Phyre takes Flight

June 2, 2009.
3:40pm IST.

As I pen this down, I am hurtling through a blue sky in a absolutely magical ride at around 940kms/hour. All I can see around me is a white haze. All I can see below me are fluffy white clouds. Clouds one could very well imagine to be goose down, whipped cream, cotton candy or a hundred different things that feel equally comforting and feel just as lovely.

Airplanes are, without a doubt, one of the coolest things invented by mankind. As the plane I was strapped in taxied before takeoff on the runway, I saw an airplane take flight. It was the first time I had seen a sight like that with my own two eyes.

Graceful, powerful and in an odd way, divine. It was magnificent.

From then on, until the time I finally gathered my wits to pen this down, my mouth had been frozen into a muoue of awe and wonder.

Yes, it is my first flight. And yes, it stole my breath away. Literally.

As the plane slowly lifted off the runway, I felt nothing but for a wild sense of exhileration and gratitude. My first trip to someplace unkown in a transport I had never before experienced was happening alone.

I had the window seat. Heck, I had the entire row of seats. It was my own private strip in a flight almost filled with people.

So in my solitude, I grinned and exclaimed all I could. Mad and freely. My muoue slowly transformed into a gape as the aircraft slowly gained momentum and geared up for the fastest zoom-off I have known. A L O N E.

The runway soon became a strip under me and then a dull slash. The buildings became little dots and then spots. The murky brown seas gave way to turquoise waters and soon Bombay- the land I was born in and roamed around in for more than twenty years was little more than an inconsequential speck. Gone.

I am now further from home than I have been at any other point of my life. The three old biddies travelling with me make up my entire connection with my hometown. My cellphone has been switched off. There is no internet to while away time with either.

All I have is a borrowed pen, an old diary, some luggage, too many mangoes, my altitude-soaked thoughts and faint strains of “Katherine Kiss Me” drifting through my mind.

This is, without a doubt, one of the most exciting things to have ever happened to me in a long, long time. Far from being disgruntled (as I initially was) about making my first flight alone, I am happy and humming. Not a bad twist in my plight if I might say so.

What is even crazier in fact,  is that my first trip in an aircraft made for an unusual and unexpected anniversary present. The anniversary of four years of the start of my wild and passionate affair with a unique man.

Happy Anniversary Melroy. And for the man that you are, Thank You.

June 2, 2009.
4:10pm IST.


The Perfect Proposal. Is there really such a thing?

Everyday as I pass by the under-refurbishment Spykar outlet near where I work, I can’t help but spend at least 5 seconds of my time staring at this utterly captivating advertisement: 


Yes, the models are painfully rangy and the style of proposal is completely not what most catlics would consider appropriate, but dang it! Does a marriage proposal really need to be proper and appropriate? 

I prefer to think otherwise.

As not many of my peers have yet been proposed to, I am not one to claim first-hand experience in the many different ways Indians (especially catholics) propose and accept. There was one story I heard today though that made me melt into a puddle of mush. I can still feel the glow because my own marriage proposal would have been quite similar, if things turned out differently.

Regardless, if there are any men out there reading this, dare to be different- your woman deserves the lovely memory.

If there are any women out there reading this, it’s probably the happiest day of your life (“probably” ‘coz you need to count first shoes, first kiss, first ball, first pyjama party as well)- so go with the flow.

I have read about newly-betrothed women gettin teary, embarassed, angry, murderous, confused and… you get the point, when being proposed in public. More fool them I guess (for picking the wrong guy).

There is NOTHING quite like the sight of the man you love popping the question of a million lifetimes to you. It may not be a heartwarming speech and it may not be a poem, but it definitely is a baring of the soul and more than what you can expect from that part of the species that rarely deals well with emotion beyond heartthudding football match verdicts.

So here’s to my Man, that emotion the poets call Love & the imperfect Marriage Proposal- they are all beyond Magical.