Them Steps

Yesterday Kavs and I were sitting on the steps of my house like we do so often, and it occurred to me that of all the times we hang out at her house or mine, that's more often than not where we end up. I'm sure it suits the parents fine, since it means we're out of their faces but close enough to haul inside when dinner’s ready.

Most of the time, we're at my house. There's something about those five (six?) brownstones that makes it a great place to chill, have aimless conversations, contemplate the meaninglessness of life, or grab a guitar and sing in loud off-key voices. (well.. umm.. the loud off-key may just be me, but whatever).

Now that I think of it, some of the best memories I have of my friends coming over are attached to those steps. I was looking through 14th birthday pics with Ju, Leann, Rhea and me sitting there, can't believe how different we look now. Impromptu counseling sessions with me-and-Ranjit, glad those are over. Where Bijoy and I sat when we had our first three hour long conversation. Christmas '06, when Reuben was down and Dino's Awesomes made their post-midnight-mass debut. A couple of weeks ago it was me-Megs-Ruch-and-Chirag meeting up after three months and creating a ruckus at twelve.

Apparently it's not just us. Kavs and I were looking through her family album, and there's her mom Carole with bell-bottom-pants-wearing Uncle Al, sitting on the steps when they were dating, Desiree and Kenjo as kids, and ancient photos with my Gramma and the Rodrigues Sisters just before one of the weddings (ancient cause they're wearing hats and gloves, wish those days were back).

Of course, when Kavita and I are NOT testing our spitting potential, 'the steps' is where we park ourselves. It's cathartic when you're in a belligerent mood - the combination of trees, darkness and the wall allows any one sitting there to make bitchy comments about unsuspecting passers-by without being seen or heard. Apart from the promenade, it's where I end up when I want peace and quiet, time to think and be left alone. Found the perfect way to relax - head resting on top step, back arched to accommodate second, butt on third and feet on fifth, iPod in hand, and you're set.

Whatever happens to my house (I shudder at the thought and I know so will Kavita), those steps must stay. They've got eighty years of history sitting on them.

After midnight mass, Christmas 2006 - Reuben,

Kavs, me, Mum, Grampa, Ajay, Dad

Ashita, where art thou - three of the four "sexies"!

Steps, Christmas Day 2006.

Spitting

Yes, spitting. Never thought that projecting tiny gobs of spit as far as they'd go would be such a satisfying exercise. Also I never thought I'd be saying it at twenty one - somehow when I was growing up I had visions of myself as a responsible and well behaved (no, really) world citizen at that age.

So you have two very decently dressed twenty-somethings sitting on a pavement at eleven in the night, trying to see how far they can spit, pausing only for the occasional car, and of course Dino Morea's crazy stalker-woman, who by the way would put anyone to shame when it comes to punctuality. Point is, there we were, Kavs and me, stone cold sober, sitting on the pavement and trying to get massive Leo DiCap type gobs of saliva half way across the road (think of DiCaprio clearing his throat in Titanic, possibly the only novel element that movie had to offer).

And I wasn't half bad! I always thought I'd suck at it, but as it turns out, not really so much.. My personal best is 8 feet, Kavita's a few inches ahead. St. Leo's Road still bears the scars of our late night spit-a-thon.. think Kavs and I erased about 20 years of respectable citizenship today. Just a thought, since I'm being disgusting I may as well go the whole hog.. Is spit projectile salivation?

Those who have yet to channel the power of spitting - or of peeing in flower pots, as certain others might testify - are missing out on something wonderful. Hell, Salman Rushdie thought the same thing, what do you think Midnight's Children is all about?

And in other world news, Billy Joel turned 58 today, now yesterday, owing the enormous amount of time it took me to find a picture I liked. Happy Birthday, and may you never crash your car into another tree again.

All About Soul
River of Dreams, 1993
Album Cover designed by Christine Brinkley, his then wife

She waits for me at night, she waits for me in silence
She gives me all her tenderness and takes away my pain
And so far she hasn't run
though I swear she's had her moments
She still believes in miracles
While others cry in vain

It's all about soul
It's all about faith and a deeper devotion
It's all about soul
Cause under the love is a stronger emotion

She's got to be strong
Cause so many things getting out of control
Should drive her away, so why does she stay?
It's all about soul

She turns to me sometimes
and asks me what I'm dreaming
And I realize I must have gone a million miles away
And I ask her how she knew
To reach out for me that moment
And she smiles because it's understood
There are no words to say

It's all about soul
It's all about knowing what someone is feeling
The woman's got soul
The power of love and the power of healing

This life isn't fair
It's gonna get dark, it's gonna get cold
You've got to be tough, but that ain't enough
It's all about soul