Debacles, Disasters and Discoveries Too!

Happy New Year 2012 :)

2011-12-30T10:34:00.003+05:30

Ah, finally 2011 is drawing to a close. Throw in extreme bad health, depression, travel exhaustion, loss of dear ones, parts of body broken, unemployment... Phew! Honestly, I am not going to miss it...Hope 2012 brings better tides. On that bright note, Happy New Year folks :)

To a wonderful friend...

2011-09-25T11:16:00.005+05:30

As I walked into Sify nervously, during my fresher days, the apprehension and the worry I had would vanish in a jiffy, when I saw this tall, lanky guy, with his uncombed mop of hair, drinking chaai and laughing his heart out at some lame joke he had cracked himself. That was the quintessential Syed for you – carefree, obnoxious, and impossibly funny.

He was often spotted in several places around the office, but more often, perched on the desk, right next to his best pal Sathya’s computer. With his gelled hair, and a handkerchief tied around his wrist, he would look intimidating, but the mischievous glint in his eyes, would give his innocence away. From his pastel color shirts that would evoke a string of abuses from Gauthami (the most common one being, ‘Hey Syed, you look tootiful today’), to his sarcastic one-liners that would kill Ishwarya’s stories about her team, he taught us an important life lesson – never to take it too seriously. I still very vividly remember how he would endlessly mock Anusha’s habit of straightening her hair every few minutes and managing to piss her off completely.

During my endless late night hours at work, he would often stroll by, say something really nasty about the kind of work I do or how unproductive I was being, by working extra hours - of course, I would flare up immediately and say something equally nasty back and this would continue, until both of us laughed and went our separate ways. Now when I look back, I realize that it was his way of giving me a stress buster and teaching me to take a break.

Syed was every bit a person who actually celebrated his existence on earth. He would play practical jokes, laugh loudly, and strut around the office like it belonged to him. He was no doubt the show stealer in any group. When his pal Sathya got married, he waited patiently until all the girls with their expensive sarees walked on to the stage and then mercilessly sprayed foam all over the lovely ladies. The amount of physical and verbal abuse that followed still makes me laugh uncontrollably.

His niece, Alina meant the world to him. Sending us baby pictures and videos of her every other day, he would cherish every moment spent with her. There were several days when I couldn’t help but admire the wholesome love he had for her.

Syed was someone who could instantly lighten up a tense moment, liven up a boring party, and cause commotion. And to know that he is no longer around, saddens me to no end. But, keeping in mind his spirit and the yearning he had for everything cheerful and happy, I will remember all the fun times we have had together. I know he is in a better place now, he is still happy, and is probably driving someone else nuts in another world.

I do not think he can ever be fully gone – each time we think about a joke he cracked, a photo he sent, or a prank he pulled off, he continues to live life, indomitably on his own terms. May your soul rest in peace. We love you.

Another move...

2011-08-23T10:37:00.003+05:30

In my ambitious effort to move on to ‘bigger and better things’, I just moved to Domlur. Of course, I can vouch for the ‘better’ but ‘bigger’ I have my own doubts. I just moved into a nice, little place with pink, cream, white, and blue walls – as opposed to the orange monopoly that was thrust into my face for the past year. I can’t really say that I miss the open spaces, eerily quiet nights, and absolute lack of human presence for days together, that Whitefield gave me – but I do miss it for everything else that shaped the last year up for me.

The new place is centrally located with plenty of supermarkets and eateries, well-connected to the rest of the city, and also is a very peaceful residential area. I live right next doors to a small temple, so I can hear the temple bells and the chanting of mantras all day long (shortcut to Moksha probably). Also, I have to cross a cow shed and a few cows too to reach the house – my dad took this opportunity to aptly name the place Jerusalem. Indeed, it does resemble Jerusalem, because there is such peaceful co-existence between the cows, the birds that peck them, the doggies that curl up next to the cows for some warmth, and a lone, stray, fearless cat that bosses the rest of the animals around.

Once I cross Jerusalem (holding my breath of course for better Nirvana), I can see huge trees with white and yellow flowers, the sole Banyan that graciously bears the playful squirrels scurrying across, little children playing on the roads, the gossip club with old ladies clad in long robes (often irreverently called a Maxi), the permanently parked water lorry with a man screaming in rapid Kannada, and the towering temple that somehow brings a sense of peace to the whole neighborhood.

Garbage disposal in Whitefield was a complicated mix of scientific mechanisms – flex your muscles and fling the bag as far as possible and into the clump of trees. Sometimes, it would hit a hapless dog scavenging through the muck, and in which case, you would have to run away as quickly as you can to avoid getting bitten. In Domlur, the disposal techniques are simpler and certainly less adventurous. The disinterested old man who lugs the trolley around hardly even cracks a smile.

No more waking up at seven and still making it to office at nine, no more going back home for lunch, no more gazing longingly at the house from the office window, no more running into the same people – but I know for sure that I will love this place as much as I loved Whitefield soon enough :)

Turning 24

2011-07-08T10:59:00.003+05:30

24, an age that evokes an ‘Oh, you aren’t married yet?’ sympathetic response in all tambrahm households. In fact, this is also the favorite topic amongst the kanchipuram silk saree-clad maamis at ostentatious tambrahm weddings as well. I had the fortune to be at one a few months back, and needless to say, I had to come back home gasping for breath.

What was more shocking to most of these maamis was that the cousin who was getting married was a few months younger than me! Horrors of horrors…How could that happen? If not for the constant scratching I had to focus my attention to, thanks to the very itchy jute sari I was wearing, I would have gladly pounced at a few of these ladies. To add to the drama was an uncle of mine who accused me, “Girls can’t put too many demands like this. Good matches might just run out after a while” - and the so called ‘demand’ that I had put forth was that I didn’t want to go abroad; for the simple reason that I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life making rotis on a dependant visa, and not being able to work.

This, of course prompted my dear mother to immediately make a trip to an astrologer. The dimly lit room was filled with pictures of several gods and a huge poster of Agastya muni. Agastya’s palm had a yellow triangle coming out of it and ending in a yellow circle. Was he trying to teach geometry? Or was he advocating family planning?

In any case, any funny retorts that I was itching to say out loud were silenced by one deadly look from the mother. As the astrologer took his time, writing out predictions on a book, my dad started playing a game of Solitaire on his Notebook. Another piercing look from mommy resulted in the quiet disappearance of the laptop into its original position.

Finally the astrologer looked up and sighed very deeply. Apparently there was some very bad news. Saturn was revolving viciously around me and Uranus just decided to set up shop inside the eighth house on my horoscope. I couldn’t extract rent from that cheeky planet and I was in for a period of very bad innings. His gloomy voice predicted that I would be cheated by my own friends and get married to a complete prick if I was not careful.

I would cut my future husband up, pickle him, and probably eat him up too if I got married now. “Planet influence, what to do?’ he sighed dramatically again. He also casually mentioned that I could either get squashed under a bus or lose a limb if I was not careful. As I turned to look at my folks with mock-terror writ on my face, I could see actual-terror on theirs. I began rolling eyes and signaling towards the door, but no avail. Mom was fixated on his ’How to kill your daughter’ tips and could not be shaken.

Of course, they all came around after a few days, when he called us up to tell us that the Gods had ordered him to get basmati rice that weighed as old as I was (24 kilos), a golden thaali, and an astronomical figure as his guru dakshina – and as for me, I just look really carefully before I cross the roads. I don’t want to die under a rubber tyre, I would rather die in front of my own little garden, stroking my sleepy kitten, and reading a book... :)

:)

2011-06-19T10:51:00.007+05:30

For the annoying jokes and all the fond cuddles… For shouting at each other and smiling secretly across the room… For making me go ‘Ugh. I hate you’ to ‘Wow, couldn’t ask for better’… For giving me dirty looks during a midnight birthday bash… For the time and the freedom I got to figure out what I wanted to do… For the painful ear tweaks for bad math and a pat on the back for something done right…. For showing me what true strength really meant in times of trouble… For all the warm welcome hugs, no matter how sweaty or dirty I was… For giving me time to nurse a heartache…For being cheerful and funny, no matter what part of the day… For being irritatingly judgmental…For being freakishly right about some things…For being open about mistakes made and the points scored…For all the efforts taken to give me a perfect childhood…

Happy father’s day… :) For the man who makes me want to kill him sometimes; hug him tight and never leave him at others - You are the best I could ever ask for…

I just realized....

2011-06-10T21:53:00.003+05:30

...that I love myself :)

I was just clearing out my old mail from a long forgotten email ID and - wow what surprises it threw up. I was such a different person three years back. College projects that I so strongly believed that they would change the world, playing peacemaker between warring people in class, fighting depression myself… wow, somehow I seem to have lost that youthful stupidity now. The highly judgmental, bookish, biased opinions that I had a few years back make me cringe but also smile

I also happened to see a few mails I had forwarded to myself from my official ID when I resigned last year. All the congratulatory emails, awards, and praises that made me swell up like a bullfrog now make me laugh. I have always believed in hard work. Just as I used to burn the midnight oil for a 5 mark assignment in college, I still cannot sleep in peace, if I know I had turned in a crappy article at work. Now when I realize that all my efforts are now probably in some project manager's docket that is lying in the attic - I am forced to rethink.

So many emails and letters, flying back and forth between so many important and no so important people in my life - lashing out harsh judgments, counseling people, an occasional birthday wish, unmentionable crushes, the start of a new friendship, the sad ending….and each one of those emails made me smile. Smile and reflect on all the wise and stupid decisions I had made in the past. To cut the monologue short - Yes. I was uptight and serious, but that’s what I was and still am.

I may have given half a limb for an office assignment that meant nothing, but at least I tried. When I did get the credit, I knew I fully deserved it. I do have my weaknesses and a considerable share of mistakes, but these little imperfections define me more than my successes. Yes, I love myself :)

Maud Muller

2011-05-20T14:50:00.006+05:30

Sometimes, when you realize that there is absolutely nothing to look forward to... there is possibly nothing that can change the quality of your life... nothing at all that can magically forward you into a 'looking back and smiling' reflective phase... the phone doesn't ring... the walls of your house echo your angst... you fight your tears away...a faraway cry reminds you of something that never was...

“For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these, 'It might have been.' - from the poem "Maud Muller" by John Greenleaf Whittier

P.S: I hate this poet...he depressed me to no end. Read the full poem and spread the cheer :X

Little deeds of joy, little deeds of kindness...

2011-04-17T21:43:00.005+05:30

It is surprising how we turn to people we least expect to be there for us in times of angst and difficulty. In my case, it was my mother who was in town just at the right time. Be it sharing the little nuggets of wisdom she had accumulated over the years or just whiling away time painting each other’s toe nails, I realized that both of us as individuals were so different, but still had grown closer together. From the love-hate bond we had shared when I was younger, to the mutual respect and admiration we have now for each other, the relationship in itself had matured so much.

The early morning walks we took around the park were in absolute silence, but our minds couldn’t have been more in unison. One day, as we were walking around the park, a dog rushed at us, barking rapidly. I panicked and could feel my whole body stiffen in fear. Left to my own devices, I would have run helter-skelter to save my life. However, amma calmly held my hand and led me away from the barking dog, all the time, tightly gripping me and laughing about some joke she had heard the other day. After a few, very tense minutes, I looked her thankfully, and realized there were sweat beads glistening on her forehead too. In a moment of realization, I figured that she had been scared too, but, her motherly instincts made her protect me first and put her fear next. That incident taught me volumes about the love she had been so readily giving all these years, expecting almost absolutely nothing in return. It also taught me why her judgments had never gone wrong all these years - she had a calmness that never seemed to go away, even during trying times.

Another day, we were at the mall buying clothes, when she spotted an ice gola stand. The smile on her face widened, she made a beeline to the stall, and ordered the most complicated mix of ice gola. Even though she had become old, the child in her refused to die. Her love for things that were small and simple, was something I had also imbibed. It did not take too much to make her happy, powdered ice could do the trick.

When I look at the woman now, I realize that she has changed so much over the years. I can see her grey hair, I can sense her difficulty in getting up quickly due to a bad knee, and I can feel her exhaustion within minutes of any strenuous exercise. But, there are also a few things that have never changed in her at all - the twinkle in her eyes, her sense of humor, and her love that has become more encompassing over the years. She takes care of 11 kittens at home - calls them the funniest names possible (the latest batch of 5 are all named after my cousin sister's and my previous employers- Si'y, Via'is, Ab'z, Hib's and so on), feeds them diligently, and plays with them like they are her own children.

On her last day here, I was sitting quietly next to her, worrying about a million things inside my head. She put her arms around me and said, "Two more months here and you would have shifted to the city, and everything will be new again." Yes, amma, things would be different again in a few more months. I just had to count my blessings and life would be much simpler. Thank you :)

Doing a good thing??

2011-04-01T17:39:00.004+05:30

Usually when you do something good, or you believe it is good, you tend to feel good. You feel nice to know that you have made a difference. It could be anything from feeding a hungry dog to making amends. But, today, I realized that you need not always feel good when you do something that you believe is right. In fact, I feel perfectly miserable. Does that make it wrong? Only time will tell...

Robot? Really??

2011-01-11T10:41:00.002+05:30

Just managed to watch Robot, the so called Superstar Rajnikanth masterpiece. If one superstar was not enough, there are hundreds of him towards the end. The movie thrives on this sole principle – an absolute lack of logic. I could even make peace with that. But, the Robot doling out the inevitable ‘Amma sentiment’ dialogue in the climax almost made me wish I had a pair of metal hands that I could use to squash my brains out.

If Issac Asimov had to watch this piece of monstrosity rolled out in the form of a superstar film, he will probably have to rewrite all his laws of ‘robatics’ ( yes, the Robot advises the mother to teach her son ‘robatics’ in the end). Because, Rajni Robot can bash up a bunch of rowdies in a train compartment effortlessly, but also get destroyed with a few swishes of an ordinary pickaxe. Robot Rajni can talk to mosquitoes and make them say sorry to Aishwarya Rai, but becomes blinded if you flash a mirror at him.

And I almost forgot to mention the evil red chip that can make a friendly robot turn into a destructive robot. That was the heights of brilliance, treating a robot like a tape recorder that can play good music and bad music. Aishwarya Rai has become old and should stick to roles that suit her wrinkles. She cannot pass off as a college girl anymore. Period.

Ok, I agree the graphics were definitely classy for an Indian movie. After the likes of Krissh and Hiss, such efforts should definitely be lauded. The ‘Happy Diwali folks’ sequence made me squeal (literally) with joy.

I understand, going to a superstar movie and expecting a sensible string of events is far fetched, but the least you expect is some sense. I have enjoyed the trademark Superstar antics in a lot of his previous movies and I am an unabashed fan of his, but stupidity in the guise of sci-fi is just off-putting. I prefer the simple, hard-working, rags to riches Paalkaran or Padaiyappa to a metal-loving, weirdo scientist and his equally dim-witted Robaatic creation.

Yesterday...

2011-01-06T09:41:00.004+05:30

I wake up to the annoying chirp of the birds. Did I say annoying? Make that exasperating. Yes, exasperating chirp of the birds. If only I had a gun. I take out my diary and note the date. It might mean nothing at all in a few years. It could fade into a memory that I would be reminded of occasionally. If only I could travel into the future. If only yesterday hadn’t happened.

Things I learnt in 2010

2011-01-01T17:30:00.010+05:30

Never try to surprise your pet cat from the behind, if you don't fancy scratch marks on every visible part of your body. Also, do not try to feed two cats at the same time, especially when they are hungry. Both of them cannot tell the difference between cat food and your finger.
After a particularly emotional and melodramatic 'last' visit to your favorite haunt, when moving cities, do not end up there in a few days time again. Your friend whom your particularly insisted on taking you there for the dreaded 'final' visit will scoff at you. For the rest of your life.
On your first night in a new, big, bad city, all alone, never try to become over-friendly with a roomie, in an attempt to fill the void. She will take it upon herself to give you company for every single waking minute of your life, even when you want some peace and quiet.
When moving into a house of your own, do not bugspray a particularly large cockroach with half that bottle. It will turn out to be the 'only' black hairband you have and will have to go to office remotely resembling Medusa.
Cooking oil poured on a pan still wet with water, can result in a splendid show of oil spurts all over the kitchen. Be prepared to scrub every tile for the next one hour.
Try not to pass intelligent comments on how older men become desperate for dates, when writing an article on aging baby boomers. Your reviewer is unmarried and your article will promptly be returned to you with a lot of his intelligent remarks.
When visiting relatives, do not address them with the secret nicknames you keep for them. Some of the names are not very flattering and you will never see the promised filter coffee.
Do not try to be nice with a seemingly over-friendly Labrador. Yes, it will see you as a potential dinner target and fly at you.
Never snoop into the chat logs of a very intelligent, good friend of yours. You can never see the friend in the same light. Ever again.

In totality, my year has been a mixed bag of emotions. I love my work and I have made a few hard decisions that I am very proud of. At the same time, there are several occasions where I almost gave up too. I am glad I stuck on and may I find the strength to stick to my guts in the next year too. I hope all of you have a great year ahead and also find the strength to do the most craziest things on the planet in the next year. Happy new year :)

The Poochas :)

2010-10-11T12:52:00.004+05:30

Pardon the quality and my lack of photographic skills :P

Poochas ( Mallu tongue for Cats)

The mommy cat

Lowe :)

It has been a while since my dad read the newspaper

Update...

2010-10-05T12:16:00.005+05:30

This post has been written at least ten times and found its way duly to the dustbin (precisely the Recycle Bin). I just cannot seem to think of anything to write about. Have I become so unimaginative that nothing seems to excite me anymore? Have i become a tired, world-weary cynic? Is this how rock-bottom feels like? Or have i just grown lazy?

The five minute walk to my office has been reduced to a two minute walk. And thanks to my dad, who found a short cut, it is now just one minute. Apart from the lone, old dog that barely glances at me and that too with maximum disinterest, there is not a soul on the road.

My neighbors seem to lead interesting lives though. The kid next door keeps bawling all through the night, and her mom and dad have little arguments that whiff by, across the cooker whistles. A girl who lives on the floor above me has a boyfriend, who tries to smuggle in everyday in broad daylight. He tries to look nonchalant and casual when he climbs the first floor, and then panics and rushes through the other floors to reach her room as quickly as possible.

Then there is a college kid who listens to loud music in the night. So loud that i can hear it even from the other side of the wall. He also lives alone and does not turn off the lights in the night :), which i certainly do find funny because, though he looks macho and tough in the mornings, with gelled hair and pierced ears, the baby in him refuses to switch off the lights and turn off the music in the night. And I derive a certain joy from that :)

So, apart from churning out articles on cats, dogs, old men, and business, the free time i get is spent on staring at neighbors. An occasional splurge at Fabindia, a lunch date with myself at the mall, and frequent visits to the supermarket punctuate the pretty simple, calm, and quiet life I lead here in Bangalore.

Finally here again...

2010-09-07T11:15:00.002+05:30

After a brief hiatus, yes I am back to do my bit in adding to the already vast amounts of junk on the Internet. The past two months have been one helluva ride. Finding a new house, getting adjusted to the orange walls, making friends with my neighbor who plops her baby right into my arms claiming that the barely-three-year-old misses the ‘Didi’ already…

Finding a shortcut to my office which is only five minutes away even in snail mode, icing up the lady who comes to clean to arm-twist her into cleaning properly, feeling the breeze softly nudging against the curtains, waking up to a shivery cold morning, clattering my way through in the kitchen to make a hurried breakfast/lunch…though not as fancy as they sound, they are the little drops of happiness I find in an almost solitary existence.

With an extended vacation in my home town coming to an end in a few more hours, now it is time to come back to the Orangeness… :P I know this trip has made changes that can never possibly become alright anymore. I cannot offer anything but a meek apology for all the hurt caused intentionally or unintentionally. I also understand that it wouldn’t change anything but it is the least and the best I can offer before I get buried under the pile of pending work that makes me shudder even when I am only thinking about it.

And another update would be on my cat’s wonderful ability to produce kittens like popcorn. They just keep popping out of her every three months. So the latest addition to our family would be the completely adorable four little kittens that keep meowing the whole place down.

Every morning when they greet me with their big round eyes full of optimism and joy, I remind myself - life is not all that bad after all… :)

Courage...

2010-07-15T13:54:00.001+05:30

This girl was easily the most silent one in the PG. As language was a huge barrier, both of us restricted our conversations to various degrees of smiles and nods. Once, during a power cut both of us were pitted in the dark against each other and that slowly got us talking.

She spoke about her Mother who passed away in a freak accident a few years back, her Father who became a little disoriented after that, how he was pressurized into marrying another woman, how her siblings had to discontinue their schooling for two years…

It brought a huge lump in my throat and I asked her if she ever visited home. She told me she doesn’t want to and couldn’t even if she wanted to. My question opened another series of wounds she was healing with her almost tranquil existence.

Her step mother had sexually abused her sibling who then tried to commit suicide. This girl was apparently the only one gutsy enough to go to the police and report the incident. The lady was imprisoned and is still in jail. However, the step-mother’s brothers threatened to harm this girl if she stayed in her hometown. Thus she packed her bags and left the house, never to return again.

Child abuse is the most dreadful form of sexual abuse. It ruins your life or at least leaves an everlasting scar. The trauma and the pain you endure can never possibly be erased completely. That surge of anger, the realization of helplessness, the quiet retreat into solitude… The sibling even now apparently has nightmares and has completely stopped studying.

I couldn’t but help admiring this girl, for the courage she had to stand up to a group of blood thirsty men for her family. The quietest girl amidst us had suddenly become the greatest too.

Aaaaaand

2010-07-02T15:43:00.002+05:30

Tada!!!!!!!!!

New Template :)

Grrrr

2010-07-01T09:41:00.003+05:30

Apologies for the mess my blog looks like... Been trying hard to set it right... :( Grrr.....I hate you Blogger.com...

Five Minutes of Bliss

2010-06-30T11:43:00.004+05:30

It is a five minute walk to my office. And the sights I see are so varied each day that I look forward to the walk. The road is narrow and lined with trees. As the road bends to encompass a huge playground, I can see frenzied players shouting at each other, engrossed in the game. One of the apartments on my left has a wind chime that welcomes me with a tinkle and automatically brings a sense of peace from within. The house next to the apartment is a small one with a line of shrubs in front. A yellow bulb hangs precariously from the roof; a newspaper lies unclaimed in front of the door, and an unswept courtyard has dry leaves playing their own games.

I turn to an even narrower lane, and see white and pink flowers that remind me of peppermint candies. I pass a house that has a book cupboard in the garage. A small boy starts trotting beside me. He has a full white uniform that has light patches of brown – the mark of a sincere mother who would have spent hours scrubbing it. He is singing loudly and picks one of those flowers. Balancing his lunch basket in one hand, and adjusting his heavy school bag with a complicated jig of shoulders, he smells the flower and puts it carefully inside his basket. Suddenly he becomes excited and shouts loudly, waving frantically at a small boy, quite at a distance in front of us. The small boy takes a while to comprehend and then recognizing his friend, laughs and then falls down because he has not been looking in front. This boy bursts out into peals of laughter and I join him heartily. The other one brushes the dust away and starts laughing too.

Abruptly they realize I have been given admission into their private moment; the boy grins coyly and runs in front to join his friend. As for me, I feel strangely light and carefree. I hum a tune and push the office gates open. It has hardly been five minutes, but I have already had a great day. :)

Waka Waka...

2010-06-22T09:17:00.015+05:30

Errr... I lost this post..:( Thanks to my tampering with HTML codes... Anybody who has a copy :P meaning someone who saved this brilliant piece of art as a personal copy, help me retrieve it :(

Rains Once Again...

2010-06-15T20:06:00.034+05:30

The rains are beautiful in Bangalore. A gush of nature’s fury at times, incessant at others, but pitter patter mostly. The power goes off almost immediately and sometimes never returns. I sit in the dark by the window and listen to the relentless tapping on the roof. I can hear a kid reciting his lessons, a flick of a matchstick, and slight traces of an argument next door. The watchman taps his stick on the gate to chase a stray dog away and lights his cigarette. I can smell the tobacco. Somebody has turned on a radio and bits of kannada drift across.

The lights flicker and the sounds increase. There are more conversations and movements. I can smell a burnt out candlewick. The watchman almost trips over a loose stone. My roommate slowly shifts and looks up at the lights. They flicker more intensely and then die out. The watchman kicks the stone and it hits the gate with a mighty clang. The sound reverberates and the apartment is silent once again.

Unrelated Thought: Lovely Song - Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head - B.J. Thomas and Even Lovelier Lyrics.

Updates...

2010-05-10T14:42:00.009+05:30

Things are moving at such a fast pace that I can hardly keep up. Sorting out issues, bidding a million farewells everyday, packing bags, hunting for accommodation, meeting friends... the list is actually endless. I am moving on to bigger and better things. (At least I hope they are :P)

I am moving to another big bad city. I wouldn't exactly call it a city, because the place I would be living (in another ten days) is about 25 kilometers away from the city - Whitefield. And true to its name, it really has lots of barren space interspersed with high-rise buildings and malls. Whitefield is to Bangalore as Nanganalur is to Chennai. Self-sufficient, and comfortable, it has a rustic feel. Untouched by the maddening pace of the city, it is confidently sleepy.

It would be a while before I actually start liking the place, because at the moment, I am too emotional about leaving the city I have grown up with. Of course, not to mention a truck load of friends I will be missing like hell.

I would be learning new things, letting go, meeting new people, exploring the place... Yes Bangalore, I will surely love you…One day.

Senile musings...

2010-04-07T16:25:00.000+05:30

Equations change. Priorities too. Rejection comes easily. So do tears. On a cold dreary night, you look at the ceiling to wonder if you truly deserve all that you get. You are petrified about losing the crystal you posses. Afraid of breaking it into thousand pieces. Driven by your fear, it has rolled off to a furtive corner. Never can it be reclaimed. You long for it but do not want it either. You wish you could close the door, latch it tightly, and never look back.

You have moved on, the room has been rebuilt, but the crystal still remains, haunting you with its absence.

March...

2010-03-31T08:01:00.001+05:30

Went on a trip. Made friends. Ate like a pig. Walked myself into a nasty tan. Gave exams. Watched a long-forgotten Disney movie. Missed school. Made truce with a cousin. Met an old buddy. Almost saw her cry. Went for a drive. Felt guilty. Attended a zillion weddings. Finished a book. Worked like crazy. Got a new lappie. Named it ‘Toshitop’. Tripped on my cat thrice. Finally opened up to a close friend. Cried and laughed together. Cried some more alone. Broke my umbrella. Became indifferent to reality. Explored a whole new dream world. Watched a Hindi movie. Was gruesome. Planned a surprise ‘send-off’ party. Called it the ‘go away’ party. Took a day off. Had a bad headache the whole day. Slept peacefully.

Seven days, seven learnings...

2010-03-16T13:24:00.003+05:30

Seven days at the temple city for a seminar on advertising and PR.

Results:

Got burnt, fried, and scalded under the unforgiving sun.
Walked at least six kilometers everyday surrounded by trees, evil noises, and nothingness.
Perfected the 'zombie-like' walk while staring into the never-ending road.
Got a tan that made/makes me look like a half-rotten vegetable. (Sigh..you know dark brown in some portions and normal in others)
Understood that peacocks are the probably the most ungrateful creatures ever born on the face of earth.
Made friends, a few of them, I am sure, for a lifetime.
Became conscious of the fact that the time for taking a hard decision had finally come.
Of course, learnt something on advertising as well :D

Happy Vday

2010-02-14T19:32:00.006+05:30

Sigh…As I celebrate more than two decades of singledom, I wish all the losers in love with full bitterness a very happy valentine’s. However, there are things that can possibly be banned on Vday without hurting sentiments of love-sick puppies:

Red accessories: Almost every idiot on the street wears a wannabe red shirt. In fact, girls are no less. I saw one with red nail polish and earrings.

Celebrity interviews on TV: Yes. A lot of these frustrated single celebs, who go on and on about how Vday is for everybody and give free advice on how to gift flowers for mom, gran, and the dog next door. Ough!! Repeat after me: Valentine is not for everybody. It is meant for people who are so much into themselves that they can afford to blow up money in tacky places stuffed with pink balloons and red confetti.

Flowers: Last year, my roomie got flowers from her ‘actually-he-is-not-my-boyfriend-because-it-is-not-a-right-thing-to-do-according-to-indian-culture-but-he-pays-for-my-shopping-trips-so-just-to-please-him-let-us-call-him-my-very-very-very-close-companion’ friend and decided to put it right next to our bed. After 24 hours, the room started smelling of dead rats and I hinted that she throw them out. She looked at me like I was not human and scooped up those flowers to smell them. “These flowers remind me of him”, she decided finally after stuffing them into her nose for a whole minute. I was tempted to reply, “Eww. Does he smell that way?”, but I kept quiet for the fear of changing her mind about the flowers. “With people like you, the world will soon come to an end”, she finished and took her flowers away. Thank god.

Talk shows: Last year, there was a debate on the lines of how falling in love could ruin your possibilities of running for presidency and how youngsters insult the illustrious lineage of their ancestors (who all had two wives)by putting their family names at stake. The dude mediating the show was clad in a suit with a tie, but patronized the viewers endlessly on the ill effects of western influence.

Hearts: Every damn thing is heart-shaped on Vday. I know love comes from the heart, but heart-shaped hair clips is taking it too far. They look incredibly stupid, and should be banned.

History of Vday on papers: Who cares! Everybody parrots the same lines, “Vday is actually celebrated in memory of St.Valentine” This is a gimmick to justify that Vday is not a figment of imagination and that there was a solid dude whom we can blame for dying and thereby single-handedly destroying the very and probably the only premise of conservative Indian culture, “All Indians are my brothers and sisters”

Yes. This was written out of pure boredom as I consciously stay away from the outdoors to avoid frequent gagging and disgust on Vday. Well, this may all become tolerable one day maybe, if I manage to keep this post away from dad. Thinking of that, the guy at the bus stop with a red tee was kinda cute. Hmmm…maybe next year...

I want

2010-02-09T16:10:00.001+05:30

My cough to go away.
To lose my frog in the blender voice.
My book backlog to stop making me feel guilty.
To take an already delayed decision before it is too late.
To forgive, forget, and be honest.
My assignmetns to magically complete themselves.
To stop falling in love with bulleted text.

Ayirathil Oruvan – Movie Review

2010-01-17T20:09:00.002+05:30

Hmmm…let’s see…What do you get if you mix The Mummy, Gladiator, Alien, and any other sci-fi/ adventure English movie you can think of with a liberal dose of bollywood ishtyle dance routines – voila! Ayirathil Oruvan!!!

Daringly different, gripping, and visually appealing, AO, is a class apart – until the interval. It is a story of an archeological group that goes in hunt of a statue stolen by a group of Chola warriors from the Pandians, god knows how long ago. To reach the place, the group has to cross seven obstacles and dangers.

This simple and a promising plot could have been well-executed, only if the script-writer hadn’t fallen asleep after the first two hours of the movie. What starts of as a racy plot, sags, and dies an unnatural death, a few minutes after the interval. The adventure suddenly turns into a ridiculously melodramatic story that suddenly has one of the lead actors playing a queen in stupid outfits.

The highlights of the movie are the actors, visuals, and crisp editing. Karthi, as the daily wage laborer/hero, scores a million points for his acting skills. He is one of those rare actors who can prove a point with just a nod. Both of the heroines are supremely hot, but considering that it is a movie, the sugar babes could have also acted a little bit.

The music is forgettable. One of the songs with a popular Tamil devotional tune with English lyrics sounds preposterous. Evidently, the music (which is usually a trend-setter in all Selvaraghavan movies) fails to impress.

Graphics are first-rate. A scene which has snakes crawling all over the tents looks so convincing. There are a lot of horrific murder, human sacrifice, and war scenes in the movie. The war scenes are extremely visually appealing and notable.

This movie is a classic case of an excellent script, with an exceptional director, and extraordinary actors, but too many concepts. My verdict – It is definitely worth a watch, for the attempt.

Apathy...

2010-01-07T13:52:00.004+05:30

Life's small moments teach you a lot more than you can envisage. Years of classroom lectures can probably help you rattle off point-after-point in a heated discussion, but basic lessons in sharing and love is something you can never find inside an air-conditioned room.

For instance, I happened to notice a group of gypsies, whose house was the platform, on my way to office. Two little famished kids, stark naked, were sipping tea from one small glass. That probably was their breakfast. Along their way came a dog, wagging its tail at the tea. One of the kids quickly pulled a broken plastic toy, which doubled up as a plate too, poured some tea into it, and offered it to the dog.

Tears welled up in my eyes when I saw such a magnanimous action two little souls were capable of performing. Inspite of giving away the little they had, they were content. It was charity in its purest form and found only among people who had nothing to give.

Even I, who passed them everyday, who could have bought them breakfast, had selfish walls built around me. With thoughts of reaching office on time, I had walked away like the rest of the crowd, pretending to ignore the blatant poverty on the other side of the road.

Indeed, what have we as humans conquered, if we have not the heart to stop for a minute to show empathy?

Exams or Xmas??

2009-12-23T13:49:00.007+05:30

In less than a week, i have EXAMS!!! Starting a day after Christmas, my exams drag upto a day after New year. This technically means, no Christmas or new year hols for me.. :(

When the whole world is free, the music season in chennai is tempting, the weather makes you want to curl up for five more minutes...I am mechanically reading line after line of printed text.

Miserable existence i should say... The only thing that keeps me going is coffee and christmas carols...Speaking of carols..here's a very funny one i heard...Merry Christmas folks!!!

Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer

Why me?

2009-12-09T09:15:00.004+05:30

Client visit on Friday...Office abuzz with insane excitement... The team that is meeting the firang, strutting around like they have been awarded the Oscars...

As a part of the privileged team who was meeting the guy, I had no choice but to be a part of the general cheer. As luck would have it, I was plopped right in front of the conference hall, about five inches away from him and his PowerPoint slides.

He began his monologue by killing my name. After becoming 'vaash' for him, Jabeen became "Alright, next", and Kalai, Senthil were reduced to mere nods. Then was the time for my biggest gaffe. He opened a huge plastic cover and said, "I've baght some thin for ya guys. Jus a bag of caramels. Pass it 'round", and passed the bag to me.
Beaming, I said, "Thank you so much" with so much of passion and vigor and Jabeen nodded encouragingly. Desperate for some chocolates, both of us ripped open the bag to find 'cameras'!!! Both of us had heard him wrong. We then passed the bag around with a face that made Droopy look cheerful.

After what seemed like ages, it was time for lunch. One of the biggies in the company that I worked for also joined us. As my lady luck had decided to go on a vacation that day, the bigwig motioned at an empty seat next to him. I had no choice but to oblige. The minute I sat down, another 'no-so-big-but-still-big" manager sat on the other. Before I could change my mind and get up from the table, the firang decided to sit right opposite me.

Trapped without an escape route, I decided to concentrate on the food. When I ordered a roti, the client made a wisecrack on my diet and the whole table guffawed like it was the joke of the millennium.

This is a serious lesson, all restaurants should learn - Indian food cannot be eaten with a fork dammit!!! The waiter, probably mistaking my 'is there any way to get out' look for the 'I could eat a blue whale' look, decided to plop an extra large piece of cauliflower on my plate. Without a choice, I took my spoon and started sawing the vegetable with fervor. What I did not realize was that the spoon had made noise equivalent of making marble cutters blush. Earning glares and ‘shhh’es from even the next table, I abandoned my effort.

After lunch, there was some live demonstration with cameras for about an hour, of which 55 minutes was spent on getting the wires fixed. The only thing that went alright was a surprise birthday party-complete with surprises and a chocolate cake for the team.

Moral: Faux pas and forks go hand-in-hand.

Rock on...

2009-11-29T20:29:00.006+05:30

Yes. I crossed out yet another item on my ‘Things-to-do-before-i-die” list – Go to a rock concert.

Rock music thrives on the irrefutable and proven theory that anything that damages your eardrums will sound good eventually. After all with damaged eardrums , even CNN IBN reporters would sound like nightingales.

So what is the criteria for being considered a rock band?

Should have a name that anybody remotely human cannot pronounce correctly for the first time, without sounding like a drunk. The band that I listened to was called splat or scrat or sprat, I can’t be sure even now.
Should have a drummer who has long hair and a constant ‘I will kill you if you come nearer’ look. The more uncombed the hair is, the better.
The lead guitarist should be a guy who should have the ability to disillusion the listeners into thinking that he can really sing. He can do so, by coming very close to the mike and shouting at full throttle. This will lead to interference and the mike starts singing by itself.

So, how can you get in?

If you are a girl, empty two jars of perfume, three sticks of kajal, and one litre of hair gel on the concerned body parts. Also wear clothes that make war refugees look like Vijay Mallya.
If you are a guy, wear trousers that might come off if you sneeze. Never even think of a comb for a month.
General observation: Anything that will make the dogs on the street violent is acceptable.

How to be a Roman in Rome?

Practice the forward and backward movement of the neck and head. It might make you look mentally unstable by the daylight, but here it is normal.
Say ‘Wooo’ and clap in a frenzy after a song finishes. It makes you look very rock-knowledgeable.

Let me not even get into the lyrics part. One song just had, “Say it once again’ in several variations that almost made me get and ask them not to say it once again. The song format is this simple: Whisper into the mike...Saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay (Decent enough)...Whisper...Sayyyyyyyy it vaaaaaaaance again.... (Insides churn)...Loud drums accompanied by whispers...Saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay (creepy at several levels).

But, yes, the hypocrite in me says, 'I liked it after all' :)

Awesomeness...

2009-11-29T19:39:00.013+05:30

A recent SCIAM article that my uncle sent me talked about how noise helped entanglement of electrons and related scientific jingbang. But only these lines stuck to my head:

"In the most distinctive such effect, called entanglement, two electrons establish a kind of telepathic link that transcends space and time. And not just electrons: you, too, retain a quantum bond with your loved ones that endures no matter how far apart you may be. If that sounds hopelessly romantic, the flip side is that particles are incurably promiscuous, hooking up with every other particle they meet. So you also retain a quantum bond with every loser who ever bumped into you on the street and every air molecule that ever brushed your skin."

Imagine your skin still retains one tiny electron of that long lost love, the mad guy at the rock concert, the last goodbye handshake... :) Awesomeness...

In sickness and health...

2009-11-15T19:30:00.008+05:30

After a month of raging fever, headaches, and painful blood tests, I sat in the doc’s office, looking expectantly at the man scratching his head and chewing the tip of his pen.

Tapping the report with the side of the pen he just relished (Ewww!!!) he uttered the three words I did not want to hear, “You have typhoid”. My world crashed. After innumerable blood tests and x-rays and other tests that I have left out for the sole virtue of their being extremely complex to spell, this is what the doc had to say. I stupidly repeated, “I have typhoid?”

He nodded gravely and scribbled the names of all medicines that he could remember. “Complete bed rest, no physical or mental strain”, he droned. Dad sniggered at the mention of mental and pointed to his head and signed ‘empty’ with his hands. I rolled my eyes. It was his old joke about how I did not have any brains and therefore the question of mental strain did not arise.

The evil doc did not stop with this. He gave me a graphic description of how my intestines were being eaten by the typhi viruses every minute. I immediately started counting the number of wreaths that would arrive at my house if I died.

For three weeks after that I could only eat food that even the scruffy neighborhood cat rejected. Meanwhile mom devised this intricate diet routine that involved feeding me with fruit juice and tender coconut water at times that did not hinder her daily dose of afternoon soaps. Banished to my room for a month, with only the ceiling fan for company, I watched the blades in fascination as they fused into nothingness when the fan gathered speed. (And I had always thought babies were really stupid to gurgle at a thing as mundane as a ceiling fan.)

On some days I would sleep on for hours together, only waking up to take medicines every six hours. On better days, I would curl up on the living room sofa watching soaps with mom. Sometimes I would throw up dinner as soon as I finished washing the dinner plate. Lunch would follow in a matter of minutes. Dad would retort, “Don’t come out yet. Breakfast is on the way. By the way, don’t throw up the tablet. It is three bucks”, and chuckle at his own joke.

Honestly, though I felt miserable at times and loneliness depressed me to no end, the flurry of ‘get well soon’ messages and calls really made my day. Close friends came home and my boss gave me a month off without thinking twice. Also, the neighborhood cat curled up next to me everyday and we became so close that it started following me around the house. Of course, I also enjoyed all the attention and basked in glory when I finally returned to work.

I mean, how much more lucky can a person get :)

Red queens of the dark night

2009-09-27T17:35:00.002+05:30

…by Theatre Nisha - a commendable effort I should say! The play is about 2 hours long and delicately weaves the story of about 10 prostitutes (or 9??) from different time frames. The play starts with Rishyasringa, an excluded hermit, who lives among the trees and has never seen women. A courtesan named Tarangini is then sent to him to woo him and break his vows, but is later beheaded. This part was a bit surprising, because according the Ramayana I have read, Shanta, the daughter of King Romapada is sent by him to break his vows and they get married too. Tarangini’s seduction and Rishyasringa’s emotions when his vows of abstinence are washed over by the waves of his new-found desire were sensuous and beautifully crafted.

The next episode is about an old couple who try to save a prostitute from her pimp. The old man gets killed in the process. The last scene where his wife cries over the dead body was extremely realistic and poignant. Then, there is an episode of an ordinary man who works at the barracks, and another one about a prostitute who kills her owner and convinces a bartender to lie for her in front of the policemen. These were pretty short and interesting nevertheless.

Another episode on Urvashi’s curse on Arjuna was misplaced. Urvashi desires Arjuna and when he refuses, saying that she is mother of his race, she curses him to live among the women in his 13th year of exile. Urvashi’s vilification to a mere prostitute was way off mark and uninspiring. This episode was very ‘sleep-inducing’ according to kiki, and only me, vamp and kiki clapped for this because it ended with GP’s aalaap (for the uninitiated, an aalaap is the ‘aaaaa’ part of classical music, in the simplest terms possible).

The last episode had Bala, the director himself, playing the part of a torturer (cleverly named Fuehrer) during the Nazi regime. He torments a woman until she accepts that she is a homosexual whore and then kills her. This episode was exceptionally intense with an unforgettable climax.

The play was haunting and enjoyable, but the episodes were unconnected and very long. The literal translation of Sanskrit texts into English became lackluster after a while. With uncomplicated costumes, very few lights, a flautist and guitarist for background music, the stage looked minimalist and sleek. A few episodes only had an inconspicuous bench serving as a prop and still looked stimulating.

All the same, it is refreshing to see that theatre (and conservative Chennai) has come of age. Hats off to Bala for this attempt at portraying prostitution so daringly and not succumbing to clichés.

For a beautiful soul...

2009-08-20T09:18:00.003+05:30

Today is my paternal grandmother’s (a.k.a Patti’s) first death anniversary. Surprisingly I still miss her with the same intensity and force I had last year. So, today I dedicate this post as an ode to the beautiful soul who in her own way defined what I am today:

Her life:

Eldest of the three daughters.
Was apparently very smart and got a double-promotion from the third standard to the fifth standard decades ago. (According to her it was an achievement worth a Bharat ratna and unfailingly recited it at the drop of a hat.)
Lived in Bombay for a while after her father passed away.
Got married early and lost her hearing ability even before she was 20.
Brought up five naughty kids of which my dad was arguably her favorite and the naughtiest too.
Lost two of her daughters (equally charming souls) to health ailments.
Was diagnosed with terminal illness and battled her disease until the very end with such grit and determination that shocked even the doctors.

Favorite and oft repeated dialogues:

"This is the only treasure I have. Nobody treasures it anymore" -Making kolams (colored patterns) are a big thing in our family and if I refused to learn them, she would dramatically gather all of her kolam books and say this with flourish.)

"Don’t put mug inside bucket. Don’t touch plate with your left hand. Don’t leave your hair open. Don’t wear shoes inside house" - Her rules were extremely complex and difficult to master. You were not allowed to touch your plate with your left hand, but you could lick fingers and slurp the rasam. Talking when eating was a big no-no, but she could read her 'tughlak' (which is a popular Tamil political magazine). According to her, leaving the hair open made girls look seductive. Hello! I live in a place which has more buffaloes than men, and the possibility of somebody getting seduced by Ms. Frizzed Up Always, seems extremely remote.

"Noodles is bad for health." - She was an authority on classifying food items into edible and fatal. Fatal things including everything she did not like and did not know how to make.

"I know English, Marathi, Hindi, Malayalam and Tamil. Everybody should learn at least five languages" - Honestly, she knew only Tamil. I have my own doubts about her other claims because I have heard her speak butler English and Malayalam in front of others and wished I could melt right there.

“Nobody saves electricity” – This comes from a person who never switched off bathroom lights. When confronted she would say, “I am old. Don’t mistreat me”

“You wear it today. Tomorrow it will become a fashion” – When I lost my hair band and she wanted me to wear an extremely ugly looking scarf on my head as a substitute.

“You are useless. Without doubt you will end up grazing cows” –When I stoutly refused to go out with that scarf on my head. This dialogue was also used very frequently on everyone including her sons, daughters, son-in-laws, and grandchildren.

I could go on, but to keep it short, she was a remarkable woman. She was a combination of warmth, love, kindness, good, and bad. The gaping void she left can never possibly be filled. I miss her.

Movies and me!

2009-08-03T18:16:00.002+05:30

This weekend was the most boring I had ever endured in a while. I was in no mood for studying and the internet was cranky. So by this cruel twist of fate I decided to watch some movies with my bro. We actually watched a mallu, tamil and a telgu movie in less than five hours :) And at the end of the session, I realized:

1. They all start with a hero-introduction song!
2. The hero and heroine quite literally fall in love. The hero falls on the leading lady and they have the tumbling down the stairs/river bed sequence (with ear-splitting la-la-la chorus), ending with a sloppy kiss. The heroine blushes and voila, they are in love. If I were her, I would have probably been busy nursing my fractured bones because that’s what would really happen if a dunce weighing a hundred kilos suddenly decides to plant himself upon damsels.
3. All the good, innocent girls are homely, wear saris and look gorgeous with their hair open. (I tried the hair-open-in-the-wind part once, but instead of flowing across my face in lovely waves, they decided to frizz up and it took ages to detangle my hair). Also, they bear all atrocities silently and the only testament to their suffering is their sari pallu. The bad girls are the ones in skimpy clothes wearing red lipstick.
4. All songs (even the sad ones where the heroine is angry with the hero or his mother/best friend/anybody who is shown for five seconds in the first scene kicks the bucket) are shot in foreign locales. They all have matching embarrassing dance steps. Also this cruel death brings more sympathy from the heroine and she forgives the hero by the end of the song.
5. The lead pair romance around trees happily and the next scene is predictably: hero's mischievous smile - a door closing - camera pans up to the moon. And we are left to decipher that they are up to something naughty!
6. Yes the inevitable scene: The heroine pukes and her parents are shocked. Her dad takes the dagger out and the mother and daughter fall at his feet. The dad actually walks until the door dragging the ladies at his feet like a pair of mops. Not even for a moment do they think that the puking could have been just indigestion.
7. Then at the door, he drops the dagger with a loud clang and sits down. The whole family now huddles and bawls. The dad after hitting his head a million times with his hands; comes up with a brilliant solution for the disgrace his daughter has brought to the family. Consume poison!
8. The next five minutes is spent on zooming in and out of the poison bottle. The background music is the sad version of the la-la-la song. Finally when they actually start drinking it, the hero breaks the door open and starts a monologue. He talks about suppression of women, and how they should be given equal opportunity for selecting their partner. And this was the same dude who admonished the bad girl for wearing clothes not befitting a woman! Hypocrisy!!!
9. Then there are villains who try to kidnap/molest the heroine. The bimbette only screams and the hero is so overcome with rage that he single-handedly kills a bunch of henchmen. The police arrive only at the end of the fight and promptly arrest the baddies. In one movie, a policeman actually congratulates the hero and says he would love to get him as a son-in-law. Even my bro who actually watches pretty intolerable movies, groaned at this!
10. The bloodied hero unties the heroine, who is very conveniently bound with ropes and looks into her eyes deeply. She nods to articulate that she is okay. He grabs and hugs her. The dad wipes his tears and everyone is happy once again. Tada! Movie over.

Never for a moment will I ever regret my disinterest in movies :)

Silence is loud

2009-07-24T08:49:00.002+05:30

Working late nights in office can be extremely annoying! Especially when:

You have an unfinished chapter in that gripping book you have to complete, but left it to the twist of fate in the morning.
There is a TV show in which your heartthrob is performing and you would not miss it even during a natural calamity.
You Tube is blocked.
You are gushing with hundreds of 'what an awesome day I had' stories to tell your roomie.
You finally get to eat the yummy-looking dish all by yourself for dinner without having to feed it to a dozen hungry mouths. But it does not taste all that heavenly anymore.
You miss the soft music from the manager's bay, incessant chatter from a guy who does not know what subtlety means, gossip and laughter from people around.
Your creative juices have long stopped and all you can churn out is long essays that taste like cardboard.

My birthday and more...

2009-07-05T16:39:00.005+05:30

Whoa!! I am still reeling under the fantastic birthday bash I had on Friday. I don’t usually celebrate birthdays; probably because they remind me of how closer I am to getting wrinkles, wearing bifocals, and growing gray hair! But this year, I cut three huge chocolate truffle cakes, got a dozen bear hugs and priceless books.

The day started with several calls and messages from friends and foes :). Yeah, anybody who calls me at 12 with the sole intention of waking me up gets segmented inside my brain as a foe automatically. My roomie included! But I did forgive her for the lovely bracelets she gave me.

I reached office to baby pink roses and a gazillion birthday wishes. I have never felt so pampered ever before. To top it all, I cut two surprise chocolate cakes and got my face plastered in chocolate syrup and slabs. All thanks to S’d and everyone else who chortled at the sight of me licking cake from my nose. The name on the cake was not very flattering I should say! One had a ‘Happy Birthday Geek” (I so hate Gau’mi) on it and the other one had a ‘Happy Birthday Pogo” (Apparently I look like a cartoon from the POGO channel. Some cheek!) . I also got a gorgeous green kurta and ‘Brick lane’ a book by Monica Ali. Thanks mates!

GP then called me up to say she wouldn’t be able to meet me today due to other engagements. I grumbled about it to Vamp, who suggested a visit to his new house to cheer me up. I readily agreed! All the way to his house, I kept a low profile, muttering vague things about getting ditched on a birthday.

When we finally waded through the impossible traffic, and reached his place, I opened the door to find GP, Kiki, Aks and most importantly another chocolate cake :). This time I am not even mentioning what was written on the cake! GP and her tricks. I always fall for them.

Vamp gave me the whole ‘Lord of the Rings’ collection. After a yummy dinner with 10 others, I crashed at Procky’s place. Me and Kiki encountered a cockroach that flew around the house. Kiki kept running from one corner to another with a broomstick in hand. The sight was so hilarious that I started laughing uncontrollably. The cockroach wiped my smile away by settling down inside my handbag. Later, with an Outlook and Baygon spray we finished the job.

I ran home next day morning, to find an unnamed package. ‘The Black Swan’, by Nissim Nicholas Taleb was inside it. Before I could go into the dreamland of some unnamed mysterious caped crusader, who would sweep me off my feet, by surprising me with unnamed packages, Mom asked me to check with Unz. When I did, I realized that it was indeed Unz who sent it. So much for my dream, but nevertheless, thanks a bunch for the brilliant book!

At the end of it all, I felt immensely lucky to have such friends. It takes a lot to organize surprises just to make my day special. After all, my friends are the best! :)

Phew!

2009-06-28T20:41:00.002+05:30

It is only 7.00 AM in the morning, and I am already wiping away tears with the back of my hands. I splash cold water on my face, willing the tears to stop, but they don’t. I curse and continue peeling onions. I need to get an edible curry ready before Dad and Bro bring the place down with their claims of how they have never been late for work/school.

“We could have got something from Nilgiris!” grumbles Dad, scrubbing the kitchen sink. “Breakfast will be ready by the time you finish your bath”, I announce in my most-reassuring cheerful voice. Dad shakes his head and storms out of the kitchen.

Sigh! It has been more than a month. Thanks to Mom, who is enjoying her extended vacation in her hill-station cum hometown, I have been confined to the kitchen walls on all weekends. Sundays included!!
A typical weekend starts like this.

SATURDAY:
I come home after a crazy, breathless, impossible deadline achieving work-week to this mess. After a hurried dosa-making session and packing lunches, I return to the kitchen for a round of washing and scrubbing vessels. The Pooja room is a mess. The lamps have turned green. This according to Dad is because of some chemical reaction between oil and copper. He illustrates with a formula that he makes up at the spur of moment. I scratch the formula out and write in bold letters, ‘This reaction would have never happened if you cleaned the lamp.” He goes back to polishing his shoes muttering about how he could have grown paddy in the fields and helped poor farmers instead of wasting time giving birth to me. I want to point out a fundamental mistake in his time-space hypothesis of making children and growing paddy...But I keep my mouth shut.

After a couple of bear hugs, both of them leave the house. I start with cleaning the kitchen. Mom has a particular order in which she arranges her vessels, and anybody who messes the order will probably get hit in the head with her favorite wooden ladle. So I fix the jigsaw and wash clothes. Our washing machine thinks it is a pet animal and works only if Mom is around. The other members of the family do not exist in its world. So I end up washing clothes manually (White-turned-brown clothes are surprisingly more in number than colored ones). After trudging the million stairs to my terrace, I dry the clothes out, hopping from one foot to anther, to avoid roasting my poor legs completely. Then I start sweeping, mopping and dusting the house. By the time I finish it is already time for lunch. I mercifully gulp down the rice and rush upstairs for a nap.

I wake up after an hour to make coffee, and start my usual round of washing vessels. Bro returns and I have to make another round of coffee and wash vessels. Dad comes back, and I have to make yet another round of coffee and wash vessels. I cut veggies and make dinner. Of course, there is another round of washing vessels.

All of us eat dinner and thankfully this time, Dad washes the vessels. I quickly check mail and reply to the ‘Are-you-dead-or-what?’ messages on Orkut. All of us tuck in for some bedside reading and Bro sleeps off with his book open. I hardly get through three pages and groggily ask Dad to switch off the lights.

SUNDAY:
All of us wake up only by 8.00 AM. I get the customary call from Mom, and I almost ask her to pack her bags and get back. The goodness of my heart and the angel that I am; is the only thing that makes me say, “I am having fun here. You come back whenever you want.” I also nicely let the ‘I am not cleaning the house today’ fact, slip in between our conversation (In my classic ‘Am-I-not-your-bundle-of-joy’ voice). “Varsha!” she says. The only time she calls me by my name is when she disapproves of what I am doing. Otherwise I take the names of various species of cattle depending on her mood. She tells me if I make this a habit, what will my future in-laws think of me? “Fine”, I grumble and go back into the kitchen. I hope she never finds out that I blogged this conversation. Her daughter ruining her own prospective marriage alliances is not something she can digest!

MONDAY:
My boss asks me in a cheerful voice, “So how was your weekend?” and I am tempted to reply, “Squeaky clean”.

Acrobatic lizards and anxious lasses

2009-06-14T20:16:00.004+05:30

It has been more than three weeks of peak workload, leaving me very little time to blog, mail, or even read. So, when I did get some time to leave a bit early, I decided to work myself out of the 'Will-I-end-up-like-this-for-the-rest-of-my-life?" mood, by cleaning the kitchen.

So, I started with the stove. The stove in our common kitchen is buried under layers of spilt milk, noodles masala, burnt rice, dust, grime, and dirt (Of course it is not all that bad, but I love making embroidered statements). So I painstakingly removed layer-by-layer of the dirt, until I saw the first glimpse of the silvery aluminium.
Satisfied with my handiwork, and egged on by the gleaming aluminium, I ventured to clean the trivet and burner of the stove. The burner successfully transformed the kitchen sink into a dark hole, and I ended up cleaning the sink, only to find my scrubber turn jet black from light green. Then I washed the scrubber, to find my hands turn into a ravishing shade of grubby brown.

It was only when I started cleaning the trivet, did the dramatic, or rather a swift termination to my cleaning spree come. I pulled the trivet out, to find a lizard hanging upside down from it!!! As expected, I screeched as loudly as possible and put it down. The acrobatic lizard with the mighty swung, got back to its feet and scaled to the top of the stove smoothly.

I couldn’t but appreciate the impudence it had, to stay there quietly amidst all the clatter I had created. Before even it could think of doing something funny, I slowly tapped the stove with the gas lighter, silently urging the dear Lizzie to back off.

Yes. I named the lizard too, in the middle of all the commotion.

Lizzie did not budge. I hit the stove harder. This time she only backed off a few steps. (I decided the lizard would be a 'she' because she was captivated by the kitchen stove and exhibited unusual daring). Then I began a slow rhythmic tapping against the stove. Lizzie moved into a trance-like state, inching backwards with every tap, and before I could stop her...She slipped and fell into one of the holes inside the stove.

I swallowed hard. Did I kill her? I pictured headlines in the 'The Creepy Crawly Times'. “Chef Lizzie burnt to death. Lizzie, a successful chef and also the co-author of the book, '100 Tasty Insects And Where To Catch Them' was cruelly hypnotized by a two-legged slaughterer and burnt to death inside a stove. Investigations revealed that the two-legged being is still on the prowl, brutally putting an end to all the successful career-minded woman lizards. "She is a shame to the two-legged community. She is an obstacle to the empowerment of lizards” said the spokesperson of ‘The lizard on the wall’, an NGO for displaced woman lizards."

In a second I had become a serial killer, shunned by the lizard community. Still panicking, I peeped into the hole for any sign of life. Gradually I could see two beady eyes glowering from inside the hole, admonishing me for my deed. A wave of relief spread over me as I watched Lizzie slowly clamber over the hole, struggling to find a hold. And when she finally did, she fixated a stare at me. It was an acutely piercing angry glare. No doubt.

I muttered a hurried apology and quickly switched off the lights.

Random thoughts...

2009-05-31T16:37:00.004+05:30

When I moved out of my house a year back, I packed a few dresses, kitchen utensils, and a few essentials...All that fit into two small bags...When I got onto the waiting bus, the conductor grabbed my baggage and effortlessly shoved them under a seat. 20 years of existence packed into just two bags. I strangely felt offended. For a minute it seemed like I was the one being shoved.

It also fetched me the revelation that; all I ever owned was in those bags. I felt eerily buoyant. I felt there was nothing to hold me back, except maybe a pair of bags. I immediately text messaged my silver-lining to one of my friends, who asked me to stop the drama..., and the same friend, just a few days before, said he wanted to get rid of all his belongings and carry only a pair of bags, before he left India for good. With the beach sand dancing to the music of the waves at my feet, I could only muster a weak smile. How things you say come right back to you :)

It would be nice to leave the world beholden to nothing.

Unrelated thought: I am listening to Cliff Richard's 'Theme for a dream', and it sounds exactly like 'pal pal pal' from Munnabhai MBBS 2. Disgusting!!!

The sound of music...

2009-05-24T17:14:00.002+05:30

My iPod usually decides my mood for the day. Sometimes it is the guttural John Denver with his 'You fill up my senses', or BJ and her classic Bharathiyar song 'Suttum vizhi chudaar dhaan kannama'. On other days it is ARR's 'Luka Chuppi' or my new found favorite astapathi, 'Rathisukasaare'.

But today started with the racy 'Nakka Mukka'. :)... Please listen to understand how it feels to get jerked out of sleep!! It admonishes you for being in bed and gives you an inferiority complex with its speed. Phew!! I even got tired after watching this song on TV once.

And true to this fast paced number, it has been a crazy day :)

I voted...

2009-05-13T12:11:00.005+05:30

I voted I voted I voted... :)

I voted for the first time in my life!!!
I saw anxious party cadres along the streets encouraging everyone to vote.
I observed burly policemen flashing mean looks inside the polling booths.
I waited under the scorching sun to have the first glimpse of an EVM.
I felt triumphant when I heard the beep of the machine after I voted.
The beep of democracy.
The beep of a bright Indian future.
The beep I was responsible for.

For the first time ever, I am proud of the dirty black mark on my index finger.
Let us make our voice count. Let us vote.

A Splendid Sunday

2009-05-01T17:54:00.002+05:30

(Note: This was written last week. Due to time constraints and an impossible workload, here it goes…late by a week :) )

Woke up only at 7.30 A.M.
Watched the morning news interspersed with Tamil songs, sad VJs, and of course a hot cuppa coffee.
Missed home and therefore coined the term ‘home-sounds’. (Home-sounds include Dad furiously devouring the newspaper. You can actually hear the segmenting of news into ‘Ignore’, ‘Bah’ and ‘Yay! Comics’ inside his brain, strains of humming from the bro-in-loo, mom’s kitchen clatter, and my own unheard complaints about the monopolization of newspapers by the male population in the house.)
Hummed Kishore Kumar and made breakfast.
Ate what I made (which was not what I intended to make), with Frank McCourt giving me company.
Cleaned out cupboard amidst roomie snores and iPod songs. Found Rahul Nambiar's autograph safely tucked in between books. Removed creases and tucked it back again in between books.
Made Rasam with Oregano seasoning I saved from Pizza corner. Roomie christened it Italian Rasam.
Went for a play titled 'The Pregnant King' by Theatre Nisha that resulted in pointless discussions about the concepts tackled by the play, and of course tea and chutney sandwiches at dear ol' Yusuf's.
Had yummy dinner at Bessy with a bunch of chatterboxes who refused to shut up even for a minute.
Returned to hostel, tired, but content.

A splendid Sunday indeed…

For this is what we do...

2009-04-21T11:52:00.007+05:30

"For this is what we do. Put one foot forward and then the other. Lift our eyes to the snarl and smile of the world once more. Think. Act. feel. Add our little consequence to the tides of good and evil that flood and drain the world. Drag our shadowed crosses into the hope of another night. Push our brave hearts into the promise of a new day. With love: the passionate search for truth other than our own. With longing: the pure, ineffable yearning to be saved. For so long as fate keeps waiting, we live on. God help us. God forgive us. We live on."
- Shantaram, Gregory David Roberts.

And thus ends Shantaram, undoubtedly one of the best books I have read. It is of the kind that grips you until the very end and makes you feel upset when it is over. It bubbles with enthusiasm, despairs in search of life, preaches philosophy, destructs conformist premises, dilutes beliefs, and finally ends in hope.

India, as one of my friends, D, said ‘is the only country foolish enough to glorify and cherish convicts". Shantaram pretty much proves that point.

I enjoy

2009-04-15T15:27:00.005+05:30

Examining my fingers after a long bath. The fading wrinkles on the fingers effortlessly forward me to the way they would permanently look in future.
Watching the languid bus depot from my bedroom window, enjoying the breeze playing on my hair, till I feel a tinge of pain on my nose after pressing it too hard against the iron grills.
The irrepressible tears that come out involuntarily after listening to 'Kwaja mere kwaja' from Jodha Akbar and BJ's ' Bhavayaami Gopalabalam' set in the Yemen Kalyani raaga.
The relief and gratefulness for the first serve of food on a grumbling empty stomach.
Taking a quiet walk from Bessy to Adyar any day, any time.
The divinity of a roadside makeshift temple.
The references that I unconsciously make to my own life while reading a book.
Lethargically turning my head in response to the wave of fresh cool air in the office atrium.
Walking home through the chaos and confusion of a busy road.
Nostalgia when shopping at Nilgiris that plays Kishore Kumar songs on a full blast.
Loneliness at the relative quiet of my apartment after I shut the door.
Brimming tears after spicy Sāmbhar at the Murugan Idly shop.
Heaviness after crushed expectations.
I enjoy :)

A killer instinct

2009-04-13T17:13:00.002+05:30

I shuddered when I saw blood. Dripping nonchalantly from the table to the white marble floors in a haunting rhythm...I saw blood.

Reaching for the end of my duppata, draped neatly around my neck, I covered the velvety spots that were becoming bigger by the minute. The knife that had effortlessly cut the veins looked at me accusingly.

The cotton cloth soon lapped up the blood in a parasite-like frenzy and asked for more. Shivering and afraid, I rushed to the nearest wash. As the first stream of cold water hit my wrists, a surge of pain traveled across my body and I arched in agony. Sweat, tears, water and blood filled the wash, creating arbitrary patterns on the smooth ceramic.

Willing the flow to stop, I opened the tap to its fullest. I could suddenly feel my knees going weak. I clutched the wash tightly to steady myself. The ceramic gave way and I caught hold of the stairway banister just in time to cushion my fall. I looked back at her.

She was still sitting where I had left her. It had hurt me. Didn’t it hurt her too? It made me retch. Didn’t she feel like throwing up? When I cut my wrists I screamed. Didn’t it wound her too? How would I know? She didn’t say a thing. I could feel the knife as it cut my hand. Didn’t she feel it too? Why didn’t she tell me if it hurt her? Her eyes that were perpetually set in a meek surrender looked at me even now. A spurt of anger surmounted me. Why couldn’t she react? Why didn’t she protest? Why didn’t she shout? Why on earth did she have to be so good? Even when the knife drew meticulous lines of precision across her neck, she didn’t tell me a thing.

How could she tell me? I had gagged her before I killed.

And the winner is...

2009-04-02T17:54:00.001+05:30

Elections are a carnival for jokes. And I as a first time voter, take it up as my moral responsibility to encourage our dear leaders who keep the humor alive within all of us. The result of which is a list of awards for all the jawans who continue to tirelessly entertain us, by looking absurd and silly, every single day.

"BJP is a truly secular party" - Advani

Did this saffron brigade leader hear what Varun had to say about Muslims? The frantic waving of hands and his claims of sending all Muslims to Pakistan, successfully earned him the 'Fanaticism bordering on the lines of insanity' award. And Advaniji fiercely defending the party ideologies and praising great leaders of the BJP, even when reporters pointedly questioned him on Varun’s speech wins the ‘Going temporarily deaf when (unmentionable body part) is on fire' award.

"Terrorism and religion conversion are two sides of a coin which will swallow our nation. The Hindus are now waking up against it'"-Pramod Muthalik

Yeah, his sevaks are busy bashing up women in the name of culture protection. Though I don’t see how he is planning on eradicating terrorism and religious conversions by declaring that women have no rights to their share of fun. So unquestionably the ‘I still live because it is illegal to shoot me’ award goes to him.

"In north India, the SP, the RJD and the LJP have dominated the secular space." -Mulayam Singh

These three parties are notorious for vote bank politics in UP and what we call communalism is their secularism. They win the 'Learn the meaning of English words first' award.

“We were defeated in 13 constituencies by design.” – The Ramdosses

This father-son duo largely made unpopular through the unceremonious sacking of the AIIMS head; usually say such incredible things when they feel largely ignored. Their hobbies include criticizing anything that the others (Read: Not PMK) do. And they clinch the ‘Desperate limelight hoggers’ award.

'There was a communication gap, that’s all' - Jayalalitha

Dropped out of a tea party hoisted by Mayawati, Jayalalitha dignifiedly fielded the media glare. Well, communication gaps happen all the time. That explains why the Left and the MDMK parties were missing during the tea party she threw a few days back. ‘I don’t like to be ignored' award goes to her for sure.

MDMK has been eerily silent this year after the embarrassing defection of a few prominent leaders to DMK. The party together wins the ‘We eat our own words’ title. (Another close contender for this award is TR Rajendher of LMDK. He also wins the ' Does anyone except me knows that my party exists? ‘award)

Of course the icing on the cake was Venkaih Naidu's speech that demanded the Prime Minister’s resignation on moral grounds as the UPA had been ‘deserted’ by its allies and the Congress had become a ‘loner’. Does he know there are elections coming up in a few days? He portrayed another streak of brilliance when he declared that Slumdog Millionaire won the Oscar because Congress had successfully kept poverty alive in India. He undoubtedly wins the ' I love making stupid statements’ title.

(Of course, this idea is not original and there are other people (with a superior sense of moral responsibility and brains) who have given out better awards. So suggestions, corrections and additions are always welcome).

Seen on a T-Shirt

2009-03-26T10:15:00.001+05:30

I have
NO Girlfriend
NO Work
NO Problem

Strangely I couldn’t get the joke. Call me a feminist, call me a humorless old maid, but I just can’t stand chauvinism .

The shirt was missing one more line: 'No life' !!!

Once again

2009-03-12T15:17:00.000+05:30

Once again the colored pieces suddenly come together...Their sagacity almost blinding…Complementing each other...Almost perfectly....In a moment of ecstasy...in the heat of solving the enigma finally...in the bliss of seeing the picture slowly falling into place...demystifying the darkness around you...a million hues diffusing…spreading a joyous glow....filling your heart with light...You smile...

And then abruptly the bits begin to falter...like a kettle ready to blow up any instant...simmering and scathing...the agitation becomes impossible to ignore…Apprehensiveness replaces smiles...Trepidation fills the space that you have started staring into insignificantly…

And in those moments of finality...you realize that the colored pieces were gray after all.

If you start with a bad-hair day....

2009-02-23T18:09:00.004+05:30

...then your social cum work cum love life is doomed. After spending fruitless 15 minutes into taming my hair into an agreeable mess (the privileged others who have straight hair call it a pony tail), I was wondering what else could go wrong when...

a. I choked on a piece of idly; I was trying to gorge down in nano-seconds. Normalcy was restored only after a few gulps of water, two hard thumps on my back from mommy dearest and a long-winded ‘how-idlys-can-be-life-changing-if-you-eat-them-slowly' speech.
b. A group of frustrated men in the bus suddenly decided to vent out their pent-up emotions. What ensued was a 'not-too-pretty-to-watch' brawl involving a group of huffy-cheeked men against another group of huffier-cheeked men.
c. The impact of losing all my contacts on my mobile phone hit me fully only after I started getting the routine, customary, and almost revoltingly sweet ‘good-morning’ messages from friends today. I hardly recognized the numbers and was forced to ask them their names. This little activity of mine managed to get the majority of them pug-faced. I also earned the ‘How-can-you-forget-MY-number’ wrath from all of them.
d. A seemingly cute guy in the atrium of our office building decided to walk through me like I never existed. Cursing silently I reached the lift, only to find him inside, still looking away.
e. Tripped in front of a million colleagues, and had to swerve in the most uncomfortable way to avoid falling flat on the face, and ended up looking like a crooked, contorted Oscar statuette.
f. One more attempt at taming my hair in the office loo went astray as my comb decided to plop into the wash basin with a loud clang. The other peacocks, pruning their feathers gave me their looks of purest contempt.

It was then, that I gave up!

Moral: Maybe the guy didn’t look because my puerile hair looked like a bramble bush that had a magnetic attraction to anything even remotely dusty?? (Nah…Not a good enough moral you say?)

Well, then....The real moral: If anything just cannot go wrong, it will anyway...Courtesy Murphy.

A brief adieu…

2009-02-20T13:58:00.002+05:30

The air was tumultuous with shrieks of joy. Festoons of different colors filled the place. The wind howled in merriment and made the flags flutter.

Her eyes slowly scanned the landscape. She could see tiny people hurrying along, young men trying to be gallant, fathers trying to coax children into leaving the fair before dark, and exited women trying hard to tear their eyes away from one stall to another.

She looked up at the radiant sun that was slowly losing luster. She smiled to herself. The whole place seemed so agitated when compared to the gloomy silence the mountains possessed.

"Over here, look over here", she heard him shout. For a moment she was tempted to rush down the slope to join him. But she stood still and continued probing the landscape. It was because of him that she was here. A rush of hatred, love and fear overcame her. But she stood still, for the fight was worth it.

When the sun slowly started moving towards the western horizon, she knew the time had come. The wind whistled into her ears and soothed her frayed nerves. Slowly, step by step she edged tentatively on the rocks. She was now on the topmost point of the hill and she could see the fair gradually losing its energy. Her senses were inhumanly alert while her agile body moved in grace. She could feel a thousand eyes on her now.

He was still there looking at her intently. She could feel her whole body go rigid. From this point she could see vast stretches of barren land surrounding the fair. She steadied herself and took another step towards the edge. Cold wind seeped through her clothes and chilled her skin. One more step and it would be over. She could see the tiny flags from the fair fluttering nonchalantly in the wind. She wondered if she would look like them if she fell. And then she turned to give him one last look. His face had turned white. She closed her eyes and lifted her right leg…

"Cut", he shouted, "Excellent! That’s all for today... Lights and camera off. Pack up".

Slumdog Millionaire - Review

2009-01-29T10:30:00.000+05:30

Poor guy makes money. Gets the girl he wants. That sums up the storyline of Danny Boyle's most awaited movie of the year - Slumdog Millionaire.

So what's new and why are people going gaga over it? Well, it is the treatment of the plot that makes this movie pretty memorable. (Well, given the fact that G spent two hours clutching my already cold hands and won disapproving glares from A, itself explains why I will not be able to forget this movie in a hurry)

The quasi-narrative plot opens in the riot-stricken Mumbai slums with the happy-go-lucky brothers Jamal and Salim. Despite deep poverty, the two brats get into every possible mischief. (The best part of the movie still remains the Amitabh autograph scene. I fell in love with the sheer cheekiness)

Circumstances force the brothers to move to the north and there again the brothers impress with their audacity and imagination. Finally Salim gets drawn into a web of local kingpins and Jamal goes on to become a chai walla at a call center.

Somewhere in the middle, the movie loses pace and becomes predictable. In fact it remains racy and gripping until the boys grow up. Salim impresses more than anyone else in the movie. Anil Kapoor too has assayed his role with ease.

The music is not very impressive, but the BGM is pretty haunting at many places. The scene where the boys tumble down from the train, the riots, and the first police chase sequence has music that is incredible. I wonder why ‘Jai ho’ won the Globe instead.

In short, Slumdog would have managed to strike, minus the hype and hoopla.

Realization...

2009-01-20T10:45:00.003+05:30

I stooped down to smell them. But I could only see the sullied mud beneath.

I reached out to listen. But I could only see the wiry stalks that drooped.

I tried to hold them. But I could only see the thorns that pricked.

When I realized,

The mud beneath was clearer than my conscience,

The wiry stalk was stronger than my heart,

And the thorns were not as perilous as an aimless mind,

I stooped down again.

By then they were already safe, in another hand.

Bingo :)

2009-01-15T11:00:00.000+05:30

Quote
Sing like no one's listening,
love like you've never been hurt,
dance like nobody's watching,
and live like its heaven on earth.
-Mark Twain, Author.

De-Quote
Dance like it hurts,
Love like you need money,
Work when people are watching.
- Scott Adams, US cartoonist.

Haaapy New Yeeeer!!!

2009-01-01T19:42:00.001+05:30

Happy new year all ye folks. Have a wonderful year ahead. 2008 was pretty eventful for me. Highs and lows. Elation and grief. Triumph and failure. Life and death. Learnings and un-learnings.

I have also learnt that when life seems dark and murky, and nothing seems to go right, the only thing that can save you is belief. An indomitable belief in yourself. This reminds me of a poem by Robert Frost.

“I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree~

And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk

Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,

But dipped its top and set me down again.

That would be good both going and coming back.

One could do worse than be a swinger of birches."

-Robert Frost.

Storms, clouds and some sunshine…

2008-12-18T13:40:00.000+05:30

I was cleaning my cupboard last evening with a dogged resolve that I would finish with this torment without postponing it even further. I was also simultaneously washing clothes and cooking to break the monotony of dusting, cleaning and changing papers.

As I reached the fourth level of my cupboard where I stack books, I managed to very successfully topple the whole lot onto the floor very clumsily. Between loud sneezes and clatter of vessels (Yeah, I managed to tumble them as well, I SO hate that Murphy guy), I tried rearranging them hurriedly, when my eyes rested on a very insignificant looking brown-paper covered notebook, that was left behind in the general noise and clutter. I picked the book up uncertainly and started reading it. It was my long -forgotten diary.

As I journeyed through my college days that I had enjoyed with reckless abandon, my books and vessels lay forgotten around me. My first friends, trivial incidents that broke my heart, failure, guilt, victory, anger, ecstasy, sadness...

The day I bunked a class, got yelled at by a teacher for forgetting my assignment, the day my best friend cried and all I could do was look on, the taste of hard failure, meeting with a celebrity for an interview, my first award from college , new buddies, the day I truly realized my worth, and...The day I finally cried.

Ups and down at home, squabbles with cousins, uncle’s birthday bash, family vacation, and many more incidents that ripped, tore, mended my heart. And before even I could realize - I was crying. Tears streaked my face in an inconsolable stream. All the pent up emotions, frustrations and agonies resurfaced. I was ashamed. I was ashamed of crying. Still, I cried with all the strength I could muster. I cried with gratitude, I cried in pain, I cried for others. I cried until I went to bed.

I woke up with a sore throat, still dazed and realized that the diary which was so much a part of me had been forgotten. I hastily flipped to the last entry. It was dated August 14th. Exactly a week before something in me died. Forever.

But all the bawling I did certainly made me feel lighter. Though I hate to admit it –it does feel good to let out emotions once in a while. Maybe there is still hope.

Of monkeys and terror…

2008-12-05T12:23:00.000+05:30

As I was madly rushing down the three long floors of my apartment, determined to catch the ever-elusive bus today morning, someone on the second floor warned me against something that awaited me on the next floor. My mind already at the bus stop, contemplating on how I could brave the crowds today, did not hear an inkling of what he said. I made a gesture with my head that vaguely looked like a nod and continued on my trail. As I flew down to the first floor, my legs automatically braked. I stood there, my heart at the throat ready to jump out. I could see a huge monkey sitting on the floor, eying me tentatively. The first reaction I could muster was a heart-piercing shriek.

The monkey just sat there and gave me a bored look. I could almost hear what it was thinking. "Yawn! Think of something else lady. I have heard about a million shrieks in my lifetime".
After my heart stopped thumping and started breathing normally, I looked up to see if that good old soul who had forewarned me was still around to shoo the monkey away. All I could hear was a slam of the door signaling the end of any outside help I could possibly get. It was now only me against the smelly monkey.

I dared to inch forward a bit and the monkey lunged to the railings. My heart by now had reached my mouth. One more move and it would come out. The monkey on the other hand showed no sign of agitation. It was telling me, "Let’s see if you have the guts to cross me baby".

I flapped my arms with a book (The Kite Runner :)) in hand, attempting to frighten it. All I managed to do was look like an oversized butterfly. I had by then assumed that the monkey was male. Well, given the goofing up and weak attempts at showing off, it surely had to be male!!!
Then help came from unexpected quarters. The male monkey’s girlfriend slowly loomed into focus. The minute she appeared, our hero started slinking away. She came and gave him the 'What have I told you about ogling at beautiful girls?" look. (Fine. Don’t gag. She probably gave him the 'Stop frightening her. She already looks like a scared chicken" look)

She prodded him and they both jumped up and vanished from the floor, but not before screeching their lungs out at me. I also joined in the chorus and the whole apartment shook. After the worst was over, I quickly scuttled away to catch my bus, the monkeys went back to monkeying around, but the whole neighborhood was wide awake. "Was that a terror attack?” I heard someone say.

Amrika’s only hope

2008-11-06T15:32:00.000+05:30

Okay, so Obama is the 44th president in the US of A. Point taken. What his presidency would mean to India and the usual interpretation, speculation, analysis, in other words pretty boring stuff would be reserved for a later post.

What really caught my attention yesterday was his acceptance speech. Generally all acceptance speeches comprise of vague idealistic promises that are swept promptly under the carpet as soon as the leader assumes office. In India, it is not even right to call them acceptance speeches. They are more aptly called the ‘in-your-face-you-losers’ speeches. Or better still ‘i-won-yay-you-lose-boo’ speeches.

The 15 minute monologue efficiently covered his gratitude, his promises, his hopes and his greatest aspiration of resurrecting the American dream. Though in few places it sounded a wee-bit too optimistic, it can be forgiven as it was Obama’s big day too.

Forget the speech, what struck me the most was the arena thronging with supporters. It was huge with absolutely no decorations and no blown-up cut outs of Obama’s face. There was a long blue ramp that even looked royal. There were no cracker-bursting party workers, no bodyguards and definitely no raucous creating crowd.

This reminded me of the victory speeches of our dear leaders. The loud guttural utterances of hazy promises, read from a paper that the leader himself would have seen for the first time would be amplified by a hundred speakers and determined to blow your ear drums off. Also surrounding the leader would be beefy looking bodyguards with guns and staid expressions to match the grimness of the guns. The leader himself would be clothed in ten different shawls and a huge garland that would look more dignified if it were left at the flower shop itself.

Another notable speech was McCain’s. The very fact that he took defeat (not that he had too much of choice) in a very dignified manner itself was very impressive. Whereas here, it would have meant two days of hunger strikes and threats of how the government would not even stand for a year from the losing party.

All said and done, Obama now shoulders the responsibility of change he promised to make. Only time can tell whether he would join scores of other leaders who only gave hopes and pushed the wretched people into more darkness or if he would actually become the beacon light for the Americans and rebuild the hope the rest of the world had on America, once upon a time.

Whats wrong with us????????

2008-10-29T16:36:00.000+05:30

Obama Pooja :)

The power of ….

2008-10-24T09:59:00.002+05:30

Sweat beads glistened on his forehead. His eyes, knitted in concentration, were staring at the wall. Though he was staring at a blank wall, a zillion thoughts ran through his mind. He was a busy man, he had a call to attend, an appointment to keep up, a flight to catch…Yet, he was immobilized by what had happened. His world was shattered. And all he could do was wait…wait an endless wait…wait until 10. Yes, he would wait until 10; something had to happen by then.

His eyes slowly moved to the clock on the wall. It was close to 10. The hands on the clock moved in rapid succession, yet time seemed to have come to a virtual stand still.

He shifted uncomfortably on his chair. The cushions had become moist and he was covered in sweat. He looked at the clock once again, this time the hands were nearing 10. The mystic number 10. The number that saved him from all the trials and tribulations. 10, the time he would be freed from the ordeal he faced everyday.

He waited…another ten seconds…five…three…one...and…

In a gust of activity, the fans started rotating, lights flickered on, and the computer started beeping. Yes! He had survived yet another day…His daily dose of power cut was over...

Sakkarakatti -movie review

2008-10-04T12:52:00.000+05:30

What starts off on a very bad note ends equally dreadfully in 'Sakkarakatti', one of the lamest movies ever made.

The story line is as hackneyed as ever. Boy meets girl 1. Girl 2 meets boy. Boy and Girl 1 fall in love. Girl 2 pines for boy. Girl 1 fights with boy. Girl 2 is still pining. Girl 1 and boy make up and become friends. Girl 2 never stops pining. Climax Scene: Girl 1 and boy hug. Girl 2 starts positively bawling. This weather beaten, time tested formula never seems to go out of fashion in the Tamil film industry.

The hero wears branded shirts, drives the latest bike, and talks in English with his mom and dad even when he is at home with no girls around to impress. He also has a fake accent that gets on your nerves after a while. Ok...this is a note to everybody who wants to sound cool in a put-on American accent. Never say ‘SHAAAIIYT’ when you just want to say ‘SHIT’. It sounds completely gross and totally un-American… ‘SHIT’ is just ‘SHIT’!!! Incidentally the hero says it to the heroine just before the interval and it pretty much sums up how the rest of the movie is gonna be.

Since when did colleges start allowing bikini clad lasses inside classes? The two heroines can only think of make up, designer dresses and the hero throughout the movie. They also speak Tamil like they have gum stuck on the inside of their mouths. Eye sores!!!

Songs are the only highlight of the movie. The ‘Taxi Taxi’ song deserves special mention. A.R Rehman has definitely delivered his best. Then again, the visualization is terrible. The beauty of the songs is lost in slip shod visual sequences. The amateurish animations, sloppy characters flying up and down and jazzed up graphics spoil the music.

The hero definitely has to learn to look more romantic. He gapes at the heroine. There is this particular scene where he gives the heroine a love-bite. This supposedly steamy scene (!) looks like he is about to gorge down a two-week supply of rations from a godown. You can actually count the number of teeth he has.

One lesson I learnt from the movie was, if you pass snide remarks at a guy trying to be nice to you, he will immediately fall in love with you. Further, if you point at things even remotely cuddly or furry and go ‘cho chweet’, all guys fall in love with you. (Hmm…well that explains why I have been single all this while).

So, please go watch this movie. If not for anything, it would definitely instill a fear within you next time you book tickets for a movie.

Random thoughts that 'rat'tle!!!

2008-09-28T20:14:00.000+05:30

I just happened watch Ratatouille once again this afternoon on TV. I certainly did miss a lot of finer moments in the movie the first time I watched it... There is this particular part where the dad rat tells his son rat that rats are always rats (don’t duh!) and how making friendship with a human is almost near impossible.
He shows him bottles that the hotels stock to kill rats and other pests.

He says “Rats are always rats. You cannot change nature"…and our lil chef goes "But change is nature".

I found this thought extremely interesting. We are all scared to try out different choices at some point of our lives. We sadly resign ourselves to the decisions others make for us. We lack the guts the tiny lil rat has!! He boldly chooses to be a cook in spite of what his family tells him. But in the end his family comes to his help simply because he did what he believed in.

Geez!! Am I getting old or what?!!!

True...

2008-09-21T20:13:00.001+05:30

Wizard of Oz: As for you, my galvanized friend, you want a heart. You don't know how lucky you are not to have one. Hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable.
Tin Woodsman: But I still want one.

One of my favorite lines from the book The Wonderful Wizard of Oz...
Well, it is true...All of us rip our hearts open for few things not worth our time or love…
At times we also know that we are going to get hurt finally…
We end up going the extra mile for something not really worth our attention…
Yet we continue...
That’s exactly why the Wizard says...hearts will never be practical...

I agree.... :)

Fourth Estate Fun

2008-09-15T14:27:00.000+05:30

I just happened to read an article reported by two leading dailies in Chennai, The Hindu and TOI…The story has been reported very differently in both the papers...Read on…

Headline:

Hindu: Major-General dismissed from service

TOI: Major General to be fired for sexual harassment

A few excerpts:
Hindu: A serving Major General was dismissed from service by an Army Court after he was found guilty of molesting a woman officer under his command, in the first such case in the history of the country’s armed forces

TOI: Though general-rank officers have been court-martialled for financial bungling and other scams in the Army in recent years, this is the first time that such a senior officer has faced a court-martial for sexual harassment.

Hindu: Woman officer Capt. Neha Rawat gave a written complaint that he indulged in sexual misconduct under the pretext of conducting meditation classes at his residence.

TOI: The court held him guilty of molesting the woman officer serving under him on the pretext of teaching her yoga and meditation in his bedroom.

Hindu: The GCM, with the Army’s 10 Corps commander Lt. Gen. R.S. Sujalana

TOI: GCM, commander of the 10 Corps at Bhatinda, headed by Lt-Gen R S Sujlana

Hindu: Two-star general serving as the 3 Infantry Division General Officer

TOI: Commander of the strategically-located 3 Infantry Division

Well, TOI this time has shown some kind of maturity in reporting this issue. In fact the TOI article goes on to show a few statistics about how many woman commanders are there in the Indian army and the like. Whereas the Hindu article has not really delved deep, and has under played the issue to a considerable extent. Hindu also published the name of the victim which is against the PCI rules.The name of the Lt-Gen is spelled differently in both the papers. TOI has spiced up the issue...Hindu has ignored it…

This leaves me wondering…Do papers report news or do they report for news?

I am tired of saying goodbye...

2008-09-11T10:08:00.000+05:30

Over the period of three months, I have been constantly saying goodbye to too many people, a few of them whom I may never see again. I don’t regret too much, but it still hurts.

People from whom I could derive constant support and energy have all gone. The strong walls I could lean on are no longer there. It sometimes leaves me shivering in the night, longing for a familiar hug, a midnight chat, a sudden inspiration to say good night to the moon...

The constant goodbyes have left me numb and indifferent. It has changed me. For the better? I do not know...only time can tell.

I have yet another goodbye this week. And probably another one in a few months…The only solace I get is that, all the friends and relatives who have flown away are all happy. Yet, it hurts to say goodbye…It hurts...a lot…

Wacko Jacko!!

2008-08-29T13:44:00.000+05:30

Check this slideshow out!!
I am no fan of MJ, but found it interesting...

Ah! Finally..Something funnier than dasavatharam

2008-08-27T10:40:00.000+05:30

Name of the party: Praja Rajyam (Ok wait, is that the name of the founder's next movie also??)

Founder: Chiranjeevi (Oops!, Mega Star Chiranjeevi)

Ideology: Fight political corruption “at the top” (On top of what?!)

Agenda:Socialism and empowerment of the poor and downtrodden (If you really wanna empower them; then start by not calling them downtrodden)

Launch: Avilala Tank grounds, Tirupati with thronging followers who arrived in 18 special trains. (At the cost of throwing normal life out of gear)

Flag:White and Green hoisted by a physically challenged youth. (Am I in a telegu movie theater?)

Will support: The telegana (Wow! Now what happened to the socialism promise?)

More Promises:

1. A scientific assessment of categorization of the Scheduled Castes (Of course, another Sachar committee report)

2. Consult intellectuals before arriving at a decision. (Do you really want a comment here?)

Silver lining:Favor of industrialization

Clichés:

“I am your servant and not your leader.” (You can start by getting off the dais)

“My parents looked after me for 22 years, but you have been carrying me for 30 years on your shoulders” (30 years were a punishment enough. Did we have a choice??)

Verdict:Shows all signs of becoming a political joke.

Moral: Will actors ever learn?

Today...

2008-08-21T13:43:00.000+05:30

Today...

it hurts to smile…it hurts to see others smile...it hurts to think of a certain someone’s smile…

It pains to cry…it pains to see others cry…it pains to discern that a certain someone will never be there to wipe the tears away..

I am glad but despondent...I am despondent because I am glad...

I miss her...

I want her back...

Mush steps down.

2008-08-19T11:17:00.000+05:30

Musharaff resigns…Well, that was expected. There cannot be any more disgrace that can be brought to the President's office if the President himself is threatened with impeachment. Clearly it is also very embarrassing to stay in an office where people have already asked you to pack your bags.

But did anybody even try to make this resignation dignified?

Mushy himself said, "I announce my decision to step down from the office of the President for the sake of the country". Huh???

“This is not the time for individual bravado. This is the time for serious reflection. Whether I win or lose, the nation will lose in every way. It will be a blow to the dignity of the nation and to the office of the President,”

Well Mr. President, you should thought of ‘serious internal instability’ and ‘dignity’ when you decided to unceremoniously kick the Chief Justice out of the office, and ruthlessly amending the Constitution of Pakistan which only resulted in riots and bloodshed all over the country.

How about the others? PPP and PML (N) burst crackers. They also declared his exit as a “triumph for democracy".
The concept of a coalition government itself defeats the purpose of democracy. It shows that the people do not support the leading parties. And the parties without enough support have to join hands with other parties with completely different ideologies to form a government. Sometimes parties which are allies at the Center are opposition at the state. How appalling is that? And to think of such people talking about democracy is repulsive.

Our Indian leaders surprisingly shut up. BJP and Congress alike said that his resignation was an ‘internal matter’ of Pakistan and they wouldn’t want to comment. Now that’s what I call good diplomacy. On second thoughts it could also mean they are too scared of Mushy even when he is powerless.

Way to go! So who is the butt of all these jokes finally? The common man of course! Also dying a slow rotten death at the hands of these hopeless fundamentalists are the brass tacks of an institution called ‘Democracy’.

Evanescence…

2008-08-16T10:25:00.000+05:30

Twilight hour...Darkness enveloped her.

As she groped her way to the top, she shuddered in cold. Her hands were numb, yet she assiduously climbed. When she finally reached her destination, she closed her eyes and felt the cold breeze brush against her cheeks. She could smell the faint odour of wet mud. Freshly dug up mud. When she opened her eyes, she could see the vast blanket of the never-ending sky. She pushed open the gates and ambled in hesitantly. The eerie silence urged her to walk faster. Pulling her cloak even more tightly around her she proceeded.

With each passing minute, she could feel her heart throb harder. Her hands kneaded into a tight knot. Her legs became feeble. She could hear herself walking. The rhythmic sound of her feet. One at a time. Slowly. One tap after the other.

But he was already there. Fear gripped her. Her mind was torn between the desire to stand still and the urge to run away.

But he was there just round the corner. Exactly where she had last left him. Looking just like how he had looked last time.

She could not restrain herself any longer. She threw open her cloak and ran to him. She longed for the familiar warmth of his arms. His cheerful demeanor had always lifted her spirits. His determination and principles had awed her. His love and warmth had assured her.

Every time she felt low, he would wrap his arms around her tightly and quietly whisper 'I will be there for you'. She would then look into his eyes and see her pain in him. When they snuggled into each others arms on a cold night, she would rest her head on his chest and fall fast asleep.

Now she could see his silhouette looming closer and closer every minute. She quickened her pace.

He did not hear her coming. He stood tall, patiently awaiting her. She fondly raised her hands to touch him.

He did not turn. She rested her hands on him and leaned against him. He still did not budge. Had he stopped liking her? Where was the tenderness she had always felt when he was around? Why was he so cold? What did she do to deserve this? She silently wept on him. Yet he did not offer any solace or comfort. He did not even concede her presence.

After her tears dried up, she took out a wilted lily from her shirt. It was his favorite flower. She kissed it, put it on his feet and walked away.

The journey back was longer. She gathered her cloak and tried to walk away as soon as possible. When she reached the gates, she turned around in the anticipation that he would call her back.

All she could hear were the graveyard bells, chiming peacefully over its lessees.

Three Mistakes of My Life

2008-08-10T11:30:00.001+05:30

What starts as an interesting story, ends rather abruptly in Chetan Bhagat's, 'Three mistakes of my life'.

The story line is quite similar to his previous writings. The blundering protagonist, his love-interest, friendship, sacrifice, blah and some more blah is what makes up his third book too.

One exception is that, the Godhra riots, Gujarat earthquake and the India-Australia series are interspersed with the story quite cleverly, with each of these events paving way for the protagonist to realize the mistakes he commits.

What ever happened to the trademark self-deprecatory humor, Chetan's books were famous for? Humor is almost non-existent in this book, which makes a few parts very yawnable and forgettable. Further the hero is projected as being too perfect in the first half of the book and too flawed in the second. The readers are fed an over-dose of cricket as well.

The book has its good moments too. All the scenes between Vidya and Govind are well-crafted and thoroughly enjoyable. Vidya's reaction to Govind's explanation of probability with greeting cards was exceptionally amusing.

"Let's say i take all your cards and put them in a sack. Then i pull one out. What is the probability the card is colored?"

"Why would you put them in a sack?", she said.

At the same time, a few scenes make me wonder if guys really do think the way Chetan explains or if it is exaggerated!!!For instance, there is one part where Vidya touches Govind's hand and he notices the fairness of her arms, long fingers, blue veins,nail polish, what not and that too in a few seconds. (Read: gag gag)

On the whole, it is definitely not a great book nor is it Chetan's best work. Three mistakes, is an entertainer, but that's about it.

Celebrating Friendship.

2008-08-04T16:14:00.000+05:30

Yesterday was Friendship day!!!

I am not a great follower of these days… Nor do I believe in such days, including birthdays... :)...Yes, I don’t celebrate my birthday!

But an incident that happened yesterday and today, made me fully realize and appreciate the actual meaning of the maxim...’A friend in need is a friend indeed'
:)

Pop Goes the Weasel!!!

2008-08-02T17:25:00.000+05:30

Half a pound of tuppenny rice,
Half a pound of treacle.
That’s the way the money goes,
Pop! goes the weasel.

Up and down the city road,
In and out the Eagle,
That’s the way the money goes,
Pop! goes the weasel.

For you may try to sew and sew,
But you'll never make anything regal,
That’s the way the money goes,
Pop! goes the weasel.

The monkey and the weasel fought,
The weasel's really feeble,
The monkey punched him in the face,
Pop! goes the weasel.

A penny for a spool of thread,
A penny for a needle—
That's the way the money goes,
Pop! goes the weasel.

I had always found this little rhyme very intriguing. I knew it was not just another nonsensical verse meant for kids. I was pretty sure it had some surrogate implication. Well, I was right! Check the link below for the actual meaning of this seemingly innocent rhyme.

Here goes…

Happy birthday….

2008-08-01T10:29:00.000+05:30

Raise a toast to the 'Boy Who Lived'
Happy birthday Harry Potter!!!!
Today is the birthday of one of world's most loved fictional character, Harry Potter. This ingenious creation of J.K. Rowling managed to mesmerize children and adults alike and still continues to enthrall them.

This Pottermania struck me too. To be honest, there were days when I was angry with the newly found craze for the book. I was a faithful reader of HP long before it became a sensation, and here were people claiming to be hardcore fans, but in reality were the ones who started reading only after it came on TV.

I still very vividly recall how I used to read HP books during my 10th board exams when all the others around me fretted and fumed with math formulae. What was math compared to magic? I used to ask myself.

When the last book of HP came out, I was torn between extreme ecstasy and intense misery. I was happy that the mystery would finally be solved but at the same time the very thought of growing up and being no longer the little kid who could read HP, was agonizing.

Though the last book was a damp squib, I couldn’t help but love it. I thoroughly enjoyed the whole book and when I turned the last page to close it, my eyes became moist. But even now, when I am low, I immediately reach out to my shelf to pull out my favorite HP book and re-read a few pages. It takes me to the nonchalant childhood days when you had nothing to worry about. Sigh!! Nostalgia – The prefect medicine to a worn-out soul.

Aum...

2008-07-29T14:53:00.000+05:30

I have always pondered over this quintessential question that has troubled mighty brains over the ages: The Life-death cycle.

I have debated different permutations and combinations of life-death explanations with several people. This was what I did once again during the weekend with my Uncle. The essence of what we discussed is written below. Many of the things were quite new and surprising to me.

A human mind has a lot of desires. All actions, aspirations, dreams and thoughts are based on desires. These desires include desires of the mind as well as the heart. The ability to think and reason out is also born out of the passion of achieving your wishes. Until you satisfy them, the mind will not cease.

Further, fulfilled or achieved desires or dreams lead to other desires and dreams. For an example, a man on a bicycle wants a car. A man on a car wants the latest feature upgrades on his vehicle. With one leading to another, the human mind travels expanses searching for means to accomplish the wishes. Sometimes the mind is not able to fulfill them because of several reasons like old age, dubiousness of the desire, impracticality and so on. In this case the human soul, (This by the way is not your mind or intellect. Intellect itself is a non-entity) tries to find another body in which these desires are likely to be achieved.

Let us forget the soul jumping part, I found it a little too fantastic and Uncle also did not have enough reasons to back it up. The point is, once you start controlling your desires then the mind and soul slowly realize that they are one. This also leads you to the revelation that you are truly your Creator. In other words you realize the outside world is only Maya or an illusion created by you and you alone can control your destiny. You would also realize there is life beyond just desires and aspirations. You will be able to enjoy true happiness.

Though I might not fully agree to a few things, it is one of most reasonable explanation I have found for life and death.

A for apple, I for iPod…:)

2008-07-21T09:05:00.000+05:30

Yipeeeeeee!!! I am also a proud owner of an Apple iPod Shuffle. Thanks to Unni and Divya!! Those generous souls gave it to me as a birthday gift.

Apple iPod is the arguably one of the best thing I have ever seen. In fact I like their instruction manual better than the gadget itself. Technical ignoramuses like me find it very easy to understand and follow the directions given in the manual. The very fact that the manual is only six pages long and does not have more than two sentences in each page, but still effectively manages to explain the know-how of the gadget is simply awe-inspiring.

To top it all, the iPod actually smells of raw apple. Laugh as you might, but I can smell an apple flavor. It could be the scratch perfumes that are generally used or it could be just another figment of my imagination. So, all the iPod Shuffle users out there let me know if your Shuffle has a magical smell too.

My darkest secret ever...

2008-07-16T16:06:00.000+05:30

I was thinking of what to write next when I realized that my creativity just decided to take a vacation the minute I started a blog. (Proof: Read last two entries)
Highly annoyed with myself, I tried to snoop around my friends’ blogs for ideas. You might call it plagiarism but I call it collective collaboration of thoughts. Here are a few ideas that I thought i could write about:

1. What i like and don’t like about xyz place?

Wow! That sounded like the ideal topic to start. But i ended up with one very forgettable page of 'What i like’, which even i couldn’t read without stifling a yawn. And also being a lousy Chennai fanatic, i couldn’t bring myself to write the ‘don’t like’ part without feeling ungrateful.

2. Post cartoon strips and give smart comments.

To start with, smart comments are really not my thing. I also couldn’t think of anything better than 'ROFL', 'check this out' 'this is hilarious’ and so on. Further all the cartoons i found were either too cheesy for my taste or too corny for anybody's taste.

3. Write a poem.

I couldn’t help but lol’ing at the very ‘idea’, let alone write. My poetic skills stop with making rhymes that are a way too juvenile for a blog post.

4. Delete the blog.

This sounded like the best idea so far. Then again, all my principles about 'never quitting once i start', started going round my head, making me go on a roller coaster guilt trip.

With all the ideas trashed mercilessly, i was wondering what to do next when i swiftly realized i could actually fill up this space with the trashed ideas! After all it was my blog, my trash, and people read it at their own risk.

So thus ends my next blog entry after three hundred words of sheer nonsense, hackneyed humor, two cups of tea and of course plenty of wasted energy.

Moral of the story: Never get carried away by the 'attention seeking' headline gimmick. You will surely end up reading crap like this! (This entry might have irritated you and probably made you swear that you would never come back to this blog again. Any harm caused by curling fists or tearing hair-roots out was purely intentional).

Debacles, disasters and discoveries too!!

2008-07-14T15:20:00.001+05:30

This post is dedicated to my blog title:

It is the most important day in my life. It just has to be perfect’, was my first thought when I woke up on my first day as an entity of the employed class. I could picture myself going for a meeting, heels clicking all the way, attending a call, typing away furiously on a computer … when my alarm which had lost all its patience started to howl in full throttle once again. After earning disapproving glares from all my roommates I finally struggled out of my bed to get ready.

I had been extra cautious (to the extent of being paranoid) and had ironed my clothes, readied my certificates and even kept my dingy cupboard locked for fear of burglary! But I preferred to keep a reproachful silence when one of my roommates pointed out that there wasn’t much; the bandit in question would just have to do with a couple of ironed dupattas and documents.

Disaster struck only after a hurried bath, when my ironed kurta decided to glide down gracefully into a tub full of water. I could see my lucky charm sag and become worthless in front of my eyes even before I could dive in to save it. With one point down and a manic enthusiasm to make the day perfect I moved on to make breakfast. Like the most famous Murphy’s Law, ‘Anything that can go wrong will definitely go wrong’, my breakfast too was catastrophic. After a meal of burnt rice, sugarless malt, and a bruised ego I ran to the bus stop only to realize I was still in my bathroom slippers. Where were the Karma points I accumulated over the summer?

Finally when I hopped on to a bus, after a sprint to and from the bus stop and hostel, a sense of exhilaration overcame me and I heaved a sigh of relief. That too was short lived, all thanks to Dhivya, my friend, also a new joinee who decided to arrange her certificates in a neat order. I realized I had left all my documents locked up in my precious little cupboard. A ‘all horses let loose’ chase involving a super fast auto driver, an adrenalin rush and a very grouchy Dhivya followed.

We reached on dot at the office only to find out the lift was out of order. We began our long trek to the seventh floor with my Karma points hitting an all time low. Of course I managed to slip and fall on my face on the way up, hampering our flight for a few minutes. When I finally reached the office doors I couldn’t but help smiling wide. I had made it! I had come to a place I had been longing for and could truly call mine.

It seemed completely surreal. Plush interiors, swipe card, phone, separate cabin, and all I could do was just sit - dumbstruck. I kept comparing each passing luxury to the complete debacle my morning was. How many days had I waited, just to enter the office? The mere thought of being able to achieve a part of my dream was calming and I realized that all good things come to you, only if you truly deserve it. It also taught me that I had miles to go before I could completely become worthy of what was being given to me. I had the resources and I had to prove my worth.

Here were people ready to help you and all you had to do, was let them. It really did not matter how many times you slipped as long as you learned to dust the mud off and never lose the zeal to prove yourself. With that in mind I blissfully forgot the day’s fiasco and decided to make a sincere effort to truly become a deserving employee.

Hail blogspot!!!!

2008-07-13T20:23:00.001+05:30

Hi,
Anything to do with pressing more than a few buttons, has addled my brains from the time of my whiny infancy. Somehow technology and me have been at each others' neck. I can't understand technology and technology can't stand me. Yes, i am the lousy conservative who still prefers filling lengthy forms, licking photos and sticking them on paper instead of going the easy e-way. I almost had a stroke once, when i tried booking train tickets online. There were too many click here, click there, commands and i almost flipped when the screen went blank for a few minutes, only to return with my ready to print e- ticket. But, my heart had already jumped out by then.

In short, i can't stand computers. But, when i realized my job had plenty to do with ONLY computers, i decided to befriend technology a lil bit. Well, starting a blog can't get me anywhere, but at least it is a beginning. I could follow the 'three easy steps to start a blog' almost perfectly!! So hail blogspot for making life more easier. Looking forward to blogging!!
Cheers,
Varsha