Ramblings of an id(a)el mind

Some things never change

2006-09-30T03:21:00.000+06:00

Windows became shutters; curtains they were not no longer; blinded by blinds I was. I can no longer see floors, well carpeted they all are. There isn’t even no such thing as concrete walls, changing with the changing seasons. All wood, hopefully no termites. Little changes enveloping my life, I was taking it one at a time, making a face in the beginning, getting used to it in due course, even secretly enjoying some of these things.
There was no sound of milkman stashing the milk and newspaper in the mornings at the door step. Who cares! Refrigerated milk and online newspapers were as good. Only I had to plan in advance and make sure there was always some supply of milk in the fridge and newspaper never felt like it when u did not hold it and feel that papyrus. But as long as I never reminded myself of these things, it did not matter. Till…
Till one fine day, when you are locked in with no milk do u actually feel the pinch. Not one to wake with the sun, it never mattered. Not until the night I never slept, cuddled in bed with a book, just staying up for the heck of it. The fact that it was a bad old Monday morning soon enough did not matter. I just did it for the heck of it. At five, the signs of insomnia began taking shape and I decided tea it was for me. Holy cow! I had wiped the milk carton clean the previous night! And then I missed the milkman and noisy mornings and even the pressure cooker whistle so much. I was even getting close to the point of hollering loud and clear into the phone to that faraway land. Click, click, type numbers, Trinng. On second thoughts, quite an expensive affair! Shut the phone tight. Tea, without milk it shall be. Five minutes and lot of boiling later, a dark brown liquid emerged. It was so transparent, I could apparently see the bottom of the Ikea cup. It did not look like tea, how would it taste like one? A sip. Yuck! And this was after 2 packets of sugar free. I missed the milk and the milkman and the familiar noise once again.
Two things I learnt after this
a) Tea without milk (the creamer hardly a substitute) is not quite IT and so always have milk stored in the refrigerator. This is an absolute must, just as removing shoes in the airport and sniffing around to make sure the stench is not emanating from your own feet, is.
b) Some things never change!

Sleepless in Seattle

2006-09-11T22:08:00.000+06:00

Dark cloudy night,
A small lamp throwing light,
Crouched by the fire place,
A little mermaid, in a daze!

A book, half read by her side,
Thoughts far away, too obvious to hide,
Thinking of him ensconced in his bed,
Sleep deluding her, his voice playing in her head.

Seattle, a charming city,
Far from polluted and dirty,
This was her home,
And yet not her own.

She craved for the big one,
Full of hope and all fun,
That hardly the reason for her want,
Prince Charming her sole rant.

Musing about her knight in shining armour,
Till daybreak and the clock struck four,
A little mermaid sat tight,
Sleepless in Seattle tonight.

Nothing else matters

2006-09-09T03:59:00.000+06:00

What was happening to me today? I could not hold back pen from paper. My fingers were typing furiously at the laptop and I was on a rampage. C’mmon this is the third post of the day and I have not yet told all that I wanted to. I have not even begun. There is so much ground to be covered between here and there. So much to be explored between now and then!
I hear jubilation all around. It is a Friday evening after all and I am not even trying to pretend to be working. I am waiting to free myself from this space they provide me. I want to flee out of here and wish I could be there.
I hear his voice, in my head and on the phone like I do every single day and night. I am not tired of hearing it, never will be. There is so much that was talked and yet so much more to talk. We are so familiar with each other now, so at times we get repetitive but it becomes reiteration.
A window pops up and we go about writing myriad characters, characters we understand only too well. The games we play, coding and decoding messages when there are too many other elements around. At this moment when I am talking and chatting with him I miss him the most. At this moment, as the typing pace quickens, nothing else seems to matter. I can see my eyes becoming misty and want to tell you so much, how much you mean and all that I want to say, Mettalica has already stated. So here they are for you!

So close no matter how far,
Couldn’t be much more from the heart,
Forever trusting who we are,
And nothing else matters.

Never opened myself this way,
Life is ours, we live it our way,
All these words I don’t just say,
And nothing else matters.

Trust I seek and I find in you,
Everyday for us something new,
Open mind for a different view,
And nothing else matters.

Never cared for what they do,
Never cared for what they know,
But I know

So close no matter how far,
Couldn’t be much more from the heart,
Forever trusting who we are,
And nothing else matters.

Never cared for what they do,
Never cared for what they know,
But I know,
Never opened myself this way,
Life is ours, we live it our way,
All these words I don’t just say

Trust I seek and I find in you,
Everyday for us, something new,
Open mind for a different view,
And nothing else matters.

Never cared for what they say,
Never cared for the games they play,
Never cared for what they do,
Never cared for what they know
And I know.

So close, no matter how far,
Couldn’t be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
No, nothing else matters.

So apt for the moment, he said.

Broken Patterns

2006-09-09T03:34:00.000+06:00

I was reading Gif today and what Tan was going through. For some reason I decided that the other involved person was Amy. So Amy and Tan are no longer together. Hey, chill I am not suggesting that the world breaks apart just because there are sundered hearts all around us. No, time does not do a freeze on act too. Well nothing much happens and yet everything seems to have changed.

Broken patterns of life,
Changed styles of living,
Like a heart pierced by the knife,
Not Living, just gliding.

Along came the mighty wave,
A surge of happiness anticipated,
All the jungle out of caves,
Thinking souls would be sated.

Nothing really changed,
Not him, neither her,
The seasons just passed,
He grew thinner, she fatter.

Along came a day,
All bright and sunny,
Just right for making hay,
Everyone cheerful and funny.

Their old thoughts took a dive,
So did their core,
Broken patterns of life,
Remerged once more!

Two Lives

2006-09-08T23:42:00.000+06:00

“Tring Tring”, the ring was far too distinct to miss out. The time was not the most appropriate though. She tried in her sleep to play the guessing game yet again. She loved doing that and even her sleepy state did not dissuade her from doing so. The ringing stopped, a little too soon. She grabbed the phone and wondered who the mysterious caller was. A weird number, not one in her ever growing address book. She wondered why she took down numbers when she did not even care about them. It was like a game they played, one pretended to be interested in giving the number and other fumbling with the keys to enter it, both actors in their own accord. The world is of course a stage, they all say all the time.
“Tring, Tring”, the distinct cry from the electronic device shook her awake, away from those faraway thoughts. It was the same number. What else could she expect? She could not have too many mysterious callers on the same night, could she? It was not like she was Cleopatra. Why was her mind dwelling so much on Shakespeare and all his characters today?
“Hello”, she bellowed trying to keep the anticipation off her tone.
A long pause and the caller mustered the courage to say what came so easily, “Princess”.
Princess, after all these years! Was she supposed to jump with joy or just feel the deep sense of melancholy rising? Was her heart supposed to feel light with the joy or a great heaviness? Why was it always associated with mixed feelings?
“I just called to say hi”, he muttered not convincing her and not even feeling convinced.
“She is dead”, he managed to say, not able to keep the trembling in his tone.
That came as a jolt. How could she? She was all of 25 or maybe even lesser. What had happened?
“I mean her soul is dead”, he said after what had seemed like an eternity.
Where is this heading, she was wondering? Why was he telling her all of this in parts? Can he not stop being mysterious and just get on with it?
“She has lost her sense of humour and you do know that a person without a sense of humour is like a dead soul. She has changed so much. I can’t even recognize her any more. Oh, by the way she is married.”
Married, but that can’t happen. This is not the way it should be.
How could he sound cheerful when he said all of this?
The deep sense of melancholy was surging again within her. This time for him and the other her!

Two lives torn apart, so afar
Not by blasts, not even war.
They could have been so jolly,
And now they were sundered by their own folly.
A deep sense of melancholy was surging within her,
For him and the other her!

The Beauty, The Beast & The Hag

2006-09-08T05:27:00.000+06:00

You, the queen graced the chariot,
I, the mere horse carried thy.
Together we traveled far and wide,
Passing young and old all the way.

Some men held thy hand,
Some merely looked on at you,
None ever passed me as much a glance,
Nor even stroked my lovely hair coat.

You, the old queen sat on the chariot,
I, the mere horse carried thy,
“What a black beauty!”, said many,
“Who is the old hag?”, cried one and all.

Love by the sea shore

2006-09-01T00:57:00.000+06:00

A Walk by the moonlight,
A starry night, lovely sights,
The still waters run deep,
She knew he was with her for keeps.

Standing barefoot on the beach,
Seeing the water out of their reach,
Two little kids holding hands,
Feet digging shapes in the sands.

He held her tight,
Beholding her eyes, a truly wondrous sight,
As they gazed at the sea and the moon,
Life, they felt was a boon.

The Return

2006-06-19T23:40:00.000+06:00

The hands itched to hold a pen,
The pen swayed gracefully,
As the little writer emerged from her den,
To re-create long forgotten verses joyfully.

She felt the magic around,
Even as thoughts became words,
Even as the rains hit the ground,
Evoking the smell of earth and mud.

She was a mere weary lumberer,
Resting at the sight of shade, escaping the sun,
And before long she had fallen into deep slumber,
And now she must really go on,
The show must really go on.

The Sound of Silence - II

2006-05-13T00:08:00.000+06:00

Strong hands tap the keypad,
Tun tunnunu tun heard,
Slender hands put an end to tune.
There just are no words spoken,
While a famished listener hears,
Speech is so redundant they echo.
The sound of silence,
Melifluous lullaby it is.

One the Charmer, One the Charmed

2006-04-23T01:57:00.000+06:00

A bumble bee went buzzing by,
A new dawn saw a rose with spirits so high,
He, the bee stopped to look at the rose, a real beauty
She, the rose blushed a pink so lovely, so heavenly.

They played little games in the bright sun,
He suckling her and she having fun,
Her nectar all his to take,
All the hunting tactics for her sake.

Ah! The charmer and the charmed,
All the little games they played.

70 mm

2006-04-03T00:18:00.000+06:00

Meenu hugged her small bag while waiting to cross the road. The road with the incessant vehicles flying past stood between her and the massive building that had taken shape in the last few months. Even as Meenu, all of 15 years lifted her head to admire the sprawling theatre complex that stood before her, a surge of excitement went through her. All the vehicles hurrying to reach their destination had been stopped by a hand under whose control they were, at least momentarily. The man in white could at his will and wish command an entire array of the most powerful to stop and start. Now was his turn to ask them to stop. In doing so, he gave Meenu her 1 minute of freedom to cross the road. But Meenu, as though worried that the policeman might change his mind too soon, rushed to reach her target. The signal timer would have recorded it as 31 seconds.
“Sir, one ticket please”, she asked the man giving out tickets at the counter.
“Do you want the special or the balcony young lady?”
“What can I get for Rs 30 Sir?”
“That would be the special”.
“Thanks Sir”
“Don’t you have someone older accompanying you?”
“Umm.. No.”
“Hope you enjoy the movie”, said the man and smiled.
Meenu emerged triumphant, clutching her tickets and went into the big complex. So someone had called her a lady. She was growing up fast.
The mighty posters proclaiming the upcoming actors and actresses always managed to hold her fascination. She wanted to touch them but was scared someone would shout at her, so she just continued staring at them, her mouth wide open taking in all that those images stated. She felt they spoke a certain language and depending on who stared at it, it would change, just like the movies.
A line had quickly formed before the ENTRY door and she joined in, wanting to be part of that journey, a journey into that fantasy land. She went in and sat down at C-10. This was so special after all, she was so much closer to that big screen spread out in front of her, currently advertising some diamond jewellery. She looked on as the stones seemed to sparkle, and it seemed to reach almost till her, so close that, all she had to do was reach out her tiny fingers and she could touch the ray, the sparkle. When the silver screen seemed to be showing sparkling diamonds, the sparkling shifted from being a verb to a noun, an object she could touch and feel and feel it seep all through her. The feeling of aura had already begun to take over. She had saved some money out of her meager weekly allowance that her parents granted her, and supplemented it with putting Mehendi to excited girls at the stall to make it to this movie and maybe one more. She felt no guilt about watching this movie as she felt she had earned the right to be here.
The massive screen soon exploded with loud music and images began to form in front of her and as ever they held her in a state of rapture. She felt so oblivious to what was happening in the seats beside her and all that mattered was what happened in that big screen in front of her. Within the confines of the wall here all differences died down and the man in front of her was speaking to her as much as he was to the rich old man beside her.
She did not realize the time go by so quickly and now before her was the Knight proclaiming to his princess that the greatest thing is to love and being loved in return. As he said how he can take even a bullet for her, Meenu’s eyes were filled and she wondered about her Knight in shining armour. She wondered if it was really possible to find such a man and if a passion so great really exists. She believed that reel life was really an extension of real life and so if they say so in movies then it sure must. She closed her eyes for just a second to let the tears flow down and as she did so the lights came on declaring an intermission.
She was gripping the chair as the man gripped his woman around her waist talking about his dreams. Those few hours when Meenu was in front of the large screen, the illusion took over and became the reality. This was her world, the reel that became real. Each man and each woman to his own thoughts and emotions as the men and women behind the scenes bring their emotions to play in front of that wonder device – the camera. As the images before her slowly gave way to text and the lights came on, reality took over once again.
Meenu was out in the streets again but with so much to mull over about what had transpired those two hours, which seemed to evoke magic in her every time she was part of the cinema experience. As she was waiting to cross the road, she promised herself she would one day be part of the all that activity behind the scenes that helped merge so many illusory worlds into realities.

Wild O' Jungle Fashion Week

2006-04-01T13:45:00.000+06:00

Dr Quack, the Duckess was hurrying by when she noticed Baby Brewy, the Rabbit of the Wild o’ Jungle sitting in a morose mood. In fact Brewy was in such a foul mood that she was sprawled all over the green lawn, that belonged to Bitchy Witch the Owl with her hands cupped over her chin and her gloomy eyes taking a peep out of her all too famous aviator glasses. Dr Quack liked Brewy and liked her most when she was jumping around. “Brewy dearest why are you in such a foul mood baby?”, she inquired of Brewy.

“Booooooohooooooooooo! Booooohooooooooo!”, she wailed.

“Now be a good girl and tell me what happened”.

And so Brewy amidst her heavy sobs and sniffs, narrated a heart rending tale. A sartorial tale of such grave scales that it sent Quack quack so loud that Pecky the woodpecker, who tired after a hard days peck, was taking a short nap, woke up startled by the noise. The moment she spotted Quack she quickly went back to her dream world lest Quack gives her some more naturopathy to deal with. But Quack was still the crying shoulder to baby rabbits to pay attention to peckers of any kind. Her heart went out to the poor rabbit devoid of sexy attire which prevented such a wonderful rabittine from rabbit-walking down the creeper path in the Jungle Fashion Week show, that was rocking the animal world in the Wild o’ Jungle.

But the intelligent Dr Quack was already trying to think of a way out of this sartorial mess. That was when Dr Quack remembered Suzy the Swift who was an amateur designer and her amateurity was She Apparel.

No sooner did the idea strike her that she mentioned it to Brewy who became all pink and cheery. Quack propelled into action soon enough, first dispensing with Brewy’s spectacles and then duck walking quickly to find Suzy the swift.

Suzy was swiftly sifting through her latest designs and inspecting those she felt befit her Main display when Quack entered. Suzy liked Quack a good deal, she had given her a free treatment when she trod a hill and sprained her a little claw on the left leg. She welcomed Quack and tiny Brewy by her side. The moment Suzy heard Quack out, she got into her Designer wear promos.

“Brewy baby, here before you is the red hot checkered skirt peppered with a lot of black that would make you look hot in this sizzling heat. Below that is a kewl Cotton candy skirt emanating hues of pink, the colour of passion that would be the apt attire to beat the heat. You may also want to consider wearing the airy Pink sleeveless top and a blue skirt to match it.”
Suzy paused to catch her breath as she normally does after one of her marketing gimmicks.
Baby Brewy was looking with starry eyed wonderment at all the goodies before her and was wondering what to choose when Quack quacked as though to clear her throat and announced what would suit Brewy the best.
“The Cotton Candy skirt it shall be”, declared Quack proceeding to extract matching pink coolers from her coat, to go with it.
“A Nike pink and grey floaters would be the ideal footwear to go with it.”, she added.

A delighted Baby Brewy walked out of Suzy’s shop happy with her purchase and ran to the hole she had burrowed in Bitchy witch’s lawn to emerge a ravishing beauty.

The Not-So-Worn Footwear

2006-03-30T13:03:00.000+06:00

“Hey sweetie, u look a lill umm.. what shall I say different”, said he taking a peep out of the newspaper.
I look different. Now that is an understatement, putting it way too mildly. Five hours and a grand later all I can look is different! Crazy! If ever there are creatures that are born who can beat bats at blindness then those are MEN.
But I just managed to be hope personified and cleared my throat.
“Umm..How do you mean different?”, I asked, flashing a wonderful smile.
The smile could have been done away with. Madhur did not even look up from the newspaper.
“Beautiful, what a lovely”, said Madhur, still engrossed in his newspaper.
It really is “our” newspaper but he uses it so much oftener right from when I want some help in the kitchen to when he wants to avoid answering my eternal “Do I look fat questions” that I have started associating the newspaper with him. But here was some hope. Had he not mentioned the words beautiful? Wow, some progress I thought and was even congratulating myself on a grand well spent.
“Swats, just check out these innings, what a beauty! I am so pissed I had to miss it”.
Oh so it really was the match after all and before those twenty two men even his wife “dressed to kill”, seemed to fade away.
“Umm.. Madhu, you were mentioning that I look different. So what were you saying”, asked a desperate me, making another vain attempt at getting him to steer the conversation away from his “lovely” cricket.
“Oh! That!”.
He took one quick look away from his all encompassing newspaper and there judgment was formed.
“Umm… Not bad, but u know Swats, you looked better before all that make up I suppose”.
The god has passed judgment. I let it sink in slowly. It beats me how every time I do something, the previous thing seems so much better. Like the other time when I went in and got that short hair cut, he felt the long hair falling on my bare neck seemed sexier and when I, with great difficulty grew it longer, fighting the heat all the way, he seemed to think the short hair looked smarter. Arrrghhh! And now after I put myself to endless facial scrubs, putting maids scrubbing floors to shame, straightening of those wild curls, wincing all the pain that comes from a hot wax, wishing I never had eye brows when they were being plucked, all he can say is “different”. I see. What’s more he prefers the un-scrubbed face.
But of course all was not yet over. Now I had in my possession those lovely pair of heels and when I wheel them around then he can’t help but remark how “tall” I am and how I reach his shoulders, well almost. These additional inches will go a long way in overcoming that foot long difference. I unpacked those shoes, they seemed more like glass crockery and the living room show case seemed befitting of their presence as compared to the old shoe case. I was so careful with them, even bordering on mild care and stepped into them.
“Ouch!”, I screamed, when I tried those first steps with them.
Man! Did they hurt? You bet. It felt like I was standing on long thin sticks and was trying impossible acrobats. Now all I needed was a long stick to balance in my hands and I can pass on for those wannabe tight rope artistes. But then being a persevering soul, I continued on, unmindful of all the pain and actually walked 10 meters, slipping every now and then of course.
“Madhur, do you want to have lunch outside and then head for the movie”, I asked from our bedroom.
“Oh! We had planned that right! I had almost forgotten about it”, said he in reply.
Forgot! He must be kidding. We had done one of those advance booking things after so much consultation with his n number of match schedules and now he pretends to forget.

2 hours later

Our man is bent over tying his shoe laces when I emerged from the bedroom all done with my cat walking practice. It did hurt a bit but never mind the pain when there was so much (height) to be gained. Hee hee!

“I am done” said he and stood up or maybe I should say stood tall, definitely taller than usual.

I stole one quick glance at his shoes.

“Oh! those” he answered following my eyes.

“I forgot to mention about these amazing shoes, Swats. Last week I was just getting back home on my way when I just saw them on display and just could not resist the temptation and bought them.”

I reeled. Did he just say he bought shoes on an “impulse”? Heloo! Unplanned shopping is a woman’s forte and these men have no business stepping into zones prohibited. And shoes which have those raised heels for men is a strict NO! NO!. And if the man in question happens to be breaking the scales of height, then such shoes should be considered no better than the plague which struck Gujarat a few years ago. Discard them is what I say.

As though reading my mind and waiting to refute the facts, he started singing praises of the shoes, how comfortable they were, how good they looked.

No ways I was going to relent and fall for all that crap. How can men’s shoes look good, they all looked the same and pretty bland if I may add.

Few months later, dusty boots and heels were heard in conversation.

“We have been lying unused for so long now” said the boots to the heels.
“Except those few minutes when she wore me the other day. Every morning she looks at me longingly, lets out a sigh and says “A deal is a deal!” and wears one of those flat backed ugly slippers”, replied the heels.
“What do you think he does? He still curses that day when he gave in to Missus’ wishes about discarding me in exchange for getting her off you, you hideous looking heels, and one cricket match at the stadium”.

And so they fought on till the night wore at the quiet house waiting for the Mister and the Missus to return and discard the beastly slippers and shoes they wore.

p.s:- This was sort of inspired by Gifs long ago post lying in the wild jungle just yonder

A journey to remember

2006-03-23T14:30:00.000+06:00

She was waiting in a crowded station, waiting for her train to arrive, waiting to be taken to a destination far from the madding crowd surrounding her. Suddenly weariness began to take its toll on her and she wanted some place to rest her tiny feet. She looked around and saw all the men, some women and little kids lost in myriad conversations, saying those good byes and talking about taking care of each other, promising to keep in touch soon after they reached the destination. She took in all of this and was still searching for a place to rest her tiny feet. That is when she took notice of the heavy suitcase she was clutching. Soon a vertical cuboid became a horizontal one and she sat down. Hands cupped her chin, looking at all the people hustling by, not waiting to even so much as even chance a glance at her. Oh yes, some did, the ones who were so irritated that she was sitting in their way, gave those cold glares and continued on their way heaving heavy suitcases.
The familiar noise emanated from the tracks, steel rolling on flattened steel, smoke from a chimney, the approaching sirens of the vehicle that was to carry her, house her for the next few hours. She waited patiently till the vehicle pulled in and came to a halt. The whole platform was ablaze with activity and everyone seemed to be heading towards her train. There were those that were so destitute that they had no business in a train yet they scourged the train looking for any remnants that can feed them their next meal. An old lady stepped out and her jewelry bespoke of a certain class. She looked along the length and breadth of the platform looking for someone who would help her with her suitcase.
Mary decided it was time she headed towards the train to claim her seat. She was willing it to be the one next to the window. Window seats were so exciting; she could take in all the sights and landscapes that the country threw at her. She read the charts to double check that her name was there and went in and sat down near the window. She had her knitting kit which was to be her companion for most part of the journey. For the rest she hoped she would have something more human. She looked down at the hem of her skirt, it seemed to be giving way and the skirt had lifted and rested just above her ankles. She looked at her legs with interest and saw the well toned legs. Well toned legs that went with her well rounded breasts, and legs extending from a sleek waist. She was small on the whole, a tiny frame that could fit snugly anywhere just as now she was seated at the very edge of her seat clutching her knitting kit.
The train began to slowly inch its way out of the familiar platform and approached the country side soon enough. It settled into a familiar speed, flying past paddy fields and cotton ones with equal ease. She saw men and women working their way in their fields and stopping every once in a while to chance a glance at the trains inching their way past them. Her glance shifted around her coach and she noticed that her bay was practically empty except for a cross old man sitting with crossed brows. He did not seem friendly and she did not dare try and initiate a conversation with him. He had a soiled piece of paper in his hands that looked familiar enough to pass on for the ticket yet dirty and made into a ball that was far, far away from any ticket. She started to knit the woolen scarf she had promised herself for Christmas and every once in a while looked around to take in the warmth of the sights they crossed. She loved the sound the train made when it was over a bridge as it was now.
Night soon began to fall and the old man was packing his belongings. Her soul companion was also going to get off the train when the next station came along. She sighed, made a comfortable bed for herself and curved herself in the tiny seat. She soon fell asleep and started dreaming about a castle where she was the princess and her knight in shining armour was giving her a massage. It felt so good, the touch of the hands on her legs, cupping them and making their way slowly upwards. Now they had moved upwards and were clutching her shoulders and felt so strong. She could hear her own breath coming haltingly and could smell mint at close quarters. Then she felt a slight heaving close to her, and the hands were working their way under her blouse. She was enjoying herself so much that she urged the man to just go on and on. In her dreamy state she could catch sight of only a thin moustache and a silver chain falling from his neck exhibiting the letter A. Soon all was quiet and she fell into a deep slumber.
The sun came pouring into her compartment and she woke with a start. She tried to remember all that had happened when the train was passing through the wilderness when she realized she had company in her bay. The old man was no where to be seen but in his place were two strong men, one looking just like the other. They were nattily dressed, each donning a suit. They had well rounded shoulders and a thin moustache. They each had those exhibitionist chains displaying the letter A with all pride and glory. The train soon halted to a complete stop and it was time for her to alight. The men followed her too and she tried to search their eyes for a look of familiarity. They both flashed a smile at her and continued on their way.

Civil war or an oxymoron?

2006-03-10T17:11:00.000+06:00

One of those many software engineers sitting in front of the PC, listening to foot tapping music. Suddenly the soul in q hears Civil War by GNR enqued in her playlist. A man reasons with the world about the atrocities of war, saying how war can never please neither the perpetrators of the crime nor the lashed out. In the end, with the guns and bombs as a witness in the background he says “What is so civil about war anyways”.
Is there such a thing as a civil war, much like civil rights, civil manners and all those phrases you can dole out? I personally think it is the biggest joke one kind is playing on the other going in an infinite never ending cycle. Only here there is never going to one with the LAST LAUGH

The Sound of silence - shattered..

2006-03-10T16:49:00.000+06:00

“Did you check your mails”, an excited co-worker yelled.
“Why they have announced yet another hike or what”, asked a bored soul.
“No no, there may be a holiday tomorrow ‘cos of some bandh”, continued the co-worker, packing off her bag.
Silence was all the bored soul could give for a repartee. Silence and maybe a verse, though of course the verse is not going to make any difference to neither the bomb blast nor the bandh, not even to a callous co-worker. But at the moment this is all she can do.

Thick black smoke in a holy city,
A little girl evoking so much pity.

Bombs replacing the sound of silence,
Is this what a believer gets for all his years of penance?

Innocents mired in a little game THE OTHERS choose to play,
Where the keywords are attack, kill and slay.

Is a bandh the best reply?
When terrorism is still being bred by the sly.

Or can we choose to ignore it and the pain?
Believing it is always “someone else” who gets hurt in vain.

Can we not put an end to all of this?
And lead a life of eternal bliss.

Dance to my tunes - A Short Story

2006-03-09T13:47:00.000+06:00

Dear Maya,

Appa and I saw your performance the other day on television. It was disgusting to say the least. I feel so sad that I spent years training you to become the very best classical dancer, a bharathanatyam whiz only to see all that reduced to some weird numbers for some western songs? Is this what you want to give back to our culture? Kick it, so to speak every time you lift your legs. The legs that should have been doing Shiva Thandav and which should be dancing for thillana are now swaying to waltzes and salsas and sometimes worse, third rate folk lore. The calls we have been receiving since that shameful performance of yours in the States last week, has only disgraced us further. Looks like the entire world has caught your shameful act and now I am sure no respectful guy will ever marry you.

A very disappointed,
Amma and Appa.

Dear Maya,

Just because you choose to ignore the previous e-mail does not mean we are going to keep any quieter. I just wanted to mail in to let you know that the particular pose where you have your right leg lifted high up and bent forward resembling a silly bird was the most shameful of all poses. Both Appa and I are thankful to God that we were not there in the States to witness this “event”. Just to save our dignity we would have been forced to attend the show.
In any case take care,
Amma and Appa.

Dear Mays,

You are but a natural. I was there sitting in one of the front rows watching you transform from the girl that I knew to a woman. You looked so beautiful and graceful swaying like a bird to the music, that I just sat mystified. I was entranced by that particular pose where you have your right leg lifted high up and bent forward resembling a confident beautiful bird waiting to soar way upwards into the sky. I am just so glad that I made it in time for the show. I wanted to meet you soon after the show but I had a flight to catch and also thought you might be busy. A part of me was also unsure how you would react seeing me after all these years. Surprise, happiness, or just plain nonchalance? In fact I was not even sure if you had noticed me in the front row.
Anyways I hope to hear from you soon enough.

Warm Regards,
Mayank.

Dear Mays,

I think you are caught up again in one of your busy schedules and hence have not replied to my earlier mail. I know you have always treated me as nothing but the best of your friends and for sometime even I wanted to believe that I just like you loads as this special friend and nothing more. But then off late I have started questioning my feelings ever so much and have realized that I do love you a good deal. I know this is the last means I should have resorted to speak about something so close to my heart, but then this is the best way I could think of to let you know how my heart pounds faster every time I see your eyes dance to the music. I just love to look at your hands move with clock work precision to accompany your legs, those legs that can do wonders. I have known you for so long now but every time you dance, be it to “Asaindhandum mayil ondru” or any of the folklore, you are equally enticing. Can I but help remembering those times when you tried in vain to teach me some salsa?
I would love to hear from you, but if you feel you don’t want anything more to do with me then just don’t reply. I don’t think I can take a NO from you in print.

Love,
Mayank.

Dear Mayank,

Did I see you in the front rows? My eyes were scanning the audience much like a scavenger hunts for food, scourging those strangers walking in and rested only when I set eyes upon your lean frame seated among a sea of unfamiliarity. From that moment on everyone ceased to exist and I danced only for your eyes. I have always had this special place for you in my heart but I was really not sure about your feelings and I was scared to let my feelings out, afraid that I would be hurt. But I am so on top of the world right now. I want to sway with you to music that will move me completely.
I will call you up presently.

Loads of love,
Urs always,
Mays.

Dear Mays,

I am so amazed that we have been “going around” so to speak for almost a year now. In this one year I have only realized how made for each other we are. I wish we could be in the same city so that we could have been living together right now. There is so much that I want to tell you but I guess I shall whisper all those sweet nothings over the phone.

Love,
Ur
Mayank.

Dear Appa and Amma,

I know that I have resorted to long bouts of silence ever since I got to the US. Whenever you had sent those mails about my dance, about your dislike for my particular kind of dance, I have resorted to silence. Maybe I should have responded then, made you understand how much I love what I am doing. Maybe I should have told you that my dance is my life, and it flows in my body just as naturally as does blood. Amma, this dance I inherited from you, you gave it to me amma but sadly this has been the issue of most of our contentions. But strangely this same dance that you wanted me to abandon has also found me the other love of my life. Oh yes, you heard it right and again I am resorting to mails in favour of calling you up and letting you know how I feel about Mayank. Yes, that very same Mayank who was my best of friends all these years. The reason I am telling you about him now is that, otherwise it will be very late. We are getting married tomorrow in Chicago. That is where he is staying right now and I am taking the 11:15 flight tonight and we shall be man and wife tomorrow. It shall be a quiet affair, the way the both of us want it. I know you will be all the more disappointed but then I do not think I have done too things that you are too proud of and this is only going to add to the seething ire.

Love,
Your daughter,
Maya.

Dear Mays,

I guess this shall really be the last time that I shall write to you and I know you can never forgive me for what I am doing right now. But this is really the only way out if I have to be honest with myself.
That night when your flight to Chicago crashed, my heart nearly stopped beating. I thought I lost you, a part of myself and that drove me to desperation. Then I found out that you were in the hospital done up in a lot of plaster and I came running in to see you. What I saw shocked me into silence and I went away while you were still lying there unconscious. Yes Maya, I walked right out of your life at that very moment when I realized that there was just empty space where your right leg should have been.
This was far worse than death. In death I would have still lost the Maya I loved but now I had to live with a Maya who wasn’t even her any longer. I realized that I loved your legs more than anything else. Your legs defined who you were, it was that very same leg that turned you into that beautiful, unconquerable woman and I desired THAT woman. Without THAT you would no longer be the person you were. Dance was your life and that made you that mysterious illusion, that made you Maya, without those legs, you are hard reality and reality is something I have never been able to come to terms with. I am far too selfish to continue the relationship that we shared and at a moment when I should be next to you I am moving far, far away. Don’t ever try contacting me.

Good bye,
Mayank.

Dear Sandy,

Appa and I had a lovely vacation and we spoke so much. He told me a little story about a wonder WOMAN and her MAN’s MAN, a story that I knew all along in bits and pieces but when the jigsaw puzzle was unraveled in its full, a lot of things began to fall in place and I was able to appreciate what I had been offered. Now the writer in me comes up in full spree and you shall hear a truly remarkable story.
This story as Appa told me was about a little woman who was the greatest dancer according to him and according to half the world. Only the little woman’s parents were always displeased with her that she refused to perform “their” kind of dance. The little woman met a little boy she grew to like and even decided to marry him. But that is when life decided to play a little game with her. She lost her right leg in the very same flight that was to take her to her lover boy, her soon to be husband. He was devastated, but was such a wimp that he refused to continue playing the game they had set the rules for. He walked out of the little woman’s life at precisely the same moment that the little woman needed him so very much. She was definitely shattered, she lost her first love, her dance and her second love, Mr lover boy all in a little journey that was not her fault at all. The days in the hospital waiting for him to come, day after day, nearly drove her to desperation. She used to cry all day long and refused to close her eyes in the night because it was too dark and she could not see any future.
That was when she met Dr Shekar, who was treating her. Shekar not only taught her to get used to the fact that she was never going to have her own leg and will have to learn to walk with artificial ones for the rest of her life, but also taught her to fight right back. He used to speak to her for long hours and in the beginning she spurned him, thinking he was being sympathetic. Then she grew to respect him, admire him and before long, she fell in love with him. They married soon enough and he taught her to come to terms with the fact that she would never be able to dance again the way she did before. But he opened a dance school in her name and told her how her art shall live through so many other people’s dreams. They weaved these dreams together and she could not have been happier in her life.
That was when her husband, doctor, mentor, friend, philosopher all rolled into one revealed to her that in the accident, along with her right leg she had also lost her ability to conceive. That shattered her, and she was angry with Shekar for marrying an infertile woman, a woman who could never satisfy him fully. But that was just how remarkable Shekar was, and in his most practical tones said they will adopt a little girl, a girl who would grow up to be as remarkable as her mother is.
That little girl they named Swati, and she grew up among the best of people. Parents who taught her to love by showing how they loved and cared for the other. She wanted to look like her mom did and wanted to think and act like her dad did. Now that their little girl had grown up they thought it was time that some mysteries were unraveled to her.
Her eyes brimmed with tears, not tears of sadness that some woman had abandoned her years ago but that she was so gifted that she had found such amazing parents. What is more she was so moved that she decided to write her MAN about this and that is how she is in front of the comp typing. She knows that He will understand it all; he will love her still as much as he did before because he loves her for the WOMAN she is, not for the part time dancer, part time journalist that she is. He loves her not because of but in spite of.

Loads of Love,
Swathi.

p.s:- This post would have ended where Mayank left her had it not been for him

Little Women

2006-03-02T18:26:00.000+06:00

Bright red ribbons holding neat long pigtails,
Pleated skirt showing bruised knee,
Sitting on the porch awaiting unread mails,
From lands so far, one can’t even see.

Short silky bouncy hair,
Adorning a bright cheery frock,
Writing furiously sitting on a chair,
Shaking legs wrapped in silken sock.

Memories cloud them thoughts,
Of playing games at twilight,
Of enacting plays thick with plots,
Of very many silly fights.

Each hoping against hope hopen,
Of returning to times of eternal childhood,
Hiding and seeking the other in a den,
Laughing in wonderment at times far too good.

As pen strokes fill white paper,
As waiting hands clutch unopened letters,
They each know that childhood is really over,
To reveal times that may be worse, may be better.

Amidst a deluge of emotions and mental turbulence,
They each embark upon the final journey,
Of leaving behind sweet girlhood in all its innocence,
Graduating into little women creating their own destiny!

Slurp Slurp...

2006-02-28T13:53:00.000+06:00

Long hard one,
Going right in,
Just getting crushed,
Becoming squishy squashy,
When finally out.
Slurpy liquid is all that is left,
After it has come right out.
Two little tiny women,
One with a pony tail,
One without,
Drinking it in with all gusto,
Out of tall glasses.
Oh sweet sugar cane juice,
How I long for one right away!

ps:- This had its humble beginnings in the far wide jungle right here

Perfection looms large in Imperfection

2006-02-27T13:01:00.000+06:00

A sedentary Monday morning that started with it’s usual share of strong morning coffee and a reluctant hit to the office. Yours truly even went as far as turn around, cast an unhappy look at Mommy dear, clutched her tummy, tried to get her tummy to make weird noises so she could be let off to stay at home, enjoy an extended weekend, but no Mommy dear was so used to Dotty’s tricks that she just continued waving standing at the door lest dotty just escape inwards.
Ah! So it is that a hapless soul sat before the comp and out of sheer boredom started wading through blogs, much like ducks wade in the waters, only they are very happy doing that and she did it in a slightly melancholic state. Oh! No! She was not suffering from Incurable Hypertension Sleep Disorder Chronic Depression Syndrome. In fact quite the contrary but Monday mornings had an unusually weird effect on her. She felt like standing before the Mirror and making an ugly face at the reflection, hoping against hope hopen that that would quicken the week days into the much loved week end. Anyways that was not to be and she continued her blogosearch. Then it was that she hit upon Gif’s blog and that inspired her to play around with obscure characters and words, type, comma, backspace, myriad words making their way into her blog.
Ms Gif had talked about how Imperfection is far more alluring than is the oft searched for perfection and there is a lot of truth in what she said.
I was reading this book called “The Unbearable lightness of Being” by “Milan Kundera” and there is a certain French Professor (he is not a professor of the French language but more a professor who happens to be French) who falls in love with a painter. Oh yaa, the French do have a weakness for the arty types! He thinks she is perfection personified, that the relationship is par excellence and so he lives in constant fear of losing her. He keeps thinking day in and day out that this is IT, this is the time when she shall declare that she is no longer in love with him. So there is always an unsettling feeling in him, as to when these idyllic days are going to end and sure enough they do but when it does he is actually relieved. When he falls down from that utopic state and actually hits terra firma, he is happy, blissful, at peace with himself. Now he need not fear anything!
Such is the effect that perfection can have on one. When u think that what you have is perfect, something too good to be true then you live in constant fear of losing it. When you do live in constant fear of losing something, the unconscious reflects these thought waves and sure enough they would be treated back with just what the heart and soul were hoping would not happen. So you lose the much coveted object, but just like our French professor you would be relieved and light.
Also when imperfections persist, one has the tendency to break out of them and head towards attaining perfection, however much elusive that goal may be. So there is a constant drive and need at improving oneself and whether or not you attain that goal of seeking perfection you have done yourself a world of good in the journey to the destination. When you enjoy the ride, love the sights that you take in while trying to reach the end, then the destination ceases to be of any importance.

....The Last Odyssey

2006-02-21T13:23:00.000+06:00

Tiny feet marching towards the swings,
Little hands holding the wooden slab,
Birds sitting atop trees fluttering wings,
Old men walking by enjoying gab.

Pleated skirt, pink top, flying hair,
Plain shirt, beige drawers, pushing harder,
Legs high up in the air,
Going higher and higher and higher.

She suddenly one with the clouds,
Soon almost touching terra firma,
Singing songs celebrating life, aloud,
Willing the music to just go on, ooh la la.

He shoved the wooden block hard,
She soared upwards leaving the city below in a flood,
Steel chain unhinging from a U-hook, coming down THUD,
Pleated skirt, pink top, wild hair all lying in a mangle of blood.

He mooted to the ground too moved to speak,
There really were no more tears left to cry,
No more mates left to tweak,
And he wished that he like his mate could just die.

Between Him and Her...

2006-02-15T02:11:00.000+06:00

There was so much to say,
But all the world heard was silence,
So many thoughts within hearts lay,
That to him and her made so much sense.

Despite bad connections and weak signal,
She heard what he had not even mouthed,
As the language of love was all,
They knew and spoke and heard!

Save Thy Earth!

2006-02-14T16:02:00.000+06:00

A bare yellow body with black polka dots stumped urs truly with a question. She stared long and hard waving a brown bag, waiting to see if I had anything phenomenal to offer. A quick “Umm..Actually I am tied up with some work. I will get back to you soon enough” was all I could come up with. Sure enough I was tied up with so much work, corrosive fumes effusing out of metal parts. Metal clamping metal barely managing to stay on the ground and blowing out lots of big, black ugly smoke. I was making my way towards the pale, blue bike standing silently smiling the smile of a satisfied criminal.
A trip down memory lane and I remembered idyllic walks through green meadows where pale yellow flowers bloomed. I still loved the reflection staring back at me from that clear stream. I had traded all of that for this black smoke looming in front of me? And what about those extra pounds around the waist?
Now the blue bike did not seem so cunning. I could still have the last laugh! I trundled him alongside me, me the master and he obeying me. A dark, gloomy shed was going to be his haven and he deserved it. So I woke up the next morning a really refreshed, a rejuvenated soul and took a walk to the land of bosses. A chirpy good morning left my lips.
“So early?” asked he.
“I just walked in” said I.
“Oh. Why is the bike sick” he asked.
“Umm..sort of. For life! He has been institutionalized.” said I.
“Oh! Weight reduction?” he questioned in turn.
A slow sarcastic smile left my lips.

He blew smoke as he went singing all the way,
She tried telling him how it was all wrong,
He paid no heed to her words and her wise say,
And so look where his deeds left him, humming a sad song.

A gloomy place bustling with lots of white and some green
A device over his nose, wires all over,
She stood leaning and watching from behind the glass, far from serene
As he struggled to breathe his last, her beloved lover!

I have done a really wee bit and now it is for them to decide if I can do more. Maybe Griz and Gif will have a lot to say about this!

Sextet of sorts

2006-01-30T13:35:00.000+06:00

I have a plethora of information to hoard,
In the form of charachters on board,
Transfixed in my chair I stare,
Trying to duck from the instructors glare,
For i can see his face flare,
At minds so bare.

Those days of yore

2006-01-30T13:21:00.000+06:00

I sat on the sea shores,
Thinking of those days of yore,
Musing about those times when life was but a bed of roses,
When all i heard was the sound of music and her melifluous laughter.
And now i sit on the sea shores,
Thinking of those days of yore,
Those unbuilt castles that remained just that -'Castles in the air'.
I look at the full moon streaming its light and beauty,
On all those who care to see,
And even this sends a trail of thought,
Reminding me of those days of yore,
When i sat on the sea shores.
I can remember all too well that poised calm,
The twinkle in her eyes,
The smile that set my heart afire,
That body that was vibrant with life,
Untill the car that claimed her victim,
Life seemed to screech to a halt,
At those brakes applied a lill too late,
And here I am alone on the sea shores,
Thinking of those days of yore.

Kiss of a Life time

2006-01-25T03:27:00.000+06:00

He standing tall and leaning over her,
She looking up into his lovely face,
Hands wrapped around her shoulder,
Holding her in a tight, warm embrace.

Them kissing blissfully unaware,
Of a world moving by in a whiz,
He and she lost in the other, seeming not to care,
Of people going about their regular biz.

Images moving around them bodies,
In a crowded sidewalk,
In the French city of Paris,
Famous for romance and love talk.

A scene captured in a photo shoot,
All of black and bright white.

I had come across a blog while on my usual blog-prowl and it had a beautiful sketch. The sketch of a photograph taken by the famous French photographer, Robert Doisneau. This sketch inspired me to scribble what you see. The link to the sketch is here. Sketch
The original photograph is here. Photo

The Sound of Silence

2006-01-24T00:10:00.000+06:00

“Mouna Ragam” literally translated to mean The Sound of Silence is Mani the God Saar’s movie. A very beautifully directed movie, an exceptional star cast, amazing songs directed by the King of Music, lyrics in which one can just drown, Delhi shown at it’s best and I have only just begun singing laurels of the movie. If you are a Tam or have some Tam blood running in you and have not seen this movie then I urge you to see it. In case you don’t understand Tam then go on a date with a Tam boy/girl (Am I throwing hints or what??) but believe me he/she will be so caught up in the movie that no translation will ensue and you have to just fathom what is happening from the moving images in front, which by itself would be a feast to the eyes.
Now that I have acted Marketing Executive of the movie and done my campaign, let me just start the actual blog ;). Revathi a young college girl at one time gets transformed into this home maker and the strength of character she exhibits is simply phenomenal. She is this really happy-go lucky woman and Karthick simply falls for her. Karthick is this typical Raj of DDLJ fame sort of character, pretty much a wastrel, but somehow you can’t help falling in love with him. He is a sort of rowdy, the typical bad boy, whom parents would urge their kids not to even look at, but with every minute of the movie you only fall uncontrollably in love with him. His comic timing and the kind of playfulness exhibited are simply brilliant. So it is not before long that our lady starts to like him and even goes to the extent of deciding to marry him in the register office. But there comes the whiz bang twist. The Police mistakenly think he is involved in some crime committed the previous night and accidentally shoot him just as he was coming to the Register office.
But life has to move on and Revathi, much against her wishes ends up marrying Mohan. He is everything that Karthick was not, a serious demeanor, overly responsible, has a proper job, lets see, a typical Tam Bram guy ;) and the contrast between the two characters is just too stark.
He works in Delhi and soon she finds herself in an alien city with a person she hates. As her first gift she asks for divorce and they go as far as consulting a lawyer, who tells me them how you need to stay together for a year to move apart, whoever comes up with such rules. And so they endure each other, he patient as ever and she trying her hand at biting sarcasm. They have nothing called a sex life. “Oru Eedupadum illa” and they just stay on strangers under the same roof, like their union was a mistake and each was trying to move on with his/her life without even coming close to accidentally running into the other. There is one beautiful song in this movie sung by SPB the god. As I type this I am listening to that song. The song has made it to Suchi’s all time fav list. Some of the lines from the song go as below:-

தாமரை மேலே நீர் துளி போல் தலைவனும் தலைவியும் வாழ்வதென்ன,
நண்பர்கள் போலே வாழ்வதர்க்கு மாலையும் மேளமும் தேவையென்ன,
சொன்தன்களேயிலாமல் பந்த பாசம் கொள்ளாமல்,
பூவெ உன் வாழ்கைதான் என்ன சொல்.

மேடயை போலே வாழ்கையல்ல,
நாடகம் ஆனதும் விலகி செல்ல.
ஓடையை போலே உறவும் அல்ல,
பாதைகள் மாரியே பயணம் செல்ல

Like water droplets on a lotus flower what is this life that the man and wife are leading?
To lead a life as if one were friends what is the need for all the garlands and drums?
Without any relations, without any emotions, without any love,
What is the life that you are leading?
Life is not really a stage (Shakespeare will turn in his grave I suppose)
Where once the drama is over one just moves apart,
Relationships are not like channels,
Where if the path changes the journey could still continue.

Then she starts to understand him and the relationship better and he wants to distance himself from her as much as he can so there will be as less pain as possible later on when they really have to move on and away.
The highpoints are how the two of them and most of all Mohan handles the whole relationship, how Revathi progresses from being a little girl who knew not a care to trying to nurse her husband while still trying to run a household, managing to pick up a bit of Hindi here and there. The friction in their relationship is brought out very nicely and one keeps contrasting Mohan and Karthick, liking each for a different reason ans trying to imagine what she would be going through.
But what was disappointing was of course the end, which was typical Tam movie style. They realize how much they care for each other in their own style and decide to get together. Or maybe I am obsessed with sad endings as Gif would gladly agree!
I would have probably preferred them getting out of each other’s life and moving on and then sort of realizing they miss each other, but by then it would be too late to do anything. Any more thoughts on endings?

எனக்குள் நீ

2006-01-23T01:19:00.000+06:00

This is my first blog in Tamil. I have never been one for writing in tamil considering all I had was 3 years of the language. But I decided to make the start somewhere and so here it is! Hope there are those of you out there who are able to read Tamil and appreciate this blog

என் இமையை மூடினேன்,
உன் முகம் கண்டேன்.

என் காதுகளை மூடிகொன்டேன்,
உன் வார்தைகள் ஒலித்தன.

என் உதடுகளை அமைத்தினென்,
உன் உதடின் துடிதுடிப்பு கன்டேன்.

என் ஸ்வாஸத்தின் காற்றை பிடித்தேன்,
உன் மூச்சு காற்று கலன்தன கன்டேன்.

என் கைகளை திரன்தேன்,
உன் ரேகைகள் பதின்தன கன்டேன்.

என் இதயத்தை நோக்கி சென்றேன்,
அங்கு நீ இருன்ததை அறின்தேன்

Of Fish Curry and Green Leafy Vegetables

2006-01-12T04:36:00.000+06:00

Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction drawing it's very many references from people walking this planet called Earth. All characters in this are NOT one bit fictional and any reference to character/characters living, walking (aided by friction of course), eating, regularly crapping, occasionally singing is definitely not a coincidence and is the intended purpose of the author. In case you are happy with this post then you can express your great happiness by showering the author with praises in the comments section. If you are not happy with the post then keep visiting this site every now and then, keep checking my profile (To your good luck I might just decide to update it), you might find something interesting one day,ummm...then again you might not, but you just have to take that calculated risk. Lastly, spread the word about this blog, to 10 of your friends (your enemies are also welcome) else.....nothing much there will be 10 fewer hits to this site. So here's presenting to you “Of Fish Curry and Green Leafy Vegetables” ECHO ECHO ECHO ECHO ECHO

“Fish”, tall and thin, as tall and thin as you can get them, walked out of the busy M place really proudly, nestled in a green basket amidst a small dainty chick and assorted powders. She was not exactly what you would call a head whirler, but was tall and thin and fair and did manage to get a few heads turned in her direction. So it was that “Wild Pumkin”, strumming that elusive tune on the wooden rack where he sat, set eyes upon her. It was not quite the “Love at First sight” thingie, in fact not even second or very many to come or so they said. They vehemently declared for many years to come that it was not love at all, but we all knew then as we know now what it was. So as Fish ramped out making her own style statement as she went, he continued his drumming unaware that a certain Missus was haggling for a better price for the drum-strummer.
It was so freezing cold, but she sitting in the arid zone on top felt it more than him. At least he had the comfort and warmth of the fellows of the Green school, who were at present talking about M S Swaminathan and what the Green revolution would do to them. They looked disdainfully upwards at the arid zone from where the chattering of teeth could be heard only too clearly. A few of the Green scholars were mildly attracted to Fish, but did everything to make the others believe the contrary, fearful of the others’ wrath. Only Wild Pumpkin, while declaring over and over again that it was just vegetarian considerations that he was showing her, gave her the one warm plastic cover that he had with him. This, those horrible humans called chivalry.
Missus, the absent minded person that she was forgot all about the Green scholars and the fish and it was several fish years later that she realized it and while uttering “Oh Fishie fish” discarded volumes of plastic sheet.
Sweet sunshine, at last! All the Green scholars were huddled together in an all too important meeting on the green meadows. It was talk about the Genetic Modification that was the buzz word going on amongst the Humans, which they had over heard from the cold zone. While they were still warming up to their discussion, here were sprawled on the grass Wild pumpkin and Look Ho Look, who was next to him but our very own Fish. They were warming up to each other, him showing(off)some drumming and her joining along adding some lyrics.
So it was that they were creating music of their own, while the greens and the non-greens fought along mindlessly. This was how they met day after day, that summer and many more summers to come, the pretext being music, but we all know only too well how they were slowly but surely falling head over heals in love with each other.
Four long years went by and they decided to start an eatery, where one cooks to music, where the spices are blended with music and it would be really divine, not divine music but a whole divine out of the earth feel to it. Fish donned an apron that Wild Pumpkin had got her and he was wearing a smart tie that Fish had tailored herself and to wild cheers from the greens and the non-greens they cut the ribbon to start off their eatery. For this special day, they had procured all the vegetables and fish from the M place. It was sure to be a smashing hit, with Fish making a special Pumpkin dish; Pumpkin cleaning some fish which would soon become cutlets. The aroma from their cookery room was breath taking and a small crowd gathered around them to watch them work their magic through spices, masala and beautiful music emanating from their throats, each taking off where the other left. At times, they joined together and the chorus was too breathtakingly beautiful. They had this way of looking into each others eyes, and those moments when the eye contact was made their eyes had a glitter and spoke volumes which no amount of talking could. All this while, their fingers were working their way through the dishes at hand. Fish finished the garnishing and it was all ready to be savored and all around the beets with their pouted pink lips and red hot carrots, suave and sexy joined in unison to make slurping noises.
Wild pumpkin walked up to the kitchen sink, picked a bunch of red spinach, washed them clean, bundled them together and went down on his torso, and asked Fish, “Will you, Will you, sing to my tunes, give new meaning to cuisine with me, unite with me, become mine and simply mine”. He did not have to wait for an answer he already knew all these years and took a bite of the pumpkin dish that fish had created with her own sweet hands. The calm, quiet radish, watched the proceedings too moved to speak, while the onions joined in the momentous occasion amidst their teary eyes, only this time they were Tears of Joy, Tears from Heaven. As they raised a toast to the new found life of Fish and Wild Pumpkin, all the greens, and non-greens went click click click on this new device called “The Camera” for what were Kodak Moments.
The union of Fish Curry and Wild Pumpkin was attended with much joy and merriment and a new recipe went down in history for years to come. Truly A La Carte! They all chorused.

When the Gods slept.....

2006-01-11T01:15:00.000+06:00

I owe the title of this post to RaghuKrishnan, who writes a column in the Economic Times on Sundays. Ever since I read the article, titled as above, I have been hunting for it but have not found it till date. I know it appeared sometime in 2003, but lemme assure u any amount of searching has not got me any closer to the article that just took off from the face of the earth aided by a broomstick, I suppose. Very wry, that, u may say, but anyways this post is not about that but is about how urs truly went zzzz at work place.
The images that come to one’s mind, are maybe the slight nodding off at one’s desk in a discrete manner checking every now if the Super B boss is snooping around to see if people have their eyes glued onto the comp. Super B Boss would like those geeks with those extra large spectacles, glassy eyed, staring at the comp and eternally knee deep into work, unmindful of strolls of Big B bosses. They are unlike the normal people such as yours truly who are always looking around trying to sight Big B and send warning signals to other poor souls so they can make good use of the Alt + Tab keys.
This was no a “bare close of the eyelids behind sun glasses” but the full horizontal position sleep. Yours truly just decided to take a chill pill and declared to all and sundry that she was going to take that much needed snooze.
“What Oh what”, bellowed a team mate like I had just told him that his fly was open or that I was getting a promotion before him or that the world was flat (which of course Thomas Friedman would agree joyfully).
“Yes, me sleeping and that too right here” declared I and just headed towards the dorm.
Oh yes, I did sleep, right there at my work place under the very nose of prying bosses and “so taken aback that words fail me” team mates. A nice good well needed afternoon nap with a/c et al and a warm cozy rug (rugs are meant to be warm, what!) to get under and no one to really disturb me. Whatever happened to all that professionalism crap I used to dole out just a few months back. Crap! That was what it got reduced to, next to an afternoon doze. I never did think that laziness would get the better even at work place but there it is, a perfect example of how I am moving up the CMM scale at “Continuous Improvement” at surprising my self. Quite ironical, that they pay you money and give u a comp enabled with 24 hour browsing and all that is expected of you is the occasional mail sending to the all too glamorized onsite team, stating and restating things till it stops making any sense whatsoever. In between all this mail sending you can also indulge in “who is the loudest of them all” talk , in common parlance, meetings. Then they give u the cushion of a nice long sweet slumber! Haven’t the gods from above showered us with an extra dosage of the luck factor?

The world - A bigger Mela

2006-01-05T22:21:00.000+06:00

A hard(ly) working soul heads back home in an age old Moped. How the vehicle manages to run is a miracle many have set to work upon and have really not come up with a plausible explanation. Just wanting to enjoy the cool breeze, the soul in q decides to linger on the roads a while longer. A long ride, the cool breeze ruffling her hair, music (so she claims) playing on her lips, a perfectly blissful setting.
She had passed by that mela, replete with its flurry of activities several times but had never given it second thoughts. But today was different. It was a day when she felt she had all time in the world, no elaborate cuisine to roll out for the day, rather night, no dinner treat to attend, no conf call to get back to the office and so it was that she landed in the mela. Of course the pop corn was a factor by itself but that can be discounted for the moment.
She was soon amidst the throngs, so colourful, getting a royal red(bordering on maroon) carpet welcome and all for a measly Rs 10 ticket. Suddenly she was caught in a world so different from the normal, a world of adults putting world class financiers to shame with their haggling and trying to dole out “value for money” fundaas to starry eyed kids. Everywhere there were boards proudly proclaiming the cost of goods anywhere between 10 to almost as expensive as 200. Jumpy children wanting everything they set eyes upon. It was so alive, the whole place.
The mela brought back memories of another mela visited 2 years back in Hyd. Clothes were purchased after they went through the “Roomie screening exercise”, where the roomie would normally raise objections against anything from the length or lack of sleeves to the whopping cost one had to pay. She was usually secretly convinced that the prices were pretty reasonable but had to play along because they were convinced that one would get a better deal else where. The standard trick of walking away from obstinate shopkeepers was tried, but sometimes she panicked because, that much coveted dress was swaying in the shop and the man never called back.
Soon she was at the very end of this mela and decided to head back. That was when she spotted the man standing next to “WELCOM TO COTTON CANDY” shop unmindful of the missing e worried more about wooing the next child who passed by. Children were always the best customers. They always wanted more of them candies and often to give them company parents had them too.
She did remember scenes such as this of those faraway years when she tugged at her dad’s hands urging him to get her cotton candy. Soon one of those nosey parker adults accompanying them would raise objections, cautioning them about the strong links between eating cotton candy and getting a cough. Her pleas only became stronger. When finally her father did relent, a moment’s victory was achieved. Then there was a fight among the cousins as to whose lips, tongue and teeth were the pinkest of them all. Each was showing off to the others his/her long tongue, each was trying to bite off a bit of the candy in the others’ hands, enjoying the moment when the candy just melted in and glided down his/her throats. It was amazing how the fluffy pink cloud shaped mass soon disappeared leaving no traces except a long stick and sticky, pink, soft baby hands. Hands engulfed in hands all the sticky hands would then unite and run away to target the next object of interest.
Amidst a flood of memories and a surge of emotions nearly choking her, she trudged her way back to the blue TVS that was faithfully waiting for her.

And then it was all dust..............

2006-01-04T22:49:00.000+06:00

The Love-In-Tokyo band of hers was his current object of interest.
“Ah! It hurts Abiram, Don’t pull it!” cried Shwetha papa
“Mummy! Abiram is pulling mice hair mummy”
“Papa mine not mice. What did you do anyways?”
“Nothing, mummy, Abi is bad boy. I am not going to speak to him. Ka ka katti”
“Papa get ready, we have to go to the beach before the sun sets! Auntie, Uncle are waiting. Abi kanna you too wear your shoes fast.”
She wore the pink frock declaring proudly to the world, “I hate boys”. He wore his best white shirt and drawers so loose, he had difficulties holding onto them despite the belt. She was in katti mood and that was not fun. Of course he can’t ask her sorry but then whom will he play with in the beach. These girls are so fussy, he thought but nevertheless bit his 8 year old ego, threw it aside, and asked her a quick sorry. Before she could see his face redden because of having done this unmentionable act he ran down the stairs.
She came all bright and cheerful with her pink frock and sat down to wear her pink shoes.
Pink, so girlie a colour, he thought. I hate girls, and this will be the last time I will play with them he promised himself.
They sat in the car, and papa was taken from one set of firm hands and passed on to the other till finally she sat next to driver uncle, and that too next to the window. He was sitting uncomfortably between the gear and her. Actually this way he was closer to driver uncle but how did that matter when he didn’t get the window seat. He wished driver uncle would let him play with the gear. He decided he will be driver one day and keep holding the gear.
“Mummy! Mummy! Will you get me ice cream in beach” he asked
“Yes kanna, now you behave like a good boy. Look at papa how good she is” Amma replied
“Three cheers to beach. Hip Hip Hurray!”, they screamed in unison.
They got down and before any of the adults accompanying them could catch them they ran towards the beach, holding hands and running to race against the winds, like it was running race competition in school. They stopped to catch some breath but she needed that more than him. He wanted to tug at the Love-In-Tokyo band but thought he will do that after they finish playing.
All the elders were walking slowly. Papa’s Appa would meet them here from work and his Appa was already playing with his camera. He wanted to take shots of the impending sunset. It looked glorious, the beach, basking in that sweet sunshine, exuding just the right amount of warmth that felt like the beach was just embracing them in a tight warm bear hug.
They sad down near the very edge of the beach, she on her haunches, her band glowing in the receding sunlight and he with his legs spread around a circle he had just drawn on the mud, sand he quickly corrected himself. He was class monitor this year and had to impress his class with his excellent moral speeches, which he was asked to give once a week. He decided to talk about “Honesty is the best policy” this week as he had found that in a recent edition of Wisdom magazine. He will have to copy it down and memorize it. What would be she be thinking of now, he thought. What dress to make for her doll, I suppose and he laughed to himself.
“Come Abi, we will make the hill fast” she shouted bringing him back from his reverie.
They started working at making the hill slowly collecting the sand spread all around and arranging it in this nice inverted cone shape. They were working at it happily, like ants would gather food, slowly but diligently. Whenever the little sand fell down, they crushed it within their little fingers, like a mould of rice and stuck it back in place with the rest of the sand. They forgot their ice creams , and all the rest of the world and were working towards the one hill they wanted to make. It was slowly and steadily growing in size till they thought it was big enough. To guard it they put a stick on top of the hill and surrounded the circle drawn around the hill with shells and whatever else they managed to extract from the ground.
“Papa, kanna, Come, you can have ground nuts” Amma was shouting for them.
They wanted to show all these oldies, their hill, their very own hill. He forgot all about his hatred towards girls and locked her hands in his and ran towards Aunty and Amma and Appa. The sun was receding in the background and Appa wanted to take a good shot of the fiery redness, that ball so far away and yet so powerful. He could see papa and kanna running towards him and then they turned to show him something on the beach. He was looking in their direction, and suddenly saw it coming. On a reflex he moved back and shouted
“Papa kanna come here fast!!”
There was a trace of panic in his voice and something was going wrong. Instead of running towards they had turned suddenly towards the beach. They too had seen it coming and all they could think of was the hill which had to be saved. They were little soldiers, one wearing a pink frock and the other wearing drawers marching to save the precious hill surrounded by the stoned pathway.
A loud deafening noise resounded through the beach making all else silent. A wave so tall, so powerful rose and when it receded it washed with it all that was of earth and mud!

A whole New Year

2005-12-30T16:10:00.000+06:00

An ode to the by gone days,
Reflecting on a whole calendar year,
Wallowing in success achieved in many ways,
No misery, no glum feelings, no dark fears.

Looking forward to a year anew,
With so many promises to keep,
With each day paid its due,
There really is going to be no time to weep.

Like a beautiful dew filled rose bud,
A whole year has folded in,
And a new flower blooms from earth and mud,
Promising to spread happiness to kith and kin.

Musings of a soft weary kind

2005-12-29T15:58:00.000+06:00

Saw them in those white coats and black bags,
A scalpel and green gags,
“Mummy Mummy”, All I wanna be
Is a doctor you see.

Saw them making those bridges et al,
Standing on construction sites real tall,
“Mummy Mummy”, All I wanna be,
Is an Engineer you see.

Saw them spinning yarns with mere pens,
As mighty weapons,
“Mummy Mummy”, All I wanna be,
Is a writer you see.

Saw them making stories of the day,
Interviewing politicians and bureaucrats being child’s play,
“Mummy Mummy”, All I wanna be,
Is a Journalist you see.

Never once gave a damn about a comp or software,
Not once about a piece of code did I care,
But, “Mummy, Mummy”, All I will be,
Is a Software Professional you see

Phoren Maal in a Desi Household

2005-12-17T08:11:00.000+06:00

Sleek has been the buzz word at home for the past 2 weeks. The reason, my dear sister who is doing her Graduation at NUS (Singapore) has come back home for her semester vacation. Being the nice kid that she is, has done loads of shopping and now there is a mini Singapore sitting at home. Everybody from my grand dad to the neighbour's dog has been bestowed with those foreign goodies. The Fridge is loaded with chocolates, a few of them stashed away in this secret corner for me.
The person who is really excited about the whole “Return of the wild from far away lands” (a la sis) is mommy dear. My sister has impressed her with a Cordless phone, which in my mom's own words reads, “a sleek phone, not the usual big black one but a lovely grey”. All the goodies, and my guess includes the T-Shirt which was acquired for my dad, Lacoste not Crocodile I can hear my mom and sis sing in unison, have found their way to the Living Room showcase. There is this festival during the Navarthri Season, where dolls are put on display and neighbours and family will be invited to have a look and will be sent back with some tasty snacks. This in all probability resembles the festival, what with neighbours and friends pouring in to pay a visit to the “daughter from abroad”. To add to the creative look and feel, my sis can pretend to be a mannequin and be the prime object on display. Mom will show them around and point
There, there , there you see,
A lamp there, a bag here all for a small fee.
A phone so sleek,
Makes the big black one seem so bleak.
That fundoo Thinkpad,
Carrying it around being the latest fad.
All the foren maal,
Stacked in a Desi Hall.
A trip down memory lane and I can remember those days when I used to get back from Pilani between semesters, huffed, puffed (donning an entire cupboard of winter wear), when the whole home coming ritual used to be a quiet affair. No sis coming all the way from Mangalore to visit, no plethora of endless aunties and second cousins making the “So how is the weather there” enquiries, not even the occasional raise of the neighbour's eyebrows. Umm, so much for (Vi)Desi edgeucation or like those Now and then Returning Indians prefer calling e-du-cation!

A “make” believe world

2005-12-14T10:58:00.000+06:00

We have all heard of “make love”, the supposed slow and sensuous form of having sex, been unfortunate or fortunate enough to witness someone “making out”, unfortunate cos we are never the one, it is always some other lucky bitch or bastard, fortunate ‘cos that way u get to catch some action in real life. If you belong to the species called fairer sex you would be only too familiar with the so called make-up, stuff that you spend enough time applying only to realize that u have to spend twice the amount of time to peel off. Even if you are not a woman, you would still know it, 'cos it would have been the very reason u missed that all too interesting first scene of the movie.
But there is this newly coined word, which I heard for the first time in an e-mail sent to this all too pretty friend of mine, “make friendship”. I might be sounding very sexist in my generalisation, but it is a phrase used only by the menfolk, and a very silly one at that. All you men out there are waiting to rage your battle against me! I can see that coming (No that was no typo!).
Coming back to the topic in q, How do you “make” friendship in the first place? What exactly did he mean when he said it? Was it a mistaken reference to make love? But wouldn’t it be too much to be asking for in the very first mail that he had sent to this mind blowing beauty and remember the guy in all probability would be this totally quiet, shy, non existant person. So possibility 1 ruled out. Ok the man spots the beauty, was taken in by her extremely good looks, was swept off his feet in all of 30 seconds and then decided to ask her if the two of them can make this lifelong, platonic, totally out of the world, best of friendship, haan? Is he willing to go to that extent for the fleeting 30 second glimpse? Naaa! Agreed my friend is this real nice girl and beautiful, and has this amazing figure, and is really intelligent and is quite smart and is really capable of managing a whole household and 2 dogs but he could not have known all of that in 30 seconds. The world of men is so weird and they call us the weird lot. Phew Whew!
Neways, I shall proceed towards “making” dinner…….

Phraseology

2005-12-14T10:45:00.000+06:00

Invitation Ex-tended :- When your ex decides to give u this sweet surprise by "ex"-tending an invitation to you for her wedding!

Marriage:- ****ed for Life!

Overheard
Ass:- "But" of course

Fare-well

2005-12-14T10:02:00.000+06:00

Goodbye we all sang
Holding back those tears,
No sooner than that and we hear “Bang! Bang!”
Look who is here!

And now for some background! This team mate of mine was leaving for the US of A, for some real long term project*. So when he pronounced that he was going for a good long term, we nearly buried him alive, thinking he was gone for good, conjuring up images of him with a white wife (just that the wife is white), and he loaded with a Green Card. The possibility of a few kids was of course not ruled out.
Plans were immediately made about all those send off parties, which translates to mean gift giving sessions. We even contemplated the usual cutting of a cake but decided he was too old for that. Hastily scrawled greetings containing phrases like “Have a ball”, “We will definitely miss u”, “The project would not quite be the same sans u”, were given out. A sentily senti speech was also churned out. What is a send off when the poor guy just gets our wishes and no monetary benefits and so a gift was purchased, and quickly made its way to his bag, after the usual “Photo 4 Posterity” session. The wrapping paper was taken off hastily, (so much haste might not even be there when a real hot couple undress each other too I suppose) and he feigned surprise (one is supposed to right?) and said the usual “Just the thing I wanted”. This done, we managed to extract a dinner treat from him, a fat bill largely owing to the “high-spirited” people we had for company. Finally! The guy boarded his flight to Mumbai ready to take off from there to the US a day later.
Here is where the whiz-bang twist in the tale comes. Our pal calls his ex-roomie (who would not be the ex for a while now) and says,

Our Pal: “Umm, actually there has been a small change in my plan”.
(While the not so ex roomie listens our man continues)
Our pal: “Actually some small issue with the project. Ummm… Nothing really much but you know how they hype up these things. Just that for some silly reason the project got scrapped”.
Ex-Roomie (Rendered speechless, clears throat and asks meekly): “That means?”
Our pal (As cheerfully as he could): “umm…Trip cancelled!”.

There would be this moment of awkwardness between us when he comes back, we eying the watch we gave him considering reusing it for the next “send-off” and, he, eying our stomachs and doing the calculations as to how many Monthly Project fund contributions he can go about without paying. So much for Change of plans!

* Short Term Project:- A short term project as the name suggests is any project for which one hits the land of opportunities for a period of time extending from as short as 2 years to about 3.5 years
* Long Term project:- Near life long

A new form of "Hindu"ism

2005-12-09T09:27:00.000+06:00

While I was blog-hopping, this morning I came across this particular blog which prompted me to post a comment and then I thought, "Heck, why not convert that into a blog". The topic in q was of course an issue really close to my heart (Reading between lines not quite allowed). Urs truly has been this ardent follower of the Hindu, the paper not the religion and have held on to it through college years, where there were many an opposing voice vouching for the other sleazy ones.

The reasons these others offered me were anything from

It is not colorful enough
(I know they simply mean the skin revelation is not “deep” enough)
There are not too many pictures
(Hello, this is a newspaper for God’s sake not some third class kid’s cartoon book)
The newspaper assumes these serious tones
(This, dear opposer, is a newspaper not one of those “101 jokes” book )
There is no Page 3
(I guess you need to refresh some of those counting skills)
There are not enough “scoops”
(No! They don’t pounce on some rumor spreading around town about some pretty actress whose boyfriend was sighted in a vague restaurant with dim lighting, with his girl friend. This would occupy 2 to 3 whole pages with pictures et al about the lovey dovey coochie cooing in those other “news”papers)
They are very biased towards Chennai
(Fair Aryans it has its very roots in Chennai)
to
I am not preparing for Cat and other competitive exams
(I was just left speechless)

I would patiently offer very many arguments citing good language, high class journalism, no melodramatic style of reporting covering just the bare facts (no pun absolutely), a good editorial section blah blah. At the end of all this, the monosyllabic response that I get is “Whatever!” in those Poo of K3G fame, tones.

A newspaper is such a part of your growing up that you tend to grow so attached to it. It comes as a package along with your grandparents and a full sized family. It is the first sight that greets you and its absence in the morning, would increase your discomfort levels. After all these years of a filter coffee and The Hindu early in the morning (as early as 8 on weekdays) replete with its Nirmal Shekar sports coverage and the Crossword and off late Sudoku, it would be very difficult to switch tastes. But maybe this is precisely what their argument is also, “After all these years of sleaze, cheesy news clippings how can one start reading a newspaper which offers so much for the intelligentsia, in a serious reporting format”. Each to his/her own taste! For now I am content having a try at today’s Crossy in the Hindu.

The static and dynamics of it all

2005-12-09T06:56:00.000+06:00

The earth is revolving, so are the planets and the whole wide world, but there you a constant. Let me stop being cryptic. It is just that this is just one of those perfectly imperfect days. You come down to the office, which by itself is becoming a mammoth task and then you see that there are so many changes happening around you, which of course does not include you at all . Person A is traveling, Person B would be leaving owing to “personal constraints” and Person C has decided to pursue other interests while yet another Person D has decided to come back for good (whose good his/her own or mine??). And there you are, as always, saying those very many byes or in a few cases “Hi, so how was the weather in England, Germany Switzerland etc etc”. It sometimes gives me these feelings of “deja ju”, have been there and done it so many times that it comes as second nature to me.
The world seems to be going past you making this whoosh sound and there you are, not part of any of that flux. You are always the static presence in every one of those treats, “Hey! Have a ball! ” exclamations, part of the so-called coveted gift choosing committee but there you go away from all the dynamics of change. I can see those raised eyebrows and the thin smile on each of your countenances pronouncing “This, my dear, is Life for you!”

Sweet Innocence

2005-12-02T10:45:00.000+06:00

As I sit in front of this geometrical object of sorts, a flat thin monitor staring back at me, I am overcome by memories of those days of yore when innocence reigned supreme. The simple pleasures of life, tasting the sweet rains on my childlike lips; feeling those tears from heaven with my bare childlike hands; running wild like the wind;locking hands in hands larger than mine;snuggling next to purity; encircled in that wide,bear hug;swinging high and then falling down slides;holding his hands and running weeee;watching the plane go high above;going on that bsa champ with the extra wheel;craving for those barbie dolls never aquired; learning cycling on those hired cycles;peeping into friends 'secret' notebooks unnoticed; whispering 'secrets' in best friend's ears;
the first dance class;the first music lesson learnt;the first cycle ride on my very own cycle; the first cycle ride sitting on the cycle bar; the blush when you encounter the opposite sex for the first time;the first time you think you have fallen in love; the next time you think u have fallen out of love;the first signs of growing up; the first time you experience not-so innocent, not-so-childlike thoughts; the first entry into adulhood......
Sweet Innocence outgrown... Ah! Those simple pleasures of life, will I ever experience them again? Can I ever unknow what I know while reliving all those moments I have already lived. Can I go back to those sweet days of yore and live those days all over again?
How the years seem to have gone past! How I have suddenly grown up from talking about unfinished home work, to unfinished courses to suddenly unfinished love stories. Can I give up all I have now for just that one scrap of memory from the past. Can I ever be that sweet child from the past?

'Love'ly Sayings

2005-12-02T07:02:00.000+06:00

If you love someone then let go of him/her. If he/she comes back then he/she was always yours otherwise she never was
I say: If you love someone then just be goddamn smart enough to hold onto him/her. If you are not then forget the whole deal!

Love is never having to say you are sorry (Love Story by Eric Segal)
Umm.. I am sorry u said something?

True Love stories never have any endings (Richard Bach)
They just simply end when you have run out of pages to write no more

From this obscure town called Mangalore

2005-12-02T01:59:00.000+06:00

I just decided it was time I popularise this obscure town that I stay in right now. Actually the whole blog can be traced back to a conversation that I had with one of those aunties who have these eligible sons, who (also just like the n number of other yound men and women) is 'in Software'. No no! She was not trying any marketing stunts with me. I would not fit into her typical 'eligible woman', tall, thin , fair , curly or straight hair, 'homely', well educated but willing to sit at home and raise his kids and his ego. But eligible or not, it did not deter her from having this 'conversation' with me, read question answer session. She shooting the questions and a nervous me answering politely keeping my answers as terse as possible. One of the questions posed were of course
'So, where do u stay'?
Pat came the reply Mangalore (with a Capital M in bold and caps)...
Oh bengaloore, umm that is where my son stays ..too much traffic these days, and even having a car with a company given laptop to work, while driving, (that is how busy her son is or says he is ), does not really help, too much pollution blah blah blah..
So where in Bengaloore do u stay?
I politely interjected correcting her Bengaloore illusions to Mangalore with a capital M in caps and bold.
The next minute auntie is missing. Of course she is not interested in people who are not from Bengaloore. They are not software enough. She does not really keep up with the news where our good old Deve Gowda, after his tiff with the reverend Infy chief NRN was seen on news channels promoting the 'other' places in Karnataka, Mangalore (with the M in bold and caps) being one of them.
I am not part of the Mangalore tourism board or some other vague Nature promotion boards(borreds) but just decided to dispel some illusions.
For one Mangalore and Bangalore are really not one and the same. They are not , as is the popular belief one hour apart (just because they rhyme people assume they are geographically close to each other too). Though of course I wish they were , it would have saved me n number of 8 hour journeys (nothing romantic about these just the number of journeys undertaken to write entrance exams) and n multipled by 7 (the number of hours saved) would have been quite a phenomenal amount of time. In an age where time means money (so they say), I should have been that much more richer. But alas such is not the case.
Mangalore as our ertswhile Prime Minister stresses is the next set of Software destinations within Karnataka. I did say Karnataka but come here and you would be left wondering as to its 'state' of existence. The place is infested with Mallus, nothing wrong in that, I have some very close Mall friends and love their 'unniappam' ,'kadalai puttu', 'ambalams' but when you are totally surrounded by them 'vellichennai et al' conversing in Mallu in a land apparently having no ties with Mall of any sorts then you really have doubts about your geography skills. A part of you starts wondering, if maybe Mangalore with its picturesque beauty and lean palm trees and the legendary rains is maybe a part of Keral the missing a being deliberate of course. That is a literal translation of how Kerala just like Kannada is spelt in Social Science text books written in Hindi without the a. In fact i have heard those fair aryans pronounce it that way too, maybe the social science text book is their bible. I can detect those raised brows, Social Science in Hindi ! Unheard of ! But such is the case if you were unfortunate enough to study in a KV CBSE board. You would be 'subject'ed to Hindi plus Social Studies in Hindi. Getting back to a la Mangalore let me clarify, ushered by the Mr DG that this is the next happening place situated in Karnataka (full points to all your geography skills), and that Mangalore is one of those nice, picturesque towns and its beauty inspired the poet in me as well.

A small obscure town called Mangalore,
Not quite the same as Bangalore,
Where beaches abound,
On those hilly grounds.

Those tears from Heaven fall,
On palm trees standing tall,
They are the legendary Mangalore rains,
With traffic so less it hardly drains (u).

A small obscure town called Mangalore,
Not quite the same as Bangalore.

The Perfect Match - A short story

2005-11-26T03:55:00.000+06:00

All the 40 + something were scurrying around busier than top notch business executives, making those nth hour decisions as to the exact number of necklaces to adorn themselves with. All the diamond ‘mookuthies’ and earrings were carefully retrieved from the bank locker. Each ‘mami’ was eying the other carefully, making a quick mental math of the number of kilos of gold the other was wearing (weighing).
She was looking radiant in her ‘Koorai Pattu’, a temple goddess with the sparkling gold. Today, of course was Amma’s day really. She and not her soon to be wed daughter was the centre of attraction. She went back some thirty years when she was her daughter and how she looked exactly as her daughter did today. Ah!, she sighed with relief at how nothing had changed, education no education. Her all too intelligent, IIT Madras daughter with that much coveted MS from Amrica, was soon going to complete her doctoral programme too. She suddenly could not remember what was it that her daughter was doing a research in, not that it really mattered now, today more so. She just shrugged off her shoulders and came back to her blissful state of existence. She reached out for the invitation card, to see if the BTech IIT Madras, MS, Phd was spelt out correctly in bold and italics below Aarthi’s name. She smiled to herself, the satisfied smile of a lifetime at her daughter’s husband (to-be)’s qualifications which only too suited her daughter’s. She was happy, even faint traces of pride could be detected, a sort of self congratulatory smugness at how she had managed to get such a wonderful ‘mappillai’ for Aarthi.
All the running around, all the ‘jadagam’ exchanges, background check, recheck had really not been in vain. She had to sift through long lists of available ‘suitable candidates’, to shortlist the best and send across their 4 page long CV to her all too busy daughter. The system was well in place, and the marriages that used to take place in heaven were soon outsourced to terra firma, aided by the wide spread Internet Revolution. She was suddenly proud of her browsing skills which she felt was the sole reason that aided her in checking out so many eligible bachelors for her all too eligible 28 year old beauty. She adjusted her ‘thalapu’ ******, smiled at her still quite attractive reflection and hurried past singing ‘Kurai Ondrum Illai’, shaking her head vigorously. Quite apt, after all she had no regrets.

~ ~ ~ ~

A beautiful face, only 30 years younger smiled back from the mirror. This was her day, the one day that everyone from Amma, Appa, Chittappa, Chitti looked forward to right from her final year at IIT. That was almost six years back! So much had happened these few years that she soon lost all track of time. First her admit to the prestigious University of Illinois Urbana Champagne, which was her passport to the dollar land. For a modest Tam Bram family this meant all their dreams were going to come true. But of course sending a girl, unmarried to Amrica was quite something to digest. Aarthi, stubborn as usual had her way. She was Appa’s favorite daughter, and what is 2 years time after all. Those two years came and went by and Aarthi managed to shock the family yet again with her plans to do a PHD. The ‘family’ once again got together and much as there were quite a few of those dissenting voices screaming, ‘This is it! She is never going to be listen to any of us after this’, amma and appa decided to let her study. After all she was their daughter and would never let them down. Yippie! Aarthi was supposed to go crazy with happiness that her parents had granted her permission to lead few years of ‘her’ life the way she wanted to. She surely was the ‘kuduthu vechava’. This was the culmination of all their hopes and prayers and they were really happy today and could look back on all those years with so much happiness. Not only did they have one PHD holder in the family but 2, in fact 3 if they manage to ensnare Ranga’s younger brother for their yet another eligible daughter. This sort of resembled the all too famous marketing gimmick, ‘Buy one get one free’. She too had donned the ‘Koorai Madisaru’ today exposing just the right amount of those well shaped legs. Umm..she sighed, as she took out the snaps from the drawer and stole one last glance at those lovely photos exposing her legs in that faraway country. There were several photos, some alone still others cuddled next to him, taken with the camera in auto click mode. In all those years this was the one thing they had perfected. She remembered that particular day and those snaps all too well. The dinner at ‘his’ apartment, the snaps taken on ‘his’ bed! That was almost 2 years back or was it close to 3. Oh, how time flies! What would he be doing now, she wondered. He must be at his apartment, the same dinner, the same wine, only it wasn’t her but HER.

~ ~ ~ ~

Ranga was standing tall and seemingly happy, adjusting his ‘poonal’ and trying to remember Gayathri, the mantra not the girl. It had been so long since he had done the ‘sandhi’ or told the ‘abhivadhaye’ and was glad that his New York friends were not able to make it to the wedding. He would be quite a sight in his gleaming ‘veshti’ and bare chest with just a single thread running criss cross. He was at least handsome, unlike the bevy of semi naked, topless uncles, exposing with extreme pleasure their well rounded bellies and possibly vests. They could easily pit any stripper to shame at how easily they could strip the little they donned. Umm! But of course, he should be delighted, how many people manage to get ‘educated well-qualified’ brides through the ‘arranged system’. Anything from 12th pass out to a graduate in some obscure college seemed qualified enough in the arranged system, so maybe in that sense his wife (to-be) was over-qualified. Qualified or not she might at least be intelligent enough to pick up a book (quoting from her CV which read Loves reading books in the hobbies column), when he drifted into anything that caught his attention. Right now of course what seemed to distract him was the piece of white paper, folded twice over. He took it and read it for the hundredth time possible though he promised himself that it shall be the last time. He needn’t even have opened it to know what was there in it. He could have rattled it off, putting any school boys standing on the podium muttering the by-hearted poem for the recitation competition, to shame. But when he had held the letter for the first time, long ago, the words he knew so well now, just swam before his eyes.

Ranga,
I hate to be doing this to you but I found this man I have begun to love. In the beginning it was just plain platonic friendship but soon we started falling head over heels in love. So here I am moving out of your apartment, and your life for good. I have left the keys with the security guy.

Love,
R.

p.s:- Don’t sweeten your coffee too much, not good for health.

He remembered how it was just like her, to be so terse, point blank and practical. As he snapped back to the present, he wondered what she must be doing now. She must be having the same dinner, the same wine, only it wasn’t his apartment but HIS.

~ ~ ~ ~

Footnotes:-

Mookuthies – Nose rings. They come in all shapes and sizes from the 6 studded diamond to a single diamond stone

Mami – The tamil version of an aunt, actually any Tam Bram woman facing the mid life crisis

Koorai Pattu –The maroon colored saree adorned on such special occasions as a wedding.

Mappillai – The tamil version of a son – in – law, less the son more the lawful.

Jadagam – The horro(r)scope which spells your future the day u were born. This is to plan as is the nature of a Tam Bram for any possible eventuality. (This is pseudo Project management).

Thalapu – That part of the saree that falls gracefully on the above mentioned mami’s shoulders

Kurai Ondrum Illai- A carnatic song popularized by the all too famous MS, literally translation meaning ‘I have no regrets’

kuduthu vechava- The truly gifted, an oft cited remark which would be lashed out at any woman who manages to get a well educated qualified, possibly rich husband.
Koorai Madisaru – The sort of saree worn by the ‘sneering at Amrican girls exposing legs mamis’ on such special occasions as weddings, when care is taken to expose just the right amount of those fair legs, which distracts the men folk enough to notice, but falls well within the Brahmin code of conducts.

Poonal – A thread running criss cross across a Brahmin boy’s chest, which should of course be promptly removed when he indulges in ‘illegal’ activities

Sandhi – an evening ritual which any Bram boy from a good family and background should religiously do every evening.

Abhivadhaye – Rattling off of some mantras taking care to hold the hands close to the ears and standing half bent. A form of exercise the men folk indulge in I suppose.

Veshti – a transparent while cloth worn by the men folk around their waists, transparent enough to expose their hairy legs and sometimes possibly their vests.

Arranged System – A well defined system with all its processes in place where you arrange to conveniently fall in love after the Marriage.

Four little guinea pigs

2005-11-25T10:03:00.000+06:00

It was a time, so long ago when there were a bunch of four little guinea pigs. One so small, the other very tall, the Third so pretty and the last so cute. They came from all over the country and met in a beautiful place called Paradise. They decided to call the P place home away from home. Here they lived with each other day in and day out, sleeping with each other, wa(l)king with each other. They sometimes lived in a sty and at other times it was transformed into a beautiful, tastefully done housie.
She was the dancing queen and she was the "B"ombshell, while she was "louve"d by one and all "but" she seemed to exude the 'Y' factor. They were so alike to love each other dearly and yet so different to sustain the interest. With each passing day, they were thrown in together in their very own paradise, a paradise that they had created. Familiarity breeds contempt or does it? They looked at derision at other birds "flock"ing together and knew how they were meant to stay, to be. They were fast growing up, learning, teaching each other the little things in life. They brought their noses close together in moments of ecstasy or when dark clouds seemed to loom large. They were oft seen running around in the wilderness where "sky" was the limit to fun. They were having the time of their lives and with each passing day they were growing closer to moving on, each with its life, and so many memories to cherish. Then came the day, a day when they each blossomed and though they were happy about this, they knew they would have to leave this place called paradise where they had done most of their growing up. They held each other one last time and sang

Four whole years,
And we knew know fears,
Today as we stand,
Together hand in hand,
We think of those sweet moments shared,
When each cared and cared,
But each of us carry memories,
That shall make grandma stories
Forever and ever and ever and ever

The Act

2005-11-25T09:43:00.000+06:00

I did it! After so much thinking and rethinking, the numerous to-do or not-to-dos, I decided that yes, I shall go ahead, go all the way! Ahem, 25 year old, still singing the ever so single ready to mingle lines. Viewed in that context, umm, i can imagine raised eyebrows, shocked silence, maybe even a bit of that seething rage. A simple context shift, and if what I am talking about is as simple as the "act" of blogging (finally!), huge sighs of relief, waves of happiness and maybe a faint trace of irritation at hyping something so trivial. I can even hear those voices saying "So very like u" to go overboard and do all this melodrama!

Chronicles of a twenty year old -- A short story

2005-11-25T08:01:00.000+06:00

It was love at first sight! And little did I know or realize that August morning that it was going to be the beginning of a lifelong romance. I was skeptical in the beginning casting it aside as just an infatuation. But the years ahead have stood testimony to all that I feel and feel so strongly and I know, know for sure, now that I am away from thee that true strong love is putting it too lightly!
I have personified it so and given it such a lifelike image that sometimes, even I forget that in common parlance it would be called a “Bike” and for those of you lesser mortals, a cycle. Ah! It was standing tall and clean gleaming and basking in the sunlight, and it was the first time I got physical….with my dad. I showered him with kisses, putting all my man’s pride and ego aside and was too embarrassed after the “act” that I just ran out of the house and got onto my bike, my baby, and just fled. It ran like the wind and that is the understatement of the year. The adrenalin rush that I got the moment I got onto the cycle was ineffable.
No alarm clocks were necessary to get me out of bed, get on to my baby and cycle down the roads to college. Wind hitting me, breath taking scenery, the flowers glowing at me, so much at bliss. But my baby was never so fast that I could miss any beauty around. And so it was that she never missed my eyes that wintry morning, when the bike had become all of 3 months old. There was something, something that I cannot put aside so lightly as beauty that made me turn and look. I could have gone on looking only the irritated man behind me, honked and honked so loud that it put me off guard momentarily. I continued cycling and entered college and at once regretted it. I wanted to go back, see that beauty, that dark hair, those long legs, those deep eyes. The class suddenly began to wear a very claustrophobic effect, and all I wanted was a smoke. I needed it now, right now. But what I got was the cold stare of the Professor. I had been dreaming away when all my friends were introducing themselves to the Sweety ( that is what I had decided to name her). Oh yes the beauty, angel call her what you may, was here, before my very eyes, my new found classmate and I just felt like jumping then and there. Madhu barely managed to pass my lips and I had already transported back to the magic land with my sweety, going for long rides with her sitting in the bar in front of me. That instant our eyes met and I knew, knew it for a fact that we were meant to be together.
Swathi was soon the centre of attraction, to my tough luck, the other bastards in the class had noticed her too and the fact that I was one of the back benchers, who did not even have notes to show, let alone exchange, did not help my love cause very much. I decided to borrow Chait’s notes and complete mine so I can lend it to her, but I sat till 3 a.m that night and did not even progress beyond the first 2 weeks’ classes and already the pulleys and the inclined planes were getting to me. Physics, except when it comes to the speed of my baby was not for me, I decided.
I went to college with even more fervor and ran and caught places somewhere in the front where I can at least get a glimpse of my goddess. This felt strange and funny, I had never had a glimpse of the lecturers and the black board at such close quarters. I was almost regretting my decision when she entered and allayed all my fears. I could almost hear my heart beat. The lecturer entered and I had to put my romantic indulgences aside.
A grueling 40 minutes later, I was out and wanted the fresh air and if possible sneak into the men’s room and get a smoke. I was checking the notice boards more out of practice than with any interest. Even the crossword competition failed to draw my attention. I would have just jumped at it, ran and registered, being the avid crossword freak that I am, but now I just dismissed it. Still out of love for the old one, I went to the common room where I was sure to find Arya and give out my name. I was standing around waiting fiddling with the pen in hand when I heard a soft “Hi” behind me. It was so soft that I thought I had imagined it. I turned and, there she was, my beauty. My heart stopped, I could have passed out that very moment. She asked me if she could be my partner for the crossy competition. See! I was sure she was in love with me, that we were meant to be. The yes barely escaped my lips. “We” registered and went back lost in our own thoughts, in silence. I excused myself near the men’s room and ran in. I had to be on my own, bring my heart under control. It was just a competition partner but I was jumping like she had asked me to be hers. The puff helped and refreshed, I went back to the notice board. I confirmed the date. It was a week away. I started making my plans with her (in my imagination of course) to win the contest. I wanted it so badly, but more than that it was getting to know her that excited me. A week went by and our relationship had grown to the point of us greeting each other with a smile. So much for my imaginations and wild plans!
The D day came and the two of us, self, meekness personified, gathered at F-block, Wilde room, where the competition was going to be held. We stood paper and pen in hand and proceeded towards one of the benches. I had never wanted to sit on those benches like I did that very moment. We sat and started the usual small talk, before the crossy papers were distributed. Heads bent over, pencils in hand we were trying to crack those elusive clues. Even her hand brushing past mine, had no effect on me, no lascivious thoughts. I was indeed at my supreme best and we were cracking those clues effortlessly. She was good is an understatement. The concentration, those brows creased in thought; I was decidedly in love with her. An hour went by, too quickly I must say and then we filed out of the room hand in hand ( in my imagination). There we were walking almost a mile apart until she meekly asked me if I could accompany her to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee. Yippie! She was just asking me out for coffee not to be her life partner, so relax I told myself. We entered the cafeteria and I felt all eyes looking at me. I felt like I was walking down the aisle in a church towards the pastor who would now declare us man and wife. Maybe I should save all this up for later and just continue walking and sit down. Not a word ensued, through all this and soon we were ordering coffee. The cafeteria seemed unusually loud and I felt stifled in here. We started talking, about home, the class and soon we were oblivious to the crowds, the people flitting in and out of the cafeteria! I had not realized that one was capable of so much passion, so much feelings till this very moment. The coffee got over a little too quickly and it was time to leave but we had already made plans to meet up soon enough. Am I dreaming?
I was there sitting on those stairs, behind the college cafeteria clad in a jeans and sweat shirt, waiting…..My angel had promised to meet me that evening. I could see the sun in the background and suddenly the world seemed to be aglow. There she came panting and puffing up the stairs and sat down. How am I going to keep a platonic conversation going I wondered? We just sat there, the sun slowly sinking in the background, milkshakes in hand, talking. We had amazing conversations about books, sitcoms and everything under the sun. We sat there way beyond sunset basking in the glory of our new found friendship and then reluctantly left the place.
I started looking forward to our famed rendezvous like never before. All day long I was able to go on with classes, football and lunches for just these 2 hours which I would get with her. The days seemed to fly past at an unimaginable speed. We shared so much in common and knew so much about each other and yet everyday was like a revelation. She renewed my lost interest in Bach, books, paintings, art and life seemed worth living for. I would get up every morning and be a fresh, renewed soul. I had never before felt so alive in my life as I felt those days. The sunsets had never held a meaning to me till I sat with her and watched the sun go down. I felt so much one with nature. The two hours seemed to fly past quickly and I walked her back home and made sure the angel was safe before heading towards my own house. There were times when she came and sat with me through my guitar classes and even that would give us so much happiness.
It was just one of those evenings, quiet and we were sitting with the sun in the background, milkshakes in hand talking when I thought why not! She might not be the most prefect soul mate that I can come across. She might not be the prefect partner that everyone imagines but maybe, maybe I might never find anyone as amazing as her, maybe we really were meant to be and hence we met, maybe she is really the one. Decision made! That very minute I asked her hand! No wine, no flowers, no red roses, no mushy cards, just me and her and nature and I asked her, looked deep into her eyes and asked her if what we shared could last a lifetime! I did it! My first proposal and I did it just like that! Here she was the beauty and I was asking her to be a part of me, my life sitting out here in those stairs. Am I dreaming? Can this really be happening to me? It seemed like a lifetime before I could see the lips break into a smile, a faint blush and I knew what the answer was even before she actually said it.
Nothing really had changed between us and yet everything seemed to have changed. The world seemed a happier place and I was just ecstatic every day every moment. Living actually suddenly became all of that rather than just an existence. I loved having her around, my girl friend, my babe, my wife all rolled into one. I already felt married and had even named our kids. We had made vows to travel from Venice to Vienna, to our own Nainital, write our respective travelogues, and “our” autobiography. This was so exciting. I wish it could just go on and on.
Well it did and before I could really get a grip of things four whole years had passed by. We were close to the end of our graduation and then each of us would be hitting the world with our presence. We would move on from being students to men and women and I was looking forward to it, despite knowing we might be in different parts of the country. Never mind that! I still would have her in my thoughts and before long we could unite in holy matrimony.
Finally Graduation day arrived. I decided to take Swats on my bike, one babe on another one last time before we part. Swats seemed all the more radiant and beautiful that day. I stood outside her house and was seeing her walking towards me, her lovely feet touching the ground. I could have been the ground beneath her feet that very minute. She came all beaming, clad in a jean and my favorite top. She sat in the front bar and we started off on the ride. I could not have asked for more. We were singing and the light rainfall seemed to enhance the already romantic settings. I cycled and cycled across all the roads that we have already gone a million times, and reached the run down railway track. Everything seemed just the same and normal until………..Until I noticed the train speeding towards us a little too late!
Ten years have gone by since that fateful day when I lost my world, my love my Swats. Old love wells up again as I sit on these stairs and hear her laughter in my head, see her eyes in my memories and all I have for company now are her memories and the cigarette butt and the booze bottle!

Y! The ultimate question

2005-11-25T07:41:00.000+06:00

Finally here I enter the world of bloggers! I had kindaa kept away from it all these days partly 'cos I felt u need to have a lot of well written articles already in place which u can diligently type in, and for the most part sheer laziness. Then I realised that the urge to unleash random thoughts hidden in me, were increasing at an exponential rate till here finally is my blog, presented in style, in my own way to all those who care to read.
My reasons for blogging as against writing on a piece of paper or on the comp and stash it in some corner to retrieve sometime later are: (Am i sounding more and more like those dreaded history question and answers)
Version control & maintenance was becoming an issue (am I sounding like a config manager or what?);I was too much out of touch with putting pen(cil) on paper to write it in "My fav notebook"(This of course does not count those n number of attempts at Catting and recatting where speed, pencils and shading were keywords); Not having a comp of my own meant I was losing all those precious articles that I had penned every now and then.
Being a first timer, I did religiously hit the spell checker only to see that the blogspot.com spell checker acted too surprised when it encountered the word blog anywhere and 'flog'ged me with very many other suggestions, which I just chose to ignore with a capital I.
I seem to be attracting quite a bit of attention at work what with furious typing, obscure characters making their way into some corner of the net, write, comma.., some more commas, backspace and finally a full stop.