Different Strokes

Lie

2008-01-20T19:45:00.000-08:00

I spread my wings to fly, but cannot move an inch however hard I try
As many days have gone by, probably I have forgotten to fly.

Forgotten what it is like to have the wind in my face
Forgotten spring’s beauty and grace
Twittering of birds seems unknown
I am scorched in the desert forlorn

Ringing laughter, crimson skies
Birds to their homes flying by
Peace at heart, unaware of war cries
Days such as these have fled. Why?

Now I’m old and humor myself, stifling a sigh
I had all I had wished for and now I want to die
Deep from within a voice speaks up “You lie. You lie”

Penitence

2007-10-20T05:44:00.001-07:00

“Anita…Anita”….The words landed softly on her ears. She had pined for these very words for years. The voice landing on her ears seemed to dissolve her entire present. It felt like the warmth which the first sunbeam spreads, melting the first frost of the year into spring. The name seemed vaguely familiar, of someone she had known very intimately. Her eyes fluttered open and as she began to get acquainted with the surroundings, it dawned on her that “Anita” was her name, her identity.

She shut her eyes tight chanting the words “I didn’t hear it” as though trying to convince herself fervently. No sooner did she shut her eyes to the present than the past was beckoning out to her. Green meadows, yellow sunshine, lazy cows chewing cud, the frontyard in which she played with her caretaker Ammu; all seemed like yesterday. Raju the potter’s son and Nimi the shy girl who had no mother were her childhood playmates. On sunny afternoons, walking back from school sucking on ice candy, they counted the number of blue buses which plied to and from there village carrying people and vendors with their wares to sell in the city. The blue buses were like match boxes made of tin with their paint peeling off. Yes, a part of her wanted to go back to those days of innocence. Yet she was restraining herself from treading those paths again. “Anita”.. She heard it again.

Her heart skipped a beat, when she recollected the echoing words. She gulped down a glass of water and rushed to the window to get a bout of fresh air; air, which was free from the stench of her past. She hadn’t realized the quick transition from Anita to Annie, her dreadful past making the transition less painful.

She shook her head attempting to throw out all memories and turn into a blank sheet of paper. Popping a sleeping pill to calm her throbbing nerves was the only thing she could think of. The pill knew it’s job well and made no mistake in lulling her to sleep.

The next morning carried an aftermath of the previous night’s excursions. With a heavy head, she staggered to work and just when she thought that she was having one of the worst days of her life, her phone rang to make it even worse. Her secretary Suzie said it was a long distance call from India. She knew who it was. She clenched the phone so tight that her knuckles turned white. It was her mother. All that Ma said was “It’s the 10th of November”. Anita winced at these words. She immediately clung for support and unemotionally said “I’ll be there”. She had never spoken to anyone about her family. She had orphaned herself very conveniently in this alien land.

The phone call made her quit work early. She went into the shower with her clothes on and turned on the cold water. The drops of water felt like a thousand daggers on her skin. She didn’t realize when her eyes started to pour out water of their own accord. She came out of the shower, her eyes red and swollen. She quickly changed and slid into bed.

She lay under the covers staring at the ceiling, with the colour drained from her face. She couldn’t avoid it anymore. So, she just shut her eyelids and thought of Diya. She remembered the time Diya was born, when she had come out of her mother as a naked child covered with blood. Diya hadn’t cried, but she had smiled. Papa also rejoiced as he took the baby wrapped in a white cloth. Diya was an angel to everyone. But, to her, Diya was just a blood covered mass, which she must rid herself of. Slowly, her place in the house slipped to the second position. It was always Diya first. As Diya grew, she competed with Anita for everything, right from pencils, crayons to Ma’s love and attention. Even Ammu her caretaker, now having her hands full with Diya betti, couldn’t find time for Anita and her games. Suddenly, Anita found herself to be alone and blamed it all on the new comer. This hatred and insecurity in Anita’s mind was not to die out. But, each and everyday, it simply strengthened. In school, Anita spurned Diya and taunted her, kept her away from her friends and her belongings.

That particular day in November, they were on the banks of the river, which was running strong and swift as it was monsoon. Diya liked the monsoon season a lot and insisted that they spend some time everyday by the river. She would watch for birds and imitate the sounds they made. She knew which flower blooms the best during that time of the year. That day, Diya saw a rare yellow flower blooming by the river which intrigued her and she quietly went over to the river to get it. The silt was slippery and so she was soon engulfed in the laps of the mighty river. For a second, Anita panicked not knowing what to do. She knew that she was not strong enough to pull Diya out. So, she ran to the village to call for help. While she was running she thought of what might happen if Diya drowned, she would get to have all her things back, she wouldn’t have to share anything, not even Ma’s love. She halted in her tracks and let out a laugh, a laugh that was very unlikely of her. It was the Devil’s laugh. She purposely delayed getting help. She could hear Diya in the distance screaming “Didi…Didi..”. She waited till the screams died down and then ran to the village and informed people of the mishap. They all ran to the river, to only to find an eerie calm, in which the gush of the river was the sole sound.

Ma went berserk with this tragedy. She didn’t bother to eat or sleep, she didn’t care about the others who lived. This aloofness of Ma shadowed Anita’s childhood in which she was hungry for Ma’s love, a soft caress , a single glimpse of her affection.

Years rolled by and Anita went to the city to finish her graduation and got an opportunity to work in one of the leading firms in the US. She went to her village to meet her parents before she left. Ma had grown old and had forgotten how to smile and mechanically said that she had put a bed for Anita in Diya’s room. Anita felt of pang of hurt. For Ma it was still Diya’s room though she, Anita had lived her entire life in it. Feeling suffocated with her non-existence in her mother’s world, she quietly put her belongings in the room. With nothing to do till lunch time she started rummaging through stuff that Ma had carefully preserved and stacked as Diya’s stuff. She happened to find Diya’s drawing book and flipped the pages callously and in one of the drawings, Diya had imagined her sister to be a fairy, in a golden gown, with white wings symbolizing purity, with the words “I love Didi” near it. She felt the fairy in the picture turn into a demon and clutch at her throat. The wings where not white now, they where red, stained with Diya’s blood. She wanted to run away, she wanted to escape, hide from herself. She left abruptly and took the immediate flight abroad. It was 20 years now that she had left her home and never turned back since.

Presently, she opened her eyes and found herself in her apartment and a strange fatigue that she had never experienced before seemed to engulf her. She was tired of running from life, from herself and from truth. This exhaustion instilled some courage in her; the courage to go back, the courage to face the truth, the courage to pay her last respects to her sister.

The next day she was on a flight to India and after a tedious journey reached her village. She was welcomed by Ma who had still not found her smile. She looked at Anita with memories of her long lost daughter in her eyes. Even now, Anita was looking expectantly towards Ma, simply to be acknowledged as Anita and not as the other daughter who lived. She stayed in Diya’s room, ate in her plate, drank from her cup and sat by her grave. Tears trickled down her face and fell on her tomb. What she felt was an immeasurable amount of guilt. It was monsoon again, she walked by the river. She saw the yellow flower almost at the middle of the river. She walked to get it. It was like Providence guiding her to it. The gurgle of water was all she could hear. As she closed her eyes the bank turned into a thin line.

Late in the evening, there were people with lanterns calling “Anita…Anita”, to be met by the same eerie calm as on Diya’s death.

My First Lesson of Life

2007-07-30T22:40:00.000-07:00

It was a hot summer morning when the sun shined and smiled down through the curtains for my room. I pulled the sheets over my head to evade the advances of the sun. I lay in my bed until my mother came to wake me up. I loved it when she called my name fondly. “Hari, time to get up.”. When I refused to budge from the bed, she fondly placed her hand on my head and say “It’s bad to be in bed for so long, you are missing the best part of the day.” She kissed my forehead and urged me to get up. Mumbling and fumbling I got up stifling a yawn.

I had a quick breakfast and then went out to play. Our house had a beautiful garden, with several kind of flowers, variety of roses, hibiscus, and chrysanthemums. Several trees bore ripe fruits of pomegranate, cherries and mangoes. My favorite game was to run in the green garden spreading out my hands, feeling like a bird, flying into the sky, the clear blue sky. I saw Raghu, the old gardener who walked with a limp, tending the plants. At times, I heard him talk to the plants as if they were his children. Now, he was near the rose bed, nourishing them with red soil and fertilizer. He said to them “You are my beauties, bloom well in full splendor”. I laughed at him but somewhere deep in my heart I took pity for him.

I didn’t have many friends out here as papa had got transferred here very recently and I was to join the local convent here after the summer. Papa got transferred a lot and so I never got the chance to make any friends. By nature, I was a shy and a timid boy. I got nervous when I saw too many people at a time. But, I liked this place the best as the stillness of nature complemented my persona well. My only companion here in this alien land was Ambi. I thought it was a weird name. The first time I met Ambi was near the banyan tree on a hillock. I was swinging on the roots of the tree when he came and joined me. I don’t know why, but I took an instant linking to this boy. There was a sparkle in his eye and a light scar on his forehead, which I think, made him look handsome. I hated his scar, and I craved for a scar which would make me look handsome too. So, that was our first meet, swinging silently on the banyan tree and watching the sun sink into the horizon, looking like a golden ball in an orange sky. That night I asked my mother as she put me to bed “Ma, am I handsome?” She smiled at me and gently told me that I had the prettiest face in the town and that she was proud to have me as her son. Reassured I fell asleep instantly.

My meetings with Ambi didn’t cease. I met him everyday on the mountain and gradually we started talking and playing. We invented games and told stories, laughed out loud and ran alongside the river to see where it ends. Ambi said that his baba said the river flows into the next town and the next country. Ambi always dreamed of going to the next country or the next town to see how it was there. He wanted to see if there were people like us there, he wanted to see if the grass was green and if the flowers blossomed in spring and if it rained there. I just laughed at his ignorance but down in my heart I liked him for this innocence.

Ma never asked me with whom I played. She always assumed that it was with the other boys in town. It was only one day that Ma asked me where I had been. And I casually replied “To the mountain”. And then she asked me “Who was with you?” I said, “With Ambi, a boy of my age”. “And where is he from?” asked Ma, her voice trembling and concerned. “He lives in the houses by the mountain”, was my answer. Ma started wringing her hands and twisting the “pallo” of her sari. She gave me an early dinner and sent me up to my room. Though I lay on my bed, I could hear muffled sounds of my parents in the adjacent room till late in the night. I couldn’t understand why Ambi bothered Ma so much. I didn’t realize when sleep came to me.

The next morning, by the time I was up Ma had packed suitcases and said we were going to Nani’s house. I didn’t understand the sudden plan. I didn’t want to go to Nani’s place. After a 5 hour long drive, we reached Nani’s house, which was a congested flat, where there was no garden, except for the potted plants in the balcony. There were my two other cousins, who always played with guns and bows and arrows shooting each other down every five minutes. I was not interested in playing war games with them. I just longed to go back to the garden and climb the trees and lie on the green grass staring at the starry night. Nani observed my sadness and tried to cheer me up, but to no avail. Nothing in the city she showed me fascinated me. Finally, she gave up.

It was a week before school was to start that we received a phone call, which was from papa. After the call, Ma put her hand on my head and said that we were going back home. When I heard these words life sprung back into me again, my eyes shone with delight and I hugged Ma tightly. The five hour drive seemed longer than usual. A thousand thoughts raced in my head. I thought about the trees, the town, Ambi, the sunset, the river. I was so eager to have my life back just as it was. The car pulled into our drive way and papa stood there to greet us. I ran into his embrace and felt a security in my home. I ran to the mountain to meet Ambi. I didn’t find him near the banyan tree. So, I went calling out for him to the houses by the mountain. I found the houses, but they were bare and devoid of people. Instead, there was a big bulldozer standing there and a couple of men with yellow hats. I ran over to them asked them of the people who lived in the houses. They laughed and said “All of them were removed from here.” “Where did they go?” I asked, my voice trembling. One of them spitefully said “Why would we keep track of the whereabouts of these low caste people.” I was trembling unable to understand what he said. “But, I had a friend Ambi. He stayed here.” I said. When I still stood there rooted to the ground, one of them came up to me and said “Look son, you seem to come from an educated family and from a higher caste. Why don’t you go home and just forget about your friend, he will never return”. The night started to grow now and rain came down. It was the first rain of the season. But, it felt bitter and salty as my tears mixed with it.

That night I couldn’t sleep. I had so many questions in my mind. What was caste? Why were people segregated? Why do people treat each other so badly? Why did Ambi leave his home? Would some one ask us to leave our home too? When school started I had a lot of homework which kept me busy and I rarely thought of Ambi. In school that year, we learnt in Modern and contemporary history about Raja Ram Mohan Roy and the likes of B.R.Ambedkar, the revolutionists who brought about renaissance in India. That year, I learnt a lot of the various demented thoughts and superstitions plaguing our minds and the society. Now, I understood what caste was and what they had done to Ambi and his people. Was he really to blame for? Caste is something which gets tagged to us by birth, which is totally out of our control. I now understood why I was taken to Nani’s place and what papa had done along with Ashok uncle, the builder. That year, I learnt a very important lesson in life. "Segregation of people into caste and creed demonstrates the limitation of the mind to love and to accept. These invisible boundaries are sure to engulf us" But, what I didn’t understand was how come our elders missed out on this simple truth.

When the Death Bell Tolls

2007-07-08T20:32:00.000-07:00

I remember the times when I walked back from school with Sevak, our servant, busily sucking on a red coloured lollipop.
I remember the fights I had with the bully Raju in the mud pit.
I remember the smell of wet mud and the sight of the first dew drops of the season.
I remember the ecstasy I experienced when I had my first crush.
I remember the church bell toll at midnight ringing clear in the silent night.
I remember the time I rode my first bicycle, with my father holding on to my seat and me turning around every second for the reassurance of his presence.
I remember the time when I got caned for not having done my homework on time.
I remember the touch of my mother’s hands, coarse and soiled with hardships of the household.
I remember my wife’s eyes, questioning me silently.
I remember my son’s smile and the sparkle in his eye.
I remember the face of my mother, stained with tears of concern.
I remember the pride in my parent’s eyes when I joined the army.
I remember the people who fought with me in the war.
I remember the sight of death discernible in the enemy’s eyes.

I am now enlightened, as the hour of doom approaches, I realize what a futile life we lead with hatred housed in our hearts and greed ruling our minds.
Into nowhere our people are heading, and fighting the battle of greed with mindless brutality as the sword and deceit as the amour.
On my death bed, as I lie, all I can do is to pray that people slay no more.

Kahaani Mein Twist

2007-07-05T22:59:00.001-07:00

The distant clock chimed 12 times, determined to write Cinderella’s fate. With a menacing fury, it relegated her to the cinders yet again. Cinderella remembering the word of fairy god mother ran away, before the prince could see her hideous poverty.

While running away, she turned behind and stole a fleeting glance at the prince. She wanted to leave something behind so that she could remain as an unattainable memory in the prince’s heart. She hadn’t a veil on her; neither did she have a stole. Cinderella made a mental note to mention to fairy God mother, that she was a horrible dress designer and was really bad at risk management and contingency planning. She then thought of leaving behind her glass slipper. She raised her gown a bit to look at them, and there they were shining and dainty. She over turned her slipper and saw the price tag, which bore the label of DKNY. Cinderella made up her mind instantly, prince or no prince, she was to retain her DKNY shoes, her only worthwhile worldly possession. Outside her fine chariot had turned into a Halloween pumpkin. She was so irritated by the turn of events that she wanted to kick the pumpkin, but decided against it as she saw that she could use it for dinner. So, pumpkin in hand, glass slippers in her feet and the kitchen mice following her, Cinderella made her way home.

Meanwhile, the prince was worrying himself sick. He had summoned his counselors to solve his predicament. The white haired counselors had a hunch that the prince’s dream girl was a peasant girl as the rich always fancy the poor in all the fairy tales. Wishing to keep the matter as a hush-hush affair, they thought of hiring a private detective. The detective made a few inquiries and immediately noticed that the girl was wearing DKNY shoes and not LVMH, the local brand. So, an order was issued to raid all the houses, from merchant to peasant, to find the DKNY shoes. Cinderella, totally oblivious to the entire world was busy preparing to flaunt her priceless shoes, when there was a thump on the door. The soldiers at the door showed her the royal orders to search the place, and surely enough they found the shoes and took Cinderella to the prince. Fearing what might happen to Cinderella, the fairy God mother followed her to the palace and confessed before the prince that it was she who had put the idea of going to the ball into Cinderella’s mind. The prince was mesmerized by the beautiful and young nymph in front of him. He declared to his counselors that he would marry none other that Cinderella’s fairy God mother. DKNY made Cinderella their brand ambassador, giving her status and fame that gave her access to many more “prince charmings”. Further, LVMH purchased DKNY at $10.75 per share and they became the biggest fashion banner in France and the US.

PS: The prince and Cinderella lived happily ever after, though not together…..

Indian Idol - An unimpressive Repertoire

2007-06-18T05:28:00.000-07:00

I guess this is my second go at television programmes that are fashioned to feed the senses of the gossip mongers with sensational tit bits. But, here I shall not speak about the futility of sensationalizing, but I choose to harp on the miserable failure of the popularly viewed “Indian Idol”.

Indian Idol 3 has already such bad reviews all round that probably my post will be scathing the wounds yet again. But, I couldn’t care less. As a viewer, I know what I would like to hear and I could be acerbic in my remarks when I don’t get my dues.

The panel of judges has undergone a complete shuffling, now including the voice of kajra re, Alisha, who has immense potential herself but is definitely unfit to be a judge. To get a compliment from her you just have to dress funky, show an attitude and sing the song in a punk style and she would go drooling and address you as “rock star”; wink an eye at her during the performance and she’ll crown you Indian Idol, just for your “alhadpan”.

Javed Akthar is the only task master in the fore. His tongue is the whip lash, which scars you forever. But, he speakth the truth and the bare truth. Hail!! Udit Narayan is the “lekin” character, who stays on the wall, dressed in the cloak of diplomacy. Sometimes, he also takes the side of the majority. Anu Malik, who is the seeker of weird voices, was missing from the show quite sometime.

Well, can’t blame the judges either, the participants are so devoid of talent and so fully inflated with ego that they bray and expect compliments and votes. As the famous saying goes: “In the kingdom of the blind the one eyed is the king”. Emon, the young Kolkatta lad is the saving grace to the entire “be suro ki toli”.

Performing an autopsy and a thorough analysis makes us think on the effectiveness of the selection process. It must be the selection that is at fault and definitely not a dearth of talent, as the contemporary TRP hoggers like Sa Re Ga Ma Pa, have amazing voices which sound like honey and which have the power to heal and soothe. Probably, in Indian Idol, external beauty weigh more that the beauty of the voice.

With the word Indian Idol, comes to my mind the terrific singers like Rahul Vaidya, Amit Sana, Abhjeet, Aditi Paul and Karunya. They had made such a profound impact on us with their powerful, yet melodious voices that they left us longing for more.

The sequels for any show or movie have never been stupendous successes. In this light I tried not to be harsh on Indian Idol, but I just couldn’t stand it when people like Suhit were included into the race.

"Reel"ity World

2007-04-01T11:15:00.000-07:00

Friday nights are the most blessed and blissful moments of my life, where I, stomach full of my mother’s lavish cooking, watch the TV, never able to make a definite choice of the program to watch, a daunting chore I must say. As I was channel surfing at the rate of 60 cpm (channels per minute), I caught a glimpse of something familiar, a game we played as kids. The Barjatiya filmmakers, being the emissary for throwing the game called antakshari into limelight, the producers from Zee television being responsible for furthering the popularity of the game show, Star One, now takes a plunge into the same delightful ocean of sur, taal and lye. But, I was totally proved wrong by this show, where the stakes are presented in such sky high zeniths that the participants cry on losing points, when Anu kapoor looks down at them with such disparagement, which disgusts me. The game no longer seemed like a game to me, it had long ceased being enjoyable or gratifying. It had turned monstrous. While I tolerated all of the weeping, sniffing, and disdainful looks, another drama was staged. After seeing “kumkum” [pardon me…as my knowledge of the soap stars is of the size of a pea] argue with anu kapoor, I could have shot myself dead saying “Now I have seen everything”. Their argument was totally baseless, which went from Anu Kapoor criticizing the younger generation for lack of originality, to the Indian behaviour at India’s elimination at the World Cup, to boldly claiming that the GenX lacks in nationalist fervor. That was the last straw which bowled Kumkum over, who simply stormed out of the show, with a very pursuing Gajji [the poor director of the show]. And the participants did what they are best at; they cried.

I wonder what was the need to televise this? When people meet, they tend to differ in their opinions and it’s definitely not a rule to like and to be liked by everyone on the face of the earth. So, clash of mindset is a natural phenomenon. Then why blow it out of proportion? The media has an instant coffee answer to this; It’s reality TV. But, somehow, they fail to grasp the point that we have a lot of reality in our home and at our work places, that we would prefer to live in utopia atleast on the TV sets. What’s all this hoopla of reality TV?? For starters define “reality”? Is it something that the media showcases for us, which they want us to believe or is it something which is varied and totally person dependant? This antakshari drama, I feel could be a rehearsed and a very calculative ploy, simply for the TRP graphs to look like skyscrapers on the final analysis sheet!!

It’s not that I’m having a go only at antakshari and that I’m being rashly judgemental about the media. Utube is cluttered with videos of Shilpa Shetty’s humungous victory in the Big Brother television show. The newspapers had endless words spilling out for her, negative and positive but yes definitely promoting her popularity internationally. Well, yes. I have watched the videos too, to actually know what all the fuss was about. That victory has been Shilpa’s claim to fame, big money to her and a whole lot gossip which has kept the Indian housewives and grandmothers in UK alive. I had once heard, that to keep people closeted together, forced into proximity can prove to be an interesting study of human psychology. I assumed it would be a lab experiment done within the walls of The Harvard University. Little did I know that a camera would capture the drama into reel.

The Indian adaptation “Big Boss”, was equally threatening and menacing, with the inmates gnawing at each other and finally when getting evicted, uttering a falsehood “I have learnt a lot”, meaning when she gets out of there she’ll have to face my wrath, baby”. We are not interested in exposing this weird side to human nature, an untamed beast let loose. What is the winner of such shows getting paid for? For sustaining racism or for performing a calculative amount of bitching? Are we garlanding them for flinging mud at others faces and claiming that theirs is cleaner?

Music competitions like Gurukul, Indian Idol, Sa Re Ga Ma Pa are not the ones to lag behind. I agree that the platform is excellent for singers and fresh voices. It was these platforms which produced the likes of Sunidhi Chuhan and Shreya Ghosal. These shows claim that they are not just music contest but are reality shows, where the “aam janata” is required to cast their precious votes, through phone or sms. While voting, we are divided into hundreds of Indias; each India with a preference of state, religion or linguistic feelings. It is the caste, the looks, the region and the sympathy that are the criteria for the votes to pour in. The main ingredient of talent is missing in the viewer’s choice, which makes the final curry insipid.

TV anchors come to your very living room to play tambola with you, they also come to examine your toilets and test your detergent. Somehow, people don’t seem to mind this at all. It’s their 10-15 min claim to fame. It’s like “Lights, Camera, action” for them, being seen on TV, with stupidly grinning faces!!

Tomorrow if you have a camera fitted in your bathrooms don’t be surprised. Welcome to “Reelity World”

A page in history

2007-03-25T23:08:00.000-07:00

My head pressed against the window sill of the train, my eyes catching a glimpse of the rolling landscape and squinting to ward off the playful advances of the sun, I looked like an excited child on it’s first ever train journey. Yellow fields, laden with marigold flowers, green banana trees stooping down with the weight of the ripeness of the banana bunch, fields stretching till the eye can see, sumptuous with rice grain covered with brown husk, an odd farmer running a sickle on the produce were the scenes that were common on the east coast. I really thanked my stars that my purse strings were slightly tight this month which had made me to settle for a train journey rather than a flight. I felt the sweltering second class boogie turn into paradise instantly.

The cries of “misti doi” forced me to peel my eyes off the lavishness that nature was displaying in my window pane. I hailed the hawker and soon was gulping down spoon after spoon of the sweetened treat served in a matka [earthen pot]. The vast expanse of the Chilka lake was the next show that nature had instore. I watched the birds swooping down deftly, to catch an unsuspecting prey. The wind blew across the waters and mind felt lazy, my eyes obeyed command and soon was counting the Zzzz’s.

When I got up, we were five minutes away from the main station. I collected my baggage and spotted my uncle in the crowd and waved over to him. The station was so crowded, that my hand seemed to be screaming for help, drowning in a sea of people. He came over to me and said “Just stick along with me”, I felt like 007’s assistant with a mission and purpose in my mind. I closely followed my uncle, as he veered through people –sitting, standing and sleeping, through baggage and vendors, with a kind of professionalism. We made it to the taxi stand and a stream of yellow ambassadors greeted us. The formalities being done, we got into a taxi, which drove us from the arched enclave into the openness, where the Howrah bridge stood tall and proud, greeting all who come to Kolkatta. Illuminated with neon and purple lights, the Howrah bridge stood like a monarch, invincible and bedecked with jewels. As we drove across the Victoria memorial, through the Dalhousie square to Kaligath and finally to Rashbehari avenue, my head was bobbing out of the window unwilling to miss anything the city has to offer me. My lodging was arranged in a place called “banana leaf”. South Indians are renowned at making their home anywhere dishing out steaming hot idlis and sambhar to the world. As the journey was 2 days long, fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

The next day, I set out to see most of the city, courtesy the Kolkatta tourism. We went around in a pink coloured bus, which reminded me of Honeymoon Travel Pvt Ltd. We had a tour guide speaking in English, Hindi and an occasional Bengali, which he immediately corrected. Belur math, Dakshineswar kali temple, Jain temple, Victoria memorial, Eden Gardens, Calcutta panorama [which is a museum] and SubashChandra Bose’s house were on the agenda. The erstwhile capital of India, during the British’s regime stands proud of it’s blend of heritage with modernism. Don’t be surprised at a dilapidated building, with slight touch up here and there, housing posh interiors of Lawernce and Mayo or Tissot within it. The common government offices – the GPO, the High Court, the Income tax office have got such an imperial look about them. The Governor’s House [Rajyapal Bhavan] stood in a regal stance, conscious of the admiring looks the tourists were throwing at it.
The Calcutta panorama, was a glimpse of the history of Calcutta, it’s rulers, it’s leaders, it’s people, it’s tradition, it’s art, it’s cinema on the whole, it’s essence. As we passed room after room in the museum, we were part of history, part of Rabindro sangeet, awed by Satyajit Ray and Utpal Dutt and the likes of Amartya Sen. There was a fairly new technological addition to the museum, where about 9 computer monitors were coordinated to produce a movie, on a huger screen. As we sifted pages in history, we traveled in a time machine to a different era, an era which gave birth to the current era. At the end of it all, I was touched, I was wounded, I was healed. I felt a surge of nationalist spirit gush into my blood. On my way back I saw everything outside me in a different light. It was as if the red brick constructions were a witness to the significant happenings in history. The walls I felt were screaming out their anguish in mute silence, trying to tell tales of injustice in the British rule, of the people who suffered, who fought bravely and of whom not only Calcutta but the nation is proud of. I spent a silent evening as if observing silence for all the martyrs.

The next day, my bubbly self resurfacing, I explored New Market, Garihat and other places shopping for trinkets, clothes, purses and others. Found a suitable gift for friends and family. Bought the traditional “shako” and “pollo”, the red and white bangles which are worn by the married Bengali women. Visited the Kaligath, Kali temple, who is believed to be a powerful Goddess and is continually being worshipped with deep red hibiscus flower garlands. The fish market is another place in Calcutta which is easily identified by the pungent smell that wafts from not only the fish but the cumulative affect of the sweat of the vendors.

“God dropped a piece of shit and it took the shape of Calcutta” – [dunno who].

Probably, the dunno who must have only visited north Calcutta, the fish market or the Sealda station to make such a bold comment. Well, it is not applicable to the present Calcutta in it’s entirety and it would definitely be unjust to compare Calcutta to shit, with it’s trams, metro underground trains, it’s heritage and it’s cuisine. At night, snuggled to bed after feasting on typical Bengali food, punctuated with lots of sweets - misti doi, sandes, kheer kodam, rasgulla.

The next day, bid adieu to this city, which amazed me, disgusted me, touched me, and left me with a desire to come back again.

A Tranquil Holiday

2007-03-15T23:45:00.000-07:00

This post was long pending and finally it emerges from my drafts folder to limelight. Probably, this was to be part of a travel blog...So, you are free to question the highly disorganised state of my blog.

The train screeched to a halt and the recorded voice in it’s own drawl announced the arrival of the train. I could see no pestering porters waiting to pick up the luggage. When I finally spotted one and showed him the luggage, I was mentally making calculation about the price to bargain for. When asked he said, “10 rupees amma”, all I could say was “ok”. In Hyderabad, it’s as if the porters charge for every step they take.

I stepped out of the station and a chill, but pleasant air waited to greet me. The breeze played naughtily around with my hair. I breathed in a lung full and was recharged.

A familiar face beamed a smile at me and mouthed a “be right there” to me, from across the parking lot. My cousin veered his car towards me and after dumping the luggage in the vehicle we started homeward. Upon my asking he said it would be a fifteen minute drive home. So, I expected his home to be not more that 2-3km from the station. Surprisingly, I was wrong in my estimates. Well, I would have been justified if it were Hyderabad roads and it’s mindless traffic, but Vizag was different world all together, where we cover about 9-10km in 15min. We drove by the R.K. beach. With many of the morning joggers, hawkers with health drinks, coconut water, mineral water and “phalli”, the beach looked habited and beneath it’s sands it hid, not shells, but chocolate wrappers, dried chewing gum which has lost all it’s adhesive powers, lots of shit – human or dog difficult to say, a singleton slipper and if you are lucky enough, a coin.

Showered and grabbed some breakfast fast, to save all the time for Vizag. Drove over to Rishikonda beach. Not as commercial as RK beach, but yes, definitely visited by Gitam engineering students. The college faces the beach. Wow! I wished I studied there. Stayed in the beach for almost 4 hours and I didn’t feel the time ticking away. The sea has always amazed me with both it’s fury and stillness. When I was at the shore, the huge waves died down as they reached me and simply tickled my feet like a playful child. I walked further in when I met waves which splashed salty water all over me, drenching me waist deep. I ventured further, with sand slipping away beneath my feet. As I groped for firm ground, the waves almost drowned me for trespassing, I guess. The Bimli beach was the next halt. This was amazing in it’s own way. The aqua blue waters turning into white foam, kissing the sands and hitting hard on the rocks was a feast to the eyes. Later in the day, visited a submarine turned into a museum. I loath wars and modern history, so, it was a blah for me.

The next day, visited arakku valley, an embodiment of nature’s glory. I looked at the marvelous creation with awe. Each curve and bend was a new chapter, in nature’s book. As our car negotiated a bend, it presented a vista of sheer beauty. The Borra caves have the natural formations of rocks and limestone into various shapes ranging from a carrot to a human brain. It’s better you take a guide here, lest you want your imagination to wander and see monalisa and yourself in the rocks too. Frankly, I was tired and a wee bit disappointed with the Borra Caves. Probably, because I expected some nice sculpture’s art work.

The next day’s plan was to cover Annavaram and Errada beach. The Satynarayana swamy temple is a nice location and maintained very neatly. Be prepared to let your money bag string loose in Annavaram. The priest keep chanting matras and offering flowers to the deity in one hand and the other hand ready for dakshina. The other workers also don’t fall short of these skills. We ate the prasadam, which was simply super tasty. Drove down to Errada beach, which stands proud with several cinema shootings to it’s claim. A calm landscape flanking the beach to one side, the huge ships looking like a speck of dust in the horizon, the constant hum of waves of the sea as heard in a conch made this place unparalleled.

My three day escapade was done and now homeward we head.

Then the wind will set me racing as my journey nears its
end.
And the path I’ll be retracing when I’m homeward bound
again.

"We were on a break" - Dr. Ross Geller

2007-02-22T23:44:00.000-08:00

The five weeks after a break up are the most crucial as they mark the beginning of the other possible relations in your near future. Actually, the character called Ross in F.R.I.E.N.D.S, inspired me to write this one, coz he is the “guru” of various weird experiences in relationships. But, before I start ranting off, a small formality.

Disclaimer: The incidents mentioned below have no similarities with any person living or dead. If any such similarities emerge, they are purely coincidental. I don’t hold myself responsible for any awry result by following the mentioned practices. This article is not professing any course of action but is purely intended for pun and light fun reading.

Week 1:
Just sit as if some one has pressed your “mute” button and has tossed the remote into the sea. Even if people are screaming their lungs out, pretend you didn’t hear a word. Think as to why he/she left you. Stress hard on the grey cells…nay…don’t expect an answer, coz you don’t want an answer. Start interospection. “What went wrong? Anything wrong with me?” Eat as little as possible and refuse to take food. [midnight snacks are allowed].

Week 2:
Remove all doubts about self and blame the other person for all that went wrong in the relationship. Cry to yourselves. Cry all night under the blanket. Your red swollen eyes will tell all the tales your lips refuse to utter. Utter monosyllables and let out huge sighs. Start eating a bit. Don’t gorge on food, but have delicate samplings, else it would be hard to survive. In a social interaction, retain the ashen face and swollen eyes and seem lost and disinterested.

Week 3:
Stop all the crying. In a gathering, manage a smile – not your beaming best but a weak one. It shows how much the break up affected you. So, you win sympathy on that count and it also shows how strong you are. [Works great especially for guys, with the chicks sympathy in his pocket]

Week 4:
Ok..Wasted three weeks of life on something that was not meant to be at all…Colossal waste..Get back to normal life, meaning, hang out with friends, play your sport, work well and smart in office, start paying your overdue bills, in short get your life back. But, tread cautiously, ground not yet firm. Don’t….I repeat don’t start socializing this week itself. The heart is a weak entity and can’t sustain too many blows.

Week 5:
Start socializing now and when asked about the relationship, avoid tactfully with a joke or take up a spiritual attitude of “Jo hota hai acche ke liye hota hai”[Whatever happens is for the good], whichever suits your personality fine.

After these 5 weeks, your body’s metabolic activities being set right, you are ready for another relationship.

At no point in time, think of ending your life. You may not know, but your life is precious…

Read EXTRA, EXTRA : Laws dictate morals!!!!

2007-02-22T22:44:00.000-08:00

The smell of the newsprint with a mug of simmering tea is a sacred morning ritual for many of us. Now-a-days, the newspaper carries along with it the stench of human deeds from around the world. Soaked in morbid thoughts, melancholy truths hit us hard in our face each morning. Today not being an exception.

"The Cabinet on Thursday cleared a Bill which provides for a jail term of three months and a fine of Rs 5,000/- for children who refuse to ensure a life of dignity to their elders. The Maintenance and Welfare of Parents and Senior Citizens Bill, piloted by social justice ministry, provides for an inexpensive and speedy system where old persons can petition the administration to seek maintenance from their progeny. "

What a pathetic state of affairs!! Do we need a law to dictate moral values to us? Do our aged parents have to knock the doors of the court to expect some sympathy, if not love from their progeny? What has made us so negligent, so callous, and so brutal? Time to put on our thinking caps and do a bit of introspection.

The hands which helped a child take his first steps are denied the support in the final hours of his life. Those eyes with love in them, are now devoid of tears too.

Probably, this is not happening in your life. But, it ain't an uncommon scenario as the old age home still flourish in population. Probably, we have not deserted our parents, but do we actually ever listen to them, spend time with them. All they ask for is a bit of love and a bit of attention.

I am not narrating another Bagbhan here. But, just scratching the surface of our conscience which, I think is relegated to some corner of our insides and decrepited with the dust of indifference and selfishness.

Such happenings should be a wake up call to the conscience....

"I Do" Or Probably "I Don't"

2006-08-26T23:23:00.000-07:00

This morning, he had risen in the early hours of dawn, even before the birds could do their bit of karaoke. Having finished his rituals, he sat in a pensive mood with the thought lines emerging deep on his forehead. He looked like the captain of Titanic after it had hit the iceberg, wondering what the course of action would be. There was a general bustle of people about in the house, but not an ounce of the enthusiasm of the people was reflected on his face.

He was pacing up and down his room like a caged tiger. He was very fidgety and restless. He was dressed in an exquisite black tuxedo and had put on the gold cufflinks his club buddies had given him. He had applied a profuse quantity of gel to his hair and his hair very gracefully and humbly obeyed him and stood in perfect style giving him a classy look. He looked extremely handsome in his attire, but his eyes told a different tale altogether. They had the same helpless desperation in them as in the eyes of an animal about to be slaughtered. Just a few months ago, this man was a carefree chap, playing pool with his friends. Horse riding, cocktail parties, poolside evenings, clubs, discotheques, had consumed a majority of his life. And today, suddenly it dawned on him that he was to be married…What did u think that only girls are entitled to be the Julia Robert category runway brides?? If u did, think again. Even guys get cold feet at the “C” of commitment. They are equally vulnerable to such emotions.

So, what did our protagonist do…U guessed it…he did the simplest thing at his disposal, he ran away. That’s the advantage of having a car at your disposal, esp. if it is an SUV. Driving on the highway at 110kmph, with the wind bellowing at you and almost hurting your face and slashing across your skin like a hundred daggers, leaves little scope for any kind of reasoning or sensible thinking. So, our man drove on, with his top floor machinery switched off.

After driving about aimlessly, he screeched the brakes at a wayside inn. The inn had the interiors of the Victorian era. The paneled wood was ageing and had gotten the deep blush, as on the face of a bride, due to dampness. The tables were laid out comfortably, as it was meal time. The aroma flitted through the kitchen door, mesmerizing the passerby into an epicurean trance. The freshly baked bread, the simmering hot soup and the smoked fish produced an alluring effect as the mermaid’s song draws a sailor into a danger unknown. But, sadly a preoccupied mind doesn’t respond to the rumblings of the stomach. So, he chose to sit at the bar at the far end. The glasses and the other impedimenta of the bar were not all that exquisite but definitely adequate for the thirsty visitors who would like to soak themselves in gin, ale or a martini. I wonder as to how men feel that gulping a concoction or two, would elevate spirits or for that matter solve problems. If problems were so easy to solve, I guess everyone could be spotted with a decanter. Presently, seated on the high bar stool, and having asked for ginger ale, he tried to give a direction to his desultory thoughts. The bar tender, a merry chap, noticed how unsuited an expensive tux was, for an unpretentious place as this. He had his own deductions and made a mental note of many unsaid details of his customer. But, well bred that he was, he didn’t intrude on his customer’s privacy as he knew that after having consumed the elixir called ale, even the tight lipped British would get chatty.

And our man, didn’t prove to be an exception, he poured out his deepest emotions just as quickly he had poured in those spirits. Along with all his apprehensions, he also expressed how much he loved his would-be and spoke of her as a charming and delightful angel, who was to make life heaven on earth for him. (That’s what happens when u get excessively drunk.) I wouldn’t like to be shooed and scatted away by my readers, so I will omit all the mushy details…Personally, I feel guys and mush don’t gel together, but, here we are talking of a guy with suds in his veins. So, I guess he qualifies for an exception.

Suddenly, in the course of his monologue with the barman, it struck his pea size brain, that this was the very day he was waiting for his entire life. He remembered the times he ran after his sweetheart with a flower each day to bring the words of love to his lips. He longed and pined to be with her and everything about her seemed so right. Even the way she snorted in her laughter and got all pink when she realized it. Her little curls and pretty eyes were what he wanted to see each morning, with a hot cuppa tea ofcourse and not to forget the morning news. He longed to drive to the romantic country side on the weekends, definitely not during soccer season or rugby or NBA playoffs.

He ranted a bit more and then hastily paid up the barman, who wished him luck and smiled after him which said “Another one of those fuzzy brained kids. Oh! He’ll be fine”. So, our protagonist after battling all his emotions emerged victorious, or rather, puffing and panting, to the alter. The worry on the bride’s face and the relief it showed on his presence, were not the emotions to hide beneath the veil. The scorn on the priest’s forehead and the general buzz among the people, told him that he was late for his own wedding. Soon they were saying the “I do’s”.

* Six years Later*

Scene: Two kids running around breaking the hell loose, the hum of the vacuum cleaner, our protagonist doing the laundry while his friends were basking in the sunny game of golf.

Musing over the past, our protagonist sometimes wonders to go back to that inn and sit at the bar with ginger ale, probably with a different barman, to spill all the beans to a complete stranger in order to get a better perspective of his current life. Or probably, even better, just blow the whole damn place!!!

A Note of Thanks..Not an Oscar Speech

2006-08-26T23:20:00.000-07:00

Hello to my regular readers and the not-so-regular one’s as well. I’m glad to inform you that I was finally inspired to blog. Before I get on with my posts, I would like to drop a small note of thank you to all my friends and well wishers who have been supportive and encouraging during the famine period. ( I know this sounds like an oscar speech, but I beg you to bear with me)

@@Forgetful Functor
Thank you so much for prodding me on. All the comments you left at my blog or urs, had atleast a line to remind me that I was not blogging. Infact, I confess that it got irritating after a while. But, the result it has produced is evidently excellent. So, a big thank you to you for having “irritated” me into blogging.. (kidding …You actually inspired me to blog)

@@Sameera
Hey dudette…You were my companion in the hard times, as both of us were famine afflicted. The fact that you got over it and churned out a post, reassured me that this “non-blogging” phase is temporary. So, a thank you to u.

@@Sumedha
Your mails are really so sweet. You are my support on whom I would recline in utmost confidence. Thanks for the encouragement you have given me. My next post is dedicated to you.

@@Little Fella
Please don’t give up on me. I’ll try to make it up to u.

@@My Project Manager
Thanks for sparing me this weekend and giving me breathing time or should I say blogging time

@@Sridhar
Thanks for visiting my abode, though after a long time. Please do come again.

@@Ammu
I’m still awaiting your comments sweetie.

@@Preacher, @@WnG , @@Sid, @@WiseDonkey, @@Aditi, @@Sandy, @@Moderator, @@Muse and @@The others whom I have forgotten to mention
I’m incomplete without your readership.

Who am I??

2006-07-15T06:54:00.000-07:00

I’m there when you endure pain..
I’m with you when you get to know that you are going to be a proud parent…
I’m again with you when your child performs outstandingly in the football game.
I’m that special friend of the bride who accompanies her to her new world, and in me she carries all her memories and hopes for the new life ahead..
I’m there with every son when he makes his parents proud
I’m with grandma when she remembers her youth
I’m there with grandpa when he remembers his ancestral home as against the congested flat he is living in now…
I’m with all the naughty brats who get a resounding spanking for all the pranks they play.
I’m with the mother in her effort to bring a new life into this world
I’m there with all the frustrated unemployed youth in their quest for bread
I’m there with the prostitute who puts a price for her body, but loses her soul
I’m there with an anxious dad at the airport, who longs to see his son after a long hiatus
I’m there with those unfortunate ones who are starved, of food and of love

I’m there with the rich and with the poor
I’m there with the old and with the young..

I roll down silently, as silently as death…Not a whisper, not a sniff…I bring out the pain endured by the soul…I’m compared with a pearl as I’m precious…
I am a tear drop.

Being a 20 something

2006-06-25T10:39:00.000-07:00

This weekend, I was in one of those lazy moods that Librans tend to slip into when they are excessively bored of life. I don’t mean to sound negative…But, face the fact!! my life has no spice…At 20 something, I am a complete mess…

People have a “being 30” syndrome, a middle age crisis, and an old age problem…but have you heard of any one who speaks of the ebbs and tides of being at 20 something…Ok..meet ME!!!

Having cut 20 odd birthday cakes, having blown several candles on each birthday and having accepted many a worthless gift with an artificial smile and cliché statement “O! so wonderful!! Just what I wanted.”, even when I knew that it was the last thing I had dreamt of receiving on my birthday, has not made me any happier.

Like any other youthful twentian (a word coined by moi), I dreamt to own a palatial house, drive snazzy cars, eat the best of food, have the best clothes to drape myself elegantly and expensively, have a job that pays me well or even better own a company or two, have a handsome hunk by my side…And I thought that was the life I wanted….And so day and night I lived in this utopia, not in the least doubting that life could not be a fairy tale.

At twenty years, I suddenly don’t like certain things about myself. I feel I need a change in attitude, a change in basic mind set, a change in my habitat. I could also do with a bit of touch up with my nose and chin, silky- straight hair would be fine. On the whole may be I should go in for cosmetic surgery. And my mind was playing throwball. I was never so confused in my life. One minute I want this and the other minute I would be wishing I had made the other choice. I do even stupid things like laugh and cry at the same time. I just realized that some people who I had placed in the category of close friends didn’t fit in any more. Have I changed or have they…It’s not like it’s anyones’s fault but we just don’t connect anymore. I have distanced my friends and cousins unintentionally. It’s like drawing a circle and defining a zone around me which no one can enter without my permission.

I consider myself acutely bad in making impactful first impressions. It always happens that I meet this really handsome hunk on my bad hair day. So, BANG goes the first impression…And the worst part, I get compliments for my hair on the day I fix an appointment with the beauty salon for a hair cut. Things that I buy as exquisite designer stuff go on sale the next day…I mean can life get any weirder???

To keep my head cool which was throbbing under all this pressure I decide to take a vacation. I considered a place in the lap of nature for my vacation, which would envelope me and all my troubles in it’s loving arms and cradle me like a baby. I parallelly thought of an adventurous holiday, where I could go trekking, mountain climbing, para gliding and satiate the exploratory streak in me with all the adrenaline shooting sports. Yah! 20 points for guessing the answer…I couldn’t decide where to go. I wanted to go to chill off, and be alone with my musings…You guessed it right again..Got a resounding scolding from mom saying I was not to leave the house alone…Poof!! Goes my holiday… I’m under the constant vigilance of my mom…Hey!! I know she cares for me and all that…and I know that I love her, she loves me, she-scolds-me-for-my-good kinda shit…But, mom I’m not going to get these days of my life back….I might get to do them when I’m older, maybe being a 30 something….but it’s not as much fun when you do it as a 20 something.

At 20 plus, I guess biologically some hormone is secreted in excess which drives you into a crazy frenzy…I have these fits of sulkiness which repels people away, I don’t remember myself being moody before. Infact, I always was that pleasant girl who was welcome everywhere. I doubt if I’m welcome even now.

Let’s look at my job…Okk..Let’s not look at it…It’s not even remotely what I wanted to do. All I do is sit glued to the chair all day hunting for damn bugs raised by a fat brained fellow who didn’t have enough grey matter to look into it himself…Well that was a candid description of my work. And the love of my life, is something that is beyond definition, maybe the first time I’m at loss of words. I have people around me who care, but what do I want in my partner is still hazy. But, if I delay this anymore I’ll soon be saying “I do” to some stranger who according to my mom is a suitable match for me…Sounds scary!! But, what if I don’t make the right choice…God!!! I’m confused….

I have these sudden spells of enthusiasm of working late night without blinking an eye, trying to make the most of my dull job. There are spells when I’m really active and go around doing my chores briskly and efficiently and some other times I find it comforting to lie on the couch all day and think of nothing in particular, just sit like a cow chewing cud and ruminating over my outlandish thoughts.

I know that I have written this also in a fit of passion and I will definitely wonder as to why I posted this, just immediately after putting this on my blog. So, before u can say supercalifactionlisticexpiadidotious I take your leave.

The Epicurean Point of View

2006-06-06T00:21:00.000-07:00

I placed the last piece of succulent chocolate cake in my mouth. The rich choco cream adorned my lips while I munched on the glorious last bite. It’s kind of disappointing when you reach the last bite; you wish for just that “little” more. The waiter approached me with some more tempting offers on the menu. Together, they tried to seduce me to have another go. I fought my urge to devour yet another pastry, paid the bill and gave an admonishing look to the perplexed waiter. On my way home, I saw a hoarding which screamed out details of a beauty clinic offering excellent weight reduction therapies. I had a surge of nausea; the cake was twirling in my stomach out of guilt. I pacified my conscience with the greatest difficulty and set about my routine work.

I have this habit of reading a book at bedtime. So, presently I sat at my reading table and picked up a book at random from the book shelf. It was already 11:30pm and very promptly I hear my mom’s voice asking me to go to bed. So, I switched the light off and settled down with the book and torchlight under the covers. (If you are wondering what makes me so particular about reading a book, well…I’m clueless). So, now, this book turns out to be on gluttony..

*The conscience sighs, there we go again*

The author of this book, Francine Prose, has a very unique stand on gluttony, which I must confess was a tad comforting. The holy religion of Christianity describes gluttony to be one among the seven deadly sins that the human soul could succumb to. To start off, it describes gluttony to be an excessive greed for food and drink and the reason they classify gluttony as a sin is because it acts as a stepping stone to the other sins as lust, sloth. Surely, the McDonalds, and the other pizzas and burger joints don’t go for the Sunday mass. It was this greed that compelled Adam to eat the apple on the forbidden tree. If he had not done so, all of us would be roaming around naked appreciating the beauty of the Garden of Eden…Well, in a way I’m glad he ate the apple….

At this point I would like to quote the author, who has mixed comedy and a dash of cynicism to elevate the spirits of “gluttons” like us.

“The traditional solutions to the problem of gluttony and lust, has been to suggest that the element of sin enters in only when we allow ourselves to relax and enjoy satisfying the needs of the body. We are allowed to eat and have sex as long as we don’t like it.”

The gurus of Christianity fight for their stand by examples and illustrations from history- the three drunkards of Flanders who went to combat death in their drunken stupor, Cyclpos – the one eyed monster being too drunk was slow-witted for Odesseys and his men. They are true to an extent. But, I believe in the concept of amending definitions and bending rules slightly to suit the changing times. Well, in today’s context, the inability to control the desire to have a second or maybe even a third helping of a cream pie, is not actually the punishable sins, where you would be boiled in the hot oils of hell ( I don’t mind going to hell after making this statement). I’m not preaching to overindulge in eating, neither am I professing an extravagant seven course meal. Being an epicurean is not a sin, infact I think it’s boon where you have the taste to appreciate the variety of cuisine in the world and also be thankful to those hands which rose to feed you, be it the chef of a multistar hotel or your mom. Getting the very opportunity to eat is a boon as there are some unfortunate ones in this world who are deprived of this basic necessity.

I would also like to add a pinch of salt to the simmering soup, “excess of anything is not good”…

So, don’t count the calories before you eat that chocolate cake. Eat on!! The threadmill is always there when you finally decide to shed off those extra pounds.
Ciao. Now it’s really late and I can sleep, as my conscience is at peace.

“Eat, drink and enjoy today for who knows from tomorrow I might be on a diet.”- Garfield, The Lord of the Epicurean Clan.

I am 16 going on 17

2006-06-04T20:30:00.000-07:00

“I am 16 going 17…” A big hello to all my readers out there…I’m am 16 posts old (this one being the 16th one)…Yah yah…I know what you’ll say, there are some thousand odd people out there in the blog-o-sphere, celebrating their 100th post or maybe oblivious of the fact that they have crossed such a mark…Then why all the hoopla for just crossing the 16 posts milestone??? As an answer to all such kind of questions, all I have to say is “Those guys are missing out the fun in celebration”…

There are scholars who have said that “Life is a celebration” and me, I’m an incurable optimist, with a song on my lips…

Just like the miller of the Dee,
I know that I have the key,
To unlock that happiness within me
It simply takes the inner eye to see
That we have everything with us, from A to Zee.

Well, I know that was a pathetic effort to be poetic…Before you hit the back button of the browser or before you close this window, I solemnly swear never to attempt another bit of poetry.

Fervently hoping that I have not lost any of my readers, this is Megha signing off.

Style Check

2006-06-01T21:48:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Megha’s section on “Fads and Fashions of the Season”…I do not guarantee the span of the term “season” though… I conducted a survey ( I’m fond of these surveys) to check out what’s IN and what’s OUT this season.

Girls say guys with long hair are totally INNN

Tattooing snakes, dragons and looking like a poster advertising the Madagascar is OUT
Piercing-nose rings, belly buttons are positively IN

Practical modern bahus are IN
Ideal non existent Tulsis are OUT
*suffocatingly ideal..choke choke*

Dress to occasion totally IN
NRI attitude and a “put up” accent OUT

Desh Bhakti-IN
*We are the Rang De Basanti generation*
Flying abroad-also- IN
*Surprising we appreciate the Desi bhakti funda on silver screen only*

Gold is OUT
*Phew!! Exceedingly expensive*
Metal is IN
*Trendy Alternative*

High heels-OUT
Comfy footwear-IN

Getting up late-OUT
Early rising and exercising and all the health buff-In

Chivalry in men-IN
*This is an evergreen IN item*
Chauvinism in men-OUT

Independence in girls-IN
*Yeh..Girl power*
Bechari akeli ladki attitude-OUT

Blogging-IN
*Yah when people like us are in the trade it is cool..oh!! sorry for the typo kewl*
Soccer-IN
Cricket-OUT (he he)

Emran Heshmi- OUT OUT OUT
Amitab- All time IN

Mushy Karan Johar movies-OUT
*Paleaseeeee….the same cliché with Sharukh in it*
Sensible art film and documentaries- IN
*The likes of Rahul Bose and Konkana Sen is the choice of the current generation*

Sufi music -IN
Himmesh Reshamiyya howling-OUT

Ciao for now...
Please post your comments and let me know, if my blog is IN or OUT….

Different Strokes for Different Folks

2006-05-25T09:35:00.000-07:00

It’s often been said that you enjoy a relation with a person when your wavelengths match and you enjoy it even more when your brains resonate at the same frequency…Wondering what I’m talking about?

Ok..Let me explain…Well, it happens to be a fact that I love blogging..or you could say writing…I feel it kinda liberates me from the mundane drivel of life…I got to admit it that I talk about it the most…Now, unfortunately in my circle of friends, I don’t have that “resonating buddy”…So, when I open my mouth to share some of the wonderful blogs I came across, I would get varied reactions:

(F1, F2, F3 are my friends)

Me: Hey I checked out a really cool blog today, DesiPundit, the stand he takes on “surviving in the IT industry” is simply super. I think we’ll indentify with it best.

F1: What !!! I don’t want any Pundit to tell me how to survive in this IT industry..I know how to suck up to people and get things done, that’s how you live here..

* Thanks a ton buddy…you made me feel like a leech*
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Me: Hey, the blog….. *stop midway in the sentence realizing that the person is not paying attention*

F2: * A dazed and a lost expression on his face. Muttering something under his breath *

*Probably wondering why his code is not functioning. Never disturb such species, unless you want to hear all the cribs on his crib list, right from APJ Kalam to his Project Manager.*
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Me: Do you know what I blogged on today? It’s really touching..

F3: As I was saying, I wanted to go shopping this week and buy pickles for my grandmom..Which one do you suggest?

Me: Well, I think Joshi’s would be a good option…Now about the blog..

F3: Do you think they pack it well??

Me: What the blog?? Why would they pack a blog?

F3: What blog? I was talking about the pickles silly…

*Ok…So, the pickle vendors have outbeaten my blog in popularity*
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I tried conversing with my mom on blogs..But, house wives have got their own set of tensions I guess…

Me: Mom, if you are free I could show you my blog and maybe teach you to access the internet. So, you can regularly check my blog without having to wait for me.

Mom: *Nods her head*

Me: Mom can I skip dinner tonight??

Mom: *Nods her head*

*Ok…So, moms apply this “nod the head trick”…and they say men don’t listen…So, decide to take advantage of the situation*

Me: Mom, can I stay late up tonight and party with my friends?

Mom: No way lady. You are not doing any such thing..

*Shucks!! You can never make out when they are listening*
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Now, that’s the scenario around me…By this post if I have given the impression that I’m a person with the most refined taste and look down upon others around me as insignificant bugs, then you got me wrong…I don’t blame my friends for not being interested…It’s just a matter of taste..Now I know that I would be least interested in politics or cricket…Given a blog of their own I’m sure my friends would also have said similar things about me and would have highlighted me as a duffer not knowing the difference between a leg-spin and an off-spin…

C’est la vie!! That’s life…It’s always different strokes for different folks!!!

A drudgery called "work"

2006-05-24T16:38:00.000-07:00

No work at office today, infact didn’t have anything tactful to do for almost a week…Don’t know why these companies hire people…Some are excessively taxed and stay back late nights much to the displeasure of moms/wives…And some others like me are totally jobless…

The first 2 days passed away swiftly in mailing, I mailed to every damn person in my contact list…Spent sometime googling away with great fury…Did you know that giant ant eaters are becoming an exotic pet variety..so much for dogs being pets…Then logged on to some websites which play music..RadioBlogClub is my favourite…Actually all thanks to Sameera for having suggested this one…It’s shouldered me in my difficult days of boredom..The next 3 days were HELL!!!...I was frustrated at the time people took to respond to mails, coz I didn’t get a single reply for the dozens of mails I had posted…So, I was forced to do that thing that any fresher would dread doing, yah studying…A new joinee, just fresh out from college, is always under the impression that he wouldn’t have to encounter a book for atleast another couple of years…Now holding a book brings tremors in my mind as all those horrid night outs come soaring back….I almost flinch at the sight of a book…Worse than this is an e-book…I’m under the impression that an e-book is not an “electronic book” but is an “enchanting book”, as it casts a spell on you…a sleeping spell..It lulls you to sleep even without a song….

*MIND: This chapter introduces you to SQL Server 2000 by describing the components of SQL Server and explaining how those components work together to provide a relationaaaaaaallll….zzzzzzzzz*

Many software professionals would term this phase of joblessness as “The Honeymoon Period”…Little do they know the torture during this phase…If you observe closely; there are many jeering gazes and some pitiful glances some of them saying:

*Hrumph…I know so much more than her…no wonder she’s jobless*

Some loathsome pities:

*What a waste of time…tsk tsk*

“Arghhhhh!!!! Leave me alone” is what I want to shout out…

In the “demand list”, I place in front of God everyday, one thing is common now-a-days ..“O God!! Please bless me with work atleast today.”…O shucks!! I’m begging for work..When I had work to do, I just couldn’t stop myself from cribbing and cursing and now I going nuts without it…

I think “yeh kaam ka laddu hai…jo khaye pachtaye aur jo nah khaye pachtaye”

A heaven called home!

2006-05-19T14:45:00.000-07:00

I sat by the window and gazed at the trees and the houses outside. It was a lazy afternoon when the whole colony was devoid of any sort of activity. I was alone at home and hence let my mind wander and have it’s escapade. The power of the mind is really invincible as it can make the journey of thousands of kilometers in a few seconds. Now it stationed itself in my hometown in India. The thoughts and memories of my hometown churned a whirlpool of feelings drowning me completely in it.

I remembered “amma”, who was my babysitter. She used to run around the house for me trying to give me a bath. It was her duty to apply oil and sandalwood paste to my skin. She used to provide justification to the anointment of the balms and pastes, which sounded very weird to me then. She said “You’ll get a good husband if you apply oil”. I still don’t know if the oil earned me my husband. She had outlandish stories to tell me, which comprised of strange places beyond the river in our village. At that time, to go to some place beyond the river was a task that no decent girl ought to have done. My curiosities were satisfied by her fictious tales.

I remembered running around the house and embracing my grand mother from behind just to treat my senses to the smell of the jasmine flowers which adorned her hair. She used to admonish me for having disturbed the course of her puja and used to ask God for a thousand apologies for the “sin” I had committed. I watched my mother as she patiently went about with the household chores, silently just like the ox which ploughs the field as if it was it’s duty. My mother, I always felt should have been a nurse, as she had a healing touch. I remembered the days I was sick with fever, she used to sit up the whole night changing the wet cloth over my forehead. Her very presence reassured me that I would become alright. I used to enter a deep slumber with my head resting on her lap, which is the most secure place in the world. For me she was a warrior who protected me, a fairy who granted all my wishes, my friend who played with me and a sister in whom I can confide.

All of a sudden on this afternoon in UK, these memories brought a storm of emotions, which welled out of my eyes as rivers of tears, leaving deep and dark furrows on my cheeks…How I missed my hometown….How my inner self longed to get back to were I belong…These years spent abroad, away from home, flashed across my eyes as swift as a fleeting moisture less cloud…I observed the transition in me from rice, avakkai (pickle) to bread, croissants…I remembered the little girl with huge black innocent eyes, with oiled and neatly braided hair, who used to run around with the postman from house to house…I found the same girl now dressed in designer wear, with the same black eyes devoid of innocence…

I sensed a regret brewing within me….I should have gone back to India, when I was bearing our future within my womb…I could have gone back when they were still young, they wouldn’t have known the difference. I could have moved when they in their early schooling years…It would have been difficult for them, but eventually things would have settled….But, now was too late…Was it that late?? The ring of the phone interrupted the chain of thoughts…It was from the office…Our business had won a huge contract, which would be a huge prestige to our family…and that would mean some more time away from the kids and returning to India seemed 5 years away….After this contract, it will be something else…another contract, the kids, their weddings…and home coming seemed farther away…

Oh!! I didn’t introduce myself….so stupid of me…I’m an NRI (Non Returning Indian)

Weirdness Epitomised

2006-05-18T04:51:00.000-07:00

Well, this time I have conducted a survey among my friends and colleauges to list out 10 reasons as to why they find me bizzare in my ways...Well, my friends, not being the polite kinds (more of the frank kinds) were more than happy to tell me..So here goes.

Reason 1:
I’m a sauce/ketchup lover…I can have ketchup with almost any damn thing….and I mean it…I can relish ketchup with burger, chips, idli, dosa, upma ….One of my friends has christened me “saucy”( and the award goes to Rakesh, for having come up with that wonderful name)…Have to admit it, that actually sounds kinda sexy….

Reason 2:
I’m a great fan of Sonu Nigam….Let me clarify that I’m an ardent fan of his voice and his singing abilities and his face has nothing to do with it….

Reason 3:
I’m a stickler for cleanliness…I act like a vacuum cleaner…Now u guys don’t get weird ideas that I work for the MCH …for non-hyderabadis..that’s Municipal Corporation of Hyderabad…Worse, I go around preaching my cleanliness philosophy to everyone around me…(Sigh!! There go half of my readers…)

Reason 4:
My lingo is also kind of weird( according to the people around me)….as there is a certain set of F.U.Ws in my lingo…Well that meant Frequently Used Words….If u want a sample, I can give u some, but this involves a small amount of phonetics.. “I'll slap u”, “idiot”, “pah pah”, “ayee”, “yucky”…and many more…

Reason 5:
I hate Sidney Sheldon novels…now some of my friends find my dislike to S.S novels weird…All I have to say to them is that, “If u like SS novels, you have not read anything at all”….I also have a dislike to the most acclaimed book, Da Vinci Code…(Shilpa and Srikath deserve a special mention here…)

Reason 6:
I’m crazy about rings and artificial jewelry…I go bonkers when I go shopping…I’m also a shopping freak…All these 10 and 20 Rs maal interests me a lot…I’m also a cotton fanatic…I worship that fabric..(may be I should write another post on the various handlooms available in India…. “The Weaver’s Club”..he he)

Reason 7:
I can’t stop the urge of stepping on untied shoe laces…and hence proving to the other party, how dangerous untied laces can be….(now this is one thing in me that I find weird too)…

Well, now here comes the catch…I started out this post sure that my weirdness will definitely win 10 reasons…but unfortunately, I’ve run out of reasons..So, any of my friends (those who were not involved in the survey) who wish to complete this list are most welcome…

Ciao.

I am a Disco Dancer!!!

2006-05-05T15:29:00.000-07:00

I attended one of the DJ nites conducted in office…..Generally people go to such nites to burn the dance floor. But me, nay…I’m different….I go to relish the musical waves which hit my ear and of course to watch the others dance. Unaware of this fact one of my colleagues asked me for a dance and got a blunt “No” for an answer. Only my feet tap along with the music…no other part of my body is stimulated unfortunately….

Me and dancing are way apart…We are like step sisters, who never get along…Lets see….hmmm…The first time I danced was in standard 3- The Sunflower dance. We had these frilly frocks and a sunflower around our face made out of crape paper…All I could remember doing was shake and nod my head…Well, if you could call that a dance ..then I did dance….The next time I took the floor was in the fresher’s party in my engineering years ..there I danced out of force and fear of ragging… and in the farewell party I danced out of sentiment….

When I dance I surely look like a chicken which is caught in between two trucks in a desperate attempt to cross the road…The movement of my hands and feet resembles those of a drowning soul…In short, I have two left feet when I dance….

Come to think of it…I’m not alone in this world who is bad at dancing….Sunny deol definitely sucks big time at dancing….My favorite star, Abhishek, is also not far off in this category…As an Abhishek fan I would say he’s improved a lot with the hip hop look in “Dus bahane” and “Bluffmaster”…My friend Shilpa is the one who would go to a discotheque and glue her self to the chair….well, I know many who are shy to dance but only a few like me, are not exactly shy, but are not good at the trade.

I love those ads of pepsi where John and the girl in the black skirt sway intimately…oohhhllaaa….And the one in which Hrithik says "I can’t dance”….

Well, I am one of those privileged people who make other dance to my tunes…..(I guess that would have sounded better in hindi)…
Anyway, naach baliye…

The Sublime Comic Genius

2006-04-13T23:47:00.000-07:00

A Ring for Jeeves
Stiff Upper lip Jeeves
Right Ho! Jeeves
Bachelors Anonymous

If the above mentioned words don’t ring a bell, then you are free to browse to another blog..This ones not for you….

** I suggest you to read his works though**

For the others who are familiar with all the above names, and actually have the sense to appreciate these works, welcome to the Wodehouse Fan club….

P.G.Wodehouse, an English comic writer, has reined as King of British comedy for several years….With his common place characters; he describes everyday incidents as a cream pie, with class and comedy served as toppings. Well, why am I writing about him??…that’s coz I adore his works….He is the only author who can make me laugh out loud with the subtle comedy interwoven in his works…

Betram Wooster, Monty Bodkins, Tuppy Gallasop, Aunt Matilda, Galahad, Pelham Grenvile, Lord Earnsworth and finally the inimitable Jeeves, are all part of the Wodehouse world and have effectively captivated many a reader…..

I guess you must be well aware of the P.G.Wodehouse fan clubs…For those who are not, click here

Though a good book can never be replaced by an e-book, here’s a treat to all who have read my blog. Enjoy with “My Man Jeeves”

This is a small tribute I pay to the great comedy king….

De-Bugging

2006-04-13T10:45:00.000-07:00

The computer shows 2:00pm…yawn…bugs and more bugs to fix…God!! These bugs are really bugging…My eyes take the hint from my fatigued brain and all of them together perform the non-cooperation movement, in which they strike against all the bugs in particular and any kind of work in general….Aahhaa…So, I stifle another yawn…Drink a cup of coffee to bribe my senses to work…but, to no avail. So, I decide to blog…my favourite pastime…

*Mental Block*

What do I write about? Thankfully while blogging I don’t face this predicament as the thoughts just flow and nothing is pre-conceived….But, this was an exceptional case where I was blogging to keep away boredom, sleep and bugs!!!

I looked around me for my savior who would give me something to write on. I gladly noticed that my colleagues were suffering a similar plight. Some were e-chatting with friends…(yah through meebo…no firewall can stop us from chatting… “e-chatting, mailing aur IM mera janam siddh adhikaar hai” is the slogan of IT professionals)…Some of them chatting with colleagues in the opposite cubicle..(what a pathetic state of affairs)…Orkut, gmail, raaga.com, and many such sites are the ones most frequented by us…

O Shucks!!! Here’s my PM…minimize all the windows and open project related website and sit staring at it as if you were immersed in it for hours. Ok..whom will he stop to talk to for updates…Oh!! No it’s me…Why don’t we just bell our PMs (as in “belling the cat”)… just in case…

*5 minutes later*

I : electrocuted by my PM’s artillery of questions and management policies
PM: very pleased with the effect produced on the target.

Reeling under the conversation I just had, I staggered for yet another coffee..all the coffee planters remember us software professionals in their prayers….”Thank you God for making vunerable idiots likes software professionals who feel that problems are solved with a cup of coffee”…

I take the elixir of my life (i.e., coffee) and perch myself on my colleague’s desk and try to do small talk…Let me tell you we are really bad at small talk…we just can’t talk about the weather, the serial we watched last night and the annual budget…atleast not at the age of 22…when life has much more to offer…So, we settle down with our very favorite topic… “ Mera pyaar PM aur uska project”…This is done in obviously hushed tones, heavily accented voices and a kind of sign language and ofcourse, all this is done only after ensuring that the PM is at out of earshot distance.
After this refresher, it’s a load off my chest. So, plan to get back to my bugs…After about another half an hour of struggling with bugs…the comp shows 6:00pm…time for French lessons..

“Je vais au cour the francaise. Au Revoir!!!”
(Meaning: I’m off to the French class. Goodbye…..)

I promise to be back with more bugs…

This is a special dedication to Sameera, who has been braving out bugs, for the past two days..Hey Sam, this is the early bird prize you bagged for having survived my previous post- "I have changed"

Speechless

2006-04-13T08:25:00.000-07:00

This tale starts with an innocent desire to eat ice-cream. Chocolate, mango, raspberry, blackcurrant and orange flavors were inviting me to devour them. I ogled at the sight of each of them and my face took a grave expression as my mind whizzed to make a choice. Eventually, I settled done for the raspberry flavor. As I put it into my mouth, the iciness of the ice-cream tingling over my tongue, I experienced a joy and satisfaction with no bounds.

The next day I had to pay a little price for my utopia. A sore throat! The stubborn girl that I was, I refused to take antibiotics and tried to cure it by some simple home remedies. Well, I toughed it out and fought the fever, the headache and the cough. But my friend Mr.Sore throat got the better of me. It was as if it had decided to punish me for my callousness towards medication. As a result, I lost my voice completely.

Initially, it wasn’t that bad, as I could at least speak in a hoarse voice which seemed so heavy and unnatural for a girl to possess. As the day progressed the hoarse voice left me and I started speaking sentences with squeaky endings. Strange coincidence, that it may seem, I got the maximum number of calls that day and of course numerous advices laced with sympathies. The next day had to go to the doctor and had to tell my tale of woe in sign language. He said: “Don’t talk and strain your throat”. Haah!!! It was easy for him to say that.

I wouldn’t classify myself in the chatterbox category, but that particular day when I was asked not to speak I felt a surge of restlessness in me. I wanted to speak to my friends, I wanted to fight and argue, I wanted to go and say a “Hi!!” to everyone around. I wanted to sing, I wanted to mimic the birds, I wanted to swear at my enemies….. I wanted to do all this but my voice failed me…I tried to utter a few words, which were lost as wisps of air from my parted lips. I had played Dumb-Chareds before, but, least had I expected to use it in my life to convey my point. A humorous streak that I had, I thought that, in circumstances of losing my job, I was sure to get the post of a news reader for the afternoon- news for the impaired.

The next few days were hell for me as the initially enthusiasm of sign language wore off. I had now reached a point where I avoided my friends and stuck to my loneliness. I couldn’t answer my calls so switched off my mobile. I started finding a big margin between myself and the people around me.

Salt water gargling was done at frequent intervals, milk with turmeric; honey and tulsi were administered diligently. My throat slowly but surely responded to these home remedies. I earned my voice back with great effort and a lot of patience. This incident also brought an important learning with it. I, for the very first time, could understand how difficult it must be for the people with impaired senses to communicate and how essential communication was in life. At least, this was a temporary phase in my life, but they had to deal with it throughout their lives. Suddenly, all the unfortunate ones, who were devoid of the gift of speech, rose to the status of true warriors in my mind, constantly battling out all odds of life and still managing a smile.

This stunner of an incident surely had left me "speechless".

I have changed

2006-04-07T04:21:00.000-07:00

My friend dug up my wallet to find an old relic called “the bus pass” with a
tiny snap of mine. He just looked at that and passed a casual remark saying “You
are so different now”. I didn’t think much of it then. But later the truth of
that carelessly made statement dawned on me. Now that I think of it, I do feel
that I’m different now….I sat down to make an analysis report (AR- This one is
dedicated to Shilpa).. not to worry I won’t start with the cliché “Once upon a
time”..

@@The childhood years

I’m afraid, there won’t be much to write here, as I can hardly remember things that I did. So, with the aid of few sources I was able to compile this up.

I was a timid kind of a girl, who loved to go to school. Yah, yah go on…call me a geek…coz then I was a geek..I loved my teachers. I specially remember my kindergarten teacher-“Shanti Krishnamurthy” and her mother- “Amma”. She was the first one to have laid the foundation to my education ( I owe her a lot). The lovely dosas amma made deserve a special mention. I had this friend called “sonu”, who used to pinch me everyday, and me, a fool that I was, used to get pinched, used to make a caster oil face and weepingly complain to my mom. This was our daily ritual. I can’t wait to get my hands on her as I have to repay her with pinches cumulated with compound interest. So, sonu bach ke rahe na….

I was always dad’s daughter..his pet (like he had much choice..I was the only one). Since I was the only one and that too a girl I was over protected. I never had the chance to rough it out. Even small little things…. I was not to go to my friend’s house unescorted. I didn’t have my first cycling lessons till I was 13. There was never a time in winter that I left the house with out a sweater and a scarf on. My mom used to feed me even in class 6…I guess that habit didn’t leave me..even now at times when I’m running late for work, I have my mom behind me with a plate in hand. Well, well… I was pampered alright, but never a spoilt brat.

I was not mischievous at all, which is very rare for a kid of that age. There was not a time when I broke a glass pane, not a time when I pulled a prank on any soul. I had very few friends, used to hardly go out. Wait a minute……was I really that boring?? But, I had a treasure with me and they were my books…I grew up reading David Copperfield, Enid Blyton..they were more than just characters in a story…they were my only childhood friends….Wait a minute now I sound like “Matilda”….Noooooooooo,…..Ok…I know by now, I would have lost half my readers, but to all those brave hearts still clinging on…I hope you like the other half….Ok…resuming…Years rolled by and I was already in my plus two…

@@College Years

Well this was short lived…All the exams, entrance tests, IIT coaching institutes, EAMCET training centers and college consumed my college years. So, this phase of my life just started and then ended…..

@@Graduation Years

Welll…Now we come to the cheesey part of my life…These four years in my life were an eye opener in one sense and the biggest lessons of my life were in these years of graduation. Till now I was the topper in my school, class, group and other crap…Here I met people much more capable and intelligent than me…So, I was made to give up that top place…I was not way behind in class, but atleast I was not that topper..So, the post of the geek was taken by someone else…Strangely, I was not upset by it..Infact, I was relieved, as now I didn’t have the responsibility to keep up my rank/position in class…

Lesson 1: There are people better than you. Don’t be jealous of them, but learn to appreciate their abilities. But, yah if they act snobbish wring their neck..

Till now I was caged….I simply enjoyed my new found freedom…And as I told you I’m a normal girl..So, was bound to misuse this new found freedom….I got the worst score of my life in my 5th semester….I just cannot forget that day…I had written my papers so badly….that it was a mixed feeling…I mean… I was happy I passed and was terribly upset that I scored only a measly 68% (Let me clarify, that in the University I studied in getting 80% was pretty easy and you had to put in a bit more effort to get 90%)..So, for those standards, it was a pretty low score…But, now I find the topper of my class and me working together for the same firm in a similar designation…..

Lesson 2: Never judge your self based on marks….These exams are only to test your receptivity to boring lectures…nothing more..

I had my friends..I had enemies.. I had people to whom I was neutral…I was never in the limelight again…because again I was the shy and timid girl with inhibitions…

Lesson 3: It’s not always good to be in the limelight…there are times when you simply have to act as a support for combustion

But, I had my set of crushes and heart breaks…(that was bound to happen, as I never dared to go up to that guy and tell him how I feel)…

Lesson 4: Crushes are not to be taken seriously and it’s ok to ditch a guy and go around with his friend.

So, when I got out of engineering, my life was rich with all kinds of experiences, these years had toughened me as a person…So, the over protect child finally faced the world….And now with all these experiences in my kitty, I entered the corporate world…

@@Work Years

Uh!!! Let’s make that title “Work Months”…coz it’s just 6 months since I joined…Well, I heard that work life is totally a different ball game, where the stakes are going to be high…Well, my experience here is too short to comment…But all I can say is that I’m lucky enough to have good friends, helpful colleagues, guiding seniors, smart guys around me…All I can say is so far so good…

I’m now no more that shy and timid girl…I don’t know whither to she has vanished…I recall her many times but just can’t find her…She is lost some where in my childhood…I don’t want her to re surface…as she cannot survive in this world…I guess that, this transformation in me, is merely human psychology…the more you are pushed to the wall, the more you retaliate…The obedient girl is now a rebel…the quiet girl is now a chatterbox…The timid girl in now bold….The shy girl is now expressive….A caution to all those people who have not seen me for a long time: “I’ve changed”.. All these changes are pretty evident in me, else I wouldn’t be writing this at all……….

PostScript:
Ok….all the people who have snoozed..wakey wakey!!! It’s rude to doze off when some one is talking…errr….writing…

And people who have not reached this far and have browsed to some other blog.. what can I say…u missed it..I was going to give the people who survived this, a reward…Better luck next time.!!!

Lets play 50 questions!!!!!

2006-04-06T05:09:00.000-07:00

Hey Sameera…Thanks for tagging me on…It’s been quite some time since I played tag…It was a nice interospection..Frankly, I never thought so much about myself…

I hope people who read this don’t doze off…Espeacially Sameera…I don’t want you napping on mine when I didn’t nap on yours. So, read through it….

1.Were you named after anyone?
Uh!! No…I’m glad about that…coz my parents held their parents in great reverence and please I wouldn’t want to be named Sitamma…no way..

2. Do you wish on stars?
No…That’s meant to happen only in Bollywood movies with Shahrukh in it.

3.When did you last cry?
Can’t remember…maybe in class 5 or so….

4. Do you like your handwriting?
I adore it…Especially the way I style my D’s

5. What is your favourite meat?
Wrong question…I’m a vegetarian

6. What is your most embarrassing CD on your shelf?
One of Anamika’s album…It’s in some invisible corner of the CD rack…I just couldn’t help having it as it was a present…….

7. If you were another person, would YOU be friends with you?
Absolutely…That’s obvious

8. Are you a daredevil?
No

9. How do you release anger?
I don’t get offended easily and the times I do I shout at the person who has caused it…Infact, I think “shout” is a very mild adjective…

10. Where is your second home?
My office…like I have any other choice…Man…I spend more than 12 damn hours in this place

11. Do you trust others easily?
Yes

12. What was your favourite toy(s) as a child?
I loved beheading my toys..I had a pussy cat…I couldn’t term it as a favourite, that was the only one I was left with, as it’s head wouldn’t come off.

13. What class in school/college do you think is totally useless?
Geography…I couldn’t understand why we had to know the major and minor crops of Mediterranean….I surely was not planning for farming as my profession or for a hobby..Even if I had to grow crops I wouldn’t go to Mediterranean…

14. Do you use sarcasm a lot?
Not much…atleast never with an intension to hurt anyone

15. Have you ever been in a mosh pit?
Uh!! …..

16. What do you look for in a girl?
Not applicable

17. Would you bungee jump?
Yes..That’s one of the things I want to try..It’s on my TODO list

18. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off?
Yes..I do..else they won’t come off…

19. What's your favourite ice cream?
I’m not icecream crazy…but generally I go for chocolate flavour

20. What are your favourite colours?
Green

21. What are your least favourite things?
Smelly socks, things in disorder(messy), possessiveness, jealousy, lies

22. How many people do you have a crush on right now?
One

23. Who do you miss most right now?
My Dad

24. What are you listening to right now?
“You say it best when you say nothing at all”

25. If you were a crayon, what colour would you be?
Green.

26. What is the weather like right now?
Well….I’m in AC so it’s cool

27. Last person you talked to on the phone?
Arjun

28. The "first" thing you notice about the opposite sex?
Let me make that things…
a) eyes
b) sense of dress
c) voice
d) their socks…if I can (Please don’t have the weird idea that I’ll go around smelling socks)…But, I feel it’s a mark of personal hygiene.

29. Do you like the person who sent you this?
Yes. I do…I don’t have anything against Sameera..She is a sweet girl and fun to be with…And I love reading her posts…

30. How are you today?
Comme ci comme ca (In French it means “not to good not too bad”…Guess just couldn’t resist flaunting my little vocabulary in French)

31. Favourite non alcoholic drink?
Lassi

32. Favourite alcoholic drink?
Didn’t try any….Intend to taste all the varieties someday…

33. Natural hair colour?
Brownish black…But mom would say “initially they were black but now brown coz she has stopped applying oil since ages”

34. Eye colour?
Ditto

35. Wear contacts?
Nope..My doc says won’t suit me, for the high power I have…Ok…now don’t picture me to be a geek with thick glasses…I’m no way close to that description.

36. Siblings?
None…unfortunately

37. Favourite month?
October…That the month I get max presents…

38. Favourite food?
Chocolate cake…Actually anything chocolate

39. Favourite day of the year?
Oh!!All the national holidays and the annual leaves we get

40. Have you ever been too shy to ask someone out?
Never encountered such a situation.

41. Scary movies or happy endings?
None…I can’t relate to either

42. Summer or winter? Spring or Summer!
Summer…for the mangoes…

43. Holi or Diwali?
None…I hate the sounds and the fumes diwali brings with it and I hate the chemicals holi tags along.

44. Do you like your name?
Absolutely….But I hate it when it’s “thi”…It’s “ti”
Oops!! I guess I’ve given away something…

45. What book/magazine are you reading?
Currently reading “The Bachelor of Art”- R.K.Narayan

46. What's on your mouse pad?
My company logo..

47. What did you watch on TV last night?
I don’t get to watch the TV

48. Favourite Smell?
Freshly ground coffee beans, the smell of rasam made by mom

49. Have you ever regretted breaking up with someone?
I haven’t had a boyfriend…so I guess question not applicable

50. Most tiresome thing you’ve ever experienced/done?
Answering all these questions….Well whoever started this.. “It a good one..but 50 questions are exhausting…when you have to type out all those answers…especially for IT professionals like us who are experts in Cntrl+C Cntrl+V”….

The "Itch" Hitch

2006-02-03T13:02:00.000-08:00

It was one of those mornings when the persistent ringing of the alarm almost prodded me out of bed. I snubbed off a weird feeling fostering on my mind. I looked at my face in the mirror and screamed….no it was not a pimple, it was worse than that…it was rash; It was all over my face, successfully disfiguring it. I pinched myself hard and winced at the fact that it wasn’t a nightmare after all. I felt desperation so deep, as the people of Egypt felt when they were hit by the dreadful plagues. I was reminded of Will Smith’s allergy in the movie “Hitch” and felt like gulping down a whole bottle of Benedryl. At home my mom was worried if this would scar me for life and whether it would become a huge show stopper for my marriage proposals. I was treated like a queen and was being fussed about royally. I had people serving me head to foot.

The thought of going to office with such a classy face struck me to be a greater predicament. But, then a courage so deep and profound emerged from within me, saying – “a silly rash cannot ruin my day”. With this thought ringing in my head, I went ahead to my workplace. It was easier said than done, though. Here, I felt like a fish out of water. I wriggled uncomfortably at everyone’s gaze. Some of them gazed at me, bewildered, wondering if the company was recruiting aliens too. Some others strode on snobbishly, content by the fact that they had a better face than mine after all. My face served as a booster tonic for their egos. Yet some others threw a pitiable glance at me. Fighting away all these gazes, I ran into the comfort of my cubicle. After reaching my heaven I heaved a sigh of relief. But, I think I had rejoiced too soon, as I was flocked by my team mates, some curious to look at me and others to enquire the cause for the allergy. Now I got to know how an animal at the circus feels, with thousands of people breathing down their necks. I wanted to shriek out to everyone that it was only a rash, but, could just muster the required amount of etiquette to smile politely. The day passed on with a few more curious buffoons and pesky enquiries. My friends, the good lot that they were, advised me to consult a doctor and some of them were suggesting home remedies by rote. I was touched by their concern towards me. (They did have fun at my cost though). Frankly, deep down somewhere, I liked all the attention I was getting. Till yesterday no one knew me and today, my rash had brought me to limelight……

Howazzat!!!

2006-01-23T21:18:00.000-08:00

It was a fine morning in November, when I woke up to the chirping of birds out in my garden. I welcomed the day with a smile on my lips which traveled to my eye and became a sparkle. It was one of those perfect days when I preferred to do my kind of things. My mood compelled me to sip on hot cocoa and sway to the tunes of Kenny –G and his saxophone. I was mesmerized in my arcadia that everything outside of it seemed oblivious to me. The music from my mp3 player tingled my senses and lulled me into a deep trance. Then, it happened. Just as the waves hit the sea side rock with a fury and rage unknown, I heard the jarring and shrill voice of Harsha Bhogle, praising Sachin for the four he hit. I peeked out from my abode to see my entire family engrossed in watching a cricket match. To my surprise, my kid brother who had a “severe” stomach ache in the morning, was staring at the screen of the TV with his tongue hanging out, salivating furiously at Sachin’s super shot. My brother’s stomach was such a conditional entity, which got upset only for school and homework, but was perfectly fine for a cricket match. My father also took leave from work as he suddenly had a bout of imaginary sickness. (His mobile was switched off and the rest of the household had practiced their dialogues in case of a call from his office. Now I know where the son takes after his father). My mom was neutral to any kind of television activity. She simply watched whatever played on the idiot box. I sometimes wonder if the Formula 1 racing and the sensex reports on NDTV made any sense to her. Television time for her would be a time where she would perform all the miscellaneous chores; making garlands for her puja, cutting vegetables etc. So, even now I saw her sitting in a weird stone like silence, her hands busily working on the sweater for my dad. So, there was my family, as if under a spell of cricket.

It was not only my family, but many other homes in India where you could witness a similar scene. In actuality, cricket is a game in which there is a 160gm ball, a wooden bat, 6 wooden rods, 4 smaller versions of wooden rods, and two teams of 11 players each, either throwing a ball or hitting it with a bat. Sorry, if I sounded very unceremonious in describing the tools of a much hyped game called “cricket”. I sometimes wonder, why do we have hockey as our National game? (Any ideas?).

Everyone in India is so much influenced by cricket, that you can see small little Kapil Devs and Sachins, in every street, playing with so much vigor. It’s fun to watch the youngsters play the game with such passion. It is their passion and perseverance that I salute to, but not the game. In test match seasons and world cup seasons, cricket is the hot topic of discussion at workplaces, morning walks, at the gym, over a cup of coffee. Cricket is prevalent to that extent in air that, even cricket non-lovers, like me can’t help but hear about it from every other person and acquaintance. I definitely appreciate the sporting spirit, which I feel, is lacking in us. A game must be enjoyed and it must be a sort of learning experience for both the teams. It is a simple fact that when two teams play one has to win and the other lose. I don’t know why we oversee this simple logic and take the loss or the victory so personally that we either garland the players and call them God or stone their houses. After all, they are human and this is just a game, for Pete’s sake!!

If the match is an India- Pakistan one, then god bless both the countries. Everyone in both the countries, stick to their TV sets and pray to all the possible Gods for their county’s victory. People in Pakistan converge for extra prayers in the mosque and the women in India chant holy verses while counting the beads of their “jap mala”. I don’t know if the same people took out even a minute to pray for the soldiers at Kargil during the time of war. A few years, ago this cricket craze evolved into a fanatism which took the shape of violent brutality. Thanks to the match fixing that the wave of fanatism has now lulled. It so hopeless and such a pitiable state of blind devotion towards cricket we have that we sometimes miss out certain vital things in life. The dad just mutters an insignificant “nice” to a little girl who is longing for appreciation for the drawing she made. The wife is disappointed with her husband, as he speaks to her only during commercial breaks during the match. I don’t mean to sound anti-cricket. All I have to say that Cricket is just a game; attach only the required amount of importance to it.

I know there will be several cricket fans out there reading my blog, muttering curses beneath their breath. All I have to say to them is that, maintain the sporting spirit, this is just my point of view!!

Dreams Inc.

2006-01-23T11:22:00.000-08:00

After 4 years of fooling around in engineering, I got recruited into Wipro. I couldn’t fathom their funda of recruiting an Electronics Engineer into a software firm. The pay was reasonable for a fresher, so I didn’t ask any “smart” questions. Plus, there was an additional pressure - “Sachin made it to IIT, Sachin was absorbed into Microsoft”. Sachin was our family friend’s son, a benchmark for me as he was supposed to be Mr.Perfect. I would surely like to see him play badminton or sing for that matter. The thought itself makes me chuckle. In order to brace my self against the constant artillery of Sachin’s achievements, I sacrificed my love for English Literature and joined the herd of software professionals. After my interview, I came home, just to face a pregnant silence. My house was brimming with almost all the people from my colony. I could see the anxiousness on everyone’s face. I savored each moment of their anxiety and proudly announced my success. The totally still household broke into a surge of “I knew you could do it” and “I believed your abilities”; the same people who raised Sachin to a demi-God status. My mom, typical of her, ran into the puja room and whispered a thousand thanks to God. My dad just patted my back and tried to look away from me, but I caught a glimpse of his misty eyes, which were laden with immense pride. I was equally proud of myself as I had proved a point to Sachin.

My recruitment into Wipro had definitely changed a hell lot of things- some bold and visible and some really subtle and almost unnoticeable changes. Automatically my status in society seemed to have elevated. Unknown friends, acquaintances and a number of unseen relatives and well-wishers emerged out of nowhere. Everyone gave me importance and respect. In my colony, I had become the topic of discussion at the kitty parties and social gatherings my mom used to attend. I was the ideal daughter that every mother had to be blessed with and shortly was to be the goody-goody and obedient “bahu” that every mom-in-law would dream of. I also started receiving marriage proposals, which my parents very politely, but very importantly refused. My cousin who used to be bossy (despite the fact that she was young) was being very polite to me. My mom changed her vegetable shopping venue from the “subji mandi” to “Food World”. When I sat for dinner with my family, my dad addressed me regarding banks, savings, shares and stocks. We discussed the Indian economy and he asked me my opinion which concerned some household matter. He was treating me like an adult. I ran to the mirror in my room and checked if I was any different. I had not grown any horns, neither did my wisdom teeth come up; and then why were people treating me differently. Though I initially enjoyed this importance, later on it started to bother me. As now I was surrounded with appreciation and praise, I couldn’t distinguish eulogy from genuine compliments.

After joining work it was a different ball game all together. It had opened a whole new world for me-new faces, new people and a uniquely refreshing environment. Initially I had to struggle with criticism, which I was conveniently spared from in the last few months. It was a challenge to my wits, my morale and my zest. In the pursuit to prove myself to my boss and superiors, I became a rare commodity at home. Initially I decided that I wouldn’t let my interest for Literature die. Months rolled by, the clocks ticked off time that couldn’t be got back. In the battle between my dreams and my duties at work, the duties took control of the steering of my life and forced the dreams to take a back seat. Today, as I sit and reflect over the past, over a cup of coffee in the cafeteria, a thought incessantly surfaces to my mind- “Without passion man is a mere latent force and possibility, like the flint which awaits the shock of the iron before it can give forth its spark.” -Amiel, Journal or maybe Sachin Shasrty.....

Boy, O Boy!! Not a Girl!!

2006-01-23T02:57:00.000-08:00

It was my first stride in the world of motherhood. I was embraced with a hoard of mixed feelings. I was joyous, dreamy, apprehensive, and petrified all at the same time. It was an indescribable new phase in my life, all of a sudden promoting me to the status of a “mother”. I felt it a very short journey of transformation from daughter to wife to mother. But this title of motherhood to be bestowed on me was full of serenity, beauty, duty and dreams. I always wanted to be the mother of a charming little princess who would light up our lives like a fairy and who with her fluttering little wings would spread happiness, content, harmony and peace. The little one, for me, would be the embodiment of beauty giving our lives a new direction.

I passed by the pavements and just peered into the glass panes (literally fogging the windows) of stores that sport the prettiest of baby stuff. The baby basket with satin and muslin covers, the frocks with the prettiest of laces and frills. The bows and the ribbons, the clips and the hair bands were simply made for my sweetheart. The ribbons had to be lucky to touch the soft tresses and the gowns had to be thankful to drape the tender body of my darling. So, I imagined and wove a very private and sentimental dream of the princess of my heart.

On a fine day, with great pains, I labored the child of my dreams into this world. My baby was placed next to me and I gently kissed it’s forehead and whispered the words “little princess” in it’s ear. It was my husband who snapped me to reality and said that I had given birth to a little prince!!!!

My dreams instantly vaporized and I was dumb struck by this unplanned eventuality. And now, strange as it may seem, remorse was not to take over me. My thoughts took a new turn. My dreams of doll-houses transformed into battlefields, car racing, HE-MAN, GIJOE and other action heroes. The ribbons and frocks re-tailored into pants, shirts and shorts. The sugar, spice and all things nice were now snails, puppy dog tails, as that’s what boys are made of.

Despite the fact that I loath the sight of a half naked ruffian running around the house with a gun, climbing trees, breaking window panes and having fights, I simply cannot stop myself from being proud of my little monster, the apple of my eye- my bonny boy.
So, all I can say is….. Boy, O Boy!!! Not a Girl!!