addle-brained scribbler

You can't always get what you want.

2012-01-29T09:02:00.000-08:00

But if you try sometimes, you just might find that you get what you need.

Thanks Rolling Stones. Its difficult to stop wanting things but I guess one lives happiest then. Lower expectations and let things unfurl for themselves. Its true of tangible and non-tangible entities. But then are we allowed to let things unfurl for themselves? Is one free to exercise that liberty? Many argue that its all in one's mind. That if you want you can do exactly what you wish. Easier said than done.

The world is a gnawing place. Every corner of the body and every word breathed out is scrutinized, judged and commented upon. You might not ask for it. You might never. But you will get it. And it will be sharp, harsh and upsetting most of the times. It'll cage you in a box and feed you guilt till you crumble. You might see pretty sights beyond the bars but they aren't for you.

Funnily. we're all in boxes and as the adage goes. the grass is always greener on the other side. We appreciate each other's lessened restrictions. There is no such thing as freedom in its purest sense. Well, then again it depends on what one defines freedom as. Its such a relative term, like all others. Everything is relative. Nothing exists without the other.

I have a dream. I will have a small room to myself. I will have a cozy bed next to a warm fire place and a rack of books. Let it be a windy cold evening. There will be a window near my bed. And as I will rest my head on the pillow, the moon will peep into my room through it and spread its bright white light that'll sparkle the room. It will be a happy companion and it shall read with me into the darkness of the night.

I walked into that space after more than a year. It has changed so much that I can barely recognise the concrete I lived in for three years. The walls don't feel the same. The heartbeat is different, or rather has died out. Some areas still call out to me in remembrance. I have lived, loved and laughed there. Stood in the middle of the ground, that unfortunately doesn't exist anymore, and yelled to the first and the second floors. The trees still smile with warmth and welcome me. I don't want to go there again soon. Not alone atleast. I am not afraid. Just uncomfortable.

I don't have an end to this note.

Let there be light.

2012-01-25T08:11:00.000-08:00

There is Cliff Richards playing in the background. The night is cool and the laptop warm on my stretched out legs. Its been a while since I wrote here. I have forgotten a lot of things that I wanted to jot. The month has been quick to pass. I don't know whether I am happy about it or sad or just plain neutral.

Ka and Music Room are still sitting close by with bookmarks a little more than half-way through. A thin sheet of dust on them tells me that I have neglected them too long. They need a hug and a flip. They want to be heard. I will hear them out tonight and let them lie near my thin blanket when my eyes close to wander in a parallel world.

The stage was set on fire. There was a splash of blood red. A flush of pink light. And three actors I admire a lot. The phone receiver was off. The milkman had raped one of the maids while having an affair with the other. The madame, dressed in black, more conscious of her fur than her imprisoned monsieur, refused to drink the cup of tea. It had ten sleeping pills. The role-plays had exhausted the maids. They sought salvation in crime. Domination turned into an obsession masked as love. But slaves don't love one another. Its filth. Everything was played to the hilt.

I have been away too long. It was my decision and I don't regret it. But there are times when I wish for things to be different. Wish that the choices from which I had to choose were different. Life would be different. I don't know if I'd like it more that way. One never knows. Thats the beauty of it all.

I will paint soon. Holding the brush to a canvas; letting the bristles tickle the cloth beneath. The cloth shall bleed the colours I want. There are far too many that I want. It will camouflage what I truly feel.

As I yawn I move towards my books. Its a far far better place I go to. Goodbye world. Let tomorrow unfurl well for all.

Even the stars sometimes fade to gray. Even the stars hideaway.

2012-01-14T17:58:00.000-08:00

The year started a while back. Its halfway into the first month. I am yet to make resolutions. I guess it'll pass without any. Again.

Sweating in January on the terrace with pots of blood red paint, a cap and rolled up pyjamas. Good start, won't you say?

An evening was spent with a great bunch of kids who I have been working with over the past few months. They sparkled that night. I will remember it always; the gleaming faces after the show. A sense of satisfaction spread like a warm breeze. Comfortably numb I am now. Bittersweet symphony. I hope to see them again. Hopefully, sooner than I know.

Two books are being read simultaneously. Ka. Music Room. They're both very different. While one traces stories of Indian mythology like never before, the other follows a girl through her tryst with hindustani classical music. Both have kept me engrossed and they shall for a while to come.

There is too much music around. A bhajan being sung in a distant temple, the radio and my earphones. They are all merging to form a motley that has its strangely pleasant moments. The rest is noise.

I want to reach out for inner peace. Ciao.

I want to trap time. I know it can't be done. Still.

2011-12-24T04:19:00.000-08:00

Its the kind of evening that makes me want to run down the three floors of my hostel room with my gang to our tea spot. Go for a single cup, but end up drinking gallons of it over crazy, long, controversial, crazier conversations. I want to bump into classmates. Expand the circle of talk till its just us.

Feel the chill and complain about it. Complain about the lack of hot water and hotter meals. Beckon the department store uncle and tell him that his Maggi is our survival tool. That without him our stomach's would be crying.

I want to make fun of the walkers while my own paunch grows in size with the junk consumed. I want to buy little bars of chocolates for my mates and feel their smile warm me up.

Lets run down that lane with our jingle. We were always juvenile. There's nothing to be ashamed of. Shame is something we left outside those walls. Cause within them laid freedom in a sense that will never be known elsewhere.

We are scattered, but there is a bond that unites us now. And will forever. Some are still experiencing the freedom. I envy them. I ask them to enjoy it more. On my behalf.

I want to raise my hand in class and spoil the rest of the prof's lecture. Debate till he/she turns red. Till we exchange winks and divert the boring topic into a needless argument that'll tickle our ribs for long.

I want to read out my paper in class and defend it. Ask for a break cause the eye lids have embarrassingly started sticking to one another. Yes. I want to read the soft-board and yell at atrocities teachers commit on students. I want to sit in a corner of the seminar room and doodle. Let the words spoken in the room form a cozy bed and pillow for me.

I want to shake that tree and let the road be carpeted by the shed yellow. I want to stand there and make fun of Bollywood. I want to see those raised eyebrows and tell myself that they don't know how to enjoy life's moments.

I want to cry laughing at the imitations of professors done by my classically talented folks. Its something that is the birth right of every student. I want to click pictures on my phone of the sleepy heads and threaten exposure on social networking websites.

I want to finger the dust off the shelves of journals and books in the dungeon like library of mine. I want to spend the day searching for that one book. Then heave a sigh of relief when I triumph in procuring it out of a corner. Gloat at myself and issue it. I am shallow in a lot of ways.

I want to wake up early and take my run through the fog around the ring road. Say hi to the mess bhaiya on my way back and ask the menu of the day. Give him a look of disgust. Laugh with him over it and still swallow what he serves and calls food.

I want to wash my bucket of joy and hang them with perfection. Fold them once dry in a manner that looks ironed crisp. I want to sit on the mess table post-dinner squashed between population wanting to burst into debates. Violent discussions that'll rub off sleep and leave everyone dark eyed in the morning.

I want to stick posters. Announce to the world about performances that'll make them scream for more. Obviously, work towards it through the nights with my bunch. With butter rotis and crispy vegs. Gradually moving to rotis and lesser crispy vegs. Pockets torn.

Work on group assignments that'll require more co-ordination than reading and structuring. Last minute be the motto. Then, now and forever. Sit in the visitors room till the guard starts giving out suggestions and offering beverages to keep us awake.

I want to chase the cat munching on my dustbin. Offer it something better. The warden's dustbin. Plan plots to exterminate pigeons from the face of the Earth. Yes. We were ruthless. Only in plans.

Now that I have entered the parallel world I was trying to create and escape into, hi to those are a part of it. Bye to the rest. See you later.

And you know that she's half crazy. But that's why you want to be there.

2011-12-22T23:04:00.000-08:00

Though the temperature isn’t exactly as low as it should be, it does look like a winter morning. It’s gloomily cloudy and it smells cold. Yes, funnily it smells and doesn’t feel cold. You should be here to know what I am describing. I would love to go to the beach now. Lie near the shore. Let the water tickle my outstretched feet. Let the warm sand rub my back. Have my book in my hand and let the breeze turn the pages for me. Serene and solitary.

I have switched from the rib-tickling tales of a rebellious priest and his arch rival communist mayor to a treasury of Indian mythology. It’s beautiful so far. The pages are new, yet there is something antique about it. I guess its the ancient tales typed on them that make them different and special. I love the calligraphy on it. Reminds me of the calligraphy pen Pa got me a really long time back. It still has its price tag on it. I was always scared to use it. I know the shelf it’s on. I am far from it right now, but when I get closer, I will use it. Write something for Pa with it.

I am doing something I love more than anything else. It can’t be the only thing I do cause some things don’t change. Some opinions don’t change. But I am proud of myself in a strange sort of way; for having kept the embers of my passion burning all through. They will burn like this today. And they shall burn like this forever.

I want to learn how to weave a carpet. Inspiration: a beautiful picture I just saw of a man sitting behind the wooden machinery that was producing the most colouful piece of art. From barren nothingness arises a splash of design in colours of one’s choice. I know I’ll love the feeling after having completed a piece.

The TV has been endlessly screaming for the past several minutes now. And what is one it makes me nauseous; the sickening background music, intolerable voice modulations and the insufferable dialogues. Just why people watch it is beyond me. I pray sincerely that I never reach a stage where the TV becomes my best friend. Never.

Give me a canvas the size of a wall. I want to splash colours on it. Use anything but a brush to paint on it. Go unconventional. I don’t want to show it to anyone till I finish. Maybe I won’t show it at all. Paint it black after I am done. It will be something I made for myself. It will remain mine. Or, I’ll paint a huge Calvin and Hobbes on the white surface and worship it. Yes, I have a strange sense of religiosity.

And she feeds you tea and oranges

That come all the way from China

And just when you mean to tell her

That you have no love to give her

Then she gets you on her wavelength

And she lets the river answer

That you’ve always been her lover

And you want to travel with her

And you want to travel blind

And you know that she will trust you

For you’ve touched her perfect body with your mind.

Suzanne- Leonard Cohen

Well, I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky.

2011-12-22T02:20:00.000-08:00

I woke up this morning groggy and sat cross-legged on the bed facing the window. There was a silent breeze brushing the sun's early strands. I closed my eyes and tried recollecting my dream. I remember snippets that don't fit together. They are pieces of different puzzles. I had more than one dream.

Somewhere a friend is snuggled under a warm blanket refusing to leave the bed. I want to make chai for her, snuggle in next to her and have a long talk. Its been too long since we met. A lot has passed between us. More than half of December has gone. And I haven't shivered even once. I am nearer to the equator. I can't complain. It is geographically impossible. My wish.

Reading has taken a stand still although I have a set of new books piled in front of me. Each wanting to be touched and flipped. Each wanting to be heard out. I will. One and one. All of them.

I made what I was supposed to. It came out well, served its purpose and made the person it was made for happy. Satisfaction swept in that evening. It was beautiful. I could do with more such evenings. Many more. And they shall happen in time.

I have been listening to a lot of music these days. And when I say lot, I really do mean a LOT. I have been breathing, eating and obese-ing on music. Genre irrespective, I have had headphones on my head all day. My grandmother now thinks I have transmogrified (Calvin style) into an extra-terrestrial specie.

I am going to return to watching Prison Break now. I will return with more that is in my head.

The good old days really were.

2011-11-29T10:10:00.001-08:00

I just looked at a video a friend of mine had made a long time back. A six minute video capable of slipping the floor off my feet. It has random flashes of several photographs with a soulful melancholic music in the background that can churn one's stomach even when its full. Mostly a collection of memories of twelfth grade from the summer term to the winter term, through the days of play and study, till the farewell- both formal and informal.

Most of the faces are now distant remembrances. We've lost touch. Some are still important in life. Very important and have helped through times of darkness and despair, joy and celebration. A few are of those that aren't exactly called friends but joke buddies. You share nothing of your life with them but end in a laughter riot if met over a cup of coffee. What is shared is light naughty moments of school. Flashbacks that'll be cherished forever. That'll make me smile with a tear even decades from now. Blessed are those moments. And blessed am I to have shared them with such a wonderful bunch of people.

Pictures can make one feel the place it has been taken in. Activate the olfactory sense to send a warmth through the body. A soothing warmth of affection and belonging. Sometimes even enable recollection of conversations that happened before, during and after the photo shoot. It is a fascinating experience- the sudden sensory overload.

I could feel the cold water gushing from the taps of the water cooler. A favourite destination to escape from boring classes and meet friends for secret chit-chat. I could hear the gliding of feet over the marble flooring. We were banned from skating over it. But who cared! I could hear the the yelling of a certain teacher who has yelled at all of us without fail. Her stomping up and down the stairs chasing us back to class. Us- well running helter-skelter to end up at the play ground for a head count. All safe or some down? The neem tree was the permanent club meeting spot. I think every badge holder has announced a meeting under the neem tree. It would be nice to sit under it again and talk to her. She has listened to many like us over the past decades and will continue to do so. It has held us all though the branches. Never to let go.

The dance classes were historical. Where the pretty girls danced conscientiously, the boys shot imaginary pistols in the air while the harassed teacher attempted to correct the 'thun thun' position. Epic failure. The legalised bunking for club activities, house events, annual functions, well just about anything we could come up with, is sorely missed. The long conversations in the quadrangle. Some ending up in quarrels resolved, some well... unresolved.

We didn't have a canteen then. The joys of hot food lay beyond the walls of the institution. Just outside the side gate. In a corner. Were our samosas. And kachoris. We did buy them. Eat them. Relish them. Not only for the taste, but for the mere unlawfulness of it all. We were rebellious in our own meager ways. The embers are still within. I guess they provide the warmth I was talking about.

The last day of summer vacation in the final year meant signature campaign. Pocket tearing rape-like sequences. Inked cheeks. Inked any-exposed-part-of-body actually. It was our day of marking uniforms with permanent markers. My shirt and skirt still lie folded neatly at the bottom of a pile in my cupboard. The permanence of the pens lies proven. It shall, hopefully, forever.

The farewell is always a joyous occasion at first, which later turns into a red-nosed wet-eyed ceremony. Where boys make fun of girls only to realise that its one of the things they'll miss the most. Teachers reveal stories and anecdotes that suddenly strengthen the bond between us. They weren't that evil after-all. Its nice to go back once in a while. Smile at faces that show signs of aging. Receive affectionate hugs and naughty winks. They are kids like us. They reveal that side after we become alumni. Its one of the things I have cherished after passing out. A mature, yet juvenile relation with the gurus.

I miss sitting on the green grass, plucking it with boredom after a march past. The lifting of trophies won after several rounds of throat aching cheering and hooting. The backslapping, hi-fi-ing and fist punching. The torturous assemblies on cold shivering foggy mornings when most entertained themselves with smoke circles. Yes, we thought it was cool to smoke without a cigarette. Some of us still do. Standing outside the classroom as a form of punishment had its own advantages. One could get a peep into the classes around. Eavesdrop on gossip and generally socialise with passersby. I miss cribbing about the hideously red lipstick which was a permanent feature of all cast members- gender, age, role irrespective.

There are many things I wish to put down, but for now this is enough. Watching the video once has triggered all this. Watching it again will trigger more. Without doubt. Until then, miss you all and love you.

Did the wind sweep you off your feet? Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day?

2011-11-27T11:14:00.000-08:00

I want a room to myself. I want to paint it blue on two adjacent walls and white on the other two walls. On the white corner I want to paint a tree. Blue it will be. Let it grow from the corner and branch across on the whiteness on either sides. Adorn the walls with pictures and posters that'll make me cry with laughter. Wash them with memories of the happiest and most loved people. Have a window that'll give me a view of the sky when I'll lay beside it at night. Let the stars wink me to sleep. Let the moon read me a bed time story. A shelf of books that'll smell old and friendly. I want to stick glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. Have a stain-glass lamp hanging from the window. Let the sun sparkle through it and spill into the room. Let every breeze waltz around the wind chime. Allow it to drop in a 'hello' as it passes by. I want a Kaleidoscopic that'll show me new colours and patterns every day. Set against the same world, it'll be pretty nevertheless, without fail.

My hands are numb with glue. I have been sticking things other than the pieces of my scattered life. The table's turned into a workshop. Whether something creative will emerge from the debris strewn across is a million dollar question. I have to answer it in a few days. I will.

Justifications are tiring. The need to explain every move one makes. Every choice chosen. Every road traveled. Etc. I will, on days like these, lean on my painted blue tree and let things be. Let the branches soak my frustration and grow stronger. Let me grow stronger as well. A strange symbiotic relation that would need no words.

I have been reading about the psychology of pain. It is interesting to look at the several views people have about pain. Unlike happiness, which we tend to think comes in greater degrees to others, pain is a feeling we attribute with magnified intensity to ourselves. Tell those who wish to comfort us that they will never know the feeling. That it is worse than anything they have ever felt or will feel. Relativity is twisted to suit one's needs/desires. Is pain that cannot be attributed to an organic lesion false? Can one claim it is a case for psychological intervention with certainty then? Does the need for psychological intervention mean one is not strong enough to deal with one's problems? Does the blame then point to the sufferer? Does the sufferer become the cause and effect of the pain, unlike in the case of a lesion where the cause and effect can be separated? Does the sufferer, from a victim, become a perpetrator?

Its a gloomy day and its rubbing off on me. Sigh.

We're living in a den of thieves. Rummaging for answers in the pages.

2011-11-23T07:33:00.001-08:00

The wind is violent today. It is insistent on blowing me away. It brings with it a new sweet smell. Usually smells bring back several memories. But this one is pure, untouched and un-smelt. It is not of the past. I am not reminiscing, for once. Though the future is still swimming in uncertainty, I feel a strange sense of control. It may not last tomorrow. So I shall let myself afloat. For now. For today.

The Little Man is thinning on my right hand. It has been a great journey of love, dreams, desires, and hopes. I have grown with him into a little woman. My aspirations are different, but our enthusiasm is similar. Our restlessness, even more.

The TV has been running nearly all day. From one channel to another, its the same story. A story that makes my blood boil. Yes, they are called soaps. I wish they'd rinse themselves clean with it. They get filthier with each new production. I am amazed at their increasing viewership. I am either degrading in patience, or the TV viewing community is gradually losing its strings of sanity. The grey matter fading into a numb white. Scary. The ladies are more heavily clad in ugly jewellery and pokey sarees. The men are using more vulgar language and torturing the women. The children are increasing cranky and spoilt. The elders are well, the less said the better. The evil mother-in-law has taken a new avataar, worse than its predecessors put together. The spineless good-at-everything, but always-ill-treated daughter-in-law is more subservient than ever. She resigns to her fate and begs her husband to not protest against the atrocities committed on her. She even encourages him to take her mother-in-law's side for she is the head of the family. I want to slap them. Hard.

Sigh, I have been ranting most of the day. I really wish the wind would carry me away to a place with silence and sense.

Trust is probably the hardest thing to achieve and the easiest thing to break. You try and build it up to a crescendo only to plummet down due to a mistake/misunderstanding. Reason ceases to exist and life becomes a whirlwind of justifications, subconscious self-questioning and unconscious guilt. I guess its a part of growing stronger. As they all say.

The year's coming to an end and when I look back (reminiscing now) I feel strangely happy. Its been a quick year like all others, but different in so many ways. World views have changed. The world I live in has changed. Physically. Socially. And metaphorically. Its going to be a warm December, strangely. I didn't start the year with resolutions. I never do. In a way I have lost nothing. But, somewhere I have lost myself to the year. To the places I have been to. To the people I have grown to love. To the gushing river in which jumps were made. To the long late night walks. To the spaces of rehearsals. I wonder how much of me is left now. I am ready to lose more next year. To what? Only time will tell.

Censorship blankets honesty. The World adorns a belt of chastity.

2011-11-18T02:42:00.001-08:00

I wish to write.

Keeping my grip on the pen tight.

Let the thoughts flow by.

Like the first rain filling a river-bed dry.

But what happens when there is a dam.

A surveillance of who I really am.

I gotta find my way home.

2011-11-16T23:12:00.000-08:00

I have been living like a nomad over the past few months. Wake up each morning to a new routine. Each day is defined and made use of by the moment. Perpetual uncertainty. It was hard initially, for I was so used to regularity. But now, I am flowing with it. Some days are more rapid than others. Louder than others. Sweeter than others. The 'others' are dealt with patience and hope. I am aging in both.

New friends have been made with words that are gently whispered in the ear with rhythm and those that are inked in black on sheets that embrace me. I converse with them everyday over a cuppa of hot something. We get lost in each other. Always.

Its a newer city. It has changed since I last walked it and breathed it. Nevertheless, it is treating me well. A new relation is growing between us. It is bitter-sweet like most. New routes have been traversed and explored. It will continue this way for a while.

The Colour Purple lies finished, with its back to me. The colour is deep and moving. Its hard to let go of it. I think I'll be purple for a long time to come. The Little Man awaits me. Its about a boy who's 2 inches tall and out to conquer the world. I would love to join him. Pack a bag and walk the stretch of the earth. I've always wanted to do it. I shall. Someday.

I've used up 8 packets of M-seal since yesterday. You might think I've turned into a master sculptor. I would like to think the same. Its a beautiful crown, that which I am supposed to make. Hope it turns out as pretty as I expect it to be.

I want to go back to 355. Pull down the curtains, give them a wash and hang them back up. Smell the room turn fresh. Open wide the balcony door to oversee the mist rising to hug me from the baby green foliage that spreads across on the ground below. Listen to the pigeons flutter and argue. Run down the aisle beckoning people for a meal. A meal we are sure not to relish, but its the eating together that is important. Take the plate out in the warm sun and chat more than eat. Fold my clothes neatly in piles and clear the bed that is a beautiful blue. Smile at the soft board that has faces, old and new, smiling back.

I have not been a huge lover of the winter season, but I must admit I miss it. Much more than I thought I would. Hands turning numb under the tap. Cheeks blushing pink outdoors. Holding on to a freezing bus pillar, only to get off at a stop that'll serve the warmest and tastiest parathas. Give and receive bear hugs. It might be cold, but the blood runs warm.

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there's a field. I'll meet you there. - Rumi.

Maybe thats where home is for most of us.

God ain't a he or a she, but a It.

2011-11-12T01:32:00.000-08:00

Its a quite afternoon. There is a soothing warm breeze dancing around the wind chime. There is silence, except for a few distant honks and the buzzing fan overhead. I could do without it, but I'll let it spin. It would be natural for one to feel drowsy on an afternoon like this. Not me.

Music is something that connects one to the soul. Not just of oneself, but even to that of the instruments and the players/singers. Its a strange communion that leaves one feeling light and loved. It may or may not have words. Words, one may or may not understand. It still feels the same. Mostly.

The Colour Purple is depressing. And I depressingly love it. The characters are raw and innocent. Their sufferings genuine and heartbreaking. I will finish it soon and not know what to do.

Theatre has, and will always be my first love. I love the stage at my feet. The wood creaking with each step, urging me to move and conquer it. I have done it before. Its time to do it again. Soon.

Appreciation for poems varies the most I think. What one might think is a masterpiece, will turn out to be a piece of rubbish on which another can wrap his/her chewed gum for disposal. Its actually fascinating, more than frustrating, at times. I think a lot depends on how you read it. The intention you give it. Unlike prose, where the author has an overstated meaning for each line, poets like to leave everything in oblivion. If you like to paint yourself in that oblivion, you'll breathe it and survive.

Choices are something we all complain about having in reduced numbers. We never get enough to choose from. This can't be relative deprivation if it is universal.

There is something so comforting about old hindi songs. Actually anything old for that matter. Photos. Books. Friends. Coffee shops. There is a pervading sense of security. I may be wrong, but I don't feel it now.

I am engrossed in Arun Kolatkar's poetry. He writes the simplest things in the most beautiful way. Who ever thought the description of a baby being bathed would be a fantastic theme for a poem! I love him and will continue my affair with him now. Adios.

Jupiter is catching a bus this year.

2011-11-02T19:37:00.000-07:00

I turn the music up, I got the records on

From underneath the rubble sing a rebel song

Don't want to see another generation drop

I rather be a comma than a full stop

Its the penultimate month of the year and as always, it seems to have come too fast. Its been a life changing year, like every other year. A lot of new people have been met. Old doors have been knocked. Unperceived goals have been sought. Familiar places have been re-visited. A few favourites have been revised, furnishing the pages with more fingerprints. New books have been inked to the list. The taste buds have feasted more. The nights have been haunted with bizarre dreams and the feet have tread more gradients. New hugs have given warmth, while lost ones have been missed.

There are heroes in the sea weed

There are children in the morning

They are leaning out for love

And they will lean that way forever

The Jupiter is closest to the moon today. Apparently, it happens once in a hundred years. Hmmm, I feel historic, now that I have witnessed it. But it isn't the breaking news on TV. For once. The sky has always been an intriguing space. Small dots, that are actually magnanimous in size, wink every night- tirelessly.

The buses haven't changed and thankfully, neither have their fares. The conductor gives me a glace of recognition. He's seen me before. A gazillion times. Its the same girl who lost her balance every day, while trying to hold on to her several bags, sanity and the pillar together. Its been a couple of years, but I have still not lost my charm. I still fall. I still stumble. I still like my bus.

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend

Somewhere along in the bitterness

And I would have stayed up with you all night

Had I known how to save a life

The Colour Purple beckons me now.

P. S.- The lyrics incorporated are a result of my listening to them while writing this. And the title, well lets just say that a fall in the bus shook my sanity out.

Shore Side Story

2011-10-29T10:11:00.000-07:00

The morning was spent at the beach after months. I teased the water. Squatting near the finish line of every wave, I remain untouched. I liked it this way today. Maybe not tomorrow.

I was late for the sun rise. It was up, but shying behind grey clouds that were to shed tears later in the day. Every now and then it peeped out, sparkled and blushed red at its reflection in the undulating waters.

People. Politics. Past. Aspirations. Crabs. Fears. Plays. Zeb and Haniya.

We talked. We laughed. We awed. We cribbed. We loved. We didn't cry. There was no need.

We ended our morning glory with hot breakfast. It was just perfect.

Since morning, I have been listening to three songs obsessively.

1. Suzanne- Leonard Cohen

2. Every Teardrop is a Waterfall- Coldplay

3. Every Little Thing She Does is Magic- Sting/ Symphoniticies

Now I'll go listen to them again. And again.

Nothing exists except atoms and empty space; everything else is opinion - Democritus

2011-10-22T22:37:00.000-07:00

I stepped on those stairs after a really really long time. The sound it made breathed familiarity.

I traced my fingers on the walls that had absorbed the echoes of lost chatter, anger and laughter. The reverberations made my heart skip a beat.

I walked into the hall that I had swept and laid carpets on. My fingerprints are still on them, but they have been masked by the several successors.

I felt the breeze through the window I had sat by. It tickled my ear; it had missed me.

Crumpled manuscripts, stained by repeated handling, were pressed between younger fingers. I have held those papers. The words printed on them were different then.

Faces I knew have more lines on them now. Yet, there is a twinkle in the eyes that tells me that memories are keeping the hearts youthful.

The binding on the books have changed, however, they still smell of the places I took them to; the fallen flowers against which they laid on the ground, when I rested my eyes from them.

The tables have been painted a fresh colour, but they haven't erased the markings I made on them.

Scribbled notes are still passed.

Suppressed giggles are still heard.

Things, actually, don't change as much as we think they have.

Its been a while since I left that place. I have moved on, but there still remains a part of my jigsaw there. It always will. And every time I go back it'll fit into me and rekindle a me that is long gone.

It is a bitter-sweet symphony, that's life.

Diwali Distress

2011-10-14T00:40:00.000-07:00

Today is one of those days when I want to write but have nothing exceptionally interesting to write about.

The neighbours, colour-blindedly, have painted their half of the two-storey apartment the most hideous pink ever invented. Yes. It means that while one half is this disgusting colour, the other has an ever-peeling-off white-washed contrasting look. Beauty. Not to mention that one side of the ever-peeling white-washed first storey apartment has an ever-peeling yellow colour. In between the upper and lower atrociousness is a tide-ad-like white strip that was actually painted to cover up the previous appalling florescent blue colour. Well, the blue still peeps out of the large gaps left while painting the white. You get the picture. I hate it.

Diwali.

Olfactory senses: fresh paint, varnish, burnt crackers, burnt food (which is a result of endless discussions on festive proceedings with neighbours/friends/family), new clothes, floor disinfectants, insect repellers etc.

Auditory senses : Bursting crackers. Crackling oil. Blaring Bhajans in Jagarans. Squealing babies. Roaring children. Bellowing parents.

Gustatory senses: Glutton delight time.

Visual senses: Polychromatic spectacle. Name the colour. People buy it. Wear it. Jewellery. People buy. It pokes. People still wear it.

My sixth sense tells me that I have lost control of all my senses and that I should retire.

Silence O.K Please.

2011-10-09T06:38:00.000-07:00

Zip. Zap. Zoom.

Certainly driving isn't as easy as that. So TV car ads of this century: please get realistic.

Yet another list.

1. Fact: There are obviously other cars on the road that suffer from similar zip-zap-zoom syndrome increasing the chance of a head-on, side-to-side, back-to-front, front-to-back or well any angle collision.

2. Myth: The Traffic Lights are government's permanently placed Diwali illuminations.

3. Fact: We live in a country where the Right of the Road belongs to species other than the Homo Sapiens.

4. Myth: The mobile phone is a device that tells you who is driving behind you, ahead of you, beside you or is a foreteller of avoidable accidents.

5. Fact: The peddle between the clutch and the accelerator is called a brake. It is meant for use.

6. Myth: The horn is a musical instrument.

7. Fact: The zebra crossing is a striped strip meant for people to cross the road on. So don't wait for a zebra to cross on it. Let the people cross.

8. Myth: The mirror in front is a unique accessory meant to check if the hair is gelled properly or if the eye make up has worn out.

9. Fact: The road is not like the brain. The left side doesn't operate upon the right and the right side doesn't operate upon the left. If you want to turn left, be on the left side of the road and NOT on the right side and vice-versa.

10. Myth: It is a lie-cence. It isn't. Please make sure you KNOW how to drive before you get the official document.

I just realised my previous post title had a please too. What a pleasing personality I have I say!

I am brain dead.

Bye.

Mr. Ravana, please stand up.

2011-10-07T22:56:00.000-07:00

“Hahahahahahaha”

“Hohohohohoho”

Am I celebrating a premature Christmas?

No.

These were the opening lines of Ravana’s scene yesterday. Come Dussera and the whole neighbourhood throngs at the Ramlila Maidan of the locality. Age/caste/class/religion/gender no bar.

We have been ardent followers of the last-day-of-the-navratra mayhem. So last evening my brother, father and I set out for our yearly laughter marathon. The chairs were set. The eye piercing bright-pink satin curtains drawn closed. Incomprehensible bhajans were being sung deafeningly by the mandali. We were early.

We seated ourselves equidistant from the stage and the to-be-burnt Ravana that stood quite malnourished compared to its previous avatars. In his good old days he used to have Kumbhakarna standing next to him for company. The recession has spared no one. Sigh.

Suddenly the singers muted themselves, and emerged from the wings Hanuman with his, handful in number, Vaanar Sena. They did a little disco jig to entertain us while the other characters, I presume, were getting ready. Soon enough, Rama and Lakshmana entered the scene and settled themselves on the thrones looking rather jaded. Nine days of acting can take a toll on anyone. While the audience was filling up, Rama and Lakshmana sat like statues with the rest attempting to hop-shoot-fly as they sabotaged the mike periodically to bellow- ‘Jai Shri Ram.’

But what I was waiting for was my favourite bhajan that’ll put even Metallica to shame; a beat-iful number- ‘Ram ji Ki Sena Chali.’ It gives me epileptic fits every time I listen to it. Its another thing that the thunderous loud speaker seemed to send waves that penetrated one’s chest as though someone were administering a cardio pulmonary resuscitation. Pardon the medical metaphors. It’s a genetic habit.

Well, once the Ravana was ready with his nine heads. Yes. I said nine because we believe in physics and the principal of balance. If there is a central head that cannot be shifted, we make do with four on each side, irrespective of the fact that during the famous battle when Ravana found his extra heads inconvenient, he quietly stepped into the wings and got one of his minions to remove them. Voila! A one-headed more comfortable, hence more confident Ravana surfaced.

It was interesting to note that during the battle Rama and Ravana exchanged pleasantries. ‘Don’t step too close to the edge of the stage.’ ‘Avoid tripping on the mike lines.’ ‘That make-up looks superb.’ Personally, I would want Ravana to enter a dance competition. The grace and panache with which he waltzed around the stage was unparalleled.

The battle was the laughter bomb. Those not participating in the battle (this happens when one side has more people and they have to wait for their chance to fight) posed like body builders centre stage, much to the delight of the photographer. Here, I would like to establish that the fight sequence comprised mainly of Rama and Ravana revolving around the stage like two planets in an orbit. It is also imperative to bring to your notice that while Rama revolved with his bow and a set of arrows, Ravana did the same with his sword and vice-versa. In the midst of this circling circus they employed a new theatrical technique- that of stills. All of a sudden all the characters would assemble at the centre of the stage and form a still- mostly of Ravana in the centre with Rama stepping on one of his thighs and all weapons pointing at him. Picture taken. Disperse.

This happened more than a couple of times. Similar formations. Different positions. Only problem- they were all smiling. (This, however, is a technological problem as we have invented cameras that click pictures only when people are smiling)

Highlight of the day- Ravana’s abrupt death as the Mayor, the Chief Guest of the evening, arrived. Flutter of an eye lid and out of the blue Ravana is horizontal. Hanuman bends the mike to capture Ravana’s finale act- ‘Raaaaaaammm… Raaaaaammmmmmm…’ Anyway, we obviously need a politician on stage saying- ‘Truth will prevail. The unjust will be punished… etc.’ One could have just rewound and replayed all their campaign speeches.

We probably hailed the gods a gazillion times as the itinerary of the evening had to have fill-ups. The fill-ups were undoubtedly getting the audience hands up and letting out religious roars.

The moment that we had all been waiting for finally arrived. Combustion time. As Rama and Lakshmana strode through the aisle towards the to-be-burnt Ravana, we had our hand up again. Religious roar number gazillion+one. It was lit and a string of fire crackers blew off. The children screeched in delight. But. Post the singular string of a couple of fireworks the plan of the whole Ravana setting ablaze flopped. Ravana was still upright and alive with fluorescent red lights for eyes. I’d love to say it was an epic fail, literally. Pyro-technological error.

Solution: just poke the thing with a fire stick. Kaboom.

End of story.

There was a lot more I wanted to say but I’m so sleepy that the words are now doing a jalsa in my brain. It was an eventful evening with tears of laughter streaming down our faces. We haven’t laughed this much in a while. It felt good.

Will we go for it next year? Always.

Myriad Miens

2011-10-01T03:43:00.000-07:00

An obsession with alliterations.

Stained coffee mugs that echo foregone conversations.

Scratched tables that have felt a number of hands.

Of evenings spent singing old songs.

An inbox filled with years of messages.

Monochromatic photographs.

Creaking of steps over a barren wooden stage.

Of red curtains and green rooms.

A Chinese whisper in a boring class.

Washed hair and cool breeze.

Fog sheeted dawns and dew washed foliage.

Long walks taken singularly with ear phones.

Warm hugs on cold days.

Scent of old books and rained earth.

Of nights spent under the stars.

Fresh paint on clean sheets.

The comfort of re-watching movies.

Washed clothes and shrunken sweaters.

Pink skies and orange clouds.

Strummed guitars and beaten buckets.

A hot cup of tea brewing in the kitchen.

The sting of pain balms and ice packs.

Pawed love and human wrath.

Long telephone gossips and laughter.

A blue wardrobe with grey t shirts.

Nail biting last over matches.

Yellowed newspaper cuttings of heartthrobs.

Lives locked up in cartons rediscovered on cleaning.

Of midnight wishes and growing older.

Family feasts beyond illuminated walls.

The loss of vivid imagination to morbid rationalisation.

Of plans to travel and conquer the world.

A soft board pinned with memories.

Now, I want to go live a few of my dreams.

Monotonous Monologues

2011-09-29T01:15:00.000-07:00

An old man rests on a parapet. He swings his legs on either side of the freshly built wall and places his meal in between. He chews it slowly while gazing below at a mother and a child standing under a yellow street lamp. Its twilight. The lines on his face suggest years of toil and hardship. But for now, there is certain serenity that embraces his aura. A good days work. Remembrances of childhood maternal affection. A mother's hug. His calmness is infectious. I don't know him. Still.

It has been infernal, weather wise. So much for hallucinating a forthcoming winter.

Beckett and Kesey are eating my days and nights away.

The festive spirit is here, once again. Nine days of loud music, sumptuous food, vibrant attires, social meetings, energetic dances and so on. Am I kicked about it? Certain sins are attractive but I seek inner peace.

Dreams are a reflection of one's subconscious. That part of the iceberg which is just hidden below the surface of the sea. If so, I need help. If Freud were to analyse my dreams he would have given up Psychoanalysis and taken up a more innocuous profession like brushing a crocodile's teeth. (So said a friend a long time back) What does dreaming in black and white mean?

Over the past few days songs, photographs and certain aromas and hues have taken me back to distant memories. Does it mean I am living in the past like my today's horoscope says? I'd rather see it as a foresight. Ironical I know, but I think it means I am about to have a eureka moment that'll lead to the creation of the most sought after machine of all times- The Time Machine. The ability to travel across temporal dimensions. The ability to go into the future is under construction, however. Nevertheless, it does not mean that once you go back into the past you cannot return to the present. Wait a minute! If the voyage to the future is under construction, then for the past the present will be a future instance, meaning I mean (another past reference of an English teacher who spurted 'meaning I mean' a good 70 times in an hour's class with obviously no context of reference) one might get stuck into the past then...

I solely blame One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest for my current mental stimulation.

Dusk Tales

2011-09-19T06:19:00.000-07:00

As I hang the freshly washed, damp clothes to dry, something about the evening takes me back to the lush green grounds on which stood a stage and a few lights- rehearsals of annual functions. The hustle-bustle backstage in a curtain-created green room. The long lines for abhorrent hideous make-up that turned everybody's lips a luscious blood red, sex irrespective. The multi-tasking teachers who would pin up costumes to prevent faux pas, do head counts of cast, yell at mischief mongers with third eye vision, gossip with colleagues about other colleagues etc. The last minute stage back-drop disaster management. The munching of dry noodles, chips, gulping of sneaked in bottles of cold-drinks; yes, for many souls it was a picnic, much to the distress of teachers. The constant shushing. The several rounds of truth-dare and dumb-charades while the torturous speeches continued endlessly. All this is sorely missed and more.

The sun sets with a whiff of forthcoming winter. Certain smells always linger and take one to a distant memory; a memory that cannot be relived but felt with a similar intensity. Actually, its not just the olfactory sense that is capable of such feats; there are many things that can rekindle remembrances. The brain is an intriguing organ.

Vivid Vivacious Visceral Visions

2011-09-15T23:32:00.000-07:00

Dreams.

(inspired by P. G. W.) I mean it is from him that one learns to complicate the utter simplicities of life. It is delectable on some grounds but not on many others. God bless technological savants who produced the digital dictionary. If I were to hold the Oxford in one hand and the P.G.W. omnibus on the other, and make references every two minutes, I would have either made six-packs by now or had a hernia operation. The latter more likely, of course.

Living next to a kachchi basti has its own consequences. It has been there as long as I can remember, only it has grown topographically from its utter kacha-ness to concrete pakka-ness. We are witness to many events periodically- long-drawn filmi jagrans, flamboyant weddings, high-decibel verbal spats, Amitabh Bachchan-put-to-shame fight sequences etc. Whoever made 'boom', 'pow', 'dishoom' sounds while fighting! Films teach us wrong. Utter wrong. Blood does not ooze like a holi-water-balloon, for one.

Sea of Poppies has been a delight so far. Although I can't help but wonder how a foreigner would read it. It is so complete with local lingo and subsumed in the Indian Social Structure that I think someone not from India will conjure a very different interpretation of the book. But I guess it'll be beautiful in its own way.

The weather has been as unpredictable as the Indian Cricket Team. I have been getting bowled out by the googlies of the clouds; dismissed by run-outs as I run between creases trying to save the clothes from getting wet on arrant false alarms.

Since morning I have heard 'Find My Way' by the Gabe Dixon Band 7 times. I am now delusional. I retire.

...

2011-09-15T23:12:00.000-07:00

Fast-tedious-ness of it all.

2011-09-11T23:09:00.000-07:00

I know we are all sick and tired of it but I do need to vent it out.

1. Anna fasts (after house-arrest/location controversy/time-period issues etc.)

2. People write (like they do about most things- in extremes)

3. Camera men shift focuses between an ever-increasing crowd and the figure on the pedestal.

4. Inter-State coverage of a 'freedom-like movement'.

5. Same panellists. Same comments. Same debates. Same critiques. Different channels. Different garbs. Different hosts. In the capital.

6. So called nukad natak performances/ celebrity appearances and reappearances.

7. The re-emergence of the Topi. The re-definition of fashion.

8. The weather report succumbs to the Doctor report.

9. Opposition parties get a free agenda to throw mud at the Centre.

10. So how many supporting Anna have actually read his bill?

11. Anna is Gandhi?

Well, more than anything else I am tired of the assumption that if one isn't supporting him, one is propagating corruption. Anti-corruption is, has and can only be Pro-Anna. Fail.

Why this sudden outburst? Credit goes to today's newspaper report that states that Anna will tour the country and answer those opposed to the Jan Lokpal Bill and not give up till the government passes the bill. "If required, I will again start an agitation again, if not from Jantar Mantar or Ramlila Maidan, then from some other place in Delhi," he said.

Are we ready for another round of mayhem? Is holding the government at ransom a picture of democracy? Many might not support me but I do not stand by this means of achieving an end that we aren't even sure of. At least I are sure that it isn't going to erase corruption the way we erased bad test scores from the face of the Earth while we were in school. Aren't we heading towards a parallel government? Is there a guarantee that the Lokpal won't be corrupt in the future? Aren't you scared that you might have to deal with two corrupt bodies, only one more powerful than the other? Time will tell which would bypass the other in terms of power.

Fasting is not a solution to problems, for otherwise the whole country can start starving until death to achieve ends. Anna is not Gandhi and , yes nobody can be Anna, so we can drop the 'I am Anna' slogan.

I don't wish to call this a 'people's victory'. It is Anna's victory. He got his candy bar. Or at least got the government to ponder over the provision of his candy bar.

We live in a country where The Butterfly Effect is best seen; actually better still, cause we needn't go to other side of the world to see the blizzard. One flutter in the capital and the nation has a storm. I don't mean to say we are a bunch of idiots but its true that it doesn't take much to gather a crowd. We are a bhed-chaal republic.

I believe in civil society. I am a part of it. We all are. Civil society does not mean being anti-government. Really. (Note- I am not vouching for a cabinet position by making this statement)

I have my own grudges against politicians/ redundant policies/ criteria of election candidacy etc. But I wish to have a more civil-intelligent-educated approach to dealing with the issues at hand. I seek an aversion from the immediacy to tread towards extremities. Strengthen democracy by working with it and not against it.

Enough for now. I am going to go and attempt fasting until death till I get to act with Naseerudin Shah on stage. Harming democracy? Hardly.

Turn a New Leaf

2011-09-09T01:30:00.000-07:00

I finally overcame my sloth sin and changed the look of my blog. In many ways turned a new leaf, literally. I always found it tedious to go searching for an appropriate blog theme/layout. I'd hunt for eons, pick one 'perfect', 'beautiful' theme/layout/template (I am tired of the synonyms) only to find the download erroneous.

Well, little did I know blogger itself had set aside a provision to give your blog a make-over; mix and match as one wished. What a discovery. I spent quite a while setting the 'new-look'. It might be a redundant discovery, that which I have made, but I still feel proud of myself and hence shall gloat for a few minutes. (smile of satisfaction)

Anyone looking at my blog might think I have become Captain Planet, out to save the world from toxins and other hazardous substances generated by the vulgar licentious souls amongst us. Paint the city green, in other words. Honest confession: I have always wanted to sneak out in the dark and have a world-saving moment. Not to get published in the next day's front page, like Superman (aka- Clark Kent- how easy to click one's own pictures and get them glossily printed), but still.

Lethargy prevails after all this toil. The standard Tamil expression fits best here- 'Pah!'.

More later.

I am still biting my nails, but Thank You all.

2011-09-05T01:50:00.000-07:00

Those schoolgirl days, of telling tales and biting nails are gone,
But in my mind,
I know they will still live on and on,
But how do you thank someone, who has taken you from crayons to perfume?

It isn't easy, but I'll try,
If you wanted the sky I would write across the sky in letters,
That would soar a thousand feet high,
To Sir, with Love

The time has come,
For closing books and long last looks must end,
And as I leave,
I know that I am leaving my best friend,
A friend who taught me right from wrong,
And weak from strong,
That's a lot to learn,
What, what can I give you in return?

If you wanted the moon I would try to make a start,
But I, would rather you let me give my heart,
To Sir, with Love

Every Teachers Day I wake up with this poem in my head and remember all the kind souls who put up with a brat like me as a student. I have grown to love you and respect you more. Thank you.

Oh the juvenile excitement fails to die out.

2011-09-03T00:18:00.000-07:00

Yesterday my brother brought home the School Magazine. A book that compiles the year's activities in words and pictures. Since he's in the same school as I was, it brings back memories. The book does feel different now. It has shinier pages. Rather all the pages are shiny now compared to the earlier versions that I used to get. Swank.

I remember waiting to get the year's magazine every year, flip through the shininess to find out if I was smiling out of the pages. It was an honour to be on the magazine. More honourable if you were smiling out of it more than once. Well, one would expect the excitement to die down. Mature to know that the school magazine days are over. The real life isn't about shiny pages and is definitely not picture-perfect. Epic Fail statement.

This year's magazine had an old picture of mine. My heart was alight. I felt the same excitement I used to feel when I was 11. It hasn't died down and I guess it never will. Some things never change.

So be it.

Untitled

2011-07-12T01:45:00.000-07:00

Well, I have had what you call a writer’s block for a long time now. A disease better known as laziness- for the common licentious soul wishes to sound profound at whatever it does. I have read many blogs during my sabbatical and come to the conclusion that people write just about anything under the sun- well, some say that’s how it should be. Valid.

Now, for some news on my front- I am at a crucial stage of my life- in Bollywood cinemas it is the path-breaking moment of every hero’s life. The point from where his saga of greatness starts, mostly. It is called Berozgaari (unemployed). Since the cinemas fill us with such optimism I refuse to feel let down by the fact that I am still salary-less. I shall await my heroic moment with patience. That day shall come. Sometime. Soon I hope. Period.

Like I said I have seen people write about anything they feel like with strange titles that I am yet to fathom. Math and integration seemed simpler. Not that I was ever good at it, but still no harm in praising oneself about something one will never indulge in for the rest of her life, sincerely hoping so. (my heart goes out to my younger brother)

Its going to be two months since I bid farewell to a place that took away a part of my soul for keepsake. 355, third floor, IV wing. I remember writing a post as soon as I had joined the place; complaining about how it was full of opinionated people who were intimidating from the word go. Hmmm, can’t believe I am saying this but I think I miss being intimidated upon. There was something in that air that you loved to breathe it (no, I am not referring to the non-polluted purity of oxygen). I miss the canteen, for obvious reasons of being a glutton. The cheap food. The cheap talk over the cheap food. Oh the sheer cheap-ness altogether. I met eleven heads there that put together with mine were close to the most explosive material ever made. We made noise, a hell lot. We laughed, heads off. We cried. We argued. We did everything that a Malory Towers book described. We put the Addams family to shame with our wackiness.

I had certain topics in my head that I thought I’d write about:

1. Ghulam Ji’s (in)famous comments.

2. Delhi Police’s claim of Delhi as a ‘safe’ city.

3. My brilliant driving lessons.

4. The new ice-cream flavor in my life.

Etc.

But now that I have a gush of memories flowing in my head I shall try and pen them down. What are the memories about?--- Koyna Hostel Life and my Phamily.

I am a list-making person, hence if you put your head through the pensieve you’ll get a description of my memories in points.

1. One thing I miss terribly is getting up to see a horde of love messages on my phone—‘Meera darling, my love, wake me up at 8:00. I have a class at 9:00 that I must attend. Thanks so much sweetie. Big hug and kiss.’

‘Eeyore love wake me up at 11:00. I have to go to CP to meet…… Love you. Slap on your forehead.’

You get the picture. I miss my mornings running from room to room waking people up- some gently with love, some-I wish I had a bazooka in my hand. I miss being the human alarm.

2. I miss my ever-green breakfast of bread and butter with my breakfast partners (one was constant but some others gave guest-appearances if I had succeeded in waking them up). And yes, when I say ever-green I do mean it literally as well; for there were days when we had colourful bread- patches of green, pink and blue. It was wonder bread.

3. I miss my marathon to classes with my ghetto. I miss sitting in class and looking at blank faces, sleepy faces, faces that winked at you out of sheer boredom or at the crack of a shady inside-joke. I miss raising my hand and questioning or arguing in class.

4. Jaundice kadi, Koyna lawns-paneer, Toxic bengan… obviously these aren’t things I miss eating, but I do miss talking about them. I miss sitting in the mess for hours supervising people’s eating; forbidding them from playing with their food or wasting food, on most occasions. Let me be clear that my services were restricted to my Addams family and that not everyone was party to my pravachans.

5. I miss being a floor doctor. There weren’t any fatal mishaps so I think I managed well.

6. Now that I just gave a banana to my grandma I realized that I miss my Tuesday banana breakfast. Its another thing that when I packed 5-6 bananas the mess-wala thought I was a total nut. Clarification: they weren’t for my consumption. I had several sleepy mouths to feed.

7. I miss washing clothes with music my ears and loud across-the-wall talks with my fellow dhobi-ghat members. We did curse the winters- it was unbearable to wash clothes then. The water would prick the hands and post rigourous scrubbing they would be white and pink. Fair and Lovely users if you wish to have a fair face I have a cheaper full-proof method- please keep face submerged in the tap’s water in December/January for half an hour. Guaranteed fairness with pink blushes.

8. I miss tea-parties- the consumption of hot tea with high-calorie munchies over gossip and general non-sense.

9. I miss the outlandish activities of the ‘Twelve Mindless Women’ which includes the outrageous shopping sprees, the movie madness, the late night maggies, the super-late night ‘disturbing content’ talks, the dramatization of scenes and songs from the time-less Bollywood mobhies, the in-the-middle-of-the-road choreographed dance sessions, the PSR antaksharis. Etc. The utter filmi-ness of our life.

10. I miss the bus rides, the auto rides (which includes the fight sequences with the auto-wallahs), the walks… actually every form of transportation we used; for we made a joke out of everything.

11. I miss our family dinners. The prolonged eating-talking-laughing till the mess workers shooed us away with their horrendous weapons (brooms which you might think are harmless but I dare not say what all they swept).

12. I miss being ragged- Boo, Autistic Octopus, Eeyore, Grandma… Some of my several avatars.

For my 11- I miss being a 4 year old with you. I miss being an 80 year old with you. I miss you. I love you.

P.S- I am going to keep the post untitled. Meaning I mean, I can’t think of an appropriate title.

People Who Matter.

2011-06-22T05:28:00.000-07:00

1. My foot-in-mouth disorder sufferer.

2. My peptic ulcer.

3. My tigger.

4. My breakfast partner.

5. My chocolate-loving-non-brushing root canal.

6. My awesome cook.

7. My no-nonsense taking loud mouth.

8. My sleepy sinner.

9. My jaani who I'll marry after age 25.

10. My grass eating goat.

11. My penguin.

12. My GRA of GRAM.

13. My khotya.

14. My son who sings 'Mother Meera comes to me'

15. My daughter-in-law.

16. My Julie mother.

17. My jaaneman.

18. My bucketopolaidis.

19. My 1st class best friend.

20. My bilingual disorder sufferer.

21. My Mandan Muthappa.

Harry Belafonte, I Love You

2011-04-02T19:30:00.000-07:00

Well, it started in Vienna not so many years ago
When not enough folks were getting sick
A starving young physician tried to better his position
By discovering what made his patients tick
He forgot about sterosis and invented the psychosis
And a hundred ways that sex could be enjoyed
He adopted as his credo "down repression of libido!"
And that was the start of Doctor Sigmund Freud

Well, Doctor Freud, oh Doctor Freud
How we wish you had been differently employed
But the set of circumstances
Still enhances the finances
of the followers of Doctor Sigmund Freud

Well, he analyzed the dreams of the teens and libertines
Substituted monologue for pills
He drew crowds just like Will Sadler
When along came Jung and Adler
And they said by God, there's gold in them there ills!
They encountered no resistance
When they served as Freud's assistants
As with ego and with id they deftly toyed
But instead of toting bedpans
They wore analytic deadpans
Those ambitious doctors Adler, Jung and Freud!

Well, Doctor Freud, oh Doctor Freud
How we wish you had been differently employed
But the set of circumstances
Still enhances the finances
of the followers of Doctor Sigmund Freud

Now the big three have departed
But not so the code the started
No, it's being carried on by a goodly band
And to trauma shock and force us
Someone's gone and added Rorschach
And the whole thing's got completely out of hand!
So old boys with double chinsies
And a thousand would-be Kinseys
They discuss it at the drop of a repression
And I wouldn't be complaining
But for all the loot I'm paying
Just to lie on someone's couch and say confession!

Well, Doctor Freud, oh Doctor Freud
How we wish you had been differently employed
But the set of circumstances
Still enhances the finances
of the followers of Doctor Sigmund Freud

I

2011-03-26T18:40:00.000-07:00

I am an actor.

Happy World Theatre Day.

...

2011-03-16T21:16:00.000-07:00

Some days one just wishes to RIP.

Too bad those days are becoming oftener.

The Seven Rapid Conquerers

2011-03-10T20:28:00.000-08:00

Japter 1- The Plan

Hmmm, on your marks, get, set, WAIT. ‘Where did we say we were going?’ Twelve heads don’t always function in congruence. Actually they never function in congruence; one of the many reasons that the dream trip we kept planning met its RIP at the conception stage itself.

With three babies off to the sweet land, one immersed in books and a reluctant one the secret seven set off to partly fulfill the mission. Of course it pained to be reduced in numbers but then sometimes things just don’t go the way we want them to.

Jaipur/ Dharamshala/ Agra/ Rishikesh- tippy tippy top which city do you want?! (I am amazed we actually came up with plans to each place like professional travel agents) Google be the hero, mostly. J

Not to bore you with details- dreadlocks (Rishikesh= hair of a rishi) prevailed!

Japter 2- ‘Bus lelo bus!’

I am not kidding. ISBT Kashmeri Gate is one place where tickets to buses are sold like veggies in a market. I won’t be surprised if they come up with an ‘Ek ke saath ek free’ offer! I don’t remember seeing so many buses ever. After getting lost, playing ring-a-ring-a-roses we saw our dream bus calling us- ‘Rishikesh Rishikesh’

Yes, we were now on a bus. Packed. Excited. The trip was finally happening. I think even before we sat down we started eating. Gluttons we be forever.

Seven hours of a rickety ride, which included talking, laughing, periodic shushing at the realization of humanity around, eating, absolute nonsense situation analyses and bouts of sleep, took us to arms of our Heidi-fantasy. – Mountains. Shimmering water. Blue Sky.

Japter 3- Dine and Dance

As fancy as it sounds, let me burst the bubble- dine= a huge loaf of bakery bread with cheese spread that we generously spread and dance= un-coordinated motion of limbs to old shady Hindi songs.

Seven people in a four bedroom suite can bring the roof down literally. Sleep brought dreams of ‘rapidly’ (thanks to Nabesh’s geography skills) paddling over the white sparkly water.

Well, there isn’t much to this chapter, so let’s proceed to the one that has the defining moment.

Japter 4- Bisht is the Best

‘Who all are coming?’

‘Seven girls.’

‘Oooh. Age-group?’

‘Early twenties’

‘Ahaaaa. Please wear shorts and come. No sarees and salwars.’

‘’

Obviously we started off by thinking that he belonged to a please-expose-legs-for-us-to-see category of men. Braving it, we marched forward after having breakfast in yes, our shorts.

The journey from the motel to the Bisht office was out of a ‘trip to the alps’-guidebook. Motorized Heidis running down the hills we clicked every turn and rock. Our dream was closer to accomplishment. The excitement sky rocketed when we saw our beautiful orange raft waiting for us.

I must admit here that Mr. Bisht did turn a few spirits wary with his like-you-know-who’s hmmms.

‘Have you girls rafted before?’

‘No.’

‘Hmmm. Know swimming?’

‘Hmmm.’

‘Has anybody fallen off the raft while paddling?’

‘Hmmm.’

‘Has anybody died while rafting?’

‘Hmmm.’

‘Ok, girls. Be careful. They’re your guides.’

Anyway, we went to the start point and forgot everything. The water was inches away from us and the mountains a few feet. We were in heaven. All padded we were ready for our battle. After preliminary instructions we sat put on edges, literally with our paddles.

‘Forward’

‘Stop’

‘Back’

Trust me it’s not as easy as it sounds.

Now I really can’t put our experience of crossing the rapids in words. It’s something everyone should feel. So, please go raft for yourself.

But what can be written about is our jumping into the cold Ganges, swimming , floating into eternity (special reference to Tuki), bumping into each other, tangling of ropes (Nabesh, Kazoo, Radhoo) and rescue missions (Mufasa and Fra).

Excerpts from the water conversations:

‘Where’s Radhoo?’

‘Under the raft.’

‘Chaudhary I am coming.’ (paddle paddle paddle!)

‘I want to stop drifting.’

‘I want to be near the boat.’

‘Who’s leg was that?’

‘Who’s that blue helmet bobbing?’

Everyone did finally get into the boat. Goal achieved.

Next on the agenda was cliff jumping to which initially only one consented but later pulled two more brave souls. 22 feet of free fall into the water- I won’t say more.

Drenched, dirty, exhausted we emerged victorious after two and a half hours. Pulled our raft up on shore and refueled with a banta each.

Japter 5- The Return of the Gluttons and Shopaholics

Bathing in glory the stomachs rumbled. Famished we were. After changing we walked to a nice restaurant to satiate ourselves. Boy, did we eat? No we hogged.

Our food stories don’t end with a meal. We are futuristic people. Bakery being everyone’s weakness it was obvious we’d buy everything he had. Apple cake+ banana cake+ chocolate cake.

‘One piece each?’

‘Nahi Bhaiya. Poora pack kar do.’

Loaded with tuck we drowned in the hippie-ness that surrounded us. Each bought a souvenir to commemorate our historic trip.

Japter 6- Jhula + The End

Ram, Lakshman and Ravana (soon Sita as well I assume) have jhulas named after them. It’s quite similar to the roads that are named after politicians. We saw all three and treaded over the two brothers. The water was at its shimmer-best with the sun setting, giving all its light to the water to absorb.

While two of us were blessed by the goo(d) others found peace in the distant humming of bhajans.

After climbing a 50 something stairs to get to the road for a tempo, we sat and left for the last stop- the bus stand. However, our adventures never end the expected way. On our way we passed by a bus whose driver yelled ‘Dilli Dilli’. That’s it. Tempo stop. Fly. Miraculously hop into the bus.

The journey back had its own adventure stories that we’d rather keep etched in cognitive history.

JNU

2010-09-20T22:38:00.000-07:00

The Don'ts of Life

2010-07-03T21:19:00.000-07:00

A list of Don'ts we've all heard most of our lives:

1. Don't talk to strangers.

2. Don't sleep until late.

3. Don't stay up till late.

4. Don't watch too much TV.

5. Don't sit so close to the TV.

6. Don't read in dim light.

7. Don't read so many novels when you have text books to read.

8. Don't talk over the phone for so long.

9. Don't listen to music for long.

10. Don't call that music.

11. Don't sit in front of the computer/laptops for long.

12. Don't keep those ear phones on all the time.

13. Don't fiddle with the remote.

14. Don't talk loudly.

15. Don't slouch.

I am bored now and I so sure so are you.

Pitter Patter

2010-07-02T22:58:00.000-07:00

RAIN! :) What an absolute delight to the desert soul. And no place like Kerala to experience it. Though I am in a place that receives least rainfall in the monsoons it seems indisputably heavenly. After a really really long time I have been under a sky that has poured its heart out.

The scent of the wet earthen surface, the sight of bright shiny green leaves, the sound of pitter-patter at different pitches and the feel of cold droplets assures you this is what one calls a paradise experience.

Of course its the weather for a cozy bed, your favourite book and a hot cuppa of chai/soup, but today I refused to be in bed. Instead I spent the whole evening sitting in the veranda listening to the rain. Here are my recording of the sounds I heard. They all sound so different.

1. croaking of frogs.

2. droplets falling on big leaves.

3. droplets falling on small leaves.

4. droplets falling on dry leaves.

5. droplets falling on new leaves.

6. droplets falling on the parapet.

7. droplets falling on the soil.

8. droplets falling on the car.

9. droplets falling on my hand.

10. actually, droplets falling on everything.

I listened to the music it made. The most refreshing and peaceful ode.

Rain, I love you. You remind me of the days I've laughed till I cried and of days I've cried till someone made me laugh, days I missed someone, days I spent getting wet and throwing water on everyone passing by till I got scolded and dragged in, days I got stuck in water knee deep... You make me live life again and give me hope for a joyous tomorrow. You wash me for a fresh day, an unsullied start, a new me.

Calvin, you're my other love.

TV Realism, Really?

2010-06-10T01:21:00.000-07:00

A recent article in a daily provoked me to write on the new-genre absorbing TV serials that seemed to have taken the dinner table to the TV room. No longer do the stories narrate the saas-bahu soapiness that appeared a decade ago. So they say. Who? Well the producers, the writers and of course the viewers.

I for one have been against any form of these serials cause no matter what garb they wear they turn out to be the same formula serials- beautiful girl+handsome boy+suppressive parents+family feuds+disgusting love stories+aging complaining grand parents+generations and generations of repetition. One would think that I see all these serials to know their catchy stories but nah all I have to do is talk to my seven year old neighbor or watch a few commercial breaks.

A few days back I was taking to the same seven year old neighbor who now lives in Delhi but comes every summer break to visit her grandparents. I found her wearing spectacles this time. I joked and asked her if she was studying too much. Well as blunt as kids can be her prompt reply was, ‘No I’ve been watching a lot of TV.’ According to her she watches cartoons up till five of clock in the evening and all her mom’s serials after eight. When asked why she watches them she goes- ‘dinner wahin hota hai.’ (Dinner is in front of the TV.)

TV seems to be an inevitable part of daily life. Unfortunately rather than becoming a means of connecting people and spreading awareness it is just justifying its age old status of an idiot box. If the TV was on twitter I wonder what its status messages would be!

The article I read lashed out on the ‘we are addressing social issues to create awareness’ serials like Balika Vadhu and others which I haven’t heard of. Looks like the silver screen is producing at thrice the rate the big screen is. Not that the big screen is coming out with magnificent stuff all the time. Though these serials start out with the hope of addressing social evils like eve-teasing, child marriage, domestic violence, girl child education, female infanticide etc they turn paths and start running on the same old track of the above given formula. I was shocked to read that the serial addressing eve-teasing had actually got the girl who is supposed to be the ‘stand up against eve-teasing role model’ married to the eve-teaser! And they have been nominated for some best Jodi award! Moral of the story- go get married to your eve-teaser. But which one? Well I am sure the next serial will address this issue too- ‘how to chose from your eve-teasers.’ The story-line of these serials is appalling and what shocks me most is that the TRPs seem to be increasing with the number of love stories and twists in the serial. The writers claim that they only write what the viewers want. If this is what the viewers wish for I am going to start having nightmares.

Balika Vadhu apparently now shows the married children living happily ever after which has led to reactions like- ‘an early marriage helps in better adjustment’ from well educated men and women. I think an early marriage leads to killing of choice and reconciliation with the situation. Being young you can’t even voice your opinions. Is this the kind of adjustment we are trying to achieve- a passive no-other-way-out one!

Another thing that I find ironical in these ‘realistic’ serials is the costume. I am yet to see a woman sleep in an absolute bling, shiny saree with pokey things and abundant jewels. Not even multi-millionaires sleep in such attire. Its humanly uncomfortable!

I think I am just so sick of these serials I don’t even know what else to write. The cons I can write about them are endless and the pros, well, let’s just say they are RIP.

First Post

2010-02-26T21:11:00.000-08:00

Only after posting that did I realise that it is my first one in the year 2010. What a positive note to start with. :)

Wording My Life

2010-02-26T21:01:00.000-08:00

1. Chai
2. Xeroxs
3. Readers
4. Notes
5. Exams
6. Term papers
7. More chai
8. Potatoes
9. JKJ rehearsals
10. Pimples
11. Insomnia
12. Crosswords
13. Washing

Thirteen words that'll be on every page of my autobiography if its written now.

Argh

2009-12-30T08:13:00.000-08:00

a few describe it as the worst human sentiment
it blinds people to facts
everything around seems wrong
friends become enemies
family becomes a prison
the mind closes to all possibilities
language turns sour
existence seems unbearable
one rants to the other
while the other bears it not knowing where to go
if it reaches an obscene level the rants pass on
and on
and on
and consumes everyone
bitterness fills the veins and flows to every part
every organ emanates negativity
the head hurts with the bad blood
hunger disappears
the body becomes stiff
almost brittle
on the verge of breaking and shattering into several pieces
its wrong to term it anger
its a gamut of emotions
hatred
unhappiness
it turns the human into a vicious being
uncontrollable
a being that one dreads
but one that unconsciously resides in every soul
waiting to break out
and devastate everything
till all that is left is guilt
and a lot of hurt people

these are things that everyone knows but then this is my rant.

..

2009-11-10T05:41:00.000-08:00

Darkness pervades all corners around

Mist shadows the foliage beneath

Emerges from it a sense of purity

The birth of dew stings the nose

A freshness never smelt before

A ray emerges

Setting a low fire to the black sky

Spreading its warmth and radiance

The mist ages off

The dew washes away the remnants of yesterday

A new day begins

2009-11-10T05:36:00.000-08:00

Contours change.

Colours change.

Facets change.

What remains is the black shadow.

Black as ever.

Sharp as ever.

Haunting.

Powerful.

Defining.

Me.

Eh+Blah+Huh= Life

2009-10-03T22:22:00.001-07:00

its been a while since i wrote something and i fear i've forgotten how to. these past few months have been maddening in a lot of ways. i was standing at crossroads every few days making decisions that would change my future. it hasn't been all pleasant. well, it never is. there are times when you feel that you should have taken the other road or rather gone to a totally different country and tried new roads! i have also learnt that all roads aren't smooth. they all have there own manholes and bumps at differing frequencies. it all depends on when you encounter them. profound point being don't be jealous of the other for happy times await you and well there are manholes awaiting the rest. :) [apologies to the 'rest'- no offense meant]
new places always thrill me. this one did too and still amuses me with its randomness. its full of people with opinions- some i agree with and some that i condemn altogether. it is full of people professing large things when small things need attention. its full of people who are so sure of themselves that at times it leaves you intimidated. its full of people wanting to achieve greater heights. (i fear falling hence, i shall not even attempt such dangerous desires)
now that i don't know what to write i'm going to religiously cut copy and paste the lyrics of the song i'm listening to. it actually states my condition well.

Put your faith in what you most believe in
Two worlds, one family
Trust your heart
Let fate decide
To guide these lives we see

A paradise untouched by man
Within this world blessed with love
A simple life, they live in peace

Softly tread the sand below your feet now
Two worlds, one family
Trust your heart
Let fate decide
To guide these lives we see

Beneath the shelter of the trees
Only love can enter here
A simple life, they live in peace

Raise your head up
Lift high the load
Take strength from those that need you
Build high the walls
Build strong the beams
A new life is waiting
But dangers no stranger here

No words describe a mothers tears
No words can heal a broken heart
A dream is gone, but where theres hope

Somewhere something is calling for you
Two worlds, one family
Trust your heart
Let fate decide
To guide these lives we see

disclaimer: this post is a result of caffeine+insomnia+work

2009-07-19T08:44:00.000-07:00

"God created dinosaurs.
God destroyed dinosaurs.
God created man.
Man destroyed God.
Man created dinosaurs."

- Jeff Goldblum in the Jurrasic Park

The Time of My Life.

2009-07-03T20:34:00.000-07:00

Black out

(Slow) Fade in

The warmth of the light brightens your face before a packed hall

The air in your lungs gets caught and refuses to burst out

The simultaneous intake of breath (in alarm) of the audience sends a chill down your spine

Eyes closed- you slowly exhale the first word

Your voice fills the air

Its what they all breathe

You provide it

Eyes re-open to see an ocean of black

A black that rejuvenates you

You walk across the stage and feel the world at your feet

The moment that you'd been waiting for for months is before you

The next few hours pass like seconds for its a time you control

A time that people will remember for you, as you and because of you

You turn deaf all of a sudden

For the applause fills the air

It sweetens the air you inhale

Standing in the centre you feel a void

The ocean before you recedes

The hall is empty again

Awaiting another you

Another time

Another word

Another applause

Black out

Proceed at own peril

2009-06-22T01:54:00.000-07:00

i've been meaning to write for a long time but then i was in one of those lazy-bleh-aahh moods. i figured that rather than writing a post of my own i started writing blog-post length comments on other's. heights, i say!

these holidays have seemed longer than they ought to be. it is now that i realise the need for a routine in life. having a purpose can make the days seem short. recently, i also figured that i've become extremely critical. i guess its a result of idleness. though i have appreciated what people are doing and have done i seem to be waiting to find faults. not like i'm faultless. the Freudian interpretation would be that i'm using a defence mechanism to shield myself. an escapist! not exactly what i'd like to call my self.

contemplating has been one of my major preoccupations. its been a month since i visited the dargah in ajmer. the trip was courtesy a relative who'd been wanting to go there and dorn a carpet. well, since we were anyway going there we decided to go to pushkar too. it was amazing to see the differences and the similarities between the two religions that have always professed to be entirely different from each other.

the dargah was packed with pilgrims. squeezing in through the door way, touching the holy carpet and squeezing out was an experience in itself. one could see people from all social, cultural and economic backgrounds under one roof. one could hear the echos of the diversity in language our country boasts about. similar to hindu mythology islam too proclaims the achievement of moksha- i.e an abode to heaven through charity and goodness. like hinduism it believes in feeding the poor and down-trodden. the pradakshina path is present in both but the difference lies in the direction one takes. though i've mentioned only a fraction of the things that were similar one can only visit the two places to sense it in full measure. writing about it makes me feel like a fraud intellectual trying to trivialise the whole concept of religion which is one of the most controversial and essential institutions in our country.

pushkar was a more silent affair. i guess thats because we went there when the sun was just above our heads. jumping over the hot marble we reached the shrine that's been built for brahma. the only shrine in the world dedicated to the creator. apparently for some yagna he was expected to sit with his wife. saraswati's unavailability forced him to marry a woman from the district where the yagna was taking place. since the woman was from a lower caste she was purified by a cow and christened gayatri. saraswati was furious at this breach of trust and left in anger cursing brahma that no temple other than this would be built and that even in the built temple no worship would be conducted. the temple had a small window through which one could see the top of a mountain where a small temple for a saraswati has been built. she is beleived to have resided there and abandoned brahma. hindu mythology never fails to amuse one. there are infinite stories about gods and goddesses. what disappointed me about the place was its maintenance. the water level was lower than ever before and dirt in it was more than ever before.

though i walked on the turf of two of the most conflicting religions my feet burnt where the sun shone on the ground and felt the cool and damn earth where the trees provided shade- equally.

i apologise to the readers of this post. its probably the most ill-defined one. i think the heat's getting on my nerves.

My endless obsession with questions.

2009-05-20T00:44:00.000-07:00

Where is home?

There where the mind is at peace
or the heart beats at ease?

Where you dream freely and fearlessly
or enact them out with painless compassion?

Where you are questioned
or allowed to questioned all that is around?

Where the wind blows like a fierce storm
or breezes past with pleasant memories?

Where the rain pelts like stone
or dances to celebrate you?

Where the trees haunt and scare
or smile and embrace in their shade?

Where one's echo seems like another's
or answers one's deepest queries?

Where the sea rises to destroy
or tickles ones' feet and washes away all sorrows and disappointments?

Where the sun blazes overhead
or soothes one with eternal warmth?

In search of such a home we wander.

Aimless

Hopeful

Little realising that it might be where one is and not where one fantasises one to be.

The process of making the existing place home, is called life.

29 C

2009-05-07T03:51:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, while i was on my way to WCC in an attempt to set my future groundings i found that the girl sitting next to me on the bus was holding a form for Stella. my heart skipped a beat for reasons unknown.

should i ask her which course she's applied for?

should i tell her who her teachers are going to be?

should i tell her who her seniors are going to be?

should i tell her about the ice lollies?

should i tell her who her union members are going to be?

should i tell her about the butt slapping sister H2?
or the fire breathing sister H1?
or or the feeling up of sister C?

should i tell her who to go to in case of an attendance problem?

should i tell her about the watchmen and the ID card song?

should i tell her which clubs are active and fun and which aren't?

should i tell her what to eat and what not to eat at the canteen?

should i tell her about the mutant kakas and how to dodge them?

should i tell her about the secret passages to various rooms?

should i tell her about the oats?

should i tell her that she'd be addressed as a bouquet of flowers on her first day in college?

should i tell her about the third comps and assignments?

should i tell her about freshers day, inter-years, aquilae...?

should i tell her about CR?

should i tell her about P!!!????

should i tell her what she's in for for the next three glorious years of her life?

well this is what i did- i sat listening to "bitter-sweet symphony, that's life" with a grin on my face.

let her Stella years reveal themselves to her.

29C is going to show me the new faces of Stella, faces that will leave their mark after three years. may these faces bother the ones that bothered us, i bless them!

The Death of a Bubble

2009-05-02T06:33:00.000-07:00

Sometimes things that you dream about finally happen, and when they happen you feel a strange satisfaction- a bliss that cannot be worded. Thanks to Mrina, we finally had a trip to Yercaud. Though there were less than half of the people who had initially signed up for it enthusiastically (frauds!) we had one of the best times of our life.

The train was at 11:20, but Mrina, Radhoo and I were at the station at 10:30 sharp. :) I'm sure our grandmothers would have been most happy about our timing. Anyway, we dragged our luggage to the platform and sat on amazingly dusty benches, waiting for the rest of the janta to arrive.Unfortunately we had seats in different places on the train. The fan conveniently didn’t work and we had a woman next to us who slept with a blanket in the sultry heat and shut the window as soon as the train started moving (after an hour’s wait that is!). Insane!

Come morning, after a rickety ride, and we find that the train is even more delayed. The train domesticated at night for an hour! For what joy, I’m yet to find out. The blaring sun creeped in through the windows and tanned us. Sweating, fuming, sweating we reached Salem Town at 8:15. But, where is the Tavera???? Hmmm, apparently he was ten minutes away when he finally turned up at around 9:00.

TWENTY hair pin bends to Yercaud. Clove, thou shall be my best friend! The journey to the hill top was one of the most scenic road trips I’ve ever been on. Green Green green. Then some more Green with patches of red and white. The air was fragrant like never before. We were on our way to heaven.

Star Hotels Inc- a bright orange and bright yellow building awaited our arrival. What a disappointment! The rooms weren’t that bad but there was a certain someone whom we all wanted to KILL by the end of our stay. “Swimming pool especially for women!” What nonsense! The pool was an abysmally small depression in the ground that was visible to all (so much for a pool for women!). Water? Well, in Yercaud people apparently swim in waterless pools that have a layer of black filth sticking to their surfaces. Among other amenities was the Jolly Park. We probably had our most fun morning there. Swinging on the swing and see-sawing. (Bounce! Bounce! ) We felt like hyper 3 year olds. Who’s complaining! :P

Lunch was at a gorgeously English place- Lake Forest Hotel. Wooden tables, long stain glassed windows with trees all around us. Oh and there were really old English songs being played. What more could one ask for. :] after lunch, we tried asking the managers if they could house us for a day, but to our dismay they were booked for the entire weekend. We gallivanted looking for another accommodation. Operation- unsuccessful. We were stuck with Star hotel with cockroaches, frequent power cuts and NO SWIMMING POOL. (Emphasis on swimming pool is for Nandini who was most affected by it.)

Move on! We left for shevaroy temple, from where we took a slightly long detour to land up at our own point from where one could see the valley at its best with beautiful hills at the background for the most picturesque sight. Unfortunately only Anjana, Nandini and I made it to the spot. We sat their gazing at the unbelievably vast beauty for one and a half hours. The sight is still engraved in my memory. One could see the shadows of the clouds on the forest parting and merging- the green changing from a darker shade to a soothing yellow under the play of sunlight. Listening to music made the place prettier. The song echoed through the distant mountains. I didn’t need the I-pod anymore. I was in another world, a world I’m definitely going to miss.

The temple was in a cave unbelievably cooler than the vicinity. Two hundred and fifty years old, the local deity was dressed in a beautiful gown. There was an indescribable peace in there. Silence never seemed more pleasing.

Post temple visit we went to the lake for a boat ride. The boat ride was followed by an eating spree- peanuts and candy floss. Bubbles never fail to fascinate. We bought three bottles of soap solution and bubbled our way to the cottage to see SIVAJI for the umpteenth time. :P But before we could even see half an hour of the movie, the DVD player crashed! (Another reason to kill that someone.) Grrrrr.

Stomachs grumbled and dinner beckoned. Hotel Grand Palace, here we come! This was the most hilarious dinner encounter. If I don’t write it in a dialogue form, it would be unjust. Here goes:

Waiter: Madam, what kind of water would you like?

Lakshmi: Regular water room temperature.

Waiter: Ok, Madam.

Returns after a minute.

Waiter: Madam, would you like warm water or cold water?

Lakshmi: I said we’d like regular water ROOM temperature.

Waiter: Ok, madam.

Returns again.

Waiter: Madam, would you like mineral water?

Lakshmi: I SAID WE’D LIKE REGULAR WATER ROOM TEMPERATURE!

Waiter: yes, madam.

The MUCH-AWAITED water arrived. What a start! Food wasn’t bad. The only regret was that the caramel custard Lakshmi and Radhoo had been craving for since afternoon (since Lake Forest was not serving it) was unavailable here as well. Sigh, Yercaud seemed to have run out of Caramel Custard.

Day 2- had more adventure on the cards. It was a lazy start at ten in the morning. We went straight for lunch to Henrietta (Lake Forest) -yummy buffet with a slight mishap with the pulao. Nithya got to eat her vaithakozamb rice :] with stomachs bloated no one had the energy to site see in the heat. Destination- cottage no. 6 and Sivaji. I’ve never enjoyed the movie, but this time it was different. I understood the jokes and laughed at the appropriate moments. We rewound (or in Anjana’s words- back forwarded) scenes that made us topple. (e.g.- kaun hai? Boss hai da kennai!)

After the movie, the six of us (except Anjana) went for cycling. While I sat in the car, these exploratory girls were back in fifteen minutes complaining of leg pains! :D The rigorous exercise now called for some rejuvenation- key= molgai bhajjis+ cauliflower bhajjis+spicy chutney. Then we went to another temple and discovered yet another scenic spot. We sat and yapped and yapped and yapped. Monfort School was next-a beautiful school where we tried entering fraudulently by making claims of being ex-students. Sigh! We settled for snaps around the place. Dinner was a light affair. We decided to experiment with our Star Hotel kitchen which we’d been avoiding conveniently. Not bad at all. The dessert was the best. Mrina, Nithya and Nandini surprised Lakshmi and Radhoo by getting their craving- Caramel Custard-our belated birthday present to them. We wanted to end the day by watching a scary movie. But then the DVD player was snatched from us for ten minutes (now we shall redefine ten minutes. The player was taken from us at around 8:30 and it was returned at 12:00). During the period of wait we were glued to Splitsvilla, which I must say can be addictive. It was amusing to see how stupid people can be. :P No offence to Splitsvilla fans.

Nandini was bent upon seeing the horror movie. She sat up with Mrina and Radhoo while the rest of us snored. They watched 3/4^th of it and abandoned it for they saw no ghost at all.

Day 3- Wake up! Get out of the bathroom! Hurry! We have to leave by six thirty! On our way to Salem we reheard our favourite songs of the trip- where’s the party tonight (silambattam) and daddy mummy. I can’t believe it still rings in my head! Breakfast was a happy affair at a place called sangeetha. We reached the station way in advance. The bubble solution saved the day. We bubbled out time out. We filled the station with bubbles of all sizes amusing people around us and sang old old English songs. Joy!

The train was late again. We got into the jam packed chair car naive of the adventure that awaited us. We were accompanied by a monstrous family that ate at regular intervals of ten minutes spilling half of the things. By the end of the journey the train floor was strewn with tamarind rice, lemon rice and curd rice along with some fanta and coffee. A treat for the cockroaches. The sight of Chennai Central had never enthralled us more. The joy of getting out of the train cannot be explained. :] home sweet home!

The entire trip was like a bubble- beautiful and short lived. Like Radhoo worded- the death of a bubble. A death not to be mourned but to be rejoiced for life.

The Penguin Lunch

2009-04-17T02:59:00.001-07:00

If the play got postponed by two weeks, the penguin lunch followed the same fate and got postponed by a week. But today it HAPPENED! And here's an overview of the most fun lunch ever.

The tallest penguin informs everyone to be at the reception at one o clock. But, one of the penguins sits at the canteen and socialises while we wait! "What does she think of herself", says the tall one! Within a few minutes all four penguins congregate and leave for their battle ground. Venue changed to meet conveniences that cannot be disclosed publically. Theatre gods bless us as we see one our play comrade going in an ac car towards Casa Picolla- our battle ground! We get a lift to our destination.

Enter battle ground- we seat ourselves near a pillar. The tallest penguin and the penguin with wacky ideas sit together on one side and the youngest and the worried one (i dislike the incriminating title given but for convenience of comprehension sake I'm left with no choice) on the other.

The menu card arrives- we rip it open. Since it was my first visit to this place it took me some time to find the names of the dishes the connoisseurs were throwing around. While doing so we swerve away from the intention and start blabbering about other equally important issues of life. D eyes around to see familiar faces.

The waiter comes and listens to our incomprehensible chorus of names of dishes. We give up on his inability to understand us and ask him to come later.

D- "Can I have some water please?"- she looks around with eager eyes.

T laughs out loud at the very thought that she'll get high on chocolate. D adds cheese as another stimulant. C and I look at each other in dismay! Are we the only sane ones in this world?

Well, we finally decide on what we want and order the menu while T keeps going he he he eh. Now it begins to worry us all. :S Can the thought of marble cake drive someone so mad? Meanwhile, we figure out we're not having enough fun- hence, we start singing Captain Planet followed by the Powerpuff Girl's title track. The neighbouring table had a little girl sitting completely shell shocked at the madness of a bunch of college-going girls who are expected to maintain a certain decorum in public places.

(D- Can I have some water please?)

T explains to the mother that its a post-play production team lunch. Its self-explanatory now, isn't it? :)

The lunch arrives- hog hog hog hog hog. Yum Yum Yum Yum.

(D- Can I have some water please?)

T couldn't hold it now. She had had enough of a wait for the dessert. Pounce! The marble cake arrives and is finished within minutes. For my sake, the chocolate syrup came separately. Not like it helped cause it was accidentally kept next to T who for a moment thought it was H2O!

Stomachs full, sitting like balloons- D- Lets run on the Beach!

T,C,M- What????

It took a while to convince D that a run on the beach at 2:30 in the afternoon was certainly not a penguiny thing to do. Then came the Penguin Snap- which took us longer than eating food cause we had to face problems like-

1. Where can we click it?

2. OOhhh this shop is so pretty! (C- Concentrate on snap location, will you!)

3. Can we trust this watchman with the camera?

4. Is he drunk?

5. Who will click the snap?

6. Not the stairs!

7. How do we all fit in?

8. Fine, the stairs, but do we sit or stand?

Result- We stand randomly in between the passage, say cheese and C clicks a snap- it comes out beautifully. :)

This was probably the most random lunch possible, but then aren't all the penguins random in their own sweet ways? An afternoon i shall cherish for life.

Joyee.

P.S- other things that happened at the lunch that couldn't be incorporated:

1. My obsession with cleaning the table

2. T licking chocolate from everywhere possible

3. D- Salt comes from a spicy place

Pepper comes from a salty place (her remarkable comments while analysing the salt and pepper dispensers)

P.S 2- i think i'm becoming senile- i forgot to mention the yummy garlic bread, T spoke to the mother after the lunch and not before and T clicked the historic snap.

Yet another List

2009-04-11T19:00:00.000-07:00

a random list of things/ people/events i'll miss in no particular order:

1. watchman (ID card!)
2. chai
3. sujata ma'am's class
4. GRAM
5. Penguins
6. luv-shmuv
7. samosa
8. sociological theory
9. library
10. twelve angry men
11. deepwoods
12. hunchback of notredam
13. nimbu pani ice lolly
14. canteen tree
15. and then there were none
16. dragon
17. dept
18. social psychology+general psychology
19. 29C
20. BaBaOH
21. paratha kurma
22. magjof
23. common room (even the filth)
24. Sr. Hilda+Leela akka+team
25. F-2-1
26. social thought
27. black chart paper
28. things-to-do lists
29. 0-1
30. shirdi
31. xeroxs
32. aquilae
33. 0-1 stage lights
34. cassatta
35. the green house
36. second year classroom
37. the green patch behind B block
38. OATs
39. inter years
40. veg noodles

41. switch-blade knife

42. red+green+yellow cellophane sheets

43. ten little indian dolls

Sarees+Ice-Creams+Tree+Lamps

2009-04-09T04:00:00.000-07:00

The much awaited valedictory finally happened last evening! A swarm of women in colourful (some blinding) sarees were slurping down the free cornetto provided. To my dismay, it was chocolate. :( After the binge, was the glorious tree planting ceremony. G and I walked excitedly towards the CC Block only to find a dreadful pit dug up in the middle of the lawn+ the puniest leafless sapling possible. We figured that the planting must have been over and proceeded back to the swarm to find recognizable people to click happy pictures with. Alas, CR came and shooed us away! We go back to the lawn to find, not one but four pits dug! One for arts, one for science, one for commerce and one for the PGs. G and I parted ways in despair. It was amusing to see so many new faces on the day of the Valedictory! Anyway, we had work to do- i.e. PLANT the sapling with our LOVE and CARE and mud and water. Task completed. G is lost! This was when I embarrassed all by screaming Moooooo and Gaya! (Like a 70s hero calling out to his heroine!)

After the nostalgic reunion- we returned to the bright blue chairs. The management had to annoy us- “sit behind your dept heads, please.” “Nahin!!!!!” (in chorus)

Three years in this college have made me bold in many ways to take devious steps with no regret whatsoever. “Dept? What dept?” ha ha ha my wish comes true. I finally sat with the people I have shared my entire college life with. J

A random teacher came and passed the valedictory programme schedule and tiny brass lamps with a small candle on it. (the candle colours- neon green, mirinda orange and a green manga green)

Point to be noted- on lifting the candle we found that it was a wax covered candle. What was it covering?- well, a ball of mud. I wonder if it was from the pits that were dug up.

Hymns are sung and Sr. H delivers the longest ever prayer. It wasn’t unbearable but unbelievably long. P was at her best. Highlight of the talks- Sneha, the only one who spoke honestly. During the rest of the speeches, the GRAM group craved for water and juice and pointed at planes while nuts like me waved at them.

The oath was a little strange. While A refused to speak a line from it, I blindly repeated every word of it. Hmmm, I think I’m becoming more neurotic!

The lighting of the lamps was the best part of the evening. All the heads of the depts had to light the lamps of their students. While the sun set, leaving behind a warm darkness, we held our lamps high and sang the college song and the national anthem. Both have never sounded more beautiful. We then left to the grotto to leave our lamps near the statue of Mother Mary.

The valedictory was over.

But did we stop with that? No! Now, was family photo clicking time. While we randomly asked people to click photos of tens and twenties of us, we still couldn’t believe that we’d spent three years with each other.

Someone had told me that the valedictory was always sentimental and that it would make me weep. Fortunately or unfortunately, I didn’t shed a tear. The evening left me with a feeling of contentment as I knew I was going to go forward in life with some great friends and experiences.

To my Penguins!

2009-04-09T03:15:00.001-07:00

"Why do you need a play?", they said.
"Its such a waste of time.", they said.
"Either the play or the fund-raiser.", they said.
We smiled and proceeded.

"Why do you need a director?", they said.
"Hall? Why?", they said.
"Do it on campus.", they said.
We smiled and proceeded.

"No whores! No prostitutes!", they said.
"You're a bunch of stubborn donkeys.", they said.
"You and your blessed play.", they said.
We smiled and proceeded.

"We can't have it in the open.", they said.
"People will jump over the wall and create nuisance.", they said.
"Mosquitoes will bite.", they said.
We smiled and proceeded.

"It can't happen over four days!", they said.
"The lights are stuck.", they said.
"You have to arrange the room yourselves.", they said.
We smiled and proceeded.

"Congratulations!", they said.
"We extended our full support.", they said.
"We knew you'd do it well.", they said.
We smiled. For now, we didn't have to proceed.

BaBaOH prevailed.
:)

Tryst with the P

2008-12-30T22:29:00.000-08:00

I think i am now capable of writing a book about my encounters with P. the walk to the cc block, those endless conversations with the PAs , and the ever fierce urge to burst the P's office will haunt me until i step into my grave.

Encounter 1- meet P to fight for the existence of the college play in the year 2009.
it wasn't exactly pleasant, but we prevailed! i can still recall the dialogue verbatim. while P kept emphasising on the nuisance it was, we kept prattling about the absolute necessity of it. the enchanting experience it has sought to provide the hundreds who were a part of it. we quoted the previous burgomasters of the play, their learning, their personality enhancements, etc etc. did it move P? well, NOT IN THE LEAST. we then made promises of taking up sale of tickets to relieve the teachers from the so called wrath of the students. did this help? finally, YES, but to the extent that she asked us to go back to C to finalise.

Encounter 2- the fight for a director and hall
this was probably the most interesting meeting, as it ignited in me a hope for the future of the play as i saw a junior fighting for what i believed in. we managed to get the need for an external director approved, but the hall was still in jeopardy. her reasons for the disapproval of a hall outside the campus seemed unknown to herself as she adamantly refuted every point we made including the monetary issue(the one considered to do the trick each time) by a wave of her hand! (what wouldn't have done to chop it off)

Encounter 3- hmmm- ah yes, the meeting with the director
my favourite so far, as all i had to do was sit back and relax and watch bala amuse the sisters with his sweet talk! we actually received blessings from H and P at the end of it, i wish i'd recorded that meeting. :O

Encounter 4- proposal meet + venue fight+ fight for four shows
by far the most frustrating one as i sat in P's office for forty-five minutes the previous day for an appointment and waited for two and half hours the next day along with my teacher coordinators to meet her. her eleven o' clock turned out to be one thirty! as we entered the room all i could sense was the nerve on my temple pulsating with anger! yet, we had to put up our best smile and greet her with GENUINE AFFECTION! we tell her about the progress we've made with sponsorship, only to receive a big NO for the only sponsor who had agreed to shell out the maximum. (she asks us to give her a print-out of the proposal and a list of the sponsors along with a description of their activities by the next day! ) but we take a deep breath and smile and proceed. we talk out reasons for four shows confirming in every way possible that no college activity or timing would be disrupted by the show. she finally AGREES! (during the process of convincing her we also got a glimpse of her amazingly minute knowledge of theatre- as she blinked brightly at the use of the term- double cast! it wouldn't have surprised me much had she not professed profoundly, in our previous meetings, that she had enough experience in this sphere to outdo our very own director! ) Sigh, we smile and proceed. we then draw the stage and tell her the pros of having it in the venue previously okay-ed by her. after wasting three sheets of paper we prevail. i get out of the room satisfied and exhausted.

Encounter 5- PROPOSAL
the proposal had been lying on her table for 6 hours, but when we ask her about it, she replies- "oh i haven't read it yet". we smile and proceed. we ask her about the title of the play 'Mordant Murals', she turns to S and asks- "S, is it English?." we smile and proceed. the most unsuccessful meeting ended with us having to leave assuring her that the name would be changed to a 'happier' one.

Encounter 6- Black and Blue and Other Hues
i go to her office to get the name approved without which we can't proceed with our sponsorship. she looks at it and asks me to get the permission of all the VPs. i smile and proceed to the offices of the VPs only to find one of them seated. she asks me to wait till all the VPs are there in their respective cabins so that they can come to a conclusion unanimously! (Like that's going to happen in the next 29 centuries!) i smile and proceed to P to tell her that the task ahead is impossible. by god's grace one of the VPs was in the P's office with her, i shamelessly ordered vatsala ma'am to take the list and not come out of the office unless a name had been approved off. Black and Blue and Other Hues, emerged!

Encounter 7- Letter
getting a letter signed might sound like the easiest task so far, well it took me three days and two hours of standing outside her office to get it signed. it was done and that's all that matters for now.
that's all folks! (at least for now :S)

women or we-men!

2008-04-24T04:15:00.000-07:00

While studying my AO- Women and Development, my mind pondered over a few questions, answers to which I'm yet to find. Will i come across gender discrimination in my future life? If i do, then what am I going to do? Will I exercise my legal rights that have enough loop holes to disadvantage me rather than act in my favour? Why does the word women have men in it? Will men ever fight for women's rights?

There is absolutely no society in the world that can boast about it's perfect equity among the sexes. Gender discrimination is considered as the oldest form of discrimination that has diseased the societal framework across class, caste, religion and region. We are so used to it now, that many women don't even realise that they are being discriminated or ill-treated! Domestic violence is, appallingly, seen as an expression of love and a genuine attempt to make the other person a better person. It's puzzling that India has presented both the worst and best results of women upliftment. India was one of the first countries to bring women out of the four walls. The British Medical Journal predicates that India aborted at least a million girl foetuses in past two decades. (contradictory?????)
Renuka Chowdary revealed that when she interacted with a group of rural women, a lady came up to her and said,"My husband beats me, that's ok. But can my mother-in-law and sister-in-law also beat me?"
Well glorified planners of the country, i can't see results of your implications! Do the plans made by the government actually reach the ones who need them the most? Are these plans effective in these times? Will the roots of discrimination- patriarchy and sexism ever be eliminated?
In the hope that the w(omen)orld will become a better and equitable place with the conjoined efforts of all, I retire to contribute my bit.

To R and V, with love

2008-04-19T06:01:00.000-07:00

Since this blog is a result of being inspired by R and V, I wish to dedicate this post to them. R and V have been my mentors for the past six months and now hold a very special corner in my heart. They changed my life from M (Meera) to D (Dragon). Dragon, which proved to be another feather on the cap of Stella's Annual Productions, was brought into my life by these two.
What was best about this year's annual production (notice the absence of the commonly mistaken phrase of "College Play") was that it was an amalgamation of the efforts of all those involved in it. Not a single was singled out! [what a sentence, i say :) ]
Well evidently R and V being the Production Managers had to do much more than any of us, but what was heartening was them complimenting us on all our little feats while most of their's went unnoticed.
I can clearly recollect the expression of their faces after the first day's show- that sense of accomplishment cannot be put into words.
R and V created a new family for me that comprised of A, B, C, D, G, J, M, N, P, R, S, T, V and Y [I have a purpose behind mentioning the alphabets alone]. Evidently, all this changed me from D to A (i.e the next year's Annual Production!!). Well, as i really don't know which alphabet i am at present, i conclude (with a great sense of pride) that R and V changed my life from A to Z and it honestly couldn't have been better! [Sniff- emotional overload ;) ]

Hail my post!

2008-04-18T00:13:00.000-07:00

Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.

- Lord Tennyson

I thought this would be the most appropriate way to start, well obviously the revised version would be- And I would that my hand could jot
The thoughts that arise in me. ;)