Caught in the Crossfire

The Perfect First Date

2011-12-16T14:34:00.000+05:30

"I haven't been this happy in a long time", he said, looking deep into her eyes in the car.
The prelude to the date were the few conversations they had. Light, breezy, easy. But then, she had always been an easy conversationalist.

The phone calls became frequent. She could almost hear the clicks on the other end, the reluctant tone when they had to hang up the phone, the quick sigh when the date wouldn't arrive soon enough; but arrive, it did. All too soon, she thought.

As she stepped on the foyer of the popular coffee shop, she clutched her stomach lightly. No butterflies, she mused. "The date was pre-arranged, we spoke earlier to match wavelengths, the butterflies will come". justified a small rational voice she hadn't heard in a while. He came in, all smiles and charm and gave her a once-over. She looked at his crooked smile and freshly shaved face and gave a small smile back. The awkwardness lasted for a few minutes, giving way to the same easy conversation, breezy flirtation and chuckling at the brazen suggestiveness. He was a gentleman with undertones of naughtiness, a combination she loved. What was better was the gift that he gave - thoughtful and represented her in every way. "How many times I've dreamt someone would give me something like this" she thought, accepting the hand-made box it came in. "To think he took the time out to make this for me!" She clutched her stomach again, waiting for the butterflies.

Coffee ran over to dinner and the conversation continued. He couldn't take his eyes off her, his glances more appreciative with each passing minute. She had to look away from the intensity in his gaze. His protectiveness was sweet, his "accidental brushes" were tentative, the mile long walk back to the car after dinner, planned. He took her hand like it was the most natural thing to do and she let him. Holding hands, they walked along the road. The night was obliging, breezy, without too many people out. Even the moon was supportive - a bright orange ball, peeking out of the inky clouds, washing them in its light. The laughs were easier, quicker.

"Can we talk for a while?" He asked hesitantly. She shrugged, "Sure." He raised his hands almost like waving a wand and brushed stray hair out of her forehead. She shivered.

In the car, he switched on the music and Billy Joel serenaded them. He sat there, humming along with Billy, his voice in perfect synchronization. He launched into some of his favorite songs, his beautiful voice washing over her. "I haven't been this happy in a long time", he said, looking deep into her eyes.

She clutched her stomach again.

He caressed her arms and she looked down at the tiny flecks of hair on her hand, lying flat.

"We should write a poem. You write one line, I'll write the next" his eyes shone with the sudden inspiration and enthusiasm. "although I can't match your language..." he chuckled and stopped abruptly. He saw something on her face. She didn't know what the expression on her face was, she was busy trying to drown out the ringing in her ears.

"What is this?" she asked, grinning. She knew exactly what it was and she couldn't wait to start.
"It's a line." "Just a line?" she grinned, wider now. "If you wrote the next line and this continued, I would have a beautiful poem to give you during lunch apart from my awesome humor" he said, wryly. "Let's get started then." They wrote furiously, line after line, like a dance building into a crecendo. When the end loomed, she bit her lip in concentration, piecing both their minds as one. As promised, he brought it along with him. Oh, and his awesome humor.

"We don't have to write anything, it was just a suggestion, we could write it later..." he trailed off apologetically. "Yea...later..." she mumbled.

He took her hand again, making small circles with the pad of his thumb on her fingers. She spoke quicker now, withdrawing her hands and gesturing to make her point. He leaned in a little to test waters and she waited, frozen. Chopin was playing in the background, his piano sounds suddenly too loud for the car. She looked on, frozen, willing herself to close her eyes. She looked at his soft, pink lips and imagined him kissing her.

She touched her frozen face and clutched her stomach harder.

"It's late, we should go." she said. The moment was lost. She sighed quickly and got out of the car. Just as she closed the gate and watched him wave cheerily, she realized the sigh was that of relief.

She rushed to the mirror and replayed the moment he asked to write a poem and watched her expression carefully. She looked wilted, aged. The light in her eyes disappeared like a switch. As it was before, the drop in her stomach was that of lead falling through, tearing her insides.

She stared at her hand, the absence of goosebumps more apparent now. She let go of her stomach, letting go of the butterflies that wouldn't come. She stared at the tissue paper that he had twisted into a swan, her namesake, twisting it on her hand in wonder and crushed it in her palm in one, swift motion. The ringtone played, signalling a message recieved. "It was one of the most special nights of my life. You are beautiful and I miss you already" it read. On autopilot, she placed the phone in her purse and zipped it shut.

When she closed her eyes in frustration, a paper fluttered at the corner of her mind, peeking, looking out for a way to prominence in her scattered thoughts. She quickly looked around and found what she wanted. As she poured the contents of her cough syrup on a teaspoon, her phone rang again. "I can't sleep, I can't stop thinking about you" the message read.

"Baby, I don't want to keep the phone"
"I don't want to either"

She downed the syrup in the teaspoon and took a long sip of water. She willed her mind blank and looked at the ticking clock, knowing she had 10 minutes before the syrup took effect. She saw the minute hand crawl and exactly ten minutes later, she fell into a deep sleep.

Was it worth it?

2011-11-16T00:06:00.000+05:30

I was designing a new campaign today, doing some pre-work for it. Looking at posters, thinking of slogans and one-liners to go with it, writing a blogpost promoting it and watching some videos for display during the campaign launch.

A fly landed on my keyboard (yes, I know, it would sound way cooler if it was a butterfly) and I was startled. As I took my fingers off the keys, pushed my chair back and looked at my screen like I would for the first time - in wonderment. I repeated what I just finished working on - I wrote one-liners. I wrote posts. I looked at videos for display. I put a campaign together. When did all this happen!

While working hard on the school magazine, I'd wish very hard for it to be my day-job. During a workshop I attended when in first year college, I made a collage on a huge poster-board describing all the things that I wanted to do when I grow up - Write. Write some more. Read. Watch cool stuff. Edit. Direct. Emcee. Train/teach. Be far far away from math. Oh, and write.

I hadn't stopped to think about just how much of the collage is not just on paper anymore. I stopped to think then. Allowed myself a deep sigh. And swatted the fly away.

Yes, it was.

Types and Me

2011-11-04T20:39:00.000+05:30

R introduced me to Myers-Briggs types. An avid follower of zodiacs, I warmed up to the subject immediately. The 16 personality types is based on your surface answers to seemingly inconsequential questions, which was the key to my interest. The psyche isn't easily delved into, yet, it's the one subject I can talk about without faltering, argue relentlessly and offer insights proactively. Humans - the most passionate subjects of all.

I often wondered why I could connect to some books that others described as weird, ridiculous or simply crazy. As plain as reading my type, an INFP, it indicates a healthy understanding and empathetic to the weird and conducive to the dominant F function. Unconsciously, my favorite authors, the ones who I held torch to, were of my own type; perhaps the reason why I fell in-sync with their characters and quite often, lost myself in them. Haruki Murakami, Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Plath - geniuses in their talent, released unbridled emotions in their everything they wrote. I mention the INFP authors because it is personal to me, remaining true to your type and influencing millions with their work.

I'm good with weird, I suppose. People come to me with their experiences, their reactions, their approaches and I rarely get judgmental or show surprise; it's also why they come to me at all. It is in these interactions that I find myself reacting to people who attract me instantly - ENTJs and ENTPs. Always in their "I will surprise you" element, I find myself flirting outrageously or laughing outrageously or both. They're also the people I'm annoyed with the most for not keeping in touch, for not telling me how deep their emotions ran before announcing they found their other halves and for arguing the bejesus out of the smallest things. Sometimes I feel like I'm in between a rock and a hard place. I'm insanely attracted to the NP functions and insanely put off by the opposing F-T functions. The I-E coexist because my own I is borderline and I don't mind shifting this way or that.

Nudged often about why I don't worship the hot actors, why I don't go for obvious cuteness, I sat down and thought about all the people I've ever had a crush on. The wide grin on my face was impossible to miss. And throughout the time I thought of all the reasons why I instantly liked them, personality was the first answer. The most obvious answer. The rest, was well, secondary. It simply didn't matter. Why I don't sigh at John Abraham's ass in Dostana is because I've seen him in interviews and find him boring. At the same time Abhishek's paunch didn't matter because his quirkiness and wit warmed me considerably. The hottest don't hold my interest, the wittiest do. In that ratio, my crushes are few and disappear when the person in question opens his mouth.

All this with a demand for expression. How am I ever going to find my other half?

2 Hands None the Protector

2011-10-06T22:06:00.001+05:30

I wasn't born with a silver spoon, I grew one in the last couple of years. What with pickup/drop at all times, travelling around in a bumpy share auto, travelling in Hyderabad has always been smooth-sail. Despite the traffic, Bangalore auto-wallahs have been kind to me by turning the meter on at all times.

In Chennai, well, let's just say having boobs and travelling in public transport isn't conducive to each other. Never mind the fact that I dress extra-conservatively, packing away my flashy stilettos and party-wear for some other time (whenever that is), there's always a scarf or a dupatta or something that covers the aforementioned boobs, but somehow there are always a scoundrel or two - and I use the term loosely - who want to have a go at them.

While I walk fast, elbows up, trying to prevent the inevitable attempts at brushing, touching or at inspired moments, groping; with my given two hands, leaving my behind entirely unprotected. Now that's my fault no. I should have had been given 4 hands at least. No one ever said Chamundi got groped, no, she had six very busy hands, killing monsters who had most likely tried to make a pass at her.

At peak times, I catch myself huddling towards the corner of Guindy, one side of the steel mesh as my guardian angel and vaguely swatting the air behind so no one sneaks up on me (as so many do, the bastards).

Its the walk of so many other women here. Strange comradeship we have.

Culture Shock

2011-09-15T18:06:00.000+05:30

My neighbour: What kinda music do you listen to?
Me: Depends on my mood; usually soft rock, hip hop in clubs, country and pop.
My neighbour: Oh, you go to clubs?
Me: Yep
My neighbour (coming over to my desk and whispering in my ear): Do you drink?
Me (pointedly): Yep
My neighbour (with raised eyebrows): I'm impressed!
Me (puzzled look): Is it a thing to be impressed about?
My neighbour: YES! Its very rare here.

Looks over her shoulder and whispers again: We'll talk more.

These little details that make up the conservative side of Chennai. My madras mojo, I'm calling it.

2011-09-12T15:06:00.002+05:30

I've always been on the dramatic side and turning 25 is (gulp) as dramatic as it gets - for now anyway. I had different things planned - dancing till I drop dead (or my feet revolt), confrontations, pulling an all-nighter with my girls and such - you know, typical birthday stuff. As it happened, plans were a wet bag since it was a dry-day because of Visarjan. With clubs closed, I was dismally out of the dancing loop for the night. While scurrying Google for dinner places, I hit upon Hard Rock Cafe - it was open, of course, without drinks. What was initially a small group of four, soon expanded and from thereon, it was all party! Turns out, we didn't need drinks to be high.

While in conversation with my girls, they had strong opinions on my conduct this year, which admittedly, I'd agree to, considering the amount of emotional baggage I managed to pile on myself in a single year is more than my collective dating record. It had one good thing coming out of it though - I shut down several baggage-inducing operations, especially the ones that included overt displays of expressiveness.

I've long since wondered about expressions. I'm an expressive person - I write, I speak, I gesture, I sing and I'm generally exuberant. But what happens when you're dealing with a repressive personalities? When expressions hit a wall and there is little or no reciprocation? I've always wondered how to deal with that. Till date, I've battled on. I chose to express, even where is no reciprocation. I say my piece without encouragement. Few days back, I finally hit my limit - What's the point of it all? What am I proving to myself? What am I confronting for? What does it do for my sanity? What did I do? I stopped. Sometimes, it really is that simple. Just stop. Don't think, don't over-analyse, don't ponder over. Stop.

The other side of twenties is looking up!

2011-09-01T20:34:00.004+05:30

Ever since I can remember, going to a temple has been a chore I'd rather avoid. The noise, the crowd - how do people find their own sandals is beyond me, let alone inner peace. I leave my parents to bribe God, but sometimes, like yesterday, I'm ambushed, glared at because I do not have anything else to do and dragged.

I took my iPod along and two books. Figured if I were out, might as well get a vacation out of it. Of course, you'd laugh when you'd hear it was in the heart of Tamilnadu where despite it being nearly September, it's still hot as hell. After all, Chennai might not be as hot as some of the other interior places in Tamilnadu, but it's still no walk in a breezy park. I sweat it out just to see how much of it I can bear without reaching a snapping point.

An awful 8 hours of back-breaking car-ride later we reached Kumbakonam, the fabled town where Vishnu, as a 60 year old rishi, finds his soul mate's (Goddess Lakshmi) reincarnated form in a 6 year old girl and asks her hand in marriage. When the father objects quoting that she doesn't even know how to cook, let alone be responsible in a marriage, Vishnu asks the little girl to cook, which she does. But she forgets the key ingredient - salt. He eats it anyway and praises it sky high, asking for her hand in marriage again. The father agrees and the two soul mates are united in their reincarnated forms.

The story behind this temple has an obvious conclusion - none of the holy offering made here has any salt. This obviousness should have occurred to me when I picked up a particularly delicious looking lentil-rice crisps to bite into, but by then I was already chewing something that tasted like cud.

The highlight of the visit (yes, there really is one) was the undaunted priest who saw the bored expression on my face (and the obvious yawn) and continued regaling us with the stories of Vishnu and Shiva in Chandrashekharpur.

I wondered then what made him have faith, this young man who worked in a bank, not unknown to the hallows of an unforgiving modern world. It was then his father came to us, a loud man with louder opinions, who had singlehandedly built Chandrashekharpur to its current state: a town that commands respect not only because of the temple his family has tended to, but also because of numerous shops, banks and clinics they'd opened. They did not migrate to cities in search of a "better living", they chose to stay with their roots, but they also made it self-sufficient and provided for. I respected this man with the booming voice and a devout son.

I left with a feeling of respect - for Vishnu, Lakshmi, Shiva, Brahma and several others who, before alighting to their 'God' status, were strong individuals, helping build cities from scratch, providing for people and most of all, being a voice of reason and justice that others could depend on.

The stories of great men and women, I could listen to - and it is just what I did.

Bitch, this.

2011-08-24T00:52:00.000+05:30

The wait is done. I'm off to Chennai, a place I'd never imagined I'd live in. As they say, life is one big circle.

We were so lame!

2011-08-09T23:29:00.000+05:30

I'd recently met my cousins after a long time and we got to remembering cringe-moments. After we'd exclaim "We were so lame", we'd still repeat them and laugh.

How many of these do you remember doing?

- Mirror: If someone said a bad word and you said mirror, it'd reflect back on them. 'God mirror' was a variation that superseded all mirrors!

- Eyelashes were magical and make your wishes come true.

- If two people walk on either side of a pole or a pillar, they won't get along.

- If you snap your fingers thrice when you see a red car, you get one wish.

- If you see a mail van, you keep your fingers crossed until you see a black car.

- 'Flames' was a cool game to determine how much a guy likes a girl.

- MTV Grind is pornographic (it is semi-porno at any rate).

- If you're eating and someone yells "Food Display", you've to open your mouth.

- While playing musical chairs, the chair is yours if you can wrestle the person out of it.

- If you move your fingers while playing with an Ouija board, everyone thinks the universe is channeling energy through you.

- The ghost story must be true if it happened to your friend's uncle's neighbor's close relative.

- If you close your eyes and cover yourself with a blanket, the ghost will spare you.

- If you don't believe in Tirupati Balaji, He will burn you with his eyes (which are hidden beneath the tilak).

- If three people go out together, the work will never get done.

*will update this as I think of more!

Quotables

2011-08-09T23:04:00.000+05:30

"You know what's the worst thing about someone breaking up with you? It's when you remember how little you thought about people you broke up with and you realize that is how little they're thinking of you. You know, you'd like to think you're both in all this pain but they're just "Hey, I'm glad you're gone."

- Jesse, Before Sunrise

This too, shall pass.

2011-08-04T19:44:00.000+05:30

Graduation rushed by in a whoosh, I can't help but feel an emptiness post-accomplishment brings. The time that I'm sitting at home or volunteering, I'm forlorn that the 'next big thing' hasn't happened yet. I have always been the career girl. I have to enjoy my work to take it up. My manic energy is being used up in searching like a crazy stalker on job sites or shouting in class. Either way, for all its worth, its only sapping my energy.

I'm in a weird mid-phase where I'm waiting. Perhaps I'm too impatient, like my friend , I should wait, because I'm meant to be doing better things than this?

Ok, I can't be zen about this anymore. It's been 2 whole months, I'm mildly annoyed now. And a little panicky. I need Valium. Or you guys could say something to yank me out of this?

The box

2011-07-19T21:23:00.001+05:30

Whenever my parents are prancy and excited, they're upto no good. My suspicion was a full fledged worry when I was marched to a jewelry store recently. Horror images of gold popped in my head. It's not a vanity thing, I just don't like the color. It looks odd against my brown skin and somehow doesn't look appealing even under designer labels.

When I stood looking utterly bored, mum eased me into the environment, cajoling into buying something. "It'll be an investment, I'm not asking you to wear it!" she stressed. I wasn't convinced. Sighing in defeat, they asked me if I wanted something. "You have to buy something. Your granny will be very upset otherwise." She retorted a tad angrily.

I'm taking a moment here to roll my eyes again.

If my house is on fire, I'm more likely to save my tiny name necklace than any gold.

With mom making frantic calls to her astrologer to find out what my birthstone was, I was lounging around at the store having such an obviously annoyed look that no salesperson came up to me, not even the guy serving juice!

I was drawn to the blue - I usually am. A brilliant, piercing blue. The kind that sparkles with subtle luminosity when light hits it. I tried it on, it was quite loose. Must be fate. Since the only time I've pictured a sapphire that brilliant on my finger was on the countless occasions I've pictured the moment with someone asked me to be theirs for life, the ring not fitting was, fitting.

I veered around to find mom smugly smiling. Uh oh. "You like that, do you?" "Maybe" I mumbled, mostly inaudible. Her smile grew more pronounced. "Guess what the astrologer said?" With any luck he'd have said gold is very very unlucky for me, stay away from it. No such luck. "Your birthstone is Sapphire!"

Like I said, must be fate.

I now sport a luminous blue ring on my finger, not the one of my overactive imagination, but one of my very own. And that makes it special.

The other one is locked away in my memory vaults, waiting to trudge out while my heart falters.

There's that.

2011-07-13T18:28:00.000+05:30

Me: I saw a cat hunting a bird. It was beautiful.
R: You're sadistic.
Me: Its survival of the fittest. You couldn't even stomach a pigeon getting hurt.
R: You got me there.

Yeah, Me too!

2011-07-13T18:00:00.002+05:30

Me: A kid called me a bitch today.
R: I hope he gets a chalk up his ass.

Post my Post Grad

2011-06-14T10:13:00.000+05:30

Lolling away munching on mom-made goodies has been about the only productive thing I've done since I've been back home. Not much writing material unless you wanna know how many mangoes I've devoured. I don't think you're ready to stomach that information, no.

Yesterday was results day. A day where I usually go on uber-panic mode, clean up the desk my laptop is kept before I check my results (I'm Virgo like that) and generally hyperventilate. Why so much drama instead of just ripping the band-aid off? Because I've always been an average student. Nothing spectacular about my academic performances. This time around, having stormed off into firang-land to do what I'm supposedly good in, flipping half a dozen people who had other plans (read wedding) for me, I was extra panicky. It was anti-climatic moment when I saw the better-than-average grades flashed on my screen. I felt the warmth of achievement I yearned for, in something that meant much to me academically.

All my crusading came to grand finish and it was a full circle from where I started, nearly seven years back, as a pimply-faced teenager in mutiny, not having my first choice for my degree.

Spirits, I suppose, cannot be dampened.

The Mynahs Lived Happily Ever After

2011-05-27T15:48:00.000+05:30

I wanted to write it down before the moment passes. A wedding after 7 years. The culmination of years of bitching about bad dates and general "bah, men" speeches, she found love. I could say her face lit up with the intensity of the moment, but it was the groom I was watching - aglow with a beatific smile, with a look of concentration when the pandits asked him to recite a traditional mantra. The utter abandon with which he laughed when they leaned in and spoke amongst themselves. I smiled a lot today just looking at them.

Two mynas met each other and lived happily ever after (mynah birds mate for life).

Much Lowe Akx!

Conditions, adjustments and lists

2011-05-14T19:27:00.000+05:30

Guys I meet these days are all about keeping up their customs, giving a home to their parents, together in a big happy family. They make me feel like a troll to want to live separately. As a social recluse, it doesn’t include just ‘other people.’ It includes my extended family too – a fact lot of my friends can’t digest. They either avoid that conversation or sit me down and tell me how we should ‘adjust’ to inevitabilities. I’ve nothing against you if you want to live with your parents; it’s just not for me. I’m not about to give a spiel on independence here, it has no bearing on it. I like living alone and given the right person, with one other. Beyond that, I watch myself coping with a lot of different personalities, mood swings, anger thresholds, preferences and home is a place I don’t want to have to “put up” with anything that requires me to do anything I otherwise wouldn't.

If they are parents then it is that much more difficult to talk about ‘adjusting.’ I mean, shouldn’t you be doing it silently, they are your parents after all? They made sure you grew up right, why can’t you take care of them? What if they can’t fend for themselves? Your own parents, how could you (followed by choking noises).

It’s a lifestyle adjustment. That bit is inescapable. Boys who’ve lived in hostels all their life, who move to living on their own while working and insist on staying with parents after they’ve married find it a huge lifestyle adjustment – you simply can’t do things that you could before. Some are alright with that, unmistakably the ones who bring in the “I owe them my life” speech. With girls, it doesn’t work the other way. Her parents can’t live with her. I would stamp on my feet and shout inequality slurs, but I just shake my head at the wafer-thin minds. It’s more Zen for my sanity.

Everyone tries to do their bit, trying to keep the family together, at the same time preserve their independence. Mom secretly looks for households with two boys with the younger one around my age or where the guy lives abroad so parents prefer living away themselves. I’m touched by her efforts; she’s trying in her own way to give me away to a family I’d be comfortable in; but I can’t wrap my head around living arrangements that require going to such lengths. It’s only the tip of the iceberg. Automatically assuming that I would shift to the place the guy works, uprooting myself from the place I love living in, cook for him every day, the things people ask of me in the name of adjustment in a life together, I’d rather be a hermit(ess?).

It’d be interesting to see how all this rant ties in later. Until then, my obsessive list of can’t-dos and must-haves continues to grow longer.

Why I'm a Grammar Nazi

2011-05-12T12:10:00.000+05:30

I loathe grammatical errors - misspellings, punctuations, misplaced apostrophes - all of them. I correct people involuntarily, it's a spontaneous reflex. No, I don't shorten my words and yes, I abhor sms lingo.

Lately though, I've seen a surge of them on Facebook. It's a friggin' epidemic! A friendly note before you publish your comments/statuses: when the red squiggly thing appears beneath your words - that means you are risking showing that you are a moron to the whole world (except when it underlines your name; that's just annoying).
But they seem to enjoy unleashing their mighty moronic-ness and take away my morning mojo. Like this:

- my frndz gona 2 get me smthng spc!!!!!!!!
You know when it wazz coolz to add a 'z' at the end of your wordz? Or add three trillion exclamation marks? Never.

- posng in all angels hehehe
It's angles! If you're going to not capitalize, misspell and shorten your words, all in the same sentence, maybe you shouldn't be writing it at all.

- You finished you're course?!?!?!?!?!?!?!
No. I finished myself (after stabbing you).

- ....will you hold my hand..........and make it alright..........? My heart................it waits..........only for you....
We are all waiting too - for the sentence to end.

- Still waiting for an train!!! Its making me an miserable gal.
It's making me a miserable gal too, hun.

All this hopelessness inspired me to make an equally hopeless graph.

Psst, if you are in the red zone, I've probably blocked your feeds.

A friend's observation inspired this post. Thanks, Nags!

Slurs - Here and Around

2011-05-06T23:01:00.000+05:30

Man in elevator (looking at me): Are you a Punjabi?

Me (incredulously): No.

Man: Bengali?

Me: No.

Man: Marvadi?

Me: I'm a Tamilian.

Man (equally incredulous): But you are not black!

Sorry, I missed initiation.

Boys in the bus pointing to me and my friend

Boy 1 (in tamil): Anda ponnu avanoda yenna da pannara? (Why is that girl with him?)

Boy 2 (in tamil): Avan Hindi kara paiyyan da. (He's a Hindi-speaking boy)

Boy 1 (in wonderment): Rotiku sambhar na, idliku kurma-o kurma daan. (If roti could go with sambhar, then idli can go with kurma)

Wait, was that an innuendo I missed?

At Little India, Singapore

Shopkeeper: It's carnatic music maa, you know carnatic, you people with your jeans?

Me: Is it like Britney Spears?

All those years of practice, I should've just worn a pavadai instead.

At Tavern:

Chinese Bartender (staring at my bindi): You've something on your face.

Me: Yeah, you!

Its a symbol of intelligence, or you know, dirt.

At a Mumbai Local

Woman (with a fish basket): Madraasi ho? (Are you from Madras?)

Me: Jee haan. (Yes)

Woman (enunciating): Tum logon ko Hindi seekhni chahiye.

Me (in tamil): Nee solli kudukka poraya? (Are you gonna teach me?)

Either that or I can sing Hum kale hain toh kya hua dilwale hai.

I just want to curl up and sleep!

2011-04-30T18:28:00.001+05:30

Its my last two weeks in Singapore. My semester has ended and exam week is upon me (not that I intend to do anything about it). With all the cribbing I did last sem, this one was way more torturous. More assignments, more case studies and definitely more thinking. Even with most weekends spent in a 24 hr cafe, hopelessly trying to find the one great idea that will make my paper not look like a monkey that has hit jackpot whilst smacking a keyboard; I still ended up with pending work. Just as hopeless is my job search. Its amounting to nothing, basically. The only thing piling is the number of cover letters in my sent emails folder.

In the spiral downwards, I'm scared of texting my friends to catch up in case my over enthusiastic professors (and I've had the misfortune of being stuck with 3 this time) decide that they want us to "be prepared for the real world" and send us to the shopping mall armed with survey forms, preying on the unsuspecting shoppers in the name of market research. I eventually stopped even the freelance project I was working on with the mountain of research that I was supposed to be doing. I did learn how to make a marketing and media plan from scratch, though. And that's saying something because it involves math I avoided at school.

In the final week of class where I spent most of the nights awake and most of the day dazed, I had my ex calling me in a fit of delayed anger and telling me everything short of actual name calling. Such timing for venting, I tell you. Failed relationships have a way of creeping up and working on your ulcer as a power drill would - leaving them sore and bleeding. After that, trying with varying degrees of unsuccess, to write about the ethical constructs of Iraq war on photojournalism and giving up, I had a delayed response of my own. Ah, such timing.

I'll be back for graduation, black robes and everything. With hope billowing that some cover letter will find its way back as a reply in my inbox. Till then, I will miss this sunny city, that made my solitary days more tolerable.

Words - Now and Forever

2011-04-19T22:52:00.001+05:30

My love affair with words started when I was a year old and learnt to imitate my dad when he read his newspaper - by mouthing nonsense words but staring intently at the black and white print on the paper all the while. I would sit the entire hour while he finished his coffee and paper, all the while babbling and staring. My grandfather says its his fondest memory of me as none of his children developed any interest in books. I was all of four when I went to my neighbor's place and saw the magazine 'Gokulam' with the 'Undir story' as the cover page. I made my neighbor's daughter, akka to me, read it out loud.

I never liked comics. I liked Champak and Chandamama better because they didn't have too many pictures crowding the page like Pinky or Chacha Choudhary did. Not that I didn't enjoy them, but they always seemed to get over really fast!

I was falling desperately in love.

My parents attributed it to a hobby. "Oh, she's a voracious reader," they always said, a tad proudly to anyone who would listen, point at the framed picture of a poem that was published when I was twelve. Ten years later, it became my selling point. "She's a voracious reader," they said to prospective grooms and their parents. They put it up on my matrimony profile, a supposed beacon that will help get a kindered spirit to knock on their door. A cultured tambrahm with the soul of a poet. I never harbored any such dream. One moody poet to another is a disastrous, often short-lived, albeit steamy, relationship. I scoffed and turned more solitary, more moody, seeking to go as far away from home as possible, just to be.

I've fallen in love often, it doesn't take much time for me to fall in love, such is my faith in love itself; each time clinging to my first love when my heart was broken. A song. A poem. A post. Anything. The need to put each jagged thought into words was as necessary as air. It has remained stoic and dependable, feeding my addiction with more words.

I'd guard it all zealously - my journals, my old diaries, my scraps of paper. A possessive lover, I often turned to the twin pleasures of reading and music when I wasn't writing. I'm often asked who my "true love" was. It comes unbidden and foremost on my mind - words.

When I daydream of the possibilities in the future, several frames shift, molding into different positions, but one frame is frozen to eternity and thereon. Me and my book.

Aint love grand!

I want to share this video with you and hope it speaks to you the way it spoke to me.

Inside Out!

2011-04-07T07:18:00.001+05:30

I went to my first literary paper presentation by doctoral students and this paper in particular was about the point of view of the melodramatic aspects in the popular Tamil movie 'Kannathil Muthamittal' (loosely translates to an 'anticipatory a kiss on the cheek') directed by Mani Ratnam.

As a purist, I often detest taking a piece of art into pieces for the sake of "understanding," often a point of contention between R and I. He'd argue with the wholeheartedness of wanting to know the core element within any artistic piece and I'd be in abject distress in taking something beautiful that someone has created to get to the core.

Kannathil Muthamittal was a movie that I'd loved, the emotional aspect of abandonment in the backdrop of the political unrest between the Tamilnadu and Sri Lanka, the entanglement between the need to tell the truth and to put a child in a turmoil, beautifully brought to the screen. Seeing it taken into pieces like that, with the music analyzed, the poetic lyrics dissected and the soft expressions harshly judged, I was glad I wasn't a literature student - it'd crush my heart just a teensy bit to see it inside out like that. At the same time, to be a part of this group of people, who questioned the messages in a movie that depicts a war-torn country, was refreshing.

In an academic setting, my mind is both open and absorbent. I find myself arguing more, slamming viewpoints more – something I don’t do often enough otherwise. It was slighting to be able to take the movie apart, but I do feel better for it.

Here’s to taking things apart more often!

I've a PhD in double entendres

2011-03-31T23:21:00.000+05:30

Ok, so I'm a pervert. I snicker when the checkout lady asks me if I want a big straw in my jelly. Who only doesn't, right? Right. Or when the green eyed cutie in my class spills water on me accidentally and asks me if I'm wet. Well, get a clue, sweetheart, I most probably am!

I listen to Rihanna's 'Shut up and drive' and my mind goes to overdrive. She meant it to, ok! Or you know, Beatles gaily singing 'happiness is a warm gun, bang bang shoot shoot.'

You can't make this shit up!

The quickest way to catch my attention is to talk in entendres. That's why I was inordinately tickled when this cute boy sent me sms boobs. That he is cute is secondary. Here's what it looks like, dear peeping Toms. And dicks. Especially Harrys.

@.@

Geddit? Geddit? Pro'lly not as funny now.

The Nudge: A Surviving Men Tale.

2011-03-31T12:08:00.000+05:30

This post is dedicated to Dharini Bhaskar - a woman who I don't know personally, but know of her. She dared to enter the general compartment, at Hauz Khas (Delhi), in broad daylight and was sexually assaulted by a drunken man who tried to slap her. Its sad that we're now reduced to using the word 'dared' when talking of females entering the general compartment.

Few comments I know I will get from apathetic people around me:

"She could've gone in the ladies compartment."
"She should've pepper sprayed his ass."
"Its sad, but there were people getting late to office."
"She should've retreated further inside when she saw the drunken man"

I would stand out on a limb and venture that you probably won't behave in the way you give free advice.

This isn't about Nari Shakti or Feminism. This is a right to not be violated. Does only rape qualify as something so stupendously terrible that it requires punishment? Try asking this to every woman who's been felt up in buses, roads and temples even. I got felt up at Tirupati while waiting for darshan. I elbowed the offending guy, gathered a crowd, got him beaten up and felt pretty damned good about it. I've lost count of the number of times me and my friends had to maintain a healthy distance from leering men in buses.

It isn't rape, no, but there's nothing small about violating a person's body against their will. Ask a man who cringes when a eunuch tries to grabs his balls while demanding money in a train. He's no less violated.

As a person, male or female, you should be appalled at what happened. If you are in Delhi, support the cause here (no they aren't asking for money.) If you aren't, file this incident away as something that can happen to you and think of all the things you can do if faced with such a situation; like whipping out your phone and taking pictures of the offender and surrounding people; names and ranks of the policemen who arrive on the scene; lodging a formal complaint; call 1091 (women's protection in India).

We believe nothing will happen to us. That may be true. But why take chances?

Que sera sera

2011-03-26T21:37:00.000+05:30

The essence of your thought makes you see better than the brightest moon in the evening sky. It creeps upon you while you're still thinking it, steals your breath away with its intensity. The core of every thought is in its truth, stripped bare of the non essential, a dilapidated ruin worth holding on to.

It is sorry indeed that turned away by defenses, it losses its lusture. A pasty shell of the sheen it once was. You should've guarded it better, polished it better, sheltered it better.

It tastes like blood, the metallic, tangy taste of rust. The thought is all but gone now, you felt it creep away, didn't you? The fleeting regret that you don't remember anymore what it was. All that you have now is the memory of the essence, more harrowing, more aching.

When I felt you lodge on my mind, I created from it.

Crawling back to the hole

2011-03-20T02:01:00.000+05:30

I call it my dark place. Being able to dissect around the mayhem right to the crux. Like climbing a jagged, rocky and dangerous mountain and find yourself at the precipice. I want to hurl myself off the cliff, I do. I'd rather fall in knowledge than climb and discover the empty precipice - stand on the edge and grip at something sharp.

My optimism? It makes me constantly hopeful. Constantly happy. Do you know what that feels like? Like shit. Because it constantly refuses to go to the dark place. I've to drag myself kicking and screaming before I inch into it and face the firing squad again and again before I'm battered with everything that can tear into you. I'm haggard and weary from hoping. And from believing. On days like today, I wish someone would snatch it away; because I cling to it like a favorite toy.

If I were honest for a minute, I would know it would've never worked. I wanted more than I let on. Let faith see me through the splinters.

Trust. A five letter substitute for "Here's my soul. Its yours to bruise". Trust in the face of someone awful was a mistake. What never crossed me was trust in the face of someone good is also a mistake, only it hurts more.

Much too Slow

2011-02-28T12:33:00.000+05:30

Last semester couldn't get over soon enough. This one is crawling. I'm aching to go home - the brief spat of holiday did nothing to salve the pangs of homesickness. It's not the foreign country- no- it's been good here. After almost 4 years of being away from family, I long to share my room with my sisters, fight with mom about the right age to get hitched and burst out into songs that dad makes up.

I'm in a mad rush for placements, several applications in the pipeline and no idea as to what would stick. Whatever does though, I hope I can take the leap.

Sometimes, when I break out in a sweat, I long for my chilly city. Maybe this too, shall pass?

Dedicated to my Heart

2011-02-14T14:18:00.000+05:30

1) Because its brave.
2) Because it still manages to wade through all the mess I've put it through.
3) Because it deserves a holiday.
4) Because it makes me believe in love over and over again.
5) Because I live by it and it lives by me.

But mostly because it beats - just for me.

Thanks Sempiternal Scribbles for stopping me long enough to watch this.

Oh, and Happy Valentine's day.

Worker bees and molds

2011-02-10T20:05:00.000+05:30

I'm fairly organized, thorough and I follow instructions to the letter. That makes for a good secretary or an office bee. Recently though, I've been put out of my element and was overwhelmed. Asked to lead a marketing initiative in my spare time, I was suddenly faced with the jungle that is marketing on the internet, making up my own rules, being responsible for anything I asked my team to do.

For a long, agonizing hour, I considered not doing it. For an equally long time I thought about the sarcastic comments thrown my way from various people I've met that I should wear pencil skirts, stilettos and sit outside an office cabin as an assistant. I was never insulted because let's face it, I would make a pretty damn good assistant, stilettos be damned; but it was still typecasting and I don't respond well to molding.

I took it. I'm still overwhelmed, but I'm taking care not to rant. I'm scared, but taking care not to show it and the expressions in my eyes have nilled to zero. As for the stilettos, well, I prefer my sensible shoes, but I'm still sporting a pencil skirt- you know, just for kicks.

Proposals in Emails

2011-02-04T20:31:00.001+05:30

My dose of jollies came in an email. For privacy reasons, I haven't mentioned names. I almost mentioned the phone numbers in case you wanted to get yours, but then I thought poor chap.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hello Hamsini,

My name is XYZ working for Hewlett Packard (HP) as Technical service analyst from 2 years. Oh okay, some dude.

I have done BE and Diploma in Electronics and communication. This is the place I thought he wanted a referral for a job.

My uncle told that he has spoken to your father and asked me to wrie an e-mail. Hmm, alright, the "source".

So please find my photo and Jhataka attached. I didn't read this right and for some reason I thought of Jataka Tales (Tinkle and Kalia the crow - remember?)

Personal details:

Father name: ABC

Mother name: PQR

Siblings: Younger Sister (Married)

Height: 5.10" Umm, why are you sending your height and weight if you want a job? This was at 3 am my time so I was a little fuzzy OK? Ok.

Weight: 68kg

Gotra: Vasishta Finally dawns on me that this is a "ohh lookie, see me, I could be the potential bearer of your children. SUPPPAAMAAAAAAAN (or some such theme music playin')

Address: #1385, "Ganga-Tunga", Bangalore-61. The fact that you live in a house called Ganga-Tunga makes me want you right here baby.

Contact nos:

9*******91(Uncle's) In case I decided to go for his uncle instead of him.

9*******14(Mine) Yeah, buddy, the only time I'd call you is when hell froze over or you know, your uncle is not as cute as you.

If you need any further information please let me know. Oh I will. I most certainly will.

--
Thanks & Regards.... Ah, ellipses after thanks and regards.
xyz......... Oh xyz, you are such a continuity that you have to have 9 ellipses (yes, I counted) after your name. Very. Turning. On.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For those I've already sent this email to- C'mon, its still funny!

Men and Heartbreaks

2011-02-01T21:55:00.000+05:30

I read a post about how women find it easier to move on than men and I wondered about the other side of the heartbreak. So, how do men deal with heartbreak?

Bonding over beer the next day: These were men that were not into the relationship in the first place. You pick up a chick, you get over her. Period.

Drunk calls: I've one word for this. C(uh)-l-i-n-g(hh)-y.

Stoic: I don't like this particular bunch. Pretentious and hurtful.

Happy: Well, I wouldn't trust this. Not unless he was going out with a persnickety bitch. Even then, I'd check.

Let's be friends: Gee, really? I will. Not.

If they're growing hair in inappropriate places (like the face), you should probably talk to them. You know. Just in case.

A Full Circle

2011-01-31T21:36:00.000+05:30

Happy. Busy. Stress. Busy. Moping. Conversations. Continuity. Torn. Delusion. Happy. Temporary. Love. Togetherness. Passion. Secrets. Lies. Anger. Conversations. Contentment. Busy.

Rainbows and Dreams

2010-11-29T21:08:00.000+05:30

For the last class of the semester, our professor showed us the 2005 graduation commencement speech by Steve Jobs. It had everything a conventional “inspirational” speech had – life experiences, rags to riches stories, the never say die attitude. Everything on the cliché list that you can think of. Sometimes you respond to clichés if it resonates with you. This one certainly did.

I’ve always been an optimistic person. Sure, I’ve my off days, but if someone were to ask me at my bleakest moment, what my outlook looks like, I manage a smile and say, it’s all gonna work out. I’m sunshine and rainbows and colours and everything in between and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.

Steve spoke of doing what you love and being good at what you do because you love it and not because it’s your “job”. I couldn’t agree more. My constant search for a blend of what I love and my career spurs me into everything that I’ve tried out so far. I can deal with cynics usually, meet raised eyebrows with one of my own. It’s the pessimists I’m baffled by. Their negativity is not only palpable; it is a quality I’d rather not stay too close to. The ones that believe that “settling” as a way of life.

Settling for mediocrity has been my fear ever since I learnt to say a resolute ‘no’ when my parents wanted me to do engineering. It astonishes me how many people want to settle for something less, for something okay and even for something that they don’t care about.

In conversation with one of my friends, he mentioned how much he hates his job. I asked him why he doesn’t quit. Surprised, he said because his job is something he does 5 days a week and his life is the other 2! An intelligent person who works to half his abilities because he couldn’t care less about his job was something I did not expect. One would think quality education provided you with the means to think rationally, independently and most importantly, what's more advantageous to you – a 9 to 5 job that makes you crawl into your bed every night, wishing you were doing something worthwhile, or the satisfaction that you get by doing something that you love – every single day? A surprising amount answers with the former.

It saddens me each time I meet a pessimist. The grey comes off from them in waves. Distinct and intimidating.

It makes me want to stand up and tell them that there’s a reason successful people are how they are. It’s not because they sneaked about buying bagels for their bosses, were ‘politically correct’ or wrapped themselves in a pretty package and sold themselves to hierarchy. It’s because they never stopped believing in themselves and their abilities. They never stopped dreaming about the next thing that they wanted once they had achieved something. The successful do not have a magic personality. Even complete a’holes with no respect for others are successful because they are good at what they do. They are good at what they do because they love doing it. The dreams follow.

People with no dreams sell themselves because they have nothing else going for them. Their attitudes of “whatever” and “big deal” bothers me because it’s the same lot that complain about every single thing that they didn’t get in life! We start at the same level. We get the same education – some formally, some from the surroundings and few, not at all.

Yet, the thing that holds a person together is not how intelligent they are or how creative they are. It is what they do with it. If what your dream is to stop global warming or even if it is to come back home early to your kid to play lego with them every evening. Whether you choose to chase after mediocrity and settle for something unsettling or cross that rope bridge, hanging on for dear life because you know that if the cross was this exhilarating, the end of the rope would be your happiness, depends on the kind of person you want to be.

Oh, and let’s not forget the rainbows.

Things I do

2010-11-06T01:40:00.000+05:30

1) I love dipping my fingers in condensed milk tin and pretend I'm in an ad while eating it.
2) I remember jokes that people don't find funny and smile about it later.
3) I make up lyrics, hum my own melody and get embarrassed.
4) I love shopping alone. I hate it when people insist on coming with me.
5) I walk with a bounce and can't seem to stop it even if I try really really hard.
6) I fall asleep making up "what-happens-after" stories of popular fairy tales.
7) I hate chocolate and don't see what is all the big fuss about ice-creams.
8) I wake up and think about what I'd do that day for 15 mins.
9) A good cup of coffee is guaranteed to cheer me up anytime.
10) I can watch ants indefinitely. I find them fascinating.

Simplicity is overrated

2010-10-23T22:52:00.000+05:30

I think of myself as a complicated person. I'm easy to get to know, but its hard to maintain the status quo, I've been told. I don't mind that, not one bit. Nothing should come easily. Those empty spaces should be filled. And at the end of it all, if the person is by your side, they're for keeps. Only, this is a deficit that I seem to be filling with guys that are better drama queens than I could ever be, pre, post and present menopausal and the entire cast of Glee.

Overtly simple people bore me. My radar spins towards those with a zing. The zing comes with its own brand of sting. I secretly enjoy the sting.

The sane ones don't seem to realize I exist because they are, well, sane. Really, who can blame them?

Surviving Singapore - Edition 2

2010-10-06T16:56:00.000+05:30

As if the first one weren't enough!

11. Mind your Q's. No, I didn't mean your grammar (although brownie points if you do), I meant the queues. At bus stops, at train stations, even at the alley shop! Singaporean's genes have a magnetic alignment towards the direction of a queue in case of two or more people!

12. Karaoke belts out 90's music. I mean, sure, I love "Oops I did it again" on an odd day, but seriously! Can I get Clapton please?

13. University Americans love the "pseudo-intellectual" discussions. Freud? Bring it on. Ayn Rand? Oh, yeah! Signorelli Luca? Uhh, what! I absolutely love it! Stereotype? I don't think so.

14. A surprising number asked me if I could fix their computers or if I did calculations in my head. Clearly, I've already been stereotyped!

15. People don't age here. For the longest time, I thought my classmate was a fresh grad. Turns out she's well into her late thirties!

16. After all the formal buildings on campus, walking into my department of Communication studies is like coming home. With the amphitheater lined with quaint chairs underneath bright umbrellas, rows of desks with random newspapers, magazines lying about and people roaming about with SLR's - its the homecoming of the eccentric. The slightly different. And of the cluttered, but bright minds.

17. Racism is subtle, but present. On rare occasions, someone would yell "No bloody Indians," but the general disposition is polite.

18. Ikea is awesome. I want everything in there (anyone taking hints?)

19. I can now discern Japanese from the Chinese. Its quite obvious if you know what to look for.

20. Did I mention supermodel bodies? I did? Oh well, then. Now you know.

Surviving Singapore

2010-09-24T15:51:00.000+05:30

Aside from legs galore and the smallest of statures, the cultural quirks in Singapore has much to offer in terms of learning. When its sprinkled with the university mix of other nations, its a riot. Some of them go like this, lah.

1. Shopping is the national pastime. Every train station has a mall beside it. When in doubt, head to a mall. You'll see what I mean.

2. Shorts is the national attire. College, office, mall, streets. The shorter, the better.

3. If a person is staring at your mouth, he's not making a pass at you. He's just trying to lip read. Which is weird because if you didn't know how to lip read in the first place, how can you possibly try to understand a language you are unfamiliar with just by looking at people's mouths (and creeping them out in the process!)

4. Seven out of ten women have supermodel bodies. You just have to hold your chins up and huff like it doesn't matter. Or, say, like my friend likes to, "I've child-bearing hips!" A corollary to this point is to huff in a similar way when you are asked to try a XXXXXXXXL. Seriously. Barbie dolls won't fit into their clothes.

5. Russel Peters wasn't exaggerating when he said "How did you make a short word, even shorter?!" You can find me at the corner of the lecture hall when presentations are going on, so I can stifle my giggles. You can try peering into their mouths all you want, you still won't understand jack.

6. All juices/milkshakes have gooey, smooshy round things floating inside them that look like blueberries. They aren't. They're nice though.

7. Clubbing is synchronous with strange men trying to be cool and whisper into your ear, stuff that they think is the world's best pickup line. Its so not.

8. Just because its an island doesn't mean you can walk to every place. Nope, not even close.

9. Beaches don't mean you get to see waves. Or rocks. Or seashells. Beaches here are man-made; if you expect a Marina or a Juhu, might as well go back.

10. Food is cheap. And everywhere (really, how do they not get fat!) Vending machines, food courts, street-side stalls and malls, aside from the regular restaurants.

More gyaan on some specific cultures, in the next edition!

Settling in

2010-09-04T15:58:00.000+05:30

Settling in is a disconcerting experience. Partly when you have to go through the piles of paperwork in a new country or break your back trying to find a new house. I did both. The result is being able to settle down at a decent locality near the university. Jurong is greener, abundant student population and unpredictable weather. Its rains for 15 mins before the sun comes out hot on your back without any warning. It caused me to break out in frequent headaches and mild fever which doesn't go down unless I rest. Until I get used to it, perhaps, these are the pitfalls. My short stay at my friend, Abhi's place, is something I'd miss the most. She's one of the warmest people I've met. Her hospitality, her quirky behavior and going out touring Singapore been the highlights of my being here. Adjusting here would have been mighty lonely and decidedly more dreary without her.

Sharing my room again seems like a little step back after getting used to privacy all the years I was working, but its another one of those things that I'd willingly put up with during the duration of my study. It might be interesting living with a never-stayed-alone-before girl and an old mallu couple. This time around, the only roomie-drama I'm willing to face is snoring. I've had enough drama to last me a while in that facet.

Its been a week since classes have begun and they've been interesting at the very least. Its the first time I've been in a classroom where I contributed to the lecture without blubbering like an idiot about not knowing the formulae! Its a darn sight improvement over math and statistics lessons. The best part about an international setting is the system itself. It gives personal opinion more weightage, leaving meaningless things like learning the definition of a term to where it belongs - in the dustbin. Application to real-world scenarios is given priority and hands-on experience is valued. Classes never have a dull moment, with a mixture of Korean government employees, a Canadian businessman, a Chinese television anchor and a 60 yr old homemaker in the mix! Its a veritable playground of opinions from various stratas of society. After some initial struggle with the aromas of different pungent accents, the discussions are much better to participate in, now. I did find some inevitable habits that I found mildly amusing. The students without any work experience are all compulsive note-takers. They write down every single thing including what I glanced at the notepad as the professor's warning about getting an F if assignments are missed. Here's what was written:

1. Come to class regularly and punctually.
2. Will get an F if assignments are not handed in.
3. Take another paper if not research-oriented.
4. Break after 1.5 hours.

...I stopped paying attention after that!

The lecturers all have a different day-job, some high-profile, some research-based. Discovering everything in my campus (including all the tiresome walking for hours) has been a delight!Taking it all in in a swig would be impossible. Sipping slowly though, has been wonderful!

Sights and Smells

2010-08-25T00:20:00.001+05:30

Organized and efficient. That was my first thought when I landed at Changi airport. The neatness was icing on the cake. The first sight of Singapore as I flew over it was the astonishing symmetry. The skyline was a bright blue and even in my sleep deprived, much elbowed state, I stared fromthe flight at the view below. Having stayed here for a little over a week now, I feel emboldened to write about it, as its not shiny and new. The efficiency never faltered. Everything gets done here without any red-tapism or bureaucracy, the rules are practical and the organization is fantastic.

Figures. The Virgo inside me is purring.

The weather, despite the humidity is manageable because there are trees planted - everywhere! Smack in the middle of the road, its green. Right on the first day, I went on a hike to the night safari to see the nocturnal animals. Walking, as I am to discover, is like breathing. You can't do without it. Most of the first week went by in a trance. I was marveling at the esplanade, the lights at Boat Quay and surprisingly good idlies at Little India. I managed movies amidst all this, enjoying the company of new people I have just been introduced to.

The time, I barely notice it anymore. Its going on a pace thats much too fast for me.

Fleetingly, while dancing in the club to a familiar number or passing by a cheetah that is stretching and turning over, my mind sock memories at me like a punch in the gut. I scrunch my eyes at these assaults, willing them away.

Classes start next week and I can barely wait for them to begin. Studying alongside 20,000 students in various disciplines is something I'm looking forward to. Until then, I take long walks by the Chinese Gardens or sit at Clark Quay, overlooking the sea, at evening, for a cup of coffee and scrabble. It is most pleasurable.

'Aid'ing People

2010-08-05T18:29:00.000+05:30

Health care in India is particularly negligent. Not that I need to rant about it. But I did get pushed a little too far for me to write this post.

My immigration forms required a medical test and I went to the local diagnostic center to get the form filled. I went in to give a blood sample. The lady taking my sample was chatty and soon she was asking random questions like it mattered. She gave a cursory glance at my file and did a double take. The expression was hard to miss. She sputtered out a half formed sentence and asked me in hushed tones "You are getting an HIV test?" I gave her a huge grin and nodded. She got up and casually walked over to the next counter and came back with...gloves. I slipped in my immigration form into my purse equally casually and smiled at my new "friend" who I was fairly sure, had an imagination overdrive by then. She pushed her chair at an arms length from me and took my blood. She handled the syringe like it was an active bomb and poured the blood into a test tube with eyes scrunched up like it would explode. She labelled it carefully, handed me a cotton swab and asked me in a low whisper, "Are you married?" I suppressed laughter and shook my head. She persisted. "How old are you?" "23."

She flinched back from me and I glared at her, daring her to ask what she really wanted to ask. She gave me a wide margin to pass by her and I deliberately walked back and tapped her on the shoulder to ask where the X-ray room was. She winced and pointed. My grin must have been menacing because she hurriedly muttered something and fled the room. This was starting to get interesting. I almost picked up my test tube to pour its contents down her prejudiced throat. Almost.

The subsequent medical examination room had 3 doctors seated, all of them free. I went to one of them and showed my form. He sighed and asked me to go to the next one. The other one asked if it was immigration-related and immediately shooed me to the next doctor when I said yes. I had to slam my file down on the final one's desk and ask him to conduct an examination. He gestured theatrically and made a show of taking my BP. He proceeded to write 'Normal' in all columns and I hurriedly asked him "Don't you need to examine me first?" He smiled warily and said, "Well, since you've questioned me now, neurological exam does require me to check your reflexes, but I didn't do that since you are young and it might be embarrassing for you."

Are you a freaking doctor or what! Moreover, why on earth would tapping on my knees to check my reflexes be embarrassing! He continued unfazed, "...and if I check you for half hour, how will I finish all my patients?" I mustered a dirty look and retorted "You get paid for it." I stomped off the room (more like stumbled; my graceful exit was marred when I tripped on a chair on my way back.)

Hippocratic oath or Hypocritical oath?

Change is good. Right? Right.

2010-07-13T17:46:00.000+05:30

Its been a week since I came to Bangalore, with everything I ever owned. Perhaps now its not a vacation so much.

Days before I was due to leave Hyderabad, my thoughts revolved around meeting friends, packing, keeping Ginger safe until she was ready to move too. I denied peeking ahead any more than necessary. Not even to the next day where holding R wouldn't be a luxury, it would become a necessity. Visions of University seemed far away; realities of separation were uncomfortably clear. We tried to keep it normal. Still, the water tap was sensitive to every gesture. Even smiling seemed to turn it on. My eyes were forever brimming up. Sometimes, its easy being that girl. I can't speak for him, but he was cracking way too many jokes that weren't remotely funny. I laughed though. It seemed to cut into my denial. While I hid the lucky-charm keychain in his suitcase with a note saying "This belongs to you", I made a mental note to tear out the fluorescent fairy we put up on our ceiling surrounded by other glow-in-the-dark stars. We fell asleep watching them.

Moments after that were almost dreamy. I floated in and out of consciousness, memorizing everything I possibly could. The way his back arched when he planted a reassuring kiss on my forehead, the way Ginger didn't go out to play and flitted between my legs all the while we were packing. Even the nosy neighbor who wanted to know who would be taking my buckets!

Mercifully, the scene at the railway station was shorter because of the enormous amounts of luggage I was carrying. We were devoted to carrying them safely to my compartment. I had minutes to cling to his tee-shirt and tug at his arm. At the sweaty station, I couldn't care less about the annoying man who wouldn't let me keep my box in the compartment or the lady who gave us disapproving stares at the all the drama I was creating. Even the cliché of parting at the station eluded me. We were laughing again. And gripping each other's fingers until they fell off.

It was just like the day we first met. I wore a printed kurti, kajal in my eyes, bindi on my forehead. Only this time, there was nothing shy in the way I was fiercely looking into his eyes. The reflection that bounced off my own eyes had a similar demanding gaze. I couldn't hear anything else around me. When the train announced its departure, I clutched my handbag and hung by the railing, refusing to miss his retreating silhouette. When I came back to my compartment, I opened my phone out of habit and saw a msg from him.

I laughed, even though there was nothing remotely funny about it.

For expectant mothers to be

2010-06-25T09:20:00.000+05:30

Me (nudging R): Go take a bath. You are starting to stink.
R: I'm so potent, just smelling me would make you pregnant.
Me: !!!

Where I'm happy despite doubts

2010-06-01T10:07:00.000+05:30

Every once in a while something unexpected happens. My unwillingness to blog for so long, simply because I had chewed away my nails, waiting; has finally come to some light. Going away to study is not a distant probability anymore. Everything is happening fast now. I'm worried, I'm scared. But mostly, I'm happy. My house is empty, everything that I used to make it home is stripped away; back to my parent's place. I still have weeks to go here, though its feels unreal. Everything feels unreal.

Except my time with R. Every moment magnifies and stretches itself, preserving it. His presence makes everything else inconsequential. The rest will come, I suppose. Soon enough.

:)

2010-05-19T18:16:00.000+05:30

You remember the speech on the dais and your name was mentioned and you did a mental hop and a skip? That was school and this is now - Thank you so much TIMP! I'd love to tag you!

For posterity, I'm gonna add that this totally made my day. As for tagging my favorite bloggers, here goes:

That Nirvana Tree: You make me laugh, you make me cry, you make me think - all with your words. You are all class!

Wasted : Your words wash over me like a blanket on a cold winter night. I'm so glad I went blog hopping. Your command over prose is unbelievable.

That's all folks!

...them 25

2010-05-15T13:32:00.001+05:30

Anniversaries are special and this one was like no other. For one, it was their 25th. That's 25 years with another person, sharing and hoping and dreaming and a whole lot of other things that isn't always nice. As catatonic I am of arranged marriages, it seemed to work quite well for my mum and dad. As the song goes: "She was a little bit country. He was a little bit rock n' roll!"

They are an unlikely couple of sorts, but I haven't seen a day where they could live without each other. Even on assignment in another state, he would call her up twice a day and their conversation would be around whether they had lunch. They're evenly matched - wit-wise. We've made lasting memories of their banter. I hope to be telling stories of their spirited imitation of Vadivel dialogues or of dad making up songs with his own lyrics that annoys mum, the lyric police, to no end.

They deserved something special. My sisters and I had just the plan! We went to a Honda showroom with mom and told her we were buying a vehicle for dad and it was his surprise. She did not suspect a thing. She wanted him to get a new one and she was glad we are finally getting him one. After she signed the papers and I handed over the money, we told her we're heading home. We pretended there was a roadblock and took an "alternative" route, or so she thought. At the entrance of Tanishq, a jewelry store, I quipped "A thousand lies are allowed to get two people married, we just told one to get you into a damn store!" She went inside, still not sure what she was to expect.

When she stepped inside, everything was clear: all our relatives stood there, clapping, while there was a cake with a single candle waiting for them. Dad was a little shy of all the attention. We took her to the diamond display section and she stood, transfixed when I told her we're buying them for her. Not much has changed. She still loves a good glitter! She picked out a pair of earrings and we oooh'd and aah'd over it. A leo's heart is in the limelight and mum basked in all of it. She gushed over how thoughtful all of this was and I couldn't have been happier as I swiped my card for the second time that day.

It was dramatic, teary, happy - befitting of a silver anniversary. As for me, the best part was when mum posed for the camera and dad hid from them!

First of the Season!

2010-05-03T18:54:00.000+05:30

Not mangoes. Okay, those too!

This was the first entrance exam I wrote this month for Xavier's Institute of Communication, Mumbai. One of the many I would write in the next two months. Its something I've been planning for a while now. To do my further studies. But nothing else would suffice. Only the best has to do. So there aren't many colleges that I've applied to. Just some of the top tier ones. I will know in the next couple of months where that stands. After that, its adieu to Hyderabad and my current lifestyle as I know it. Of course I'm not thinking about it now. I still skip to office chattering to R about the new bunch of people who've just arrived or help my roomie sort out her plans to shift permanently to Bangalore. My turn hasn't come. Yet.

As for the right now, I'm dreaming about the chaotic Mumbai and the sun-kissed Singapore. Luck doesn't strike twice, but I sure am dreaming about it!

Miracles.

2010-04-16T09:57:00.000+05:30

David defeating Goliath.
An ewe winning a fight with a wolf for her young ones.
A spring flower blooming through the tough winter snow.
A single cell transforming to a person.

Just because we know how it works, doesn't make it any less magic.

Branded!

2010-04-08T09:07:00.002+05:30

After a year of pondering over designs, thinking, re-thinking, rejecting and a loh-ot of trial and error on paper later - my first ever tattoo!

The drill sound scared me, but the pain I imagined never came. It was a smooth run made easier by R holding my hand and making disgusting boy jokes throughout. The artiste specialized in vampires and devils, but he made my angel look beautiful.

I'm ecstatic (and a little sore), but mostly ecstatic! Its a part of me now. Now and forever.

P.S: The tattoo is my zodiac sign - Virgo and the angel that represents it. There's no "MR" (Jeeez). That's the astrological symbol for the Virgo. Its on my shoulder blade (unlike some unmentionable places that my dear friends pinged me about!)

Social outcast by choice

2010-03-27T16:03:00.001+05:30

I haven't felt like writing in a while. I'm in a dilemma and its eating my time. I work like a zombie, go home, watch F.R.I.E.N.D.S back to back until I'm exhausted to think about anything. Yes, I do realize its procrastination and I've to reach a decision sometime.

Today, however, I had a distraction. My dance studio had an outing at a farmhouse. One of my fellow dancers called up to remind me that my invitation was still open. I had decided to work initially, but I really wanted to go. These were people I wanted to get to know socially. I'm such a social recluse, declining all invitations to go out, have coffee, have dinners, even dropping by to someone's house. Everything is a huge effort because I'd rather spend that time with myself. I wanted to go because I wanted to break the pattern. My social calendar is starting to grow mold.

I'll have to wait for the next invite, I suppose. I did not go.

Reacher Vs Settler

2010-03-11T09:11:00.004+05:30

Often, in relationships one feels more loved than the other. One feels more misunderstood than the other. That they aren’t getting as much attention. Relationships aren’t equal. Two people cannot love each other the same. There is always a reacher and there’s a settler. The reacher tries to reach to someone out of their league and the settler settles for someone below theirs.

It doesn’t cut open the love. It strengthens it sometimes. But mostly, the one who is pampered, loved, adored never realizes just how much it takes the other person to do all that and not get it back equally. Why should anyone settle for anything less? Why, indeed. Because at some level we love to be adored. We want love and we want it unconditionally. Is being selfish that bad? We justify it by loving back, by giving back, but we know. Know that it is not equal. Know that the other end of the line is a little more weathered, a little wearier.

We don’t stop, however. We keep going. It makes the worry lines not show as much. We cake on the foundation and hope that it is a phase that will pass. We smoothen it out with a smile or a kiss. We bribe. We pray that they don’t think the same way. Probably they do not. Probably they cake on the same foundation and hope that the love is the same. Just the expression is different.
Love is shown, not said. What shows is what is. Nothing more. Definitely nothing less.

Source: The title of this post is taken from one of the episodes of How I Met Your Mother. The interpretation of the idea however belongs to yours truly.

Dance like no one is watching

2010-03-05T11:57:00.000+05:30

My wandering mind always takes me on to new interests which change - sometime's at a moment's notice, sometimes in a few months. Nothing has ever stayed constant. Nothing to replace heartbeats with a passion that I live for. Perhaps I like it this way. Because curiosity, I've heard is a wondrous thing in an adult. Much so, because cynicism is hard to shake off. The years of burn and pain makes you cautious. Your gremlin starts acting up again, seeding doubts that you don't want to ignore. (another reason why I think that first love leaves the deepest scars when burnt. The doubts are not quite there. The intuition is buried and justifying is apparent.)

When I started Salsa classes with R last year, it ended in disaster. R is simply not made for confined dances with rules, I learnt. He is a great freestyle dancer, but in partner dances, his face constricts in a constipated look as he tries to lead me into complicated moves that salsa requires. I dissolve into peals of laughter when I see this look. I still long for partner dancing lessons again. Sometime. Perhaps. Burnt, this time, I was shy of staring dancing again, anytime soon.

A while back, my friend recommended I see the movie Step Up (both parts). Brianna Evigan and Robert Hoffman put up a convincing argument and I was knocking on dance studios in a week. Its been two months now and I continue to love hip-hop and Jazz-ballet. I revel in the mistakes I make because I love laughing about them and learn afresh. Its a start. And the beginning, they say, is the always the best part.

...Quotables

2010-02-26T19:36:00.000+05:30

"To get to the diseased portion, we cut open the healthy outer. We treat. We hope to God that it heals. And that the incision hasn’t made things worse."

My little Star

2010-02-23T09:46:00.001+05:30

She turned, sleepy. Her nose ring sparkled in the little light through the window. He pulled her closer and whispered to her...

I can see the little star, shining.

The star that is with me, playful.

When I’m in darkness, it shows me light till the end of the tunnel.

When I’m lonely, it gives me company.

When I’m doubtful, it shows me a way.

Its then I realized that it was with me all along.

It did not run away when I tried to follow it, because it was in me all this time.

I do not need to search for my star. Its mine already.

She wiped a stray tear and smiled. He hugged her closer yet and rocked her to sleep.

The nose ring sparkled...

Note: As told to me by R. I tried to recreate it in my words, but I still think I haven’t done it complete justice.

To Bang or Not to Bang...That (apparently) is the real question!

2010-02-04T09:35:00.000+05:30

Everyone meets retards. I've met some special ones. I love conversations with them because its an instant pick-me-up. They have me lol'ing. Can't shake 'em off my life cuz they are my unwitting entertainers! A sample, you ask, gentle readers? Of course, I shalt provide.

Retard 1: Cow is an endangered animal.
Me: (simply staring as my eyes go wider)
R1: Its dangerous. That cow ya. It spreads mad cow disease.
(voice to a hush) Its endangered!
Me: (nodding fervently)

R2: Romeo and Juliet were 16 when this happened? Those hippies.
Me: Yea, its a bleddy teenage romance.
R2: Just like Hamlet. All those lesbian scenes. Shakespeare is the DUDE!
Me: I'm sure! Oh yeah!

R3: I've a doubt. When Vishnu was exiled in the forest with Sita, didn't his wife get jealous?
Me: What? Are you talking about Ram?
R3: Yea, but that dude was like Vishnu's avatar, so same person no?
Me: Yes yes, same person.
R3 (obviously missing the sarcasm): Haan, so his wife did not get jealous?
Me: Maybe that's why he made Sita go through the agni pariksha. To console his wife that he wasn't an item with Sita.

R4: Can I ask you a question?
Me (deciding to be a smartass): Was that a question?
R4: Uhh. Can I ask you? Its a quick question.
Me: Sure, go ahead.
R4: It wouldn't take too much of your time. Just two minutes.
Me: I understand. Please go ahead and shoot.
R4: What shoot? Can I ask you a question?
hamsini is now offline (also dead, if someone asked)

R5 (at the end of the movie Troy): So what, Brad Pitt dies? How can they kill the major Hero man!
R2: Whatever, he's hot. Whether he dies or not, I'm so gonna have him.
Me: Yeah guys, epic movie or not, Brad Pitt is the focus!
R5 (kissing the DVD cover): Totally!

R6 (at the shoe store): How much for this pair?
Assistant: That'd be 2000 Rupees ma'am.
R6 (smelling the stilettos): They're talking to me! They're saying; "Come to me. Take me home!"
Me (now alarmed): You wanna buy them?
R6 (thrusting the shoes at me): Here. Smell them! Like, now!

R7: I will tell you a joke okay. Its a very good joke! "A father gifts his son a watch on his b'day. The next day at the breakfast table, the son asked 'papa, whats the time?' The dad said 'beta, where is your watch!"

Laughter follows while we are sitting utterly bewildered.

R7: Arrey! The dad already gave a watch to the son the previous day and yet the son is asking for the time! (hahaha)

Laughter erupts. At R7, of course. He was oblivious to it and delighted that we all got the joke (finally).

What can I say, you guys totally make my day!

Guest Blog: Talk Dammit! Before its too late.

2010-02-01T11:19:00.000+05:30

When things don't weave correct patterns, or don't make sense in the broad Utopian logical world, R's conviction is questioned; he is shattered. Its then he expresses. This time, a guest post.

Noone wakes up someday and find they don't love anymore.

You see the shadows when turning off the light.

You hear the footsteps. But, when it whispers, you turn the other side.

When sleep is more important, love is dead.

TAG (its a different one!)

2010-01-29T10:16:00.001+05:30

I was bleary eyed and yawning at work this morning, when I saw that The Indian Melting Pot had tagged me. I quickly sat down to finish it and in no time was completely engrossed in it! Thanks babe, new posts always makes me happy! And by my previous tags, you know how much I like them!

8 TV shows/News Channels I like to watch:
- How I met your Mother, Friends, Bones, Full House, Will & Grace, Sarabhai VS Sarabhai, Hip Hip Hurray, Small Wonder (I don't watch news until forced by R).

8 Places to eat and dine:
- Yoko's (Hyderabad & Bangalore)
- The Great Indian Kebab Factory (Hyderabad)
- Sahib Sindh Sultan (Hyderabad)
- Saravana Bhavan (Chennai)
- Indi Joe's (Hyderabad)
- Not Just Jazz By The Bay (Mumbai)
- Queen's (Bangalore)
- Mom's Kitchen!

8 Things I Look Forward To:
- Writing. Love sitting down without a worry and just writing.
- Going to new recommended eat-outs with R.
- Acing the Bengali Cuisine & Language (in that order).
- Finding out the perfect career which I don't get bored of soon (that will be a challenge).
- Finishing my PHd.
- Getting published.
- Having my own house, designed and decorated by me.
- Be fit enough to meet my standards.

8 Things That Happened Yesterday:
- I wrote about love.
- Had the best conversation with R where I wasn't the only one talking (seriously, how that boy listens to me talk at the speed of light and understand all innuendos is beyond me!)
- Took home a coffee mug given by my Chris Child during the secret santa game and fell in love with the inscription she got for me!
- Had a wonderful dream where I was wearing an electric blue ghagra-choli that now I'm desperately gonna look for everywhere!
- Thought about how I should buy everyday slippers.
- Went to Hard Rock Cafe with R.
- Spoke about my parents and their antics as kids and missed them.
- Decided to write my SOP this weekend.

8 Things I love about Winter: I don't like too much cold, but the snuggly kind is good.
- Love cuddling up under my blankets
- Gives me an excuse to sit nursing the coffee mug for a long time, sipping it slowly.
- I can wear scarves!
- I can take long walks. The only time I actually don't mind going for walks is winter (the humane kind).
- I'm not sticky. Iam. NOT. Sticky. Very important, I say.
- I can take deep breaths in the morning (the cold, morning air is perfect for that lungful of air).
- Sleeeeeeping!
- My face clears up and my skin glows like clockwork every winter!

8 Things on my Wish-list:
- An indestructible phone. I'm a perpetual clutz.
- Taking my parents abroad.
- A PSP for R.
- My own start-up.
- The perfect house. Our home.
- A huge library at home.
- The day I can stop worrying about taxes!
- World Peace (if you knew how anti-war I am, you wouldn't roll your eyes at this).

8 Things I am Passionate about: Love, writing, reading, singing, dancing, career, doing new things that catches my fancy, organizing.

8 Words/Phrases I often use: Yabbaa, Jeeezus, Gawd, Thooo, Karmam, aww, Effing Lord, Fuck!

8 Things I learnt from the past:
- Obsession should not be confused with love.
- Don't interfere with choice.
- Don't get bogged in the smaller things. Keep your eye fixed on the big picture.
- Circumstances weave around you and you weave out of them. Not the other way around.
- Everyone's approval is not paramount, neither do you have to please everyone.
- Don't explain spending habits to parents. They'd never get it.
- Selfish is not always bad.
- Happiness is the most important thing. Everything else follows.

8 Places I would like to go /Visit:Kashmir, Kerala, Venice, Rome, Ireland, Disneyland, 7 Wonders, everywhere that the HP series was filmed.

8 Things I currently need/want: R, for life; College Admission, to restart my singing lessons, All my broken things fixed, the electric blue ghagra-choli, Shantaram, purple stilettos (what! I don't have that color!), Olay Total Effects (uncannily similar to Indian Melting Pot!), a change in my wardrobe, a guitar.

I totally overshot the limit of 8! (grins)

8 Blogging Buddies I want to Tag:

Akx
Kim
Arun
Runa
Fragi
Cheeku
Sush
Sanketh

I can't wait to see everyone's finished tag!

This thing called love

2010-01-28T16:15:00.001+05:30

Several times I’ve been asked by people who are close to me: “You don’t write poetry on love anymore. Are you a thorough cynic now?” I just smile in what I hope is an enigmatic smile and don’t answer the question. Because the answer is corny. It borders on sappy. Well, love in happier times is supposed to be sappy, methinks. Since I’ve been asked the question several times now, I thought I’d write about it. Well no, not a poem, just the reason.

Love is being. Being a lot of things. That persistent feeling of peace and happiness that calms you down at the end of the night. That which stops you from crying. Listening to happy songs. Its a personal list, what love means to each one of us. But the persistent feeling of happiness remains the same. When you are in love and the physical distance is present, you pine for that love. Its a mixed emotion, but where pain is involved, persistent happiness is somewhat marred. Its the same for one-sided affection. Love, in these circumstances is yearning and that makes for poetry about love. So does a broken heart. Or a separation. When you are happy, you are too busy being happy rather than writing about it!

I don’t write about togetherness because I'm living in it. I don’t write about the smell of the breeze on the beach during twilight walks because I’m walking in it.

When you live, the poetry is that much farther apart. Sometimes, when the night ends, you pick up the pen and try to capture everything that the walks on the beach or the giggling on the road represented. But you just write ‘I Love You.’ Because it is appropriate. It fits. And its much more than imaginative poetry. Its real life prose.

Post Republic Day!

2010-01-27T20:11:00.000+05:30

Its a day past Jan 26^th and I completely missed out on the Republic Day celebration. On television and otherwise. For several years now, republic day has been yet another holiday. The spirit of patriotism that we had as students (even if it is to wear the white uniform and salute the flag) is missing. And the absence is palpable.

As a person, I am not patriotic. Boundaries were created by man and the original reason for existing boundaries were to distinguish lands, culture and on several occasions, war. I don’t join arguments where people talk about bloodshed and laying their lives for their country. Murder, even if it is for the country, as a concept, eludes me. If someone said to me, I sang for the country, I painted for my land, I won in sports; it sits better as a statement with me than talking about pledging your life. Peace first, country later. This post, however, is not about patriotism. This is about the few years that we celebrated Republic day with much gusto.

I’m KV student. That’s Kendriya Vidyalaya or Central school to those who haven’t heard enough about us already. I hate navy blue as a colour since I spent the better part of my twelve years wearing that wretched uniform. All our morning prayers across the country starts with the chant of “असतो माँ सद्गमय” and the chorus of “दया कर दान” ensues.

At any KV, you will always find a mixed bunch of ethnicities, cultures and religions. Freedom is a big concept at school because it originally started as a school for the children of officers in the defence forces. Naturally, Republic day at KVs is always a huge deal. We dress up in the whitest of uniforms and polish our canvas shoes till they gleam in the sun. School started at 7:30 am and parade starts at 8 sharp. March past is a constant, followed by the National anthem and saluting the flag. In the moment that the harmonium takes the tune of hundreds of students in the chorus of “Jaya He,” a collective shiver runs through our spines. Never mind the chief guest, who is usually some local MP, its the co-curricular activities after the flag hoisting that we eagerly wait for. Some group always (and I mean always) performs the dance for ‘मेरे देश में सोना उगले, उगले हीरे मोती.’ The fashion show of various freedom fighters is comical. I’ve seen Nehru’s rose stuck to his coat with Sellotape and Indira Gandhi desperately trying to keep her wig up. Despite all this, when a 5^th std kid comes on stage and screams ‘Tum mujhe khoon do, main tumhe azaadi doonga’ we all clap loudly. Later, we stand in line for hours to get a packet of sweet that the school distributes. If we are lucky, we get motichoor ka laddoo. If you make noise in the lines, you don’t get the sweet. The four odd hours that we spend at school during this day would be talked about for days later. Never mind that we cribbed about the blistering sun just the day before. Or made fun of everyone who came on stage.

We vow to protect our nation and we take pledges with all our ‘brothers and sisters’. Its heady, because we aren’t cynical. Not yet. When ‘Phir Mile Sur Mera Tumhara’ released, there were overtones of sarcasm, even outrage at the blatant ‘bollywoodization’ of the rendition. Maybe so, but the song is still untouched. It is a medley of so many talented instrumentalists and vocalists (despite Sonu trying to be R. Kelly, he was very much in sync). Bollywood sells. If that’s what brings the crowd to the television to watch the Republic day celebrations then why not? In the times that I visited orphanages or taught at the local school, the kids there did not know who Mahatma Gandhi was. Honest. They struggle with the name and tell me that they’ve vaguely heard of him in their textbooks. If Deepika Padukone or Shahid Kapur is what makes them know who Gandhi was, I see no harm in selling them. They provoke mass frenzy. Instead of temples in their names, if the people vow to enrol at a school and get pulse polio drops for their kids, then its worth the song-butchering that happened the video.

As for my fellow KV’ites: you navy blue wearing, hindi speaking, eccentric folks, this one is dedicated to you. We may not have had the best labs or the latest pianos or even a swimming pool, but dammit, we represent our nations in more ways than you could imagine. Ask Kalam. He vouches for the NCERT shield.

Jai Hind. And Peace Out.

Adam's Apple!

2010-01-22T13:20:00.000+05:30

Yesterday was one of those happy days where you meet up friends, have a good time and don't work too much. I had an awesome time laughing and chatting up and I came back to office pretty elated. I smiled widely at anyone who walked past, which creeped a few people out, I think. I'm working from a different office, so I don't know anyone here. My floor is made of research and development members. Serious engineers. Well as serious as you can be at Google anyway.

I was still grinning when one of the guys near me gave me a fruit. I'm looked at him expectantly for an explanation. He asks me politely, "Do you know the name of this fruit? I'm seeing this for the first time." I peered at the fruit, held it and shook it (maybe I thought the fruit would answer like the magic 8-ball). It was yellow and spongy and I had never seen it before either. I handed it back to the guy and said equally politely, "I'm sorry, I haven't seen it." I turned and looked at my laptop screen and the guy went back to doing whatever he was doing before the fruit took his fancy.

My curiosity made me open a new Google page and I typed in a query whose image result was this fruit. I turned very happily and announced to him that the fruit was called 'Rose Apple.' He was impressed. He called his friends and declared that it was called a rose apple. They, in turn, opened up wiki pages to read up on the fruit. In two minutes, there were engineers surrounding the fruit and I backed away a little at all the excitement. Apparently no one else knew what the fruit was called, either. They asked me if I was a visiting engineer from the California office. I shook my head, amused. One of them complimented me on figuring it out so quickly and there were murmurs of affirmations. I suppressed a smile and went back to work, wondering how these engineers and Ph.D's who can code 17000 lines in a trice, missed out on the obvious.

My query, you ask?

Small, yellow, hollow fruit with seed.

है बातों में दम? (A Google Contest)

2010-01-21T11:08:00.000+05:30

Sharing your thoughts in Hindi on the web has never been easier! Google and LiveHindustan.com bring you the 'Hai Baaton Mein Dum?' Contest. If you've ever wished that there was more great Hindi content online, here's your chance to spill your heart out about the things that matter the most to you: entertainment, sports, travel, health and politics. Brick by brick, you'll be building the web in Hindi, sharing your knowledge of these topics and showing your flair for this beautiful language.

So, go ahead and visit the 'Hai Baaton Mein Dum?' Contest Site and click the 'Submit your entry' button next to the topic you want to write about. You stand to win some amazing prizes like laptops, gift vouchers and free internet subscriptions! There is no limit to the number of entries per contestant. Let your imagination run wild and spread the joy of sharing your thoughts in Hindi on the web!

TAG!

2010-01-19T15:40:00.001+05:30

Its been long since I did a tag, my previous one providing for my afternoon kicks. Its afternoon. I needs randomness. Here goes nothing:

1. What is your current obsession?

Developing my poetry blog to a functional website.

2. What are you wearing today?

Salwar-Kameez

3. What’s for dinner?

Rasam? I sure hope so.

4. What’s the last thing you bought?

Shorts for my Goa trip!

5. What are you listening to right now?

Hero - Enrique. I seem to be sappy these days.

6. What do you think about the person who tagged you?

A blogger I chanced on and who has kept me hooked!

7. If you could have a house totally paid for, fully furnished anywhere in the world, where would you like it to be?

Bengaluru, Karnataka. :)

8. What are your must-have pieces for summer?

One piece aa? Two piece aa? :D

9. If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would you go?

Just an hour? Then to NASA to experience zero-gravity!

10. Which language do you want to learn?

French. I want to be able to roll my R's!

11. What’s your favourite quote?

It keeps changing.

12. Who do you want to meet right now?

I wish I could, but I can't.

13. What is your favourite colour?

White and Blue.

14. Were you a Mamma's pet or Papa's pet?

Dad's. Still am :)

15. What is your dream job?

I don't want to have jobs. I am a career person.

16. What’s your favorite magazine?

Gokulam, surprisingly. It was my first magazine and where my love affair with books started!

17. If you had $100 now, what would you spend it on?

Shoes! :D

18. What do you consider a fashion faux pas?

Too many matching things. Ewww.

19. Who according to you is the most over-rated style icon?

Angelina Jolie.

20. What kind of haircut do you prefer?

Ever-changing! Just like me :)

21. What are you going to do after this?

Try to do some work.

22. What are your favourite movies?

Harry Potter, Will Smith movies, Shawshank Redemption, KKHH (I know, I know), A walk to remember, The Notebook.

23. What inspires you?

When I'm noticed.

24. What do your friends call you most commonly?

sigh. I'm still the girl my friends most pick on, so I'm not gonna start on this question!

25. Would you prefer coffee or tea?

Coffee. I don't drink tea.

26. What do you do when you are feeling low or terribly depressed?

I send text msg to people and then regret it later.

27. What makes you go wild?

When anyone questions my beliefs.

28. Which other blogs do you love visiting?

All the blogs on my blog-roll.

29. Favorite Dessert/Sweet?

All sweets. No chocolates. :P

30. How many tabs are turned on in ur browser right now?

I've multiple tabs and multiple browsers open. Told you it is a boring afternoon!

31. Favorite Season?

Spring. Not too cold, not too hot. Just perfect.

32.Whats ur current facebook status msg?

When you know you are doing something stupid, does that make you dumb or a sadist?

33. What is the right way to avoid people who purposefully hurt you?

i always end up giving second chances to people who hurt me. Shucks.

34. What are you afraid of the most?

Darkness. I'm worse than a 3 yr old if asked to go to the loo at 2 am with no lights on.

35. When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was the first thing you thought?

That I should lose some weight.

36. What brings a smile on your face instantly?

A great song, coincidences, unexpected compliments.

37. A word that you say a lot?

Yabbaaaaa :D (If you are reading this, Pri, babes, you'e heard it the most!)

38. Tell us a bad PJ u heard recently??

Son: Hey mom, wats there to eat?
His mom throws a stone at him.
Son: Hey mom I just asked for sumthin to eat!
Mom: Hum eat ka jawaab pathar se dete hai.

39: Whats the best thing that's happened to you?

R

If you are bored or plain jobless, go on, do this tag. You will feel completely useless after it, but then what the hell, you never saw that half hour slip by, did you?!

Happy Tagging!

Sweet, with a dash of bitter!

2010-01-15T15:05:00.000+05:30

Adaptability comes easy to me. I get detached as easily as easily as I get attached. I don’t settle in one place. Probably owing to the fact that dad was in a transferrable job and me moving out every four years to a completely different place. I’ve been in towns, small cities and in metropolitans (even in a village, but I was too young then!) I don’t remember crying long after I’ve moved cities, left memories or pine for anyone.

Until Bangalore.

This was the city to where we got transferred; but owing to the fact that my sister and I were giving our board exams; changing cities later was not an option. We ended up staying here for more than the usual 4 years. For the first time, growing up; I had a constant school, friends that I would be seeing year after year, a constant neighbourhood. Familiarity. It was a new concept. And I felt the need to escape the minute it bred my contempt. Like all new things, settling down in one place took time to register in me. I grew up in the city and it grew on me. I came to love the gali I took to reach school, the tiffin centres in Malleshwaram, the malls on Brigade road, Loafer’s street in college, BMTC buses, the crowds in Majestic and even the neighbourhood trees.

Bangalore is cosmopolitan. Little bit of vodka with a lot of cranberry. The eclectic mix of people I found and befriended are a mixed lot. Makes the city a little more different. A little more like me. From school crushes to college gyan – most of the things I learnt, the things I’ve lost, the people I love; are here. Each time I come here, I take a breath of the Bengaluru air. And each time, it welcomes me with a smile.

The Bhutan Series: The Final Lap!

2010-01-08T18:10:00.000+05:30

Days 9 - 10:

Christmas night in Bhutan was beautiful. Since there are so many tourists, they celebrate Christmas with gusto. There weren’t massive decorations, but there were party invite flyers all over Thimpu. Bhutanese kids were caroling at the top of their voices. I joined them in their strains of ‘O Holy Night,’ remembering with delight my own caroling every year with the choir group. I wanted to eat a pizza that night, which is in a building opposite the back alley of Center Lodge (just thought I’d mention the directions). There were 1995 issues of Vogue and Cosmopolitan which I thumbed through, waiting for the pizza. Which was thin crusted and delicious. The almond cookies were crumbly drops of heaven! Just before we were about to leave, a kitty came and sat on my lap. I humored her for a while, missing my own cat at home.

Our last day at Bhutan was to be at Punakha and Wangdi. A trip that cost us Rs 1500 in a taxi. Punakha is a relatively hotter place than the others. When we arrived there, the first thing I did was to sun-bask! Loved the feeling that it sent through me. The Punakha Dzong is the biggest Dzong in Bhutan. It is flanked by the dark green male and the light blue female rivers of Wangchu and Mochu (yes, I giggled). We took our time through the withered rose plants, the shedding trees in preparation for winter and Bhutanese monks busy with their prayers. The Dzong at Wangdue was smaller, however, the layout inside was the same as Punakha’s, albeit less picturesque.

We stopped at the Dochula Pass on our way back. It has 108 Stupas – one each for each facet of Buddha and a monastery inside with very intricate paintings and carvings. We ate a simple lunch of red rice and boiled vegetables and stared at the valleys some more. We came back to the now familiar Thimpu and after some last minute shopping for silk and sweaters, we went back to our hotel to pack. The next day, we had a 9 am bus back to Phuntsholing, from where we were to spend the day in Jaigaon before we took the train from NJP to Howrah. We sampled the Bengali Lucchi-Chole and egg rolls on the street the entire day other than watching idle television sometimes. We had a neck-to-neck journey as our train from NJP to Howrah was to reach at 6 am and our train from Howrah to Hyderabad was at 7:25 am. Most trains, if not all, are late. We reached our train (Falaknuma Express) at 7:23 am. The only tension-filled moment in our entire trip! :) From then, it was a 24 hour journey back to Hyderabad. Home.

I am finally ending the Bhutan series, hoping that some waif finds the detailed information helpful. I had so much fun writing it that I almost don’t want to stop it! If it wasn’t for R’s enthusiasm, his prodding (gentle and rude), foot-rubs and good humor; a less-experienced traveler like me would’ve been lost en-route. Thanks for sticking around.

Here’s to more! Cheers!

The Bhutan Series: City Lights at Thimpu!

2010-01-07T17:19:00.001+05:30

Day 8:

Thimpu is a morning place. It has the same noises as a city would with much hustle bustle. We thought we’d wake up late, but thats simply isn’t possible! We got ready to drive to the Immigration office to get our permits to the Dzongs (finally). The permit office opens at 9 am and it takes a longer time to get the permits processed here than in Phuntsholing. We found a brother duo from Delhi who were also getting their permits processed. The clerk gave us a form and asked for Xerox copies of the Entry permit, which we didn’t have. There are no Xerox places in the immediate vicinity, we went to the marketplace 10 mins down the road. The Xeroxes were Rs 2/copy! How much I missed free Xerox at office then. We needed to give them a copy of the entry permit, the completed form and a copy of the identification (passports, in our case). If you need a road permit, then you need to provide them with a copy of the driver’s license too. We waited for about half hour till it got processed. In that time, I went to the textile museum few buildings away while R went to the bus stop to get tickets to Paro, so we could visit the Dzong and monastery there now that we had permission and the tickets back to Phuntsholing.

The textile museum had clothes of their various Gods and deities. I was the only visitor there that morning. While the wooden floors creaked beneath me and the deities looked down at me with their eerie stares; I got spooked! The only other person there was the girl at the entrance collecting a fee of Rs 25. I concentrated on the stories of the clothes instead and learnt that they’ve pagan Gods. They worshipped wind, fire, earth, water with the same reverence that we do and had stories of their Gurus conquering demons. Their stories include a lot of penises too. Don’t ask. Actually, I’ll tell you. So why is everyone in Bhutan nuts about penis? The admiration is borne of religious lore:

Legend has it that Drupka Kinley (a monk) would hit errant demons over the head with his penis to subdue them and turn them into protective deities. Today, several wooden penises are kept in the monastery. The longest, a brown wooden one with a silver handle, is the most important - it is considered a religious relic and is used for blessing the devout. Monks hits young women devotees who come to pray at the monastery on the head with it.

The almighty phallus is found even in the most remote of Bhutan’s crevices! :D

It’s called Penis Protection, perverts!

When I made my way back to the office, they had our forms ready. Let me tell you though, this is not general practice. It takes half a day to process and they give you the signed forms only by 3 or 4 pm. When we had gone, the official who had to sign was just out of a meeting, so the clerk caught him and got the signatures. There’s no beaurocracy however. The timing of the whole process is mentioned in the rules put on the notice board. You need to mention the places that you are planning on visiting so that they put it on the form. If there are any obscure places that the Lonely Planet Guide talks about, don’t forget to mention them! They check the permit very carefully before entering the Dzongs. Also, don’t forget to take copies of the permit. Once we got the permit to visit the places, we needed to get a cultural permit for the monasteries (I know. But its necessary). The two brothers asked if we wanted a lift till the cultural ministry since they were going there too. We agreed and boy, did we need the ride! The search for the darned place took us almost an hour since no one knew where the cultural ministry was! Finally some dude from the National Library told us that we could find the building opposite to the UNICEF building which was a more well-known landmark. The ministry turned out to be in a building with apartments! Our timing was impeccable again and we got the permits within half hour. It takes few hours generally and more during the tourist/festival time. Its always better to get to Thimpu first and keep aside a day for the permits if you are visiting during peak season (July-Nov).

It was lunch time by then and we were starving, having eaten no breakfast. This is a good time to mention that hunger disappears there! Blame it on the cold or the weird smell that emanates from the Bhutanese dishes that even after having an activity-packed day, you just don’t feel hungry. We ate only one meal a day, snacking the other times. We never felt any hunger pangs otherwise.

For lunch, we ate an Hotel Tanden (at my insistence, its an Indian restaurant). I was at ease only after biting into a piece of alu paratha with sabzi. No, I haven’t gone all north yet, I did have curd rice after! We enquired at the taxi stands outside for a Thimpu city-tour. The price we settled for was Rs 800 for 4-5 hrs to all the major places. The taxi-stand guys always quote more and they are united as prices go, so ask the stand alone taxis that are there. It’s a better deal.

Our first stop was a temple for Hindus (there are a surprisingly large number there). The prayer wheels are everywhere! It’s a contraption which is held in place by a fulcrum and can be rotated. It has holy characters inscribed on it and everyone was turning them. Mind you, there are hundreds of these in a temple/monastery/Dzong, so this can be time-consuming. This is akin to our tradition of ‘Pradakshanams’ or going around the deity several times. R went crazy twisting every prayer wheel he saw!

Next, we stopped at the National Wildlife Enclosure for their national animal – The Takin. It looks like, erm, well, it looks like someone up there was getting really bored and got a deer and a cow to mate and it settled nicely on a deer-face and a cow-ass. Cowabunga!

The taxi driver’s friend who accompanied us was very chatty and R took full advantage of this, volleying him with questions. We got to know that living in before marriage was a very common thing there and not frowned upon. Most marriages there are love marriages as they believe in getting to know the person before committing. Bhutan is traditional in its make and modern in its outlook (verily profound no?) The cars are another thing. Makes of all kinds. From Maruti 800 to a Toyota truck. Well, picture me dragging R away from clicking 1000 pics. Ohh well. Our last stop was the Thimpu Dzong which tourists can visit only after the official timings are up at 4:30 pm. The structure itself was imposing and beautiful, but the inside of the Dzong was not particularly captivating. The monastery however, was very serene.

We spent some time there and came back to the hotel just to keep the documents and set out to explore the city once again. We went to the theatre beside our hotel thinking we’d see a Bhutanese movie. It was a re-screening of an old movie and the balcony prices were 200 big ones. We shook our heads emphatically. Just for kicks needed to be a lot cheaper than that! Theatre is not an active form of entertainment there. They do not release English, Hindi or even Bhutanese movies for that matter. They are all in DVD’s and CD’s. The Bhutanese love their drinks however. There are pubs at every turn of the alley. Karaoke pubs no less. There were no crowds when we went; still, I liked the coziness.

Christmas at Bhutan updates in the next post!

The Bhutan Series: Passes and Kids!

2010-01-06T11:17:00.000+05:30

Day 7:

Paro to Chelela in a taxi was surreal. The total one-day ride that ended in a drop to Thimpu costs Rs 1700. The ride to Chelela takes about 3 hours and there is a short hike and view-points along the drive. There are buses available, but it is better to take a taxi. It stops where you want it to so you can be trigger-happy. They’re too beautiful to not stop and click! Our driver brought along a lady who we assumed, what with all her cheek pinching, playful ear-pulling, to be his girlfriend. Throughout the ride to Chelela, we were wondering who the couple really was! Actually, we needn’t have wondered. It was them all the way. When she nibbled his ears, we were taken aback. I submerged in giggles at the public display of affection, it was so endearing. We asked him she was his girlfriend. To which he replied, “We’ve been married for 14 years, we’ve two kids of 10 and 4 yrs.” Damn those deceiving north-eastern youth! We could never have guessed anyone’s age correctly. He, in turn, asked us if we were on our honeymoon. Grinning wickedly, R said no, it has been a year since we were married. The driver then advised us to have kids. R shrugged nonchalantly and declared that I was anti-kids despite him wanting one. The driver, now directing the conversation at me, told me that kids are our legacies and that they play an important part in continuing our genes. I handled all this as a mature adult would – by blushing furiously and aiming punches at R. Secretly, I was delighted. Later, R told me that it was no secret; my plastered smile had given it away already. Well, I was never good at keeping my feelings back anyway. I have worn all of it on my face.

We looked at the vast expanse of the pass and walked along the road which had lots of prayer shells in the crevices between the rocks. We had a short hike at a small trail that had prayer flags throughout the way. Yes, there was ice. A little snow and lot of cold. But the heat up my spine kept me walking.

We were dropped to Thimpu after 2 hours at the pass. We had researched that the Clocktower Square had the most number of economical hotels, so we got dropped right there. We checked in to the Center Lodge at Center Mall right above The Rice Bowl restaurant. It was Rs 550 per night and had a decent room, but it was 3 flights of stairs up without an elevator. We thought we’d go hotel hunting in the evening and took a long hot bath. The city-lights in Thimpu were enough to put me in a better mood. It was less cold than Paro and there was a lot more activity. We went hotel hunting, but the square had too many shady places. We decided to stay put at the Center Lodge. We ordered in that night while my insomnia continued. Thank God for Star Movies.

The Bhutan Series: Trecherous Trek

2010-01-05T15:59:00.003+05:30

Continuing the travel series from where I left it:
Day 6:

This was perhaps the most important day that I had prepared for. You didn’t think I’d go to a hilly place without preparing for it first, did you? Having “I will exercise regularly” as a new year resolution never worked anyway, so I hit aerobics and gym by November, so that when trek-day arrived, I would welcome it like a pro. That worked out as much as my resolution. The trek to the Tiger’s Nest Monastery (also called Taktshang) was positively ghastly. I had had a disastrous Coorg trek to Tadiyandamol. Compared to this atrocity that stood at 3000 mts above the sea level and 700 mts of steep climb, Coorg seemed almost like a baby you would coo at! We left at 6 a.m to the base of the cliff after negotiating with the taxi driver for Rs 200. It’s a half hour drive and almost completely uphill. We thought that an early start is better than having to battle out the sun and the crowd of other trekkers in those steep hills (general start time was at about 9-10 a.m). We were in layers of clothing again. Even though you are trekking, the body heat is just not enough to combat the chill up there.

Our trek started by 7:30. By 8:15 a.m, my ‘aerobics-toned’ body started showing the first signs of strain. And by 9, I was struggling. Still, owing to the fact that R was recently in an accident and had surgery in the knee, complete with nails and knee braces, he was still climbing steadily. I tried valiantly to match steps. Bloody goat. I could’ve feinted nausea for all the “trying” I did. I perfected the art of the ‘Zombie-walk’, trudging, dragging my feet and stopping after about every 10 steps or so. R was prodding – sometimes gentle, sometimes admonishing and sometimes just plain rudely commenting that I wasn’t trying hard enough. I did what anyone would do at that juncture- stuck out my tongue at the nimble-footed buffalo who dared to interrupt my pace.

Owing to the cold, we did not need water as often. After a sugar-high from two pieces of wafers, we had covered half the distance. Did I mention that a 50-yr old woman passed me with a cheery smile on her face? R wasn’t too happy about it, but to be able to finish the trek he had to be around me to pep me up. Treacherous! It was a waking reminder from my body to endure more. The gym is feeble. It needs more activity. Promising myself to take up some sport and withering under R’s look, I climbed the last turn to reach the monastery. It was smaller than we expected and there was just one monk around. I looked around curiously at the surprising lack of activity and size.

Then I spotted the sprawling monastery miles away. We were looking downwards. We had taken the wrong trail and went right above Tiger’s Nest! Growling inwardly, we climbed down (after playing dumb-charades with the monk about the correct trail and getting some holy water from him). Tiger’s Nest was breathtaking (well, not literally, no. I was still alive). And the view was gorgeous. We weren’t allowed in because we did not have the religious permit (we had to obtain it from Thimpu), but we were informed that all monasteries are exactly the same all over Bhutan, so we weren’t too disappointed. On the climb down, we stopped at the cafeteria (at about half way). The guy there quoted Rs 365 for a veg buffet lunch. The lunch timings are from 1pm to 2 pm. We shrugged and sat down to rest amongst the bird watchers who were pointing humongous binoculars at the trees. We got up in ten minutes, having surpassed the hunger-limit. Munching two more pieces of wafers and downing some water, we finished the downwards climb in the next hour. 4 wafers, half a bottle of water, torn shoes (yes, mine) and 6 hours later, we reached the foothills again.

The climb had left behind a raging headache and I took a tablet and saw TV in the hotel room till I fell asleep. Nothing like a vulnerable, hurting, sleeping person to bring out the matron in R! He fussed around me, got me a parcel of Kokka noodles from the restaurant and fed me while I made sniffling noises. That was one nasty headache! The head massage and foot rub made it a tad better (he is quite the sweetheart) and I half-snoozed while R discussed the next day plan to go to Chelela Pass with the Shangri-La restaurant manager whose brother was a taxi-driver. Chelela is the pass to go the nearby district of Ha from Paro. Our hotel owner had mentioned that there would be snow there. That spurred R who was determined to see snow and ice in the Himalayas! I amused myself with some Bhutanese television, complete with dances and songs while R sweat over some really spicy Ox meat just before we slept.

No Reminiscing this Time!

2010-01-01T17:15:00.004+05:30

Hi!
Yes you! You who's reading this. If you are done looking around and finding no one else besides you, peer into your screen just once more. Cuz, I want to take a break from the travelogue series and wish you a fabulous new year!

Thanks for sticking around while I ranted and raved;
sobbed and savored; changed and blossomed. Your comments make my day, your reviews is all I talk about sometimes. I don't have a list for the new year, nor do I have one for the year that went by. In my world, the page is blank...waiting to be gushed into. Smile. Just so someone smiles with you!

This one is for us. You. And me.

The Bhutan Series: Paro Town!

2009-12-31T12:01:00.001+05:30

Day 5
Destination: Paro

Places to see: The Tiger’s Nest Monastery, Paro Dzong, Paro museum, local shops.

Fooood: Hotel Euphel (quintessentially Bhutanese food), The Shangri-La Eatery, Fusion Karaoke Pub (for their Koka noodles).

Be wary of: Prices for souvenirs (bargaining is the key), the cold!

Costs: Rs 550 a night (inc of taxes) for accommodation at the Peljorling.

Today was the day we were to officially step into Bhutan. We had planned to go to Thimpu first because that’s where you get the permits needed to see the Dzongs and the restricted regions of Punakha and Wangdi (spelt Wangdue).

The royal Bhutan government has a rule that all tourists should pay a minimum tariff of $200 per night and all tourists can come into the country only through a tour operator. This alarmed us quite a bit, but this rule is not valid for Indian tourists. India has had a long-standing good relationship with Bhutan and we enjoy privileges that tourists from other countries don’t. Their currency (ngultrum also called Nu) is freely exchanged interchangeably with Rupees in the border town and Indian Rupees can be used all over Bhutan without any trouble. Few shopkeepers are still wary about the Rs1000 notes, so carry a lot of change!

We woke up and checked out by 7 a.m and walked to the border gate at Phuntsholing. Taxi till the bus stop in Phuntsholing costs Rs 50 and is a total waste of money! But, there are no other modes of transport, so we took a taxi that was available. Take a share taxi if one is around. We reached the bus stop and marveled at the absolutely deserted place. No venders, no spit stain, nothing! We were told that due to winter vacations, all the buses were full and there were no buses available to Thimpu till 2:30 in the afternoon. We didn’t want to wait that long so we took an impromptu decision to head to Paro at 8 a.m instead. A bus ride to Thimpu is 7 hours (same in a taxi) and costs Rs 174. A taxi will cost you Rs 400 – Rs 500 per head! Everything in Bhutan is on a per head basis which explains why travel can get expensive. There is no concept of ‘total costs.’ A bus ride to Paro is Rs 168 and takes 6 hours. These buses aren’t Volvos, but they’re comfortable. Tall people, be warned, there will be no leg room for you. However, the ride was fantastic! Curving roads and sprawling nature. The roads are very narrow, but the Government has laborers working on road expansion. This had caused landslides and accidents in recent times, but nothing untowardly occurred in the 6 hours that we travelled.

Entry to Paro Town at 3 p.m was grand. Its more of a village than a town in terms of size. It’s a small settlement which can be traversed in about an hour and a half. Its cold, has more shops than houses and is right out of a movie! We checked into The Peljorling, a quaint, comfortable hotel which has wooden flooring, TV, heater (you’ll need a heater everywhere unless you are used to low temperatures) and clean bathrooms. R is particular about the cleanliness in general, so all the hotels we checked into were very clean.

Websites don’t list local hotels. They list sprawling resorts and spas that cost well over $500/night. You can ask the locals to direct you to some budget hotels without a problem. If you are visiting during festival time, the hotels are booked weeks in advance and you could be stranded because it’s a small country. So make sure you check the dates for any impending festivals and book in advance. If not, you can do what we did and go there and then choose a hotel that fits your budget.

We went out to look for some restaurants for lunch and chanced upon the Shangri-La Eatery. With a Chinese cuisine, this one had good variety and decent food. R found the non-vegetarian dishes to be very delicious. Vegetarian choices were limited, but good enough. But, whatever you do, don’t eat the mushrooms! They use a different form of mushroom that tastes like tyre. It’s a horrible, acrid taste that lingers in your mouth for long after! Definitely not worth risking.

A good place to try out Bhutanese food would be Hotel Euphel. They have strange dishes like Ox intestines and goat brain and their national dish- Ema Datsen (Red rice with a side dish of green chillies in melted cheese). Everything is spicy as sin and chillies are used as vegetables. The spice will do you good in that weather, but if you aren’t used to it, might as well drop it.

We went around Paro in the evening: seeing, sensing, experiencing. The stroll found us in many handicraft shops that made hand-woven things like bags, shawls, scarves, wall hangings. They quoted exorbitant rates (Rs 1000 for a scarf, Rs 350 for a 5 inch pestle-mortar set), so we were content just looking. We bought some sweaters though, the prices being very reasonable. The silk in local shops had some very oriental designs that we fell in love with, so we bought some to make bed sheets and pillowcases out of them. It costs Rs 120 – Rs 140 per meter and has lots of varieties of patterns. The shops that sold ‘souvenirs’ can be given a miss as they don’t have anything that is out of the ordinary. A local mentioned that most of their products came from India because there are no manufacturing companies in Bhutan. If you see an alarmingly familiar desi product with a Bhutanese wrapper, chances are, you are being suckered into buying what you’ll find in the local market for a lower price. Bargaining is an essential trait. You are the ‘firangi’ there and you’ll be played if you aren't careful. Its universal!

After 8 p.m, numbness starts descending over the town. It is c.o.l.d! Wrap yourself in layers of clothing – a warm top/tee-shirt, sweater, a woolen jacket over it, gloves, woolen socks, woolen tights and jeans. It might seem like a pain, but trust me; the cold can keep you from enjoying the beauty of the place and concentrate instead, on warming your toes or your freezing nose!

Nighttime is a volley of noises in Paro. That of dogs. They snarl, bark, yowl, whine and make noises that you did not think could come out of a dog. They kept me awake for quite a while at night, even with the heater on in full blast. Still, in this town where everyone knows everyone, I snuggled up to R and slept late.

The Bhutan Series: Bordering this Side!

2009-12-31T10:19:00.000+05:30

Day 4: We reached the NJP station at 8 in the morning. The constant announcements of the trains arriving late made us realize that almost trains coming to NJP are inevitably 1-4 hrs late. We confirmed that with the locals. Be wary of the time, if you’ve a strict deadline, you may not be able to keep it. To reach the border town, it’s a further 4 hour journey by road to Jaigaon from NJP. There are buses leaving every half-hour or you can go by taxi. Bus ride will be Rs 50 – Rs 70 (based on the crowd in the bus) and a taxi will cost you Rs 400. We took a private bus for Rs 60 and were in for a very uncomfortable bus-ride to Jaigaon. There is no leg-room in the private buses, so make sure you are okay with that. My small legs fit virtually anywhere, so it was R who had a tough time, fidgeting every now and then with his broken knee. I longed to comfort him, but then he could put on a ‘I’m a guy’ face and not grimace at all. That would majorly piss me off, so I just watched him squirm and gave him sympathetic glances.

After 4.5 hrs, we reached Jaigaon. We wanted to finish the permit process first, so we directly went to Phuntsholing (after showing our passports at the main gate- they require some form of identity). You need a copy of your passport (or driver’s license), a passport-size photograph to get the permit processed. There was no long queue, just us, so we went right in. The offices close by 4:30 and we were there at 3:30. For tourists from other countries, the Visa processes closes by 12:30 in the afternoon. The whole permit process took half hour and absolutely no beaurocracy! R was loitering around outside, so the guy told me “Beti, call your father-in-law! My face was well worth taking a picture of! He thought I was in school and R was my father-in-law. Heaven knows why! Some very inappropriate thoughts ran through my mind right then, and I shouted “Sasurji, zara suniye, bula rahe hai!” Thankfully, R didn’t hear this until later, giggling to fits! To get the final signature, we had to go to an office inside where a senior official asked us questions about what our purpose of visit was- basic questions like how many days, where all, etc.

Our permits processed, we checked in to Hotel Anand in Jaigaon. It’s a pretty good, neat and comfortable hotel. It charged Rs 675 per night for a double bedroom. It had TV, clean bathrooms, room service, geyser and check-out time at noon. It was the only hotel we found online, so we decided to crash there. We were too tired to search for hotels anyway. Unable to sleep, I left a peacefully sleeping R and went sigh-seeing around Jaigaon. The marketplace seemed like as good place as any to start. It was 5 p.m and already getting dark and chilly. A basic sweater everywhere is necessary. The clothes list will only go on increasing hereon! I bought a pair of socks and gloves for Rs 10 and Rs 20 respectively. They lasted the Bhutan weather beautifully! The marketplace was bustling. This one was a slightly overcrowded Commercial Street, I thought. Trinkets, clothes, fake watches, sunglasses, woolen wear, chappals and so much more! I grabbed a plate of momos, hot soup and chana-chatpata from the roadside vendor. In that cold, the spice was welcome in my heat-deprived body. People were already starting to cross over to the border and the street was slowly shutting down. Within 2 hours, it was pitch dark! I went back in a cycle rickshaw (not having gone in one since I was a kid, I felt like royalty!) We went to a restaurant suggested by someone in the bus for dinner later – Hotel Rajasthan. We found it quite by accident after searching for it for nearly an hour. Its well inside a small lane near Hotel Shiv. The veg thali there was Rs 50 and the food was unlimited. It was a simple but scrumptious affair! How I loved the sabjis and parathas! To polish it off, I had a single, soft, gooey piece of rasgulla for dessert (when in Bengal…) It was well worth the search we put into it.

Another hotel recommended to us was Hotel Tripthi. It has a delicious breakfast of Lucchi-Choley and simple Bengali veg meals. We did not try any other restaurant as we found these two sufficient for our short stop-over. Mind you, these hotels are small and may come across as shabby, streetside hotels, but the food is too good to pass up! We slept fitfully that night.

The Bhutan Series: Rail-Gaddi day!

2009-12-30T12:53:00.001+05:30

Days 1-2-3: The journey starts its chronicles from Hyderabad. Its where I live and work (at least for the time being). Let me start by telling you that this travelogue is going to be on a budget-constraint. R and me are conscientious spenders (except shoes: there, I added that disclaimer!) We mostly agree on where we should be spending on a journey. That is, where we can afford to splurge and where we need to hold the purse strings. The most important part of a trip to us is the sights of the place, the experience of the local culture- this includes their food and the way they live. Few basic comforts are what we live by on a trip and it suits us just fine. We did, however, get into the habit of collecting odd and novel souvenirs from the places we visit ever since we started going on trips together and we splurge on them, no matter what the price. Now that the long preamble is over, let me start by telling that the travel itself needs planning if you want it done within budget. The dates of our journey were decided a month in advance and the train tickets were booked. Its always better to cancel the tickets in case the dates of the journey changes rather than wait till the last moment to get confirmation on the dates. Our first leg looked like this:

Hyderabad to Howrah by East-Coast express. Travel time: 28 hours. Alternatively, there is also Falaknuma Express which is faster by almost 4 hours where we, predictably, did not get tickets. Luck, bah!

The train left at 10 a.m from the Nampally (Hyderabad Deccan) station and we settled down with books and magazines cuz, lets face it, it was gonna be a long ride! Travelling through AP and nearing Orissa, a cacophony of sounds and smells assaulted me. The result? Stuffing my face with food while R looked on, amused. Telling him “I never eat in trains” was a lot more difficult while I was getting plates of puri-sabji and samosas at the same time. I don’t. Really. I spend time in trains just reading or staring out of the window. I just don’t like eating in trains. I lose my appetite in there. This time around, I sounded like a fat girl who was promising to go on a diet while munching on chips. I shrugged and continued buying anything that came by. The samosas (or Singaras as the Bengalis call it), the Jal-muri, the alu-chops! I’ve no recommendations. Everything was delicious! We reached Howrah station the next evening by 4 p.m. Our following train from Howrah to New Jalpaiguri (NJP) was at 10 p.m. We thought we’d roam Kolkatta in those few hours.

Kolkatta is a place in another era. I looked at the old buildings; some in obvious state of decay and others decaying with rustic charm. It was something out of 19th century India. I liked it a lot. We made quick calls to our friend who was vacationing in Kolkatta and went to her place. Kayo’s place was in a central location and we came to a cozy house and neighborhood that we immediately took a liking to. We washed up in no time and after pleasantries, went to explore Kolkatta in the little time that we had.

A ride on the metro and pigging out on street chat were the only agenda items as far as I was concerned. And we did exactly that. We took a ride on the metro (I was very impressed with the cleanliness there compared to the Mumbai locals) and the overall efficiency. We walked around the famed Park Street and had roadside Kathi Rolls and Puchkas (golgappas or pani-puris). I saw trams for the first time, very few autos and lots of ambassadors doubling up as taxis on the road. You cannot miss this (absolutely can’t)! The streets were empty by 9 p.m and we hurriedly hugged her and left, grateful for the hospitality. We took a taxi back to the Howrah station. There are two stations, side by side: The old and the new Howrah station. Always ask which station your train is due to arrive in! NJP trains leave from the old station. We headed there with full stomachs and plonked ourselves on the NJP train. It was another 14 hr overnight journey to reach NJP.

The Last Shangri-La

2009-12-29T12:42:00.000+05:30

I meant to keep my vacation travelogue short. Initially, when R and me were deciding where to hit during Christmas vacation and decided on Bhutan, we were scraping at the almost non-existant information online for Indian travellers. Most of the websites cater to the U.S and U.K nationals and the rules in Bhutan for Indians are completely different! We discovered some on the way and we found some the hard way. My next few posts are going to be detailed to the last penny and include every nook and cranny we visited while we were there. This should help the Indian tourists scrouging online for information.

Bhutan is delightfully un-commercialized and surprisingly affordable. Its a couple's delight, a family getaway and a backpackers dream come true. I hope to keep this tone intact throughout. On to the journey now...

Brahmin-ism

2009-12-29T12:25:00.001+05:30

In conversation with R about my scholarship opportunities for further studies...

Me (worried): You think I'd qualify for a full scholarship?
R (confidently): Of course!
Me: How can you say that?
R: Its a Bengali Brahmin's word. I'm not a bananaplate one like you!
Me: ...

Trivia

2009-12-29T12:21:00.000+05:30

R (pointing towards the river in Orissa) : Its so huge!
Me: That's why its called 'Maha'nadi. Otherwise it'd be called 'nadi'.
R: Even our rivers are huge. Nothing like the tiny ones you have.

Holy Cow! I mean...Holy Matrimony!

2009-12-16T13:19:00.002+05:30

I'm a serial monogamist. To me, relationships don't come with a shelf-life. I get into it thinking- This is it. This is forever. Of course forever doesn't include marital vows. I've been marriage-phobic ever since I can remember. And it asserts itself more when you live away from family for a long time. Your quirks, nature and independence come seeping through the sieve that your family painstakingly put together. My independence is very dear to me and in the years that I've been living away from home, it has only become stronger. Of course, I miss my family and most of all, my sisters, but that doesn't give me enough reason to pack my bags and be with family again. I've my own little family that keeps me happy here. Wherever 'here' is.
Coming back to marriage; well, every girl (and an occasional boy) dreams about their wedding day. Its special and we are brimming with ideas to make it that one day where we just can't wipe the smile of our faces. It is the after that I'm phobic to. What-if's plague my already OCD-prone mind. What if I can't make small talk? What if I'm told not to wear shorts at home? What if I've to cook on a weekday? See what I mean? Completely trivial issues! Any mom would have rolled her eyes at me and said "Its all about adjustments. You give some, you take some." But when you live and love a particular kind of living, how much are you willing to 'adjust' to? I would...but only if I choose to.

I attended my friend Fatima's wedding last night. It was my first Nikah and a very heady experience. We dressed up in shiny salwars and left from office. When we arrived, we saw the separate 'Ladies' and 'Men' entrances. We proceeded to the 'Ladies section' of the hall. The guests had arrived and we stopped to take a collective intake of breath. Our shiny salwars were rags compared to the glitterati spread there. We were dazzled by the display. We couldn't take our eyes off Fatima who had a crooked smile on her face and her eyes looking down. Like she had a secret only she knew. We sat surrounding her and talked to her to ease her nerves. Turns out she didn't ned any! She was talking just like it was a casual chat over coffee at office. We got so caught up, we were shaking with random laughter. When the photographer clicked the moment, we jerked out of our reverie (in the spotlight video that followed, I realized just how much I did not want to be in that spotlight myself.) We gave our present to her and got off the stage after a while. The Nikah culminated after Fatima scrawled her signature on a register and uttered "Kabool hai." I loved the simplicity in those words. After a scrumptious dinner of Biryani and salan (my non-vegetarian friends were digging into everything else!), we headed out to see what the guys were doing and see if we could crash the men's section. It was a no-go, but we had fun plotting it, nevertheless! We sneaked pics of the groom and took it on the sly. We had a pajama-party later that night. Aching feet notwithstanding, it was one of the few weddings that I had a lot of fun in without crinkling my nose at the 'customs.' Wish you a happy married life, babe. You deserve it.

Maybe marriages aren't that bad after all.

Update: I'm off to Bhutan for the rest of December on a vacation. Will update posts with the stories from the land of Shangri-La! Till then, Merry Christmas y'all and hope you have a resolution-stickler of a new year! :)

Two States

2009-12-10T11:16:00.001+05:30

No, this is not a book review of Chetan Bhagat's Two States. It was a good read, but this post is about the verbal war between R and yours truly. The Great Bengal Tiger and The Delicious umm...dosa? Ugh. There's no way a Tam Bram can pull off a superhero name. The geeky sidekick, maybe. By now, if you thought my father is an accountant and my great grandfather, an engineer, you are mostly right. Way to live up the stereotype (pats self). I'm not the quintessential Tam Bram (I grew up in the sugar-loving, vegetarian Gujrat and the cosmopolition Bangalore), but I love my curd rice. It is right up there with Sambhar. I also think that Tamil is a language to be revered. Eating with my hand is the way I like my food the best and I'm a trained classical singer. Cliché enough for ya?

R, on the other hand, is a specimen. Of the babu moshai kind. He grew up in the lazy town of Pune and shakes his head like a good Maharashtrian any day, but relishes on the twin Bengali pleasures of pseudo-intellectual arguments and khichuri. Just like I draw the line before it reaches hero-worship of Rajnikanth or an uncanny knack of solving calculus, he drew his before the stench of fish assaults his nostrils or sweets ruin his love for spice. Typical, we both aren't, but we keep ourselves amused with our banter about each other's states.

I'm not very good with quick wit and retorts. My comebacks are thought out, but payback's a bitch. He is, however, quicker on the onslaught of sarcastic remarks on Tam Brams. Here’s a sample:

R: I’ve a few Tam Bram villain names. Wanna hear?
Me: No.
R: Okay, here they are!
1. The Revenge of the Curd Rice (Me: You dirty little ...)
2. The Sambhar Senam.
Me: That’s quite enough.
R: You’ve to admit, they’re awesome!
Me: Yabbaaa.
R: There might be something to that sound you keep making. Frowns in thought.
I am starting a new section on this blog on our repartees. They’ll be titled ‘Two States.’ I will put up the link in the sidebar. Hope you like reading them because I’m certain you don’t wanna be around in person when things start flying!

10 Reasons Why We’ve Been Spoilt Rotten at Google!

2009-12-07T21:24:00.003+05:30

If you work at Google and if this is your first job, like it is mine, then you are doomed. We’re the spoilt brats of the rich daddy that is Google.

Everything you heard in the grapevine about us is probably true. Yes, we work on massage chairs and read newspapers on Lazyboy (the latest one, in case you were wondering). Yes, we take our food to munch during meetings and enjoy internet speed in gbps. Some other reasons why it'll be darned impossible to step outside:

The first mention has to go to the free food: When I went to the nearby bakery back home, I bought the pastry and gaped at the shopkeeper like an idiot for two whole minutes before I realized he wanted money for it.
A stall for everything: Tea, coffee, chat, coconut water… you get the drift.
Strategically placed Gym balls everywhere: It is colorful, it is huge and comfy as hell. I prop my legs up on them and work. I can’t think of how I sat in a chair earlier without them!
Some wise guy was bored while taking a crap. Reading material wasn’t enough, so the next thing we know, we have WorldSpace in the loos. Is music directly proportional to pressure? Ugh.
TGIF: A mini fest of sorts where there is music, there is socializing and food (duh). We’re like children at a candy store at 4 pm every Friday. If its barbeque time, all the more better.
Music: A little detail that I had taken for granted, but it is dawning on me just how much I depend on the constant background music on my noise-cancelling headphones while I work!
Stationery: There’s no end to stationery. Staring at the patterns a lava lamp makes while trying to put together a Rubik cube in Google colors is worth the time I spend on it! Not to mention post-its all over your desk with stuff written by your colleagues that is guaranteed to make you smile at any time of the day!
The outings: Resorts, gaming sessions, pottery workshop, color factory. Every quarter we crib about the team offsite being a drag, but miss it as soon as it is over.
The noise, oh, the noise! Randomly getting up to shout across desks, to blow on a whistle just because and screaming Happy Birthday in 3 different languages. Its college. Only there’s no professor rolling their eyes at you.
People: I kid you not; the people are the next best thing (right after the free tee shirts and mugs). You get all assortments here and you are most likely to make friends that you’ll keep for life. In a professional environment, that’s virtually unheard of and that’s what makes it more special.

We crib, argue, gossip and give a hundred reasons why we’re bugged; but when someone asks “Why don’t you leave, then?” we immediately reply: “Oh, we couldn’t. It is awesome here!”

I'd rather rescue myself

2009-12-06T01:37:00.007+05:30

I was watching the trailers of New Moon and it made me flip through the pages of the series. The twilight series has captured many a heart, but I could never relate to it. Not even in the slightest, did the protagonist, Bella, invoke anything in me. Not even pity. I only remember exasperation. And irritation at her suicidal, psychotic tendencies. Its one thing to let a vampire bite you, but dude, if you are going to plunge a knife in your heart so you can save your boyfriend, then you gotta be visiting a shrink soon. Stephenie Meyers' lead ladies (Bella in Twilight and Melissa in The Host) have sacrificial goat tendencies. Both of them are underdogs. And unusually clumsy and mismatched to be worthy of their powerful protectors, oops...lovers. They seem to be constantly driven from one accident to another, only to discover that the dudes in their lives have to come over and take charge. Not exactly a great image to have. Notwithstanding the part where the ladies are, well, mostly just beating themselves up with all their self-pity, the leading men have been characterized with bullshit tolerating capabilities. Hats off to you, guys. You just reached a new level of stupidity.

While I can't say I care for her constant portrayal of "inner strength" (The writer is using this to justify the moronic and sometimes crazy behavior), what really caught my attention is that she continues to muck up the lives of people around her who are so much mentally stable than her. They're constantly pulling her out of the shithole she dug for herself. So much for therapy. Teenage girls (even those who don't secretly hope that their boyfriends would develop fangs) need a much more stronger role model than Bella. Or Melissa. Personally, I'd prefer a serious, but loyal Hermione any day. Or, as fantasies go, even an annoyingly cheerful and singing Cinderella. But then, I'd want to be my own knight, poison the step mother, give wart-inducing potion to my step sisters, slay a dragon or two and sweep my prince off his feet while he gapes, albeit foolishly with his mouth slightly open. Ah, I love dramatic entrances. But, I digress. With all the range of emotions out there, the only thing Bella could manage was equivalent of a pea. The brain that is.

Still, if you are into that stuff, I guess a blood sucking boyfriend would be kinda cool. Or not.

Update: Akx sent this site where this person wonders about the various unmentioned things in Twillight. Warning: Explicit language. Read only if you love mocking Twillight!

Coulda Woulda Shoulda

2009-12-01T17:40:00.001+05:30

It hasn't been long since someone commented "You are always day-dreaming about the future. If you don't live in the present, you will lose out on important opportunities. Live in now." I am hardwired to tune out such statements and often, you'll see my eyes glaze over and a thought bubble appear with sarcastic comments on it. For drawing parallels, check out my earlier post on the aforementioned speech bubbles!

We had to take a mandatory psychometric test in office as a part of skills building. I love taking these tests. Psycho-analyzing people is one of my favorite pastimes and I often throw someone off with a random comment like "You use naivety as a shield so you can explain your mistakes over and over again?" Needless to say, psycho-analyzing myself during work hours was a delightful idea to me. When the results came in however, I was in for a surprise. My top strength was described as being futuristic. Futuristic people are fascinated by the future and what could-be. They inspire people with their visions. This combined with me being an organized, strategic thinker is what has helped me to take my futuristic ideas to reality. And here I was thinking day-dreaming is bad! Somehow, my oft-repeated weakness by everyone was turning into a celebrated strength. My manager commented that he would need entrepreneurial skills in a new project and my detailed vision of future for it would help. I had the strongest urge to call my mom up and tell her that my day-dreaming has actually paid off!

What is classified as a hopeless case, can be a strength that you never thought can be one! Tunnel-visions has been one of the fiercest battles I’ve had to fight throughout my life and on many occasions, have been labeled as ‘Black sheep’ of the family for the radical views I have. Never mind the fact that war correspondent as a career was the “radical view” I had proposed.

It is not only the older generation that I’ve been fighting with, it is also people with drastically narrow minds. Those that do not understand the distinction between what is and what can be because the masses don’t approve. Even being rebellious follows patterns. If you believe the masses, your life will be an endless stream of coulda, woulda, shoulda’s.

Something as basic as choosing the person you want to share the rest of your life with becomes a struggle. Some come through it with minimal trouble and others have to make sacrifices. My friends tell me that everything is a compromise. I find it hard to digest. Compromises with what, exactly? If you are compromising to be happy, then you are not completely happy because you compromised on few things, then isn’t that a contradiction? Have we become so ‘adjusting’ that we don’t distinguish between real happiness and pseudo-happiness that comes from seeing other people happy? It sounds selfish, but what’s wrong with being selfish to be at peace with oneself? I would pick happiness over compromise anytime, but when they both are interlinked, I stand on the edge, separating what should happen versus what I want to make happen.

It’s a fine line. And I stay steadfast to it.

How I almost lost my blog!

2009-11-21T18:16:00.002+05:30

Well, not lost exactly, more like losing half the data in my attempt to create a customized template!

I'm bored of the look of this blog. So I ventured to find some new skins and templates that isn't flashy. My hardbound journal is my favorite piece of work which I spent days working on. Its easier when you've glue, paper, cardboard cutouts, paints and a whole lot of embellishments. Its a tad more frustrating when you've zillions of options on the web for a customized template and you end up liking many of them! Yesterday, I finally settled on one of the better designs from BlogSkins. I ignored the fine print and didn't pay attention to the part where it mentions that the template is not completely ready, I still have to edit the html to add everything that I want from my profile. I copy-pasted the example template and saved it!

...and my blog ended up in total disaster. My posts were missing, my blogroll was non-existent! I sighed and reverted back to the classic template. Everything was intact, but my blogroll still hadn't appeared. Slightly panicky now, I tried finding it out from the html, but couldn't. After several attempts, I took the html in a notepad in the raw form and edited it from there. Precautionary note: if you don't have a html editor with a visual view of the code, its likely that you're going to find that the font size you changed to 12 will suddenly become 20 and you'd have no idea where the bright pink came from.

I managed to make the customized template like something teletubbies puked on. By then, I reached the edge of irritability and was ready to worship MS FrontPage that I had hated using in college for editing. I decided to let the template go to hell and reverted to an earlier version of a basic template that I liked the look of. My entire blogroll was innocently sitting right there on the page like it could never leave my blog! After rearranging few elements on the page, I browsed through to find a good html editing software and found CoffeeCup (on R's suggestion) to be pretty decent. Its no DreamWeaver, but it would do.

I'm now coding a template from scratch. With a little time and few trials later, it will be up and ready to go on my blog. I'm trying not to code it into a smurf this time. Wish me luck!

This is the point, really

2009-11-20T11:19:00.003+05:30

Just in case it wasn't clear enough the first time around, this really needs to be drilled into each one of our heads- again.

Boy: Look, pussy, let's fuck.
Girl: Uh. No?
Boy: What a pretty pussy you have.
Girl: SO not gonna work.
Boy: When I look into your eyes...
Girl: Have you stopped looking at my cunt then?
Boy: I love you.
Girl: No you don't, but... wait, really?
Boy: I want to be with you forever. Marry me. Have my children. I've never loved anyone more.
Girl: Aww.
Boy: I want to feel our souls merge. C'mere.
And voila! After the kiss, he goes back to being the toad he is. There's the story we should tell little girls.

Akx, you have it right, girl!

Disclaimer: All material owned by Akshaya Nandakumar. Resemblance to any person living or wishfully dead is the intention!

Let it go, already!

2009-11-19T14:37:00.003+05:30

I've the toughest time letting go. Its hard for me to completely forget the good memories; seal it up and wave it goodbye. Ditto with bad memories. The concept of forgive and forget doesn't exist for me if the blunders hurt someone intentionally. I neither forgive, nor forget easily in that case.

Lately, the drama in my life decided it was getting too dormant and pulled a small peek-a-boo. Sure, that's all that is needed for my head and heart to go reeling before I felt the need to stabilize myself. Never mix yourself in the messy affairs of somebody else was an begotten advice from my friends which I never followed. The do-gooder in me would hiss with frustration if she's kept chained when something is clearly messy for her to clean up. (Note to my friends: If you keep dishing out free advice like this, I might not be able to pull out the appropriate one when the time comes!) Being a romantic is not easy. I've a healthy respect for everyone who is a believer and doesn't look at the world as a place to clear up with varnish. My cynicism only goes as far as reduced trust. Even that notwithstanding, I wear my heart on my sleeve with pride.

My entire life, as many would point out, has always had healthy proportions of drama. So much so that I would get calls asking what's new in my soap-scene. Mundane was non-existent for me, until R and I happened. He brought the much-needed stability and peace in my soap-opera. He still gets incredulous at some of the stories I tell. I'm a poster-child for everything that could go wrong in a normal person's life. That gets me thinking whether it is inescapable part of me or can I really settle into peaceful living where the only incident close to drama would be a mouse turning up in the kitchen! I guess I don't know. While I will never completely let go of any incident- they all have had something for me to learn from (Oh great, now I sound like a pageant finalist), what I look forward to most is being able to be at peace with myself round the clock.

Forgiving yourself for being foolish, I hear, is important. Yet, I question every move that I made, wishing desperately I could change some of them. Being your own worst critic is a forsaken job that I wish, sometimes I don't feel the need to do. A realist would tell me to "Get over it already." Its too bad I'm not a realist and don't fathom things like that. My fists don't let go of the sand I've collected over time. It is stubborn. But each time one of the grains prick me, it reminds me of what it was and what I should not be doing again. Maybe letting go of something or someone is never truly possible. It gets replaced by someone or something better that comes along.

What I need is a healthy dose of cynicism and oodles of encouragement to let go.

Chicken Little

2009-11-15T23:36:00.002+05:30

Horror stories and me have a long standing agreement: "I won't be present in your life and you don't crib about me." It recently broke its pact, so here I am, ranting about it.

I don't see horror movies. Period. That was the blissful truth until I was told by many people that I needed to face my fear and get over the horror of watching them. After begging (a lot), they won and I armed myself with lights all over my apartment, opened all doors and watched 5 horror movies back to back. It didn't work. I couldn't fall asleep for a week. I would be unable to keep my eyes closed until 5 am. When the first rays of sunshine hit (however corny that sounds), I would fall into a deep slumber. That one week was probably the worst in my entire life. Or so I thought.

R downloaded few horror movies saying he is going to be watching them. What I later realized, I'm in this movie-watching marathon. If you've met the most stubborn person on the planet, R is at least 5 notches more stubborn. I thought I might be better off, since I had company. I was wrong. Again. When am I gonna learn?

On the first day, we saw a zombie movie called 'Day of the dead.' It was pretty lame, but the sudden screams and flinging of arms into the camera still freaked me out. I slept that night, albeit cowering, a bit restlessly. The second day, we saw a German movie named 'Dead Snow' (again Zombies, again lame) and followed it with a movie called 'Paranormal Activity.' That did it. It freaked me out so much, I kept shaking R awake in the night pleading him to wake up. Right at that moment, the door creaked slowly open and I heard a deep rasping sound. After approximately 30 secs of pure terror, I realized it was R. Snoring. Really creepily. I shook him awake (admittedly rudely) and hmphed. I could've been doing that to the wall for all the effect it had. I slept at 5 am again when the sun poured in through the curtains. I walked in bleary eyed into office the next day. I swore I would never ever ever (ever) do that again. That lasted for exactly 6 hours, when R talked me into watching another horror movie.

I do wish I can get over the fear and I do not want to invoke any spirit's wrath in the process. But watching horror movies is not doing the trick. What else then? Do you know of any or are you just not chicken enough?

Cleanin' out my Closet

2009-11-01T17:34:00.001+05:30

Ever had the feeling where you thought- enough is enough, I need to take charge of my life? Of course in my case it had started out as a cleaning ritual of my bedroom. I cleared out the whole place, dusted the cupboards, scrubbed the old stains and rearranged every pile in disarray. I do this topsy-turvy cleaning out every once in a few months and it makes me feel absolutely wonderful (its a Virgo thing, organizing makes most of us feel ecstatic.)

Immediately after I sat down, I got a call from one of my old 'friend'. Not technically a friend, well, this was just one of those people whose call you dread because:

a) They bore you to death.
b) Most of the call is irrelevant and completely pointless because of the afore-mentioned reason.
c) They make jibes about you, hurt you and call it a joke.
d) They talk about past stuff that you've been over and over many times.
e) They bring in personal comments and declare them as 'opinions' and in the process hurt you some more.

Now, I've more than one person in this category of people I know, hence the plural. Oh, and before it comes up, I've had "The Talk" with them, mentioning that what they say is not appreciated. Its like a dog's bent tail, in the end! Right at that moment, I decided that I do not want to have 10 mins of completely worthless conversation that will only make me feel worse at the end of it. I decided not to pick up the call. This was a particularly difficult decision for me because I answer all calls, reply to all messages and return calls if I've missed them because of any reason. Something about a compulsive pleaser. I put my phone on silent and prayed I wouldn't change my mind. I didn't.

Today, its almost 4 months later that I first decided not to pick up that call and many others that followed it. I haven't received a call from many of these 'people' lately (they took the hint, Hallelujah!). I'm so much better off now. I don't believe in recycling people and I've never lost touch with a friend, but people who hurt you, take away your peace of mind, who constantly prod you, just so they can get their 10 mins of cheap thrills, need to be thrown away from your life. Just by missing a phone call, not answering an email or avoiding to meet them, I feel as if a huge chunk of sandbag idly lying on my shoulder has been lifted away. For those who know me personally, you know just how difficult this was and I still cannot believe I sailed through it. Every relationship has a line. If you toe it, you can get away with an apology sometimes; but if you try to erase it, the relationship will cease to exist.

Breaking up and Making up

2009-10-04T16:33:00.001+05:30

It was a long weekend and I wanted to cook something nice for R on Friday. I settled on Puris and Alu-Matar. Fairly simple, I've tried them before with success and doesn't take too much time. While I watched the merry cooker whistle 3 times signalling that the potatoes were boiled and ready, I cut open a fresh packet of ginger-garlic paste. I put in a full spoon of it for "flavor." The whole concoction went bad. It tasted garlic-y and it was bitter as sin. I made frantic calls to mom to find out how to do some damage control. She suggested pureed tomatoes and some jaggery. I added them in but the taste was only marginally better and now it also was a little sweet! I let it go and started on my puris. With my mind half occupied with the disastrous alu-matar, I could barely concentrate on the puris. Result? They came out stiff and hard. Not to mention in all shapes and sizes! I kept apologizing for the poor fare for dinner. My roomie and R just smiled and ate it and said, next time, you know what not to do!

Now, I've had my share of kitchen disasters and it did not bother me as much as it did that night. Was it because they ate it or was it just my imagination going hyperbole? Either way, I felt like a failure (yes, I know I tend to exaggerate my feelings while I'm feeling it.)

On Sunday morning, after R left for office to get some work done, I put on an apron and looked into the fridge to see if there was anything interesting I could make. I found dried copra (coconut) and suddenly, all the smells of freshly grated coconut, curry leaves and red chilli assaulted my nose. I remembered mom's 'arachavitta vengaya sambhar' (ground coconut masala and small onion sambhar.) I found some spring onions I had bought the evening before and got chopping. I sifted my memory for the recipe that was being made between the talks in the kitchen, while I sat on the platform, munching, and mom chopped, blended and cooked all at once. When the whiff of the teaspoon of ghee and the now-mixed coconut masala swirled together and trailed to my nose, my kitchen smelled just the way home did. This one couldn't taste bad. I just knew.
Its then I decided to stop trying so hard. That way, some things stay just the way they're supposed to be. And I wouldn't change that for anything!

Zodiacally Yours

2009-10-01T18:33:00.002+05:30

For those who know me well, know that I start my conversations asking "What's your sun sign?" or if we've spoken a few times then it is "Is your Zodiac ...?" and I'm right usually bang on target with my guesses. You probably know a lot of people, (girls, mostly) who ask you this. A big thanks to everyone who haven't lost their patience with me each time I launch on a full blown explanation on why your zodiac tends to behave a certain way! Now this isn't a post justifying my love affair with the zodiacs. I don't wish to justify, it is my affair! This is a snippet on the traits that a sign would have but they would absolutely, completely refuse to acknowledge it.

Aries: I love to experiment. The trails and errors teach me a lot so that next time around I do not repeat the same mistakes. (Hidden trait: Naive and totally bullshitting themselves)
Taurus: I'm completely open to hearing your views on this. I'm going to listen to you with an open mind. (Hidden trait: Stubborn. Are never going to listen to you if they have an already formed opinion)
Gemini: I'm going to be a lawyer! I'm going to be a postman! I'm going to be a reporter! I'm definitely going to be...umm..something. (Hidden trait: Fickle as hell and will keep fluctuating with their decisions.)
Cancer: We don't talk anymore. You were always the one person I shared everything with (some crying). (Dials another number) We don't talk anymore... (Hidden trait: Moody, but God forbid if we catch them on their self-pitying days. You'd wish you pick a knife and kill yourself!)
Leo: I love the way you make me feel...I love the way you talk about me, notice things about me, proclaim your love for me... (Hidden trait: Sounds like a romantic interlude? Notice the usage of 'me.' Although, admittedly its not exactly a hidden trait.)
Virgo: Pick up your clothes, keep your socks in the drawer, what is that strange smell, why can't you be more organized... (Hidden trait: Nitpicking. Will start on about something you did not know existed in you, let alone was an issue and will stretch it out till the end of apocalypse. And then claim that they are "willing to let go of small things")
Libra: If you can't adjust with this, its not my problem. Live with it, suck it up, or get lost. (Hidden trait: Overbearing. And dominating. Is the stuff whips are made of!)
Scorpio: Forgive and forget is my life's motto, brother, no need to apologize. (Hidden trait: Next thing you know, your car is keyed, your house is thrashed and you get mugged by strangely familiar people. Revenge, is sweet, indeed.)
Sagittarius: I think I'm in love with you. No, I'm just your friend. Oh, I'm in love with her/him. No. Good friends. (Hidden trait: Always, always, always confuse friendship and love. Make up your mind!)
Capricorn: I don't remember you, where did you say we met? Really? We were in the same class? (Hidden trait: Strives for class and panache. If you don't define the status symbol, they're most likely going to forget about you before you can blink.)
Aquarius: Who in the world knows what the Aquarian is thinking, let alone define a characteristic for them? Quirky; can be one word.
Pisces: I understand you. (Hidden trait: Conjures up stuff that you did not dream you are likely to do. And proceeds to analyze every agonizing detail about it!)
Some of them, you might know, some of them you wouldn't agree with and some, you would just decide you want to throw a shoe at me. Believe me, I'll duck. Hey, I didn't spare my own sign either!

Metaphors

2009-09-20T21:49:00.003+05:30

I've long since dabbled in poetry. As a young girl, I've written childish poetry, often varying from nature to poetry with comparisons to everyday life. I felt that my kind of poetry was not appreciated simply because I chose to write archaically. It sounded vain, almost. I've but loved the way those words melted and twirled in my tongue when I uttered them. When I chose to say 'thee' instead of 'you', I knew I had taken an decision that might render my written word innocuous. I did not want to glorify the rhythm of the 'poematis' (a short verse or poem in its nascent stages) or take away the song in a 'carmen' (opera). I wanted to recreate them in their own forms and get their purity right. I believe in the perfection in poetry, the symmetry, the rhythmic style. I've abandoned criticizing modern poetry with its free flowing verses. I may say that I even find few of them charming, if written in a continuous stream of single thought that magnifies the verses instead of submerging them in a stream of unnecessary imagery, single words posing as sentences and drowning them in a constant repetition of the same idea.

While I admire the modern poet's wish to bring poems to the layman, I sometimes do not understand why garbled, harsh words must be jumbled together and called "poetry." The word 'poem' is derived from the greek word 'poema' which literally means 'to make.' Everyone is careful while they are making anything physical. Cooking, handcrafting, painting. These are physical processes that you maybe 'doing' or 'making' quite often. You are inordinately careful otherwise the physical transformation that you hoped would not materialize. Why take that chance metaphorically, then?

To each, their own and acceptance beyond question has been my constant strive to achieve when I'm dealing with people of any kind.

I sometimes wish that just once, I could be transported to the Victorian era so I can feel the crisp air through the castle window, pick up a quill, dip it in the ink kept on the ornate desk, carve words and be the symbolic creator; 'making' a poema out of blank paper. Verses that are bound by meter and rhythm yet freely billowing in the meaning that it conveys and finally settling down in a spiral on to the reader's mind. Etching it there in a fleeting moment, but with finality. That when they remember it, they can feel the celebration that it intended to give or double over in the pain that it meant to cause. Either way, it brought forth very primal human emotions.

To be able to make someone smile or cry from the throes of their guts is what I hope to reach. Ardent pupil, if you may.

Thus, I started a new blog where I try to capture in verses what I couldn't in prose.

Food, Me and R

2009-09-17T10:54:00.006+05:30

Disclaimer: I've no recipes for you. None at all!

I've never been a foodie. I eat food because I feel hungry and I'm very particular about the food I eat. I don't eat spicy food, don't mix sweet and salty food items in the same plate, have a loo-oong list of things I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole and I am fussy as hell. My mom had to deal with my sisters, my dad and me; all with extremely different palates and still came out looking like a rock star! Now that I am on my own, for the past two years, I was cooking purely because I didn't want to deal with the oily and rich office food (even if it is free).

I didn't pay much attention to the food I prepared. Mostly its just the everyday food mom used to make. I don't fuss with that. That's until R came rushing into my life, empty stomach et all. He stayed at a hostel and was living the typical bachelor life, eating peanut-butter sandwiches, Maggi and Lays chips for almost every dinner (ugh). I was appalled by the unhealthiness of that kind of meal and I commented on it quite often. "If you are so bothered, why don't you cook for me?", he asked. And cook, I did. I invited him to lunch one weekend. Nothing fancy, I made just Rasam, sabji, vetta-kozhambu and the staple curd rice. He sniffed the air appreciatively and a small-something purred inside me. He proceeded to quite literally lick the plates empty and the purring became a roar instead. It takes a man in your life to discover that satisfaction can sometimes take a completely different meaning. I don't like standing in the kitchen for more than half-hour at a time and I hate washing up after. With R's promise that he would help with the chopping and the cleaning up later, I started cooking more enthusiastically. I would scrounge the websites for Bengali food and spend 2 hours trying to get the 'Khichuri' right. Once I introduced him to the simple delights of dosa-chutney, Rasam, Sambar and parapu-usuli, he was sold to the South Indian spread! I cooked the occasional non-veg too (of course since I don't taste it, R is on his own there, being the scapegoat). Lazy weekends usually had me cooking dal-chaawal (Lentils & Rice) and french fries. Whenever he declared that the breakfast/lunch/dinner aced, I would nod and rush into the kitchen doing a little happy-dance there! I donned a chef's hat and it fit, surprisingly. I had never considered myself a cook, let alone a good one.

Eating was a different story altogether. I would eat curd rice while he ate the rest. And I was still fussy. He literally had to drag me to restaurants thereafter, urging me to try this or that. I would wail, complain, whine, do everything not to taste a dish I wasn't familiar with. He would sit through all this and shove the spoon in my mouth anyway. After the first few times, I would just meekly eat whatever he claimed was a 'must-taste.' I've not tasted the variety of food as much as I did the past year. We visited small places, expensive places, dhabas, stand-eat-get lost places on trips, weekends and the occasional weekday urges too. I still don't claim to be a foodie, but my palates have certainly improved. I can sit intelligently through a food-related conversation and nod enthusiastically when someone says 'Sizzlers' (I never knew what they were before!) and can rattle off choice recipes to whoever cares to listen.

In my little story, R made his way into my heart through my stomach!

Dig a little deeper!

2009-09-09T15:03:00.003+05:30

I usually don't go to Shopper's stop because its way expensive. But I had gone there last weekend to get my friend's b'day present. Once inside, my radar went directly to the racks of stilettos. Most girls' weakness.

I saw a pair of shoes on the shelf that I knew I dint have enough money to buy, but I pulled it off the rack anyway. My friend firmly took them off my hands and kept it back. I went away, very disappointed and a tiny bit relieved as they were expensive as hell.

After I got my salary this weekend, I went rushing back into SS and the place where the stilettos were kept.

They were still there. Intact. Where they were earlier. I couldn't believe it. I took it promptly and tried it on. They were a little loose. I got the assistant to get me a smaller pair. But of course they did not have it. I've freakishly small feet. Disappointment was writ on my face. The assistant was sympathetic, but he said that I probably wouldn't get it anywhere else because that was the smallest size available.

I went over to the clothes section, but seeing nothing of interest, I went back to look one last time at the shoes. Then at the Rs499 only sale rack, I saw a peek of heels. The rest were flats, so I took it out from the corner out of curiosity. They were maroon, they were shiny, they were...well, perfect.

It fit like a glove. And just like that, I was in love.

It wasn't what I saw first, it definitely wasn't what I thought I'd get, but when I wore them, they were perfect.

Much like the loves in my life. I stumble on to them by accident and keep them for life.

Sophistication & Elegance

2009-08-25T11:14:00.004+05:30

Two things I'm not. I suppose I can say that my fists still reach out to the product in the aisle with the word "discount" attached to it, but no, seriously, I think sophistication has got nothing to do with my upbringing. Its the way I am. I trip even while I'm standing still and start jumping hedges, conveniently forgetting that I'm wearing a saree. Some people have been exceedingly kind to me and have said that they find this childish exuberance endearing. Few of them point and laugh (I'm immune to it now) and a small percentage find it irritating and tacky. Too bad, you can't win 'em all.

While getting my plate for breakfast, I knocked over a few other plates. My usual reaction is to shrug, because I end up doing such things multiple times a day. While picking up the plates which had fallen down, I forgot I was wearing a white skirt. I'm down on my knees, picking them up one by one till my friend told me to get off the floor! I grinned up at her annoyed stare. I dropped the plates, I should be the one to pick them up again was my feeble defense for it.

Getting back, I thought I must have some of the incidents up on a post! They all make me smile, I guess it takes a couple hundred embarrassing moments to not cringe when you think about them again and wish you had done them differently.

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- Fancy shmancy parties and me aren't the best of friends. I tried attending one, curious to see if the existence of 7" stilettos was true or not. I did up hair in a chignon, coupled it with an evening dress and landed at the party. I felt like my head was going to explode with the number of hairpins I had put in my hair. Most people seemed like they had dog-poo under their nose and the rest were waiters. I did not even attempt to order any drink. But when the DJ struck up a catchy number, I landed on the dance floor in the dark (yeah, I was the only one). My chignon went flying and I was precariously swaying on my own, modest, 3" stilettos. I caught the railing before I could fall down and went back to my table with half my hair loose, half my hair still being strangled by the hairpins.

Moral: If your hair is up in a chignon, DON'T headbang.

Oh, the 7" exists. Only, I wouldn't be wanting them as badly now.

- My friend got placed and we insisted she take us out to celebrate. She chose an expensive restaurant (uh huh) to give the treat. The lunch went pretty smoothly, she paid and we got up to leave. I got up, forgetting that I had my purse in my lap. I bent down to pick the purse up and sprung back a tad enthusiastically. I knocked over a passing waiter and he dropped the plate of water in glasses that he was carrying. Attempting to catch him (I still don't know why!), I pulled the tablecloth of the table we were sitting on and scattered the plates, bowls and leftovers. When the lime-bowl landed on me, I caught it and triumphantly looked up, and saw the mess. I apologized over and over. Friends of mine were standing in a corner, giggling.

Moral: If you are capable of that, get a restraining order for yourself.

- My cousin and I were in Landmark, just browsing around when we caught a guy staring. When he saw us, he averted his eyes. When this happened a few times, we decided to follow him (the general idea was to embarrass him instead)! Eyes on him, we raucously pursued. Somewhere in the books section, I halted to a stop suddenly. Every time I'm surrounded by books, I'm transported and generally unaware of the surroundings. I forgot that my cousin was around and started browsing through the books. Few minutes later, my cousin realized I was missing and came back to search. She called out my name loudly and I was startled! I waved to her and knocked down the "Landmark Recommends" stack of books arranged like dominoes right in the middle of the books section. I stamped quite a few books before I could get to my feet. The supervisor was standing there with a grim look on his face. I thought the worse had happened when I slipped on one of the glossy books and fell down again. I was pardoned 'cause I provided for their evening laughs.

Moral: Nothing good ever comes out of following a guy. Even the creepy ones you are trying to annoy.

- On my Graduation Day, my mom had an early class and I had to wear a saree on my own. When the only saree you've worn on your own was when it had come out when you were climbing the podium to give a speech, anyone would be apprehensive. Still, I managed a knot and went to college. My classmates were all in the ground, chattering. I got all nostalgic right there on the platform leading to the grounds, and shouted my arrival. They waved me over to come quickly and get a place before the shamiyana set up there got filled up. I ran quickly and jumped up the hedges, oblivious to the saree. I tripped (duh) and fell in the sand in my white saree. I spent the remainder of the graduation day in the restroom, trying to dust the sand off and getting the saree on again.

Moral: Even if you're in a girl's college, boisterousness should be toned down.

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My romantic evening walks with R, has us, not holding hands, but him having a firm grip on my arm so the passing traffic doesn't knock me down. Or I don't knock myself down. R isn't startled by a clutzy moment anymore. He continues the conversation like nothing has happened. I still get the 'drunk-at-this-time-tut-tut' look by passer-by's somwtimes. Oh well.

Each time I swear that I'd be elegant and behaved, something goes wrong. I've sworn off it now and bask in my clumsiness & two left feet.

Some of us are best left alone trying to get up after we've tripped on our own feet. Grin if you must, we're like this only.

Questions, anyone?

2009-08-18T16:59:00.005+05:30

Just how personal is too personal? And how much is too much? I draw a blank in both cases.

There are two categories of people that I classify information-sharing into. I've few close friends who I share everything with, no holds barred. I also have acquaintances with whom I have a strict need-to-know sharing only. No TMI faux pas there. At one place I draw a visible line, in another, there aren't any.

And then there are a third category. These are complex people, who have a layered personality and creases to each layer. I don't kiss and tell, but really, I can never tell when they're going to snap at me for revealing too much, or when they're going to be surprised that I did not mention it to them. Its my personal version of catch-22. Just when, do you think, enough is enough?

- If there's a fight involving the both of you, is that between just the two of you?

- Does what goes on between the sheets, remain between the sheets?

- Can the written word by either never be mentioned?

- Do stories of the past, remain in the past?

- Is flirting with another, an unnecessary detail that can be skipped?

- Is comedy with lineage, race, sex, religion better left alone?

- Is generalization okay sometimes or are specific details (with examples) need be given every time that you wish to open an argument?

I don't know the game, and I don't play by the rules. But when you are constantly fighting, it makes you wonder, if you should, in fact, play by the rules?

I've tons of incidents that have resulted in verbal war. Do you have any? What kind of rules do you play by? I'd love to know! This always leaves me perplexed and what better than having a host of opinions to choose from.

Shimmer

2009-08-11T14:28:00.001+05:30

Lines, thousands, run 'cross each other,

When we embraced, no envy, no fate could greet

We, of the oblique, crossed each other,

Just when we thought that we would ne'er meet.

Hope could ne'er get there,

Despair was a forgotten thing

And in fate, I just did not believe,

When love spread its tinsel wings.

Premchand ki Aisi Kahani

2009-08-10T21:40:00.006+05:30

Going back home in a cab, I usually have my headphones on, talking to no one. I prefer it that way. That particular evening was no different. Until the cabbie, an old man with snow white beard, started to talk to me about his younger days in Hyderabad. I first took off my headphones out of politeness, but he took that as a sign of encouragement and started with gusto!

We were taking the Rethibowli route to reach my house. He was pointing out to every landmark on the way, commenting, how, twenty years back, there were no roads there. He explained that he used to live in one of the galis (streets) there and play gilli-danda and goli (marbles) there. He seemed transported. I figured there was no harm, since his extremely slow driving was making me restless (he was driving at 20 kmph and on speed bumps at 14-16 kmph). I was getting caught on with the flow of his words. He told me about his family there, his wife and kids who are all grown up and settled now. He told me how he is still trying to support his wife by driving the cab and how sometimes he has to put up with irate employees, some of them who are downright rude about his slow driving. "I'm only trying to be safe, ma'amji", he said. I stopped fidgeting at once, a little ashamed.

We were nearing home and he asked if I was from Hyderabad. I said no and that my family lives in Bangalore and that I was here for work. He showed me his palm then. I peered into it curiously. He laughed and said that there was nothing in there. He then looked ahead and said "Ma'amji, none of these fingers are of the same height. Just like that, no two people can be the same. You may be here for work, but you should really be with your family. They love you unconditionally and they miss you."

Anger welled at once. I wanted to retaliate with every feminist comment I had accumulated. That this was my independence and he had no right to comment on where I should or shouldn't work. I wanted to pick a verbal war right there with no intentions of backing down. While my face turned different shades of red, he seemed to sense me indignant. He said, "I know I have no right, but when someone unknown says something like this, they usually mean well." He kept quiet for the remainder of the ten minutes and we reached home.

I couldn't bring myself to say all the things I was articulating. I remembered my mom on the phone a day back asking me to come home to visit soon. I remembered my sisters telling me how much they missed me. The cabbie was just reminding me that there were people that I'd be much happier with. This was no time for me to give him a lesson in independence!

Disquieted, I filled in the log sheet.

Just before getting down, he shook my hand and said "Be happy". That more than anything calmed me down. I said 'Thanks' and got down. As the cab crawled away, my kitten meowed signalling to pick her up. I guess I was home. But my real home is wherever my heart fills with joy just by reaching the door.

P.S: I was narrating this to R and he mentioned how it sounds like a Premchand story. I thought it fit. Hence the title.

Me, You and Google.

2009-07-02T09:37:00.002+05:30

I completed two years at Google today. Two years of working, friendships, laughter, bitching et all.

I'm happy. And sad. And angry. And ecstatic. And I feel like I've more direction to myself.

Here's where I became myself.

No strings attached.

Mahabalipuram-Pondicherry - The beaches, the heat!

2009-06-22T18:22:00.006+05:30

Disclaimer: This post is super-huge because it covers a 4-day trip and everything in-between! Read on if you have the patience.

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R and I were discussing trips to take this year when we decided to just head to Pondicherry on a whim. We enquired and thought we'd go to Mahabalipuram as well. A four day long trip. On a whim. And it did not disappoint.

We set out on a nice Wednesday night to Chennai from Hyderabad. I slept through most of the journey. Something about the soothing rocking of the train makes me fall asleep immediately. Although R says that it is because of my "talent" to fall asleep literally anywhere. I got up at about 3 a.m completely drenched in sweat and unable to take the stifling atmosphere only to find R giving me a sympathetic smile from across the berth. We spent the remainder of the journey complaining about the heat. This was one of the many that were to ensue through the rest of our trip. After reaching Chennai, I took R to Saravana Bhavan, assuring him that it was totally South Indian and that he'd love the 14 idlies dish there. The steaming hot 14 idlies along with a typical filter coffee in an AC restaurant was enough to put me in a good mood. We took a bus from Parys to Mahabalipuram (unfortunately, no AC buses were available) and reached there about an hour and a half later. We straight away took an auto and went to the hotel we had spoken with earlier. The rooms were damp and the heat, oppressive, but since we were planning to be on the road for most time, we decided to take it. I bargained at the reception to reduce the price from Rs 600 a day to Rs 400 because it was off-season and that no one was going to come to their hotel in this heat anyway. They seemed to agree and we had a deal.

We hired a bike and set out to see the place. We went to temples (some that were not tourist hot-spots, that we saw along the way). The Pancha-Rathas was a half-finished monolith structure that I quite liked. The Shore temple and Arjuna's Penance were not as imposing as they were written about online, but they were pretty good. All this in the hot sun with bottles of water and a huge, absorbent towel. R decided to go completely South Indian and kept the towel around his neck throughout, like in the movies, he observed.

We had lunch at a small restaurant called 'Moonrakers' where R thought he'd try some sea-food. The waiter got some uncooked lobsters, tiger-prawns and shell-fish for R to choose, and I nearly cried out loud when I saw the lobster's dead eyes and antenna so close to me! Truly I am glad that I'm a vegetarian. The sight haunted me that night. R seemed to relish the masala prawn though, as he wiped the plate clean, while I picked at my coconut rice (not that it wasn't nice, just that the lobster had just about taken my appetite away). The beef there is really lip-smacking too. R assured me of this and I believe him, the way he was licking his fingers! All in all, a little expensive lunch, but totally worth it.

We headed out to the beach after a siesta in the evening. The water was cold and inviting. There were shops strewn on both sides of the roads selling odds and ends. I bought a wide-brimmed hat that I had taken fancy to and R spotted a cowboy hat and decided to be madrasi Indiana Jones, what with him sporting shorts, that towel slung over his shoulders and that hat. We frolicked about in the beach and R decided that the sea was worth being feared as wave after wave caught him out of balance. We came back, exhausted, and fell asleep almost immediately. We slept through dinner time and got up next morning with pangs of hunger. We checked out of the hotel and got into the bus to Pondicherry. R saw that he did not have his cell phone and stopped the bus mid-journey and we went back to Mahabalipuram to search for it. We tried calling it several times, but it was switched off. We did not find his cell-phone, but gave our phone numbers to the travels owner who said he'd call us if he found anything, not that we had any hope.

We arrived at Pondicherry, a little late and a lot hungry. We checked into a hotel called 'Blue Bamboo Cottages'. They were basically right behind Auro beach, hut-houses with a room and an attached bath. The hut that we were given was positioned on a boat and was downright charming. I took an instant liking to it. True, it had no AC, but the experience was totally worth it. We took a long, refreshing bath and went to a restaurant called 'Satguru' recommended to us by the hotel guy. Near-starving as we were, the review might seem biased, but the food there was scrumptious. We went there in the evening too, and the next morning because we could not get enough of it! Its your basic vegetarian south-indian restaurant, but the service was quick, the food delicious and the prices low. We had Appams and Pesarattu and Masala dosa with sambhar and chutney. R fell in love with South Indian cuisine and declared that he wouldn't mind eating it everyday. I had to say, I sighed with relief because every weekend, I'd scrounge websites for Bengali food that he may like and I was running out of basic dishes that I can make without screwing up completely.

We went to Auroville, which was hugely irritating! We walked 3kms in the hot sun, right up to the Matri Mandir when the security told me that some work was going on and that we'd require prior permission to come and visit inside the temple the next day from 9 a.m-11 a.m. I declared that scenic beauty be damned, it wasn't worth walking all the way back the next day. R just smiled and walked beside me while I fumed. He knows I hate walking and that it was better he kept his mouth shut!

We went to Chunnanbar after that, where we were to take a boat ride to the Paradise Beach. We reached at 4:30 p.m and the guy there told that the last steamer left at 4 p.m. We decided to go to the Promenade beach instead and walked along the entire stretch of the rocky beach. It would suffice to say here that it was beautiful. The spray of the beach, its dance over the rocks and the humid, but cool air was enough to put us in great spirits. We had coffee at Le Cafe which is right opposite the beach. I devoured some of their great pizza and washed it down with some cold coffee. The service was slow and the waiters, rude. But we were in enough good spirits to overlook that.

The next morning, we headed towards Pichavaram (Mangrove forests a few kilometers away from the temple town of Chidambaram). The bus ride to Chidambaram took us 2.5 hours whilst children were openly pointing towards us and laughing. I suppose they've never seen (not frequently anyway), two tourists in a local bus wearing shorts and tees, one with a towel slung over his shoulders and another with over sized sunglasses, sweaty and holding hands. We were quite a sight and provided for their afternoon laughs.

We reached Pichavaram and opted for the 2-hour row-boat ride through the forests. The water itself was shallow (only about 8-feet deep), but the forest around it was picturesque. It took my breath away, the first view of the canal with lush mangroves on both sides. The oarsman was an entertaining guy and we asked him several questions about the place. By the time we were back at Pondicherry, it was almost 6 p.m. We took a quick bath and went out to shop, mostly cuz I insisted. The shops were unimpressive and did not catch my attention. They were like any other street shop. I was done in 15 mins and we went to have dinner at 'Satsang' which had really good Sizzlers and Walnut Rice with Chicken.

The next morning, we went to Auro Beach at 6 a.m. That morning, I went second base with the sea. On our very first date, the sea took an instant liking to me. The waves were dancing around my feet, the water, cold. Soon enough, when the dancing got heavy and I moved a little closer to the sea, it took on a fervor like no other. The next thing I know, a huge wave awashed me and I toppled over with the wave pulling me towards it. When the next wave came, I had already swallowed a lot of sea-water and did not realize the crashing wave that sent me spiraling back into the beach, tossing me about like a rag doll and taking with it, my essential possession: my bra. Needless to say, I ran back to safe harbor, retching and cursing and hurriedly did an inventory check of the remainder of my clothes. The rest was safe, thankfully. Trust me, when you go second base with the sea, it roughs you up and sends you choking. :D

After that, I did not venture beyond few feet. R was pretty amused by my fright and turned towards me and asked me to come forward. As I opened my mouth to answer, a huge wave caught him unawares and he disappeared. When he surfaced, spluttering, he had lost his spectacles. The waves were unyielding that day. The sand was coarse and big and our legs got red and wounded where it hit us, repeatedly. We trudged back after an hour, only to find that there was no water available in the hotel. "Madame, this is Tamilnadu. Water comes, water goes, current comes, current goes" informed the smart ass hotel guy. We used the hand pump to fill up buckets of water for our bath.

We ate at Satguru again (Idiappams and Venn Pongal) and went back to Chennai around 3 p.m. We caught the evening train to Hyderabad, mostly, just hugging and revelling in how dry and fresh the air was without the stickiness.

An awesome trip, overall!

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Reached so far? My congratulations! :P

Into the Wild!

2009-06-04T11:12:00.003+05:30

I was watching David Letterman’s Late Show on YouTube and stumbled on a particular show with Jack Hanna (also popularly known as Jungle Jack). He’s a wildlife enthusiast and has an Emmy award winning show ‘Jack Hanna- Into the Wild.’ 30 seconds into the show and I was hooked. As he brought animal after animal (and then some), with sheer amount of knowledge on each one of those animals and some Lettermen’s sarcasm and quick quips thrown in, and you have a winner. A show which is packed with endangered species and snakes crawling all over the place with Lettermen jumping and going: “Get them outta here, oh, there, I think you missed a snake under the desk!”

I watched Jack Hanna’s show out of curiosity after that and this guy simply blew me away. His natural enthusiasm for the wild along with his witty retorts made for a zipping one hour. The stars of the show were the animals. You guys have YouTube, discovery and Nat Geo. Go see it! Okay, not just yet. Let me finish listing out some of the things that Jack had to say about our wild friends:

Female hyenas have pseudo penises. If you were out in the wild, you would not be able to tell them apart even Jack couldn’t do it. (Pssstch, lets teach them hyenas about Female Lib.)
The Ostrich is bald only on its head because it keeps putting its head inside cave-like holes searching for meat and rips off its hair. (Here’s a bird which willingly goes bald, and then we have men who we have to take, kicking and screaming.)
The Cheetahs have very powerful swipe and are the only one in the cat family to have non-retractable paws. When they kill an animal and retreat for a bit, the vultures swoop down quickly and eat the meat, after the lions have eaten them! (Kinda sounds like our managers dunnit?)
In some parts of Africa, the elephant’s head count is taken and if it surpasses the allowed limit, they “put them under” because they can become a nuisance. (So that’s where they got the idea of layoffs from!)
The sanctuary keepers were having Peregrine Falcons fly in and out between their legs. They are the fastest bird on air, they fly 240 miles per hour. (Seriously, you want that going in and out between your legs?)

Usually, I’m moved to tears after watching endangered species documentaries or even a 30 minute show on their sob stories. But this guy made me crack up and learn a little something about each of these species’ habits and how you can contribute to their upbringing without bringing in the whole talk about donations, less polluted lands, deforestation etc. Lettermen, you’ve got one hell of a guest there. Jack Hanna, keep those tiger cubs coming in!

If you HAD to write something for a girl...

2009-05-27T15:06:00.009+05:30

"We appreciate words. Not dialogues.

We secretly enjoy that you like us for our bodies also.

We want you to keep reiterating that you love us. Over and over.

We are going to 'discuss' you with our BFF's and there's nothing you can do about it."

I kept thinking about what I would consider a perfect piece of prose that'd make me want to worship the guy who wrote it. Although there were many contenders (The Notebook being one of them), I decided to write one myself. Yep, to a girl. And no, its not for anyone specific. Its simply the personality of a wholesome woman that makes a guy go swoon.

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Love,

I write this to you just because its a thursday and I didn't want to wait for an occassion to tell you how much I love you. Most of us forget the past and look towards the future, but I've been one of the lucky few who can look at the past and feel nothing but flashes of warmth and pleasure, as I remember every moment we spent together. Of course that is a cliche, and I know how much you appreciate a straight write, so I will keep it as straight as I possibly can.

It feels like just last night that I arrived at your place to ask your father's permission to marry you. I know it took you by surprise, I should've mentioned it beforehand. But watching you in your pyjamas, sauntering around the house made me want to immediately sweep you in my arms and carry you across the threshold. Dearest, I could not wait.

I saw the subtle thrills of excitement on your face that was a mirror of my own. When your parents agreed, I admit I was a little rash in hugging you like that, but my joy was too much to just stand there and shake hands.

Sometimes I just watched you in wonder; radiant and beaming and thought if that is how you saw me too. I know I have told you this many number of times, but each time your eyes so much as blink, I see the thousand hopes and dreams that I've wanted to capture and give you. But most of all, I've wanted your happiness and hope that you are happy. With me.

When you gesture exuberantly, or watch TV on the mute so you don't disturb me, or you secretly kiss your teddy bear goodnight; its when I fall in love with you all over again.

When I watch you sleep, your breasts heaving ever so lightly, arms folded across, I feel peace awash me.

Oh, I think I see you stir, I do not wish to wake you up. I see your eyelids flutter, sweet dreams my love, sweet dreams. I will write again.

Ever yours.

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Note to the men: Simplicity of thought goes a long way guys! You do not have to write about the beauty or the grace of the object of your affections. Expressing thought would do. Everyday things like that make up your lives together, enjoy them.

Its not you (actually it is you!)

2009-05-27T10:48:00.005+05:30

Girl: I heard from my friend's friend's sister's brother's girlfriend that she was dumped very cruelly.

Oh-kay then, its you and you are looking for sympathy.

Appropriate response: Oh, poor thing, why would anyone want to do that to her? How is your relationship anyhoo?

I got a call from one of my girlfriends frantically telling me how she heard some girl got dumped, men are shit, etc, etc. I rolled my eye heavenward and implored, "Why me?" Seriously, why all the smoke-screens before you can get around to telling the truth? How much time does it really take for you to say "You are wrong for me, this isn't working?" But we are all gluttons for punishment and seem to think that the Nargis way (self-sacrificial) is the best way out. Not only are we conditioned to "work on" something that is already dead, we also spend a lot of time wallowing over it, thinking about it, feeling guilty, feeling sorry for ourselves, pity for the other. By the time the feeling amounts to telling the truth, the relationship is so far by gone that you have trouble extracting yourself from it.

This is not another feminist post. This applies to guys too. I've seen you treated like shit and still you stick around thinking that she's a goddess who is just in a bad mood. Move on dude. She's not into you.

I believe, the minute you start thinking about a relationship, when it stops occurring naturally to you, when you are waving your hands in the air and the other hand doesn't meet yours, its time you walk and don't turn back. No matter what you do, its a ditched attempt, you might as well give it up and pursue something that is worthwhile. And whatever else it might have been, this is certainly not a cue for you to try harder. And you are not a 'quitter' for having done the right thing.

Paranoia and OCD's

2009-05-13T10:42:00.005+05:30

Have you ever walked on the streets avoiding the side cracks of the pavement?

Have you ever added too much chilli in your curry because the chillies on the right side was not as even as the left?

Have you ever washed your hands more than 10 times in a day?

Have you ever slept only on the left side of the bed and threw a tantrum when you were asked to sleep on the right?

If your answer to any one of the questions is yes (or you thought, "so what's wrong with that?" to any), you have OCD.

Not to bring sun signs into the picture, but being a nitpicking Virgo, my OCD and paranoia levels are higher than average. When I was sharpening my pencil twice to the left and twice to the right, I put it down wearily to write this post. Most OCD's are normal enough. They are not a cause of too much worry. My paranoia, though, takes on a whole new level. Having a visual imagination does not help much either. I imagine anything said, that can be visually represented. If you are a Scrubs fan, then its something like what J.D does. And its not always funny. Just last night I had a vivid dream about R's funeral. To my horror, I woke up and imagined what might the different causes of death be. I can't seem to stop it, its a continuous film. R found it funny (thank God for small mercies). I almost never walk beside a stationary car for the fear of being kidnapped and horrors done to me. When I don't know the way, I go right, cuz in my world of fuzzy logic (not the science; actual, no-real-sense, fuzzy), right is right and I'll end up on the correct road if I keep taking right turns.

A note to all my friends: This is how I'm directionally and geographically challenged.

Everyone has quirks, but no-logic paranoia just about hinders everything that you set out to do. Who would've thought that my habit of chewing food on both sides of my mouth would cause me distress when I got my tooth removed on one side and it went numb. What about the time when you thought that a slimy, creepy hand is going to come out of the deepest corner under your bed and drag you to the folds of ghost-town? Irrational, much?

When you make a long list instead of doing the things on the list, every time, each time; its time you put the perfectly sharpened pencil down, stop bulleting the list ever so nicely, and go finish the items on the list. Or better yet, don't sit there and make a list at all!

I'm not psychotic, just a little fussy. Ok, a lot fussy. It takes a rare person to listen to you fuss and worry and criticize and still be able to say at the end of it all that you're the most desirable person they've met. And rarer still when they make you believe that not everything on the other side is greener. I've been lucky on both counts. R's just not realized just how zealously I guard him from all the creepy hands from under my bed, the imaginary kidnappers in stationary cars and all the lists I make and never end up doing.

R, sweetie, no, I won't get sappy and start thanking you and yes, you deserve some medal better than gold, but just wanted this up in writing, that you are appreciated from every nerve of my two-sided OCD-ish behavior. My side is green and I want to see it without my rose-colored glasses!

Pucker Up!

2009-05-06T16:38:00.002+05:30

Moments before the attempt, we were sitting close, looking at pics. I was oblivious to the proximity, understandably, my mistake. What I saw from the corner of my eyes, next, was the texture and the shape of his lips. Moist, a thin film of sweat just above the edges and waiting. In a split second, the picture that came foremost on my mind was that of kissing you. How easy, simple and natural it is. Like an extension of myself. I found myself thinking that, the anticipation of kissing your full, red lips exceedingly surpassed kissing the smoke-tinged coils, the forced rams or even the anticipatory ones.

My body tensed at the attempt and when the forceful palms came to push me closer, I shoved.

If not anything else, out of curiosity, I usually picture the kiss with anyone that strikes my fancy. This time, the only picture that came to my mind is my body contouring into yours as I lean towards you.

Bed and Beyond

2009-05-06T13:48:00.004+05:30

Scrapes of leftover food from last night

Streaked with flakes of the ketchup you played with

Choked on the dough, cuddled by the bedside.

Pleasant dreams to you too.

Silver light streams in through the orifice by the window

Not there yet.

You count, bored, Tweedledum's and Tweedledee.

Watching, breath heave to the rhythm.

A little yawn escapes the corners,

Tossing and half a turn.

Curling up, you drift too,

nodding off.

Beyond, its the creaking of the bed

and the light snores of rest.

Pleasant dreams to you too.