Senseless Sense?Or sensible nonsense?

Mehen'died'

2012-02-19T23:41:00.000-08:00

She gazed at her henna-stained hands. At the deep red, almost-black colour, the intricate and elaborate design. She brought her palms up to her face and breathed in the fragrance of the mehendi deeply. “Aah…”

She had always loved mehendi. She loved the fragrance of it (that most people hated), she loved how the wet mehendi felt so cold against her palms, she loved how beatiful the dark-green colour paste looked on her palms, she loved how the colour turned from a dull orange to a deep maroon overnight. Her hands never used to be henna-free. Soon as the colour started fading, she would mix a fresh batch, make a cone out of empty milk packets, add tea decoction to it (for the colour), and apply it meticulously to her left hand. She would dab it with a lemon juice-sugar mixture once it dried, and she would do it at regular intervals. She would sleep with her left hand outstretched, so as to not stain her mom’s freakishly clean bed-sheets. And then she would excitedly jump out of bed the next morning and run to scrub the dried sticky mehendi off. By the next day, the colour would have deepened. She was famous in her school for her perpetually henna-stained hands.

But more than anything, she loved how the mehendi depicted the idea of marriage. She had seen hundreds of brides with their henna-stained hands, glowing on their wedding day. She hardly noticed the colour of their sari or the shine of their jewels. The first thing she noticed was their hands. And if the bride was someone she knew very well, she wouldn’t hesitate to take their hands and take in the fragrance of the mehendi. She couldn’t wait for her own wedding so that she could apply elaborate, intricate designs on both her hands and feet. Somehow, others just didn’t get how heavenly the smell was. To her, it smelled of hope, love, happiness. It symbolized the future. It symbolized the warmth of the man she loved.

“If the colour of your mehendi turns out to be very dark, your husband will love you very much”, her cousins had giggled. She sat there, gazing at her palms, at the deep red colour that matched the colour of the deep red Kancheevaram wedding saree that she was wearing.

But today, the mehendi didn’t smell of hope or love or happiness. It smelled of broken dreams, broken hearts and broken lives. Of promises that couldn’t be kept and moments that couldn’t be forgotten. Of compromises and apologies. Of a future that was unimaginable and a warmth that could not be replaced. She felt weighed down by the weight of the sari, the jewelry and the jasmine flowers that decorated her hair.

She took one last look at his message before deleting it from her inbox and her life. “I’m sorry, for everything. For entering into your life, for falling in love with you, for giving you hope. But I had to let you go. Maybe in another life, another birth… Take care, be happy, and always remember that I love you like no one else can love you. You deserve the best, and I’m sure your husband will give you just that. Love…”

But she couldn't delete it. Would deleting a message help her delete him from her heart or her mind? She saved the message to another folder, like how she had saved everything about him, about them together, to a folder named 'Past', and got up from the chair. It was time for the muhurtham. Time for her to move on to her future. Time for her to get married to the man who the Gods of Mehendi had predicted will love her a lot, because the colour says so.

Picture Perfect Experiment

2012-02-09T23:32:00.000-08:00

Ok peoples, this is an experiment that I'm trying out.

Here's what I had in mind.

You see the pic below?

It's lovely, isn't it? Clicked by my friend Rohan.

What you have to do is, use the pic above as a picture prompt, and write a post based on it. It can be anything- fiction, non-fiction, poetry- your call. What does the pic mean to you- that's what your post has to be about. What does it say to you? What according to you, does it mean? Did it spark off a distant memory in your mind? It can be anything.

This is not a contest or anything. Just an experiment. And also a means to make people write. A lot of us bloggers have been dormant for quite a while, and seriously guys, that's not done.

Now here's what you need to do:-
1) Write a post based on the pic, and include the pic in the post.
2) At the end of the post, link it to where you originally picked it up from (i.e., if you picked it up on my blog, link it to me. If you picked it from someone else's blog, link it to that blog. That way, I don't hog all the limelight :P.Fair enough no?)
3) Give a link to the original source of the pic. Here.
4) Don't forget to post the to-do's as well (I can't really call it rules).
5) Drop a note or comment to the blogger from whom you took the prompt.

Simple no?

Also:-
1) You can title your post whatever you want.
2) At the end of your post, if you've read other posts of the same picture prompt that you really liked, link that too.
3) Rohan did not pay me to pimp his pics. :P Promise. This happens to be one of my favourite pics of his (as a photographer, not a model. I have no idea who those two sitting on the bench are), and it's one those pics that screams out "This has a story behind it!". So I thought I'll make it a fun thing to do here.

And when do we post this, you're wondering?

Since Valentine's Day and all that jazz is around the corner, let's do the posting till end of next week, shall we? Say, till 17th Feb? That's fine, right? And hey, don't forget to send me the link for your post, ok?

If this becomes a hit, then I plan to do more picture prompt thingies. :) So I really want to know what you guys think of it.

Spread the lou, people. :) (I'm sorry, this as close to Valentine Day-ey that I can get)

In case you thought I had kicked the bucket or something.

2012-02-07T02:11:00.000-08:00

Yes, I’m alive. No, I wasn’t abducted by aliens (like Kalpak was).

I’ve just been very lazy. Then varieties of crap that’s been happening (refer to last post, for a gist). And then the general blah-ness. The sudden cold-wave in Hyderabad a few weeks back made me super-lethargic. And then I fell ill. My dad visited for a week. Instead of me taking care of him, he ended up taking care of me, starting from cleaning the house to having my coffee ready by the time I woke up in the morning *hiding face in shame*. We went to Ramoji Film City also. Four-and-a-half years of living in Hyderabad, and I finally had to wait for my dad to come down to go there.

After he left, it was a crazy fortnight of work. So crazy, that I didn’t have time to even eat. Even otherwise, I’ve been floating around in Zombieland for a while. Time to come back from there, because although the stay there is pretty good, let’s face it, the biryani is much better down here on earth. And that’s what matters at the end of the day, right?

Sincere apologies for not replying to any comments, from my regular bloggers and a few new bloggers. Extremely sorry. No excuse.

So Bhargavi and Keirthana bestowed me with the Veteran Blogger award. Yay!! :) Thank you so much, lovely ladies.

Bhargavi, the soon-to-be-mom, has a kickass tongue-in-the-cheek sense of humour that you will absolutely love. She’s a model reader who religiously comments on every post of mine, even the crappy ones. I’d linked her post Sambhar-ism once before on one of my posts, so some of you might be familiar with her. For the rest of you who’re not, head over and say a hi, ok? And drop a wish too, because she’s soon going to pop. (Sorry, babe, couldn’t help that one :P ) And ooh ooh! She’s also going to get published soon! Super-awesome, no?!

Keirthana’s writing is like a mountain spring- clear, smooth, sometimes meandering, but always purposeful. Her encouragement and appreciation has been a major boost to me. And I’m sure it will continue to be. She is also a wonderful reader who makes it a point to comment on every post of mine. She says that my blog is the one that made her realize what blogging is. This, while making me feel proud on one hand, also makes me realize that I actually managed to influence somebody! That never happens! :/ Thanks a lot, Keirthana!

I know I’ve done this tag before as well, when I got the award the first time. But I want to write today. Not particularly because I’ve had a brainwave or anything, but because if I don’t, I might just forget how to.

We all know the drill. I’m just going to skip it and do the random facts thingie. Because you know…umm.. uh.. ok. No reason. I just want to write about myself. Again. :/ Go sue. Hmph.

1) I cannot bear hunger. If I’m hungry and I don’t get food immediately, I get a headache. Then I get cranky and start snapping at random people. If you tell me we’ll have lunch together, and then you make me wait for an hour, you’re dead meat. No pun intended.

2) The smell and taste of milk nauseates me. I’m a fan of milk-powder, because it tastes and smells so much nicer. It’s always been a tug-of-war at home, trying to make me drink milk. When I make coffee or tea, the milk to water ratio is 1:4. My dad makes tea and coffee in like a litre of milk. When he visited me in Hyderabad, he made me drink more milk in a week than I’ve had in a year. Blech! :/ My kitchen was smelling of it for days!

3) My name is Divya and I’m not ambitious.
Or maybe I have/had too many of them. At one time, I wanted to be a teacher. That gave way to fashion designer. Then I wanted to be an Ob-Gyn(yes, seriously. Inspired by Readers' Digest's Book Bonus stories about brave doctors who save babies' and mothers' lives magically). This one quickly gave way- because, you know, it actually involves a lot of studying and work, neither of which I was willing to do- to engineer. This one got blotted out due to the increasing number of red marks on my report card. Those two years (11th & 12th standard) are still a haze to me. What did I do, where did I go, whom did I meet? All I remember is consistently failing. After this, during my graduation, I wanted to be a journalist. Then I wanted to get into radio. All through my MA, I was consistent about this one, and even got my first job in it. I loved it. But then the hectic lifestyle (or no-life-at-all-style) and bad pay got to me. Quit it, got into Corp Comm. Currently, I have no idea what I want to do or be. The column is empty.

But you know, the one thing that has remained a constant all through my life (or from the time I can remember), through all the other ambitious phases, is “I want to be a writer”…

4) I love listening to stories, especially love stories. Whenever I come to know that someone has a girlfriend/boyfriend or had a love marriage, the first thing I ask is “So what’s your story?”

5) I’ve realized that blogging has given a whole new meaning to ‘random’. There is nothing random about ‘random’ anymore.

I think that’s enough random for now. Actually, if random is what you’re looking for, then I can put it in one big, huge, bullet point- MY LIFE.

But…

There is no time to weep.
I have stories to file and guest-post promises to keep.
And miles to go before I sleep…
And miles to go before I sleep…

Yes, I'm bad at poetry. I know that.

I'm not tagging anyone for the award because I cannot give it to just one blogger. There are many of you out there whose blogs I read and love. So this goes out to each and every one of you.

Don't ask me why, don't make me lie.

2012-01-16T06:11:00.000-08:00

I want to throw my phone away and go somewhere.

Someplace where there is no internet or television. Or annoying questions that I have no answers to. No, not like the Bigg Boss house. I don’t want familiar people around either.

No, I don’t know when I’m getting married. When I know, I’ll announce it to the world and send you the card, ok?

No, I don’t know how long I’m gonna stay in this job. When I know, I’ll tell, ok?

No, I have no fucking clue when I’m moving out of Hyderabad. When I decide, I will mail you the scanned copy of my ticket, ok?

Till then, fucking stop asking me.

No, I’m not gonna get married and have babies just because my friends are. If I had to follow the crowd, I would’ve joined engineering and be writing back-papers now.

What do you mean, “Why did you cut your hair? Why did you pierce your nose?” What sort of a question is that? Why does anybody cut their hair or pierce their nose or ears or belly button? For world peace? No!!! I do it because I bloody want to!
Why do you ask so many questions? Was it your life’s secret ambition to become a quizmaster?

I want to go to some place where no one knows me or I don’t know anybody. Where people won’t have round-table conferences to discuss why the skinny girl has put on weight. Where I won’t have to meet deadlines or lie about why I haven’t turned in the story yet. Where I won’t be forced to wear stupid kurtas and leggings just because it is the ‘dress code’. Where I can streak my hair purple and colour my nails green.

I want to go someplace where I can sing at the top of my voice and no one will look weirdly at me. Where I can wear shorts and roam around. I want to go to sleep at 4 in the morning, wake up at 11, have breakfast at 1, lunch at 5, margaritas for tea. Or maybe, not go to sleep at all. I don’t want to know what time of the day it is. I want to eat when I’m hungry and sleep when I’m sleepy. Not eat because I’m supposed to eat at a particular time of the day or sleep because I’m supposed to sleep at a particular time.

I want to go for long walks, just observing. No talking. Who will I talk to, if I’m going alone? Long walks with no set direction or duration. Just walk till my feet hurt. I will have a small notebook and a pencil stub in my pocket, with which I’ll scribble stuff that I observe during my walk.

I want to be at such a place from where I can see the sun rise and set. Where the wind is so strong, it messes up my hair and makes my eyes water.

I want to be at a beach that doesn’t resemble a parade ground. All I want with me is the sand and the waves. I want to walk on the beach with the wind in my hair and sand at my feet, and trace my name in the damp sand, hurriedly before the waves come and wash it off.

I want to spend the whole day writing and scribbling nonsense that I will never post or publish. Write with my hand, not type on my laptop. And then I will smell the paper to take in the fragrance of pencil.

I want to lie on my back and watch the stars and moon at night. Just watch them for hours, humming Rafi and Kishore songs softly to myself. Occasionally a “Hello darkness, my old friend”, maybe. And then when I fall asleep right there, I don't want anyone to wake me up and tell me to 'go inside and sleep', because I don't want to.

I don’t want to expect anyone’s arrival. Nor anyone to expect mine.

I don’t want to wait for anyone. Nor anyone to wait for me.

I don’t want to be answerable to anyone. Nor anyone to me.

I want to be some place where I won’t have to answer an endless barrage of questions.

Yes, this is a rant.

No, this is not aimed at anyone in particular. It’s aimed at everyone in general.

Pardon the use of abuses. I’m sorry. Well, not all that much.

I had a dream...

2012-01-08T23:21:00.000-08:00

Do dreams really signify anything?

I’ve pretty much been a dreamless-sleeper. But of late, I’ve been getting a lot of dreams. Not particularly bad ones, but chaotic ones. Ones that don’t let me sleep peacefully. Ones that have me tossing and turning all night. Ones that I actually remember the next morning because of its unpleasantness.

I’ve noticed a pattern. Whenever I’m at peace with my life, I have a dreamless sleep. I go to bed, fall asleep immediately, and have a refreshing sleep. But if there’s something worrying me- which is alarmingly often these days- I have a very fitful sleep. I take hours to fall asleep, in spite of curling up to the maximum possible limit. If there’s even the tiniest bit of issue worrying me (like, for example, when Sumitra had hosted her C&H giveaway, I actually dreamt that someone else had won it. I swear, I’m not exaggerating. That was the closest I came to having a nightmare :/ That I won it eventually is a different matter :P). There have been times when I woke up to find my cheeks wet because I had been crying in my sleep, and I hurriedly called up home and my friends to ensure that everyone was ok.

But one recurring dream that I’ve had, quite many times, is of going to an exam unprepared. And I’m mostly wearing my school uniform. These dreams usually follow a pattern of me forgetting that I have an exam, rushing to the exam hall, asking random people for last-minute-notes, and sitting and staring blankly at the question paper. And then when I wake up in the morning worried that I have an exam to rush to, I remember with a sigh of relief that I no longer have to appear for exams!

Last night was one such night. Among a lot of other chaotic things, including an accident (or was it death? I don’t remember), I dreamt that I had gone to yet another exam, unprepared. I finally fell asleep at 5:30 AM. As a result, I’m now nodding off at my desk. And I thought I was done with losing sleep over exams…

If any of you has read Freud, can you tell me if this recurrence means anything?

Do you usually remember your dreams? What are your recurring dreams?

P.S:- I got my nose pierced. Yay! :) No, I’m not going to put up pics here, not right now anyways, because the nose pin that they gun-shot into my nose at the parlour is a big one. So it’s like there’s a mini-bulb glowing on my nose right now. As if I needed anything more to draw attention to my elephant-nose. :/ But I love it all the same. :)

It’s amazing…

2012-01-03T23:46:00.000-08:00

1) …how so many people have an opinion on something so personal and seemingly insignificant as a haircut. It’s my hair. I’ll cut it, grow it, corn-row it, bead it, colour it purple, or shave it- it’s my wish.

2) …how when you’re thin, all everyone could ask was “Why are you so thin? Aren’t your parents feeding you anything?”, and when you put on four kilos, they leave no opportunity to ask you “Why have you put on weight? What do you eat?”

3) …how random people I’m meeting for the first time in my life can have the audacity to ask me “Your friends are getting married no? Why are you not getting married?”. To which I politely replied, “If that’s the case, many of my friends are having babies also. That doesn’t mean I should do whatever they do.”

4) …how you can be 25 years old to the rest of the world, but still be just 2 years old to your parents. It’s infuriating at times, but for the most part, very very reassuring.

5) …how, in spite of having lived away from home since 2007, my mom still cries each and every time I leave home after a vacation. Every. Single. Time.

6) …how I tease Amma for being a cry-baby every time, but I myself turn away from her quickly so that she doesn’t see my eyes welling up.

7) …how beautiful our country looks from up in the air, amidst the clouds. Gorgeous.

8) …how something as simple as getting a call from the sound engineer in my old office, saying “Divya, come down to the office na. I want your voice to record new year wishes jingle” can make me so happy.

9) …how delicious crab curry and kappa-meen can taste from a small way-side stall on the seashore.

10) …how the worst kind of sickness that can afflict you is ‘homesickness’.

2011 was a revelation. It was a roller-coaster ride. It brought along many surprises, good and bad. The biggest ‘good’ surprise of the year was my dad. The next was how blogging and writing became a major part of my life. I also discovered the perks of blogging. I started teaching part-time.

I hope 2012 gives me more clarity. Because I badly need it. I cannot stay confused forever. Because if the world really is going to end in 2012, I don’t want to die regretting that I never did all those things that I wanted to.

I also hope I start working on a book this year. And for that, I need motivation from you guys. You guys have helped me become an avid blogger. I’m confident that you’ll also help me become an author. I have more faith in you people, my dear bloggers, than I have in myself.

Happy 2012, folks. Let’s promise to the do and be the best we can, shall we?

Merry Christmas & Happy New Year!

2011-12-23T04:10:00.000-08:00

Alright, people. I'm off home tomorrow, to celebrate christmas and ring in the new year with my folks (and that includes my family, my friends, my neighbours-everyone). I don't know when I'll log on to the net again. I kinda like to disconnect myself temporarily when I go home. So in case I don't get to wish you guys later on, here it goes!

Eat lots of cake. Sing lots of carols. Watch lots of TV. Sleep in till noon. Wear all your new clothes. Enjoy the holidays.

Most importantly, be happy.

I hope the coming year brings in loads of happiness and fulfils all your wishes.

2011 has been a great year writing-wise. I hope 2012 is better.

Two pieces of news I want to share with you:-

1) I actually won the Calvin & Hobbes Box Set give-away hosted by Sumitra. Yes!! I won that one thing I've been wanting more than anything else! :) Once I get my hands on it, I'll post pictures and make you all jealous, ok? :)

2) I just started contributing for an online magazine called ignitink.com. Do go over and have a look when you can.

See you all next year with lots more of my sense and nonsense. :)

Christmas Star

2011-12-20T05:02:00.000-08:00

It was a very pretty star. White colour, made of paper, with many little Santas in red laughing all over.

It was a very very pretty star.

We weren’t exactly one of those families who put up a star during Christmas every year. Not because we didn’t believe in Christmas- we are Mallus. We believe in ALL festivals, religion no bar. We just need a reason to celebrate and eat and drink. We just didn’t have a star. The one that was bought even before I was born had lived its full life and had to be thrown away. So I didn’t really have any memories of Acha taking out the star during Christmas and tying it to the light-bulb. But I loved stars. Absolutely loved them. I used to go around the whole apartment admiring my neighbours’ stars. Aren’t they just lovely?

So one Christmas, when I was in college, I pestered Acha to get me one. Off we went one evening, father and daughter, star-shopping. I dragged him along to numerous stores until I found the perfect one. Normally, he would’ve taken whichever star he found first in the first shop and bought it. Not exactly the patient shopper, my dad. But for once, he seemed as excited I was, to buy a star.

Shiny ones, huge ones, small ones, ones with intricate designs- we found loads of varieties. But I didn’t like any of them. I wanted one that, when I looked at it twinkling in my verandah in the evening, would make me smile and appreciate the spirit of Christmas. Not one that would hurt my eye with its glossiness and give me the feeling of being in a very tacky discotheque. Nope, I didn’t want a disco ball.

After a couple of hours of rigorous searching, many rounds of screening and elimination, we finally found one. It was very simple, the simplest of the lot. There was nothing outstanding about it. But the jolly little santas on the white background brought a smile to my lips instantly.

I was like an excited bunny all the way back home. I couldn’t wait to hang it up. I didn’t even let dad change clothes or have a sip of water once we got home. It HAD to be up immediately. And so he pulled out a few wires, found a bulb, and hung it up. I spent the entire evening outside in the corridor, admiring my star. I knocked on my neighbours’ doors, dragged them outside and showed it to them proudly. I just loved the way it lit up our corridor. Before going to bed at night, I went and peeped at it again, said a ‘Goodnight’ to it, and went to bed a happy, excited person.

For the next couple of days, I couldn’t wait for it to be dark outside, so that I could switch on the star-light. I didn’t let Amma or Acha switch it off till late into the night.

One morning, I was standing outside in the corridor, talking to Ritu Didi and Amma, when I felt something amiss. I glanced up at my star- and all I found was a bulb hanging there.

Somebody had stolen my Christmas star.

I don’t know which bastard could do such a cheap thing. A Christmas star, of all things?? And that too such a simple one? Till date, it’s a mystery. Where could my star have gone? No, it could not have got torn and flown away in the wind, because there were no remains of paper or the string on the bulb wire. It had been neatly cut away.

I haven’t bought a Christmas star after that. I was heart-broken. I know it’s over-dramatic to be so dejected over such a simple thing, but to me, that star was special.

Dad bought another star a couple of years back. It’s big and shiny and twinkly and lights up our verandah.

But it’s not as pretty as my Christmas star.

*********

I didn’t want to write a negative Christmas story, but I wanted to share this with you guys.

*********

What are your favourite Christmas memories?

P.S: I’m going home on 24th morning. HOME! Yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!!! :) :) :)

Images courtesy Google and The Raw Hen (also goes by the name of Rohan)

Two Fates: The story of my divorce- Book Review.

2011-12-16T11:00:00.000-08:00

I was in a crappy crappy mood a few days back. As in, REALLY CRAPPY. I was ready to bite off a few heads. There was an invisible neon sign around me that said “Beware. Cranky woman inside. Will bite.” I got home, had dinner, and went straight inside my room with a copy of ‘Two Fates: The story of my divorce’ and locked the door. I did the customary ritual that I perform with every new book- read the last two pages first. Then I flipped to the front, read the dedication, acknowledgements etc, still with a scowl on my face. Five minutes later, I was laughing my head off. I had even forgotten what I was so upset about.

It’s one of those books that you can call un-put-downable. And the fact that it was written by a blogger who I have been following for a long time and whose writing leaves me open-mouthed every single time, made it all more exciting for me.

“Two Fates: The story of my divorce” by Judy Balan, is about Deepika and Rishab, a Tamilian ponnu married to a Punjabi munda. They fell in love, fought with their parents, did a lot of drama, got married, and now four years later, they’ve fallen out of love. Not so uncommon in today’s time and age. They fought over kissing with morning breath, leaving the toilet seat up, fart jokes and indulged in meaningless sex. So they decide to put each other out of misery by getting divorced. Simple, right?

Not quite. Because now, the families of the two have fallen in love with each other. There is major North-South bonding happening, and over all the sambhar-vadas getting mixed with the butter chicken and rotis, Deepika and Rishab find themselves in a fix. How do they get divorced when the families are so obviously in love with each other? Not just that, they consider Deepu and Rish as the perfect couple. The rest of the story is how they plan to get divorced, and in the quest to get away from each other, they find themselves drawn more strongly towards each other. And in the process, they discover what they truly want to do with their lives.

Judy is a self-confessed Grammar Nazi (Psstt! She’s a Virgo too :P), so even if you scrounge the book with a magnifying glass, you won’t find any errors. If you’ve read her blogs, you will also know that her language is impeccable. Neither too flowery, nor ordinary. Just right. And her book is just like that. It screams ‘JUDY!!’all over. And that sense of humour. Simply superb. It will leave you guffawing aloud. And the best part is, it all seems so effortless! There is no forced humour. She’s taken a dig at every possible cliché that you’ll find in your run-of-the-mill love stories. And we the likes the funnies, don't we?

The battle-scenes between the two protagonists are highlight! So cute are they, that you would want to have fights just like that. I swear. And if you’ve read “Two States: The story of my marriage”, you will enjoy the humour even more. :) Now here’s one more author who will manage to make India read.

Maybe it’s because I’ve been reading her blog for a while, and also because I comment on her posts and inbox her on FB once in a while, all the while I was reading the book, I felt as though I was reading a book written by someone I know very well. Someone of my own. And it thrilled me to bits that I could actually let her know personally (or as close as I can come to ‘personally’ on FB) what I felt about the book. And she was sweet enough to reply to it promptly.

So go buy the book pronto. And instead of placing it in the shelf and forgetting about it, read it. You won’t regret it. I promise.

Dear Judy, please write your second book soon. I want it ready to help me through my next bout of depression. Seriously.

An atrocious love story

2011-12-13T21:44:00.000-08:00

Some of us write. Some ramble. Some jot down stuff in their diaries. Some of us type and save it as a draft in our phones.

And some, like my guest blogger today, scribble. And that too atrociously, no less.

And he scribbles all the way over from Germany, where he is pretending to study but is actually lusting after cars and going on vacations to Switzerland (that I'm not even remotely jealous of. Hmmph). More than just a blogger, he is a diligent reader and critic. He doesn't believe in mincing words. His subtle sense of humour has had us all rolling on the floor and laughing. And he somehow, SOMEHOW, manages to write without any exclamation marks! I just don't know how he does that. Seriously. A fellow weirdo-Virgo, he is one of the few of my blogger-friends who actally GETS me. In many ways, I feel he is the male version of me (you lucky dog, you!).

If you still haven't got who I am talking about, come here, let me give you a knock on your head.

Ta-da! Here's Atrocious Scribblings, or Sringo as I like to call him (long story. Some other time).

When I requested (Alright! Ordered) him to write me a guest post, he promptly responded with yes and sent me the post within a few days(I know, right!). Then he put on so much of formality, I wanted to go all the way to Germany and whack him on his butt. After asking me a million times whether the post is ok and whether I would want him to redo it, or whether he should write another one, I finally told to shut the eff up.

So here is AS, talking about his love story. And just like a Yashraj movie, it has picturesque locales, beautiful characters, and a killer ending. Imagine 'Tujhe dekha tho ye jaana sanam' in the background, if you will.
*************
My Love Story

Being a 20-something is difficult in this day and age. People on either side; the 30-something’s and the Teens see it as the place to be. Little do they know about the pressures and struggles involved in being a 20 something these days. Especially a 20 something in a land far, far, far away from the one he deems his own and more importantly in love. I`ve been asked this one simple question in all possible permutations and combinations and it all boils down the simple humanistic curiosity behind the intrusive – What is your love story?

So here goes mine.

It was during my first few hours in Germany, a land I had chosen to bring myself to, to hone my craft and better my life for the good. I stood blank and clueless in the Baggage claim area of the airport in quiet contemplation as to what the plans destiny might have in store for me in the Land of Cars, Beer and Bratwurst.

Tugging 50 kilos of luggage on a minuscule trolley to the railway station at the basement of the airport is not something you would ideally like to do on your first day abroad but that was what Karma had planned for me. The chilly weather was not helping matters one bit as I waited impatiently at the railway station. The moment I caught a glimpse of her, it was pure magic; in a flash all the chilliness seemed to vanish and was replaced by comforting warmth enveloping my chest. I knew that very instant, something special was going to unfold.

She came galloping into the station drawing the attention of a crowd of 40 odd people in what can only be described as Angel like fashion. Angelic she indeed was, dressed in impeccable white with an elegant red border she gave me the impression that the big guy up in the heavens who had been oh-so kind to many of my friends had finally found the time to send me an angel and how; In a manner that would put Shahrukh Khan’s romance in DDLJ to shame. It was undoubtedly love at first sight.

I did an imaginary fist pump on learning that we were going to be travelling to the same destination, as we set off on the almost hour long journey. I could have sworn our hearts were racing at more than 300 kilometres an hour in no time and I was instantly reminded of what Einstein once remarked ‘When you are courting a nice girl an hour seems like a second. When you sit on a red-hot cinder a second seems like an hour.’ and sure enough time seemed to gallop like a prized brown stallion being controlled by its tactful jockey.

Throughout the journey I was so awed by the beauty and the peace within her that I just sat in my allotted spot silently admiring her as we passed by several crop fields, lush greenery and the serene German countryside until destiny caught up with us and we had reached the end of the line.

I was finding it very difficult; both literally and figuratively. Literally owing to the big pile of luggage that I was to push and shove again and figuratively because it was her I was destined to go away from; with absolutely no certainty on when or even whether our paths would cross again. With a heavy heart we parted our separate ways to proceed to our respective end destinations. I could only walk a few paces at a stretch and kept turning back in the wild hope that she would reciprocate; with a huge pile of luggage to tug it seemed like an intelligent enough excuse to me. I kept walking to another platform until I could see her no more.

She was gone forever; lost in the hustle and bustle of the milieu.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Or so I thought, until I managed to spot her amidst the chaos and snap one quick picture of her for my own sanity.

WHAT IS YOUR LOVE STORY?

PS: Anyone dare call her a ‘TRAIN’ will find themselves run over by her before you can say ‘I.C.E’

Thanks a ton Ms Spiff, for letting me Atrociously use your blog space for my Scribblings.

********

If you guys haven't read his atrocious scribblings yet, then go over right now and spare me from giving you one more knock over your head.

Abu jaan

2011-12-08T23:58:00.000-08:00

Abu came into our lives as a tiny, scrawny 2-month-old baby. But we had already decided that he was the most beautiful baby and that we would love him no matter what, even before he was born. Even while Ritu Didi was carrying him, we knew he would be one of us. More than Ujesh Unlce and Ritu Didi, his parents, the four of us- Acha, Amma, Chechi and me- were excited about his arrival.

Didi left to Chandigarh for her delivery. It was a complicated case, because she was highly diabetic. The day she went into labour, we heard that it was going to be difficult. She had gone into labour two months prematurely. Ujesh Uncle kept us updated about what was happening. He was tensed. There were chances that they won’t be able to save the baby. We were all praying fervently for the baby we had never set eyes on even, but were waiting excitedly since the past seven months for. Finally uncle came and told us and Abu had entered the world, after a lot of difficulty, drugs and drama.

Abhishek Sharma was born on 23rd August 1998.

And ever since that day, he has had two dads, two moms, and two sisters. Five years later, one brother too.

He lived in our house, pretty much all the time. Didi used to put him to sleep, place him on our sofa and then go for her bath and to finish off her chores. So tiny was he, people who came to our house were hardly able to make out that the small lump on our sofa is actually a sleeping baby. He slept at our place, he ate at our place, he played at our place. He grew up at our place. Since his flat was right opposite ours, it didn’t take him much time to just cross over and come to our flat. From 7 in the morning to 12 at night, our door used to be open all the time, because a) it was getting tiresome opening the door every five minutes to a tiny little fist banging on the door and yelling “Viji Mummy, darwaza kholo!” and b) he had figured out how to lock doors from outside. So just when we had to go out somewhere urgently, we would pull on the door and realize that Sir Abu had locked it from outside. We would then stand at the window and yell for one of our neighbours to open the door for us. So ya, it just made better sense to leave it open. We had to device new ways to make him eat his Cerelac, because he was a very fussy eater. Chechi and I would sing songs, jump around, twirl that spoon-fork-knife set (that looks like a merry-go-round) in his face, and when he’s watching open-mouthed at his two mad elder sisters, Amma would shove a spoon of Cerelac into his mouth.

He called my dad Chandran Papa, my mom Viji mummy, and of course, we were Lachu Didi and Ammu didi. Chech and I used to play with all his brand new toys first and only then give it to him. He would say “Didi, please, abhi mujhe khelne do na.” He was more fond of my mom’s mallu cooking than his mom’s Punjabi style, and he had no qualms about accepting it. We would make fun of him saying that if his Viji Mummy gave him even uncooked dough to eat, he would polish it off happily. Didi used to cook something and stealthily give it to my mom, telling her to feed it to him passing it off as her cooking.

He would take serious offense if we introduced him as our ‘neighbour’. Once I had gone to pick him up from the bus stop when he returned from school, and a girl from his school who got down at the same stop, who had only seen his mom coming to pick him up, asked me who I am. I told her that I’m his neighbor. I could feel a small face staring up at me. Once we got home, he complained to his mom that I had called him my neighbor. “Why did you call me your neighbour?? Why didn’t you say I’m your brother??!!” And he threw his socks at me. Well, that was the last time I made that mistake!

He grew up with us. And in that process, we became kids once again. Amma made him eat, Acha taught him Malayalam (his first Malayalam words- the song Kandu kandu kandilla- and he speaks flawless Malayalam. He can even read and write), Chechi and I made him a bakra for all experiments. He had long curly hair till he was about 3, because they have this custom of shaving the head for the first time at a religious ceremony (it’s called Mundan, I believe). So till then, he had soft curly hair lovelier than that of a girl’s. Chechi and I used to drape a shawl around him like a saree, tie his hair into a ponytail, put bindi, chain, bangles etc, and dress him up like a girl. And then we would click his photos and laugh at him. We were such bullies. Paavom… he just loved his didis too much to protest. Whatever we did, he would play along with it. We made him dance, we made him sing. Our world revolved around him. His first b’day celebration was no less a celebration for us too. Exactly five years later, his brother was born. Yup, on the same day. They share the same birthday. :) Aditya Sharma, Vibhu at home. I lovingly call him Toofan, because he’s nothing less than one. He too followed in his brother’s footsteps and spent most of his time at our house.

But Abu was special. He was OUR baby. Our brother. Our son. They shifted from the apartment a few years ago, but even now, Abu spends most of his time at our place. He’ll come home and say “Viji mummy, I want your rice and sambar ok.” And Amma, just to pull his leg, will say “No no, you go home. I don’t have any food for you. Go tell your mom to cook for you.” He’ll go give her a hug, say “You’re also my mom only no”, go out to play with the apartment kids, and will be back promptly by lunch time.

Ya, Abu is special. It’s hard to believe that he’s grown up. He’s as tall as me now. Every time I go home, he’ll first give me a crushing hug and then come stand next to me and say “I’m as tall as you Didi. Next time I’ll be taller.”

And now, when I see my little Abu jaan on Facebook, uploading pics of himself in his new spectacles, commenting on his friends' pics and updates and posting links of songs from “I Hate Luv Storys”, ennala thangamudiyaathu kadavule, thaangamudiyaathu! :/

****************
Ennala thaangamudiyaathu kadavule- I can't bear it, god!

Double the joy

2011-12-07T06:15:00.000-08:00

You know that One Day match in which Sachin Tendulkar took 200 runs? You remember not going for sussu even, in spite of drinking four bottles of beer, sitting in front of the TV, praying fervently to the cricket gods to let our very own God of Cricket hit his very first double century in One Day International- the very first double century in ODI by any cricketer EVER. You remember that moment when Sachin set a world record (one of the many he has set)? And do you remember how you cheered for him when he hit that 200th run? You jumped in the air, yelled, hugged surrounding people no matter who they were. Some of you cried, kissed the T.V, took off your t-shirts and other items of clothing. You cried out “Sachin Tendulkar ki jai!”.

Ok, now, jump in the air, hug surrounding people, whoever they are. Some of you can cry, kiss the computer screen, take off your t-shirts (or other preferred items of clothing), and cry out “Spaceman Spiff ki jai!”

Because my number of followers has hit 200!

Yay!

No no! Don’t stop doing all those things I instructed you to do! This is also a momentous occasion wonly no!

Ok, enough with the exclamation marks. I’m starting to feel like the energizer bunny that’s had three shots of espresso.

I know I know, it’s not the number of followers that matter, it’s what you write that matters. But let me just bask in the glory for the time being, alright? Because tomorrow, the number of followers may come down to 199. Or 198.

Seriously. Over the last one month, two people unfollowed me. :( So that beautiful 200 may come down any day.

But till then, yay! :)

And Jane & John Doe gave me another reason to hop around excitedly. Thanks, you both!

Also, I allegedly rocked PeeVee’s socks. I know it sounds gross, but trust me, it’s not. In fact, it’s because of her award that I got those three-four new followers to hit 200.

Well, such a momentous occasion deserves nothing but the best music to celebrate.

Yenjaay folks! And don’t forget to sing along Silsila hai silsila! Over and over and over and over and over and over again.

…that it’s just meant to be

2011-12-01T01:22:00.000-08:00

They fell into bed together even before they fell in love.

Not because they were desperate. Simply because it felt like the most natural thing in the world, you know.

They didn’t talk about how they will sit on their porch together and watch the sunset, deciding on names for their babies. They did not discuss about what sort of a house they will build, their house of dreams. He didn’t tell her how much he loved her laugh or how beautiful she looked in the morning. She didn’t appreciate how caring he is or how she loved the fact that he made her laugh.

Instead, they spoke about how much they wanted to kiss. They spoke about how they turned each other on. They spoke about how they can’t seem to keep their hands off each other. They spoke about luscious lips and broad shoulders. They both knew, even without saying it as much, that they would end up 'doing it’, sooner or later, because, you know, it felt like the most natural thing in the world for them.

They did not want love. That’s not what they were looking for. Love was rubbish, they both agreed. It had only brought them pain so far. Their pasts had taught them that. So they had decided, mutually, that there were no commitments from either of them. Nope. None whatsoever. They didn’t want to give a name to this. They were happy the way things were. He had never felt this way for any girl. No girl had ever turned him on the way she did, and she wasn’t even a babe. But there was something about her. She hadn’t felt this sort of dizziness around any other guy. Each time he was around, the world stopped spinning around her. It was just him and her. In many ways, they were xerox copies of each other.

She knew that this may never last. She was no fool. And definitely not an emotional fool. She knew what kind of a guy he was. He was the kind who ran in the other direction at the mere mention of love and commitment. But at that point, that’s exactly what she wanted. No commitment. No future. No “Where is this going?” No "We'll go to Mauritius on our honeymoon." No "We'll have one son and one daughter". She was aware that at a later point in life, she might regret it, but she also knew that she didn’t want to live her entire life not knowing what being passionate about someone was. She didn’t want to regret that she had the opportunity to feel that way for somebody, but had let it pass because she was afraid to take a risk. She had never been a risk-taker, but she was willing take one, just this one.

And so she did. They did. It was the first time for both of them. The very first. And it was not tender and soft or anything of that sort. It was mad, urgent, crazy. They couldn’t wait to explore each other’s bodies. It was an adventure for them.

But when it came to the actual thing, they couldn’t do it. Because it was just too painful for her. They tried and tried. But he couldn’t bear to see her in so much of pain. She didn’t want to disappoint him, so she held back her cry. But the minute he saw her tears, he stopped. I’m sorry, she said. Never mind, he said. We’ll try some other time.

So they tried again. But it refused to work out. Somehow, it just wasn’t happening. How come when they show it in movies and write about it in books, they make it out to be so easy, they asked each other. They would try for a while, and then they would just lie there, exhausted. Exhausted just out of trying. And then gradually, they started talking more. Talking about their lives, their past, their dreams, their hopes. They started sharing about each other. They spoke about how they were both afraid to commit because they had lost faith in love. They spent many afternoons, lying next to each other, wondering what this was. He was still afraid to commit, and she still didn’t know if she wanted a relationship. She even told him that if he ever decides to walk away, she will never try to hold him back, but will always think of him as the guy who had stirred never-before-felt feelings in her. She would always remember him as the guy she had almost given her virginity to.

And then, somewhere along the way, it had stopped being just physical. Somewhere along the way, emotions had crept in, unknowingly. Somewhere along the way, love had crept in. The bastard.

And that’s when they stopped trying to have sex and started making love. And then it happened. Just like that. The magic happened. It didn't hurt anymore.

Maybe falling into bed together before they fell in love worked for them, in some weird, inexplicable way.

He’s still afraid of commitment. And she still considers him the biggest risk she ever took.

But they both know…

Why Spaceman Spiff di?

2011-11-28T03:37:00.000-08:00

Umm.. So there seems to be a slight confusion regarding my gender in blogsville. Kinda like the Miss.Chanandler Bong-syndrome. Quite a few people are mistaking me to be a guy, because of my username.

I swear, I’m a girl. Promise! Even though some of my guy-friends refuse to count me as one, because I don’t have too many female characteristics (like shame, for example) in me, I’m very much a girl. You can read this post if you’re not convinced.

So why Spaceman Spiff, seems to be the question most bloggers have asked. Spaceman Spiff is the name of one of the alter egos of Calvin, from Calvin & Hobbes. Now, if you ask me “What is Calvin & Hobbes?”, I will hit you with my green-colour handle-wala broomstick. I swear. So spare yourself that and go Google it if you don’t know.
For those of you who do know, you know how fabulous C&H is, don’t you? Bill Watterson is like, The Best. I first started reading the strips when it used to appear daily in Hindu Metro Plus. Then I just got hooked.

I generally am a comic-lover. I then started collecting the books. I have the e-version too. Now I’m waiting for some benevolent soul to gift me with the Box Set (in case any of you were wondering what to get me for Christmas. Or New Year. Or sankranthi. Or Pongal. Take your pick).

C&H is like a totally different league, altogether. The wisdom that Bill Watterson tries to convey through that little brat is just wonderful. He creates sheer genius in three tiny little panels. And some of them don’t even have any dialogues!

Check out this little gem:-

Calvin and Hobbes are playing out in the yard.
Hobbes: How come we always play war and not peace?
Calvin: Too few role models.

See what I mean?

So why Spaceman Spiff, and why not Calvin, or Tracer Bullet, or Stupendous Man (which are his other alter egos), you ask? Hmm.. maybe because I’m a spaced-out person, and I could identify with the name. I tend to live in a parallel universe. I lose track of a conversation if it doesn’t interest me. I’ll sometimes be on the phone, saying “Hmm..”, “Ha..”, and in my head, I’ll be singing 'Ischool ke tem pe'. I have serious concentration issues. My ex-boss once told me, “You don’t really need anyone else to entertain you, right? You can never get bored. You’re perfectly capable of entertaining yourself.”

Or maybe because I like alliterative phrases. And hello, I couldn’t have made it Spacewoman Spiff, no? That would be blasphemy. But not to worry, my Bluetooth is named Tracer Bullet. :)

So what have we learnt on this fine Monday?

a) I’m a girl (Even though many people have raised that doubt in the past, I never thought the day would come when I would actually have to justify/explain it. :/ Sigh…)

and

b) I LOVE Calvin & Hobbes.

And since everybody and their uncle are talking about “Why this Kolaveri di”, I’ll also mention it. *insert appropriate mention about the sooper song*

Happy? Run along now. Let me get back to work.

The rape of the whore and language

2011-11-24T05:38:00.000-08:00

Language is a very very strange thing. Especially Indian languages. Some of the words of a language will be similar to a word that means something else in another language.

I hadn’t really understood the full extent of this until I came to Hyderabad. I got to hear so many words here that would mean something very different, and sometimes scandalous, in another language. Like:-

Reppu- It means ‘tomorrow’ in Telugu. The word of often gets shortened to a very simple and plain ‘rape’. You can imagine my shock when I first reached here and heard everyone says ‘Rape rape’, right? :/

Randi- Hold your dirty mind. Let me first translate. ‘Ra’ in Telugu means ‘Come’. ‘Andi’ is used as a term of respect. So ‘Randi’ loosely translates to ‘Please come’.

Now put (1) and (2) together. Say it out loud.

You get what I’m saying about ‘scandalous’? The first time my friend Arun heard this, “Reppu randi”, he was so shocked, he couldn’t speak for a while, which is a record in itself. Then he thought, “What a disgusting place! They discuss so openly about raping! I have GOT to get to know these people better!” Ok, maybe that last bit is not true.

(In case you haven’t got it yet, ‘Randi’ in Hindi means ‘whore’)

But it didn’t stop there. There were some other gems too.

‘Palli’ (with the ‘ll’ pronounced like the sound in ‘love’. Malayalam has two different sounds for l, if not more) in Malayalam means ‘lizard’. So I was sitting at the Necklace road station one night, waiting for the MMTS back home. This old man comes with a basket, calling out ‘Palli palli’. For a minute, I thought I had heard him wrong. But no, he was saying ‘Palli’. I was wondering why he was selling lizards. Was it like a popular snack here? When he came closer, I peeped into the basket and saw that it contained groundnuts, because, well, ‘Palli’ in Telugu means ‘groundnuts’. :/

We had all gone for a field trip to Medak from HCU once. We were at this organic restaurant to have dinner. Some of the boys had finished their first round and were calling for the second round. That’s when my friend S, a Jammu ki kudi, heard one of the boys call out “Pappu pappu!” And she was like, “Arre waah, yeh tho waiter ka naam bhi jaanta hai!” (Oh wow, he knows the waiter’s name also!). Oh it was so much fun to explain to her later that ‘Pappu’ in Telugu means ‘Dal’! :D

I still remember the first time I heard my Punjabi neighbour Aunty’s mom ask “Beta kundi lagaya?” and I cringed. You guys know what ‘kundi’ in Malayalam means, right? It means one’s private parts, or as Russell Peters would say it- Punaani. :P I still laugh whenever anyone uses that word in its Hindi context!

I was also very confused the first time I heard people here use the word ‘Gaali’ for no apparent reason in their conversation. It also turned up in songs. And I genuinely couldn’t understand why ‘Abuse’ would be a part of romantic songs! I later learnt that ‘Galli’ means ‘Air’ or ‘Wind’. :/

There’s this song in Telugu that starts with ‘Kuthire Kuthire’ (‘th’ like the sound in ’the’). And I thought, "Oh nice! A song dedicated to horses." Because that’s what it means in Malayalam. I hadn’t seen the video of the song, so I asked a friend whether the video has horses in it as a backdrop or something. With a pained expression, he explained that ‘Kuthire’ in Telugu means ‘Set ho gaya’, or ‘It’s all set’.

Equally confusing was when I heard “Kallu baagundhi” for the first time in Telugu, which translates into “Eyes are nice”. Kallu in malayalam, with the heavy ‘l’ sound and not the one in ‘love’, means toddy. :/

There are so many more such language mishaps that I can’t recollect right now. But let me tell you, each one of them has left me flummoxed and wondering at those people who were just too lazy to create words for each language, so they threw words from one language to another, and expected us to be ok with it.

Have you had any such experiences with languages?

P.S:- I guest-posted for Keirthana. Please do drop in and have a look. :)

The one where I like my own status updates

2011-11-22T01:58:00.000-08:00

(This post can also be called- *cough*Lame Show-off*cough*)

Sometimes I really miss FB you know. Especially when I can think of one-liners that would be perfect for status updates but too short for a post. At one time, I used to put a lot of thought into coming up with good status updates (good in my opinion, that is). And by good, I don't mean the “Good morning- 50 people like it” kind of good.

Here are some of my favourite status updates, in no particular order. Ok, maybe just the first two.

1) You know it’s time to take a break from the internet when, instead of telling the auto-wala “Bhaiyya, u-turn”, you say “Bhaiyya, youtube.”

2) So is the government absolutely sure that it’s a temple vault? Or was it just another Mallu wedding?

3) Dear Mango,
Summer has arrived. When will you?

Love,
Divya.
Ardent Fan.

4) Dear ATM,
Please start dispensing 10 rupee notes. Don’t you think it’s unreasonable to expect me to withdraw a minimum of Rs.100 when I have only Rs.90 left in my account? Please think about it.

Regards,
Divya,
Broke Customer
Pennilessvania.

5) Sometimes, success is something as simple as the fact that your saree stayed on the entire evening.

6) I hte ppl hu typ lyk ths.

7) Is it really just a coincidence that ‘MALE’ is an anagram of ‘LAME’?

8) You can do all the reading you want, learn a lot of good words and even use them in your daily conversations. But when you play Scrabble, all you'll get is cat mat rat aim air sob dog no in an out on. So much for improving your vocabulary. :|

9) (Divya Nambiar) is in a relationship.
With Blogger. And Facebook. And her phone. And her laptop.
Somebody please intervene before she permanently settles down with them.

10) For all the times that I have licked clean the cream from a cream-biscuit and given the biscuit to my mom, she takes revenge on me by eating the egg-white and giving the yolk to me. :/ Sigh...

11) Somehow the charm of a water-proof kajal wears off once you've spent half an hour trying to scrub it off but still end up looking like a raccoon.

12) Criticism that comes with a smile is also known as sarcasm.

13) "I don't want to fall hopelessly in love. I want to be hopeful in love- hopeful of a future with the person I'm in love with, hopeful of a life together, hope of having someone to share my ups and downs,of finding the one who I want to wake up next to every single morning,of being with a person who will love me even through my bad hair days...Why would I want to feel hopeless in love?"

14) One of the sterling examples of the fact that humans, by nature, refuse to accept certain realities:- Pulling on a door that has 'PUSH' written on the handle in bold-all caps-75 point font.

15) To err is human.
To umm and uh is intellectual.

What are some of your favourite status updates? Your own, that is.

***

I watched Tintin. Sooper fun I had. :) Go watch it!

P.S: Keirthana, I haven't forgotten about your guest post. I just didn't want yet another guest post to be about FB. Sorry. :/ I promise I'll send yours soon.

How I got noticed, got followers and got a meaning to life

2011-11-17T23:16:00.000-08:00

Exactly seven months ago to this day, on a dull uneventful afternoon at work, I opened a word doc and started writing about an incident that had happened the previous night. I wanted to vent. And clarify certain things.

And that led to “The Essential Mallu food-guide for non-Mallus”.

When I had finished typing out the post, I mailed it to Arun. He read it and said “It’s great!”. And I remember asking “What? You liked it? I thought you wouldn’t like it!” because he’s not the kind who’ll say “It’s great” to everything. And he replied “Arre! How can you decide what I like??” I said that I didn’t feel it was a great piece of writing. Then he made a few suggestions, I made some changes here and there, and finally published it. I also published it as a note on FB.
What followed next left me completely overwhelmed and at a loss for words.

Over the next few days, the note got shared on FB multiple times. I had only learnt the theory of nuclear fission. I saw how it could be applied in real life with this note. My friends shared it, their friends shared it, friends of their friends shared it. Juniors, seniors, classmates, acquaintances, strangers- everyone shared it, and actually made the effort to drop me a message on FB to let me know that it was a kickass piece of writing and that they were looking forward to reading more from me. And like a broken record, I replied “Thank you! :)” to everyone. I didn’t know what else to say! It was just too overwhelming. I was getting friendship requests from all over the place, simply because they loved my writing. That day, I realized that it’s not just the hot girls with model-type profile pics who get fraandship requests from strangers. :p I even came across a family friend who I had heard a lot about but never met! Suddenly, I was that girl who everybody wanted to know and call their friend. It got me believing in the power of the internet.

And then someone asked me whether I have a blog link for the note to share, since not everyone was able to share it on FB because of privacy settings. And so I gave the link to that guy.

My number of followers went up from 11 to 39. In one day. And it kept increasing. Each time I opened blogger, I was thrilled to find that I had got two more followers. And more comments too. I was living in a completely different world. I could not believe that little old me was actually this blogger who everybody liked to read. Ya, it was not like winning the Booker Prize or something, but for me, it was a HUGE deal. Till then, I didn't even know that I could be 'funny', that being funny and sarcastic was my thing.

After that, every post I wrote, I was aware that I had a certain standard to meet. A standard that was set by me. And I had to meet the expectations of all those kind folks who had faith in the writer in me. It was hard. After the initial excitement wore off, I started getting worried. What if I’m not able to write something equally interesting? What if I’m just a one-post wonder? What if they lose interest and don’t read my posts anymore? Will I be able to handle criticism after all the adulation? But I continued writing, because it was the only thing I knew to do. I continued writing, promising myself that I will try to meet not just my readers’, but my own expectations as well. The number of followers increased, I made a conscious effort to write regularly. I formed a circle of friends who I now call ‘My bloggers’ (Yes, mine. I’m a bit selfish that way). And even though no other post of mine has come even close to the popularity level of that post, I know what I’m capable of. I may not be on FB any longer, but some of my posts still get shared there.

As I was sitting in office today, wondering what is wrong with me, why I’m not able to write, why I’m not able to come up with anything worth reading, why the block refuses to go away, where my muse has taken off to, I opened the very same post to read. And saw the date. And it was exactly seven months ago that I had written that.

Reading that again, it restored my faith. That I will be able to write again. That even though there is a lull now, I will eventually get back to my old self. That the person who wrote the ‘Essential Mallu Food guide for non-mallus’ has not gone anywhere. She’s still alive, maybe not kicking because of various factors, but alive nonetheless.

Yup, I’ll be back. Meanwhile, please don’t write me off.

I'm not twenty-four- A review

2011-11-15T22:26:00.000-08:00

“There are two types of stories. One, where you sit up and say “This is so me.” Second, when a story takes you to a world you would hardly believe exists.”

Saumya Kapoor’s story is of the latter kind, says Sachin Garg, author of I’m not Twenty Four...I've been nineteen for five years. It chronicles the experiences of city-girl Saumya, who, ‘cursed’ with a unisex name, lands up in the god-forsaken village of Toranagallu because she was mistaken to be a boy by the HR team of Lala Steel, her employer (and her first ever job).

So go to Toranagllu she does, after a lot of whining, denial, and finally acceptance. Once she reaches there, she realizes that having a unisex name is the least of her problems. Toranagallu is a village with no coffee shops, multiplexes or good-looking eye candy. She also realizes that all the crazy shopping she did during her last two days in Delhi were a complete waste, because she has to wear a uniform, like the rest of the employees at the company! Worst of all, she has to work in the Safety Department of the company. So she has to come to terms with seeing severe acid-burns, severed limbs, and all sorts of hazards. She almost runs away, but then decides to stick it out, because she doesn’t want to be known as the city-girl who quit. Also add to this a romantic angle with the intriguing and mysterious, gypsy-like Shubhrodeep Shyamchaudhary, and that’s I’m not twenty four for you.

Ok, now for the review. The story is good. By now, we have had thousands of MBA graduates churning out books by the dozen with pretty much the same story- hero/heroine, life in B-school, corporate life, good/bad boss, stroke of inspiration, girlfriend/boyfriend etc. I was starting to wonder whether simply joining for an MBA would ensure that I would eventually write a book somehow or the other. (Is ‘writing’ one of the courses they teach in the MBA course? Genuine doubt). Sachin Garg manages to take a slightly different route, thankfully. Yes, essentially, it is still about an MBA graduate and her job, but the job and the atmosphere here are very different. He takes us out of the plush AC offices and into a steel plant in a tiny little village. He describes a world that is very difficult for many of us to fathom (just as he’s promised in the synopsis).

He hasn’t cluttered up the narrative with too many characters and sub-plots. He has kept it simple. Also, the USP of the book is that it is written from a girl’s point of view, i.e., Soumya’s. I’m not sure if he has done complete justice to it, but yes, a decent job.

But, just as how at the heart of every Bollywood movie is a love-story, at heart, I’m still a Grammar Nazi. And the Grammar Nazi in me was very very VERY disappointed with the typos and grammar mistakes. Were the editors watching Bigg Boss while editing this?? At one place, he’s written ‘shows’ for ‘shoes’- TWICE! And ‘struck’ for ‘stuck’. These were just a couple of the mistakes. I was somehow not very impressed with the language. The words just did not jump out of the pages and grab my eyeballs, if you know what I mean. You don’t? Ah well… I’m not saying you have to write in flowery language to be labeled a good writer, but they did not have an impact.

So yes, while I liked the basic story and the narrative, the ordinary (for lack of a stronger word) language and poor editing kinda put me off. Over all, I would give it 2.5/5. Go for it if you aren’t a Grammar Nazi like me.

This review is a part of the Book Reviews Program at BlogAdda.com. Participate now to get free books!

The hippo breaks her silence

2011-11-10T02:20:00.000-08:00

You know what’s the problem with having been thin all your life?

When you put on even a bit of weight, everyone gets shocked. They can’t digest it. They think something’s wrong with you.

Yup, that’s exactly what I’m going through now. Or rather, that’s what I’m being subjected to now.

When I went home in September, everyone, starting from the maid in my house to my neighbours, my friends to my dad’s friends, had only one question- “You’ve put on weight! What happened?!”

What do you mean, what happened? Biryani happened! Kebabs happened. Haleem happened! Cheesy pastas happened! My own cooking experiments involving generous amounts of ghee and cheese happened! Growing up happened! And also a bit of lack of exercise and some laziness. But those are just minor details.

Amma and Acha were happy to see a bit of flesh on me, especially Amma. She was delighted. And she tried to stuff me with more rice and fish. But I had heard so much of “You’ve put on weight” that I was scared to eat anymore. No one was actually calling me fat. They said that it was good weight, but they ended their sentences like this- “ You’re looking good, but don’t put on more weight.” :/ By the end of the trip, I was feeling like a hippo. It doesn’t at all help that I’m short and hence tend to look like a extra chubby if I put on weight. One friend even said I look beefy. :(

And yesterday I happened to go to my old office, Red FM. After they managed to close their open mouths after five full minutes, I got to hear some more of “What’s happened to you?!” But in their defense, the last time they saw me, even though I was only a bit thinner, my hair was longer and I was wearing specs. So I looked like a completely different person.

So from a girl who was so skinny, people thought her parents starved her, I’ve become the girl with sumo-wrestler arms and tomato-cheeks.

From a girl who laughed out loud at the mere mention of a diet, I’ve become the girl who thinks twice about eating Biryani.

From the girl who couldn’t imagine a meal that did not include rice, I have become the girl who doesn’t mind not eating rice for days together.

From a girl who used to obsess (and secretly rejoice) that her weight never hit 50, I’ve become the girl who whines when she sees the scales tipping towards 52.5.

From the girl who used to confidently buy any type of clothes because nothing used to look vulgar on her, I’ve become the girl who only picks out clothes that hide her figure.

From the girl who used to complain that even XS size is big for her sometimes, I’ve become the girl who has resigned herself to buying Medium sized clothing.

I know exercising is an option, but I’m yet to convince myself to do that. Right now I’m dealing with the wallowing-in-self-pity part of it.

And you know what’s the worst part? When I get depressed, I eat. :/ So it's like a vicious cycle. Eat-put on weight-people notice and comment-get depressed- and that'll bring us back to eat eat eat eat!

Nobody says “Hi,how’re you?” to me these days. It’s “Hi, you’ve put on weight!”

Yes, I KNOW that, dammit!!!

******

Do you like sambar? Then you should definitely check out this post!

The things money can't buy

2011-11-06T11:23:00.001-08:00

A quarter bottle of Old Monk rum- 122 bucks

A small bottle of Pepsi to have with the rum- 25 bucks

Water to go with it- 12 bucks.

Expressions on the faces of the over-the-hill uncles and just-hit puberty boys at the liquor store (a palatial one at that) watching two girls animatedly walking around the store and discussing what to buy, picking up bottles, considering them, finally deciding on one and confidently paying the bill, meeting the cashier uncle in the eye- PRICELESS.

The phallic (il)logic

2011-11-04T10:36:00.001-07:00

There's a school very close to my house. It's a popular school franchise, with branches all over India. This particular branch has a pretty small compound and the building has a Shivalingam on the roof- a HUGE one.

Me and my roomie Hosku(No, that's not her real name) were returning home tonight. When we passed the school, having studied in a school, college and university with HUMONGOUS campuses, I remarked:-

Me: How can you have a school with such a small campus??!

Hosku: How can you have a school with a penis on its roof?

:|

Eskoos me

2011-11-03T02:58:00.000-07:00

Urban dictionary describes Blah as a word used in an after-sentence, when no one is talking, or when a person has nothing else to say.

Use in a sentence:-
I'm in a very blah mood these days. I don't feel like writing. Or reading. I open other blogs, read halfway, and close the page. I don't leave kilometre-long comments. I haven't updated my blog in almost a week.I can't think of anything even remotely interesting to post. I have about three-four half-done posts in my drafts, victims of my laziness and lack of concentration. In spite of having a holiday yesterday.

So ya, BLAH.

But then, just like a donkey sometimes needs a kick to start working, so do I (No connection whatsoever, I swear). I got some from PeeVee and Kalpak. Thanks, you both. The fact that there are people waiting to read what I write was the kick I needed.

But even then, I'm not in the mood to write anything new. I racked my brains, then raided my drafts.

I had written this post a few months back, but never published it. Now that I'm not on FB anymore (Yes!! More than a month and I'm still off it!), it really doesn't apply to me anymore, but at one time, it did. And I'm sure it still does to a lot of people. Some are from personal experience, some from observation.

So here it is. Add on if you have more.

You know you’ve got to take a break from the internet and your mobile when...:-

1) …instead of telling the auto-driver “Bhaiyya, u-turn”, you say, “Bhaiyya, youtube”. (I swear, I said this to the autowala. I'm not exaggerating.)

2) …your dreams become very specific. Instead of random visions, you see little thumbs-up’s, numbers followed by ‘friends like your status’, etc. (Kalpak, this is not exaggeration. Mereko sacchi mein aise sapne aate the, especially the day I had put up a new status update. And then I would wake up in the middle of the night and log onto FB. Teri kasam. :P)

3) …you have a brand new expensive watch on your wrist, but still take out your phone to check the time.

4) …there is a literal itch in your fingers to log onto the net every two minutes.

5) …you don’t have money to buy rice and vegetables, because you thought it’s more important to get your SMS and internet recharge done.

6) …you don’t throw a hissy fit when your mom tells you that your favourite white top is now yellow-blue-purple in colour because the maid washed it along with another dress that runs colour. But you sulk for hours if you’ve got only ten likes on your status or photo.

7) …you think the internet can give you a better recipe for cake than your mom can.

8) …even when you’re out having a coffee or at a movie with friends, you need to log on and check how many of your Facebook friends liked and commented on your status update.

9) …you would rather say LOL and ROFL than actually laugh out loud and roll on the floor and laugh.

10) …you keep alarm to wake up in the middle of the night and check whether your torrents have finished downloading, and then queue up a new one.

11) …you are constantly on the lookout for things that you can write about in your blog or put up as a status update.

12) …you’re on the net the whole day in office. On your way back home, you log on to the net from your phone, you know, just as a time pass while the bus is stuck in traffic. You come back home and you switch on your laptop and net even before you have a sip of water. Just before you go to sleep, you log on for one last time from your phone. What if something new has happened in the last one five minutes?!

13) …there is a voice at the back of your head that’s been telling you to give it a break, but you ignore it, justifying that the internet is a treasure trove of information, when all you do the whole day is Facebook and read blogs and play online games.

14) …you almost fell into a ditch and escaped walking headlong into a tree because you were busy chatting on your phone.

15) …you didn’t even hear the abuses hurled at you by drivers who spilt coffee on their shirts while putting a sudden brake to avoid ramming into the girl who was replying to a message while crossing the road.

So as I was saying, blah blah blah, blah, blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah, blah.

This one’s for you...

2011-10-27T01:44:00.000-07:00

“This one’s for you..” He smiled as the memory of that day flashed into his mind. How long has it been? Five years? Ten years? The memory was still as fresh in his mind as though it had happened just yesterday.

He was on his way back from work, and had taken a different route that day. That’s when he passed it, the International School, where he used to have music classes. Every Sunday afternoon, for two hours-that’s where he gave wings to his passion. He came alive in those two hours, transforming all his emotions into notes. His keyboard was his friend, lover, companion, everything.

“What’re you smiling at?” His wife’s words broke into his thoughts.

“Nothing.” He continued smiling.

“What?? Tell me...” She gently prodded.

He’d never told it to anyone, not even to his wife, who was his best friend and confidante. He felt that it was somehow too special to be shared, as though the beauty of it would get spoilt by just a narration. But, looking at his wife, he knew that no one else would understand it as well either. As he started talking, his mind flashed back to all those years.

***

Hunk, daredevil, hero, singer, rockstar- he had had a lot of tags attached to him during his youth. The star of his college, the heartthrob of girls, he was used to reducing girls to a simpering pile of mush with just a look. Passionate about music, he used to go for keyboard classes at the International School, certified by the Trinity College of Music, London.

It was the day of his final recital, and he had overslept. He woke up to his friend’s call, and rushed to the school, not bothering about the prescribed dress code. As he entered the recital hall, a shiver of excitement went through him. “This is it”, he thought to himself. “This is where years of my learning will be tested, and I will finally be certified.”

The hall was filled with nervous, hopeful musicians, waiting for their turn up on the stage. Some of them were familiar, some new. That’s when his eyes fell on her. He’d never seen her there before, so he assumed that she was probably among those NRI’s who’d come from the U.S to give their recital. She looked up at him, just a glance, and looked back down at the notes in her hand.

Now this was new. He was not used to this. Girls always gave him a second glance, and then a third, fourth, fifth glance.

But then, this girl, there was something different about her. She was totally unlike the usual bimbos he had met till now. Everything about her was delicate, feminine, beautiful. Her flawless complexion, pink lips, warm brown eyes, light brown silky hair pulled back from her angelic face in a ponytail- and no trace of make-up. She looked like Cindrella, he thought, and for the first time in his sixteen years, he had fallen for a girl.

The performances got over one by one, and then it was his turn. For the next fifteen minutes, he was lost- lost in the world of music. As the crescendo descended, he became aware of the sound of thunderous applause. He got down from the stage and wound his way through the rows of chairs to the only empty chair he could find. As he sat down and glanced at his neighbour, a jolt of excitement shot through him. It was her! His mind went blank. And then he heard a soft voice calling out to him.

“Nikhil, right?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Hi, I’m Anamika. What you did up there, that was awesome.”

“Oh, thank you.” His senses seemed to have taken leave of him.

“Big fan...” She kept her hand over her heart as she said it.

“Thanks..” He gave a dimpled smile.

“Next performance is by Anamika”, came the announcement.

As she left her seat to go up on stage, Nikhil thought he heard her murmur something; something that sounded like “This one’s for you.”

“Did you hear something?” he asked his friend seated next to him, who said that he hadn’t. “I guess I must’ve imagined it”, he said to himself. There she was up on the stage, on the piano, and she was singing. He couldn’t recognize the song, but the lyrics went “I think of you...” And all throughout the performance, she didn’t take her eyes off him, and he didn’t attempt to look away either. It was as though someone had pressed the ‘Pause’ button on the rest of the world. There was magic in the air.

As she came down the stage, cheeks flushed a lovely red with excitement and joy, and resumed her seat next to him, he kept his hand over his heart and said, “You know what? Big fan..” The most innocent smile he’d ever seen lit up her face.

“Did you say something just before you went up on stage?”

“No...”

The show was over. Everyone had had their fifteen seconds of fame. As she got up to leave, she glanced back at him, and with the slightest hint of a smile, said “You heard right, you dumbo.” And then she was gone, just like that. He felt as though he was flying.

He eagerly waited for her the next Sunday, and yes, there she was. He experienced the same buoyant feeling in his heart that he’d felt when he first saw her. It was like his heart was a red balloon, floating up, up and away, sky the limit. Her smile seemed to light up the room.

“Hi, how’re you?” Her accented English blew him away more.

“I’m doing good.” He’d managed to untie his tongue.

“Ok...Umm..I’m just here for a few days actually. I live in the U.S, came down here just for my performance...”

“Oh...ok...” Somewhere up there, God was laughing at him.

They chatted for a while, two shy teenagers, blushing each time their eyes met. It was time for her to leave, she said. As she went down the stairs, she kept looking back at him, and he couldn’t move from where he stood.

“Nikhil, would you mind walking me till the gate?”

“Sure.” He had to be careful not to run too fast.

As they went down the driveway, neither of them spoke a word. And yet, there was something comfortable about that silence, as though neither wanted to spoil the beauty of that moment with meaningless chatter. The silence spoke volumes. They reached her car, and they looked at each other, warm brown eyes softening the intense black ones.

“So, bye then..I guess...” Maybe the soft voice lessened the blow the words had.

“Ya...bye. I’ll see you again soon, I hope.”

“Ya, hopefully.” She smiled.

And then she was gone.

***

“I never saw her again, you know. I searched for her the next Sunday, but she wasn’t there. And then my course got over, so I didn’t go back there.” He could sense that he had turned nostalgic. The boy who had yearned to see his angel for just one more time so that he could just sit with her, looking at her- the boy he’d hidden away somewhere, had resurfaced.

“You didn’t take her number, email id, anything?”

“Nope. Nothing. I tried searching for her on some sites, chat rooms, even Google-searched her name”. He laughed at the memory. “But I never found her. Maybe that’s why I still remember her. She came into my life like an angel, like a gentle breeze on a hot summer’s day, gave a little joy, made me aware of a side of me that I never knew existed, and then she vanished. I won’t call it love. No. It wasn’t even a crush. But whatever it was, it was beautiful. She touched my life like no one ever has.”

“Hey!!” His wife swatted him playfully on his head.

They were back home. He felt lighter, happier, that he’d shared it with his wife. Maybe the reason he’d never shared it was that it was inexplicable. He had gently packed it away in his heart, like he’d seen his mother pack away her silver, so that it remained pure, untarnished, without so much as a blemish. He went to his keyboard, and as he started playing his favourite composition, he said to himself, and to his Cinderella, “This one’s for you...”

***********************************

I wanted to write something special for my 100th post, but couldn't figure out what. So I decided to post the first ever short story I ever wrote, over a year back. So this is an amateur's attempt. Pardon me if it's not good enough. :)

Dedicated to the person whose true-life experience inspired this story...

All you need to do is look around you, and you'll find a story in every person, in every smile, behind every drop of tear, in every song, around every corner...

Of shades in the dark and my favourite post.

2011-10-20T05:09:00.000-07:00

Have you guys ever laughed at one of those idiots who wears dark glasses/shades after dark? Come on, don't tell me you haven't. I know I have, many many times.

Well... I no longer will. That person could very well have been the victim of a lens blunder.

I'll explain.

I recently started wearing lenses. So I'm still getting used to the whole sticking-finger-into-my-eye ritual. I take about ten minutes to wear my lenses because each time I bring the lens near my eye, my head moves back on its own accord. So I have to keep an imaginary hand behind my head and push it forward. Then after a lot of rapid blinking, treating the lens as though it's the small ball of chapathi dough that your mom gives you to play with (to keep you out of her way mainly), and lot of eye-watering, it's finally in place.

But I was having trouble going out with it because dust would get in my eyes. So I went and bought a pair of shades. The other day, I was leaving from office in the evening, and a colleague of mine had offered to give me a lift. Since I was going on a bike, I thought it would be best to remove my lens and wear my specs. So I went to the washroom, removed my lens, placed them in the case, and took out my spectacles case.

Only to find that I had forgotten to put my specs in the case.

So I push the lens back into my kajal-laden eyes (if you're a lens-wearer, you'll know that it is advised to wear eye makeup after you've worn the lens, otherwise it'll get dirty), put on my shades, cover my head and half my face with my stole, and avoid looking at anyone the entire ride back home.

I'm telling you, don't EVER laugh at someone wearing shades after dark. It's NOT out fault. Well, maybe a little.
***

There's a small bit of news I wanted to share with you guys.

Sometime in 2010, a bunch of writers based in Bangalore had published a book called Mind Blogs 1.0- a collection of their blog posts collated into a book. They also have a blog for it. Earlier this year, they had invited guest posts from other bloggers, and I had sent one of mine in. Here it is.

So a few days back, one of the writers of Mind Blogs 1.0 mailed me and informed me that they're having a reading of the book, and that they're also inviting the guest bloggers to come and read aloud their posts, and whether I would want to join in. I was like 'Why not?!'. So it's happening in Bangalore this saturday. Do come down if you're in Bangalore and are jobless on Saturday evening. :)

Details of the event can be found here.

I know it's not all that big a deal, but for me it is, because that post is my favourite. It's the one I hold closest to my heart, and the way I see it, it's a fitting tribute to one of the most amazing human being I've ever known in my life (Originally published here).

So drop by if you can. :) And if you're planning to, just leave me a mail and let me know, so that I can watch out for you.

A small step for Divya. A giant leap for Divyakind.

Ok ok! I'm sorry! :/

Elevated...

2011-10-18T22:21:00.000-07:00

Introducing PeeVee to bloggers is like introducing the Pope to christians. Or introducing Tarla Dalal to kitchen enthusiasts. Or introducing Rajnikant to God.

Err.. You get the point.

You all know her. You all read her. You all follow her. And you all love her.

She's one of those writers who can entertain people even if she writes only one small paragraph.

But right now, she's got more than a paragraph. She's got a little tale for us. One of those that never fails to delight us with it's simplicity, emotions, brilliance.

So here it is, a guest post from my fellow-blogger, friend, fellow foodie and FRIENDS-fanatic, and a kid sister- PeeVee (who I'm often tempted to call BeeVee, but then that would be just too gay), from Confessions of the chocolate obsessed.

Ta da!!

***

Elevators always give me the feeling of having left my stomach behind.

As this one went down, I checked my reflection in the mirror, more out of habit than anything else. While I earned a few snicker-filled glances for my supposed vanity, the good part was that I saw the perverted old man trying to look down my shirt stealthily. I gave him my best “fuck-off” stare and ignored him while the others in the lift wondered where my sudden rancor came from.

Not that I cared, the afternoon was dull and sluggish either way.

As the doors opened, I shrunk back to save myself from the melee; the way the others rushed out, it was almost as if the KFC had set up stalls of free chicken buckets outside. I waited till everyone was out; I was in no hurry, no specific planes to catch, worlds to save. That was when I noticed him.

He was by no means the cutest/hottest guy I’d ever seen; certainly not a Greek god – not even tall enough to pass off as one. Nor did he have the perfect body to drool over, what little I could see of it. He didn’t even stand out of the crowd, just another face… another person waiting to take the elevator.

But I had a slow-mo* moment. I saw him smile at something his friend said, deepening the dimples in his cheek into deeper grooves. His eyes sparkled with amusement, a feat very few men can genuinely achieve; smile with only their eyes, that is. His hair stood up at the back of his head like Harry Potter with such adorable charm that I could only stare. The light purple stripes on his shirt made him look almost handsome.

You know that feeling when you instantly crush on someone? The quick tightening of the intestines, a sudden awareness, to say silly things to him, a need bordering on desperation for him to respond, to at least notice?

I didn’t freeze nor did I fall head over heels for him at first sight. In this desert of cute-starved women, I was just another survivor who witnessed a mirage.
Mirage, I say, for he was gone before I could even process the words to make one sentence. Gone with the melee going into the elevator this time; almost as if God had destined us to go in opposite directions and never meet.

I shook my head to displace the stupid thoughts of God being jobless enough to sit and plot out scenarios to make my love life interesting and started walking but I couldn’t help looking back inside the elevator.

And tripped over the unused mannequin on the side.

As luck would have it, he was looking at me. With a grin. It was one of those moments when I wish I had Sita-like capabilities of being swallowed by Mother Earth.
Ah well. It wasn’t like he was going to marry me anyway, I thought to myself, plunking my slightly-hurting tush and slightly-bruised ego on the stool. As I ordered my chocolate crusher, I found myself still thinking thoughts about him.

Simple attraction. While the world had gone on and become muddled and tripped over its own tail about love and related maladies, these two simple words had lost their way. How about two people liking what they see of each other, acknowledging the same and moving on with their lives? Or in my case, ONE of us doing all the liking and acknowledging. But why couldn’t it be that simple? I wished it would be after wondering how he liked his coffee.

I wondered if I was making up the philosophical angle to explain away my own unusually flirtatious behavior, as uncharacteristic as it was, or if it actually held any weight. As I slurped my way to the rocky end of the crusher, the waiter placed a cup and a napkin on the table startling me out of my thoughts. I started protesting about not asking for the coffee when he pointed at the napkin.

Coffee?

I spun around to see the dimples firmly in place, eyes almost daring me to refuse. It was almost like he knew I didn’t crush like this often. I walked over and spent the four most prolific hours of my love life by that café window, right before he had to catch his flight.

Turns out it WAS that simple.

And I found out that he liked his coffee black.

P.S: Dedicated to that unknown cute guy outside the Kalyan Silks lift (with his girlfriend/wife) who didn’t quite meet my eye the second time :)

*slow mo moment – the part in movies when everything moved in slow motion and you can see everything in HD like the heroine flipping her hair and her ‘dancing’ eyes and the hero reaching for her hand and shit. You get the point. If you don’t, you obviously haven’t watched the prescribed amount of Bollywood.

***

Ra.Too-many

2011-10-17T01:14:00.000-07:00

This festive season, bring home the new Whisper Ultra with wings, that soaks the extra dampness and keeps you dry and happy all through the day.
Just like G.One.

This festive season, bring home Pedigree dog food. It keeps your dog healthy and active.
Just like G.One.

This festive season, bring home the New Harpic toilet cleaner, which goes deep into your toilet and kills germs.
Just like G.One

This festive season, bring home the new range of undergarments from V.I.P. It gives your body parts the necessary support that it requires.
Just like G.One.

This festive season, bring home the new Pril Dishwash Liquid. It’s lemon formula goes into the gehraai of your barthan and cleans it, leaving it sparkling and khushbudaar.
Just like G.One.

This festive season, bring home Itchguard. It prevents you from facing embarrassing episodes of scratching.
Just like G.One.

This festive season, bring home anything. You’re sure to bring home either Ra.One or G.One along with it. And when you get them, please put them inside your attic and lock them in there.

At the risk of sounding like a lesbo, I must ask- doesn't Vidya Balan look absolutely delicious in the promo of 'The Dirty Picture'?

Saw 'Mujhse Fraandship Karoge' last night. One time watch. The two main leads have done a wonderful job (Saqib saleem and Saba Azad), especially Saqib. But no matter how 'youthful' YashRaj Films tries to be, the movie's got the 'Y' stamp of candy-floss romance and elaborate-dripping-with-drama endings imprinted on it clearly. I would give it 2.5/5. Raghu Dixit's bollywood debut is fair enough. I really liked the songs "Uh oh uh oh Pyaar hua (I guess I'm falling in love)" and "Dheon dheon".

P.S:- Will someone please help Esha Deol find her father? She’s been yelling “Mujhe mere dad ko dhoondhna hai.” ‘Mujhe mere dad ko dhoondhna hai!”, “MUJHE MERE DAD KO DHOONDNA HAI!!!” every time I switch on the T.V. All this yelling only must have driven him away. Bleddy.

And no, don’t even bother. I will continue to watch T.V and crib about it.

PeeVee's guest post is coming up in my next post. So you know you're going to stay tuned. :)

Images: G.Images

The too-long post with too many random things

2011-10-14T01:05:00.000-07:00

I’m looking at the world through black-tinted eyes now…

No need to read anything deep or significant into it. I bought a new pair of shades, my first ever, and wanted to show off. That’s all.

May I take a moment to say ‘Thank god it’s Friday!’ *doing the very popular and trendy step that Himi grooves to in ‘Tandoori Nights’ from Karzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz*

Isn't he just priceless? I want to marry him and have nasal-voiced cap-wearing babies with him.

I got another award! Yay!!!

I was given the ‘Your Blog is Great/Tell me about yourself’ Award by Ashwini. Thanks Ashwini!

And I have to write seven random things about myself, yet again. Random, you say? Alright. Random, I’ll write.

1) I hate it when people ask me the power of my spectacles. Keep in mind, people (note this down, if you want)- Never ask a girl her age and her chashme ka power.

2) I don’t watch T.V too much, but when I do watch something interesting, then I’m deaf and blind to the rest of the world. These days, if someone calls me at night in between 9:00 PM and 10:00 PM, this is how I reply. “HelloI’mwatchingMasterChefAustraliaI’llcallyoulaterokbye”. And if someone comes over, I mostly tell them on their face to get out soon, before the commercial break gets over.

3) I wish to give my voice for an animation feature at least once in my life. I used to do a lot of ads when I was in Red FM, and I also did other voice-over assignments (If you pick up your phone and it’s one of those IVR messages from a mobile service provider, don’t hang up immediately. That might just be my voice :/) It’s an art, knowing how to modulate your voice, bring emotion into it, maintain a pace, and sound pleasing to the ears. I used to absolutely love doing it. I had done a show for AIR long back, in college, and that’s when I fell in love with that whole exercise. But I lost touch with it once I quit Red. I really want to get back to it now. Before I spoil my voice with too much ice-cream and chilled Slice.

4) I drop my mobile phone on an average of two times per day. Once I got down from a cab and heard a crunch. I searched for my phone but couldn’t find it. There it was, safely wedged between my foot and the road.

5) I’m so confused, I could give Confucious a complex.

6) I love imli. I can sit and eat a whole packet full of imli candies at one go without so much as a wince. I used to finish off a whole dabba of Hajmola Imli in three days. And no, I didn’t kill anyone with toxic gases.

7) Umm.. Ok, this one’s a little embarrassing, but it’s time I admitted it and found a solution to this. I cannot sleep if there is anyone else on my bed next to me. I may drift off a bit, but I just cannot sleep. My mom once slept next to me, and in her sleep, put her arms around me. I woke up shouting “Ayyo ayyo! Somebody put their hands on me!” Amma doesn’t sleep next to me much anymore. Do you think I should put this on my matrimonial ad? "25, post graduate, has issues sharing bed with anyone."

What? Random only I wrote off no?

I’m supposed to give the award away to a few more bloggers. I thought I’ll take this opportunity to give it to some of the new blogs that I recently started reading and who I haven’t awarded yet. (No offence to the veterans. You guys still rock).

a) Krishna Sruthi Srivalsan- From the ashes

b) Sushmit- Blogwati

c) Atrocious Scribblings

d) Supernickkk- The devil’s workshop

e) Kalpak- Noises of my empty vessel

f) Darsh- Serenading Serendipity

g) Deepthi- Confessions of a life-a-holic

So there you go. Please do go over and read each of them if you already haven't.

# My current favoutire song of my jaanu Himi.

I keep humming "No touching no touching. Only seeing only seeing. No kissing no kissing. Only seeing only seeing." What lyrics, no? And I like how his mouth is constantly open in the song. So sesky.

Shake that biscuit baybe. Shake it for me!

Happy weekending!

The Effing blog

2011-10-12T03:04:00.000-07:00

So ages ago, before even the wheel was invented, I asked Mr.Ranjith Raj, one of my favourite bloggers, to write a guest post for me.

The first thing that got me reading his blog was the blog name. I distinctly remember, when I opened his page, I did a quick check to look around and ensure that no one was around me, lest they think I'm surfing porn in the office. He's honest, funny, unpretentious (well, maybe a little, like all Mallu guys :P). And he writes awesomely. If only he would write more often. He's a celebrity of sorts, with his pic and blog being featured in a Bangalore daily recently(Ah!! So THAT's why you put up one 'sumukhan susheelan' pic in your birthday post!!)

So without further ado, presenting to you :-
R-A-J from fucklove!

And dude, just so you know, if I ever do get kicked out of my job for allegedly surfing porn, you'll have to pay me blogmony (the bloggers' version of alimony).

Over to you...

***

The future of the blogginzzz...

The news is that Divya the most useful, asked me, the most useless, to guest blog on her impressive site.

Her mandate was that my post should be funny. I suggested to her than in that case, I could write about my life plans; everyone seems to laugh at them, but then she said it also had to be sensible. (Damn! :( )

So as I thought about what to write on, I thought I could write on ‘time management’ considering that she told me that she needed this piece within a week. And I also faintly remember that she told me the same some two months back. Brilliant time management skills I have, I know, I know… :)

On blogspace, we follow each other. We’re avid bloggers and she’s more active on the blogspace than I am – while she posts, waits and posts more, I wait, post and wait more. Also, a good chunk of people come to my blog from hers.

And that’s when it struck me of the growing number of friends that I’m making because of the bloggingz, Divya being one of them. I mean, in my heart, I know that if these fellow bloggers had known me in real life, they’d probably have gunned me down by now because of my good behavior (like they say, some people are still alive cos it’s illegal to kill them!) But in blogspace, I’m making a lot of friends which is pretty much the opposite of what is happening in my real life. :)

So in the light of this new medium which has given me new friends, my bright idea is: - to write on …..The future of Indian bloggingz!!! (…tada…)

So what is the bloggingz? Well, like the poet once said, Bloggingz is one of the greater movements that has democratized the net – anybody with a keyboard, reasonable writing skills and varied levels of sanity can write about anyone, anyhow and anywhere. Of course, in India, Facebook provides a better means for this. But FB is still about one liners; but think you this about this really cool idea – people try really hard to come up with smart and witty facebook status updates but if you could take all the status messages that really awed u and collate it into one place, you’d have one absolutely great read! For example, when Steve Jobs passed away, the many facebook updates changed from the mere informative (“RIP Steve Jobs”) in the morning to more intellectual ones by afternoon (quoting his Stanford speech) to the creative ones in the evening (see cool pic here). Just collating all of these status updates would have created one hell of a great write up on Master Jobs! And a blog and the bloggingz are a lot similar! It’s a collation of thoughts, structured into a fine flow with the guiding force of its popularity always being – “the cooler the content, the better the blog”.

In the west, bloggingz went from proliferation, communities (a la Indiblogger) the eventual consolidation and the resurgence of niche blogs. In India, bloggingz is still in the nascent phase but as long as nothing can beat the magic of a great read, even Rajni agrees that the future of the bloggingz is supposedly secure.

So how is the bloggginz scene in the India? Well, people smarter than me say that in India, the whole bloggingz cycle has been going strong and is still in the proliferation phase. Sure there is attrition in the existing set of bloggers due to the inherent challenge of maintaining quality content, but more and more mango peoples are getting into the Indian bloggingz bandwagon through better net connectivity, lower net usage rates and to satisfy that innate need for self expression. Following are some of the trends that me thinkz shall impact the futurezz of the Indian bloggingz:

•The 4 Cs of any successful blog are content, content, content and content.

•Facebook, Twitter and other social media tools will empower bloggers, contrary to the naysayers’ view that social media will weaken bloggingz.

•Women bloggers are increasing – however at last count, men still outnumber women 3 to 1 in India.

•Majority of Indian bloggers still have a casual approach to bloggingz and with time, more will crack open the monetization angle, thereby increasing the incidence of bloggers who make money out of their blogs.

•The growing association of mainstream brands with bloggingz shall increase, though I’m not sure if they have yet figured out how to make the most of this medium.

•One’s blog will be another added facet to one’s personality in the future.

•And the bestest thing about the bloggingz is that people with abysmally low levels of intelligence like me, can use big, big words like democratized, proliferation , consolidation, moneti….etc and still get away with it… :)

And as for the funny in this post…..

Well, an old man walks into a saloon thinking it’s a restaurant.

So the old man, “What do you have?”. So the barber, “Cutting and Shaving”.

So the old man, “OK, bring me a plate of both then!” :)
(For the mallus out there, the real deal here.)

Bloggingz rules man! My jokes clearly don’t! :)

Just december dat!

:)

Research/plagiarism references: watblog.com, google, indiblogger, own gut.. :)

***

In case you were wondering why his blog is named so, here is why, from the man himself. And while you're there, read the rest of his blog too. When you've finished laughing, come thank me.

Random Monday

2011-10-10T02:50:00.000-07:00

Ek fairness cream jo sab kuch karta hain.

Ha, sab kuch. Aapko gora banata hain, jawaan banata hain. Ghar saaf karta hain, barthan dhotha hai, kapde dhotha hain, khaana banata hai, jhaado-poncha martha hain, baccho ke sussu-potty dhotha hai, subah-subah aapko neend se jagaatha hai, aapke liye chai-naashta banata hai. Raat ko kahaniyaan bhi sunata hai. Zaroorat pade tho khujli bhi karke deta hain.

Aapka fairness cream kya karta hain?

Do you want it to be translated into Inglees? Alright then.

A fairness cream that does everything.

Yes, everything. It’ll make you fairer, make you look younger. Cleans your house, washes vessels, washes clothes, cooks, does sweeping-swabbing, cleans your kid’s sussu-potty, wakes you up in the morning, makes chai-breakfast for you. Tells you stories at bedtime. If required, it’ll do scratching also for you.

What does your fairness cream do?

P.S 1:- No, haven't gone bonkers. Have you seen the new Olay fairness cream ad? If they make anymore fairness creams, all Indian women are going to look like ghosts.

P.S 2:- Please go read this lady’s blog if you haven’t yet. Very different, very funny.

Just love this song.

Edited to add: Yippe! The Youtube thingy works! Thanks, you guys! :)

The 10-day 'You' Challenge- Seven Wants

2011-10-07T03:19:00.000-07:00

I had almost forgotten about this.

1) Money
What? You thought I was some Mother Theresa types?

When I had just finished my M.A., I was one of those who didn’t consider money very important. I was all “What matters is whether I learn the job well and how much I love my job. Money is the last priority.” Ya, that lasted for like, four months. Being perpetually broke is not a great state of being, you see. And it’s not like I want crores and crores of money. No. I just want enough. And how much is enough? I guess that’s relative.

For me, enough would be- if I suddenly get the craving to eat something, I shouldn’t have to think twice about it. If I see a pretty saree and want to buy it for mom, I shouldn’t have to forego something else for it. If I want to buy a bottle of Scotch for dad, I should be able to do it without worrying about whether I’ll have enough money to buy ration for the month. There’s a pretty watch that I think my sister will like, I want to be able to buy it without any worry. If someone in my family falls ill, I want to be able to catch a flight and get there as soon as possible. Or if I fall ill, I should have enough for the hospital bills (which can be exorbitant) If a friend needs money, I want to be able to lend it to him/her. When I’m tired at the end of the day, I want to be able to take an auto without worrying that that’s my dinner money I’m spending and will now have to manage with Maggi.
Is this asking for too much?

2) My own house.
Beautiful houses take me to orgasmic heights (Oh c’mon. Loosen that muscle, will you?). I’m an absolute sucker for them. I’ve stared at houses on the road enough to make the watchmen suspicious of me. I have practically drooled over those coffee-table books that you find in bookstores which have pictures of gorgeous houses. And a house of my own is one of my fondest dreams. I have it all planned out in my head. What the rooms will look like, the verandah (very very important), a ‘nook’, a large airy bedroom with lots of windows- I have it all mapped out. Now all I need is lots of money- or a rich husband, whichever happens first. ;)

And if I want to paint my bedroom purple, I damn well will!!!

3) To travel
I want to see at least my own state properly. People here in Hyderabad tell me “Wow, Kerala is a beautiful place no? Aleppey, Munnar, etc..” And I’m like “Err..ya. So I’ve heard!” I haven’t seen my own state properly! I need to go back there as a tourist one day and roam around. And then I want to travel the rest of India. There’s so much to see, so little money (it’s amusing, isn’t it, how I connect everything to money. Or maybe not. Sigh…).

4) To open a bookstore.
No surprises here, since I love bookstores so much. I want to open one of those quaint little stores with stone benches outside and winding wooden staircase inside (yes, I’m a BIG fan of Enid Blyton). Not too big, but a cozy little place where people can come sit and read and unwind.

5) My own bakery
Isn’t it heavenly, the scent that greets you when you walk into a bakery? I love it. I’ve always been fascinated by cakes and pastries etc. And some day, I want to learn how to bake those wonderful things and start my own bakery. Of course, that I might end up eating most of the things myself is another matter.

6) To write a book.
Ha… someday.

7) To be an awesome cook. And have a fabulous kitchen.

I love cooking. Especially if there is someone else to cook for. If I’m alone, I’ll probably cook just Maggi or pasta or khichdi. But if there is someone I can cook for, I give it my best. It’s the second best feeling in the world when others appreciate my cooking, the first one being appreciation for my writing. And I’m not the kind who can manage with just three spoons and two utensils. I need specific vessels for everything. And I obsess for days if I mess up a dish. It’s the only positive trait I managed to inherit from Mumsy darling.

# Is anyone out there as much a lover of old Hindi songs as I am? Here's one of my all-time favourites.
By the way, how do I add a Youtube video to my post as not just a link, but the actual video?

In case you are scratching your head over what this is all about:-
Ten Secrets, Nine Loves and Eight Fears.

Shades of blue

2011-10-03T02:23:00.000-07:00

FB is like this annoying ex-boyfriend who I have broken up with but still can’t stop talking about, even if it is to bitch about him. Remember Carrie obsessing over Big?

So while I’m happy that I deactivated my account, I leave no oppurtunity to tell people that I quit FB. I get some sort of weird pleasure when they get shocked and ask me why, and I answer “Because I got bored.” Some think I quit because ‘something happened’. Some think I’m just plain mental to have quit. Some others think I’ll be back sooner than I can say ‘I’m bored.’

So here’s the real reason why I quit.

I had absolutely nothing to do on it. I mean, I had stopped updating status messages (my creativity had shriveled down to the size of goat poop), I hardly uploaded pics, I never logged on to chat, I rarely changed my profile pic, I had stopped linking my blog posts also. And yet, I logged on every half an hour. For what joy? God knows. And then when I see that nothing new is happening, I would get pissed off all over again. I would worry over taking a good picture so that I would get a lot of likes and comments on it. Taking pics was not about preserving memories anymore. It was for the sole purpose of uploading it on FB. And the quirkier the picture, the better. Normal is boring, you see.

The worst part? I see my friends- girls I studied in school and college with- getting married and having babies. First the green-eyed monster rears its head. Then the blue-toned monster takes over- depression (what an irony that the colour of FB is also blue). Depression that I’m not married, that I’m not even close to getting married. That I don’t have a baby. That the only vacation I take is to TVM and B’lore. That I’m constantly broke by the end of the month. That I don’t have a kick-ass figure like that old friend who used to be fat in school. That I don’t have radiant skin and perfect hair like the wife of the most geeky guy in class. That compared to many people I had studied with, I've reached nowhere in life.

It was getting stressful. And frustrating. Honestly. I mean, ya, I know I should be thankful for a lot many things that I have in life. And I am thankful for all that.

But sometimes, I just go into one of those moods where I mope and mourn over what I don’t have and how badly I want it. Where it hits me real hard that I have absolutely no direction in life.

I’m sorry. I’m just going through a crappy phase right now. Will be back with less-depressing posts soon. If my creativity hasn’t shriveled down to the size of a mustard by then. I promise.

The 8th wonder- Television

2011-09-30T02:52:00.001-07:00

Imagine a buxom blonde, big boobs, pearly white teeth, silky straight hair. In a colourful bikini. She’s one of the participants on a contest-type show. The audience is cheering her on. It's one of those shows that has been dubbed, so the white American host is speaking in flawless Telugu as though he was born and brought up in Machlipatnam.

The contest? The blonde has to hold a chaddi in her hands in the way you hold it when you’re about to wear it (please, I cannot get any more descriptive than this). Then holding it a few inches away from her body, at a little below knee-level, she has to jump into it and out of it. Into it, out of it. Into it, out of it. You get the picture? She has to get both legs into it and right up to her bikini-clad bums each time, only then it is counted. She is given a minute to jump in and out of the chaddi smoothly and given points for each time she does it perfectly. Then everyone claps.

Imagine a guy wearing a t-shirt and an underwear doing the same thing.

Now imagine what I must have gone through watching this on TV last night on Maa Junior (their perception of what is 'junior' is skewed, clearly). I vaguely remember the blonde being gifted a jewelled underwear for her wonderfully wet-dreamesque performance.

Maybe I wasn’t missing all that much when I didn’t have a TV, after all…

The old monk who sold his rum.

2011-09-27T23:12:00.000-07:00

So the story goes, there was once an old monk who lived in one of those lands that are always so far far away. He was a travelling monk. He had denounced all worldly pleasures and used to roam around the land. He was given food by kind people. He was dressed sparsely, a simple saffron robe protecting him from the elements of nature. He never spoke much and only uttered a few chants to bless the people who gave him food. But he could always be seen muttering something under his breath, maybe prayers.

He walked most of the time, head bent low and arms swinging on his sides. He only carried with him a saffron-coloured cloth bag, in which he kept all the things he owned in this world- a string of prayer beads, a notebook, a pencil carved out of wood and a bottle of rum. The rum kept him warm during the harsh winter days and nights. He made it himself. His forefathers had taught him how to.

One day, when he was out on one of his walks, he passed by an inn. He was stopped short by the heavenly fragrance of something delicious being cooked. He generally didn’t give in to temptations like this. He was a monk, after all. But this time, he couldn’t resist. He walked into the inn and up to the manager.

“What is that heavenly scent wafting from your kitchens, oh good man?”

“That is the scent of a new dish that we’ve discovered, oh monk.”

“What new dish?”

“It is made of rice and chicken mixed together, with spices and other things. It’s called Chicken Biryani.”

“Would you be so kind as to let me savour it, good man?”

“But of course! I cannot refuse a pious man like you! Please have a seat.”

As the inn-keeper walked out of the kitchen with a plateful of Biryani, his wife, who had overheard the whole conversation, flew into a rage and hissed at her husband. “What do you think you’re doing?! The rice and chicken, and especially the spices, are very expensive. We spent a lot of money on buying the stuff. How can you just give it away for free??!!"

“But dear woman, he is a monk. I cannot take anything from him. Plus, I don’t think he carries any money with him.”

“I don’t care. I cannot give it away for free.”

The inn-keeper reluctantly walked up to the monk with the heaped plate and told him shame-facedly “Oh good monk, please pardon me. But my wife is unwilling to give this dish away for free, as it cost us a lot to prepare. We would require payment for this.”

“But I do not have any money.”

“I understand, oh monk. Is there anything else you can give in exchange?”

The monk rummaged in his bag and pulled out the only thing he could bear parting with- his bottle of rum. He handed it over to the inn-keeper, who accepted it gratefully.

“Thank you, good old man. I hope you enjoy your meal.”

The monk took a bite. He closed his eyes and let the taste of the dish sink in. He seemed to be at peace. “This is delicious. Would you mind pouring me a bit of that rum too, dear inn-keeper?”

And that’s how the monk sold his rum. He passed on the recipe to the inn-keeper,who perfected the art of making it and named it after the person who has sold it to him. Old Monk Rum.

And that’s why, to this day, Chicken Biryani tastes best with a bit of Old Monk Rum.

P.S:- No offence to monks, sages, any community, religion, or class of people. I request you to take this with a pinch of salt and a plateful of yummy Biryani.

*To know the actual story, kindly go Google it up. And send me a link if you find it.*

Dedicated to a certain somebody for introducing me to the Old Monk.

*Images courtesy Google.

Breaking up...

2011-09-26T01:00:00.000-07:00

I hesitated. I was not sure if I wanted to do this.

I mean, it’s not like this was my first time. I had done it once before. So I knew what it felt like.

But a lot of time had passed between then and now, and I wasn’t sure if I could do it again. What if I didn’t like it? What if I got paranoid in between? What if the voices in my head didn’t shut up?

I had heard from others who had done it that it was difficult, but they had felt good at the end of it.

I was afraid of what I was going to lose. I wasn’t willing to think of what I would gain.

Me: Yes, I want to do this.

Efbee: But why?! Is it something I did??

Me: Yes, and no. I cannot deny the good times I’ve had with you. You brought a new light into my life. But I’ve reached a point where I don’t find you interesting anymore. And yet, I can’t seem to let go. I’m weirdly addicted to you. When I think of you, I’m reminded of the song “With or without you” by U2.

Efbee: Let’s work on it! I’m sure we can still be together! Please!

Me: No, I need a break from you. I need some time and space. I need to get away from the whole world and be by myself for a while. I may or may not come back to you. But right now, I know this is what I want.

Efbee: Are you sure?

Me: Yes, I am. I have thought about it for a while. I know it’s not going to be easy. But I’ve made up my mind. I want to do it.

Efbee: But… I thought your entire life revolved around me!! That you couldn’t live without me!! Remember, you had told that night, that you could not imagine a life without me. What happened to all that??!!

Me: My life?? What sort of a life is this? I’m sick and tired of playing it safe! I’m tired of being afraid to do what I want! I’m tired of the whole world!

Efbee: But.. I’ve changed!! I’m better now! I’m more interesting now. And I’m trying everything possible to keep you in my life forever. I’ve brought you closer with your friends even! I need you! Don’t you understand that?!

Me: No, you don’t need me. If I leave, someone else will take my place. There are many others who are addicted to you, just the way I am. Maybe they don’t have a problem with that sort of an addiction, but I can’t handle it anymore. I’m just one tiny little person. You’ll survive. You’ll live. You don’t need me for that.

Efbee: Will you at least think about it? About coming back to me after a break?

Me: Yes…

Efbee: Alright then.. I’ll miss you.. you really are special to me..

It was time to end this.. it was time to move on. Delaying this any further was only going to make it tougher for me to leave. It was better to do it quickly, like ripping off a Band-aid. In one swift motion. Quick and painless.
.
.
.
.
.
.
With a deep sigh, I clicked on the “Deactivate your account” button.

Happy Mother's Day, Shree

2011-09-20T06:14:00.000-07:00

Has it really been that long, Sree, since we first met? 7 years?

Has it been seven years since that day, my first day at college, a month after the rest of you had joined because I had my compartment exam to clear, where I met you and the rest of the gang, and decided immediately that you were too snooty and hyper for my own good? I had looked at you through narrow, skeptical eyes, and then turned around to talk to someone else. This was college, not school. Choose your friends carefully, my parents had advised me.

But of course, it must’ve been Fate. Why else would I get the only seat remaining, which was right in front of yours? I had to endure one full day of your constant chatter from behind, with Neethu, Arun and Arjun contributing to it. I had figured out by now that you were THE Gang. By the end of the day, I had decided to sit somewhere else the next day. But the next day, all seats were taken and I had no choice but to go and sit in one corner of the side bench, with the other end occupied by Arun and Arjun. Remember how Shirley Ma’m then rearranged the seats, and somehow, you, me and Neethu ended up next to each other on the ‘side bench’? Who knew, that would be the beginning of one of the most special relationships of my life.

Has it really been that long since you welcomed me into the ‘gang’ wholeheartedly, and the squabbles that followed? Remember that day, we fought with those two and I took my bag and walked out of class? You and Neethu consoled me while I sat crying in the Ladies' restroom. It hadn’t taken me long to figure out that you and I were of the same type pretty much. We both liked to roam around the campus rather than sit in class during free periods. We both shared the same interest in the wonderful pastime called ‘vaayanokkal’. Remember how we used to call good-looking guys as ‘chaakara’? :) I can never look at fish again without bursting out laughing at that. Remember how we used to doze off during Yohanan Sir’s Hindi class? Of course, was it our fault that they kept it right after lunch break? I still remember the look on Sir’s face when he handed out our half-yearly exam answer sheets and saw that we had scored above 70. The girls who paid the least attention in his class had scored such decent marks! I hope your students don’t fall asleep like that in your class. :) I wish I could go back one more time and sit with you in the chapel- so peaceful, so calm. The perfect place to hide when we wanted to bunk classes. And we used to promptly go and break the tranquility by our giggly whispers.

Remember how we used to bug Neethu in YG’s class, making her sit in between the two of us and pulling at her bra strap? :D God, if it had been anyone else, they would’ve given up on us long back. I wonder how our sweet little Annama put up with us. And how you put up with me- your cranky, temperamental best friend who was confused about a lot of things and had a penchant for messing up not only her own, but others’ lives too.

But you did not judge me. You did not give up on me. Yes, you laughed with me, consoled me when I cried. But when you saw me going down the wrong path, you also reprimanded me. And you stood up for me when I had failed to do it for myself. You were like a lioness guarding her cub, lashing back at anyone who spoke against me. When I had got lost somewhere in between, you brought me back. And our excursion, remember? That was the first time you ever got upset with me and ignored me. Till then, I had not realized how much you meant to me. But I could not bear the thought that you could be angry with me over something, even though the fault was entirely mine. Why did you punish me, Sree? Why did you make me cry? Maybe because you understood that it was the only way to make me see things for what they were. And you were right, whatever be the method you chose. I don’t know what I would have done without you.

You know what I want to do the most right now? Go to Minus 24 with you, order one Slush each, Orange for you and Mango for me, and sit there for hours together, gossiping, laughing, checking out the scarce pasture, and basically being carefree. Remember how you used to accompany me on those special meetings? Then we would go to Style Plus and shop for absolutely nothing. And to the CCD in Kowdiar. Sit on that corner couch and waste away three-four hours, ordering the Cool Blue that looked so much like Harpic and was so cold that it froze our tongues, turning it blue, and gave us a headache.

I don’t talk so much on the phone these days. I don’t like to, I get bored after 5-10 minutes. But I miss talking to you twice a day, minimum half an hour each, during the study holidays, discussing anything but studies. Remember how we used to strike a deal? “One call you make, the next time, I’ll call.” I pestered mom and dad to get me an Airtel connection saying that call rates to other Airtel numbers would be less, so I won’t use the landline to call you. I used to end up messaging you, calling you from the cell, and then again call you from the landline to check whether you got my message or not and why you missed my call. What a pain I was, no? And I still remember calling you at midnight, petrified, scared out of my wits and emotionally drained. But you heard me out. You consoled me and told me to go to sleep, more so because you yourself wanted to sleep. :) I really missed you in the last two years, when, you know, all that crap happened.

You know how I like to correct others’ grammar, don’t you? But it doesn’t give me as much pleasure as it used to when I pulled your ear and you yelped out “Ok ok!! HAVE to, not WANT to. Got it!!!”, muttering abuses at me under your breath. Do you do that to your students now? :) Every time I get into a bus, I remember how we used to sit on the side seat in a bus and create a ruckus, so much that by the time we got down, the rest of the passengers heaved a rather audible sigh of relief.

Has it really been that long? Today, when my phone pinged the arrival of your husband’s message “Sreedevi and me blessed with a baby boy”, my eyes filled up. I could not contain my joy. My dear Sree, who only I have the license to call ‘Shree’, had become a mother. You, who used to roam around the city with me, checking out guys and eating mutton cutlet and French fries at Oasis in Saphalyam Complex, had become a mother. At an age where I still can’t handle the idea of marriage, you had actually gone through labour pains and brought a tiny little person into the world. My love and respect for you has just multiplied. I know we have grown a little apart from each other over time, what with being in different states and jobs and, in your case, a husband and all, but each time I call you, it’s as though we just spoke last night about catching a movie the next day or complaining about the stupid essayists who’re ruining our sleep.

Congrats, brand-new mommy. You have a lot on your hands now. You have a new person to look after. Just don’t forget that this friend of yours loves you a lot, and still wishes to go back in time and relive those carefree days, when we never ran out of topics to talk about and missed each other even on weekends. I hope your little bundle of joy brings as much happiness into your life as you brought into mine.

God bless you, my dear. My dear Shree…

Nailed it!

2011-09-16T00:32:00.000-07:00

Did you see read this piece of news?

World record for longest nails.

That's not a record! That's just bad hygeiene!!!

How?? And more importantly, WHY???

How does she eat?
How does she cook?
How does she chop?
How does she wash her hands?
How does she wipe herself after doing potty?
How does she apply kajal?
How does she brush her hair without getting the nails entangled in the bristles?
How does she scratch her chin thoughtfully?
How does she scratch anywhere at all?
What does she bite when she gets nervous?
How many bottles of nail polish must she be buying just for one time of painting?
How does she scratch her husband's back during you-know-what to show that they were lost in the throes of ecstacy?

How??? And why???

And the worst part is, she's not the first one out there. Sigh... WHat all people do to create records...

***

P.S 1:- I complete a year at my current job today. So far, the itch hasn't surfaced (well, at least not too strongly). Let's hope it stays that way. (Crossing all fingers and toes. Not too hard to do, since I don't have 10 km-long nails.)

P.S 2: WHY is everyone making such a big deal out of the Miss.India not bringing home the Miss.Universe title? You win some, you lose some. Give the girl a break! It's not like Neha Dhupia or Celina Jaitley won at the international level. Is it just because she's a Southie? She must be depressed enough as it is for not winning. The media should stop humiliating her like this. She'll probably be earning more in a year's time modelling and acting than these so-called journalists who are trashing her.

"Hi, I'm Crazy. And you are...?"

2011-09-15T00:19:00.000-07:00

You know what else is cool these days, other than IIT-IIM-graduates-turned-authors and Lord ‘the dude’ Shiva?

Craziness.

Ya. People seem to love to come across as crazy, insane, whacky etc etc.. Anything but normal and sane.

When did it become fashionable to be a loony?

On social networking sites and blogs, people love to describe themselves as crazy, mad, insane, one-screw-loose types. I have done that too. Spoken and written about the crazy side of me. Still continue to do so...

I was going through a blog sometime back. The writer had described herself as ‘sensitive, intelligent, well-read’, etc. The first thing that came to my mind is “What’s wrong with her??” and not “That’s nice to hear. Let me read her blog.”

Has it really become THAT abnormal to be normal?

I mean, seriously. Wasn’t there a time when people wanted to come across as well-behaved; girls dreamt about guys who are kind, help in house-work, don’t mind picking up groceries; guys looked for a girl who was sweet, beautiful, was capable of feeling shy, did house-work, was polite to in-laws etc. But now, everyone wants the crazies! And wants to be one too! Like one of my friends said “To each person, his or her friends are the craziest”. Girls go for guys who dress differently and are rebels, because they come across as crazy. Guys fall for girls who smoke and drink, have belly-button piercings and have no qualms about cussing, better still if she can’t cook (and is proud of it) again because they’re different.

Really, when did it all start?

I'm not talking about the clinical condition. That's nothing to be mocked at. I'm talking about the 'forced' craziness. Or maybe 'adopted' craziness.

Has ‘different’ become synonymous with ‘crazy’ now? And has ‘crazy’ become synonymous with ‘cool’?

No offence to anyone, trust me. Just wondering… Maybe you could give me some answers.

(Images courtesy Google and a bit of Powerpoint editing)

Two Five

2011-09-14T01:03:00.000-07:00

My biggest achievement on my 25th birthday- I replied to each and every person who wished me on Facebook.

That means that either I’m a very sweet person, or that I’m utterly jobless. You pick.

So ya, in case you didn’t know, I turned 25 on the 12th of September.

(I’m actually acknowledging my age on a public forum. Man, have I grown up or what…)

And it was a wonderful birthday. It began at midnight with three of the best people in my life, along with the yummiest cheesecake and wine. Sounds more like Christmas than a birthday no? There was no smearing of cake thankfully, mainly because there was no cream on the cake, but also because it was just too yummy to be wasted away in cake-facial. Got calls and messages, wishing me a happy birthday. The monkeys from school didn't give me the usual conference call at midnight to wsh me, but it's ok. Since it's them, I can let it go. Also got an unexpected mail from a blogger buddy, wishing me. Thank you, Atrocious Scribblings! :)

Last night, my friends and I went for the b’day dinner. A continental place called Urban Asia, obviously my choice because I LOVE Chinese and Thai food. But the main reason I picked the place was because the colour scheme of the place is purple and black. :D

It was one of my best birthdays ever. Yummy food, amazing margaritas (tried it for the first time, and now I’m hooked), live music playing, and the people I call my family in Hyderabad around me. I was surrounded by love and goodwill. And someone very special went up to the live music counter and sang for me. I couldn’t have asked for anything more. Really.

So… the big Two Five. Quite a milestone, huh? It is for me (remember my fixation with multiples of five?). It’s been quite an adventure. I’ve had my share of down’s, but the up’s more than made up for it. I’ve learnt lessons the hard way, lessons that I will never ever forget. Like:-

1) Only if you do what you like, will you like what you do. My tryst with science in the 11th and 12th standard taught me this. In one way, I’m glad I got compartment in my Physics paper in the 12th boards. Otherwise, I would’ve gone ahead and taken up engineering. And if I had done that, I STILL would be writing back papers.

2) If I can learn how to cycle at age 21, I can do pretty much anything else in my life, if I put my mind to it.

3) If you can fall in love, be ready to accept the possibility that you can fall out of love too.

4) Never plan your life so immaculately and so far into the future, that when suddenly things fall apart, you are left stranded and lost. Till two years ago, I had the next five-six years of my life planned. And then… then all the plans unraveled, and my life was a big question mark. I didn’t know where to go, what to do. I decided then that I will not plan so much. I will live each day as it comes, and the most I’m going to plan is the dinner for the day or a movie for the next day. That’s all. So far, it’s working out fine for me. Ya, sometimes I feel direction-less. But I have faith in God and in myself. He has a plan for me, and things will happen when it's the correct time.

5) NOTHING in life is permanent. Be ready to accept that. Someone who calls you beautiful today might call you ugly tomorrow. You’ll just have to deal with it and get on with your life.

6) Mobile phones and internet can be a pain at times. Sometimes it’s nice to be totally disconnected with the world.

7) Give your all to your job. But not so much that you forget to have a life outside of your office. Sometimes, you need to choose money and convenience, and a life, over passion.

8) Money is a dangerous thing. It can break human relations to the point where it cannot be repaired ever again. But then again, some relations are better left unrepaired.

9) No matter what you feel about them, your family is your biggest support. EVER. Don’t ever forget that. They will surprise you with the kind of understanding they can show when you least expect it. You can yell at them, fight with them, push them away, but they will still love you. Unconditionally.

10) If you have a handful of good friends, who will stick by you no matter what, it is a sin to even ask for anything more in life. iPhones will come, Mercedes’ will go. But friends will stay.

I leave you with a quote from one of God’s greatest gift to mankind- Calvin and Hobbes. Bill Watterson, you are THE ultimate.

“Life is like topography, Hobbes. There are summits of happiness and success, flat stretches of boring routine, and valleys of frustration and failure.”

I’m somewhere between a summit and a valley as of now…and yet, I’m strangely at peace. Maybe age does that to you.

Happy birthday, Divya. Time you started acting 25 rather than 2+5.

The Empty Head

2011-09-13T05:34:00.000-07:00

People, have you met Kalpak yet?

Please go over and say hi.

One part of me wants to stab him and kill him for being so damn funny, but that part is pushed away by the one that is crying out of laughter.

Damn you, Kalpak!! I'm still more sarcastic than you are!! Hmmpph!!

Undetectable Extension Charm*-ed

2011-09-08T02:44:00.000-07:00

A guy’s wallet
Cash, a photo of mummy-daddy/girlfriend/wife/best friends/god/self, one or two receipts, ID/credit/debit/visiting cards, a condom (or so I've heard), .

A woman’s handbag
Wallet(with cash, cards, passport-size photos, five years-old train ticket, an old sim card, corrupted memory card, an earring without its pair, keys to desk, photos of gods) , emergency sanitary napkin, bank passbook, cheque book, phone charger, headphones, a small diary, big diary, notepad, an audio cd, two pens, old phone that doesn’t work anymore, two hairclips, a hairband, toothbrush, hand sanitizer, soap strips, kajal, moisturizer, shampoo sachet, wet wipes, hair serum, spectacles case, lip balm, a pack of tissues, a stole, handkerchief, foldable hairbrush with mirror, ID card, a small idol of Lord Ganesha, papers of undefined usage, Disprin tablets, umbrella, house keys, another small purse with visiting cards and letters.

Or maybe it’s just my bag…

*Remember this, from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows?

What I needed was a mind-guard

2011-09-07T06:18:00.000-07:00

In every person’s life, there comes a moment of epiphany- a moment where you realize that all what you’ve believed in, had faith in- the very basis of all that is shaken to the core.

For me, that moment came on Monday night, somewhere around 10:15 PM, when I saw a jet of water from a pipe ripping apart Salman Khan’s shirt in ‘Bodyguard’.

I’m yet to recover from that fiasco, so pardon me if I trail off in between.

The first time you use a story for a movie, you USE it. The second time you use it, for a remake in Tamil, you RE-USE it. The third time, it’s outright ABUSE. How else can you justify a movie like Bodyguard?

True, it has Sallu Bhai in it, which itself should be enough to make a hit. But unfortunately, for me, it’s not. I clapped and yay-ed when he appeared on screen the first time, I clapped and yay-ed when he beat up the villains, I clapped and yay-ed whenever he cracked a joke. And then I clapped and yay-ed that FINALLY the movie was over.

Ok, let’s be fair. Let’s see both sides of the coin.

The tolerable part
Salman Khan:- He has acted well, if not outstanding. His innocent-bordering-on-dumb Lovely Singh is endearing, and he’s been portrayed as not just an action figure, but also a romantic. That works. To an extent. After a point, watching him walk as though he’s got boils under his arms is a little tiresome, but still, it’s Sallu, so a little bit of pardon and all we can give no?

He has been styled well. But he has pretty much only one expression on his face all throughout, and even when he smiles, he looks like he’s in pain. And in his introductory song, where he does that step with his biceps, it seriously looks like he’s sniffing his underarms for body odour.

Kareena Kapoor looks beautiful. I’m considering selling my laptop and buying some of those kurtas and accessories she’s worn in the movie. Her acting is ok, but her looks make up for it. And I would love to know how you can wake up in the morning with every hair still in place.

The comedy is ok. It works in the first half. The fatso Tsunami Singh’s act is funny at first, but gets irritating as the plot progresses. His graffiti t-shirts are superb.

The kid. Very cute. And not too irritating, like most kids in films are.

The ‘WTF!!!’s.
The blatant advertising at every point, be it Sony Vaio or Blackberry, it’s just in your face all the time. Ugh!!

The story is quite weak. The villains’ reason for vengeance is quite weak, and Aditya Pancholi appearing with kajal in his eyes doesn’t help at all. Neither does it help that he sends a remote-controlled helicopter as a weapon. Seriously, dude?

The best friend suddenly changing her mind is baffling. Why?? Nowhere in the rest of the movie did she display feelings of any sort for him, then suddenly why? Even after the other bad guy had walked off, she still could’ve explained. Did Lovely Singh’s six-pack suddenly turn her on that she changed her mind? And Jesus!! Please stop throwing expensive mobile phones out of trains yaar!! Ever heard of something called a ‘switch off’ button??

Just because Kareena is wearing Kurtas all through the movie, they put one romantic song towards the end (Teri Meri) where she’s wearing bras (or was it a blouse? Who can tell…) and barely-there sarees and showing off her skin. I liked her traditional avatar much better.

Salman Khan digging the diary out of the kachra dabba on the railway station (they don’t show him actually digging it out, but it’s understood). Chi chi chi!!! And how on earth did he finish reading the diary, which explains the entire story of the movie, in two-three minutes?

I could’ve done so many better things with my 150 bucks. Sigh..

Oh and did you know, item numbers are these days known as ‘Friendly Appearance’? That’s how Katrina Kaif has been credited. Ya, right.

Even if you classify it as a masala entertainer, it fails to impress. Songs are ok, with the light-hearted “I love you” being my pick of the lot. There was really no need for “Desi Beats”, and “Teri Meri” has nothing extraordinary about it. The title track is good, hummable and dance-able.

I hope the director is not planning this in one more language. Dear god, I hope not. That’ll be rape.

The most interesting thing in the movie? Lovely’s mobile phone ringtone. I wonder where I can download it.

My score- 4/10.

What say you, people?

(Images courtesy Google)

Another one bites the dust...

2011-09-04T23:41:00.000-07:00

I'm back from my very short, miss-it-if-you-blink-or-sneeze vacation home. I couldn't eat as much fish I wanted to, didn't watch as much TV as I had planned to, didn't bug mom and dad to my heart's desire and didn't stay awake till 4 in the morning and wake up by noon every single day. Couldn't fleece my sister out of all her money (ya, she's like my personal bank. She and dad), and dind't roam around the city till midnight with my friends, riding around our old school and getting all nostalgic.

But all said and done, it was good to be home.

Celebrated my dad's 60th b'day (which was in July) in a small way, met my mental friends, got sloshed with them and danced till the wee hours of the morning (which left me with a sore throat for the rest of the trip- apparently, laughing and talking too loud does that to you. Who knew!), attended two weddings (the wedding season is on in Kerala. My parents are going crazy trying to attend all of them, sometimes two in a day. God, give them the energy please), one of which was our best friend's. Have known each other since the 4th standard.

When you've known a person that long, it's hard to imagine them getting married, and much harder to actually WATCH them get married. Most of my best friends are getting married now, but still, it's hard to digest.I could hardly believe that the beautiful bride in the red pattu sari was actually the same girl I've seen in the school uniform with two pigtails, the one I sat next to in class for pretty much all my school-life, the one I've copied Chemistry test-papers and assignments from, the one who I used to sit and giggle with in the middle of the night when we were supposed to be doing 'combined study'. The same girl I used to bunk classes with to go for 'dance practise' and make excuses to skip Mass P.T on saturdays. She had lived in my apartment building for a few years, and everyone in the building peeped out when I used to yell out 'Meeeeeeeeeraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa' from the fourth floor down to the second floor. We had this vicious circle going on when one of us caught a cold. One of us would get it, pass it on to the other, and by the time the first person gets over it, the other would have passed it back. And since we refused to sit anywhere other than beside each other, this would go on for at least a month. She's also been a complete and total snob at times and we've fought like crazy. She's still a snob and an ass, but we fight less. ;) She fought tooth-and-nail to spend the rest of her life with the guy she loves, and the happiness and triumph was written all over her face on her wedding day. For me, it was as though I had gone to watch yet another dance performance of hers (She's an excellent dancer. Has been dancing even before she could barely walk).

Dear Maari, I wish you and Hari a lifetime of happiness and love. But please keep in mind that for me, you will always be the girl I sat next to in class and copied from during test papers and giggled the most with. Also keep in mind that since you're going to be in the U.S from now, I will be really really really looking forward to your visits home. Only if you bring me everything on the list I sent you.

P.S 1:- Please don't hesitate to send me a ticket to come visit you whenever you miss me terribly. The more frequent, the better. For my Visa interview, I shall say that you're my lesbian partner, and since we're frowned upon in India, we're going to get married in the U.S. Zimble.

P.S 2:- Please don't make Hari feel bad about the fact that you love me more than him. We all know that's the truth, but still, don't let the poor guy feel inferior about it. Instead, make him understand that some truths just have to be accepted for what they are, without question.

P.S 3:- Love you.

How to eat a Mallu Wedding-Sadhya: a step-by-step guide

2011-08-30T02:30:00.000-07:00

*Image courtesy Google Images

Before I start the class, it is important that I ask a very pertinent question:-
Are you a speed-eater?
a) Yes
b) No

If your answer is (a), you don’t need my help. Go ahead my friend! Pig out!
If your answer is no, read on. Take accurate notes.

Step 1:- Take a good long look at the plantain leaf in front of you. Chances are, you won’t recognize half the things on it. Take a chance and start tasting them anyways.

Step 2:- Start eating and finish off half the things on the leaf before they come with the rice. Because once they bring out the big basket of rice, it’s a race against time. (That could make a good action-film title, no? “Sadhya- the race against time…”)

Step 3:- Have you finished eating half the things? Good.
Now once you see the servers approaching with the basket of rice, get into position. Position is- right hand to the side of the leaf, with the palm closed together to form a cone. This way, you can save the bother of getting your hands into position later.

Step 4:- Once they serve the rice.. Oops, pardon me. Once they dump the rice onto your leaf, get to work immediately. The first thing to do is make a hole in the centre of the mound of rice, like a well. Then break the pappadam into small pieces and keep it ready.

Step 5:- When the servers bring the dal and ghee, they will know where to pour it once they see your leaf. If you’ve already dug the well, good for you. If not, good luck washing your expensive silk saree/mundu.

Step 6:- Now is when the actual challenge begins. Here on, you need complete concentration. Do not look left or right, do not wonder at the colour of the dal or size of the rice, do not admire neighbour-aunty’s saree and do not indulge in idle chit-chat. Remember, if anyone’s trying to make small-talk, they’re only doing it to distract you.
Start mixing the rice and dal and ghee together. If you want, you can add one of the other assortments also. Don’t bother about chewing and all. Remember to eat the other side-items at regular intervals.

Step 7:- Before you can finish your dal and rice, they will bring more rice and sambar. Do not fret. Just move the dal-rice to one side of your leaf and make space for the fresh batch of rice and for sambar. In between, take half a second to make a well in the rice.

Step 8: For the time-being, forget about the dal-rice that lost the race to time. Concentrate on your sambar-rice. Break pappadam -> Mix in sambar-rice -> Eat it ->a bite of side-item. This is the order to follow. By now, you should have finished most of the things on the leaf. If not, buck up!

Step 9:- Before you can finish the sambar-rice, they will bring out the payasam. Move the sambar-rice to one corner and make space for payasam. Eat the payasam fast, because there’s not one more, but two, possibly three, more following. Finish the first round of payasam. If you haven’t, it’s ok. They all taste pretty much the same anyways. So even if the second payasam is poured on top of the first, it won’t make THAT much of a difference. This same law can be applied to all the following rounds of payasams. They will bring boli in between, to eat with the paal-payasam. If you’re the adventurous will-try-anything-once type, go for it. For added kicks, mix a banana also into it.

Step 10:- Once all the rounds of payasam are over, your banana leaf will resemble a rangoli that has been messed up by the neighbour’s bratty kids. Many colours, but you can’t figure out which belongs to what. After all this, they will bring rasam, puliserry and moru (buttermilk). If you still have the energy, have those as well.

Step 11:- Ah wait! You thought it’s over? Not so fast! Do you remember the dal-rice and sambar-rice that you abandoned for tastier treats? Who’ll finish them? The uncle sitting in front of you? Chalo, now move those two mounds to the centre of the leaf. Mix them both together. Then put whatever else is remaining on your leaf into this mixture. Mix very well. Then take a deep breath and eat this concoction. Don’t worry, nothing will happen to you. Your stomach has been subjected to enough already. This won’t make a difference.

Step 12:- Fold the leaf neatly, to signal the end of your roller-coaster ride. Have some of the piping-hot water that’s sure to burn your tongue. And yes, because you can’t afford to spare 3 bucks for a lemon in the market, pocket the lemon that came along with the meal. Nothing to be ashamed of.

There.. you’re ready now. Go out there and face the world! Err… I mean, the sadhya.

And don’t forget to let out a loud burp at the end of it all!

(After-effects of having gone for a wedding and eaten a sadhya. *BURP!!*)

Payasam- kheer

Good old Malluland...

2011-08-29T10:33:00.000-07:00

Ah... It's good to be home.. Definitely.

DOn't forget to click on the pic and view the enlarged version.

(All pics taken during my train journey home)

Too spaced out to think of an apt title.

2011-08-24T07:08:00.000-07:00

Today's the 112th birth anniversary of Argentine poet Jorge Luis Borges. Seeing Google's doodle today reminded me of one of his poems, a favourite of mine. Thought I'll share it with you.
***

BOAST OF QUIETNESS

Writings of light assault the darkness, more prodigous than meteors.
The tall unknowable city takes over the countryside.
Sure of my life and death, I observe the ambitious
and would like to understand them.
Their day is greedy as a lariat in the air.
Their night is a rest from the rage within steel, quick to attack.
They speak of humanity.
My humanity is in feeling we are all voices of the same poverty.
They speak of homeland.
My homeland is the rythym of a guitar, a few portraits, an old sword,
the willow grove's visible prayer as evening falls.
Time is living me.
More silent than my shadow, I pass through the loftily covetous multitude.
They are indispensible, singular, worthy of tomorrow.
My name is someone and anyone.
I walk slowly, like one who comes from so far away
he doesn't expect to arrive.

I just love that last line... "I walk slowly, like one who comes from so far away, he doesn't expect to arrive." One of the simplest, yet most powerful lines, I've ever read. One of my all-time favourite quotes is also attributed to him- "I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library."

***

Do head over to Priyanka's wonderful blog and check out the guest-post I wrote. :)

Let's dig something other than our noses. :p

2011-08-23T10:14:00.000-07:00

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!

Ha. That felt good.

It's been a crazy few days at work. And when you're having these crazy days, don't you just feel like yelling out loud for a good two-three minutes and letting it all out? When I was in Red FM, I used to go into one of the sound-proof studios and scream for a while. It used to feel SO good. No such luck now. Stupid corporate atmosphere. :( And if I scream inside my house, my neighbours will think my roomie's murdering me.

Can I go just once more? Please? Just once, promise!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!

Ok, let's move on, shall we?

It's raining awards in my little blogsville. :) I was given my third award by Loony, DawnZhang and Anvita. Thanks dearies!

There's apparently a drill to follow.
1 ) Gratefully accept this award.
2 ) Link the wonderful person you received it from.
3 ) Post 3 interesting facts about yourself.
4 ) Pass this award around to, at-least, 5 blogs you dig.
5 ) Notify them.

Check and check.

I've already shared so much about myself here that 'interesting' will start to seem boring now. So I'll keep it brief this time (Ya ya, I heard that sigh of relief).

1) I have this uncanny knack for digging out crappy music videos. They just happen to me, it's a mystery! I was once searching for Ali Haider's 'Purani Jeans', but instead, stumbled upon this. Some videos are already hugely popular by the time I watched them, but I go one step ahead and dig more. And then sit and enjoy videos like this, this, and this. Although, I actually do admire Wilbur Sargunaraj's guts.
P.S:- Should I even bother talking about Silsila and Rathri Shubharathri?

2) I LOVE graffiti t-shirts. My favourite one is a (formerly) white one with "The girl of your nightmares" written in the front. I wore it till it changed colour to brown. :/ But I still wear it at home.

3) I totally drool over guys with biceps. Not the beefy John Abraham types, but the lean Surya and Sonu Sood types. Instant drool. Just like some guys look at a girl's chest while talking to her, I look at a guy's biceps while talking to him (if they're worth looking at, that is). Ya I know, I would give any woman's rights activist a heart attack.
P.S:- Have I told you that I've met Surya and clicked a picture with him? Buhahahaha. :D

I'm too tired right now to give the award to five other bloggers- honestly. Please don't think I'm a snob. I dig each and every blog that I'm currently following. Sorry for the rule-breaking. :(

P.S 1:- Is anyone else sick and tired of reading about Anna Hazare? The trend seems to be changing. Till about a week ago, people were falling over their own feet to support him. They were putting up status messages, starting events, creating pic badges, writing notes, liking pages and what not. Now they are digging up nasty newspaper reports about him and the Lokpal Bill and re-posting on their walls. But still, he's just all over the place. If he were a younger hotter-looking guy, I would probably be dreaming about him by now, maybe running around a few trees and singing songs. Here's a journalist's perspective about it.

P.S 2: Look what I made last Saturday. :)

And yes, all the parties who dared to eat it, including me, are doing absolutely fine. Thankyouverymuch.

P.S. 3: I bought a new camera! Yay me. :)

P.S 4: I think I got this P.S.-affliction from Priyanka. Damn you woman! :/

Now join me while I aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrgggggghhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!

Let's give them a round of applause, shall we?

2011-08-17T22:29:00.000-07:00

In school, I used to win prizes for almost every CCA competetion I participated in- recitation, elocution, story-telling. I used to be known around school for it, for being the girl who recited poetry well, who spoke good english and hindi, who compered nearly every other program that was conducted.

I haven't won anything in a long long time... I just stopped going for competetions once I entered college, and frankly, the oppurtunities weren't many too. I miss that... I miss walking up to stage and accepting the prize from the Chief Guest on Annual Day, holding one corner of the certificate and smiling for the camera, bowing once at the chief guest and once more at the audience, trying to look out for mom and dad sitting in the audience, proud at their daughter.

Damn I miss that...

Which is why, I get super-excited at winning a blog-award. I've only won two so far, but they both hold very special places in my heart. It's not just a badge, it's an acknowledgement of the fact that, finally, I'm good at something.

Serendipity gave me my first one.

Not many people who know me well enough would call me adorable, so yes, this one definitely is special. :) Thanks Ayu (If I may call you that).

Then came the second one, from Priyanka and her Chocolate Factory. :p

Thank you, my dear. I feel humbled. More so because you put me on top of the list. :)

Ok, so now for the drill.
Link back- Done.

7 random things (You're asking for trouble.:/)

1) I love kids, but not the ones who talk too much. The 'Chota mooh, badi baat'-afflicted ones piss the hell out of me. And the parents who don't check them and encourage them thinking it's cute- they deserve a whack on their backsides.

2) The word 'Spontaenity' does not really figure in my dictionary. I cannot do things on the spur of the moment. I need to plan it.I need to be informed beforehand that this is what's going to happen, even if it's a movie. More often than not, I become a killjoy because of this. Maybe it's the Virgo in me, I don't know. We have a method in even spontaenity. At the same time, I hate it if someone else makes plans for me. The irony is that I don't have a plan in life. Wonder how that happened...

3) My craze for huge handbags has led to permanently aching shoulders and neck. The bigger the handbag, the more I stuff things in it.I finally decided to buy a small one so that I wouldn't be tempted to choke it up with utterly useless things. But I miss my big bags...

4) I absolutely LOVE supermarkets. I can spend hours inside them without getting bored. And I won't even have anything in particular to buy. Sometimes I go in, roam around, and leave after two hours with nothing but a packet of oatmeal cookies purchased. The flipside to this is,I end buying stuff that I don't need at all, overshooting my budget too much. The regular supermarket that I go to, near my house, initially the security and attendants used to eye me suspiciously, probably thinking I'm a shoplifter (why else would a girl randomly skulk among the aisles?). but now they greet me with a hello and a smile. They know I mean no harm. :)

5)I detest people who feel the need to use abuses to get their point across. I have absolutely no regard for them. Only those who don't have a valid argument will use abuses to cover it up. I'm not saying that I don't swear- I do. But getting abusive is the lowest form of retaliation. It has happened to me once, and I know how it feels to be at the receiving end of the cheapest and dirtiest of abuses.

6) I love watching reruns of my favourite sitcoms and then saying along the dialogues that I know by rote. Pisses off others, but I don't really care. :p

7) If given a choice as to how I want to die, I would choose falling from the top of a mountain or a high-rise building. Or even while paragliding. At least the view while I'm going down will be fabulous. :p

Ok, that's done. Next.

My Favorite song: Questions like these stump me. How on earth can you choose just ONE song??? Still, if it has to be answered, I would go with 'Iktara' from Wake Up Sid and 'Coming back to life' by Pink Floyd.

My Favorite Dessert: Gulab Jamun(home-made. I don't like the readymade ones), Chocolate mousse, any chocolate pastry. I don't have much of a sweet tooth.But I do get cravings once in a while for motichoor laddoos and mishti doi.

What Pisses Me Off: People borrowing my stuff without asking me. I'm all for sharing, but please, just ask, or inform me once before taking it.
Also, borrowing stuff(especially books) from me but not taking care of it- and worse, not returning them at all.
People saying to me "I have to tell you something. But I can't tell now. I'll tell you later." or "I have a suprise for you, but I can't tell you now." Dude!! If you can't tell me now, don't tell me at all!!! I will have absolutely no peace of mind till I get to know what the thing is. So spare me the trauma and yourself the torture of me perstering you "Tell no tell no tell no tell no tell no tell no. Please please please please please!! WTF! Are you telling me or not??!! You better tell right away or I'll punch you!" Really, are you up for so much drama?

Biggest Fear: I've said it before- dying alone.

Best Feature: I guess my laugh. Once I start off, it's hard to stop. And pretty soon, others join in too. :)

Everyday Attitude: As long as you don't interfere in my life, I don't interfere in yours. And don't give me advice that I didn't ask for.

What Is Perfection: I don't believe in perfection. Perfection irritates me. There's no scope for improvement. I like my own little imperfections and of those around me. That's what makes them lovable.

Guilty Pleasure: Food:I can even sell my kidney if I want to satisfy a craving. Miraculously, I still have both my kidneys ;).
Kajal: I have about six varieties in my little vanity pouch as of now. I'm in an eternal search for the perfect Kajal. And the perfect bra. And the perfect pair of jeans.
Sleeping till late in the morning. Even on working days, I rarely wake up before 8. I can sit up till as late in the night as needed. But waking up in the morning is torture.
Shower gels and moisturisers- I have nightmares about dry skin.
Like I said, supermarkets. Man, they are my weakness!

Now I have to give the award away to 10 bloggers (15, actually. But I'm giving away ten. No reason. I just thought I would give it to my most favourite writers).

1) Mr. AJ, the satellite- because you are a great writer. If only you paid more attention to your blog.

2) Priyanka, the chocolate-obsessed- Not because she gave me the award and I'm obliged to return it, but because she really is versatility personified. Fiction, humour, emotional, rambling- she nails them all neatly. And also because she totally floored me with one single post of hers. :)

3) Nirvana- Not just because she's a Nambiar (although, that did earn her brownie points :p), but also because I feel her blog is highly underrated. Her writing is very very sublte, but heart-warming. And funny too. I love her short stories.

4) Red Handed- Because she makes so much of sense, at the same time, managing to be hilarious. Also because we have similar sounding names. ;)

5) fucklove- Firstly, for the name of the blog. That's the first thing that attracted me to it. Then the writer R-A-J and his antics kept me hooked. Still do. :) He has no pretensions whatsoever, and that comes across clearly in his writing.

6) Soumya- For being so very honest about herself and her life in her blog.

7) The Meditating Lion- She recently started blogging, but since I've know her for more than four years now, I know there's a passionate writer in there waiting to be unleashed. She also earns brownie points for being one of the best singers I've ever heard,no kidding.

8) Destiny's Child- She's a lazy bum of a writer, but whenever she does write,it's awesome. Or maybe she just believes in "It's not the quantity that matters, it's the quality." :)

9) The Blue Lotus- Because I can almost always relate to her writing. And I love her acrid sarcastic tone.

10) Serendipity- I recently stumbled upon this little thing. And I was freaked out by how similar we both are. Somehow,I feel she's a very genuine person, even though I don't know her all that much. There's a lot of honesty that comes across in her writing. Also, 'Serendipity' is one of my favourite words. I love the way it feels on my tongue when I say it.

So there you go... Go ahead, take time out, and read these blogs. And then come back and thank me. :)

When the Blue Mountains beckoned…

2011-08-16T05:13:00.000-07:00

The only thing worse than getting back to work after a weekend is getting back to work after a long, fabulous weekend.

So you know the state of mind I am in right now, don’t you?

Alright, moving on.

Although the beginning and ending of my weekend wasn’t great, the days in between more than made up for it. I set of for B’lore on Friday evening (12th). My flight was supposed to take off at 8:10, but finally took off at 9:15. It looked like the whole of Hyderabad was flying that day, the airport looked like your KSRTC bus stand- it was so crowded! So anyways, having reached the airport two-and-a-half hours earlier, I did the mandatory checking in and stuff, and to kill time, went and sat in one of the hideously overpriced cafes and had a hideously overpriced brownie( which I think was the cheapest thing on the menu). My flight finally came, and landed in B’lore at around 10:15. After picking up my luggage, I waited around for my sis who had gone to Mumbai on work and was flying in the same day. Her flight came at around 11:10, and by the time we finally got home, it was almost 1 (her house is f-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-r from the airport. Like, light years).

The original plan was that my sis, bro-in-law (who henceforth will be referred to as Chechi and Ettan) and I would drive to Nadapuram, a small little town in Vadagara, Kerala. That’s where my mom’s ancestral home is, and it had been ages since we’d visited the place. So we thought we’ll make a trip of it this weekend, since my mom was also there for a few days. It’s this really HUGE old house, some 120 years old, the typical ancestral home types. I love going there, but sadly, haven’t been able to for quite some time (Remember I've talked about being there?).

But Saturday, Ettan had to work, and since the drive would take at least 8 hours, it’s advisable to leave really early in the morning. So by afternoon, we decided to chuck the Nadapuram plan. Also, we were getting reports from everyone that it was pouring out there in Kerala and that the roads were horrible. We stayed back in B’lore on Saturday, generally whiling away time.

Early Sunday morning, by four, we set off for Masinagudi (I don’t remember the last time I woke up and saw 4 AM. It was quite a feat, since Chechi and I had polished off a bottle of wine also the previous night. Totally meant to be sisters, we are :P). Our assigned chauffer, Ettan, make sure he kicked us out of bed and bundled us into the car by 4. Snoozed for a while in the car, and by around 7, we could see the Nilgiris in the distance.

And my jaw didn’t close for the next two days.

We had to drive through the Bandipur sanctuary to get to Masinagudi. And what a route that is! Lush forests, narrow roads, minimal traffic, elephants and monkeys casually sauntering around- it was awesome. We soon reached our destination- a resort owned by Ettan’s family friends. It’s called Forest Hills, and it’s situated right at the foot of the Nilgiris. A lovely place- small little bamboo cottages, tree houses, spread over a large area, it’s an ideal getaway. From the porch of our cottage, we could see the mountains looming large. Breath-taking sight. It was such a relief to breathe in fresh, clean air, without smoke and dust. The huts are built around the main house, so it doesn’t have a ‘commercial’ feel to it. It’s like you’ve gone to visit the home of someone you know very well, and that’s exactly how you’re treated, irrespective of whether you’re a guest or family. There are stone benches strewn all over the place, a few swings out in the open (I’m a sucker for jhoolas. I was stuck on them for the major part of the stay)- and the place is SO GREEN!!! There’s a personal touch to everything. The food was mind blowing, and I think I’ve gained like 3-4 kilos in a just a day. The company was just as fab.

In the evening on Sunday, we went on a safari inside the Bandipur Sanctuary. Which was just ok, because honestly, I’m not much of an animal-lover. And there’s only so much you can ooh and aah at deer and bison and elephants. We weren’t lucky enough to spot even one tiger. So the two-hour safari was a slight disappointment. The silence inside the jungle was awe-inspiring though.

Dinner was another jolly affair, with spirits and stories flowing generously. :) After stuffing our faces with god only remembers what all, we crashed- literally.
The next morning, after yet another round of eating- this time, yummy masala dosas- we set off for Bangalore. Reached the city by around 5. I was dropped off at my Uncle’s place, where I spent the rest of the evening with the little brat Manavi (my one-and-a-half year old cousin. She’s one atom bomb. Getting even one still photo of hers is a task, because she doesn’t stay still long enough for me to take a picture!).

Boarded the bus at 10:30. And it was by far one of the worst bus journeys ever. I don’t know how it always happens to me, but 80% of the times, my bus seat will have some problem. Either it will not recline, or it will only recline, so I’ll be lying down the entire way. This time, it was the former. My seat wouldn’t recline, and I spent the entire night sitting upright. Plus, since I was late in booking tickets, I had got only a non-AC bus, and because of the heavy rains, all the windows were shut. I was suffocated, hot, uncomfortable, irritable- you get the picture. And instead of reaching at 7 in the morning, which is how it usually works, the bus reached at 9:15, so I had to come straight to the office. Thankfully I had all my stuff with me. So I could freshen up. I can hardly feel my neck and back. Punctured.

All in all, I had a great weekend. Thanks to my sis and bro-in-law, and the wonderful hosts at Forest Hills.

P.S 1: I was specifically told by Mr. Chotu of Forest Hills that I had to write good things about the place. So here it is. :) But believe me, I haven’t embellished even a bit. All the things I’ve written are straight from the heart.

P.S 2: I don’t have a cam, and my phone cam sucks big-time. So couldn’t take many pics. :( Let me see what I can salvage from my phone-pics, and I’ll upload those. (Now would be a good time to offer to buy me a cam. Just saying…)

So how was your weekend? What did you do?

The pros and cons of falling ill.

2011-08-08T05:51:00.000-07:00

Pros:-
You get some much needed rest.

You get to catch up on movies and sitcoms (rather, reruns).

You get pampered by everyone and your wish is everyone’s command basically.

You say you want apples, you get apples. You say you want khichdi, garama-garam khichdi ready. You say you want Biryani, you get yelled at, because the doctor told you to go on a vegetarian diet. :(

You get to be cranky and rude, and actually get away with it. Yay!

You can sleep as much as you want to without anyone calling you lazy.

The cons:-
You start missing Mummy,Daddy and chechi. :(

In spite of having all the time in the world for sleeping, you toss and turn in your bed all night because sleep simply refuses to grace you.

You feel like throwing up at the mere mention of food.

You get emotional about every damn thing. About not getting enough sleep, about being alone at home, about not having mummy around to make kanji-pappadam for you, about Carrie and Aidan breaking up, Monica and Chandler not being able to conceive, Jim and Michelle finally hooking up at the end of American Pie 2 etc. As you might have gathered, I did a lot of movie and sitcom-watching.

You have to have all those yuck tablets.

You get so cranky, you become unbearable even to yourself.

And finally, after five days of staying at home, you become too lazy to go to office at the end of it.

Which is exactly what has happened to me.

Blah.

The 10-day 'You' Challenge- Eight fears

2011-08-02T03:56:00.000-07:00

1) That I’ll lose my memory.
I cannot imagine a life where I won’t remember my people, places and life. I’ve mentioned it previously here. And what scares me is that I’ve started becoming quite forgetful now, which some people are mistaking for indifference. Well, it’s not, let me assure you, since it runs in my family. :/

2) Dying alone.
Freaks me out when I think about it. When I board the flight to heaven (yes, that’s where I’m going. Laugh all you want), I want everyone around me, seeing me off. When I read about how Parveen Babi’s body was found in her apartment a few days after she died, I was shattered. What if I die when no one’s with me, and nobody comes to know till a few days later?

3) That I won’t be there for my family when they need me.
I never miss a call from home or my sister. I always pick up calls, unless I’m in the bathroom or sleeping, because there’s always a fear in me that something must’ve happened to them. If Amma calls me at an odd hour in the day, say in the evening, instead of her usual call at night, my heart will skip a beat that something is wrong with someone. Try as I might, I always assume the worst.

4) Losing my hair and going bald.
Let me give you the premise.
I used to have lovely straight silky hair (and I’m not the only one who says so :( )- not very long, just a little above my waist. I used to be very proud of it and would spend a lot of time preening in front of the mirror admiring and grooming it. All and sundry used to compliment my hair, and if someone didn’t notice it, I used to make sure they did. It was a happy time.
Until I came to Hyderabad. The chlorinated water, pollution and stupid step-cut have made my hair an embarrassment. Now, I’m afraid to even touch my hair casually, let alone comb it, because there’s more hair lying around in my house and in my hand than there is on my head. I hardly leave my hair out, because a hint of a breeze, and there it stands around my head like a halo (now you know why I said I’m going to heaven? The halo connection). I used to always say, on my wedding day, I won’t keep false hair, it’ll be my own hair reaching proudly till my bums.
The rate at which my hair is falling, I’ll be lucky if I have any hair at all left by then. Maybe I should get married right away, whilst there‘s still something up there.
Sigh..

5) That I’ll be a disappointment to the people I love.
I say ‘I don’t care’ a lot. But the truth is, I care too much sometimes. What others think of me, whether they like me or not, are they happy with me- it’s a constant niggling at the back of my head. If one of my friends talks a little differently to me, I will worry that I may have done or said something to piss them off. I always want to please, especially my dad. But of course, the problem with this is, if pushed beyond a point, I stop caring altogether.

6) Rats and snakes.
They send a shiver down my spine. Sometime in ’94 or ’95, when the plague had broken out, every single night, before going to bed, I used to shut all the doors and windows and curtains, for the fear that a rat might sneak in. And snakes.. I can’t stand watching them even on T.V. *shudder* What an irony that I love the Snake game on cellphones. :/

7) Lightning.
Petrified of it. Whenever lightning strikes, I imagine that I'll be its next victim.

8) That I’ll run out of things to write about.
That suddenly one day, my Muse will just pack up and leave me, without so much as a warning, never to return. Ayyo!!!

Now what did I forget? Hmmm…

The challenge so far- Ten secrets and Nine loves.

The 10-day 'You' Challenge- Nine Loves

2011-08-01T03:47:00.000-07:00

I’m not going to include family and friends and people in this list because, well, I’ve said a lot about all of them and it might start boring you if I talk about it again. These are things apart from it.

1) My blog and writing.
Because it is a major part of my life now. I think about it constantly. I’m always on the lookout for things to write about. I love that I have met so many fabulous people because of it. And most importantly, it has given me an identity.

2) Bike rides
Just love love love them. Even though my hair gets all messy and eyes start watering, I still love them.

3) Aero planes.
Every single time an airplane passes overhead, I tilt my head up and gaze open-mouthed. Many people have asked me about it. I don’t know why, I really don’t. Maybe it’s the sound, the fact that it’s so high up there. Or maybe because it’s the closest I can ever get to flying. I love going by flights. There is something inexplicably exhilarating about the feeling that you get in your stomach when the flight is just taking off.

4) Heights.
Heights fascinate me. I love going to the topmost floor of a really tall building and gazing out at the world. Even a dirty city will look beautiful from up there. My dream is to go on the topmost floor of the tallest building in the world and shout from up there “I’m the queen of the world!! Look at all you tiny people! Suckers! Ha!” Err.. ok. Maybe not that last bit, else I might just get pushed off. :/

5) Bill Watterson (I know I said I won't include people, but this one's an exception)
For Calvin and Hobbes. Enough said.

6) Bookstores.
Yes, I love books too, but I love bookstores more. It’s like Veegaland for me (I would’ve said Disneyland, but I’ve never been there. So Veegaland it is. And it’s no less ok!! Hmmpph to all of you who’re smirking), only instead of rides and games, there are book shelves, and instead of water, there are books. I can spend hours in a bookstore without getting bored. I usually don’t go into one with a particular book in mind. I like to go browse and pick up something. Sometimes I don’t even buy, just sit there and read something. The smell of books is intoxicating, old or new. I recently ordered two books from an online store, and I felt as though I was cheating on bookstores. *Sorry bookstore* :(

7) The moon
It’s beautiful, mystical, mysterious, and magical. In all forms.

8) Music
Of course, this is like an obvious choice, right? Nevertheless, has to be mentioned. I love learning the lyrics of a song and singing along to it hopelessly out-of-tune. It’s soothing, exciting, inspiring. I’ve always loved it, and now it’s a major part of my life in more ways than one.

9) Cold weather.
I hate summer. Would’ve hated it more if not for mangoes. I dream of settling down in a hill station somewhere, far from the madding crowd and pollution and noise. Not that I want it to be biting cold either. I just don’t want it to be hot. Even pleasantly cool will do. And I will sit on my porch on fine wintry mornings and write. Or sleep. The latter seems like a more plausible scenario.

And now I will sit back like a typical Virgo and worry about what I may have left out from the list. :/

In case you were wondering what this is all about- http://divyathemostuseful.blogspot.com/2011/07/10-day-you-challenge-ten-secrets.html.

I yam ye piroud Mellu!

2011-07-29T07:49:00.000-07:00

How come when the whole world and their uncle speak good English, nobody is surprised, but when a Malayali speaks proper unaccented English, it’s treated like the 8th wonder of the world?

Twice yesterday, by two different people, I got this. “You’re a mallu? But how come you don’t have any mother-tongue influence??!” “I’m sure you wouldn’t have studied in Kerala! There’s no other way you can speak such good English and Hindi.” And when I say that I studied in a KV, they’re like “Aaah!! That explains it!” like they cracked a very difficult code.

When I came to Hyderabad, same story. Scores of people have asked me this. It’s like the biggest puzzle of the century for them.

I mean, seriously, what is with people?? We’re not all that bad ok. Sure, maybe some of us do say Ungil for uncle, andy for aunty, mengey for monkey, wonly for only, vaater for water, etc, but we are not the only ones in the country who have bad accents and the so-called mother-tongue influence. I’m not going to mock anyone else because then I’ll be labeled a racist, but let me tell you, I’ve been called Dibiya instead of Divya by quite many people, none of them Malayalis. I know of people who’ve said Phuck (with an aspirated ‘p’ sound) instead of ‘fuck’. Loads of people have asked me whether mallus eat ‘fis’ every day or not. Have I laughed at any of them? Have I made fun of their language? Well, maybe behind their backs, ya. But never to their faces! I’ve never asked a north-Indian or a Kannadiga why they don’t have an accent while speaking English. And I’ve never heard anyone else also asking a person with good English, who’s not from Kerala, how they speak unaccented English. Why is that not a surprise? Why is it a surprise only when it comes to us?

If we speak in Malayalam, people say that it sounds as though a lot of stones have been put in a steel tumbler and is being shaken. Or that it sounds like I’m abusing someone. And if we speak in English, that also comes under scrutiny. Give us a break, dammit! Four years of being in a non-mallu land, and I’ve heard enough and more about my mother tongue. Well, let me tell you something. Not every Malayali speaks and dresses like LolaKutty. If that’s the image you have in your mind, it’s time you made a visit to our land. I’ve even been mistaken for a North Indian because I don’t have curly hair or don't walk around with coconut oil in my hair. They think we wear only Kerala sari or pattu-pavada. Times have changed. Why do you think only Kerala is stuck is the Stone Age?

And you know something else? We make an effort. Yes, you read it right. Our accent may not be great, but at least we make an effort to speak another language. I’ve been in Hyderabad for four years, and now I can understand Telugu, and speak a bit of it. And that too without any accent. A friend of mine, who’s married to a Telugu guy, speaks Telugu as fluently as she speaks Malayalam. How many of you non-mallus, working or settled in Kerala, have made an effort to learn Malayalam? I can bet not many. Because you claim it’s very difficult. Which is true.

Wait a sec! Now I get it! THAT’s why you make fun of our English!! Because you just can’t get the hang of our language! You’re just plain jealous. :)

I started out ranting, but feel much better now. Yes, I’ve cracked the code.

Next time anyone asks me how come I ‘don’t have mother-tongue influence’, I’ll ask in return “Why do YOU have a bad accent?” Or if that person doesn’t have an accent, I’ll ask them the same question in return, “How come YOU don’t have an accent?”

It’s time for some revenge. Bleddy!

The 10 day 'You' Challenge- Ten Secrets

2011-07-27T00:09:00.000-07:00

I decided to take up the 10-day You Challenge that I’ve seen on many other blogs. It looks like fun. Plus, I get to talk about myself a lot. And that’s like, my second most favourite thing in the world (the first is correcting others’ grammar). I'll try as much as possible to post everyday for the next ten days.

So here is Day 1.

10 secrets.

These are more like revelations than secrets.

1) I talk to myself a lot. It’s a great pastime, and an even greater stress-reliever. Sometimes, I play out entire dialogues between me and someone else in my head that I may not carry out in real life. This gives me a chance to win the argument no matter what. (Did I hear someone say ‘coward’?)

2) I will get up from bed in the morning only if the time is a multiple of 5. If I wake up and see that the time is 7:33, I’ll lie there in bed for two more minutes and get up only by 7:35. I’ll start looking at the time at 7:03, think of waking up two minutes later, but lie down for four more minutes. So I’ll think, ok, now it’s 7:07, I’ll get up after three minutes. This little game will go on till I finally get up only by around 8:30. This could also be remotely related to the fact that I just hate waking up in the morning. Please tell me that you also do it. I don’t want to be the lone freak in the circus. :/

3) I can’t stand it when people tell me “I know you”, irrespective of whether they’ve known me for 20 years or two days. Even if you do know me like the back of your hand, keep it to yourself. Don’t tell me. Because I take comfort in the fact that only I know myself the best. And if you come to judge me after knowing me for just a few days, then I will for sure bite your head off. Especially if it turns out that you’re right.

4) I don’t read self-help books, or any of those motivational books. I’m somehow not comfortable with the idea of someone else telling me how I can improve my life. If I can’t figure at least that much out, then I’m just sad.

5) I hate cats. Hate them hate them hate them. HATE THEM.

6) Even if you’re crying to me about a very serious issue, I will stop you and correct you if your grammar or pronunciation goes wrong. I’m sorry. It’s like a disease.

7) I have a very low threshold for pain. The physical kind. I will try to act very brave and crack jokes, but inside, I’m already having visions of me dying any moment and everyone crying over me and exclaiming what a nice person I was(ahem) and asking God “WHY GOD WHY?! WHY HER?!”

8) I drink all aerated drinks flat. I don’t like the fizz and the gas that it gives. The first thing I do when I buy a bottle of one of those drinks is to shake it hard till the fizz goes. The moment I lift a bottle to shake it, my friends lift their hands to hit me- literally. Now they buy a separate bottle for me, or give it to me only after they’ve had their share to drink. Bullies. Hmpphh.

9) If I watch a scary or gory movie, or one of those forwards that show pictures of a girl whose face got burnt in a car crash or how Japanese pickle foetuses, I cannot sleep the whole night. Or the next few nights. Even if I’ve forgotten about it, I will somehow conjure up the images again, and there goes my sleep.

10) I’m NOT a 4:00 AM friend. Not even a 2:00 AM or 3:00 AM one. In fact, I’m a 10:00 AM to 12:00 AM friend. If you call me when I’m sleeping, I won’t pick up, mainly because I won’t hear the phone (in all probability, if my phone rings, I will imagine that I’m hearing the song in my dream. This has happened so many times, where I’ve sung along to “Sweet child of mine” and crooned “Iktara” in my dreams, only to wake up and see 5 missed calls). If you call again, I will bite your head off, unless you called with an emergency. If you call me before ten in the morning, I will blame you for making me late to get to office. The timings include afternoons on weekends as well. Please take accurate notes.

There. Day 1 done. Nine more to go.
**************
Meanwhile, the Ramzan month is coming up. The season of Eat Pray Love. The muslims fast and PRAY, and the rest of us just LOVE to EAT the haleem. I know exactly where my money is going to go next month. All those in Hyderabad, let’s pig out, shall we?! And those not in Hyderabad, come over! :)

(Pic from Google Images)

The sun shone a little brighter

2011-07-24T10:18:00.000-07:00

There are good days, and then there are days when you feel everything is right in the world.

Two of my fellow bloggers- DawnZhang and Vineeth- left me completely overwhelmed by writing about me in their blog. I just don't know what else to say except a big THANK YOU.

And a big thank you to everyone and anyone who follows my blog, encouraging and enjoying the senseless sense and sensible nonsense that I dish out. Also thanks to those who have previously mentioned me in their blogs, like Priyanka and Ashwin. I owe you guys, big time. I honestly didn't know what I was capable of until others started telling me about it.

Too much of mush?

Ya, sometimes this side of me comes out to say hello to the world too. :)

I had a good weekend. Was staying at my uncle's place. All I've been doing all weekend is eat. Eat, eat and then eat some more. Watched Chalo Dilli and enjoyed it thoroughly. Hats off to Vinay Pathak. Seriously dude, you are something else altogether.

Alright, I'm off to bed now. Only to wake up to Perpetually Crappy Monday.

Did you have a good weekend as well?

All type of Atyaachaar.

2011-07-23T00:12:00.000-07:00

Idea!!

The solution for every damn problem is here!

(No no, not Idea 3G re. Uff!!)

It’s.. wait for it..

A reality show!

You have gudu-gudu in your tummy? Not to worry. We will help you. Just write in to us, and we will help you, on our show “Televisional Atyaachaar.”

First we will set up hidden cameras in your bathroom, living room, kitchen etc, and place underwear- I mean, undercover agents yeverywhere. On your terrace, under the overhead water-tank, will be the olinju-nokkal room. From there, we will monitor everything.

On day 1 of Mission ‘Why tummy gudu-gudu doing’, our cameras will keep an eye on your bathroom activities. How many times do you go to the bathroom, how long do you spend in there each time, what sounds you make, etc. If we see that you sing while doing potty, then we will note down those songs and do a detailed analysis. For eg:- if you sang “ Aao na aao na" from Kyon..ho gaya na?, then that means you’re not having a good day. If you sang “Where do you go, my lovely” by that englees band, then that means in full flow it is going off.

Day two, we will monitor kitchen activities. What is being cooked, what are the ingredients, how much mirchi your mummy puts in your sabji, how clean your kitchen is, etc. We will then call a Kitchen Expert Lady to give her opinion. “You see, the kitchen is facing north, but the gas stove is facing north-west. I believe that is what is causing the problem. If the gas is placed 45 degree to the south and 56.3 degree to the west, then the problem can be solved.”

Finally, after all the investigations and monitoring and olinju-nokkals and expert opinions, there will be a final confrontation. Everyone will sit together and discuss why your tummy is doing what it is doing. And this is the point where our surprise guest comes in! That longer-haired actor whose movie Kolabaathakam- Rendu is releasing next week. He will come and give the film actor’s angle to the whole thing. And then magically, everything falls into place!! You happy, your tummy happy, and yeverbody full happies! Do you notice the glow on your mummy’s and daddy’s and little chutki’s face? Full love is coming.

Then you thank Channel B for helping you. Oh, look at the tears glistening in your eyes... goes so well with the melodramatic background score. Wave, beta, wave. Wave to the camera.. Har pal yahaan, jee bhar jiyo, jo hain sama, kal ho na ho...

COMING UP NEXT WEEK!

The search for Your Colony’s Next Top Kaamwaali Bai!

Stay tuned!!!

**********

After-effects of watching “Love kiya tho darna kya" on Channel V. Wow, what a wonder! NOT.

Olinju-nokkal - literally means, to hide and see. Also known as spying.
Kolabaathakam- murder
Rendu- two.

The Mermaids and Mermen

2011-07-18T00:32:00.000-07:00

Dedicated to all the drunkards out there, especially, my drunken friends.

Have you noticed that there are many kinds of drunk people out there? Let me tell you.

1) The emotional ones.
After two pegs, they become sappy and emotional. They start recollecting the old times, how good life was back then, and most of all, they say ‘I love you’ to everyone and anyone. They might even say ‘I love you’ to the guy who delivered food. Trust me, it’s a treat to have them around.

2) The debaters
They might be quiet as a mouse when sober, but when drunk, they have to debate about everything under the sun. The budget, Indo-Pak, Katrina Kaif’s accent, who has a better ass- Kareena or Priyanka, etc. You get the picture. If you’re drinking with them, be careful not to get too vocal, they might just throw a glass at you or break a beer bottle on your head.

3) The singers/musicians.
The hidden/ aspiring singer in them comes out after a couple of drinks. And the ones who are already singers and musucians go full-throttle. Then it’s a night-long gaanamela. Trust me, it’s fun, whether they sing well or not.

4) The sobbers
They cry. They just cry. For reasons known, unknown, unfathomable- they cry. For things lost, for things unattainable, for actions regretted, for words spoken wrongly, for a speck of dust on the floor, for power-cut, for water-shortage, for a dress that doesn’t fit anymore. All they need is a patient ear. And a box of tissues.

5) The phone-callers
Once they’re drunk, they simply HAVE to call someone. Even if it is at 2 in the morning, they have to call and talk to someone. And these guys will not have the faintest memory of what they spoke the last night in the morning. They will check their call log, see that they made a call, and will call the person and ask them what they spoke. More often than not, it will be something very very embarrassing.

6) The gigglers/ Happy high-ers.
They giggle at everything. Even the saddest of PJ’s will set off a giggle-fit, and it’s hard to stop them. They’re nice to have in the group because they break any sort of tension the debaters might cause. They’re generally very happy once drunk and have a smile plastered on their faces all throughout.

7) The Dhinchaks.
They simply have to dance to Bollywood dhin-chak numbers once they’re drunk. And that too at full volume.

8) The intellectual ones.
They start quoting Nietzsche and Whatsisname. Sometimes, they might be quoting themselves, but make it sound as though some great philosopher said it. And they will suddenly remember theories that they had learnt in university. Slight pain-in-the-you-know-where to have them around if you are not the kind who wants to listen to intellectual nonsense when the original plan was to unwind after a long hard week.

9) The ramblers
They just go off the tangent. They’ll start at Point A, go to Point K, and end up in Point Y, never to return to Point A. They might not even need an audience.

10) The brats.
They become absolutely difficult to have around. They’ll sulk, they’ll cry, they pout, they’ll demand for booze at three in the morning, and will make a scene if you don’t get it for them. The brattiness is cute initially, but after a while, you’ll just want to give them one on their ass and tell them to shove it.

And then there are those who think they’ve lost their nose. :)

What kind are you? And how many other kinds do you think there are?

The answer, my friend...

2011-07-14T01:45:00.000-07:00

How many deaths will it take till he knows, that too many people have died.
The answer my friend, is blowing in the wind, the answer is..

“Blowing in the wind…” Shreya crooned tunelessly along with Bob Dylan. Dylan always soothed her frayed nerves at the end of a long day. Plus, that guy always made so much sense.

She was just back from office, battling the insane crowds of the Mumbai local trains. It had been two years since she was living in Mumbai, but she still hadn’t gotten used to the trains. They couldn’t afford a car yet. Akash had just got a promotion, and a raise, so hopefully, she wouldn’t have to take the trains again, and he wouldn’t have to travel by bus. She could finally put an end to her parents complaining all along that she had taken a wrong decision by marrying Akash, but when love comes calling, you don’t look at jobs and bank balances. It doesn’t matter whether the guy is a millionaire or not. It doesn’t matter that he had to struggle from a very young age when his father met with an unexpected death, leaving him and his mother to fend for themselves. But his mother had been a strong woman. She, who had been a housewife all along, found a job, worked hard, and brought him up. And she had passed on that hard-working and sincere streak to him. How could she agree to get married to some guy just because he was in the U.S and had a green card, when she was in love with a gem of a person like Akash? She had fought, long and hard, and finally, grudgingly, her parents had relented. The barbs still came now and then. But she was happy. Akash kept her happy.

“I’m home. What time will you get here, baby?” She texted him.

“On my way. Should be there in about forty-five minutes. I have a surprise for you. :)” Came his quick reply.

“Ooh!! What surprise??!!”

“If I tell you, it will no longer be a surprise, you monkey. :)”

“Hmmpph! Fine. Get here soon. :)”

“Love you. :)”

“Ya ya. We’ll see after I see the surprise. :p “

Today was their anniversary… One blissful year of being married to each other. And they had decided to celebrate at home. A nice quiet evening, just the two of them. They had wanted to throw a party for their friends, but cancelled it because they didn’t want to waste that much of money. They could always have a party next year, right?

She got to preparing dinner. She had moved on from cooking only pasta for dinner every day, and was experimenting with food these days. This was the perfect opportunity. She had spent hours online, looking for recipes and zeroing in on the perfect dinner. “We’ll have our own little candle-light dinner, right here at home”, she had said to him. She bought everything, plus some fine wine and new lingerie. She wanted to make it special for him…

***************

It was 9:00 PM. “Where is he? He told me at 7:30 that he’ll be home in 45 minutes”. She had made dinner, showered, and got dressed in her new dress, all set for her man.

“Where are you?? it’s 9:00 already!” She texted him.

She sat down on the couch and switched on the T.V. No reply from him yet. This was unusual. He always replied promptly. She started flipping through the channels, not finding anything interesting in any of them.

Fifteen minutes later, still no reply. She tried calling. “All lines on this route are busy”, the IVR lady told her indifferently.

She stopped at the news channel. Breaking News.

“Blasts in Mumbai. City in chaos.”

“Blasts in three locations. Death toll rises.”

“First blast happened at 7:45 PM. The rest followed within ten minutes.”

“20 dead, 150 injured.”

For a second, the world seemed to go still around her. “Oh my god… oh my god… OH MY GOD!”

*************

Akash couldn’t wait to get home and see the look on Shreya’s face when he gave her the keys to their brand new silver colour Maruti Swift. “She’s going to be SO excited!” He had left office early, gone to the showroom, and picked up the car. He had managed to keep it a secret from her for the past few weeks, just so that he could see her face light up when she saw the car. Just the way she had lit up his life…

On the way, he decided to pick up some flowers for her. Asters. Her favourite.
He parked his car in the busy marketplace where his regular flower-guy had a shop. He had been buying her asters from there since a year and a half now, ever since they met. Initially, that was all he could afford to get her. But now, it had become a ritual.

As he got out of the car, two guys passed by in a bike and threw a suitcase onto the road.

BOOM!!

****************

“The Prime Minister strongly condemns the blasts. Pakistan Minister tweets his condolences.”

“We will trace the culprits. Terrorism is an enemy to the human race.”

“Casualty not much. Only 20 dead.”

Only 20? Only?

Her husband had become just another blast statistic…

If only they knew, how much even one casualty can affect a life…

She opened the last message he had sent her. "Love you. :)"

Only 20, they say…

****************

Keep your loved ones close… Tell them how much they mean to you…

Who knows when they'll be gone...

Pink Chaddi

2011-07-13T02:19:00.000-07:00

I don't know why I suddenly remembered this today. And I laughed just as much as I did when I heard about it the first time.

I think I can put this under a 'Heights' category.

Heights of typo errors while you're sms-ing with the 'Prediction On'.

The movie 'Pink Panther' had just released. My Best Friend 1, a guy, messaged Best Friend 2, a girl:-

" I want to see Pink Panties."

Attention to detail, see? He even specified the colour. :D

The 123432nd review of Delhi Belly- or something like that.

2011-07-11T00:44:00.000-07:00

Ok, I know it’s been more than a week since the movie’s released, almost the entire country (that is tolerant of swear words) has watched it, and millions of reviews have been written about it.

So I figured, one more review won't hurt, right?

Alright, on to the review.

Before I start, I have to make two things clear:-
1) I tend to judge how good a movie is based on how many times I would want to watch it again and again.
2) I don’t say a movie is bad just because the rest of the world said it’s awesome and I just want to call attention to myself by saying something ‘different’ and ‘intellectual’. But then again, if I've heard too many people say that a movie is awesome, then I tend to lower my expectations rather than keep it high. That way, I don't get disappointed any which way.

That said, I have watched Band Baaja Baarat about ten times and 3 Idiots around 5 times.

I’m not sure whether I would want to watch Delhi Belly again. But I liked the movie.

(I’m not making sense to even myself now. Weekend-hangover. Pardon me.)

I liked the movie in bits and parts. I liked the comedy. I liked the casting. The fast-paced screenplay kept us engaged without too many frills. It's a crisp 95 minutes with no interval [ I missed my popcorn and flat Pepsi :( ]. The music and background score is mind blowing. It’s not an entirely new theme. We’ve had hundreds of movies with packages being mis-delivered. But ya, never in the history of India Cinema, was SHIT ever delivered to a gangster!

And that’s where the movie works I guess. It took some old wine, poured it into a new shit-filled bottle, and topped it up liberally with abuses.

The movie is bold, to say the least (Aamir himself asked for an ‘A’ certificate). The characters use abuses in almost every sentence, they talk about blowjobs and oral sex, give a literal definition of ‘fuck’, and are pretty much real life-y.
The performances are good, with Kunaal Roy Kapoor neatly stealing the show, along with Poorna Jagannath and Vijay Raaz. Imran Khan is good, but honestly, I liked him better in 'Jaane Tu..". Somehow, a cigarette looks totally wrong in his hands, and swearing doesn't suit him. Vir Das has done a good job, especially in the Disco Fighter avatar (the song 'Jaa Chudail'). They’ve shown Delhi in all its splendor, be it the dirty, almost-in-ruins apartment that the guys live in, or the upper-class society that Shehnaz Treasurywala represents.

Scenes to watch out for:-
1) Vijay Raaz neatly pouring out the shit onto a velvet cloth. (I swear, I retched at this scene. But it is brilliantly executed.)

2) Vijay Raaz’s crony knocking on the hotel room and saying “Sir, loondry (laundry)”.

3) A hole forming in the ceiling of the guys’ apartment when the fan falls off and the leg of a dancer upstairs gets stuck in it. The ceiling eventually collapses totally.
Etc...

But after a point, the abuses start to get on your nerves. Girls who are touchy about swear words and stuff, stay away from it. (I, for one, have been conditioned over the years by many of my guy friends to adjust to swear words. My ears have burnt, boiled, rotted, fallen off and regrown). Don’t go expecting fine cinema. It’s crass, bold, blunt and unapologetic. There isn't even a single beeped out word. It definitely ain’t for a family audience. Don’t even think about going along with your parents for it.

It’s a fun film, a good stress-buster. It's got some holding-your-tummy-because-you're-laughing-so-much-it-hurts moments, some where you'll squirm in your seats, some where you'll cringe (like where they push a stick of explosive up a guy's ass and light it), and some I've-seen-that-a-million-times-before ones (wearing a burqa as a disguise). And it's got the classic Aamir "I'm different and so is my cinema" Khan stamp.

I would give it an 8/10.

How did you like the movie?

Where is the health, minister?

2011-07-06T22:54:00.000-07:00

In current news, the whole nation is up in arms against our dear Health Minister, Ghulam Nabi Azad, for stating that homosexuality is unnatural and a disease. People are tweeting their protest, putting up status messages calling him a fool, creating events saying “Get well Soon, Health Minister”, celebrities are giving quotes left, right and centre about how he is wrong in saying something like this, and how sexuality is each individual’s preference.

I agree with all of this.

But aren’t we forgetting something vital?

This is the very same guy who said that people should start watching television in order to exercise birth control (sheer genius, this one). This is the same guy who said that one small girl was solely responsible for spreading the swine flu in Pune in 2009. He is also the same guy who advocated smoking on screen, saying that cinema hardly influences people in real life.

See what I’m trying to say?

Clearly, he’s been missing his 15 seconds of fame and wanted to be back in the limelight. Maybe he figured, “What nonsense!! Enough of this Ramdev drama! Everyone’s talking only about him! I HAVE to turn the attention on to me. Now… What should I say this time that’ll put me in the spotlight for a few days? Birth control, check. Smoking on screen, check. Swine flu, check. Hmmm.. Eureka!!! Homosexuality!!!”

In a few days, he’ll issue a public apology, and then, just like the other matters did, this will also fade into oblivion.

Till he comes out with his next gem.

Actually, I’m kinda waiting to see what he’s gonna come up with next.

That’s all in today’s news. This is Spaceman Spiff signing off. Have a good day. *smiles intellectually and looks into the laptop importantly*

Go(l)d's Own Country.

2011-07-05T06:02:00.000-07:00

So in other news, Kerala goes on to prove that it is indeed Gold’s Own Country. One lakh crores worth of gold and precious stones uncovered from an underground vault of Sree Padmanabha Swamy temple, making the temple the richest in the world. And there’s still one more vault left to unlock. As one of my friends remarked, “I wonder which princess’ dowry that was.”

While the rest of the country, and the world, is shell-shocked at the news, you’ll probably hear your next door neighbour ungil saying “Oh pinne! Ithokke swarnam aano? Njan enta molku ethra swarnama sthreedhanam aayittu kodutthennu ariyaavo?! Ithokke verum pullu!” (“Oh puh-lease!! This is gold?! do you know how much of gold I gave my daughter as dowry?! All this is just grass!!” If you’re a mallu, you’ll get the grass-connection.)

I used to wonder where this Malayali obsession for gold started. I think now we all know.

Sree Ananthapadmanabha Swamy ki jai!!!

If only...

2011-07-04T04:15:00.000-07:00

September 2006.

I was having my Onam vacation in college, so Amma and I decided to pay a visit to Dad, who was in Surat at that time.

It’s a nice place. Surat. Mom and I enjoyed visiting Acha a few times there. His quarters in the BSNL colony was HUGE. Three bedrooms, a huge hall, a nice balcony, a lovely fire-staircase at the back of flat. Good neighbours, nice climate, a colourful Navrathri festival.. All in all, it was a great vacation.

So far.

I met a lot of people during Acha’s tenure at Surat. A lot of his office friends from different parts of the country.

But one that stands out is Vinay Bhaiyya. Acha’s driver.

In his early thirties, Vinay Bhaiyya was a rotund, good-natured man, always with a smile to offer. He never spoke too much, only when spoken to. He was always there when Acha or we needed him, without so much as a grumble. He would tell Acha that he’ll take me and Amma shopping during the day-time. He used to persistently invite us to his house to meet his wife. He had been married only two-three years. He was so happy when finally we paid a visit to his house. They treated us royally. He even got his sister, who owned a tailoring shop, to take me and Amma around the markets in Surat so that we could get a good deal while shopping. Everyone in his family knew us well, because we treated him more as family than just a driver.

It was finally time for Amma and me to return to TVM. My sister had come down to Surat from Mumbai for a few days of family time as well. The plan was to catch the Rajdhani Express from Baroda. The train departed from Baroda at 10:40 PM. So Acha suggested that we go by road till Baroda, since it’ll be a bit of extra earning for Vinay Bhaiyya also. We were to leave from Surat by around 4:30 in the evening. Surat-Baroda is a 5 hours journey by road.

Somehow by the time we left, it was 5. There were many last-minute visitors who had come to say bye to me and Amma. We knew we were a bit late, but nevertheless, confident of making it in time.

We set off in the Maruti Omni. We seemed to be doing well on time. Mom and I were excited that we were finally getting to travel in Rajdhani Express, a long-cherished dream of ours. I was dreaming of the luxurious seats, the yummy food, etc… My sister was to take a train to Mumbai from Baroda the same night, at 10:45.

At around 9, we stopped on the way for dinner. A small little dhaba. We told Vinay Bhaiyya also to have dinner. He sat at the table next to us and ate.

We set of at 9:30 again, Vinay Bhaiyya assuring us that we were pretty much on time and had nothing to worry about. Even when there was traffic block on the highway due to trucks, he kept assuring us that we will be on time.

By around 10, we started to get a little apprehensive. Dad, who was sitting in the front seat, kept asking him how much longer it would take. He kept assuring that we were almost there. He had started to drive at an insane speed by then. The traffic went past in a blur. I felt as though we were in one of those race-cars. Our worry was no longer whether we would reach the station on time. It was whether we would reach the station alive or not.

By 10:30, dad asked him whether we would reach the station at all. He said “Bus pahunch gaye sir. Aage hi hai.” ( We’ve almost reached sir. It’s just a little ahead).

We did reach. At 10:38 PM. We could hear the train’s departure being announced. And just as it happens, our train was not on the platform we had arrived on (Murphy’s Law at work in full force). We had to climb the foot-bridge. Vinay Bhaiyya brought the Omni to a screeching halt in front of the station, grabbed a few bags himself, and then we all ran. We ran. Mom and I had quite a lot of luggage, so it was no easy task. When we finally reached the other platform, we were told that the train had just left.

My Rajdhani dreams came crashing down.

Then dad and Chechi ran to another platform to see if she’ll get her train at least. Well, Lady Luck just didn’t want to favour us that day. Both of them came back, dejected, exhausted, out-of-breath.

Dad told us to wait where we were, while he went and cancelled our tickets. Vinay Bhaiyya said he would go keep our luggage in the van and wait there, as he hadn’t parked the van properly.

All of us were still in a daze. We had never missed a train before, after all.
Finally, by around 11:15, we decided to drive back to Surat, and then travel again after a few days. The four of us trudged to the entrance of the station, where our car was parked. We couldn’t find Vinay Bhaiyya anywhere, though. We tried calling him, he wasn’t answering his phone.

He finally appeared after a few minutes, panting, struggling to talk. When we asked him where he’d been, he said he went to get medicine. We noticed that he looked a bit pale. He had been complaining of indigestion for a few days. We then suggested that we stay the night somewhere in Baroda, and return to Surat the next day morning. But he assured that he was alright, could drive, and that we can start right away. My sister offered to sit in front, so that my dad could relax in the back seat. We told Vinay Bhaiyya that we’ll stop for chai somewhere, and then start off.

It was around 11:45 by now. We had barely gone a kilometer from the station. The roads were quite empty by then. Suddenly, Vinay Bhaiyya collapsed to the side, onto my sister, in the middle of the road. But not before he had switched off the ignition, and my sister quickly pulled the hand brake. We panicked. His head was lolling from side to side, and he was unconscious, his breathing a loud rattle. We stopped a young couple who was going by on a scooter, and luckily the guy happened to be a doctor. He said we have to take him to the hospital immediately. He and I ran to a clinic across the road and got the on-duty RMO. By the time we got back, a huge crowd had gathered on the road, and they had somehow managed to put him in an auto. My dad was in no state to drive. The RMO said that we have to rush him to the nearest hospital, about two kilometres away. One of the on-lookers offered to drive mom, chechi and me to the hospital, while dad went in the auto with Vinay Bhaiyya and a few others who had gathered.

By the time we reached the hospital, they had already taken him inside. My dad was hysterical. One of the few times I’ve seen him so. Vinay Bhaiyya was taken inside in a stretcher. But the doctor didn’t need to even take him inside the ward to examine him.

He was dead. On arrival.

Cause: Massive heart-attack.

A man of 32, died of heart-attack. Apparently, he had major blocks in his heart, and he mistook the discomfort that gave to be indigestion.

It was like a nightmare. A scene out of a movie. It’s the sort of thing that you think happens to others.

Dad called up his family and informed them. He signed the autopsy papers, went with the attendants when they took the body to the mortuary… and finally, we all went to a hotel for the night. It was about 3 AM by then.

None of us slept that night. All we could see was his body slouching over to the side in the car. Over and over again. We all wished it was a bad dream, but that’s not how life is, is it? We were ridden with guilt. He was with us, and this happened… if only…

The next morning, when we reached the hospital, we saw his wife sitting in the courtyard, crying inconsolably. All we could do was hug her. A widow at 29.

We returned to Surat the same day. There was a memorial service at his house after a few days that we attended. All eyes were on us. They were greatful that we were there till his last moment. They were full of questions as to what happened. His wife even innocently asked us if he had said anything about her in those last few moments.

It’s been a few years now. Like they say, time slowly fades away memories from your mind. Life resumed as normal for us.

But what about him? His family? His young widow? The unmarried younger sister who he was responsible for marrying off? What about all his unpaid debts? What about his mortgage? Till dad left Surat in 2008, he used to go over once-in-a-while, help them financially, and generally keep enquiring. All of us felt terribly guilty for what had happened.

And as goes with human nature, our life became full of if only’s.… if only we had left half an hour earlier.. if only we had not wasted time in idle chit-chat with the neighbours at the last minute. If only we had finished packing earlier. If only we had taken ten minutes less with our dinner.

We could’ve saved the rotund, good-natured driver, who was always ready with a smile. Who spoke only when spoken to. Who heartily invited us to his home. Who came with dad at 3 in the morning to the station to pick us up. Who had had the presence of mind to switch off the ignition before collapsing, because he didn’t want his Sir and family to be in danger.

If only…

But ya, life goes on. With time, we might completely forget about him. I don’t even know why I suddenly remembered him today.

That’s why I wrote this down here. Because I never want to forget him or that night. It may not have affected our life the way it affected his family. But we were part of it. We saw him die right in front of our eyes. And even though we have no contact with his family in distant Surat now, every time they remember his death, they will automatically remember us too. And every time we remember our visit to Surat, mom and I will remember this incident.

And I wanted to share it with everyone. I know it’s an insanely long post. But he deserves at least this much, don’t you think? After all, he lost his life trying to get us to the station in time…

Tag time.

2011-06-30T23:13:00.000-07:00

A random tag I picked up from somewhere.

1. Without sharing your name, who are you?
I’m that girl your mom loves as much as she loves you. I’m that girl who laughed out loud when you said the most romantic line in history. I’m that girl who can’t stop laughing over some small incident for hours together. I’m the one will look at you ridiculously if you so much as suggest dieting. I’m the one who spent the last five hundred bucks she had to satisfy an insane craving for the lasagna at Ofen. I’m the one who sat like a rock through a sappy senti movies, but cried like a baby when Dumbledore died. I’m the girl-next-door who can be the girl of your nightmares too.

2. Describe yourself in less than five words.
Refer to my bio.

3. Do you have any special talents? What?
Just the one. Writing. Unless you count an extremely sarcastic tongue as a talent.

4. Are there any talents you wish you had? What?
I wish I had some musical talent. I love to sing, but sadly, only I can bear with it. Sigh…
I also wish I could play an instrument, especially the guitar.

5. What are your most important interests? What do you like about them?
I love reading. That’s what keeps me sane, and that’s what inspires me to write.

6. What is your opinion of Lady Gaga?
Gah- gah.

7. If you could go anywhere right this second, where would you go?
I would go home, to mom and dad. I’ve been craving for some rice and fish fry for many days now.

8. What are your favorite foods for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?
Breakfast, I don’t eat much. Mainly because I don’t wake up in time to make anything. So I end up eating bread or biscuits or Chocos. For lunch, a bit of rice and sambar/dal/majjiga pulusu and sabji. For dinner, I try to avoid eating rice. Either roti or maggi. Actually, I can eat maggi any time of the day. Besides these, give me chicken and fish every day, I’ll happily eat. Except for in the breakfast.

9. Do you have siblings? Talk about them; if not, talk about being an only child.
I have an elder sister. And she’s the best in the world. She’s married, settled in Bangalore, and works in corporate communication.

10. Do you like sports? What teams do you support?
Nope. Not at all. I was just a not-so-silent spectator during sports days in school. The only ‘sport’ I ever excelled in was skipping. Because I was an asthma patient as a kid, I was never allowed to take part in sports and all. And then, I just lost interest.

11. Do you have any tattoos? If not, would you ever get one?
I don’t have one now, but I would LOVE to get one!

12. Have you ever donated blood? Why or why not?
No, I haven’t. I’m terrified of needles.

13. How do you like your coffee and/or tea?
I like it, be it coffee or tea, with less milk (I hate milk), more water, a bit strong, with very little sugar.

14. Are you left- or right-handed?
Right-handed.

15. If you’re in college, what are you studying? If not, what did/what are you planning to study?
I finished college in 2007 (Man, am I old or what...). I studied B.A. English Literature. And then did M.A. in Communication. (ok now this is starting to read like a profile for a matrimonial site).

16. What are some of your short-term goals?
Save money. Improve my writing. Get more freelance work and bylines.

17. What kind of music do you like?
Ah… old hindi songs. I could listen to them all day long. I’m basically a Bollywood junkie.
Other than that, selective English songs, like ‘The Doors’, a bit of Pink Floyd, Bob Dylan, some of Dire Straits.. It depends. I like particular songs of theirs than follow the band as such.

18. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live?
Anywhere cold. Or at least cool. One place I would love to live in is Dehradun or Nainital, mainly because of the way it is described by Ruskin Bond. Outside India, I would love to live in Switzerland.

19. Have you ever been overseas? Where and when?
No. :(

20. Have you ever been to the circus? What did you think at the time?
Ooh yes!! I love the circus! But it’s been ages since I’ve been to one.

21. Are you wearing shoes right now? If so, describe them. If not, describe your socks/feet.
I’m wearing purple and beige colour chappals that I bought from Brigade Road in Bangalore. Comfortable, purple, and cheap- what more would I want? And it doesn’t look bad either.

22. List some things you’d like to do before you die.
Hmmm.. 1) Fly 2) Go to the tallest building in the world (heights excite me. It’s so exhilarating!) 3) Learn to bake 4) Build my dream home. 5) Learn to play guitar. 6) Go on a world tour. 7) Write at least one book.
Etc…
More on this here.

23. What do you prefer to write with; pencil, pen, crayon, Sharpie, lipstick, chalk, etc?
Pencil. I love the sound it makes, when you write with a pencil on paper. There’s something very inexplicably musical about it.

24. Do you like movies? What are your favorites?
I like movies, ya. Favourites are too many to list here.

25. Do you like chocolate? What’s your favorite kind? If not, WHY.
I like chocolate. I don’t love them. My favourites would be Twix, Ferrero Rocher, Dairy Milk Silk Roast Almond, then some of those wafer types. I LOVE chocolate cakes, though. And chocolate ice-cream as well. Oh alright, pretty much anything chocolate-flavoured.

I tag Priyanka, Arun, Time-out, Destiny's Child, the Dewdrop, and anyone else who wants to be tagged. Have fun!

Damn you!!!

2011-06-30T09:06:00.001-07:00

The cover story of the latest India Today is about the ridiculous cut-off marks that many colleges in our country require for admission, making it a disappointing affair for students who miss out on joining their dream college because of a few marks.
The main cover page had a line that caught my eye- Exams have made a mockery of the education system.

And that triggered off another memory in my mind.

***

When: Circa 2009

I was nearing completion of my M.A. I had a definite idea in mind that I wanted to get into radio, but because of the whole recession charade, there was hire-freeze everywhere, and the chances of anyone in our batch getting a job looked slim.
So one day, Acha called up and asked me what I was planning to do, etc.

Acha: So what are you planning to do,mole?

Me: I don’t know, Acha. I’m really not sure. I guess I’ll look for a job…

Acha: What about higher studies? Don’t you want to study more? If getting a job now looks difficult, then apply for another course.

Frankly, I had had enough by then. I didn’t want to go any higher than M.A.

Me: Hmmm..ya, that’s an option I guess. But the problem is, Acha, I’m sick and tired of writing exams. I hate them. If I’m studying more, I want to study for the joy of learning, not for passing an exam. The whole concept is skewed. I’ve had enough of cramming the day before the exams just so that I could get marks. Where am I learning anything? For me, knowledge matters more than education.

Ya ya, I know what you’re thinking. Save it.

Acha (the wise-crack): Ok..that’s nice. Why don’t you do one thing? Come back here to TVM…
Me: (waiting for the pearls of wisdom)

Acha: … and enroll for one of those courses that they hold for prisoners in the Central Jail here. They don’t have exams there, from what I’ve heard. (and breaks into laughter)

Didn’t I tell you? Wise-crack.

***

The point is, I hate exams. When I was in school, till about 6th- 7th standard, I didn’t have much of a problem with exams. Because I used to be an expert at learning things by rote. I can still do it pretty well, but choose not to.

But the older I got, I started having an aversion towards this pressure cooker called examination. It wasn’t even fear, like some people I know had. It was just plain hatred. What is the point of having exams? Especially when some of our teachers used to give us most of the questions beforehand itself. What exactly am I learning? By the time I reached 11th and 12th standard, I actually started to fear exams, because I used to fail consistently in Physics and Chemistry. I lost sleep. I became a recluse.

Exams in college were a different matter altogether. If any of you have studied English Literature, you’ll know what I’m talking about. When Shakespeare and Wordsworth and Yeats were writing their best works, would they have wanted it to be a thing of beauty, or a tool to judge future generations of students?For a 10 marks questions, you’re expected to write 3-4 pages of answer. The more, the better. By the end of three hours, I couldn’t even feel my fingers. They were beyond numb with pain. Students didn’t discuss what they had written and how well. They discussed how many pages they had written, how many extra sheets were taken. We would look up in envy at the person taking the most number of extra sheets. The more someone else took, the more we panicked that we’re not writing enough. The one with the most number of pages would be the hero for the day.

Even I’ve done that. Written 27-28 pages.Pages after pages of essays and annotations. Essays and annotations that could be explained just as clearly in even two pages even. But that’s not the point, is it? The sad part is, Kerala University is very unpredictable. You can write 50pages and still get only 50marks.

But the real aversion for exams came after I joined HCU. In a semester of 4-5 months, we would have ample assignments, term papers, production work etc to keep us busy through the whole sem. As a result, when exams dates are announced, there is a mad scramble to get Xerox copies of notes, mostly the day or two before the exam. That’s when the Xerox centers in the university do maximum business. And the day before, armed with our notes, we go to the library to try and make sense of what was taught in an entire semester in just one day. We would try to read, have umpteen number of chai-samosa breaks, drink plenty of water, go to the loo, and generally waste time.

More often than not, my friend Arun and I used to end up chucking the entire thing and go out for dinner to Kairali. It’s another thing that the ass***e got a 9-point average and I got a 7.6. Anyways.

But after I left HCU, I realized- I didn’t learn anything. Really. I didn’t learn anything that I could apply to my field of choice. My first job was in the radio, something that they didn’t teach us. I learnt it on the job. My current job is in Corp Comm, something that we were taught to shun. There are so many of my friends, really intelligent types (not geeks), who joined engineering because they wanted to learn it, but now are battling with numerous backlogs.

I would love to study more.. Honestly..But exams…? You and I don’t get along, buddy… Let’s not cross each other’s paths, shall we? If I want to know about something, I would much rather Google it and read up about it. At least, Google won’t expect me to write 300 words about Victorian poets and ICT’s.

Much as people ridicule Bollywood, you can’t help but agree with what ‘3 Idiots’ was trying to convey, can you? And that’s the main reason I love that movie.

Isn’t there a solution to this madness?

P.S:- I realize that this post has been a test to your patience. Apologies...

Blogging etiquettes

2011-06-23T00:21:00.000-07:00

I’ve been blogging since 2008. Well, technically. I seriously started only this year.

There are a few things I’ve learnt in these few months that I would like to share here, hoping that it will be of some use to someone. These are not rules, just etiquettes, according to me.

1) Keep your template simple. It’s easier for others to read. Cramming the main page with too many things isn’t very nice. If you have a lot of things to display, then make separate links. (I may also be saying this because I have seen a lot of awards adorning the main page of some blogs, and I’m just plain jealous that I haven’t got any yet. *sniff* I’m fine.)

2) As much as possible, try to keep your template colour light. A black colour template sure looks classy, but it’s a pain to read, and by the time you’ve reached the end of it, you feel like you’ve just finished watching Saawariya. And you do remember how painful that was, don’t you?

3) No matter how much of a great writer you are, and how popular your blog is, try as much as possible to reply to comments. Because there are readers, like me for example, who will obsessively keep checking whether their comment has been published or not and whether the writer has replied. A little bit of humility goes a long way.

4) Never call anyone’s writing bad, unless you are any authority on it. Everyone has a different style, and not everyone walks around with a Wren and Martin all the time. Writers are a sensitive lot. I strongly believe in the saying “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” Constructive criticism is good, but make sure you don’t cross the line to just plain mean.

5) If you’re writing a post that was inspired from another one, don’t hesitate to admit it. Giving someone their due credit will not harm you in any way. Give a link to it on your post, and if possible, let that blogger know that they’ve been an inspiration, in however small possible way. It feels nice.

6) I know I myself don’t follow this much, but still, has to be said. Avoid long-winding posts. There are many attention-deficit readers around, like me for example. I tend to look at the length of the post first and then proceed to read it, mainly because I don’t like reading too much of content off my monitor. Brevity is the soul of wit, said Shakespeare. Brevity is the soul of blogging, says Divya. Ahem.

7) A catchy blog name is very important. I myself tend to read random blogs that I find on others’ blog rolls with catchy names. Didn’t some wisecrack say, that first impression is the best impression? My blog name is way too long, and I wish I could change it. But I’ve used it for so long that I don’t feel like changing it anymore.

8) Whatever you do, do NOT write blog posts in SMS language. I won’t elaborate much on this because I’ve said too much already, and as it is, people are starting to watch what they say to me. (I think they picture me in Hitler’s uniform with a grammar book in hand instead of a ..umm..what did Hitler carry? A gun?)

9) Read a lot of blogs. Share them on your blog.Spread the joy. You can get some really good ideas for your own blog by reading others'.

10) I don't have a number 10. I just didn't want to leave it at 9.

Hmm.. What else? That’s all I can think of for now. If you guys have any suggestions, drop it in the comment box. Happy blogging!! :)

Why Salman Khan is my superstar.

2011-06-21T03:15:00.000-07:00

I travel to Bangalore once in a while, because there’s a mini unit of my family there (as every Malayali has). And since I’m very very prompt in booking tickets, I don't get train tickets and end up going by bus most of the times.

Now, I don’t have any problem as such with buses, since most of them are those AC types with push-back seats and all, but I don’t enjoy it so much. Because of two main reasons. One, I’ll be paranoid all throughout that I’ll need to pee and that they won’t stop the bus anywhere at night. And then I’ll think so much about it, that after a while, I’ll simply have to go! And obviously, they won’t stop the bus according to everyone’s bladder conditions, right? I won’t go pee behind a bush or a building either (as the driver of the bus I travelled last week in suggested). So for the most part, my sleep goes away thinking about when I’ll get to pee next. (I think I can see diabetes approaching me quite determinedly).

Another major reason is, the movies that they play. In a bus that goes from Hyderabad to Bangalore, or the other way round, they’re most likely to play a Telugu or Kannada movie. And oh good lord… I don’t understand Kannada at all, but I do understand quite a bit of Telugu, and that somehow makes it worse. No offense to any of my Telugu readers, but the movies are not very watchable. And since I have a back problem, I always opt for the seats right in front. So even if I push a roll of cotton inside my ears and close my eyes tight, I just cannot ignore the bombs exploding right in front of my face and Amisha Fatso Patel filling up the entire screen. I just give in to my fate and watch the movie.

Which (finally!) brings me to the point of this post. Last week when I was going to Bangalore, they put “Wanted” in the bus. I did a little happy jig right where I was sitting! I mean, come on! Sallu Bhai was going to make sure that my bus journey wouldn’t be a bore. When they paused the movie in between to halt for dinner and ‘toilet’, I was pretty disappointed. I couldn’t wait for the journey to resume so that I could get back to watching Radhe bash up the villains left, right and centre. Never mind that Ayesha ’40-inches-boobs-is-all-you-can-see’ Takia’s acting was sad, as long as Sallu Bhai did what he did best, I was one happy passenger.

So why do I think Salman Khan is a superstar?

1)Because he doesn’t need to endorse fairness creams to prove to people that he is ‘fair and handsome’.

2)Because I can’t think, honestly, of any actor who looks so good in a police uniform. I mean, seriously.

3)Because no one else would’ve gotten away with a film like Dabangg.

4)Because no one else can do a film like Dabangg.

5)Because though he may remove his shirt at every given opportunity, it’s kinda worth it.

6)Because no one else can wear flaming red pants and still manage to not look gay.

7)Because he doesn’t pretend to not have an ego. He has one, he knows it, and he flaunts it.

8)Because though he may have had problems in his personal life- what with the run-ins with the law and all- when he comes on to screen, audiences still watch open-mouthed.

9)Because he dared to do a role like the one in “Tere Naam”, and pulled it off with élan.

10)Because he is the original lover-boy of Indian cinema. He may be a 40-year old hulk now, but somewhere, you can still see the boyish charm of the Prem of Hum Aapke Hain Kaun and Maine Pyaar Kiya.

11)Because he had the heart to mentor someone like Himesh ‘I-love-my-nose’ Reshammiya.

12)Because he had the sense to not pursue Aishwarya Rai any further. Thank god.

13)Because not many can look good with a moustache, and he is one of the few who do.

14)Because if anyone else had said dialogues like “Main khudh nahi jaantha ki main kitna kameena hoon” (Wanted), I would’ve laughed out loud. Instead, I clapped. For a minute, I mistook the darkened interiors of the bus to be a theatre.

15)Because even though he may not be the best dancer in Bollywood, his dancing style is inimitable.

16)Because whatever role he does- corrupt police, undercover cop, a lover-boy, a musician, or a role that he did in Tere Naam(I don’t really know how to describe it)- you just can’t ignore his style.

So who cares whether his character is dheela or not. He’s still my superstar.

Here's another kindred spirit.

Note:- All images from Google.

Password please

2011-06-16T06:12:00.000-07:00

Flash fiction in 200 words.
***

“Oh god! How could I be so stupid?!”, she cried.

“Is that a rhetorical question?”, her husband chided her.

She threw him a mutinous look, and looked back at her computer monitor. Clearly, this was not a time for humour.

“Ok, ok. What happened now? I’ll help if I can.”

“You know how the internet protocol usually says that for every account that you create on the net, use a different password?”

“Ya.. so?”

“So, that’s exactly what I did. Five different passwords for five different websites, and now I can’t remember what password I gave for my online shopping account. What do I do now??!!”

“Ok, relax. Just click on “Forgot Password”, and they’ll generate a new one for you.”

“Ya, I guess I’ll have to do that… Damn, I’m not going to give so many different passwords ever again. I hope I remember the rest of them.”

“Well, you should’ve thought of that before registering on all those online shopping sites. You’ll get purple shoes in stores also, you know. ”

*Gasp!!* “ Purple shoes! That’s my password!! Yay!!! I love you, seriously!”

“Next time, just give my name as the password. You’ll never forget that.”

“Err.. right…”

"Murder!!", she cried.

2011-06-13T08:59:00.000-07:00

Victim: The English language.

Suspect(s): All of us.

I have no respect whatsoever for people who murder and mutilate the English language. Call me a prude, call me a bitch, whatever, but I stand by what I say. I will not even read a message if it is written entirely in SMS language.

The worst part is, there are several kinds of these English-language murderers:-

1) The ones who think it’s ok to omit the vowels (other than the articles ‘a’ and ‘an’, or if it is the first letter of a word). After all there are just five of them, right?
Eg:- Wht a wndrfl dy.
Fck ff.

2) The ones who add the extra letters at the end or in between, hoping to sound enthusiastic or prove a point.
How are youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu???? Loooooooooooooooooooooonggggggggggggggggggg timmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmeeeeeeee!!!!
Yes, but not as long as it will take me to get over that greeting.

3) The ones who substitute ‘s’ with ‘z’.
Hi friendzzzzzzzzzz. How izzzz life?!
Great. How is your zexy wife?

4) The ones who use letters as whole words.
Y r u sad? Is it d t?
Kill me.

5) The ones who purposely mutilate the spelling even when it doesn’t make much of a difference to the original word length, except for one or two letters.
It ws a reeli awesum nite. I luv u.
Wat???

6) The ones who change spellings in the misconception that they sound cool.
Mah frendz say I’m kewl and a dahling.
Eww.

7) The ones who leave out the ‘g’ in an ‘-ing’ word.
I’m goin swimmin.
What did the ‘g’ do to you that you’re leaving it out, you big bully?

8) The ones who don’t capitalize the first letter of the first word of a sentence.
how are you? hope you’re fine.
Come on, guys, that’s basic. All it takes it a simple press of the shift button.

9) The ones who don’t capitalize ‘I’.
i luv u. i reeli do.
If you can’t give yourself respect while writing, then how can you expect someone else to give it to you?

10) The LOL- and ROFL-ers. No more comments.

11) The ones who combine the ‘cks’ to ‘x’.
My life roxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx!
Tell me, will you like it if someone asks you how your ‘secks’ life is?

12) The ones who are careless enough to mix up similar sounding words. Ok, this is not a murder, but a casualty nonetheless.
Their was ones a girl whose parents where very poor.

13) The ones who think that language and maths can be seamlessly blended.
My luv 4 u is gr8. I cnt wait 2 meet u. Will cal u l8r.
Thhu!!

14) The ones who think it’s ok to not use commas and full stops.
Hi how are you I am fine what are you doing what is wrong with you get lost you loser bye goodnight.
It’s like loose motion. Believe me.

15) The ones who ‘forget’ the apostrophes.
I dont know. He wont tell me. cant you tell me?

I know what half of you are thinking. “Bitch, thinks she’s some kind of a scholar, huh, just because she studied English Literature[spellcheck done, Red Handed;)]?” No, I have no such illusions. I’m just saddened by the way the language has deteriorated. I used to be like that. I cringe when I read my old posts. The Facebook, Twitter and SMS generation has murdered the language. And sadly, I’m also a part of that generation... And the most brutal murderers are the ones who say “What’s your problem? We’ll write whichever way we want.” I just feel sorry for their children, who’ll be taught A 4 Apl at skool.

If there’s anyone out there who shares my angst, do pitch in.

To you, with love.

2011-06-12T08:10:00.000-07:00

Anyone who is a writer wants to see their own book published sometime or the other. I'm no different.

The only problem is, I’m not making any effort towards it.

But that doesn’t deter me from writing the acknowledgements. You know, the page(s) where I thank people for being with me, for being an important part of my life and making my book a success.

P.S:- If I've missed anyone out, I apologize.

So here is it.

Acha for being the best dad I could’ve asked for, for having utmost faith in my judgement and choice. The faith that you have in me has helped me have more faith in myself. I didn’t know how much you trusted my judgement until you told it to someone else and that person told me. A ‘good job’ from you means more to me that the highest grades. The slightest hint of disappointment from your part and my mind will blow a fuse. It’s ok if you’re not the type who gives hugs or calls me cute nicknames. You let me and Chechi go when you thought the time was right, and that was the best thing you’ve done for us. My strength, comes from your strength.

Amma, for being such a darling mom. For teaching me A B C D’s. For asking me questions while I revised for exams, and nodding off in between. For waking up at four in the morning along with me when I had to study. For the extremely patient person that you are. For having the heart to cook the best non-veg for us even though you’re a vegetarian. For passing on the genes of cooking to me, the only good thing I managed to inherit from you. For all the drama that you do.

Chechi, for being my inspiration. If I can ever be half the person you are, my life is worthwhile. For being the doting elder sister. For all the times you’ve tagged me along with you, for all the times you’ve been there for me. For giving back my old chechi to me, the one who I used to play cricket inside the house with, with a diary and rubber ball; the one I used to fight for the phone with; the one whose clothes I used to shamelessly borrow; the one who always knows what I want even without asking me. I know I’m not the best sister around. I know I can be an utter fool sometimes. I know I’ve done plenty of things to make you ashamed of me. But I’m trying my best to make you proud of me, and some day, I will.

My grandpa, Velyachan, for the inspiration that you are to everyone in the family. I wish you were alive, to see that your Ammu writes. I got that from you, Velyacha. They don’t make men like you anymore.

My grandma, Acchama (dad’s mother), for being the strongest woman I’ve ever seen. You brought up three children pretty much all by yourself, and lived alone till the day you died at age 80. Our summer holidays wouldn’t have been the same if not for your home-made grape wine, yummy food, your constant bickering with us for watching too much T.V., and the wonderful mango tree in your garden. I have forgotten what it is to have a summer vacation now.

Mamu, for being a wonderful uncle. You’re simply the best. The devotion that you’ve had towards Velyachan and Ammamma is something every son should learn from.

Anand, Chattu, Nisha, Saty, Roro, Vijish, Meera, Reshu:- for being a permanent fixture in my life for the past 14-15 years. I know you guys will be there even when I grow old and be bent over double with age. I know that you guys will be there even if I tell you to go away. I know that even if I murder somebody, you will be there for me. Yes, you will probably slap me for murdering, but you will still be there for me. There isn’t any side of me that you guys haven’t seen, and yet, you guys love me unconditionally. [If I have to thank each of you individually, that'll be an entire book in itself. Sorry for the grouping. :(]

Arun, for redefining the whole concept of friendship for me. I must’ve done something extremely great in my last birth to have got a friend like you in this birth. I’ve probably been the nastiest to you, but you’ve still stuck on. Now you know why I call you ‘Satellite’. You’re also the biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever met, undoubtedly. If I ever write a book someday, you’ll be the first person to read it, just like you’re the first to read whatever I write now.

Hosku, for being a wonderful roommate and friend. For being there when I’ve wanted to bawl my eyes out. For knowing things about me that no one knows and yet, not judging me for it. For being there, yet giving me my space. I hope I’ve been able to do the same for you. And yes, also for being a great cook. Makes life so much easier for me.

Sree, for showing me that happiness needn’t necessary mean leaving home, having a job, living alone, and being independent. You’ve always been there for me, be it in college when I didn’t know how to board a KSRTC bus, or when I had started to lose faith in myself. I know I don’t say it enough, but you’re a wonderful, wonderful girl. I hope every mother gets a daughter like you, who chose her widowed mother’s happiness over her own. I will always admire you for that. And my admiration for you has now doubled because of the profession you are in- teaching- one of the most difficult things to do.

Pakki, for introducing a whole new world of insanity to me. I never knew what it is to be completely mad, yet amazingly grounded, till I met you. For making my life a roller-coaster ride each and every day, every single moment. Dedication for one’s art, I learnt from you. For the ultimate PJ’s that you crack, pathetic as they are. For making me laugh with your hay-wire imagination.

Ajish, for being one of my most loyal readers and critic. For giving hundred percent honest reviews about my posts. I thoroughly enjoy our ‘intellectual’ conversations. I hope someday, you will muster up the courage to send your poems to publications.

My wonderful teachers, Sarat Sir and Becket Sir in particular, for having faith in me. Sarat Sir, for kindling a passion for the English language in me, and Becket sir for believing that I’m cut out for better things in life. AJ Sir, for making me a radio- fanatic.

Shobana Ma’m, for being a wonderful boss. I don’t think I’ll ever get a boss like you ever again in my life, and I’ve made my peace with it. The one year and four months that I spent in Red FM was one of the most important phases of my life, and you were an integral part of it. For yelling your head off at me one minute, and then taking me out for dessert to Ofen the very next. For treating me as not just a mere employee, but as a friend, confidante, and a sister.

Barath, aka Mommy, for introducing me to the world of blogging. If you hadn't sat with me that evening in the library and convinced me to create this blog, and guided me how to, I probably wouldn't have written so much. I know I'm not as much a celebrity as you are in the blogosphere, but I hope to catch up some day. :)

The regular readers of my blog, for being a great audience and encouraging me. I put half my life out here, on my blog, for the whole world to read. It is overwhelming when people accept it, enjoy it, and appreciate it. What began as just a hobby, a vent for my emotions, has now turned into an addiction for me. An addiction that I’m not afraid of.

To each and every person who has appreciated my writing. It works like a drug.

And not to forget, the dude up there, for putting up with this cranky, temperamental girl who, I’m sure, gives you a headache every single day with her antics. Still, I know I’m your favourite child. All I need to do is ask, and you’ll give it to me. Even without a bribe. :) Ok now, when can I have that bunglaw in Banjara Hills? About time, you know.

Looks like I already have half my book.

Sign-o-drama

2011-06-10T00:34:00.000-07:00

I have the world’s crappiest signature.

In school, when we had to sign for the hall ticket in tenth standard, the whole class got so excited. Because it was the first time our signature was being given importance. Till then, other than your mom and dad who’ve taught you how to write, who else really cares for your signature?

So when it was announced that the teacher would be bringing our forms the next day for our glorious signatures, we all got to work furiously- practicing the perfect sign. Homeworks and daily lessons took a backseat. This was an important thing for us 15 year-olds. The pages of our notebooks were filled with our scrawls. We took advice from parents, siblings, neighbours, uncles, aunts, of what the perfect sign should be. Some said, write only your first name, some said write your full name. Some said make it very complicated, so that no one can forge it.

How complicated can one make ‘Divya’?

So after pages and pages of practicing, I thought I finally had perfected it. Just the first name, nothing very complicated.

When the teacher brought the forms to class, we were doing some last minute practicing. And that’s when I realized- I sign differently every time. Each signature of mine was different from the previous one! Either a dot here or a line there- something or the other was different. But still, it didn’t look bad. When the teacher called out my turn, I went confidently, pen held high before me, ready to conquer the forms.

It literally looked like a crow had taken a crap on that little box. And I think I made a little hole in the form also, with the final dot.

It’s still the same. When I sign my name for fun in books, it turns out decent. But when I have to put it somewhere actually, it turns out embarrassingly horrible.
But I had made my peace with it. I had learnt to accept my scrawl, just like I had learnt to accept my godawful handwriting.

Until…

Until Standard Chartered decided to teach me a lesson.

That’s where my salary account is. Right from the beginning, that bank was jinxed for me. First, I managed to rub off the ATM pin before I could note it down (I know. Charming, right?). Then they said that until I make some transaction, I cannot apply for a new pin number. But how am I to make a transaction when I didn’t have an ATM card, du-uh! They said I can do it through internet banking, with the username and password that they had sms’ed me. Yes, the very same username and password that I had nonchalantly deleted from my inbox, again, without noting it down. So finally, I trudged down to the bank, stood in line, made a transaction, and to cut a long (for me) story short, I got a new Debit card.

Then I had to go back there to deposit a cheque one day. After standing in the queue for half an hour, when I reached the counter, the teller looked at the deposit slip, checked something on his computer, and declared that my signatures didn’t match.
History had come back to bite my ass.

Apparently, there was a difference in the lines I draw below the name. So they made me sit down, like a KG student in art class, and made me practice my signature. Till I got every line and dot right. I sent a silent prayer up to God when I finally signed on the deposit slip. Everyone was looking on with bated breath, like I was signing the Indo-Pak Peace Treaty.

They accepted it, but not before I was subjected to some amused looks and laughs.

Is the thumb-impression accepted anymore? At least that won’t be different every time… Sigh...

Not-so-Little Women

2011-06-07T04:01:00.000-07:00

I’m not a fan of feminism. Maybe because I could never really grasp the whole idea behind it. I really don’t understand it, and didn’t care enough to try. And frankly, I don’t believe in it. I don’t feel the need to label myself a feminist to get what I want. A bit of tantrum-throwing will do that for almost any girl. When the whole of my class went ga-ga over Paromita Vohra’s ‘Unlimited Girls’, I agreed with them just to not seem like a dunce.

But I guess, inside every woman, lives a feminist somewhere. The feminist inside me woke up when V.S. Naipaul (I won’t call him Sir) passed that famous comment a few days back, that he doesn’t consider any woman writer equal to him. And then followed a litany of comments by writers and authors calling him a cranky old man who doesn’t know what he’s talking about, nobody should take notice of him, etc. I haven’t read any of his books, so I can’t judge whether he’s a cranky old man who doesn’t know what he’s talking about or not, but that comment sure was derogatory. I guess coming from a man who’s been married twice, has had many affairs, and is known to have slept with sex workers, it’s not a surprise. Clearly, writing is not one of the talents he cares for in a woman. (I found this article about him quite interesting.)

So I thought, I’ll make a list of my favourite women writers, who are no less than any male writer (I don't even know why there should be a gender added before 'writer'. A writer is a writer, whatever gender they are):-

1) Enid Blyton- No one, EVER, can match up to her. Enough said.

2) Jhumpa Lahiri- only three books old, but each one a beauty.

3) Anita Nair- Another writer who can weave a fine tapestry of emotions and relationships with her words.

4) L. M. Montgomery- Only those who have read the Anne of Green Gables series can figure out why she’s there on my list.

5) Danielle Steele- Say what you may, but her books were a major part of my teenage years. It may be candy-floss, but I prefer candy-floss over blood and gore.

6) Jackie Collins- Yes yes, her books are like pulp fiction, with too much of sex in them. But she does know how to tell a story and keep the readers engaged. Also, her female characters and well-etched, be it the good ones or the bad ones.

7) Louisa May Alcott- Granted, I’ve read only ‘Little Women’ of hers. But that remains one of my most favourite books till date.

8) Harper Lee- She wrote “To kill a mockingbird’. Need I elaborate?

9) Linda Goodman- I know she doesn’t really fit in this list, but come on, who else can write about sun signs as delightfully as she does? She’ll make you fall in love with yourself, the way she describes your zodiac. And also, she’s given me the perfect alibi. If anyone criticizes me now for, well, being me, I say “I can’t help it, I’m a Virgo. That’s how we are.”

Edited to add:-
10) J.K. Rowling- For Harry Potter. God bless you.

I’ve left out on many. Can’t think of more right now. And there are a lot more powerhouse women writers, like Arundhati Roy (I haven’t read her works, except for half of God Of Small Things, so I can’t really comment), Tasleema Nasreen, Kamala Suraiyya, Anita Desai, Kiran Desai, Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni, etc. They’re not on the list because they’re not exactly my favourites, and I haven’t read some of them.

P.S:-Would it be too terrible if I put my own name on the list? Will you guys pelt me with stones and make me ride on a donkey in the market-place wearing a garland of shoes (chose some good ones, if you’re planning to. I won’t wear a garland of torn old shoes)? Sigh.. I know I know…

Who are your favourite women writers?

Miss. Crankypants

2011-06-03T05:24:00.000-07:00

Whenever I start on a new book, after I read the first page, I turn to the last couple of pages. I read the ending before I even start on the book properly. Why? I'm not quite sure .

Maybe it’s because, when I already know that the book is going to end well, I enjoy the book better. There is a sense of relief when something goes wrong during the narrative, that eventually, it’ll all turn out fine. If it doesn’t end well, I will be prepared for the worst and not raise my hopes while I’m reading the book. Contrary to what my friends tell me, it doesn’t spoil the effect of the book for me- in fact, it makes me feel secure.

There is a scene in the movie When Harry Met Sally, where Harry (Billy Crystal) says that he always reads the last of a book first, so that if he has to die before he finishes the book, he’ll at least die knowing how the book ended. Or something like that.

Why can’t our life be like that? We call the experiences in our life as chapters. Why can’t we know what the chapters are? And most importantly, how come we don’t have any way of knowing whether there is a happy ending or not?

“Because life is full of surprises”, you may offer. I know that. “Because if we already knew what our life would be like, what’s the fun?” you may say. I know that too. “Because life is not a book”. “Because that’s not how it’s supposed to be”. “Because it’s not the end that matters, it’s the chapters in between.”

Dammit!! Didn’t I say I know all that?!!!

I just wish I had some way of knowing, though… just one tiny little peek into the last page. Well, last but one page, technically, because the very last page would be “And thus, she kicked the bucket, gracefull at that.” I want to know whether fairytales were just to fool us into a sense of false euphoria...

You know that guy up there, the author of all our lives? He is a crafty old man.

***
Ya, depressing post. I know that too. *sigh*...

The 50th...

2011-05-31T05:32:00.001-07:00

I thought I'll make my 50th post special, with yet another experiment- 55 fiction.

***

He sat in the dimly-lit hospital corridor, remembering the countless times he had been mean to her; promised to take her shopping but turned up two hours late, turned over and fell asleep immediately after making love to her. It was time to start anew.
The nurse came out, smiling, and said “It’s a girl”.

***

Psstt! Before you judge this, let me tell you that I was planning to post "50 things about me you should know whether you want to or not" as my 50th post. Now doesn't this seem better? ;)

An ordinary day...

2011-05-29T23:35:00.000-07:00

I'm trying my hand at writing vignettes, inspired by this blogger.
I'm completely new to this form of writing, so go easy on me, will ya?

***

The day started out ordinary, but she knew there was something extraordinary about it. There was magic in the air.

Today was the day. He was coming home for the first time. For the first time in the four months that they had been dating, he was finally coming today. She had invited him over for lunch, and he had accepted with a twinkle in his eyes. He had then taken her hands in his, come close to her, and whispered into her ears “I would love to. Can’t wait for Sunday to come.”

She was so excited, she couldn’t even set the table properly. Even though she had planned the entire thing immaculately for a week, she was still a bundle of nerves. “Why am I acting like this?” she asked herself. “It’s just lunch, after all. No big deal.”

Ya right.

At the back of her mind, she knew why she was so excited and nervous at the same time. Today might be THE day- the day he finally told her that he loved her. Till now, they had been hanging between “I like you” and “I like you a lot.” Even “I love spending time with you.” But they both knew they had crossed that stage. It was time for some serious confessions.

She had prepared his favourite dishes- Veg fried rice, chicken curry, paneer masala, salad, papad, and gulab jamun. She’d woken up at 7 in the morning and started cooking. And that’s when she realized she loves him too. Never before had she woken up that early to cook even for herself.

She hurriedly finished off the cooking, leaving the utensils in the sink to be washed later. She still had to take a shower and get dressed. Freshly powdered and smelling of tuberoses, she emerged half an hour later, all set to welcome the man of her dreams.

And then she heard his car pulling up outside her gate…

***

Do let me know what you think of this kind of writing. I find it quite challenging to write vignettes and plan to explore it more.

Tag time!

2011-05-28T10:46:00.000-07:00

A tag that I flicked from here.

I love writing tags, so the next time any of you guys get one, please do count me in.

1.What is your current obsession?

The Big Bang Theory (The sitcom, not the actual theory. I hardly paid attention in school, what will I obsess about now.)

2. What are you wearing today?

Umm.. Let’s see. Wore jeans and a top when I had to step out in the afternoon. Now back in home clothes.

3. What’s for dinner?

Dinner was roti, a bit of rice, and chicken! :) (Yes, I’m a foodie. Sue me.)

4. What’s the last thing you bought?

If it’s a major purchase you’re talking about, then has to be groceries (read: lots of unnecessary stuff that was not even on the list) from Spar supermarket. If it’s in the literal sense, then butter chicken from the dhaba nearby.

5. What are you listening to right now?

The fan whirring in the hall where I’m sitting. Was watching a movie, so no music on.

6. What do you think about the person who tagged you?

I stole this tag from another blog. And I think her blog is great. :)

7. What are your must-have pieces for summer?

Lots of cotton stuff that doesn’t hug to my body, especially white tees.

8. If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would you go?

Anywhere that is cold. The Hyderabad heat is killing me.

9. What is one thing you want to learn to do?

Play guitar.

10. What’s your favourite quote?

“In three words, I can sum up everything I have learnt about life- it goes on.” Frost.

And this one too:- "But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner who needed it the most?"- Mark Twain.

12. Who do you want to meet right now?

My bunch of friends from school.

13. What is your favourite colour?

Purple purple purple. That’s all I can think of lately.

14. What is your favourite piece of clothing in your own closet?

No one particular piece of clothing. But I do have a special liking towards my denim three-fourths and the cotton t-shirts that I have, about four of them white. (FYI, Ginger has THE best cotton tees. Just love them. And they’re easy on the pocket too.)

15. What is your dream job?

Where I don’t have to wake up early in the morning. And one that keeps me occupied a lot, so that at the end of the day, when I hit the bed tired, I know I would’ve earned it. (And yes, two-day weekends a must. I need my weekends.)

16. What’s your favourite magazine?

Filmfare! Go ahead, judge all you want, I still love the magazine.

17. If you had $100 now, what would you spend it on?

I would spend it on what I usually spend the most on- either food or books. Oooh yes!! I would buy the Calvin and Hobbes Box Set!!

18. What do you consider a fashion faux pas?

Too much of accessorizing. I really don’t think wearing a chunky necklace with chunky earrings and hundreds of bangles makes one look gorgeous. Keep it simple. And nothing too flashy. Flash does not equal fabulous.

19. Who are your style icons?

No one in particular. I don’t follow anyone’s style. I’m not much of a fashion-monger.

20. What kind of haircut do you prefer?

Used to have a straight cut before. Did layers a while ago. Lost a lot of hair. So now I think I’m gonna stick to a simple straight cut. Although, layers do look good.

21. What are you going to do after this?

Get back to watching the rest of Sandesham.

22. What are your favourite movies?

Too hard to say. Seriously.

23. What are three cosmetic/makeup/perfume products that you can’t live without?

Moisturizer (I have nightmares about dry skin), Kajal ( If you ever see a girl on the road with eyes made up like Kathakali artistes, go over and say hello. That’ll be me.), and lip-balm. I can’t name a particular brand for any of these, because I keep trying new ones.

24. What inspires you?

A lot of things. It can be a thing, a moment, a person, a word, an image. Anything.

25. Give us three styling tips that always work for you.

Clean hair, lots of kajal, a good earthy shade of lipstick. And for some strange reason, pearls.

26. What do you do when you “have nothing to wear” (even though your closet’s packed)?

Jeans and a tee.

27. Coffee or tea?

Coffee. And Bournvita.:)

28. What do you do when you are feeling low or terribly depressed?

I switch off my phone, or simple ignore it. Then I go someplace that will lift my spirits, like a book store. Or I go get a haircut (always works like a charm. Try it). If I’ve completely gone bonkers, I go get a piercing done. That’s how I got my ear pierced the third time, because I was depressed and wanted to inflict pain on myself ( Please don’t think I’m a nutcase. I really am not. Please believe me!). I feel it works better than inflicting pain on somebody else. My nose is next in line.

29. What is the meaning of your name?

Means divine, I guess. Hah, what an irony...

30. Which other blogs you love visiting?

All the ones that I follow, and any other blog that can make me laugh.

31. Favorite Dessert/Sweet?

I don’t have much of a sweet tooth. But I do love ice-creams and gulab jamuns.

32. Favorite Season?

Winter!!! I love cold weather, in spite of the dry skin that it brings. Maybe because Kerala doesn’t really have a winter season, I wait for the Hyderabad winters now. It’s just lovely. And I’m a lot less cranky when the weather is cold. In summer, my crank-button is jammed on.

33. If I come to your house now, what would you cook for me?

Maggi. Kitchen closed, sir. Maggi is all you’ll get.

34. What is one book that you would suggest the whole world reads?

Another tough one. Hmmm.. R.K.Narayan and Ruskin Bond, anytime. Can’t think of anything else as of now.

Go ahead tag yourself. It's fun to do. :)

The Black Swan in you...

2011-05-25T02:25:00.000-07:00

When Indiblogger announced the Real Beauty blogging contest, I was very excited. I thought, this’ll be a piece of cake. This is not rocket science, I just have to write, and god knows, that’s the one thing I’m good at. So I opened a word document, words and ideas tumbling over one another in my head, eager to be let out.

Ten minutes later, I was still staring at the blank word document.

Maybe I had too many things to write about, or maybe I had nothing to write. Who knows. All I know is, this was one of the rare times where I was at a loss for words.

So I decided to close the word document, and took out my trusty notebook and pen. “My notebook won’t fail me”, I thought to myself. “Maybe the real beauty lies in writing it directly down on paper and not typing it in the computer”. (See how I managed to connect the topic to real life? Sheer genius, I know).

I scribbled my signature a couple of times, doodled for a while, read the other things I had jotted down in the notebook, and then finally came to terms with the fact that real beauty, after all, is not so easy to write about.

Why is that? Is real beauty non-existent, or so elusive that writing about it is this difficult? Or have I just failed to recognize it whenever I’ve seen it?

I abandoned my efforts for the time being. I didn’t want to force myself to write just for the heck of entering it into a contest. Because if I have to force myself to write, the real beauty of my writing will get lost between the lines.

Then last night, I happened to watch Black Swan, the Oscar-winning movie, starring Natalie Portman. No no, I’m not going to give you a review of the movie, because honestly, I’m still a little dazed. It’s a powerful movie- it’ll make you cringe, shiver, and best of all, it’ll make you move your body involuntarily when the dancers glide across the screen. I’m not sure if it’s a good movie or a bad one- I might have to watch it again to figure that out- but it sure is a powerful film.

And that’s when I realized, I was so busy looking for beauty elsewhere, that I didn’t see the truth- Real beauty, lies within each one of us. There is a Black Swan in each and every one of us, and that’s what makes us unique. That’s what makes us special. It is easy to accept the White Swan in you- the pure, angelic, fragile beauty who epitomizes everything that is good, because at the end of the day, we all want to be good. But it is not easy to accept the Black Swan in you- no one wants to accept that there is another side to you that is not so pure and angelic. No one wants to show their evil twin.

But without your evil twin, you are incomplete. And the sooner you accept it, the easier it will be to understand yourself better. Be happy about the helpful side of yourself, but do not shun the side that is selfish once in a while. Celebrate your perfection, but do not criticize the side of you that wants to break free and dance wildly. Yes, shout out proudly to the world that you’re a topper, but do not be ashamed to admit that you also drink and smoke. Preserve your virginity, but do not hesitate to let go of it if you find the perfect person to give it to, because you need to know at least once in your life what true passion is.

And most importantly, do not let anyone else decide for you what you are- good or bad. Because no one knows you like you know yourself.

Let go of yourself. Embrace the Black Swan in you.

And you will then see, real beauty.

Valediction- I

2011-05-18T12:21:00.000-07:00

Acha’s retiring this month-end. As of now, he’s travelling through Kerala, attending farewell functions being held for him.

So this afternoon, he called me up and asked me write a few lines for him that he can speak at tomorrow’s function. I readily agreed and started writing, and before I knew, ‘a few lines’ had become three pages. For someone who hadn’t worked even a single day in BSNL, that was an awful lot to say.

That’s when it hit me- I’ve never given a farewell speech. Ever. Not in school, not in college and not in the university. By the time I reached 12th std, the school didn’t allow farewell parties anymore, during my college farewell, I think they selected a representative to talk, and during our university farewell, we were too busy dancing the night away to glory to bother about speeches. And most importantly, nobody invited me to give a speech. Sigh...

So here are my farewell notes, to the places that have played a significant role in my life. I don’t know whether it matters now, after so many years, but I want to tell it.

And besides, I don’t think I’ll ever work in any place for more than two years for them to throw a party for me. Yup, a truth that I have come to terms with. So here goes.

So long, farewell, K.V. Pangode. You showed me the beginning of the road.
What do I say to the institution that I’ve spent eleven years in? A mere thank you won’t suffice for sure. It has, after all, made me the person I am today. My school.

This school has seen me as a naive child who forgot her father’s name at the interview and who used to cry every single day for the first few days soon as she joined, so much that my teachers had to call my father to come pick me up; it has seen me as a curious adolescent, who is just starting to discover the difference between a boy and a girl, and who cried at her desk when she was told by someone in her class that one of the boys has ‘line’ on her; it has seen me as a gawky, confused teenager, who was acutely conscious of the fact that she was quite dark and that her breasts just didn’t seem to develop fast. It has seen me as the first-prize winner in C.C.A competitions, and also seen me shirking away during Mass P.T. Saturdays. It has smiled and shook it’s head at the bunch of girls who just needed any excuse to bunk class and go for ‘dance practise’. It has smiled proudly at the all-rounder who was never a topper, but managed to be consistent with her marks (Till the 9th standard. Consistency went for a walk then).

If you ask me what are my fondest memories here, I will either be speechless, or I will be rambling for hours. But yes, I do remember when Manjula Ma’m walked in while a third standard Hindi class was in progress and asked me whether I was part of any programme on Annual Day. When I nodded a no, she took me right away and just like that, I was the white-frock-wearing letter A in the Alphabet Dance. I remember being the adolescent Indira Gandhi in the tableau, and trying hard not to smile or move for fifteen full minutes (god knows how difficult it was for me). I remember being made the Deputy School Pupils Leader in 5th standard, and the brown badge that I used to proudly wear. I remembered being pushed into the water tank in 4th standard during lunch break along with a friend and how petrified I was (Till date, I don’t know who it is that pushed me in. I guess it’ll remain one of those greatest mysteries of the world. Or of my life. Whatever). I remember the Onam day celebrations, the programmes I used to compere for, the classrooms, the steps we used to have lunch on, the library, the playground...

Every single day spent here has been a lesson, be it the good days, or the horrible days. And I’ve seen plenty of both. I have been a good student, I have been a failure.

I have had some truly amazing teachers, teachers who taught me more than just lessons. Sarat Sir, to whom I owe my love for the English language. If not for his classes, English would’ve been just another subject that I had to pass in. I hope I have not failed him in any way. Well, except for my hand-writing. That still remains inexplicably horrible, sir. Sorry. :) ( Tired of writing ‘Improve your handwriting’ on almost every page in my notebook, finally one day he wrote ‘Beautiful handwriting’, hoping that I’ll improve at least then. Sir, the only thing that has improved after that is my sarcasm).

All my teachers in the primary section- their job is the toughest, you know. There’s a proverb that goes “A child’s mind is like wet cement. Whatever falls on it makes an impression.” It’s a huge responsibility on their shoulder, to mould the minds of 5-6 year olds’, with undying dedication and patience, because one wrong move can scar the child for life. One of the main reasons why I never took up teaching is this- I knew I would never have such kind of patience.

Becket Sir, for having faith in me even when I used to fail in every single Physics and Chemistry exam in 11th and 12th. He always saw beyond my marks. He would look at my report cards, shake his head sadly, and say “You are such an intelligent girl. Why are your marks like this...?” His grief that I was getting bad marks was very genuine, and I could never fathom why. Later on I learnt from somebody that he had a son with special needs, and then I could understand why he felt so sad at my performance- here is a girl who doesn’t use her brains even when god had given her some. When I went to school to collect my report card after the board results came out, he told my mom that I should apply for Civil Services- he was telling the mother of a girl who had just got compartment in her 12th standard Physics board exam, that her daughter should apply for Civil Services. No, it wasn’t pep talk. It was just good old confidence. He was one of the first people to suggest to my parents that they should let me study literature. Thank you sir, for having the faith in me that I myself had started to lose.

A heartfelt thank you to all the teachers who have been great role models over the years, and who have been patient enough with nutcases like me. You’ve, for sure, reserved a place for yourself in heaven. :)

I may have left school seven years ago, but I still have something very precious that I managed to take away from there- a truly wonderful bunch of friends. Each time I see them, I’m reminded of the days that I’ve spent in those vast grounds, those noisy corridors, the pristine classrooms, the huge playground, the cacophonous school bus... these guys are my prizes, my marks, my certificates, my everything... Thank you, you lovable brats.

Thank you, K.V. Pangode, for having taken care of me for those wonderful eleven years... in case I haven’t said it enough, I love you and will continue to do so till the time my memory takes leave of me.

Note:- I realised if I give all my farewell notes in one post, all of you will doze off middway. So the next valediction in the next post.

Curiousity killed Google

2011-05-17T06:10:00.000-07:00

You know what's a really fun pastime? Open Google, type in random letters or words in the search box, and wait for the instant search results to come in the drop-down menu.

I don't mean to sound like a know-it-all, but technically, shouldn't 'How to get pregnant' come after 'how to kiss'? Just wondering...

I agree, Google has all the answers, but isn't asking it 'Who am I' taking it a little too far?

'Panties in a twist'??? I didn't even have the guts to click on that and wait for the results to come up. It may have had images of ladies doing the twist in panties. Or twisting in bed in panties. Or twisting panties. Or shut up.

Is it just me, or is it an irony that 'When will I die' comes right after 'when will I get married'?

Without dress. Anyone will do. Even if it's a koala bear. We're not fussy that way.

And the best of the lot...

Brother of Dennis, are we, Mr.Pennis?

This post has some funnier suggestions.

What all people search for... Sigh...

Look at me I'm so cool!!!

2011-05-16T00:45:00.000-07:00

I used to have a Spice Girls slam book in school. In tenth standard. For no reason except that I thought it was cool to have a slam book. I used to approach all and sundry to fill it up, so that I could know about their ‘Spicy Birthdate’, ‘Spicy Memory’, ‘Spicy Ambition’, and their ‘Spicy words about me’. Gah.

Of course, everyone had a slam book in 12th standard, when it suddenly strikes people that school is getting over, and we want to know as much as possible about our classmates whom we previously had no real interest in. It’s a tough decision to make- do we finish writing our record books that are due for submission tomorrow, or should we fill up the slam book? After all, there is so much about me that I’m sure all my classmates are eager to know. Now is the last and final chance to show them what a delightful and witty person I am. Screw chemistry record book.

School was a magical time, wasn’t it? The time of learning, loving, growing up, teenage crushes. And also the time of a million trends that would make us cringe now when we think back on it.

Here are some of my time:-

# The bright, shiny friendship bands that came free with Top Ramen noodles and pretty much everything else. I used to wear two-three at the same time. Ewww.

# After the Malayalam movie ‘Niram’ came out, everyone was ‘da’. “Hi da’, ‘hello da’, ‘No da’, ‘Of course da’, ‘Get lost da’. Sheesh!!

# You know the colourful beads that used to be a fad at one time? I used to braid my hair in thin plaits and wear those beads. At all times. Even to school. Not just beads, I used to have tiny clips shaped like butterflies, toffees, tweety bird, etc. I used to be known in school for my ‘cool hairstyle’, till one sour old fart (read: a teacher) told me that we are not Africans to be wearing beads to school. Hmmpph.

# Eyeliner. To school. What was I thinking??

# My socks always used to be rolled down or folded down, and my skirt was never below the knee. The effect of watching too much of “Hip Hip Hurray”, “School Days”, “Just Mohabbat” etc on T.V. and whatever came on T.V was cool, right?

# I also refused to tie my hair in two plaits or ponytails when it grew longer. It was always one pony, even though the end of my hair used to look like a comma/question mark. And then they made it mandatory in school to wear two plaits/ponies. Determined to come across as ‘cool’ even then, I wore red satin ribbons instead of the normal ribbons.

# My nails never NEVER used to be nail-polish-less. And they never used to be short. As if wearing one colour was not enough, I would put two colours at the same time. Double ewwww.

# Oh wait. How could I forget nail tattoos!

# Multiple stickers on pencil boxes. I bet all of you have done this. Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, The Little Mermaid, theme stickers, even Flag Day stickers. Anything and everything used to find its way to my pencil box. And then we would compare our coolness in class.

# And ooh ohh!!! Pencil pouches!! Not boxes, but pouches. I had a variety of them!! They were SO cool, and they could fit in so many more pens and pencils. By the way, I used to collect pens too.

# It was so totally cool to bring cold water to school. It was, like, THE most happening thing ever. And those with Milton water-bottles ruled this game. It was also very happening to bring Maggi and any other variety of noodles to school.

# How can I forget those notebooks with film stars on the cover? Mammootty, Mohanlal, Aishwarya Rai, Abhishek Bachchan, Shah Rukh Khan, Salman Khan etc.. I used to have a huge crush on Madhavan at that time (and still do, actually), and would ask the store-keeper to particularly give me only those with him on the cover. And then I would sit and look at his face and fantasize about an Alai Payuthey-esque scenario during tuition class. Did I mention I had compartment in my 12th standard Physics Board exam? Ahem.

# Bell-bottoms jeans!!! I had one too many of those, and this, unfortunately, continued till college.

What were the cringe-worthy cool trends of your school days?

(An apology to a certain reader for writing another post that is about I, me, myself. Not entirely my fault. My muse refused to let me write about anything else. I have reprimanded Miss.Feisty for the same.)

The roads I have taken...

2011-05-12T00:05:00.000-07:00

I may not have topped every class since I could spell A for Apple and B for Ball.

I may not have cracked the IAS.

I may not be an IIT graduate.

I may never have won a gold medal.

My picture may never appear in the newspaper for outstanding achievements.

And the only thing I know about Quantum Mechanics might be the spelling.

But I had wonderful parents and a sister.

I had a cheerful childhood.

I had an apt adolescence

I had a turbulent teenage, just the way it’s meant to be.

I had a life outside of classrooms and tuition centers.

I was given the option to read things other than textbooks and study materials.

I was given the option to dance to not just the tunes of an education system.

I was allowed to learn by rote poems and stories and not just math formulas and theory of Relativity.

I was learning about the solar system in class two for the joy of learning- not as a preparatory for the entrance exams 10 years later.

I was taught that ambition is important, but I was allowed to choose that ambition.

And that has made all the difference…*

*From The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost.

My purple friend...

2011-05-11T04:16:00.000-07:00

I miss my cycle. My purple (no surprises there) Miss. India Junior cycle, that had been my constant companion for two years- two wonderful years in HCU.

Sometime during my college, I think it was my second year, I decided that it was finally time that I learnt to cycle. No, I didn’t learn to cycle when I was a kid. I did not have a pink bicycle with supporting wheels and a pink basket. I did not have scraped knees and bloodied elbows. Instead, I had asthma. (Not as cool as it sounds). I was not allowed to go out and be adventurous. No frolicking around the park with my girlfriends, and I would hardly call my alarmingly frequent trips to the hospital, unable to breathe and fear looming large on my parents’ faces, as fun. I played with Barbie Dolls, kitchen sets, and read books- non-strenuous stuff.

So I spent my entire childhood and adolescent years being ribbed by my friends for not knowing how to ride a cycle (I aced at ringing the bell, though. Thankyouverymuch). No one missed a chance to poke fun at me, and finally, at age 19, I decided it was time to put a stop to all that- I was going to learn how to cycle and nothing could stop me!

The determination lasted exactly one day.

I pestered Acha to arrange a cycle for me, which he promptly did- an old, not-too-bad-condition cycle from someone in the building, took it to the mechanics, and got it ready for his little daughter. Father and daughter set out early next morning to conquer the two-wheeler world.

Two things to keep in mind before I go on:-

# Acha’s patience levels are legendary- it rarely lasts for more than five minutes, something that he managed to pass on to his younger daughter.

# I’m not very tall, but the cycle was.

Once I attempted to climb onto the cycle, I realized that I could either sit on the seat and someone could hold the cycle firmly to keep it from falling, or I could not sit on the seat and pedal with my bum in the air- the two just wouldn’t happen simultaneously. My legs refused to magically elongate to reach the pedals.

Fifteen minutes later, I was red in the face from just trying to keep myself from falling off the cycle, and Acha’s patience was starting to wear out.

“Ayyo! I can’t do this anymore Acha! Please, let’s go back home!”

“What?? Nothing doing! You have to keep trying!”

“I can’t! I’m tired, and this cycle is too big for me! It’s not my fault that the cycle is bigger than me. Enough for the day!”

“So what’re you planning? Learn cycling in one year??!!”

“It definitely can’t be learnt in one day, right??!!” Told ya, I was his daughter.

That was the last day we ventured out to teach me cycling. I somehow managed to learn to ride a two-wheeler, and get a license too, without learning how to cycle (I conveniently choose to ignore the fact that I had to take the test three times before I passed. 8 is just too hard a number, I say). I relaxed smugly thinking that
my have-to-learn-cycling-what-a-shame-otherwise days were over for good.

Till I joined HCU. It’s a 2700-acre campus - a fact that every HCU-ian never misses an opportunity to proudly boast about- and cycling was a necessity and a way of life there. So I decided to face my fear again, and went bicycle-shopping. That’s when I first met my beautiful purple Miss. India junior cycle, in which my legs beautifully reached the pedals! Yay! Next day morning, my friend Arun reprised the role that my dad had tried to play all those years ago, and ran behind me and my Miss. India, holding on firmly.

But this time, I was not scared. I was patient. And I was confident. And after running for a while, Arun let go of the cycle… And I didn’t fall!!! I did fall a few days after that, and two times after that too, but it doesn’t really count. I finally had the scraped (scarred for life, whatever) knee that I should have had as a kid, and instead of hiding it, I proudly show off my battle scars- for learning to ride the cycle may not be a big deal for others, but I felt as though I had conquered the world. So what If I fell down a bit? I at least learnt to ride it as well as I ring the bell, didn’t I?

Now I truly believe, if I can learn how to cycle, I can do pretty much anything I want in life. Sooner or later, I’ll get there.

After I left HCU, I lent the cycle to me previous house-owner’s daughter. Never saw it again.

My dear purple Miss. India, I hope, wherever you are, whichever little girl is riding you, you’re fine. I hope my little daughter gets to ride your little daughter after a few years. We will then sit back and watch them and smile over the sights we’ve seen and the places we’ve been.

Dontcha wish your country was cool like mine?! Dontcha!!

2011-05-10T05:51:00.000-07:00

Why we Indians think we are the coolest thing to have happened to the world since low-waist jeans and Elvis Presley:-

# We have ATM’s. We also have dustbins in the ATM’s. But we would rather make a carpet out of the receipt slips than put them in the dustbins. That way, the dirt on the floor can be hidden. Way cooler.

# We have railway tracks. We also have trains running on them. And we also have people shitting on those tracks, and occasionally, people get pushed on to the tracks too. Who else will make such multiple uses of the railways?

# We don’t believe in standing in queues. That’s for people with a lot of time on their hands, and we don’t have that. We pleasantly ignore the people waiting in the queue and push to the head of the line. We are in a hurry, we have other places to grace our presence with.

# That’s also the reason why our population is steadily increasing. We are always in a hurry. And we are proud of it.

# The roads are not for the faint-at-heart. It’s for the warriors like us. We race, we honk like mad, we cut traffic signals, we bump someone off their vehicle, we swear generously, and we reach our destination. I mean, isn’t that what really matters?

# Yes, yes! We’re a developing country! We have built IT parks, we have the best hospitals, we have the best of educational institutions. We have even built public urinals on roads. But we still prefer to pee against the walls or under trees. You see, it’s beneficial for the trees. There is a do-gooder in every one of us.

# We believe in the power of human contact. That’s why we overload our buses and autos. The more the people, the better the contact, the higher the chances of being groped. We try our best to do noble (not to be mistaken with ‘nude’) gestures.

# We understand that every woman wants to be appreciated and complimented. That’s why we whistle at them and pass comments. Tch tch. And you thought we were perverts. We are such a misunderstood bunch.

# We are proud of our culture and our scriptures. Especially the Kamasutra. That’s why we are eager to try out as many positions as possible. Getting the girl to agree is difficult, but that doesn’t deter us. Sometimes we just gag and bound the girl, but we take care to use the softest cloth and ropes.

# We do not have Osama bin Laden-types in our country!!! But we do have politicians. No connection though, whatsoever.

# We know our National Anthem by rote. We sang it for 12 years in school during morning assembly. That’s why we don’t bother to stand up when it is played in multiplexes and other functions. We’ve already been there done that.

# We don't believe in interfering in other people's lives. So we don't do anything when something happens to others. We wait for it happen to us. Every dog has a day, after all. That's the right thing to do, isn't it?

You see now, why we love our country and are proud to be an Indian?

The Big Fat Malayali Wedding.

2011-05-08T23:10:00.000-07:00

We Indians are obsessed with weddings, aren't we? Doesn’t matter if the marriage itself doesn’t last long, but the wedding? Oh the wedding has to be a big fat affair.

While the west may stick to just one basic format of conducting a wedding, India has many. Each state has a different custom, some lasting up to five-six days.

And that’s where we Malayalis fall short. Ouch.

Our weddings last for five-six hours, at the max.

(Whatever I’m writing, is based on a Malayali Hindu wedding. I haven’t been to many non-Hindu Malayali weddings, so I don’t have any authority to talk about them. But I would love it if others could share their views.)

# Out of the five-six hours, three hours will be dedicated to photography. It does not matter if the bride and groom get boiled under the heat and lights, they still have to maintain the five-kilometer wide smile. And pose with uncles, aunties, friends, colleagues, mom’s brother’s father-in-law’s sister’s son’s daughter. What is supposed to be the most special day of their lives rapidly turns into one that they just want to get over with, so that they can drag their tired bodies and aching mouths to bed at night. (Do 'First Night's still happen? I wonder how they can still have the energy!)

# Let’s not kid ourselves- we go to a wedding to have the food. You know I’m right! And having food at a Malayali wedding is no easy task. To quote the Cadbury’s Bourneville ad, you can’t just eat a sadhya, you have to earn it. There are a few qualities that are a prerequisite before you even consider having a sadhya at a Malayali wedding. (a) Determination (b) Sportsman spirit (c) Incredible strength (d) Complete disregard for other people, and e) A little bit of shamelessness. Be prepared to say goodbye to your best silks and cottons, because believe me, it’s a fight to the finish.

# And once you get inside the dining hall, don’t relax thinking that the worst is over. This is where your speed-eating skills are put to test. Either you eat fast, or you wait for the serving people to dump everything on your plantain leaf at one go, and then relish the indescribable mass of food at leisure. Your call. Oh, and don’t even for a second think that you can eat at leisure. If the dining hall has glass walls, then may god help you enjoy the food. How, pray, can you eat in peace when people are watching you eat from the other side of the glass walls, impatience (not so much hunger) etched on their faces, tell me?

# The bride and groom have to pretend that they are elephants, or hermits, for the day. A lot of milk and bananas are going to be shoved into their mouths.

# Whose wedding did you come for? Your friend? Your colleague? Not able to find her? You see that girl over there, covered in silk and a hundred kilos of gold, unable to move, with a pained expression on her face, resembling a procession-elephant on diet? That’s your friend. Don’t punish yourself if you are not able to recognize her. It’s not your fault.

#Is the actor/actress within you waiting to get unleashed? Just get married. The photographer will make sure that all your acting skills are put to good (laughable for others) use. Then bury the wedding album in your backyard and ensure that your children never ever find them. They won’t be able to take the trauma.

# There will be a battalion of jobless women, also known as relatives and acquaintances, who come to weddings to do nothing better than comment and criticize. “Oh why is the girl wearing such less gold? At my son’s wedding, his wife was almost falling down due to the weight of the gold she was wearing! Such a proud moment for us *sniffle sniffle*”. And if the girl is wearing enough gold, it’ll be the food. “What??!! Only four types of payasam?! Such a shame.. *BURP!*”. (At my sister’s wedding, she refused to wear gold, and my dad was so tired of explaining to his lady colleagues that the reason why his daughter is wearing only necklace is because she doesn’t like wearing gold, that he finally told them he had gone bankrupt, so he couldn’t buy any jewelry for her.)

# I've always wondered why people gain weight once they get married. Now after seeing my cousins and my sister getting married, I think I know the reason. No no, it’s not because of all the love that they’re probably making(Is that just a myth? Married people, enlighten us.), it’s because they are made to stuff their faces with so much food at the houses of the hundred relatives that they have to visit after the wedding, that it’ll take them years to burn that much fat out. I’ve seen skinny girls transform into mini-elephants a month after their wedding. Come on, it HAS to be more than just ‘love’, right?

IS there any way to have a registered wedding but still keep all the cash and gifts?

The write side of my brain

2011-04-29T02:48:00.000-07:00

2011 has been a good year, writing- wise. I’ve written more in these four months than I have in the last three years put together. My friends are happy that I’m writing more, I’m happy that I’m writing more. And just when that warm glow envelopes me, some of them burst the bubble by asking me, “ You’re really jobless, aren’t you?”

What makes you think that I’m writing more because I’m jobless?

Let me clear the air a bit.

# I do NOT write because I’m jobless. I write because I have more time on hand now. There is a thin, but very VERY distinct line between these two.

# I write because I can. That is the one gift that the dude up there in the clouds bestowed upon me, and I plan to put it to use.

# I write to describe what is happening in the world around me.

# I write to tell people about me and my little life.

# I write to emote.

# I write to make fun of things and people. Thankfully, sarcasm IS one of my strengths (God and his strange ways...)

# I write because it’s easier to be sarcastic to people over the internet. Face-to-face confrontations have never been my cup-of-tea.

# I write because there are so many interesting things to write about. I don’t know which idiot he was talking about when Shakespeare said “Life is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” I guess it depends on who tells the tale.

# I write to show my creativity, how much ever limited it is.

# I write to rant and rave, without anyone telling me to shut up.

# I write because when someone appreciates my writing, everything in the world seems alright.

In the end, I write because I love to. I may never be an author, I may never give away autographed copies of my books to fans, I may never get a Booker or a Pulitzer, I may never have a picture taken with Ruskin Bond. But at least I would die happy that I made a few people laugh, a few people cry, and a few people to think, with my words.

If that is percieved as joblessness, then so be it.