A psycologist told me this. And I cannot agree more. After lovemaking, all animals feel sad. There’s so many shades to this phrase that it is simply mindblowing. Think of a fabulous belgian chocolate. You sink your mouth in thinking that it is going to solve all your problems. It takes a few minutes to realize that at best, it was a temporal satisfaction. That my friends, is sadness.


The articulateness of someone who mattered enough to grieve over is not made anodyne by death. The death of her and me. A friendship. Somewhere deep within my past is a Tina shaped hole.

This Tina shaped hole brims with all the sun-dappled joys and aches of girlhood. Starting when our spirits melted and merged in true kindred-spirit meeting moment.

And ending without a backward glance.

We were the ones who spent hours after class feeding teh tarik addiction at the mamak. Starting a few crazy fashion trends in college, beaded hair included (I’ve still got a remnant of the look tucked between the pages of my 1997 Diary). Drooling at some of those melt-in-your-mouth male varieties that sauntered around the uni square. Dreaming together under the sweltering Kuala Lumpur skyline. Philosophy, plays and poetry interspersed by giddy debates and soul searching. We were together so much that we became Tina and Jane said-in-breathless-unison to everyone else.

I don’t know when things started to crumble. First, a boyfriend, Ken who fills Tina’s space. Night and day. I am resentful that she let the friendship suffer for the boyfriend. It doesn’t help that I don’t think much of him and tell her so. You deserve better that this guy I point out, perhaps a bit cruelly. Maybe she’s angry. Maybe she thinks I am jealous. I claim that I am not jealous-I am her best friend and want what’s best for her. That’s what I honestly believe. I am hurt and try talking. But something’s missing now, some intangible thing I cannot point out. Then I meet someone who opens a new world, new friends and parties included. I keep busy.

Then, just like the vision of a white tissue floating out of a train window on a blustery day, its gone. Tina and Jane said-in-breathless-unison.

Where did it go, I ask later. Today, I find out that she just had her first baby. Mentioned in the passing by a third person. That’s how far we’ve drifted away.

What ended with Tina was not just friendship but the idealism of girlhood. Next thing I knew I was out in the world and slipped into a new life, complete with job, credit card and car. The abundant college years, penniless but rich in face-crinkling laughter was light years away. We live in different continents, battling different destinies now. But how do you splinter the memories? Which one is mine, and which one is hers I wonder.

Still, I am startled by women who resemble her. Then, I remember the Tina shaped hole deep in my heart.

*Jeanette Winterson

I caught a rather controversial documentary on Channel 4 on Friday about why women can’t have it all : the career, marriage and kids in-a-nice-package-deal. It’s a myth says high flying journalist Amanda Platell. Somewhere, something gets sacrificed and no thanks to the angry feminism of the 60s and 70s, its the marriage and kids.

“Amanda embarks on a personal journey to examine the plight of the have-it-all generation of women today and, in doing so, reflects on her own life choices. She investigates whether feminism has unwittingly damaged a woman’s chances of real happiness – with a husband and children – liberating them from the shackles of housewifery, but offering an unrealistic dream of being able to have it all, whenever they want it. While she acknowledges the great debt women owe to the trailblazing feminists of the 1960s and 1970s, Amanda asks whether it is the independence they granted women that has made it so hard for today’s generations to settle down and have a family.

She meets some of the key thinkers on women’s issues, among them feminist icon and author Fay Weldon, who was at the heart of the women’s movement that transformed society. In her interview with Amanda she confesses her doubts over the achievements of feminism, suggesting it may have gone too far. Amanda investigates why equality now equates to young women behaving like men – competing with them in the workplace but also matching them drink for drink in today’s ladette culture.

Amanda, herself a high-profile career-woman, believes it is a myth that women can spend their twenties relentlessly pursuing a career and their own agenda then suddenly switch tracks and try and find a life partner and dad for their kids. She tackles the taboo subject of the biological blight of delaying motherhood, speaking to the two senior doctors who were pilloried for suggesting women are damaging their chances of having children by waiting until their late 30s or even 40s. And she asks if the blame for the increasing disintegration of marriage can to some degree be laid at the feet of women who are too keen to put themselves ahead of their relationships.

She meets Minister for Women Tessa Jowell who admits that government policies can only go so far to promote the right work/life balance – ultimately women are responsible for their own life choices. In a visit to a leading girls’ school, Amanda meets a class of 17 and 18-year-olds; the next generation of women, who talk about the pressures they will face in the future – juggling careers with an old-fashioned desire to settle down. Like Amanda, they believe women can’t have it all and that somewhere along the line they will need to compromise aspects of their lives.”

Hmmm…………..

Why must we live through the whole life-business in the bloody dark? Whatever mistakes we make sighed and chalked as experience? And passed on as wisdom to the next generation. Why were we all not given life-operation manuals as we came along?

*fn: C. Bradshaw, soul mate re Sex and the City.

I look for Holden Caulfield still.

Somedays, I mutter a silent prayer so as not to ever see my Catcher in the Rhye hero as a big city corporate lawyer. Anything but that I say. But what if he turned out to be an aimless loafer who bums around? Yet, something always tells me that he did hold on to his dreams and is now an impoverished writer, scribbling away feverishly in an old attic to illume humanity with hope for the young and the brave.

Yet it is with regret that I have to come to terms that I have outgrown my teenage hero. Although I never ever thought that it would come to this, Holden today has been reduced to a mere figment of my imagination, not that tangible kindred spirit with whom I had cried “freaks of the world, unite!” with. But I must tell anyone who ever wondered about life after Catcher in the Rhye this much: yes, there is a world beyond Holden Caulfield.

Franny & Zooey is a lesser known work by that wonderful J.D.Salinger but a masterpiece in its own right. People everywhere who grapple with the lost of their teenage friend Holden would be able to identify with Franny and Zooey Glass. Of course, I don’t think that Salinger wrote F&Z with the intention that it should be in furtherance of the Holden Caulfield experience. There is no apparent link at all to the two. Yet somehow I feel that the impression is magnified for someone with a Catcher in the Rhye background. There seems to be answers here instead of all the mere questions propelled in Catcher.

The thing about books and friends is this. Some books, like friends, we hang on to at a certain stage in life or period of time. Sometimes, we move on and lose touch. We start again with new ones. Occasionally, we bump into the old friend and then cannot help but be imbibed in the nostalgia of the past encounter. Some however are not periodic. There is an initiation and unfolding of kindred spirits that is sealed forever, through all the stages of life. Lifelong friends and lifelong books are never easy to come by. When they do happen, if ever, they become one of those great gifts to treasure always.

Franny and Zooey has been a life-long book that has continually watched over me these growing up years. Now, that I think that I am adult enough in an adult world, F&Z still companies me with a quietude that comes from a best friend’s familiarity, understanding and trust. I first read F&Z with the smugness of a 16 year old who relished in the joy of identifying like minded people. Begone, the phonies and hypocrites that populate the world at large (Maths teachers included).

Of course, at that point in time, it was also for me, more than anything else, a vehicle to be beyond the trivialities of that trash churned by Sidney Sheldon and (god forbid) Danielle Steel that gripped my classmates. There was a relish of discovering something beyond Holden Caulfield and Catcher in The Rhye and thus being able to book name drop about it with nonchalant ease, the little snob that I was (okay, okay,there are things from my past that I am not very proud of but hey, I was 16). F&Z is lesser known than Catcher and subject to some derision by critics who profess to think they know better. I will deconstruct any such detraction with a wave of my hand. Only if you take the time to read this book will you embrace the delicate nuances and pockets of tenderness that sluice the pages of the perfectly calibrated F&Z.

Little did I realise when I picked it up at a second hand bookstore many years ago that it would be the coming-of-age novel of my life. F&Z became the avatar of my young angst.

An elliptical tale of family ties, intellectual probing and spiritual questing, F&Z is Salinger’s recondite exploration of the Glass family, a clan of ruptured intellectuals. Franny and Zooey are the youngest children who not only live in the shadow of their older brothers, Seymour and Buddy, but also now, as adults, have to deal with the intellectual and spiritual burden of a precocious childhood. Weaned on religion and the true path of life before being exposed to all that “fashionable lighting effects-the arts, sciences, classics, languages”, both Franny and Zooey, have at different times, felt that they are far removed from their peers who handle youth with equal degrees of bluster and levity.

F&Z can be seen as entirely 2 different novellas. For me however, it has always been one story with different viewpoints. Franny sees our first rate beauty, Franny Glass, alighting the train into the arms of the self-absorbed boyfriend Lane Coutell. Franny Glass is a study in dichotomy. Wistful and esoteric, her need to reach out to others is great but at the same time, she abhors the superficial pretentiousness of the world. The nadir of her breakdown is her inability to handle this contradiction (and with superficial boyfriend like Lane Coutell, puh leeze. You just know those artifical, arrogant types don’t you? There would be many men I would meet later in life whom I would mentally file as Lane Coutell material and therefore suitably disposed).

In the second part, Zooey, a narrator appears for us. Capturing the 3 Glass family members; Franny, Zooey and their affable mother, Bessie (the rest of the family would receive sporadic mention ala “Banquo’s Ghost”), the family dynamic slowly reveals significance at the end as the mystical and temporal cope together. What I like best is the way Salinger tells us the story in a most conversational way. We later learn that the narrator of the tale is the second oldest (living) brother, Buddy, writer-in-residence at a girls college. I have almost always thought of it as a film Buddy Glass captures on camcorder and then puts in writing. There is a spot of sunshine as Bloomberg the cat moves away. Another shot shows Bessie chinking faintly in her housecoat as she moves about in her large apartment. Then the camera gazes back lovingly at Franny, languishing in the living room. Somewhere in the horizon, painters are marching steadfastly from the bedroom.

F&Z has been a literary journey into my spirit. I must be quick to point that there have been many other books that have touched the very marrow of my being. Yet, there is none of the febrile passion that F&Z evoked as it grew with me. It is the book upon which I founded a portion of my identity and also shaped my literary taste.

I will tell you why.

Somedays, it is almost epiphany to read F&Z. All of you who have been depressed and wake up some mornings wishing that this hypocritical world was dead will know that this is the book for you. It companied me during dark moments of despair and heartbreak, watched over protracted anguish and lended support on ceaseless days. F&Z has and will always be my refuge from the world. I realize that the emotional translucence saved me from a heard-it-all-before sophistication that my smug 18 year-old self was dangerously perched to drown in. I was just like Franny. Her angst satisfied in me a spiritual yearning and embodied the various transmutations of the years.

“All I know is I’m losing my mind,” Franny said. I’m just sick of ego, ego, ego. My own and everybody else’s. I’m sick of everybody that wants to get somewhere, do something distinguished and all, be somebody interesting. It’s disgusting-it is, it is, it is. I don’t care what anybody says…..Maybe I am stark, staring mad and don’t know it.”

F&Z performed a most fundamental role to the insecure young woman not sure of where she fitted in such a complicated world. That my place in society was dictated by my string of A’s, articulate English and well-placed degree gripped me. Inwardly, there was a very real fear of being marginalised for not conforming to such expectations. F&Z was my cheerleader during those years of unsurety and confusion. Believe me, it took me years before I could close a door and ask myself what I thought of people instead of what they thought of me.
Then there are the days when I wonder about the state of being Zachariah Martin Glass. It is Zooey with his blue eyes, “a whole days work”, that defies me. Till date, he is hazy in my mind. I know the tenor of his voice, the wicked glint in those blue eyes, the wide shoulders, his own brand of vanity and madness. Zooey the abstruse, who oscillates between disbelief and bigotry. If only he knew that I have been in love with him for years. I exclaim silently at this strange draw I feel towards him. I too realize that my mother can actually, during moments of time, say things with such alacrity and precision, she could hit an emotional bulls eye with me. Somehow, I too either really take on to people or feel that life is better off without some at all.

“You either take to someday or you don’t. If you do, then you do all the talking and nobody can even get a word edgewise. If you don’t like somebody-which is most of the time-then you just sit around like death itself and let the person talk themselves into a hole. I’ve seen you doing it.”

Et tu, Zooey?

However, as much as striking a fundamental chord within my spirit, F&Z has at different times confounded and infuriated me. It can and has shredded my very make-up. The very nerve of F&Z is the need to find the pulse by which life is to be lived. What has happened to me is that unconsciously, I cannot just live everyday for the moment. Everything has to be linked to the grand purpose of life. I have been so busy planning my life 20 years ahead that the beauty of today is wasted on me sometimes. Some days, I accuse F&Z for fracturing me this way.

But the questions that Salinger was asking is as relevant for me today as it was my eager 18 year old self. Why do we do art? For ego gratification? To help society? To serve God? This was mystic fuel to the questions within me. Of course, Eastern gurus have been talking about all this aeons ago. The Hindus and Buddhists call it dharma. This would of course lead to the other criticism of F&Z pandering to the westerner’s fascination with all that is eastern mystic. Some may find all the highbrow spiritual leanings of the book to be a turn off. The fundamentals however, are elementary.

We can all relate to the premise that although we are basically flawed, at the end of the day, if we live in accordance to the dictates of our heart, we would have lived a good life. That’s really the simple way to happiness.

The complicated way would be to get a psychiatrist.

Some have panned it as just a bit too-smug and self-involved. It may be a bit clever at times but never pretentious. F&Z has heart but it is not always easy to find. That is why it is not on anybody’s bestseller list and mostly only Salinger fans are wont to subscribe the pure unadulterated joy it resonates with.

How do you fundamentally reconcile ego-gratification: our desire for money, fame and that promotion with religion which advocates control of senses, humility and the sublime? The unabashed and ulcerous Zooey Glass says it best as he impersonates Buddy: Do it for the Fat Lady. The idea is all about living a true life and loving true loves. Whatever you choose to do, whatever the outcome of your decisions, just live. But live with all your might. After all, you’ve only got one life, so give it the best that you have. It’s that simple. The gist is condensed by Buddy Glass in a most profound and honestly written letter to his brother Zooey, the actor: “Enough. Act, Zachary Martin Glass when and where you want to, since you feel you must, but do it with all your might.”

And so, it has come to that while F&Z may have its detractors, the truth of the matter is that it is the book that has companied me over all these years of growing-up. I have yet to read the other Glass family saga for example, Raise High the Roofbeam, Carpenters, Seymour and A Perfect Day for Bananafish. But that experience will be another tale for another day.

This is my tribute to Franny and Zooey, with love and squalor.

Work, Work, Work, Work, Work, Work, Work, Work. Repeat till the page is full.

[Inspired of course from Humbert Humbert: ‘Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita. Repeat till the page is full’.]

How come when he said it, it was so full of all breathless, visceral pain and sour-sweetness of yearning? My version sounds like the hoarse rattling of a battered old car that refuses to start?

Maybe because work weighs my shoulder down, a straggling millstone. It’s got a life of its own I tell you, these drafts that I am working on. Every morning when I wake up, they would have readjusted themselves to suit strange whims.

Fancy that.

Over the weekend, 2 very different movies. Woody Allen convinced me that Luck plays a bigger role in peoples lives than they care to admit.Matchpoint had a noir-ish quality that surprisingly sucks you in. Dark passions, a very hot Scarlett Johansen and big doses of luck.

Brokeback Mountain , a haunting lyrical beauty that took my breath away. How many of us find a love that fits like a snug glove and becomes an imperceptible part of ourselves? Ennis and Jack had that.


Over two weeks into the new year. Ah, I haven’t posted at all since.

Yes, it has been a frantic few weeks. Work took on gargantuan proportions. I have a breather now but next week its back to the grind stone. And what of 2005, that sweet-sad, chest-gripping, strange sort of feeling year? (okay, okay I stole that line from Murakami).

It whizzed past without a backward glance I must say. I did manage a small pocket of time to do my annual stock-take. Some highs, some lows and many days of frustrated struggle (mainly work related). I have only now gingerly opened 2006 and am planning to delve deep and hard and enjoy what the year has in store. It may throw good things and un-good but I am ready. As 30 should be.

Ah, yes. I turned 30. With quiet contentment.

We ran away from London, deep into the Welsh country for a few days. M took me for a swanky dinner, with scattered paper stars and moons on the table overlooking a bay. As we linked fingers, I watched the dark waves dance the night away. I am glad. To leave behind the madness of the 20s. There is of course the rose-tinted nostalgia that accompanies reminiscence of this kind. The 20s were filled with all the mayhem, anguish, delight and sheer rush of college, work, relationships and what not.

When I was 18, I sat and wrote a list of all the things that I planned to achieve by the time 30 rolled by. I opened the tattered, yellowed paper that I have been carrying all these years:

I have since done some of those things. Some I haven’t and some are plainly, no longer important. But as the sea and sky merged into a curtain of inky peacefulness, I knew that there is much to celebrate.

So much to be thankful for. Companied with all the love and good wishes of family and friends. Who are with me in love, play and work. Cheering me, de-stressing me, being goofy with me and loving me despite.

So much to look forward to. Some travel awaits, some get-aways, meeting new people and the many parties to be had in our love-filled new home.

So much to learn. From the books that gleam wickedly on the library shelves. From the experiences of yore. From the wisdom of my parents. From friends. New things about M that I keep discovering (for example I just found out that he knows the lyrics to really random songs).

So much to cherish. The past that colours the present. Once upon a time foibles. Halcyon girlhood. The choices I made (or maybe think I did) sum up what I am today.

So much to give. To send lots of sunshine to friends and family.To share knowledge with my students, to exchange ideas and thoughts.

One thing to pray for (that’s my secret).

I can sense it in my bones that the 30s are going to be fabulous.

So, here’s to 30 and Possibilities. Blessings of great magnitude. Swirls of grace and beauty. The goodness of people. The kindness of thoughts. The joy of oneness. Here’s to shimmering dreams unfurling, showers of joy, laughter and magic, pure and simple.

It’s going be great. Fabulous 30.

From World Wide Help
Last year, on the 26th December, an earthquake, and then a tsunami, killed, wounded, or impoverished hundreds of thousands of people in South Asia.

During the course of the year, other disasters took their toll too. Most devastating of them: Hurricanes Katrina and Rita on the South-East coast of the USA; and another enormous earthquake near Pakistan’s border with India.

These disasters took their immediate toll, and, each time, the world tried to help. But as calamity piled upon calamity, there has been a certain amount of fatigue. Perhaps people’s stock of goodwill has run low. Perhaps seeing too much suffering hardens us.

But, the fact is, the suffering from those disasters has not ceased. Parts of South Asia have still not recovered from December 26th, 2005. In the USA, normalcy hasn’t returned to New Orleans. In Pakistan, thousands are still homeless, and may not survive the harsh Himalayan winter.

They need your help.

Last December and this January, the online community came together as never before to help in the aid efforts in South-East Asia. The lessons learned there were put to use, and improved upon, when the other tragic events of the year unfolded.

Can we harness that goodwill, that togetherness, that willingness to help once more?
Here’s a list of donation agencies that are still working on these projects:

Disasters Emergency Committee (DEC)

British Red Cross

Doctors Without Borders

Oxfam Earthquake and Floods Appeal

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I’m spending the day with some of my favourite people. On boxing day, we will be lighting a single candle-in remembrance.