment 
RESTAURANT: CAPITAL BAR AND GRILL AT THE SHANGRI-LA HOTEL
ADDRESS: ONE GALLE FACE MALL, COLOMBO 3
CUISINE:  MODERN, INTERNATIONAL, CONTINENTAL
Ensconced in the modern, luxurious environs of the Shangrila Hotel, this venue is almost a nostalgic throwback to the bars of the 40s and 50s, with a lovely modern twist.  From the repertoire of live music to the atmosphere, it is warm, retro and relaxing.
I’ve been a number of times to the bar and admit, i have had a varied gamut of experiences.  

OPPORTUNITIES FOR IMPROVEMENT:
-The Parking area is dismally inadequate over the weekend as wedding parties, mall goers and hotel patrons all vie for a spot.
-Patrons are not allowed to make reservations at the bar.  So if one happens to walk in later than 8.30pm, there may not be a seat/ table available.  If there are a significant number of no-shows, put in a process whereby reserving patrons are called 20 mins before their scheduled arrival time to re-confirm their reservation.  If they don’t arrive despite the re-confirmation, give the table to someone else. 

THE GOOD STUFF!
-The atmosphere definitely.  It is luxurious yet comfortable - one can sit back and bask in the lap of old world charm at quite its best in Colombo.
-The food is quite good for the most part.  
-The service is good (I do go on about service because it really makes up half the food and hospitality experience.  Having been in the Financial Institutions Customer Experience realm for almost a decade, it is almost instinctive now to gauge every aspect of service delivered, from the front-desk manner of the usher to the culinary/ spirits knowledge of the serving staff).
-The live music sessions have always been fabulous.  The last time it was a lovely myriad of jazz, folk and country delivered beautifully.
FABULOUS BEEF BURGERS WITH A BOTTLE OF LOVELY, MEDIUM BODIED, CHERRY-TART CHIANTI

FOOD SWINGS| “RARE” At Uga Residence

On By Mahvash K. M.In food, opinion, writingLeave a comment 
RESTAURANT: “RARE” AT UGA RESIDENCE
ADDRESS: PARK STREET, COLOMBO 7
CUISINE:  MODERN, INTERNATIONAL, WITH A QUINTESSENTIAL SRI LANKAN TWIST 
This was my first time for dinner at the Uga.  

OPPORTUNITY FOR IMPROVEMENT:  
There was really only one aspect that got to me.  Only because it is so simple to get right... or wrong:

-The bread basket was sadly full of old, crusty pieces of bread which set a somewhat dire tone for the rest of the meal.  The staff was quick to respond and they did bring out a fresh bread basket.  That was a faux pas that is so easily/ cost effectively avoided. 

THE GOOD STUFF!
-The atmosphere was absolutely scintillating.  It was just post a monsoon shower and everything was clean and gleaming.  The restaurant overlooks a courtyard that is especially beautiful.  We requested them to put a table outside for us so we ate al fresco.  It was quite surreal.

-The appetisers were quite fabulous, especially the baked cauliflower.  The Waldorf salad was not bad second.

-The main courses were quite good.  I had the chicken in lemon grass and my partner had the pork belly.  

-The service was quite impeccable given that the restaurant was full and the establishment was short-staffed that evening.

-They had a good/ wide selection of wines available (which is a bit of a rarity even at the better bars around town).  And they served it beautifully with a decanter and the works.  I’m a bit persnickety about how the wine is stored and how it is served since it makes all the difference in flavour preservation.  Good storage ensures the sulphites in the wine don’t ferment and “vinegarize” the wine.  Good pouring service, with a decanter or an aerater ensures that the wine breathes as much as possible from a newly opened bottle, for the flavours to really come to the fore.
THE POST RAIN, GLEAMING UGA RESIDENCE COURTYARD

FEATURE|BY TUK OR BY CROOK

On By Mahvash K. M.In urbanfantasy, writingLeave a comment

I have now been using these four-stroke creatures to transport me around the island for the last 5 years, and I have to say that we’ve developed quite a lovely (e)motional symbiosis. They take me where I have to go, and I help them log a part of their daily distance while we both also get in a bit of a quaint conversation. The tuk tuk chatter ranges from Imran Khan’s political likability (he’s at least universally loved by the SL 3-wheeler brigade), to expertly compressed 6 minute summaries of their lives delivered amidst unexpected swerves, dodges and lurches, as my driver looks back during the choicest parts of his particular narration. I react congenially enough until imminent death threatens our largely blindly-pitching carnival of drama. Then I don my mother superior mantle, cut my voluble driver short and tell him if he doesn’t focus on getting me to my destination still in possession of my earthly form, that I will disembark right there, right then. That works, because losing a “hire” is almost as bad as having an animated conversation killed at its apex – this tuk tuk double whammy is a thing to be avoided at all costs. So the rest of the journey continues in inhaling the toxic and nauseating but thankfully silent, and undramatic fumes of over-taking vehicles.

Tuk Tuk drivers come in all manner of forms, from the road runners to the pavement huggers and a whole colorful gamut in between. There are the staid, honest types who drive in sedate silence (a perrenial favourite and an increasing rarity); the sly, intrepid ones who will take you on wildly circuitous routes to your destination; the meter cheaters who with undisguised enthusiasm will punch in 10 extra buttons on the instrument to awaken the tuk tuk Beast of Deceit; the MI6 Hall of Famers who will glance suspiciously at every other vehicle they pass, with special x-ray vision scans reserved for when they stop at traffic lights. The ones that are big fans of external trappings, their carriages outfitted with WiFi, a DVD player, a 15 inch monitor, sanitizer, a tissue box and, wait for it…. seatbelts! The nervous, anxious ones driving barely intact tuk tuks that groan and whine in anguished protest – (I tend to tip them the most generously. My sentimental, rooting-for-the-underdog knee jerk reactions continue to be alive and well). The Goodwill Ambassador who will, over the 10 minute ride, deliver a heart warming speech on the goodness of his countrymen and the many wonderful bounties of his paradise isle. Then there are the tenacious shopping mall 3-wheeler brigades with ethics that are as dubious as they themselves are territorial – one has to spew some quantities of brimstone and hellfire to get out of their clutches; also probably the only contingent that all the other tuk tuk drivers hesitate to lock their … headlights with!

This endearingly sensationalist lot also believes in pithy, public declarations of the meaning and gist of their lives, emblazoned as they are on their autos. There’s a sweet, almost nostalgic obsession with certain historical personages and quaint adaptations of favored English idioms: Like Che Guevara who always wants the tuk tuk contingent to rebel; Bob Marley who would like them to forget their woes in most likely, a moonshine-steeped, reggae-rocked weekend. Then there is the tuk tuk driver throwing out a barefaced challenge asserting “if you’re bad, I’m your dad“; or the one who’s had it with arrogance saying “fly not high so you fall not low“; or the myriad others who loudly declare that their hearts are up (on their tuk tuk behinds) for the taking, and as many more who have publicly closed themselves to love… certain lady passengers always being an exception!

On wet days, of which there are many on this tropical island, the rickshaw drivers will race home largely oblivious to the desperate hails of rain-soaked pedestrians. The ones with a flair for a bit of perverse drama, will even pretend to slow down and then rev up almost immediately, leaving momentarily buoyed spirits crashing into the puddles forming all around; revelling in the reversal of the supply/ demand structure for the course of the monsoon torrent. I have tended to see the comic relief in this too as I have been lured and then abandoned by the fickle advance and departure of an unoccupied tuk tuk. Like they say, everyone needs their own particular form of catharsis!

As colourful and varied as the character spectrum is on these public carriers, they, one and all, manage to go where no other/ bulkier vehicles can. Through nooks and crannies, brushing, with millimetres to spare, past a lumbering bus, racing down paths barely wide enough for 2 people to walk abreast. There is something of a mild urban censure of these contorting asphalt plyers – many say, a menace on Colombo’s narrow roads that are already burgeoning with their automotive burdens. But for us, the carless, environment-preserving lot (inadvertent as this reduced CO2 footprint state of being may be!) they are our reasons for remaining happily mobile across our neighbourhood geographies.

And so, as I spend my days roaming the city in between bouts of reading, writing and grocery shopping, I have formed an almost affectionate bond with the tuk tuk posse of the metropolis. Despite the ravages wrought by the pandemic of 2020, they remain optimistic, enterprising, courageous and cheerfully defiant on the roads. I still call them out for over-charging, they still respond with outlandish excuses but together we go pitching and careening across the city in a haze of mutual appreciation.

Getting around the island by Tuk or by Crook!