From the Vantage Point

LInes writing around midnight :-)

2012-01-07T01:14:00.002+05:30

Me thinks midnights are the best, For writing poetry and taking rest, Though peaceful days and solitary confinements, Are also engendering and inspiring environments. However take caution oh poet, the muses might refuse to cooperate,Only when you approach in all humility, Will they indeed gratify thee..

Life's little sacrifices

2011-07-19T23:28:00.001+05:30

Hmmm....along the way, we often have had to make a few sacrifices. Life's little ones I should say...because in the grand scheme of things, these will apparently have limited importance. Let me try to list out the few sacrifices that I was forced to make:

1. My sony headset. It was an awesome gadget that would literally boom the music into your ears. My faithful companion during my early walking attempts. I didn't even have the time to process the loan request. With two sons firmly intent on making a scrapyard of my technical gadgets, the last thing I wanted to adorn on my ears was my headset. So it went out on a loan...and it has been about a couple of months since then.

2.My reading addiction - Since I am forced to remain addicted to the antics of my sons, my addiction to reading had to be sacrificed. What is the reading that I can manage in the course of a day? Some glances at the headlines...grinning to myself that I have read it all during the night and the early morn on google news. The horoscope section deserves my careful attention. Nowadays, I check my husband's daily horoscope too. Pays well to anticipate the mercurial temperaments of men which curiously seems to parallel the daily predictions. I tried the trick of spreading the newspapers on the dining table whilst I partake of my meals. Of late, my elder twin has developed the habit of sitting on my lap and partaking of my partakings. Classics are consigned to another day, while my collection of Wodehouse and James Herriot are revisited once in a while.

3. Cooking - Yes, I was addicted to cooking (to all those who doubt my culinary skills...ask those fortunate individuals who have partaken of my culinary creations) I was an amateur cook, managing my bachelorette days...but now...I can actually count the number of times I have made the evening tea in the past three weeks...a sure single digit. :-) One baby demanding to be carried, and another baby climbing the dining table chair...you get the picture? So technically, I am banished from the kitchen and have to grit my teeth in agony whilst my husband claims that indulging in culinary experiments relaxes him. :-)

4. My mobile phone - which is perpetually in three pieces. My sons find it fascinating to bang it to the floor, and watch in admiration as the display, the battery and the cover fly into three different zones. Thankfully they are not so bothered about the battery. And while I quickly dive to retrieve it, I can only thank heavens that my phone is a Nokia.

More sacrifices will probably follow...since much is expected from people on whom much responsibility is placed, right?

In His Presence

2011-06-23T22:56:00.008+05:30

It is quite sometime since the event has happpened. My initial reaction was plain shock and anger. This shouldn't be happening to someone who had given a direction not just to my life, but to thousands of students like me.
After my twelfth grade, when I was aimlessly flitting around, with neither a perspective nor a direction to my life...the floodgates opened. And I found myself in His Hallowed Presence. And how easy was it to assume that it was going to be one joyride? Turned out to be a roller-coaster instead. Though I told him that I was spreading my dreams under His Feet, and He had to tread softly on them, He assured me that when He was done with me, my dreams would turn to realities. Because, in His Presence, I could script my own story of achievement.
To begin with...I was made to understand that the road towards realising my dreams no hunky-dory affair. There were tests in between...and the worst enemy I would probably face was myself...my doubts would veritably pull me down to the nadirs of despair. And to boot it, I may not be able to realise them within a fixed period of time.
But what was more important was for me to realise that I had the potential. Every time I heard that soft voice addressing me (as a part of the crowd) as an Embodiment of God...I knew...there was no way I was gonna feel defeated...especially when He was the wind beneath my wings.
I realised once night...as I spent my time in the quadrangle of the hostel...that my imagination was my only limit. Soon...things cleared up. Suddenly, I knew that whichever path my life takes...I can be rest assured that He will be there with me. Coming back to the place that had literally shaped me was like returning to my Mother's House. As I used to sit in the Hall and watch Him from a distance...I knew for sure...that He was watching over me as well. He never declared that my life will be free of trials and tribulations. To the contrary, He showed me how to convert every experience of life into a learning experience...a learning experience for the betterment of the soul. This is my story...a story that continues...and must continue. But without Him, will it?
As I sat on the swing in the garden of my house, rocking my elder son to sleep...I remembered the events of the day. And instead of feeling sad...I remembered how in Anantapur, on special occasions, we used to make the Jhoola for Swami, and assume that He was watching, taking part in our Fresher's and Farewell Parties, welcoming us and bidding us Goodbye, assuring us that He will be watching us, for ever. I remembered the last time He had called us into Trayee (2003) and gave us the beautiful message of courage and fortitude. How could He not be there in my life, especially, since He has been and will be the compass for my life? Though I miss Him terribly, His Presence is a given in my life.

A Thank You Note

2011-01-20T00:31:00.004+05:30

I tried writing this as a poem...(I don't even know how I conceive of myself as a poet) But this is one of those occasions when prose aids me better.
Two tiny bundles lying by my side...night after night...in peaceful bliss. My priceless diamonds as I call them, I never knew that they were going to come into my life this soon...and thrust on me the sweet responsibilities of motherhood. I don't curse the sleepless nights that I spend...just to be sure that I answer to they calls promptly. And the strange kind of pleasure that I feel in arranging their beds, decking them up for their walks, taking care of their diet and so on and so forth. Two years ago, if anyone had asked me on what motherhood means, my answer in all probability would have been clinical. Trust me on that. But today,...I fall short of words to describe. Yes, I have had to make a few sacrifices along the way..chief among them being the pleasures of my bachelorette days. But then,...the sense of pride that I felt in welcoming my twins has consigned everything else to the closet...never to be opened as of now and for some time to come.

I am indeed honoured and humbled to be called a mother. The first time I heard R mouth 'ammmmmmmaaaaaaaaa' and B following suit..... trust me...my heart skipped a beat. This is it....my proud moment as a mother. Thank you B and R for making my life so beautiful.

Touching Moments

2010-07-20T06:10:00.001+05:30

I was reading a novel, lying down next to my twins. I had placed one of my hands on a twin, who had been difficult a while ago, and had brought the house down with his bawling. As I was lost in the memoirs of Sayuri, the geisha, all of a sudden, I discovered that my index finger was not available for turning the page. A quick look, and I found my twin clutching on to my finger with such intense ferocity. He was fast asleep, the very picture of a divine angel. Extricating my finger would mean waking him up. Quick decision. I decided to leave Sayuri alone for the time being and instead, removed my spectacles and settled for a nice nap next to my twin. When I woke up after half an hour, the little chap was still clutching my finger. :-)

Lines written during a boring seminar

2010-07-18T08:28:00.000+05:30

I wish I could draw,
And paint and colour,
Or weave tapestries,
Of patterns and flowers.

Or solve riddles,
Seemingly puzzling,
Or get lost in a world,
Of gaiety and singing.

But sigh...I am fated,
To listen to this piper,
Who drones on and on,
And pushes me to sleep forever.

An Incomplete Poem

2010-07-18T08:26:00.001+05:30

For an honest smile,
For a happy sigh,
I need but a moment,
A moment that's mine.

For a light step,
And a dance and a skip,
I need but a place,
A place that is mine.

For the moment and the stage,
I search amongst the lanes,
My steps tread towards 'home'
But... nay...this is not the way.

Silent Nights

2010-06-04T02:05:00.003+05:30

The nights are dark and long
The bliss of sleep denied
Dawn hearkens with its song
But the silence is not defied.

The only sounds that break
The shrouded silence around
The fan, air conditioner and
The whistles of guards on rounds

Silence gives way to solitude
Solitude to Self
Occupied with its vagaries
Oblivious to the world.

A sudden jingle...
Sounds like somebody's anklets
Inexplicable fear, a sudden dash
Destination - safe in bed.

On Happiness

2010-05-20T16:47:00.002+05:30

Found this poem Happiness by Carl Sandburg in my diary.

I asked the professors who teach the meaning of life to tell me what is happiness
And I went to famous executives who boss the work of thousands of men.
They all shook their heads and gave me a smile as though I was trying to fool with them.
And then one Sunday afternoon I wandered along the Desplaines river
And I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with their women and children
and a keg of beer and an accordion.

Hyderabadi Psychic and Bomdom the Keeper of the Cobwebs 2

2010-01-21T23:51:00.003+05:30

Hyderabadi Pyschic - Is there anything like being emotionally objective?

Btw am fighting the temptation to get a new phone. [I already have a 5700] Wish like buying the darn thing and get done with it so that it gets outta my system.

what I actually mean is, just like how you would examine a thought objectively, can you examine emotions objectively? Isn't the word emotion itself supposed to be subjective?

Bomdom, the Keeper of the Cobwebs - Oh! I thought you meant your 'emotional' need for a new mobile phone! How could you objectively choose a phone when you need a GOOD one so badly. :D And since I am no good at choosing mobiles, I decided to keep my fingers clenched (the net equivalent to keeping the trap shut - made that up meself !)

Since you are asking this one seriously, probably, you are treading the path towards meditation. That is what meditation all about, right? One of the forms of meditation is to keep yourself aloof and silently WITNESS your thought process. And witness it objectively. The idea is to become aware of the noise within one's head. And the ideal situation is when one is able to be a witness all the time.

So the answer to your question is YES. It is possible to examine one's emotions objectively. It obviously needs practice - lots of practice. Probably, one could start by retrospection. In hindsight, when the heat of the moment is no longer 'driving you' - it would be worthwhile to thing objectively of one's actions. One has to be mercilessly honest with oneself at such times, otherwise it is the usual exercise of justifying one's actions.

One game that is like to play with myself is to stop my thought process at some point and try to trace back the thoughts and see how the mind has been jumping from one branch to another. Try to see how far back I am able to reach following the train of thoughts. That is also the reason why my favorite literary style (is that the word) is 'stream of consciousness'. Tolstoy was a master there. My all time favourite is from War and Peace - check out bibliomania - Fiction - Leo tolstoy - War and peace - Part 3 chapter 13 - the very first passage. How beautifully, Tolstoy has recreated the meanderings of a tired mind!

Anyway, coming back to the topic, this game is actually one type of meditation. Once one gets used to see how the mind keeps flitting about, I am sure one will be less enamoured by its prowess. That is the key, I suppose. To be able to differentiate oneself from one's mind and to see it as a tool - My tool. What Swami's tirelessly keeps driving home. I am not the body, I am not the mind. Never used to make much sense earlier. But beginning to wake up a bit now. Still, the awakening is to a great extent only because of the practical use of the this differentiation. The ability to watch my anger. Even sometime when I am acting, in the clutches of anger - there is a part that watches. It is a long journey. But an adventurous one - to the point where one can be a witness all the time even in The Battlefield.

So YES. very much possible to objectively watch your emotions!

Conversation between the Hyderabadi Psychic and Bomdom, the Keeper of the Cobwebs 1

2010-01-21T23:39:00.003+05:30

Hyderabadi Psychic - Does God listen to our prayers?

Bomdom, the Keeper of the Cobwebs - Nice answer to your question - Does God listen to our prayers! :D

THE DUCK AND THE GRANDMA

There was a little boy visiting his grandparents on their farm.He was given a slingshot to play with, out in the woods. He practiced in the woods, but he could never hit the target. Getting a little discouraged, he headed back for dinner.

As he was walking back he saw Grandma's pet duck. Just out of impulse, he let the slingshot fly, hit the duck square in the head, and killed it. He was shocked and grieved.

In a panic, he hid the dead duck in the wood pile, only to see his sister watching! Sally had seen it all, but she said nothing at all.

After lunch the next day Grandma said, "Sally, let's wash the dishes."But Sally said , "Grandma, Johnny told me he wanted to help in the kitchen." Then she whispered to him, "Remember the duck?" So Johnny did the dishes.

Later that day, Grandpa asked if the children wanted to go fishing and Grandma said, "I'm sorry but I need Sally to help make supper."Sally just smiled and said," Well that's all right because Johnny told me he wanted to help." She whispered again, "Remember the duck?" So Sally went fishing and Johnny stayed to help.

After several days of Johnny doing both his chores and Sally's ... he finally couldn't stand it any longer. He came to Grandma and confessed that he had killed the duck. Grandma knelt down, gave him a hug, and said, "Sweetheart, I know. You see, I was standing at the window and I saw the whole thing. But because I love you, I forgave you. I was just wondering how long you would let Sally make a slave of you"

The Winter of Discontent

2009-12-10T16:06:00.004+05:30

A single man held Andhra Pradesh to ransom and brought a city down on its knees. And people were mute spectators. Petrol prices shot up and essential commodities went out of reach of the common man. Schools closed, exams postponed, city stoned and brought to a grinding halt. All because of the madness of one man.

And just when we thought that the whole farce was gonna end, there come new demands for new states. And the domino effect has rippled the state apart. Now the fight starts for Hyderabad and the fate of the government hangs in balance.

Hyderabad, the hub of the real estate, the emerging silicon valley of the country and the picturesque city of the Nizams has now become the bone of contention. Forget about being responsible about the city, now our politicians are busy calculating who will get the lion's share of Telengana. Not one politician is satisfied with the amount of wealth he has amassed. Breaking up of Andhra Pradesh means more plum positions and more opportunities to earn money.

It is sad that students of universities have played into the hands of the jobless man who spearheaded the fast and have left the image of the city tarnished. The average man in Hyderabad is really not bothered about this sense of discontent amongst the 'Telenganites' who think that they have to lay a claim to what they think is theirs. Where has the idea of unity gone? Straight out of the window.

At the end of the day, are they asking themselves, for what end are they fighting? All said and done, it is turning out to be a horrid winter this year in Hyderabad, to witness all this discord and discontent.

And the man? I can do nothing except hope that his karma catches up with him pretty soon.

Our hats off to the silent genius

2009-11-06T12:49:00.004+05:30

I am no great fan of cricket, apart from a passing interest generally displayed on lazy afternoons. My insider's dope on the personal lives of the cricketers is next to nil and heck I don't even have a autograph. No cricket bat/ball adorns my room and if someone invites me for a game of cricket, I settle down comfortably into the role of an arm chair critic. But after what I saw yesterday, my admiration for one man has reached the zenith - Sachin Tendulkar. Look at his figures. My eyes were riveted as this man stood his ground and took those amazing shots wherever it was possible and made the impossible seem achievable. His team mates came and went and contributed next to nothing (except for the likes of Sehwag and Raina) while this man chased, ran and exerted himself to every possible extent to show that this was not just a game of cricket. There was lot at stake. Even if he had to go down, he had to make noise and show that the victory would not be easy as long as the likes of him were around. That is why it was such a pleasure to watch him defeat the well-planned strategies of Ricky Ponting. And that is why it was with a sad sigh that I watched him fall down as the exhaustion finally caught up with him. And that is why I watched with anger as the rest of his teammates destroyed what he had so painstakingly built. It was like Taj Mahal being built in a fast forward mode, and then being subjected to brute destruction. While the better known of his teammates hog the headlines with their adverts, their driving Hummers without registration, and their occasional forays into the world of fashion and glamour, this silent genius prefers to rise to the occasion, like a lion. Hats off to Sachin Tendulkar!

From my Diary

2009-11-06T12:33:00.002+05:30

AFFIRMATIVE PRAYER

I had copied this prayer in my diary a long long time ago and haven't been able to trace the source. The power of belief that the prayer celebrates has held my fascination, though the page on which this prayer was written by itself has yellowed.

I've been praying for you
In a special kind of way,
I do not ask for favours
Nor grovel while I pray.

I make the affirmation
That you can carry through
The work you've undertaken
And things you want to do.

I say you have the wisdom,
The vision and the strength
To reach the goal you're seeking,
And you will win at length.

I see you in fulfillment
Of the purposes you seek;
And in imagination
You're standing on the peak.

And then I thank the good Lord
That the thing a man believes
And what he dares to picture
Is the thing man receives.

From my diary

2009-11-06T12:19:00.002+05:30

Microscopic forms of cardiac hemorrhages have become very frequent in the recent years. They are not always fatal. Some people get over them. It's a typical modern disease. I think its causes are of a moral order. The great majority of us are required to live a life of constant, systematic duplicity. Your health is bound to get affected if, day after day, you say the opposite of what you feel, if you grovel before what you dislike and rejoice at what brings you nothing but misfortune. Our nervous system isn't just a fiction, it's a part of our physical body and our soul exists in space and is inside us, like the teeth in our mouth. It can't be forever violated with impunity.

Mountains and Minarets

2009-10-14T08:36:00.007+05:30

I still remember when me and D walked in My Home Rainbow on one sultry March evening, weighing the possibilities of us moving here. I was not happy with the fact that the apartment was on the sixth floor. But then, here was something about the apartment which we could not quite figure out. At that point of time, it was probably the commuting factor that had clinched the deal. My university and D's office were only twenty minutes away and I can safely forget about shelling out pots of cash for the autos.

The day we moved in, I made my first mug of tea and walked into the balcony. What I saw held my breath. On one side were the Jubilee Hills and of course all those cars on the road. And on the other were those Qutb Shahi tombs. Minarets against the skyscape reminding me of years of legacy that Hyderabad possesses.

Rainbow was fun unlimited. I fondly remember those punctuated occasions when D and I used to give a critical running commentary of the movie shootings that used to take place in Rainbow. Or surprise our neighbours with our blaring rock music and occasional hollering. Weekdays of work and fun and weekends of movies and eating out. It became our agenda to visit every restaurant in the city and try at least a starter if not the whole menu. That was our goal- to be achieved in ten months. But before we could do that, there came the clarion call to move on to the greener pastures of life.

As preparations are afoot for all the festivity that G-607 is gonna witness soon, those lazy movie sessions on the laptop and cooking sessions with D hollering from the kitchen whenever she chooses to experiment over the weekends have suddenly acquired the status of the sunniest days of my life. (of late I am not dreading these sessions because nowadays what D dumps on me to eat is quite edible ;-))

Our policy had been maximum utilisation of the resources, especially with reference to the elevator that had this weird tendency of becoming unoperational. Resources also included the track around the apartments which were used for evening walks. And as we went on walks, it was a standard policy for us to search for all the Honda City's, Civic's and Skoda's. D's dream of clicking a picture near the Honda Civic didn't however materialise. (She can safely forget about it as she is soon gonna have a chauffeur-driven BMW. Hehehehe!)

From mountains and minarets, we moved on to various things that we had come to love in this home. It was a place were D and I could just be ourselves. And more than that, it was, at the end of a hard day's work, a cozy home for us. We will miss you G-607, My Home Rainbow. Bye!

On Being Tagged!

2009-10-11T01:08:00.003+05:30

Sometime ago, the Bard had tagged me. But it took some time for me to figure out the significance of numbers one to ten. I thought I would list all the interesting as well as bizarre things and rate them on a scale of one to ten, with one being the most positive enthusiastic reaction of mine to the experience (My enthusiastic reactions are those that generally involve some kind of squealing, some kind of not so rhythmic jumping, and some kind of running about the house - not necessarily in the same order).Would that fit the bill Bard?

1. Receiving a huge coffee mug as a present. I am so obsessed with that mug presently that I am drinking even water out of it.

2. Dancing after ages and discovering that I have still not lost the skill.

3. Going on a bike with my brother. My it was awesome!

4.Eating an assortment of Country Oven pastries. I had been off pastries for quite some time now and you can imagine the look on my face one night when my room-mate walked into the house with a box of pastries. In all my hurry to eat, I even forgot to thank her for being so thoughtful about the Queen's plight.

5. Getting my first collection of Feluda stories. Had my eye on this for quite sometime now and was positively thrilled when I went to the new Landmark store in Hyderabad. I had been asked to buy any book for myself and I chose the collected stories of Feluda.

6. Going for the movie Wake Up Sid. I was not very much impressed by the movie. It was more the fact that this was the last weekend that I was gonna spend with my roommate.

7. Eating pani poori when the rains started in Hyderabad. No roadside pani puri this time. It was at the posh chat corner of Ohri's Banjara Hills.

8. Chancing upon a few of the poems I had written during college days while cleaning my stuff. Laughed to see how desperate I was for attention during those days of scholarly pursuits and musical extravagance.

9. Getting stuck in the same elevator twice in the same day. Hmm it was interesting and reminded me of the movie The Final Destination yet again.

10. Discovering a new route home which would save me Rupees twenty on my daily auto fare. Only catch was that I would have to cross the road. I decided to master my fears and become a master of my fears. Net result - quite a bit of savings for the queen.

PS to the Bard - Yes, it took me sometime but then, I finally got around to doing it. I have no one else who can be tagged along, so guess the tag ends here. :-)

Random advice from one twitterer to another

2009-09-28T12:44:00.006+05:30

I do sympathise with Shashi Tharoor on the controversy his tweet on 'cattle class' has provoked. But I can't help but feel that the man has deserved what he got. How on earth could he have expected that nobody would see offence at being referred to as 'cattle class' on a public forum? We may belong to a tolerant nation where all the politicians would shout shrill, issue threats to the highest law institutions and use the government machinery to enforce those threats. We definitely belong to a nation where people see the other way when women are abused and evidence is tampered with and small school girls become victims of the careless remarks of police officers who goof up with the crime scene evidence. (I hope the readers are getting the references right) Yet, we would all jerk up our ears and say,...'What was that? Did Shashi Tharoor have the nerve to call us the 'cattle class'? A furore over a tweet and a silence over the threat.

Being a twitterer myself, I restrict my tweets to an occasional exclamation of surprise. Not that I have a huge fan following, and I have absolutely no intentions of stirring up the masses. (though I have pretensions to being a Queen) For me, at the end of the day, twittering is just another form of micro blogging. Just like blogs, there maybe no censorship. But given the fact that the man has over a lakh followers, he should have exercised some care while twittering away to glory. Especially when we live in times where exclusivity can be witnessed in almost all planes of interaction. Add to that the fact that he is a first-time minister with an accent, he ought to know that with the freedom to twitter comes the responsibility to twitter sense. You really don't need to go all the way to Harvard or write loads of books to understand that.

Reality TV - The demise of real life?

2009-09-17T10:59:00.003+05:30

I had been wanting to give a piece of my mind on the programming content of reality shows for quite some time now. What had started as my surprise at the judges' apparent 'indignance' at participants' non-performance graduated to total disgust by the time Rakhi Sawant decided to publicise her 'swayamvar'. I mean there is only so much you can tolerate. Much that I proclaim to be a 'little feminist', a group of guys prancing around a 'plastic' lady only makes me lose all respect for this member of my sex. I stick to NDTV24X7 (since this svyamwar business I have stopped watching NDTV Imagine). But this lady appears in an interview saying how delighted she was to be with that 'god knows what's his name' fellow. And of course the ranting on how she has made it big in an industry that has been very unfair to her. Phew!

And yesterday, this lady appeared yet again, now taking care of a baby (poor baby!) and ranting that she has lost all her beauty. Now I am positively indignant. Whatever, this post was not intended to be about how I am not able to tolerate this lady and her lust for adulation by hook or crook.

It is this thing called reality television. Promises of instant stardom do translate into assured viewers. (This just goes to show how many megalomaniacs thrive amongst us) And how do you attract attention? The 'shock and awe' tactics that good ole Bush used in Iraq. A participant who publicly voices her anger against the judges of a dance show ensures higher TRP ratings for the week. Or yet another who performs a useless dare devilry stunt on some kind of contraption. And yes, the good old family sentiment prevails as the participants cry and apologise to their parents for not having made it to the finals and the parents in full strength and full public view (televised view also) assuring their wards that they are the best. You know what hits you the most? A four year old girl crying on the stage because apparently she has not been able to fulfill her parents' dreams? And what is the stuff of these dreams? You get the picture?

If not dances or dangerous sports, it is the needless bravado to assert our blemishless character in front of the masses so that tomorrow when the person in question walks down the road, everybody hails.

The question is why at all do we feel the need to parade our superiority in public and gain approval for it? Is it because somewhere with all our public life, our private spaces have reduced? Or is it some demented way of inflating our egos to kingsize and expecting the whole world to join in the applause? Even if it meant shedding buckets of crocodile tears?

For all that Swayamavar farce, whatever happened to the true meaning of a wedding? Or, do I need to dangle onto my dear life with snakes hissing at me below in a muddy pond to show that here is one thing I can excel at (and earn credits for it)? Do I need to cry in a show to prove that my family means a lot to me? Whatever happened to real life? Reel life is at least palatable, but reality TV...ughhhhhhh!

On my sorority life and reality.

2009-09-11T13:41:00.007+05:30

With all my pretensions to being a queen, unqueenly is what you would call me on any average day. I'd like my clothes and accessories to be simple and comfortable,
since I have to run around for cabs, autos and of late, public transport. There is no way I can walk around on pencil tip heels (the roads of Hyderabad would not permit me to do that) nor dress in loud colours (by nature I prefer remaining discreet). So when N sent me a Sorority Life invite on Facebook, I dilly - dallied for sometime and then made the plunge.

Hell, I discovered I could make lots of money just by clicking on those buttons called 'organise events.' Great. Soon I had a bank account, and each time I deposited money, I wished it was for real. I could pass various levels and publish my success stories on my wall. (Friends were flummoxed for sometime.) Somebody would pop up on facebook chat and I would ask them to scoot, coz I was busy playing and putting money in bank and acquiring lots of glam. Heck - I wasn't even gonna wear most of those clothes in real life.

I was hooked. Every morning, I would exhaust all my accrued energy on the game and wait for it to replenish so that I could quickly move to next level. Soon, I got a car, two more and then there was no looking back. For someone who gazes at all the audis and mercs in hyd, this was some kind of vicarious satisfaction.

However, something was not altogether right. I discovered I was losing money and confidence. Further investigation showed that I was being attacked by people whom I didnt even know. Worse...I didnt know how to retaliate. I was informed that I was losing because of my limited house (the number of girls on your side and the glam that they have helps you fend off attacks from others.)

But I grew over it in time. What mattered was the money and glam I was acquiring. Soon with the passing levels, I could play some interesting games which now keep me occupied. Consequently my progress on sorority life has become slower. Now I am a Level 41 Diva and the last I checked, I had close to 5 million dollars in my bank account. Only catch is that all of it is not real.

That brings me to the whole point about this - why at all do we have an online life? Why are we more of netizens and less of citizens? Is it the fact that our online alter ego can be all that we are not in reality? Does it offer a medium which remotely approximates to real life? Is that why we dabble in it? Is that the logic behind our addiction to constantly updating our online status? Or is it just our gregarious nature?

Bhandi Chai

2009-09-08T15:04:00.006+05:30

For the uninitiated, bhandi chai is a heaven's blessing on those windy and tiring days. When you can make yourself comfortable and have those few sips of warm tea while the wind goes all about you. Just in case you may think otherwise, bhandi chai can also be had on normal days. Only that on those special days listed above, it tastes twice blest. A lot lot different from the usual mug of tea that has become my ritual every morning and evening. It is sold by those vendors who tend to congregate near bus stops. Along with the palli (ground nut) vendors, they make a killing combination. But lets forget about the palli vendors for the moment and focus on the chai walla.

You just walk up to him, ask for your cup of tea and pay something like one tenth of what you would pay in upmarket restaurants. Then, if it is the university, you can comfortably sit under the tree and take those refreshing sips. And of course, also look around at life in all its hues and colours.

The last time I had bhandi chai, I had to catch an eary morning bus. D's dad insisted on dropping me at the bus stop. The weather was nippy and it was gonna be a good ten minutes before my bus would arrive. 'How about a cup of tea?'he inquired. The cup in question is actually one of those small plastic ones. That was my first encounter with bhandi chai and I was concerned about the hygiene angle. But as those sips went in, I felt a warmth and an assurance that I will make this trip without being frozen to ice.

Today there was too much of information to analyse. I gave up, shut down the system and walked down to the university cafeteria. There was a lot of excitement going on about the student elections, and the policemen looking at everyone as a potential trouble maker. But hell,... who cares. I made myself comfortable with my cup of tea under a tree, savoured it thoroughly. And in the process, thanked the heavens above for those simple pleasure of life.

Cunning? Streetsmart? or...outright innocent?

2009-08-24T10:07:00.006+05:30

Of late something (read that as 'someone')has been getting onto my nerves.I have a friend of mine (at least I thought so...) who has been around with me for quite some time now.A little bit marbles in the head, and sometimes, rational explanations do elude her actions and statements. My better sense tells me to avoid any personal references to her. But I must tell the reasons for my grouse.

She expects people to adjust according to what she wants. A friend who doesn't call her once in a day is no friend at all. On the other hand, a stranger who does not have the time to respond to her is to be assessed on a different scale coz as she puts it, 'She is different.' She is all the time bothered about how 'clued-in' you are about other mutual friends.She withholds information depending on the category of people she is interacting with and expects you not to do the same. You remain only a source of information of all that she needs from time to time.And yes, she expects you to make decisions for her. At least that is how it sounds, until you realise that she has used the same line at least with two other friends of hers. And she sincerely believes that her friend X will never ever talk to her friend Y. So she can carp and cavil all that she wants between the both of them and in the process, acquire some brownie points by the way of sympathy.

Hmmm, it will go on and on I guess. But what surprises me the most is, is she actually aware of what she is doing? All my mutual friends feel that she is to be sympathised with and not judged. I try my best to be polite to her. And this post would have never happened, if she had not been so sarcastic about a very serious thing in my life. Is she cunning, streetsmart, or innocent?

Not allowing me to express myself

2009-08-03T14:52:00.008+05:30

The song which played while I wait fuming for the customer service head is that of airtel thanking the people of Andhra Pradesh for making it the best mobile service in the state. Fiddlesticks! Ask me and I will explain the irony.

I had taken a new post paid number of airtel. Idea had demanded that if I wanted to get my ideas across to people, I should hang precariously onto the balcony of my flat for my life and my limb. The Customer Care assured me that they were trying for a better network coverage which should be through in a few days. My wiser friends nodded darkly (they had missed neither the experience, nor the meaning) and said that they had been under the same delusion for more than a year now. So I decided to move to what were the apparently greener pastures of Airtel. If my experience with Idea had been that of dealing with deluded people, Airtel was worse. They justified as to why they were 'apparently' deluded.

It all started with that message which claimed that due to negative address verification, I was going to be disconnected.I had to contact the customer care immediately. What followed was worse that getting lost in Franz Kafka's castle. And the epilogue to the story is stranger.

CCE 1 - Madam, our servers are busy now. The status of your connection will be available only after half an hour.

After half an hour

CCE 2 - There seems to be some problem with your address verification. Please contact the address verification department.

The bloke was decent enough to give me a number which did not work. So I dutifully called Customer Service again.

CC3 - Why don't you try with a different SIM card? (assumption - I travel with different sim cards at a given point of time.. He was cheerful enough to attempt to help me though) Actually your address verification has turned out to be negative, though I don't know what it actually means.

Rude words from me and my call is escalated to the team lead.

Team lead - You have to pay an additional 500 rupees by the end of today since you dont live in a family accomodation.

Polite question from my side as to why this was not told to me before elicited the same response. Change of tactics - I ask by when do I have to pay. Response - ASAP. By now I am furious and start yelling. I had the right to yell coz it had already been declared to the dealer that I don't live with a family and the payment to that effect had been made and any lame learner of English can see that the phrase 'negative verification' patently means something different from paying extra money and airtel cannot hold gun to the forehead of its post paid customers like this. Moreover the writing on the wall was clear - this process means that within a week of your taking a post paid connection, you would get a message that would shake you out of your living daylights like this. I started threatening legal action. That is when the call was escalated to the Head of the Customer Service.

I will spare the details and his justifications, but I did threaten him of legal action since all my documents were in place. In his 'I am going out of my way for your sake' capacity, he assured me of direct access to him and requested me to make the payment by 8.00 pm that night to avoid being disconnected.

Then more out of malicious intent, I call the Customer Care again to find the status of my number

CCE 4 - (cheerfully) The number is working maam and there is no need to make any additional payment.

And to the end, the Customer Care Head (poor man,...I pity his wife who has to put up with this kind of talk everyday. Must be muttering the same sales talk in his sleep also) insisted that Airtel's procedures were the best in comparison to other services like Reliance and Idea, coz they give you the service but steal your data (god knows how this happens - whatever, this is definitely heterogeneous scenarios yoked together by violence) When I confronted him the next day, he was clueless as to how CCE 4 could give a different take on the situation and instead chose to escape into singing odes in the praise of the procedures of airtel.

Whatever, I have not made that payment till date. And my number continues to work.

Disclaimer - The above is a reconstruction of the conversation that I had with Airtel over a period of three hours (plus an hour the next day). Since it is based on conversations recollected in tranquility (after having established suitable distance between myself and the events) I cannot be legally held accountable for the remarks expressed anywhere in this post. :-)

From my Diary

2009-07-18T21:30:00.002+05:30

I'm a nobody! Who are you?
Are you a nobody, too?
Then there's two of us - don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

- Emily Dickinson

Wise guy - real and acquired meanings! ;-)

2009-07-18T20:33:00.003+05:30

'Wise guy is actually supposed to refer to a person who is a 'know-it-all' and hence by default, a smart person who is trying to show off his knowledge. No wonder its usage is thereby restricted to the sarcastic contexts. So if we use it as a compliment, it may actually have the opposite effect. You may refer to your boss as a wise guy, when you are with fellow - sympathisers at a cafeteria, but definitely not to his face, expecting a raise.'

This was what I had written about wise guy on a different platform. And attracted this blitzkrieg from Uncle Scrooge.

'Call me an MCP if you wish, but I can't stand a girl who tries to encroach boldly into a decidedly male dominion! Now look at this post here - she has written a whole article about 'wise guy' but is clueless about that ONE movie that every guy would have heard of - Donnie Brasco. This is what happens when you are not clued in, when you are not part of the club, when you have a wrong chromosome.

Ma'am! You wanna write about 'wise-guy'? You go watch Donnie Brasco. Period. Otherwise "forget about it"!

A wise guy is a 'made man' in the mafia.

For the uninitiated outcasts of the wiseguydom, in other words for the females, here is a brief introduction to what a wise guy is - straight from the mouth of the ultimate WISEGUY - Al Pacino:

"A non-wiseguy never asks a wiseguy a question. A non-wiseguy don't even talk to a wiseguy unless the wiseguy talks to him first. Capeesh?"

"Wiseguy has a bag, you pick up the bag. Wiseguy runs a tab, you pick up the tab. Wiseguy is always right -- even if he's wrong he's right. All the way up the line. Connected guy to wiseguy to skipper to boss."

"Don't be carrying your money in a wallet no more. Wiseguy got his in a roll, like this. Beaner on the outside. "

"A wise guy never pays for his drink."

So no wonder that your 'clued-in' friend was indignant on being called a wise guy. But then you wouldn't know why, would you?

Hmph!'

I have since then watched the movie Donnie Brasco!

From my diary

2009-07-18T20:00:00.000+05:30

The Nation
The heart is the capital of the mind,
The mind is a single state
heart and mind together make
A single continent.

One is population
Numerous enough.
This ecstatic nation
Seek - it is yourself.
- Emily Dickinson

An Evening in my kitchen.

2009-07-18T15:12:00.005+05:30

Why is it that of late I am always thinking about the dishes to be washed? Even though there are no dishes to be washed? Why is it that of late, the first thought in my mind is that of cooking? An excuse to spend more time in the kitchen?

As I cook, the door of the living room is open and the music is blaring. Ranging from Pakistani Singers to Ronan Keating to Aerosmith. My neighbours know that I am cooking. Till now, no one has objected to the loud music and my accompanying notes which are sometimes off-key. In fact, my neighbour was offering me dinner the other day coz she had not heard the music and had assumed that I had not cooked dinner.

As I fry the onions and brinjals, I hear the now all-too-familiar sound of screeching brakes and a sudden silence. I know what would follow next. The siren of an ambulance, By the time the brinjals are done, the ambulance would have taken away the unfortunate victim. It is ironic. My sixth floor balcony overlooks the Qutb Shahi tombs on one side, and this dreaded road on the other.

Accidents apart, you can see most of the latest cars of the city on this road. And also some of the most weirdos who can kill people for mobile phones. Nevertheless, a good and an interesting highway to watch as the food is getting cooked.

But when I look back into the kitchen, something is not right. The salt container has not been returned to its place and the cleaning cloth is lying all rolled up. As the tea is getting done, I think about the piled up work. There is time for it. Not during my precious moments in the kitchen.

I reach out for the new jam bottle that I had bought. Why do people have to make it difficult to open the bottle? Weird how we tend to complicate simple things. Made myself a quick sandwich with jam. I remember that I am off butter. Otherwise a karate instructor is gonna materialise in my living room and cut into my precious moments in the kitchen. ;-) [a veiled threat issued by a VIP]

I finish making the chapatis and the vegetable for the dinner. It takes about an hour. And Dipti has to come and pass the verdict on the taste of the fare. Till then, let me enjoy my mug of tea and plan the menu for tomorrow.

Thank You for the Music

2009-06-26T11:11:00.003+05:30

As I walked out of my apartment and into the lift, I checked my song list for any songs by Michael Jackson. I could find a lot of rock, few hip-hop and some retro. But only one Smooth Criminal by Michael Jackson. How I have moved on in my taste for music.

To develop a sense of music, do you need a strong foundation? The first time I heard Heal the World, I could hear Michael Jackson telling me, 'It is all in the melody girl!' And when I heard Thriller and the rest, I could see that there was a lot more to beat and rhythm than I had hitherto known.

Frankly speaking, for an initiate, I could not understand what Michael Jackson was saying in his songs. [But he is a shade better than those Linkin Park's and others whom I listen to nowadays] But then,... who cared. When I was working about the house, the beats of Smooth Criminal, Remember the Time, Blood on the Dance Floor [picture me with the mopping stick mopping the floor in tune with the beats of this song...sometimes Queens can do the weirdest things. It comes with the position :)] used to keep me focussed. On my evening walks, Gone too Soon, Liberian Girl and Heal the World kept me company with their haunting music. Of course, They Don't Really Care About Us was quite therapeutic in my run-in with the authorities once in a while. My My! How have I moved on since those early days of my initiation into music.

Most of all, Michael Jackson taught me to have a ear for beat, rhythm and melody, something that came in quite handy when I dabbled in playing a musical instrument. And he didn't stop there. He taught me how to appreciate music and enjoy it more. What Milton said of Shakespeare maybe quite true of Michael Jackson - he doesn't need a tomb in stone. His works become a standing testimony to his art - a vast sepulchre they will form - a sepulchre of songs that you keep returning to.

As I hear the news about his untimley demise, I do wonder whether there was more to come out of him. Perhaps what he said of Aaliyah maybe true for him - I can't help but feel that he has Gone too Soon.

Thank you for the Music, Michael Jackson!

Chasing your dreams with a mug of coffee

2009-06-08T09:06:00.004+05:30

This morning, as I walked nonchalantly into the kitchen, I had been unconsciously automated into doing something I had not done for quite some time now. The figure freak that I had become, the morning coffee had given way to lemon juice mixed with honey. [God knows if it worked]

But then, today was different. The night had been different too. For a change, Hyderabad witnessed some much needed showers, and a consequent drop in temperature. After a night that witnessed both chasing and burial of dreams, morning had only brought a reminder of the storm that had passed the previous day - both on the landscape and the inscape.

I have my one favourite coffee mug - Archies - with the message, 'Attitude is everything'. I mixed the instant coffee and made it sure that the mug was filled to the brim. Walked into the hall and switched on the television. Nothing much happening on the news front. Television was just a pathetic excuse to drown out the inner storm that was raging.

And as I slowly made myself comfortable on the chairs and with my laptop, with occasional sips of the instant coffee, peace dawned. A peace that passeth all understanding. A peace that promised that the joy lies, not as much in achieving the dreams, as in chasing them. A peace that said that you have at least tried, instead of regretting for the rest of your life that you could have,...but you didn't. A peace that said that this too shall pass. A peace that told me, never...never to stop chasing my dreams. My day moves on, as the last night remains just another chapter in the book of life. There are fresh pastures to be explored,... and I move on.

How wrong can things go!

2009-05-17T11:40:00.003+05:30

I don't have bad hair days very often. Combine them with nights, you have an awful combination. It was time for me to have that combination. No, there not an iota of remorse that Dr. Manmohan Singh is gonna occupy the hot chair. It all started in the night. Some incident which the Queen has to keep confidential, and then she could not sleep till midnight.

Due to some weird reason, she slept on the floor and at around 1.00 am, the phone starts ringing with coincidentally the song by The Cranberries on Zombies. Turned out that it was a message from the service provider. (He is gonna have a hard time very soon) After struggling back to sleep, the alarm rings out (I conveniently forgot about the alarm that I had set) My phone's alarm is like the weapons detector at the airport. (I leave the rest to your imagination)

Woke up with great reluctance at 6.00 am to clear the rubbish in the house. I opened the door and left the bag of rubbish outside. Once back inside, I briefly debated about the merits of getting back into bed. After all it is a Sunday. Dashed back into the bedroom and went in for another round of sleep. When I woke up at 10.30 am, my flatmate looked at me with a hurt expression. Reason - I had left the door wide open.

My tale of woe just didn't stop there. I went into the kitchen to start cooking. My customary practice is to clean the stove first. As I removed the burner, a searing pain tore across the fingers of my left hand. Instinctive reaction - I started screaming and howling and rushed out of the kitchen. Turns out that my flatmate had just then boiled some water on the stove.

I politely excused myself from the rest of the activities for the day. Though I am sure that things can't go any more wrong than this, well...you never know. My imagination is showing me all shots from The Final Destination series. The last time that happened, I lost my N82.

As the adage goes, Fools rush in where angels fear to tread...ahem, where Queens fear to tread.

Whither goest thou in search of thy possessions?

2009-05-12T11:31:00.003+05:30

Darn? Where did that sharpener go?
Pillows out of the place, bedsheets thrown asunder, door mat hastily checked, a quick survey of the hall,...no...no luck. I need that sharpener NOW. The pencil lead has become blunt. A quick dash to the kitchen...no...nowhere near the stove. A brainwave as I checked my jeans pockets...retrieved the pencil shavings which I had shoved there making a mental reminder to throw them in the dustbin later, only to forget about them altogether. As I settle for the rest of the day with a blunt pencil, there, right next to my laptop is the 'ubiquitous' sharpener. A squeal of delight as I sharpen the pencil tip to the required extent and again shove the shavings into my jeans pocket. And then...the eraser goes missing! Again a reluctant dash to the hall.

It's not only stationery. The other day, I used chilly powder instead of chillies. Reason - I could not find the fresh chillies in the refrigerator. Honest. Over dinner, my junior 'extricates' them. (She had a different opinion on the word 'extricates.' According to her,they were there all the time, right in front of my eyes.)

Or take the case of the small change that you have to give the auto driver. If the fare is Rupees 73, and you are willing to settle for Rs.75, trust me, you will find Rs. 80 in your purse, but not a Rs. 5 note or coin. After you return and empty the contents of your wallet/handbag, you might just find a coin that you had absent mindedly stored in some god-forsaken recess of your handbag/wallet.

Sometime ago, I was shopping for a handbag. My friend suggested that I should go in for something with lots of space for my stuff (read that as two books[one classic and one pulp fiction], two memory sticks, one pouch for the mobile phone which is always sans the mobile phone, head set, charger, id cards, chocolates, basic cosmetics, mobile phone, receipts etc.) And since then, it has been a curse on my life. I am pretty sure that my eye liner went into that bag a couple of weeks ago, but till date I have not been able to retrieve it.

Worse followed last Sunday, when my junior decided to dump her stuff into my 'huge' handbag while we attended a concert. Additions - a mobile phone, some lyrics, cosmetics and a wallet. Plus, the flyers that we got at the venue which we used as a sun block. It took me a good 15 minutes to retrieve the lyrics that she perfunctorily asked for.

Sometimes, this can be a pleasant surprise. Finding something to eat in the refrigerator or in the handbag when you are scrounging for food...or just a simple thank you note written by some friend aeons ago.

'Search' can sometimes be fun, coz the things that we are searching for may just be right under our eyes. Sometimes, this seems to be true of all the other things of life as well. Isn't it?

Queen's Wish List

2009-04-07T00:08:00.003+05:30

Ahem... This is to announce that it's gonna be my birthday pretty soon. And those of you who want to give me your tokens of affection, please refer to the following list before you proceed on your shopping spree. Any one thing from the following will do. You wanna give me all of them? Of course, I would accept.

1. Nokia N97 [I am in love with this gadget. The more I see it, the more I want it. You call me a materialist.I don't care. But...I want it.]
2. All the books that the old geezer who is also popularly known as Uncle Scrooge has in his neglected bookshelf. [He has some amazing books, which as he admits, he has not read from cover to cover in the past two years. I can do better justice to them.]
3. A silk sari [my latest craze is for silk saris. If you can make it a Mysore silk sari, I would jump for joy]
4. If options 1,2,3 are not possible, I am willing to settle for a chocolate, which is my all time favourite present.

So start your shopping spree folks while I wait for the D-Day!

Subway tales

2009-04-02T22:47:00.008+05:30

One of the good things that has happened on the stretch of road from Mehdipatnam to Gachobowli is the number of restaurants that have opened shop, Subway, Dominoes, Wonton. Which means now I have decent choice for lunch and coffee.

D said that she was going to be an hour late. And there was absolutely no motivation for me to hang around in the university. I remembered the Subway on the way and headed there. Ordered a coffee and opened my books. I was the only one [as usual, wrong timing] and read through, making copious notes. D called up. She was going to be late by another half an hour. Ordered another coffee. By now you guessed it right. I was just trying to kill time as there was no other decent place where I could sit and work. Checked my mobile for the time. Another 45 minutes to go. Helplessly I looked at the waiter. Silent communication. I did not particularly relish the thought of a third cup of coffee. The waiter smiled and said 'Maam, no issues. You can sit here as long as you want.' I flashed my best smile and continued with my work. And sort of felt a mild regret when my friend returned.

A week later

Waiting for my friend again. Headed straight to Subway again. Was greeted by a cheery 'Hello Maam. Welcome back! What would you like to have today?' I decided to experiment with iced tea. [It had been yet another hot day!] Sipped it slowly and sorta regretted again when my friend arrived.

Five days later

Sorta stuck with the work in the university and could not have my lunch. Headed for subway and ordered for a sub. Needless to say, was again greeted by a smile and 'Hello Maam, What would you like to have today? A sub?' Obviously I was looking famished. Trusted the waiter's choice in choosing the best possible veg sub for me. I did not regret leaving the decision making to him. As I downed the chilled coke, felt the need to read and make notes. I dug into my bag, but could not find my elusive Parker. Requested a pen and got it. Sat for an hour peacefully and did my work.

Three days later

An SOS from a friend. My friend needed immediate help on some project. I asked my friend to come to Subway. Ordered for a couple of coffees and dug into my handbag for my elusive Parker. The waiter was watching me and knew what was coming next. By the time I reached the counter, he was ready for me.

Today

Honestly needed a coffee more than anything, having run around from one end of the city to the other. As I settled down and opened my scribbling pad to make some notes, my Parker decided to become elusive again. By the time I made it to the counter, the waiter knew what I wanted. And both of us started laughing.

What the Queen thinks about these Subway tales

I don't give a damn whether the waiters are paid to do all this or not. It's just that I feel happy at such simple acknowledgements, smiles, especially when they come from strangers, who suddenly seem to be sharing something with you, who try to make you feel at home.

Daddy Long Legs

2009-03-29T09:24:00.004+05:30

My favourite book till date, the best amongst the many, is Daddy Long Legs. Time and again, I have wondered what is it in this simple epistolary novel that has captivated me so much. Is it the assurance that kindness still prevails in this sometimes cruel world? The idea of a developing romance, through letters, or the Jerusha Abbot's pursuit of knowledge and excellence? I have wondered often and guess that more often than not, it is precisely these questions that make me return to the book.

First of all, the idea that simplicity and conviction of thoughts still reign the roost. Probably I escape into a world of fantasy when I think about that. Next, the idea that letters can be such powerful tools of expression. That is some food for thought in the present age of 'twittering'.

To me, the whole point is knowing about a person so intrinsically without ever having met them. The letters that Jerusha writes to her unknown benefactor are chronicles of her life, a record of her thoughts, her successes and her losses and sometimes, indignance. But all punctuated by honesty of thought. Hence to me, the book is not just a tale. This may not happen in real life, but as long as the possibilities of parallels exist, why not?

Or probably it is just the idea of a preparing to write. Whatever. This is the one book that I would love to curl up with on a winter's day, on a rocking chair, with a hot cup of coffee in my hands. And travel with Jerusha as she moves on with her dreams of becoming a writer.

Letting Go?

2009-03-19T21:13:00.007+05:30

Just as I had anticipated, the gates closed near the railway signal and I had to sit in the auto for another 15 minutes. Listening to the tune Zindagi from Yuvraaj, I surveyed the scene around me. Time - Morning 8am.
People at the bus stop, people waiting for cabs, school children being escorted on bikes by their parents, with their satchels and lunch boxes, drivers taking a break, and of course, my auto driver grumbling about the distance. I increased the volume of the song.
And then the amorphous thoughts that had been working overtime in my mind over the weekend arranged themselves in a concrete fashion. Why do we find it difficult to let go of 'things?' Is it because we are scared of what our life would be like without those 'things' or what our life would have been life with those 'things'?
To make matters worse, it seems that we lose these 'things' through no fault of ours. I tend to see this as a sport where the 'opponent' pinches away the things that you love the most when you are not watching. Just to see your reaction.
Extend things to people and you have confounded the situation further.
Is it the memories that trouble us? Or the 'possibilities'?
The gates opened and I continued on my way. The question remains unanswered. Probably I have to get to the vantage point.

Reasons to smile :)

2009-03-15T10:29:00.005+05:30

Hmmm. How do I chronicle the week gone by? A week that saw me going from one end of the see-saw to another. A week that made me realise that in today's world, innocence and honesty hardly find a place. A week during which I actually saw people trying to fit in at the cost of their personal value system. When the world abounds in such sham, can we have any reasons for moments of unsullied joy, the simple happiness of life?

A week that also showed me in spite of all the mechanics that dominates our lives, there are people who are beautiful from within,...and that such people should be cherished. Sort of confused. How can good and bad co-exist? Excuse me, but what is good and bad? Aren't they the categories that we fix? When 'good' and 'bad' by themselves are so amorphous, is there a necessity for us to 'fit in'? Why do we have to create those categories in the first place? I guess that is where the problem starts. All the time, we are so busy trying to 'fit in' that moments of pure joy pass us through and we don't even realise.

These were the rambling thoughts that occupied my mind as I was returning last night, from a day well-spent on a movie and window-shopping. Something that had happened during the day gave me a reason to smile.

Whenever I go to shopping malls, I do my best to avoid the escalators. Was actually mortally terrified of those 'moving steps'. But this time round, things were gonna be slightly different.

A couple of weeks ago, I had been to Citi Centre in Chennai with my brother. When he noticed my fear, he led me by my hand and made me go up and down the escalator about five to six times. Obviously to conquer my fear. Just like two kids, oblivious to the people around us, we went up and down, up and down.

I remembered the innocent fun that me and my brother had. Me screaming and shouting. My eyes threatening to shed tears at any instant. My brother initially worried, then slowly smiling and laughing. And then finally, both of us celebrating the great victory with some coffee at Barista.

With a firm foot, I stepped on to the elevator by myself. No panic in my eyes. No shaking of my hands. No holding on to the railing. Chin up and a sense of achievement.

The only pure and innocent thing that happened in this whole weekend of the Queen observing a world of sham and distortion and of course, the whole thing of trying to 'fit in'. Who ever said that we cannot find reasons to smile? :)

A Pickled Life!

2009-03-11T11:41:00.006+05:30

What's a meal without a pickle. A welcome sign in any kitchen is those rows of bottles filled with reddish brown substance. [colours vary from red to brown depending on the constituents]

Come summer, it is the pickle season out here. Yesterday my aunt made fresh cauliflower pickle. Needless to say, anything that comes out of my aunt's hand is yummy. Remembrance of things past. My mind travelled to those days when another aunt of mine used to make mango pickle. It was more of a ritual, something that she did with reverence every summer. Let me tell how she did it

First of all, the pickle making day was announced in advance. The children were warned to wake up early in the morning and finish the morning rites, have their fill of food and disappear. Disappear here means going off to the groves, playing with the other village kids or watching movies on the rented VCR.

The kitchen was a separate block by itself. In the garden, aunt would have already pounded the red chillies [they only look red, they are not so spicy] and the other required ingredients. She would pound them into a fine powder. Then come out the cut mango pieces. Triangular pieces of raw mangoes. She would mix the pieces with the powder and oil by hand and store them in earthern jars....huge ones. Only after the kitchen was completely cleaned would the children be allowed.

The result - red mango pickle. Mix it with steaming hot rice and add a dash of ghee - you are on your way towards a lip-smacking treat. Of course, the treat used to be punctuated by stentorian warnings that we should not eat too much, otherwise our stomachs would start behaving unpredictably. But...who cared.

Today, very few people have the space and time to make pickles in such large quantities. My aunt in Hyderabad makes pickle using a mixer. It's good. But nowhere does it approximate to the taste of those pickles in earthen jars. But at least my aunt is making.

As I walk down the supermarket aisle, I see the numerous bottles of pickles of all kinds and constituents. They remind me of those earthen jars, red mango pickle made by my aunt. I sigh, and move on.

A Shouting in the Silence?

2009-03-06T11:51:00.006+05:30

'Long time ma'am, since you last came here,' remarked the waiter. I was at Java Green in Punjagutta, and it had been a month since my last visit. He knew what I wanted as I settled down with my book. Out of the corner of my eye, my eyes registered something out of the usual. I could see hands flinging about. Words that were supposed to be heard but not heard. Right in the middle of the outlet, a group of five people around a table were engaged in an animated conversation. They were almost shouting, but silently!

I was amazed. So much of communication and so noiselessly. The waiter, obviously wanting to share his observations on them, felt a kinship with me and moved over.'Just imagine the noise levels ma'am if five people had actually been engaging in this kind of a verbal discussion.' I was interested. Who were these people? They were of a mixed age group and were of a professional disposition. They were starkly set off against the motley crowd by their willingness to connect and communicate. Fascinated, I asked the waiter. 'Do they come here everyday? Who are they?'

'They are the employees of the Andhra Bank. Everyday they don't take their break at the usual time and instead in the evening settle down here for a long discussion. I have been seeing them for the past eight months and everyday, watching them has been quite fascinating. If there is no place inside, they place an order and make themselves comfortable outside on the pavement. But the pattern has remained the same for the past eight months. The five get together at the same time in the evening and god knows what they talk, but they talk.'

I looked at the animated speakers again and was struck, not by the assumed content of their discussion, but their willingness to connect to each other. Even at the expense of 'shouting'.How many of us are willing to take time out of our busy schedules for that?

My Busy Friend :(

2009-03-03T22:00:00.004+05:30

Dear Busy Friend

Wrote this letter to you in the middle of a presentation. The speaker's voice reminded me of you. YOUR SOOTHING AND COMFORTING VOICE. I missed it a lot over the past couple of weeks.

I remembered the times when you raised your voice at me-it was your feeble attempt at trying to drive sense into my head. You know what? I used to fake as if I am ready to burst into tears and you would cease instantly, asking 'You throw tantrums so many times. Can't I shout at you, even once?' You can't shout at all you know. Shouting is so not you. But now...I wish I could at least hear 'that shouting.'

Remember the time when you tried to make me speak a language that is not native to me. I refused. And what did you do? You started speaking in that language so that I would respond instinctively. And what I would not give to speak to you in that language for hours together now.

Most of all, I miss your 'Relax kid!' I could really relax with those two words.
I wish I could tell all of this to you. But then...you are so busy:(

Missing you a lot!
CS
A queen of all she surveys

Micheangelo's Christ Part 2 - an unusual kinship

2009-02-11T19:11:00.012+05:30

I feel a sort of kinship with Michelangelo's Christ. He is in the same boat as me. He is torn by the same questions that trouble me at regular intervals.

I wonder whether God is this entity who plays with us like [to put it in the words of the bard,] wanton flies. And that makes me angry. But then, when I sober down, it becomes a game again. Where do the doubts go? God knows. Probably an expectation of mine has been fulfilled? That is why most of the times I am on a swing between doubt and faith. Between questioning and accepting. Between whimpering and jumping. ;)

In a way, most of the doubts are linked to some kind of expectations I guess. For example, having tread on the path ordained by God, the least that Christ could have expected is a miracle. But apparently God did not turn out to be the perfect gentleman who honours his word. 'Ask and ye shall be given.' Somehow this guarantee did not apply to this situation.

But then, Christ was a tough guy from within. He could digest this.We know by now that he was torn more by conflict and the test of faith rather than any real expectation of the the skies opening up and a booming voice delivering him from his trials.

The question is why at all should we undergo this litmus test of faith?

Let me try and change the interested parties here. Party 1 - Me and Party 2 - God. Is it really necessary for me to try and tie my faith to something amorphous called 'expectation' and test God on the basis of that? Then doesn't the interaction boil down to a business transaction?

No wonder my 'crises' becomes 'crucifixons.'The only difference between Christ and me is that he got it right at the first shot and since then, has been heard of in the context of a faith that guides many people in the world. Whereas, I am still to 'get there' and see things for themselves 'from the vantage point.'

So everytime I read this extract and visualise the image of Christ on the cross, torn by conflict and doubt, I tell him - "Hang on buddy, I'm on my way."

Michelangelo's Christ - Part 1

2009-02-07T21:51:00.009+05:30

I had recorded the following extract from The Agony and the Ecstasy in my diary when I had been a student. Now, it moves to my blog.It captures the moment when Michelangelo was in the thought mode about the statue of Jesus Christ that he had been commissioned to make -

Michelangelo did not feel within himself any of the things that Donatello felt. He had never been altogether clear in his own mind why God could not accomplish by Himself all the things He sent His son down on earth to do. Why did God need a son? The exquisitely balanced Donatello Christ said to him: 'This is how God wanted it to be, exactly the way it was planned. It is not hard to accept one's fate when it had been preordained. I have anticipated this pain.'

Michelangelo thought - 'What went through the mind of Christ between the sunset hour when the Roman soldier drove the first nail through his flesh, and the hour when he died? For these thoughts would determine not only how he accepted his fate, but also the position of his body on the cross. Donatello's Christ accepted in serenity, and thought nothing. Brunelleschi's Christ was so ethereal that he died at the first touch of the nail and had no time to think'

He returned to his workbench, began exploring his mind with charcoal and ink. On Christ's face appeared the expression, 'I am in agony, not from the iron nails but from the rust of doubt.' He could not bring himself to convey Christ's divinity by anything so obvious as a halo; it had to be portrayed through an inner force, strong enough to conquer his misgivings at this hour of severest trial.'

It was inevitable that his Christ would be closer to man than to God. He did not know that he was to be crucified. He neither wanted it nor liked it. And as a result, his body was twisted in conflict, torn like all men, by inner questioning.

What did the year gone by mean to me?

2009-01-03T18:43:00.014+05:30

As I sit and type this out in a closed room, silent all around and an inquisitive labrador gazing at me, [probably wondering whether the 'box' I am hitting in can be considered edible] I cannot help but think about a few significant things that left a lasting impact on my mind. Again, no particular order.

1. The first time that I was told by my supervisor that my report was not up to the standards that she had expected from me - For someone used to consistently good performance, this was quite a blow. Recovery took only two days :). I should thank at least two people who had encouraged me during this period.

2. The power of friendship - Being the cynic that I had always been, relationships had been more of transactions and I had rested smug with myself. That was until I was pushed into a boiling cauldron. But now, I have discovered the power of bonding and sharing. I realised the truth of the dictum that it is in giving that we attain the best of ourselves.

3. As much as I had realised the importance of getting connected to people, I also realised the power of detachment. It is like an armour that protects you and keeps you safe. By default you are contented with yourself.

4. This was the year when I returned to my pet subject - computer studies, albeit in a limited manner. This had been one of my favourites during grade 11 and 12.But I had dumped it in favour of arts. Now the altered circumstances demanded that I should equip myself with the necessary skills to manage my computer. And to think that I had been mortally afraid to touch a computer after my graduation! Quite a learning curve it had been. :)

5. My return to return to playing the trumpet - When my former teacher gave me the instrument and asked me to play I realised that I can still play with the same ease and perfection. What's more I realised the power of music - lifting the soul to new levels of awareness. Am looking forward to playing the instrument again. :)

6. Joseph Heller's Catch 22 - One of the books that had a maximum impact on me. Trust me, I was almost going to give up in despair when I saw the doomed efforts of Yossarian to quit. But I ploughed through and could actually applaud Yossarian towards the end, as he rows away in search of freedom.

7. All in a day's work - I realised that I could become quite a multitasker. I discovered that - Yes, there were many things that I could handle in a day's work. Crossing roads with my heart in my mouth to bargaining with auto drivers, roaming around the lanes and bylanes of Banjara Hills in search of a tailor to roaming on a highway in search of food, waiting for hours to get one silly signature to waiting for hours to get an auto. All through, I kept repeating the lines from the poem 'If' - 'If you can wait and not be tired of waiting,...]

8. The economic crisis? - Yes, I had followed it and was left feeling high and dry. I mean,... right from schools, don't we teach children might is right? And don't we try to equate money with might? And what were all those well-paid finance managers doing? Weren't they supposed to combine management with ethics?

9. Started going back to the theatre for movies after a long, long time. Started with Beowulf, then 10,000 BC and then,... well, it continued and ended with Transporter 3. Though I have tried to reproduce the list of movies, I will not reproduce the curses that I had hurled at my neighbours for reasons of propriety.

10. Bombay blasts? - took more of a cynic's view of the whole thing. The point is our orientation itself is flawed. We have to accept that we have living in a world where there is no sense of direction and we are just being hurled at lightning speed. In due course of time, we do not pause to reflect, think and act. Yes, at a larger level, we may not have solutions. But the solution to the identity crisis at an individual level would be to watch ourselves - our thoughts, words and deeds. Then probably we may get a sense of direction and also, a perspective to our life.

11. And before I forget this - I AM NOT SCARED OF DOGS ANYMORE! :) Especially labradors. The labrador that is sitting at my feet is quite huge and takes the liberty of jumping on to me and holding my wrist firmly in its mouth. Sometimes it tries to grab at my dress and sometimes my slippers. It looks plaintively when I ignore it, and tries its best to capture my attention. But it is always full of energy. :)

So, the time has come bid farewell to 2008 and look forward to the experiences of 2009. Belated Happy New Year to one and all!

Notes on a crazy weekend with B and D - Part 2

2009-01-03T08:40:00.003+05:30

Thursday, 27/Nov 2008. 3.30pm

Finally at D's house gorging on Pulav and Pepsi [what a combination! :)] I am quite conscious about what I eat when people are around. I had no choice but to eat as B and D hovered around me and filled my plate with all the edible things that they could find. Tough time eating. :( On the way, my auto had broken down and I had to make frantic calls to D who has this real pleasant song as her ringtone. All my anger melts whenever I listen to this song.

Thursday 27/Nov/2008 6.00 pm

B, D and yours truly are in an auto finally. We had to meet a friend of B at Ohri's. The catch was we did not where it was and assumed that the auto driver knew. The auto driver assumed that we knew. The epiphanic moment was soon achieved by mutual negotiations and we decided to take third party help for directions. That is when the auto decided to join the party and broke down. Found another auto and the place as well. B treated us all to icecreams on the occasion of her having cleared her PG exams. The exotic names like 'Lewinsky' 'Midnight Delight' 'Nutty Sundae' 'Titanic' had us literally smacking our lips. They came in huge champagne cups topped with every possible fruit and flavour that I could think of.[My knowledge is rather limited on this front. As far as flavours and fruits are concerned, I go by instinct rather than knowledge] Of course we also got a wafer each. Problem. B and D couldn't finish the icecreams and had to abandon all plans for dinner keeping the calories in mind. You know me. I need not have such fears. ;)

Thursday 27/Nov/2008 7.00 pm

Shilparaamam - the centre for handicrafts from all over the country. We shopped to our heart's content. And I was amazed at D's bargaining skills. Can you imagine that I actually got a pair of good slippers for Rs.150? That was a real eye-opener to me. I mean all these good pieces of craft in every possible environment friendly material, ornate and beautiful to look at and at quite reasonable rates. I am sure that a mug which was being sold for about twenty rupees here would have a buying price of around Rs.150 in Odyssey or a keychain that was around Rs.10 here would have costed Rs 50 in Crossword. I would call this place one of the most interesting shopping destinations in Hyderabad.

Thursday 27/Nov/2008 11.00 pm

Returned home rather late in the night. Dinner - Pulav again. Our next day's morning trip to the temple demanded that we sleep early. So while chatting, we realised that B had fallen asleep and D and myself decided to follow suite. Of course, D was constantly cursing the Rajus since their fickle minded policies were ruining her weekend and by default ours as well. We had solemnly decided that we would wake up at 5.30 am and go to the Chilkur Balaji temple with good thoughts in our mind. Did we make it? Hmmmm

Notes on a crazy weekend with B and D! - Part 1

2008-12-29T20:16:00.007+05:30

Saturday 27 Dec, 2008. Morning 7.00 am

My mobile rang out with the latest alarm tune that I had set, thinking that it would be a welcome change from the usual stentorian beeps that I hear. I could hear that classic song from Pyar ka Side Effects. Quite a melodious song but wrong timing :(. Switched off the alarm and placed the mobile at a strategic position from where retrieval was next to impossible. Now peaceful sleep. :)

Saturday 27 Dec, 2008. Morning 11.00 am

Woke up to a shock. Was that a dream that I just had that my mobile was singing? Sweet Child of Mine at full blast. Sure that the neighbours would curse me. Leapt out of the bed to see missed calls. Frantic calls from mom who thought I was lost. [Parents can think of all weird things when kids don't respond to calls. My mom is a standing testimony to this] Second from Junior D. The conversation went something like this

D - [enthusiastically] Hello, B is here.
CS - [sleepily] Yeah
D - You were supposed to come to the city.
CS - Aw shucks. I think I have fever and I don't think I can make it. [My imagination as far as excuses are concerned is limited to fever.]
D- Sister, you had promised. You should make it for lunch. We are waiting for you.
CS - [yawning, thinking whether anything was pending for my attention over the weekened, mentally pushing all the pending work to Monday, sudden gust of energy, sprang out of the bed and yelled] Yes, I will be there by 3.00 pm!

Now I have to achieve what is impossible, if not improbable![Okay pilfered that line from a talk on TED by Arthur Benjamin] CS is on the run. Clear the way folks and wait for the next in the series.

Random musings on a merry day

2008-12-25T12:15:00.011+05:30

Christmas...to any kid who has studied in a Christian Missionary Convent, Christmas remains etched in mind, maybe forever. The following musings are random totally but have their own meaning for me.

Mrs.Rita Pillai - my headmistress when I was in Primary School.Even today I can see her sitting at the piano leading us in choir. I can see her directing all the teachers for the proceedings of the day. This included the usual walk of the three kings of the orient, greeting the Lord in the manger [I remember the song' Away in the Manger, No crib for a bed,...'] And of course, ensuring that the Santa Claus had his bag of chocolates in place.

I tend to remember the chapel in my school.A dark place, carpeted red. The statue of Christ on the cross on one of walls. Flower pots adorning the place. We had to remove our shoes to get inside. And had to remain silent. Actually we were supposed to pray. But I used to wonder why Christ's body was twisted on the cross. What would a child's mind understand about the metaphorical implications of pain? Many years later, I found my answer in the book The Agony and Ecstasy by Irvingstone. Mrs. Pillai never found out that I never used to pray there.

My mother - in spite of belonging to an orthodox background her curiosity got the better of her and one day, we marched to Santhome Church to witness the Christmas Eve festivities. So impressed were we that my Mom made it a practice to visit the church more often.

Spenser's - the only mall worth speaking about in Chennai at that time. I and my Mom marched in for some window shopping only to realise that there was a painting competition going on for kids. Mom told me to participate and bought some crayons and colors for me. I won the second prize - a fancy pencil box. [Today, Spenser Plaza doesn't appeal to me.It looks more like Kafka's castle.]

And of course, the plum cake that Dad used to bring. With great ceremony we used to cut the cake and I used to reserve my share for a late night hogging. And then look pleadingly at my brother and sister. No one could resist that look!

College? The whole month we used to play this game called Chris Mom and Chris Child. It involved leaving some secret gifts for the assigned friend. Of course, for the better part of my stay, I thought it was a silly game. In the band, there was no choice, you had to play it.

Christmas also reminds me of the day when the band as a whole got into a soup with our teachers. We had decided to play on Christmas Eve. The catch was that we had not taken the permission of our teachers, who, quite conveniently, were on a holiday.Our band was pretty much in the nascent stage and this was going to be our first standing performance. We put together a few tunes, and played for about 15 minutes. Felt on top of the world.:) We came crashing down the next day when our teachers returned.:( We got a solid blasting for not having gone through the official channels.

Most of all, Christmas always reminds me of that scene in Home Alone [Part 2] The mother comes in search of the kid and the kid is praying in the Church. Praying for his family. And I think of the time when I and my mom used to sit in the church, more out of curiosity rather than reverence.

And I can hear the music,...Hark the herald, Oh come all ye faithful, .......And I just think of a human being who lived many hundreds and thousands of years ago, personifying all the good that man is capable of. And whose message of love and brotherhood is preserved mostly for a day's festivity.

:)Merry Christmas to one and all.

Notes made during a trip with B and D

2008-12-13T13:31:00.017+05:30

It all started with me deciding on the spur of the moment that I had worked enough. I needed a break. The place was decided. The dates were also fixed. I had the company of B and D. There was only one problem. I had no tickets. Now starts the sequence of events

Thursday, 20 Nov 2008

I get a call from one of my D that an onward ticket was available with V. I jumped for joy but went into the depths of despair when I understood that there was going to be no return ticket. Nevertheless, at least half the battle was won. That brought on a beatific smile.

Fri, 21 Nov 2008. Time: 2.00 pm

Library Day. I mean the day that I have to put in the work at the Library.By the way, I was firmly convinced that my train was at 7.15pm. But my V begged to differ and insisted that it was at 9.15 pm. Tried my best to convince her. By the way I had no clue as to how V looked except for some vague familiarity with the name. Nevertheless decided to take my chances and made a polite attempt to explain. She still chose to differ.

Fri, 21 Nov 2008. Time: 4.00 pm

Made my way out of the library with the earphones plugged into my ear. I was happy coz I had found a way to kill time till 9.15 pm. Found an auto and jumped into it and made my way to Prasads. On a Friday evening I managed to get a ticket Quantum of Solace. Daniel Craig had not impressed me much in Casino Royale and this was his second chance. Hmmmm. He better make the best of it.

Fri, 21 Nov 2008. Time: 5.30 pm

Made my way to Screen 2 with a Coke and two chocolates and was looking forward to having a good time. Daniel Craig was great. But not the bloke sitting next to me. The movie had his half baked information about James Bond as a running commentary. Nevertheless, I still managed to have a good time and helpfully suggested to the bloke that Pierce Brosnan was the Bond before Daniel Craig.

Fri, 21 Nov 2008 Time 8 pm

Made my way out of the Screen and wisely avoided the escalator. Bought a Subway and made my way out of Prasads. Found an auto and proceeded to go to Kacheguda. On the way contemplated visiting a beauty parlour but better sense prevailed. Later I got to know that B and D had visited a beauty parlour before they boarded their bus.

Fri, 21 Nov 2008 Time 8.45 pm

On platform number 3 at Kacheguda searching for Junior V. After some panicky calls located her. Then started the wait for the train.

Fri, 21 Nov 2008 Time: 9.30pm

The train finally started. After a lot of inconsequential chatter we feel asleep. Did I tell you that I was supposed to meet Junior D and Junior B in the place and stay with them? Now how was I supposed to know that they were outright crazy? :(

Sat, 22 Nov 2008 Time 6.10 am

Call from Junior D, informing me about the location of the keys since they had decided to go for darshan. Fine. I can always hunt out the keys. They told me not to worry about toothpaste and safety pins. Some consolation.

Sat, 22 Nov 2008 Time 7.30 am

Five of us cramped into an auto. I got off at the place I wanted to and gingerly made my way to my domicile for the next two days, expecting to find it locked. What do I see? Junior B and D still dressing up and deciding on Bindis and nail polish. Lots of time eh? I hurried and finally the three of us went for darshan. By the way I forgot to add that we had all been a part of the University Band.

Sat, 22 Nov 2008

It was the convocation day at my university. I was overwhelmed. Lunch had been mad. We had been to a Nepali restaurant only to discover that they were out of food. Ate whatever was available and were sitting. Me, in the mode of remembrance of things past mode. I had a perfunctory look at B and D. They seemed to be chatting away to glory. :(

Sat, 22 Nov 2008

Made our way through the lanes and by lanes to drop another girl at her domicile. By the time we reached home it was 11.30 pm. And we had to wake up early. Return ticket still not booked. And these girls decided that this was the best time to try out different shades of nail polish on my fingernails.

Sun, 23 Nov 2008

Made our way to the girls dormitory to see the Band Girls. Overwhelmed yet again. Our eyes are filled as we remember all the good times that we had spent. I started jumping as soon as I saw the Yamaha trumpets. My former teacher recognised the look in my eyes and asked one of the girls to give me a trumpet. I played the Sunset and didn't almost miss a note. Eyes filled up as we hurried back for Darshan.

Sun, 23 Nov 2003 1.00 pm

I rushed to the Bus Station and managed to get one return ticket. Some special buses to Hyderabad had been announced. :) 8pm. Rushed back to the dormitory. It was almost like a get together of the ex and the present Band girls. Happened to meet Junior M who could now boldly say that she had been mortally terrified of me because I had caught her once breaking the rules of the dormitory. What I had construed as harmless ragging had been a terror for Junior M for the better part of her stay in the campus. Hahahahahaha! We laughed over it and proceeded to South Indian Canteen for lunch. Most of our discussions were about how to acquire band instruments of our own.

Sun, 23 Nov 2003 5.30 pm

Is that Shankar Mahadevan sitting there? Oh my god! Sat counting the minutes anticipating his performance. Sadly had to leave by 7.00 pm coz my bus was at eight. Took leave from B and D and made my way back to my domicile.

Sun, 23 Nov 2008 8.30

Made it to the temporary bus stop and boarded the bus. Sat there thinking about how the days passed since the time I had been in the college. Years may have passed but I was still shivering before some teachers, chatting with others. I still felt that I was a part of my university. This was indeed a home coming. Of course with two crazy girls who peppered my stay with colour and spice! Thanks a zillion B, D and V!

The Queen has a great fall!

2008-11-19T18:32:00.001+05:30

The latest bug that has bitten me is that of dancing. Yes, the Queen does dance once in a while and is also trained in the classical version to some extent. It all started when a group of us were discussing those 'irrelevant things' which, as if by some stroke of chance, suddenly mutate into possibilities of expressing hitherto hidden talents. [Especially when you have nothing else worthwhile to discuss]

In case you have not understood the previous line [I was on a flight with the muses to get the most original expression to express what I had felt at that precise moment] some of us decided to dance. The suggestion was put forth by an adventurer and was promptly accepted [read that as after a little bit of hemming and hawing.] Can you picture the six of us crammed in a room, music at full blast, stomping away to glory, with occasional pretensions to being professionals? Of course, we had taken care of the coffee and the tuck part.

We were indeed an interesting group - called ourselves The Electric Girls - 3 serious dancers, 2 wannabe dancers and 1 adventurer. We yelled, screamed and laughed at our own mistakes. Making the wannabe dancers and the adventurer understand and develop a sense of rhythm and beat proved to be a daunting task. But you know that Queen right? She moves through things with a stiff upper lip.

But oh, when did the great fall happen? We were rehearsing live before an audience and some of us in the 'interesting group' were in a hyperactive state. One hyperactive girl challenged the queen to bend backwards and touch the floor with her head. The wager was a bar of chocolate [In retrospect, the stakes should have been higher:(] Moreover, I had been out of practice for quite some time now. But who can say no to chocolates [especially after some well-meaning individuals had not been so well-meaning about the chocolates they owe me:(] So as that hyperactive girl held on to the me by my waist, I bent and bent as much as my back could stretch. And yes, my head was rapidly approaching the destination, when the hyperactive girl let go of my waist and fell on me. I grabbed for the nearest possible thing [which happened to be the hand of an innocent onlooker who had been fascinated by the proceedings]and after a few crashing seconds, there was a heap of three people in a sorry state, right in the middle of the stage. The entire amphitheatre's attention was drawn to the three dazed souls. At least the Queen could empathise with Humpty Dumpty.

All that we could do at this defining moment was to give a gracious smile and nonchalantly pretend as if this was all a part of the act. [The accusations could be hurled later.]

The Queen lies right now, with a broken back, cursing her stars and waiting to catch hold of that hyperactive girl, who has since been absconding, along with the promised bar of chocolate. The Queen promises a huge reward for anyone who would deliver this hyperactive girl so that there is a possibility for just retributions. For further details, contact the Queen.

Queen's observations on an oft read book - The Fountainhead

2008-11-18T18:44:00.002+05:30

The questions that The Fountainhead raises are bound to jolt to reader out of his normal mundane existence.Does advancement and progress mean stifling of creativity? Who is a true creator? How can he/his creations stand the test of time, not only the future but the present as well? Most importantly, is it possible for an individual to be a creator and still stick on to his convictions in a world of second handers?

The problem exists. Man has always been improvising upon things handed down by his ancestors, and this process as we know has not been a continuous and a documented one. Very convenient for second handers of today, who just wait for a chance, just like a hunter waiting for a catch. The million-dollar question - Can any individual afford to be himself in this world of second-handers?

As Ayn Rand examines this question we see characters like Wynand - the man who desperately wants to be himself but cannot afford to, Dominique - the woman who knows that she is different and is comfortable with that knowledge, Ellsworth Toohey - the self proclaimed critic who knows knows that the best way to rule the world was to rule the minds of people, Peter Keating - the perfect second hander [if we were to go by Ayn Rand's definition of a one] and finally a person whom I would call original - Howard Roark. The only man who remains true to what he thinks and feels. Even Dominique has to make some kind of a compromise. But Roark remains steadfast to the end.

An interesting story line - an architect who doesn't mind going against the established principles and precedents of architecture to chart his own journey of creation. A case of individualism versus collectivism. Along the way he does pay the price, but surges forward. As we go on this journey along with Roark, we see almost first-hand as to how people can choose to remain uninfluenced. Collectivism, with all its altruistic motives can be used to make the worthless sound worthy, but the price is stifling of creative individualism. Everybody seems to be breaking under the pressure but Roark remains steadfast.

A question that nagged me was how can world even look up to people like Ellsworth Toohey. Did not have to go far to search for an answer. In a world of second-handers, snobs, people with half-knowledge, people like Toohey will reign supreme. And then it was not very difficult to find this element of Toohey in many. Who wouldn't love authority and control, especially over people?

What was the effect of the book on me? Let me tell you one thing. The first time I read it, I was left disturbed. You tend to become unsure of your position in the larger context of a world dictated by fads and uniformity. But all that disturbance is to strike at the fountain-head of the individual. So in some of the worst moments of my life, I have always returned to the story of Howard Roark, and I feel reassured that I do not have to follow the motley crowd.

Queen confronting Sleep

2008-10-30T12:22:00.000+05:30

Sleep is a phenomenon with which I have had a sort of a 'love-and-hate' relationship. It is nowhere around when I want it desperately and rather annoyingly announces it presence when I least need it. I finally decided to put an end to matters once and for all. And today when it crept in slowly and tried to take over me, I confronted 'IT.' The conversation is reproduced verbatim and I am ready to go on record for this.

ME: Hey there, whaddya think you are upto eh? Caught you this time fair and square.
SLEEP: Oops,..... [trying to be its polite best] Er... I...I did not mean to disturb you.
ME: Disturb me? Huh! What a fake you are! Here I am trying my best to work and you say your intentions were not to disturb me? Who would believe that story of yours.
SLEEP: Look here lady. I am not answerable to you. I come and go as I want. You cannot question me.
ME: How can I not? It's my life and limb that you are risking with your unannounced entries.
SLEEP: So much for company eh? See, I have been your faithful companion ever since you stepped into this university. To hear you now, one would think that I have been a parasite. Ever tried getting back to your teachers on what they actually thought about you? They settled down for you as a 'sleeping scholar.' A scholar who works best when she sleeps.
ME: [aside] I have to get back to my teachers on this for confirmation for this
ME: Er... what do you mean by that
SLEEP: Don't you remember? You made sense of The Wasteland only when you dozed over the text in the library.
ME: Yeah, I do remember the librarian throwing me out.
SLEEP: Remember good ole Yeats? To understand his Byzantium poem, I had to literally force you to dream about that place. And that was right under a tree in this place when classes were going on in communion with nature.
ME: Yeah, remember getting a stern lecture from the linguistics teacher.
SLEEP: Remember the best moment? You could make sense of Joyce's epiphanic moments when you took shelter with me in the college corridor?
ME: Me?...Yeah I remember. It was the marble floor of my college and one of my classmates thought I had passed out. She requested for assistance and when a worried teacher sprinkled water on me, I jumped out at her, shouting 'Eureka!' or something to that effect. Should I add that since then, she has looked at me with a suspicious eye?
SLEEP: In all these scholarly pursuits of yours, I was your faithful companion. Don't you see?
ME: Yeah, and of course my social life became a wasteland thanks to you.
SLEEP: Lady, this sort of belittling my contribution to your academic quests is very discouraging.
ME: Do I care? As far as I know, you have been one irritating pest. Worse than a pest. Give and inch, you will take a mile. [by the way, we have many humans with such a trait]
SLEEP: Let's get back to your social life. You remember February 2002?
ME: Yeah how can I forget. The worst month in my life.
SLEEP: You remember what you told your former Head of the Department who had come to visit you in your sorry state?
ME: How can I forget that? But I should be excused coz I was almost doped at that time. Later on when my friends told me, I was positively embarrassed!
SLEEP: That lady went around appreciating your aesthetic sense.
ME: Really! I never knew that.
SLEEP: Remember, when something turned out nasty, you always found comfort in me.
ME: But when I look at things objectively, you are more of a liability. Do you understand that?So things are gonna change from now.
SLEEP: Hmmmm. [with a smug expression] Like...?
ME: [aside] I simply don't like that smug expression on its face.
ME: Make a note of it somewhere so that you don't forget.
SLEEP: Sure, at your service!
1. You will gimme at least two hours notice before you come.
2. You will not extend your stay like an unwelcome guest.
3. During the course of your stay you will not cause any damage to the components of my head through nightmares
4. Such actions will not be condoned even if you justify them as epiphanies, inspirations or whatever equivalent term you may want to use but may approximate to the same as far as the meaning is concerned.
5. During the course of your stay, you will not participate in any social interactions that I may choose to have, nor intrude upon any conversations that I may have both with the animate and the inanimate world.
6. You will remain unaffected by the attacks of pests ...I mean real pests like mosquitoes.
7. You will remember that you are accountable for all your actions during your stay
8. Violation of any of the above may attract legal/criminal proceedings
9. Yawn....ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

SLEEP: hehehehehehehehhehe! Lady try as much as you may, you cannot stop me from doing my work. Like the West Wind, I come and go as I please. Uncontrollable! Haha!

As you can see, SLEEP had the last laugh. I was not even aware that the conversation had ended. All I could do was to rue the lost hour and reproduce this conversation. :( So much for all my posturing.

Towards making the existing model obsolete

2008-10-26T17:35:00.000+05:30

In the page immediately after the contents of A Year in Green Tea and Tuk-Tuks is the Buddhist adage “What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls the butterfly.” I knew right away that this was going to be a different kind of book. A book that showed

1. an awareness of the problem
2. creative and yet practically sustainable solutions to it.

My introduction to the environmental crisis happened in grade 10. There were a couple of questions on the climate change and ozone depletion. Definite questions which would fetch you 10 marks. As I saw it then, there was nothing much I could do about the reducing the rate of ozone depletion except to convince the examiners that I knew the processes. The equation was so simple and for all practical purposes, the ozone hole became my favourite topic.

My curiosity regarding environmental management shot up when I saw An Incovenient Truth. To tell the truth, I felt a lot wiser but strangely uncomfortable. I needed to know more. Suddenly terms like genetically modified food, ozone hole, climate change, biological warfare etc. started acquiring a sinister meaning.

From the way I look at it, a book that tries to address environmental issues should essentially

1. Give the real picture of the crisis in a language that a layman can understand
2. Practical ways and means to address them both at the local/global level
3. Real life experiences to prove that living in harmony with the environment doesn’t necessarily mean uncomfortable living.

Rory Spower’s book is an excellent instance of environment awareness in daily life. As he narrates his experience of creating an organic farm in a country torn apart by natural disasters and civil strife, we accompany him on a journey to create a more self-sustaining lifestyle.

There is no problem without a solution. This is exemplified in his attempts to address the need for comfortable yet ecologically sustainable living. Is he joking? NO. He proves that this is possible with a few modifications to the design and structure of of our living areas.

Electricity? Spowers tells me that I can generate enough power in my own backyard and stop depending on the unpredictable power grid, or fuel my living expenses with diesel. From what he says it appears that it is also possible not only to recharge a laptop but to address all the electricity requirements of a household using solar power.

But what about the costs involved in designing and restructuring our living space in a manner that would preserve the biodiversity and promote sustainable lifestyle? Spowers does not simply throw statistics at us. When he calculates the cost of this kind of sustainable living and the savings and the profits that can be generated out of it, we can see that the man knows his economics. Sample his narration of the Doc Man’s life style [Chapter 3] and his own attempts at building his domicile in a cost-effective manner.

Colin, the doc-man hits the nail on the head when he says that ‘the only way to reverse the situation was to bring economics and ecology back into synergy, to apply ecological truths to our corrupted economic thought and make it beneficial not only to all human beings, but all forms of life.”And this remains the effort of Spowers. Combining ecological and economical sense in designing a sustainable lifestyle.

The best thing about the book is that it is not just mere narration, but narration backed with research, experiences and most importantly, a tinge of humour. And when it ends, you have the ‘highlighting of the horrors of our predicament with respect to various apects of our life’ along with the ‘initiatives, projects and technologies that give us a cause for hope.’

And it was this section which caught the interest of my curious mind which was in search of knowledge about the fuel consumption by vehicles, genetically modified food, the effects of pesticides, the impact of the pharmaceutical industry, so on and so forth. Here Spowers blows apart many myths about the role played by the developing technologies in creating a sustainable and peaceful life. According to him, they seem to be directed only along the capitalistic lines and the generation of profits with scant regard to environment. He does manage to make his point here.

The final solution apparently seems to be in education. Right type of education which would enable us to be informed beings living in harmony with our environment rather than machines living in isolation. For which the ‘illusion’ of us being separate little selves rather than a ‘manifestation of one universal and absolute self’ has to be removed.It is on this affirmative note that the book ends. One of the quotations used in the book remained in my mind for quite sometime is:
"You never change things by fighting the existing reality. To change something, build a new model that makes the existing model obsolete."

And to make the existing model obsolete, we need to understand our own roles both as a part of the problems and the solutions. But for that mere concepts, models, and theories alone do not suffice. You need to have your heart in the right place. At the end of this journey of exploration, discovery, challenges, minor/major victories, minor/major defeats, the point really driven home is that there is no problem without a solution. To make the existing model obsolete, you need not only need a new model, but also your heart and mind in the right place. That remains the USP of this book.

Life throbbing in my hands.

2008-10-24T12:43:00.000+05:30

It was a tiny creature, almost the size of my palms. Slowly, with love and care, it had learnt to fly. But it made a point to return to the hands that had nurtured it. My palms were but a temporary refuge and the creature slept before I realized. It did not peck, it did not protest. It perched comfortably in my palms and took a short nap. If it had lips and teeth, it would have given a smile of contentment. But the closed eyes were enough for the adequate expression of the feeling. Softly, I stroked its head. It did not flinch. I patted it,...it snuggled further into my palms. For five solid minutes, life was throbbing in my hands. In the silence that surrounded us, I could feel the throbbing heart of the creature. It sounded just like mine. The bird was small, much smaller than me in size and much more fragile. But the heartbeat was the same. No wonder it felt so contented in my palms. A short walk we had together, the bird and me. As I approached the end of the corridor, the caretaker stepped forward to take the bird. Gently, the bird changed hands. Yet again, it did not flinch or protest.

Life was throbbing in my hands,...for five minutes.

Glimpses!

2008-10-23T10:05:00.001+05:30

[This post was originally written in 2001. During those practice teaching days, I had a diary in which I used to pen down my daily sob stories and all the varied stuff that used to come to my mind. This time when I was at home I rediscovered that diary and the original post. Made a few cosmetic changes and there you go,...]

A flight of stairs is an interesting sight. I was sitting in the lobby of a Primary School awaiting my turn. I had just completed my final sessions of practice teaching and a post-mortem was going to follow. Not a very pleasant frame of mind I should say coz when I use the word ‘post-mortem’ I mean it. So picture me sitting there feeling like a gladiator being thrown to the lions [okay make that a female version of a gladiator, whatever!] In short, I was feeling condemned. Anyone of you who have done practice teaching here would know how exactly I felt. Good place to see teaching and learning in practice.

So, picture me sitting there, lost in gloomy forebodings. If I may be permitted to use a hyperbole, lines from Ode to Dejection were playing around in my mind. Suddenly there was this deluge. A swarm of small boys blitzed down the stairs on their way for lunch. The accompanying acoustics and the dynamics of their movement jolted me out of my intimations of mortality and I was hooked.

One took the easy way down. He slid down the banister with faint concern to life and limb. Few others took the hint and followed suit till a stentorian warning from a teacher discouraged them. One came down on an imaginary chariot, encouraging his imaginary horses to gallop faster. Another budding singer timed his descent to the hallowed school prayer, which he sang aloud with energy and gusto. Didn’t care a bit about the wrong timing though.

Another came down, whistling like a train, leading a coach of boys behind. One would-be philosopher came down, lost in thoughts and consequently stuck to the wrong route till a friend took the initiative to direct him onto the right path.

The best, of course, was the chap who decided that the world had no choice but to listen to his wailing. He made his way straight down the stairs, crying all the while. He walked up to me with tear stained eyes and demanded ‘Where is my Mamma? I want her!’ I was left clueless. The whole idea of the post-mortem was ejected as a mind that used to dwell on Eliot and Yeats and theories of criticism suddenly started racing furiously in searching the answer to the eternal question – HOW TO MAKE KIDS STOP CRYING? Maybe we got some short term solutions along the way. But convincing solutions? No. My idols offered no way out and all the theories of psychology and behaviour that I had studiously learnt as a part of the paper on Educational Psychology had not prepared me for this kind of an eventuality.

I had a brainwave. I dived into my bag and retrieved a chocolate. A chocolate that was supposed to be all mine after the ‘post-mortem.’ The reaction/response time was instant. Three things happened in an order that I couldn’t quite figure out. The wailing stopped, the chocolate disappeared from my hand and the kid ran away.

Truly glimpses!

Celebrating sloth with coffee!

2008-10-20T20:10:00.000+05:30

Okay you may think that I goofed up royally by arriving at the airport five hours ahead of the flight. But you are mistaken. It was a calculated move on my part and I had my reasons. I had missed my flight once before due to a combination of reasons [divine intervention and self created] And I was determined that history was not going to repeat itself this time round.

I parked myself in the Departures Lounge all the time being pursued by the watchful eye of the policeman. He had looked at me quizzically when I showed the ticket. So there you can picture me. I saunter into the departures lounge with a sleepy visage [I had only managed a few snoozes in 48 hours]. Remember I told you that I didn’t want history to repeat itself. This time it would have been something like me being in the airport sleeping peacefully while the flight took off sans me. And guess what, I don’t have trust this airline. I don’t want to make any allegations and instead would settle for an instinctual suspicion.

The best thing to do was to order coffee and read a book. I had a book on transactional analysis, but the time and the place and more importantly the distinct possibility that I might sleep on it encouraged me to search for greener pastures.

I found the usual fare of best-sellers in the bookshop, all prominently displayed. Ludlum, Coelho, Chetan Bhagat, Amitav Ghosh, Sidney Sheldon, Robin Cook – all those gentlemen made their presence felt. Understandably, there were a number of copies of the book ‘The World is Flat and Fried’. I had almost decided to make my exit coz there were no copies of Wodehouse that I had wanted when I noticed ‘IT’. If books could talk, then probably it would have screamed, ‘Check me out!’ Tucked away in the corner was a small blue book that no one would have noticed. It was geographically disadvantaged.

Written by Wendy Wasserstein, Sloth is a nice mix of humour, parody and satire. Taking well-aimed potshots at self-help books and various practices that claim to make lives better, she apparently proceeds to present a case on how sloth can actually contribute to a more self-fulfilling life. Now it should be no rocket science to the reader as to what Wasserstein is actually hinting at.

The question is why Wasserstein had to resort to such an ‘antimethod’ of celebrating sloth to present her case. It is quite easy to discern the note of irony in the following statement: ‘Come on, wouldn’t you like the royalties of whoever wrote the South Beach Diet? It makes a lot more sense than, say, writing poetry, academic criticism, or – god forbid – plays. Those things take genuine work, and the monetary rewards are generally not commensurate.’ Wasserstein dabbled in the third.

The implications of the statement ‘You have the right to be lazy. You can choose not to respond. You can choose not to move’ are actually relevant in a very positive way and trust me it has very little to do with sloth. It has also got very little to do with can possibly be termed as sloth by ‘shallow people.’[I am really tempted to give some names here. The attention seeker in a place I know who smacks of xenophobic tendencies and who has contributed in a major way to what is currently discussed as ‘urban terrorism’ by CNN-IBN is a good example. Probably the personality would make a positive contribution by not doing anything. And does it need to be added that the world abounds in attention seekers? [See, the irony is already working on me.:)]

And when we accept that we can choose not to ‘move’ or ‘respond’ the implication by default is that we are the choosers. At one stroke the concept of freewill and fate are negotiated and you arrive at the epiphanic understanding that you decide on the quantum of happiness/misery in your life. The key, as I saw it, is not to take life too seriously.

Suddenly, I spilled coffee all over myself. Hot coffee. I ran and was promptly pursued by the CISF guy. As he approached nearer, he realized the predicament I was in and directed me to the ladies restroom. And as I came out, the sales guy at the coffee centre offered some paper tissues. I could feel the embarrassing stares of people. The way out? – I smiled. I smiled at the fact that I had arrested attention by making a fool of myself. When you know that sound and fury is not going to help, probably choosing ‘not to move’ helps. I continued with the book.

The 'Magik' of Rock On

2008-09-22T21:23:00.000+05:30

I remember pestering somebody for quite some time with the question 'Do you like Rock music?' Finally out came the answer which was obviously negative. The point is rock music is something similar to what Edwards tells Vivien in Pretty Woman about the opera. You either like it or you don't.

I personally feel that rock music works at a different level altogether. The drums and the electric guitars make a conscious connection with the listener. Remember the opening bars of music of Numb by Linkin Park? Or the number 'Wake me up when September ends' by Greenday? And before people dismiss rock music as mere noise, remember that there are many kinds of rock. To enjoy rock, you need to pick and choose according to your taste and mood.

No, I am not a die hard rock fan. I am quite selective about the rock music I listen to. But, yes, my conditional love for rock only enhanced my appreciation for the movie Rock On. Almost on the lines of Dil Chahtha Hai as far as the basic plot is concerned, the movie moved me by its rocking music more than anything else.

Breaking all possible limits of rhythm seems to be the motto for Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy. Look at the variety of music that they have composed. And even rock? Let me tell you, the rock that we get to listen to in Rock on is the kind of rock with a touch of authenticity. Music that makes you want to hum, sway, join in and feel lost in its sheer exuberance and spirit. Don't miss the final performance of the Magik as Aditya sings out to Joe. That pitch - amazing! Expresses the sheer need of a friend in the most expressive and exquisite way.

To be happy in the present we have to make peace with the past. In order to do that, first we need the courage to confront the past. That is what Aditya Shroff and Joe seem to be struggling for. Reminiscing over their failure, they negotiate their past in such a manner that their creative self is effectively hidden in the closet.

As a tribute to friendship the film does fall a little bit short of expectations when compared to Dil Chahta Hai. The plot construction is fragmented as compared to Dil Chahtha Hai which used a mixture of flashback and retrospective narration. And this mode of presentation does demand some effort from the viewers.

Arjun Rampal continues to amaze me. First his sleek performance as the antagonist in Om Shanti Om and now Joe, the self-consicous artist [yes, I consider rock also as a form of art!] who is clearly unwilling to compromise his personal standards for commercial purposes. So much that he withdraws into a shell and yet maintains a calm exterior. The passion for rock is all there behind that stone-faced performer. Farhan Akhtar as Aditya Shroff seems to be slightly overshadowed by this towering performance. And yes the two other members of the band, fighting their own battles put on an a touching performance laced with humour and emotion. However, it is the impact of rock music on the lives of these four gentlemen that sustains our interest in the story.

The magic of rock cannot be explained. It needs to be experienced. And ironically, that turns out to be the actual magic of rock.Rock on rocks!

An Apology to Mr. Ranbir

2008-09-07T17:09:00.000+05:30

Okay, this is going to be a little bit difficult, but I do owe an apology to Mr. Ranbir Kapoor, of the towel dancing fame of Saawariya [oops! I did it again! A thousand apologies!] When I saw the promos of the movie and of course 'the famous song sequence' I told myself that this was another one of those wannabe stars boasting of 'star' connections, all fizz and no substance. Since Hindi movies don't rank that high on my list, there were absolutely no plans to watch it. Of course I did watch OSO,which had released around the same time and laughed at the sheer stupidity of the movie makers, though Shaan's Dastaan-E- Om Shanti Om continues to haunt me till date.

One movie changed my opinion of Ranbir from a 'towel dancer' to an actor on his way to maturity. How did this happen? Read on,...

I was highly interested in checking out the new Adlabs theatre in Hyderabad. Okay, I don't have a great opinion about Big Bazaar, on whose summit Adlabs is located. But I had heard so much about the seats and the ambience that I really wanted to check out this place. So on one unsuspecting Saturday afternoon, I was there purchasing tickets for 'Bachna Eh Haseeno.' I couldn't believe it! [There were no English movies being screened there and the choice was between this and one wierd Paresh Rawal movie.]

Now why do I say that he is an actor on his way to maturity? Trust me, he is not that emotional tear-jerker kind [like your Khans clan who can summon tears and pull at your heart strings with great spontaneity that you wouldn't even know what you were crying for!] He does sound quite convincing in his role as a killer of hearts turned penitent. Now that is where I had a problem with the story itself. It seemed to thrive on loose connections and pat solutions. But our hero seemed to be totally unfazed by that. He did his job.

What amazed me is the versatility with which he gracefully glided between the three personalities he portrayed. And his comic timing was worth looking forward to.[Even his dancing for that matter!]

Of course the part where he slaves as a secretary for Bipasha Basu reminded me a lot of The Devil Wears Prada. But he was adeptly complemented by the convincing performance of a lady, who literally overthrew me with her prowess as the 'big bad boss.' That probably produced a kind of synergy which resulted in both Ranbir and Bipasha Basu showing the skills which matter the most. [Honest, I never knew that the lady could be such a fine actress if only she chooses to!]

Now I don't know how the movie did at the box office, but for a change I found a story line approximating to some kind of sensibility. [just have a look at all those Dhoom's and Krazzy 4's and all that jazz to get a hang of what I am referring to over here!] And yes, Ranbir was not trying to be his charming best. He was trying to be probably what he is working for - an actor.

Yes, he is one actor of today whose career I am going to watch with interest. All that I could say at the end of the movie was [which was a trifle on the lengthier side]
"I am sorry that I ever called you a beggar in need of clothes!You rock as an actor, Ranbir" [Now have I got the spelling right?]

Desperate Remedies!

2008-08-31T13:03:00.000+05:30

Falling ill is like opening up your life to public scrutiny. The enquiries about your well-being, the phone calls when you are fast asleep, the various suggestions as to the possible remedies, so on and so forth.

Couple of days ago, in the night, I started feeling weird in my throat and had a choice between strepsils and Coldarin. I took Coldarin praying that the darn thing should end by morning. But by then, it became a full-blown throat infection accompanied by ominous signs of approaching fever. The various remedies suggested since then:

1. Half a teaspoon of honey [which probably increased the fever]

2. gargling with dispirin [made me throw up my breakfast]

3. milk with a generous dosage of turmeric [not much of an impact other than changing the milk to a thick yellow]

4. crocin [generously donated by my head of the department, which only knocked me off]

5. good old strepsils [I liked the taste though I honestly wonder whether it made any significant impact on the condition of my throat]

6. Some flu medicine [reduced the fever which returned with increased intensity]

7. Plain chocolate mixed in hot milk [this is the one remedy I liked and wouldn't mind having more of it!]

8. Finally antibiotics [which seem to be working currently but have transformed me into a zombie!]

Of course the best remedy of all was the consistent phone calls from mom and sister. If I have to fall ill to feel so much of love and affection in a world where relationships are business transactions, so be it.

"Dark Temptations" should be Axed!

2008-08-23T21:01:00.000+05:30

I am one of those unfortunate souls who get to watch the television only once in a while. After more than a month, I got to watch the telly today, thanks to my aunt who did not mind the intruder in her house lounging around and getting in her way. And it was a day to celebrate. Coz it was Batman Forever on HBO. Who can even ignore humourous/villainous Jim Carrey at his best. But wait a minute! What is that funny advertisement that I just saw? "Dark Temptation?"

Yesterday somebody was telling me that you can find idiots in some of the most unexpected places. Obviously the creative directors of that ad were off their heads. Or probably they were using the technique of disgusting people so much that out of sheer helplessness they sit up and take note of the pits to which advertising industry has fallen. And in the passing, take a look at the "Dark Temptations!" Just about a month ago I had seen one of these Shopper Stop's advertisements announcing a discount sale or something to that effect. The hoarding had a skimpily dressed girl with the slogan to the effect that it is better to hitch a ride and do your bit for reducing pollution rather than driving your own way. Talk about social responsibilities of the corporate houses.

However, focussing on the present ad, I have a couple of issues with the product and the advertisment.

Dark Temptations?????

Okay Cabdury's Temptations ranks quite high on my list of favourite chocolates. In fact if you can get my handbag, the chances of your finding chocolates are quite high. Just some kind of proof that women do love chocolates. But mind you, for consumption. Not for smelling of course. [if smelling can be approximated to biting, heavens knows what is gonna happen. Let us not even think of such a horrid possibilities]

Hypothetically, I don't think smelling chocolates is going to be that irresistible, especially on human beings. Now how does chocolate deodorant smell, I honestly don't want to know. That is as far as the product is concerned.

The advertisement?

Come on. What are the advertisers trying to prove? That women are so taken in by chocolates that they don't mind becoming cannibals? What a reductionist view of women! Agreed that women are slightly more emotionally prone, but that doesn't mean that they jump at each and every mobile thing that resembles or smells like a chocolate.

It is heartening to note that somebody has bothered to take notice of this and is actually trying to do something. It appears that the Ministry of Information and Broadcasting has raised this issue with the Advertising Standards Council of India.

But in the meantime, I will have to tolerate this lousy advertisement at least till tomorrow evening!

Have a coffee day!

2008-08-23T08:07:00.000+05:30

One fine day I woke up and realised that the unexpected had happened. I had switched my loyalties to good ole coffee. Cause for celebrations? How did this happen? The person who was preparing tea must have plotted this for quite sometime now. Adding generous doses of sugar with a gleam in his eye as he handed the cup to me. One day, to escape the torture of drinking the extra sugared tea, I tried coffee. And man, the loyalties shifted overnight.

As I flit between the malls and shops, I often feel the need to have a sip of coffee and remain suspended in its wafting aroma and taste before I resume the run again. This happens generally on weekends and Hyderabadis must be knowing that there is no dearth of coffee shops here.

1. The Barista outlet at Shopper's Stop
Ordered for a large cappucinno and didn't actually savour it. I was in a hurry and had to gulp the whole thing down. What a shame!Made a mental note to visit again, but found the place too cramped for comfort.

2. The nameless coffee outlet at Chennai airport [domestic departures lounge]
The waiter looked at me suspiciously when I took less sugar. [The world loves sugar I think!] Approximated nowhere to a decent coffee that I was familiar with. A total waste of money and effort.

3. Cafe Coffee Day at Whitefield
This was awesome. The setting was perfect. It was my birthday and I was all alone in Brindavan. Went there for the morning darshan. After which I could find no decent place for food. All I could see around me were endless lines everywhere. A flash of inspiration! I remembered the CCD outlet on the way and promptly hurried there. Yes, I spent a fortune there and got a coffee mug as a gift, but, it was worth it. And the coffee - excellent [though the price was astronomical]

4. Java Green at Hyderabad Central
Made the mistake of having cold coffee which had less of coffee and a generous helping of ice. Am planning to rectify the mistake today, if possible.

5. Ohri's at Hyderabad Central
Totally worthless. If you can avoid it, the better. Java Green is right below and has much better ambience.

6. Barista's at a new mall on Banajara Hills, Road Number 1 [forgot the name of the mall, but that is where Music World is currently located]
I tried to be adventurous and ordered some Irish coffee. Though on the expensive side, it was worth every sip. Had me going on my return journey [62 kms to be negotiated] for quite sometime. Am planning to go there once again.

7. Hey I almost forgot!
The best coffee in Hyd in of course in my aunt's house. Imagine waking up in the morning with the smell of filter coffee wafting through the house. Coffee at its best and as much as you want. No charges, no taxes. Just sit in a warm comfy, cozy corner and live in the sips, not bothering to measure life in coffee spoons like Mr. Prufrock!

Frankly speaking, I don't give a damn!

2008-08-18T19:39:00.001+05:30

[In the following post, I am trying to correlate the concepts of emotional fitness and awareness of the directions which relationships take. This, I feel, would help one to make the right decisions at the right times and thereby ensure the healthy nature of relationships.]

Prologue

Today I am walking down the road humming a melody and with a confident aspect. People look at me and wonder what is the secret of this happiness. And they are spellbound. Apparently I was facing the worst crisis of my life last week. Suddenly the demons of denial, doubt and defeat were looming large. Some went to the extent of claiming that I will never remain happy for the rest of my life, because this crisis was huge in magnitude and almost threatened to engulf me. Was I going to become emotional and succumb?

The origins of the debate itself!

I was always told by an entity that emotions have no validity. But a speech by Tony Robbins on TED Talks told me something else. There are 6,000 verbalized emotions and apparently at a given point of time we experience less than 12 of them. Half of which are almost negative.

Of course at the time of the debate, I had no inkling of this and was trying to argue about the validity of emotions in the most amateur manner whereas what I had been trying drive home most of the time is that our response to situations depends on our emotional fitness. You simply cannot do away with it. And there happen to be quite valid reasons for this.

Seeing the true picture!

I remember this forward about a bus conductor who was afraid of one of the passengers who consistently refused to buy his ticket. Apparently the conductor assumed that our friend was a bully, [because he looked like one] and went in for martial arts training to tackle this guy. Turns out that the 'bully' had a bus pass.

Most of the times it is our fears that make us blow things out of proportion. And in such cases, words used by people only adds to the fire. I realized in retrospect that focusing on what we need from the situation will help us negotiate it in its essential terms. For which you need to have your emotions in the right place and not become emotional.

Ability to connect/disconnect!

As much as there is the need to connect to each other at an emotional level, there is also the necessity to disconnect. An immediate example that comes to my mind is the characters of Rhett Butler and Scarlett O Hara in the novel Gone With the Wind. What apparently was the controversial last line of the story ‘Frankly speaking my dear, I don’t care a damn!’ was also the defining line that showed to way to bring to a close any association that is not mutually or ‘spiritually’ [I use spiritual as relating to the spirit to the spirit] beneficial to either of the parties. That is why apparently the novel could not have a sequel. Same holds good in real life as well. What Robbins says about the need and the possibilities of emotional connections between opposing parties may hold good in a larger and a generalised context. But to come to terms with the ups and downs in relationships at a personal level, you need the ability to disconnect and look at the whole map of the relationship objectively. For this again, your emotions should be in the right place.

Where’s the target?

Obviously the course of action that you take depends on the final target that you are looking at. And of course, as somebody told me the other day, you really want to severe a bond, [This is not the same as disconnecting. If you have done enough of disconnecting, then obviously there would be no need for the severing!] hatred is not the solution. Hatred breeds vengeance which by itself is a negative bond. So the only thing that has happened is that the bond has been turned on its head down. So you really want to severe the bond, just become indifferent and move on. Can that be called stasis? Definitely not, because movement is still happening. It is not simple movement or growth, but development with an awareness for future.

What about avoidance? Maybe a short term solution with temporary benefits and peace. But as a long term solution, it definitely falls short of expectations. When you don’t confront the situation and come to terms with it by either reducing it to its true proportions or severing it, then the situation remains as it is with absolutely no correction in terms of direction. It can be compared to a dead end road. You will have to come back and find other roads. An exercise in futility!

Seeing the whole picture!

As much as you need to look at a relationship at the micro level, you need to have the macro perspective as well. In fact something like a map which will alert you as to where you stand in that relationship. This will help you to plan accordingly. A person for whom you remain just a fallback option will definitely not care about your true feelings. In which case, the relationship should be channelized on those lines. This may bring the whole issue of the ability to tell ‘no’ when the relationship is headed beyond those defined tracks. And to say ‘No’ you need a tremendous amount of emotional fitness.

Resources/Resourcefulness

Tony Robbins mentions in his speech that most often we do whine about the lack of resources to tackle a situation. Applied at the level of emotions, what matters at the end of the day is not who is standing by us in the time of crisis but the resourcefulness we show in managing our emotions so that our responses are channelized in the right directions. Believe me, it will avoid a lot of collateral damage which might otherwise be caused due to a freeplay of emotional outbursts.

Free Will/Fate/ Happiness

This is a question that has really bothered me for quite sometime now. Yesterday I was watching an old woman sleeping under a tree. My friend asked me out of the blue, “Do you think that woman is having a peaceful sleep?” A quick look at her face confirmed that she was indeed sleeping peacefully. Instantly I remembered my tortured nights and days in a Rs. 500 per day room. Does fate have anything to do with it? Just like how Tony Robbins says that you are as surprised as you want to be, you are as happy as you decide to be. And believe me, unless you will it, nobody can take your happiness away from you. Things may go completely berserk, but proper management of emotions will do a lot to put things in the right perspective. Freewill and fate has nothing to do with it. For which you need a map, or something what Tony Robbins calls ‘operating system’ of your beliefs and emotions.

Epilogue

As I was walking down the busy road on Friday evening, on of my teachers caught hold of my hand and said, with absolutely no introduction, “Never get emotionally carried away by anybody or anything.” And she wouldn’t leave my hand for quite some time. Talk about sources of strength. Am I a battered and a bruised individual today? Not in the least. The experience has only made me strong. Emotional fitness is paramount in any relationship. A 360 degree appraisal told me that I should have probably told no at the right times, and probably disconnected periodically, if I had wanted to continue with the relationship. But the fact of the matter is that I didn't want it anymore. So what had happened was a blessing in disguise. I am back to where I had started in my first post [which now stands deleted] Emotions do have a validity as long as you understand how to manage them towards being an emotionally fit human being. As for the doomsday prophets, all that I would say to them is ‘Frankly speaking my dears, I don’t give a damn!”

Mango Party

2008-06-20T15:21:00.000+05:30

Mango Party

The Mango season in Hyderbad is quickly coming to a close, whilst yet another year, I rue the missed opportunities. For what? Sitting under a tree and eating a mango with bare hands

When I was a kid, I had this aunt of mine who stayed in a village in Andhra Pradesh. Come summer [not September!] our tickets would be procured and the three of us would be packed off to this village sans our parents. What halcyon days they were!

My aunt was a wonderful cook. In a jiffy she could make anything that was mouth watering and fit to be consumed on those lazy afternoons or nights under the sky. But when that, sometimes, didn’t happen, the mangoes were always there as a backup. Gorge into them, no questions asked. And where did we get these mangoes from? No, not from the supermarkets! In that village, most of the people had their own mango groves and it was customary that each family gave a basket of mangoes from their grove to all others. And of course the kids from Chennai had a special place in everybody’s heart. From the village doctor [I wonder whether he was really a doctor or a registered medical practitioner] to the official village painter – they would troop into my aunt’s house with baskets of mangoes. It was considered offensive if you refused their offer.

The best of course were the invitations to the mango groves where you could sit under a tree, pluck a raw mango and eat to your heart’s content. No gardener to shoo you off! Strangely enough, the visits to the grove stopped after a village kid told us that the groves were frequented by ghosts very often. But the mango party continued. Morning, noon and night.

In Chennai, we had a custom at home. We would not eat mangoes until the completion of my grandfather’s ceremony in the latter half of May. It seems my grandfather used to love mangoes a lot and as a tribute my dad stopped eating mangoes till the completion of the yearly ceremony. We followed suit. So two days before the ceremony, Mom, brother and I used to go the place in Parry’s corner in Chennai and purchase tons of mangoes [hyperbole of course, what I actually meant to say was as much as we could carry between the three of us!] And post ceremony – it was all mango celebration.

After I came to Hyderabad, the interest in mangoes weaned away. Especially this year, I had hardly had a decent mango. Even the mango faithfully given by Chachaji would just rot away in my house. I mean what is the fun having mango in your own room with no company of either human beings or Mother Nature. And of course, there is also no fun in having perfectly cut pieces of mango in a bowl with a fork to go along with it. Many a time I felt like using my hands, but etiquettes had a better claim over me.

And of course, the place where I stay, we used to have mango party every night. Want to know how it went? Mango’s would be cut and given in a plate. [I was not worthy of cutting mangoes with a kitchen knife because after one attempt, my friends concluded that I would cut my hand instead of the mango] and you had to partake of it with a spoon. The seed inside was of course, condemned to the dustbins. So this was the rather sorry state of affairs. The season was going to come to a close without my having manhandled, or rather womanhandled a mango. But then … fate intervened.

Day: Thursday

Date: 19-Jun-2008

Place: in front of friends who thought that I had gone mad!

I had had a difficult night the previous day and lost my appetite during breakfast. Naturally at around 12.30, rats started running in my stomach. I became desperate for food. There was a distinct possibility that I might turn into a cannibal when I spotted Chachaji. Without any prelude, I stated my problem, and in an instant he took me to the room where mangoes had been stored. Without pausing to think, I picked up opened it up with my hands and ate it to my heart’s content. Of course, a liberal dosage was on my face and hair as well, and everyone knew why I ate less lunch. Whatever, after 4 years, I actually ate a mango with my bare hands. Cause for celebration, right? I got four more and I am going to attack them tonight!

Making the day of a stranger!

2008-05-14T21:28:00.000+05:30

Charity begins at home, they say. Well for me charity sometimes continues on the road. As a matter of principle, I do not give money to beggars. But since my bag is always loaded with chocolates, or something edible at least, I make it a point to donate those to people in need. What if I run out of my stocks? Run across to the nearest store and buy something edible and then search that particular person and give it. Even at the risk of crossing roads. [Crossing the road is something that is still a rocket science to me, especially Road No.1, Banjara Hills, Hyderabad]

Well, this particular day, I went all the way to the university only to be told that my presence was required the next day as well. Since I stay away from the main city of Hyderabad, I decided to crash out for the rest of the day in my aunt's house. After having made the necessary call, I managed to find an auto for the rest of my journey. As I passed through Banjara Hills, [this was before Karachi Bakery made its appearance on that road] my usual chocolate chip cookie shop came into view. And who could resist that? So off I jumped out of the auto, and into the shop, ordered two boxes of chocolate chip cookies, fresh from the oven, completed the transactions and was about to jump back into the auto when something arrested my attention. An old man begging for food. He was getting shooed away.Yet he was persisting in his efforts to get some alms. Somehow old men, especially old men begging, remind me of my deceased grandfather, who sentenced me to the realms of education before he passed away. [when all I wanted to do was Literature. Could never forgive the old man for quite some time!]

Split second decision. With the auto fellow screaming on one hand, I landed in the shop once again, [the poor guy, he was not supposed to park for long in front of this shop] bought an Italian pizza roll, thrust it into the hands of the bewildered man, jumped back into the auto, and went away thinking what a fine girl I had been. It didn't take long for the bubble to burst. The altruistic side of my conscience was to be dealt with a very severe blow the very next day.

In retrospect, the decision to park myself in my aunt's house was a wrong one. Not being an early riser unless issued death threats, the inevitable happened. I woke up late and had to literally race against time. Of course, I had to maintain a stiff upper lip in front of my aunt and had to swallow the food she offered lovingly. Sometimes affection can kill.

So picture me running out of my aunt's house and into the first available bus, only to realise that the bus was full. [I am yet to get used to buses in Hyderabad] I did manage to find a seat, when all of sudden there was a frantic call from one of my friends with a message that she would not be able to make it to the university that day. I had to take the mobile out of my purse, which was in some corner of my bag, answered the call, and did not return the mobile to the purse.

As I reached my destination, I managed to extricate myself and got into the nearest auto. This bus would take me only till a certain point called Lingampally, from where I take an auto to the university. When I got into the auto and made my bargain, I realised that I had been relieved of my purse.

A scream, and a yell, and within a short time, we were in hot pursuit of the bus from which I had just then disembarked. All the way to a place called Patancheruvu. By the way, the contents of my purse: Rs.4,000 cash, atm card, and more importantly, my university id card. Without my id card I was lost. I wouldn't be allowed to enter the campus.

When we finally managed to reach the bus, it was empty and no purse of mine was found. So I was back at Lingampally police station. This was going to be my first experience at a police station. The policeman took a written statement and said that the chances that I would find my purse were next to impossible. Silently I walked back to the auto. All this while, the auto driver had not spoken a single word about the money to be paid. All he asked was, "Ippudu ekkadaki, madam?" [means "Whereto, now?] I replied university, and then realised that I did not have a single pie to pay this man. What's more, I didn't have my atm card as well.

What was the difference between me and that old man whom I had obliged with food just the previous day?

Frantic call to the bank, which was thankfully on the way. [God's grace, I had not returned my mobile to my purse. For once I thanked my carelessness!] Within minutes my card was blocked, and the clerk arranged some cash for me.

Finally I reached the university at two in the afternoon, and got down to work ruing the fact that I had lost my money. One of my acquaintances did his best, trying to cheer with me the stories of his lost mobiles and missed flights. Poor guy, his stories had the opposite effect. They only made me more grumpy.

As I returned to my aunt's house, I wondered why, of all people this was happening to me. Should I put an end to my altruistic adventures? Was this fate's way of telling me to mind my own business?

Didn't have to think for long before I remembered the auto driver, who stayed with me throughout this crisis, dropped me right in front of my department, and took whatever I gave him without a murmur of protest. I think I gave him Rs. 150 for the trip from Lingmapally to Patancheruvu through the entire lanes and bylanes of BHEL in pursuit of that bus, back to Lingampally and from there to the university. Waiting time included at the police station and the bank. Didn't have to think for long before I remembered the bank clerk, who ensured that I did not have to stand in the line to get my money, ensured that I got the cash, without a passbook, or a cheque book, or any other form of identification.

The altruistic motives continue. Good turns are meant to be passed on. And my ways of passing on the goodness and making somebody's day continue with renewed vigour. Even if it is at the expense of crossing roads to get something to eat for a hungry stranger. Because I know that by doing that, I am making his day. And in the process, mine as well.