The Chronicles of my Destiny

Thank You...

2012-01-14T09:41:00.000-08:00

There are parents who pester and nag kids with ‘study, study, study!’
And there are parents like mine who suggest grand holiday plans in the midst of exams and often implement them too.

There are parents who send their kids to coaching classes, tuitions, co-curricular activity lessons and yoga classes.
And my parents believe Saturdays and Sundays are fun days and that a child is abnormal if he/she shows too much interest in studies. Especially Acha.

There are parents who lock up kids in a room during exam time asking them to study.
And my parents used to drag my sister and me to parties, weddings, get-togethers, and temple festivals at our home town, the previous day of an exam. They have done that during my 10^th boards, 12^th boards, BA degree exams (all three years) and finally, during my final PG Exams.

There are parents who cut cable and internet connectivity during exam times, and restrict even watching of Doordarshan to 20 minutes, that too as an allowance only at dinner time.
And my parents have never even suggested such a thing let alone doing that. On the contrary, they make it a point to watch TV more than ever during this time. And never say ‘Enough...now back to studies’ if I join them. Amma would instead say, ‘Wait till the movie gets over ...only an hour or so left’ and I happily snuggle against her.

There are parents who beat and scold children to the point of tears and suicide attempts.
And there are my parents who are as excited to see me scraping through Maths and Science as they are to see me scoring the highest in English and Hindi.

There are parents who draw comparisons between their own kids, neighbours’ kids, relatives’ kids and any other kids they can lay their eyes on.
My parents have never told me ‘Look at her!’ or ‘Learn from him!’ The closest they have got to doing that is ‘See how your sister is doing her homework.’

There are parents who get hyper excited at the slightest hint of a parents-teachers meeting.
And my parents went only because they had to, skipping all the classrooms where they there was too much crowd.

There are parents who you have to give at least a month’s notice if you are planning a movie.
In my home, sissy and I used to ‘tell’ rather than ‘ask’ our parents about our outings and movies.

The only time my father said ‘no’ to me was when I wanted to go out of Kerala to do my PG. We talked and argued and he held his ground and I held mine. I said there were better opportunities outside. He said there were good colleges within the state and that if I was good enough I would do just as well here.

I was depressed, Acha even more. And one day, just to ease the tension between us, I told Acha that I had decided that I was not going anywhere, that I had made up my mind. ‘Happy?’ I asked. I saw his eyes light up; he smiled his heartiest smile, shook my hand excitedly and said animatedly, ‘Verrrrrry Happy!’

At that moment I realised why he had been so adamant on not letting me go. He just couldn’t bear to think of being away from me. And I wanted to slap myself for being so selfish. Acha and I became the best buddies we always have been once again and I enrolled into a college here and had no regrets right from the day of my interview.

Last week, the results of my PG were announced, and if you will let me brag a bit...er... I secured the first rank! I am really bragging now! :p

There are parents who might tell their kids in situations like these, ‘Didn’t I tell you so?’

And there are my parents, super cool that they are, who just went ‘Yayy!’ at the news and for once like typical proud dads and moms started shooting messages to their friends and colleagues. J

Love you both!

PS: A big thank you to my sissy, my little nephew who seems to have brought lots of good luck with him, all my friends, teachers and of course, all you blogger friends who make me feel special with your heart felt comments. :)

A word as odd as odd, please?

2012-01-02T02:50:00.000-08:00

Being a copywriter is fun. But more often than not, it’s a huge responsibility. Wordsmith that you are expected to be (and ideally, should be!) people think you must know every big word, every big phrase.

So it is only natural that I often have to serve as a translation dictionary when the technical team has to shoot a diplomatic mail, to a client frazzled by a technical snag in an application, thanks to a fickle-minded briefing by the client himself.

So, one such day P screams from his cubicle, ‘I want a word’

‘Shoot’ say I

‘How do I say that something is acting odd? One word please’

‘Odd is good enough’ I call back lazily

P gets up and says, ‘I have used that in so many mails. Something new, please.’

At this there is a chuckle from every corner of the office and all the guys are interested.

I roll my eyes and say, ‘How about strange?’

And then I go on to make many suggestions, all of which P rejects, ‘Weird, peculiar, queer, abnormal, funny, curious…’ nothing works.

‘What exactly do you want’ I ask, my own vocabulary exhausted along with MS Word synonyms and thesaurus.com.

‘I want something…something which conveys…well, you know, its acts odd, in the sense you never know how it will in the future.’, says P struggling to make me understand.

‘Unpredictable, you mean?’ I ask

‘Yes! But that’s not the word I want!’ he laughs, seeing my pained expression.

At this the Account Executive guy R says, ‘From the sound of it, the word you are searching for might as well be ‘Woman’’

The guys love digs of these kind and they all burst out laughing, patting R on his back.

Though the comparison tickles me, I put on a fake frown and say, ‘R, your comparisons are bizarre!’

‘Eureka! Bizarre, now that’s one word I have never used in any mail to a client. Thank you!’ P almost does a jig and I hear him typing away on his laptop.

I sit there with my mouth slightly open wondering what’s more bizarre, R’s comparison or the use of the word itself to describe a small technical glitch.

PS: Don’t’ ask me what happened to the mail or what the client’s response to it was. There was no brouhaha around it later, so I guess the client bought the ‘bizarre’ claim. ;)

Happy New Year folks!

The Snouth Indian Meal

2011-12-24T04:41:00.000-08:00

I was on a 41 day Vegetarian diet, owing to the Sabarimala season. I had been dreaming of Phulkas, Naans and matar paneer ever since the fast had begun (because I wasn’t supposed to dream of chicken biriyani, chilly chicken, roasted prawns, fish fry and other yummy things). So when my colleague and I went to the spic and span IRCTC canteen (Indian Railways Catering and Tourism Corporation)for lunch, opposite our office building, both of us decided it had to be the Special North Indian Meal. My friend, for your information, is a strict vegetarian.

Now, IRCTC is a self-service canteen and the staff is obsessed about cleaning, in fact they are pretty OCD about it. More about it some other time. So, we went with our bills to the North Indian Meals counter. A lady in a prim blue saree, her hair covered in a shower cap, put a couple of chapattis, a bowl of dal and a bowl of cholay on our plates.

I noticed with glee that the North Indian meal buffet counter stretched a few yards with several buckets of dishes lined one after the other, all with a lid over them. My friend and I decided we would come for the rest of the fare after finishing off what we had on our plates.

The cholay tasted good and the dal was also not bad. We went back to the counter dreaming of steaming bowls of pulao, palak paneer, matar paneer, malai koftas and ras malai for dessert. I opened the first lid. Kerala Brown rice. I opened the next. Plain white rice. Sceptically, I took some of it. I looked into the next dish. Sambar, then aviyal, pulissery, thoran, rasam, sambharam, pineapple pachadi, kichadi, pappadam. There had to be a mistake.

I asked the prim lady at the counter, ‘Er...is this the North Indian meal?’

‘Yes’ with a poker face.

‘Then what is a South Indian meal...? I saw that on the menu too...’

‘South Indian meal means, minus the chapattis, cholay and dal’ no change in dead pan tone or expression.

'I see’ and I moved on, loading one Kerala dish after the other on to my plate. We reached the end of the counter- the dessert. After this I wasn’t expecting a rasmalai or gajar halwa but a gulab jamun would have made it fair and square. That is, at least the opening and closing dishes would then have been true to the name. But no. Another neat little lady in blue handed us a bowl of ari payasam.

We went back to our seats like two souls who were promised a ride in the airplane but were briefly thrown into the air instead. We placed our plates on the table and took our seats facing each other.

‘Sham’ said I.

‘Eyewash’ said my friend.

And then we started tackling the Snouth Indian meal, in true-blue South Indian style- take-mix-shove, take-mix-shove, take-mix-shove...

What I wanted...

What I got...

Guess, life's like that!

Images: Google

Jab hum bachche the...

2011-11-13T07:49:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow is November 14^th. The day that the school Principal glumly hailed as the day the children could wear ‘colour dress’ to school. The day (for being a colour dress day) primary students were excited about and adolescent high schoolers distressed. The former was thrilled about showing off and the latter anguished over ‘what to wear’.

Because it’s Children’s day, I thought I would share some innocent misconceptions I had as a child, long before hitting the ‘confused teen’ phase.

Baldilocks
My father has had a bald patch from as long as I can remember. All through my childhood years it was the size of a kiddie burger (my mother recalls that it was a 50 paisa coin’ size during their wedding). I used to think that it was a cute hairstyle many men my father’s age sported! That they specifically asked the barber to get that ‘bald’ look! I don’t remember when I realised that it wasn’t so, but I don’t mind baldness in men, when they have the confidence to flaunt it. Guess it comes from the thought that it is a ‘hairstyle’! ;)

Cute Chicks

I am a chicken lover. NOT the way I am a dog lover. I just love chicken on my plate. As children we have all owned illustrated books with the names of things. My particularly favourite illustrations were those of ‘Puppy’, ‘Lotus’, and ‘Chick’ (hatching from an egg). And perhaps that was why I thought that it was cooked chicks that were served in chicken dishes. And though I found the illustrated chicks cute (including the real ones I saw at my grandparents’ place), I never felt sorry for their plight of landing into cooking pots so early in life. I used to think, ‘wow, they taste just as good as they look!’ Back then, I had no inkling that the word ‘chick’ also referred to an entirely different species...

The Bhopal Tragedy
No, not about Union Carbide. We were travelling by train, a three day journey from UP to Kerala. There was a Malayali chap in our compartment who soon got friendly with us. At that age, I was a chatterbox, even around strangers. So when the train halted at Bhopal, I exclaimed, ‘Papa, look, the people of Bhopal are so fair!’ ‘Look uncle!’ I said, including the mallu chap in my ground breaking discovery. The guy looked and burst out laughing. My father laughed too, at my innocence or stupidity I cannot tell, but he said, ‘They are westerners’, ‘foreigners’, he added for my understanding. I looked closely. Fair hair, strange clothes, baggage even a well-built porter couldn’t carry around, strapped to their backs. I don’t know if that was the first time I was seeing ‘foreigners’ but I definitely remember feeling stupid.

Live Telecast

Doordarshan used to go all vertical rainbow style in between a show and announce, ‘Rukavat ke liye khed hai’. I used to think it happened because the artistes were tired and decided to take a break. My sister teased the hell out of me when one day during a ‘Rukavat’ I exclaimed, ‘Oh no! They have gone to have tea again!’. She explained after an hour of laughing and ‘Aiyye, aiyye- ing’ that it was all shot earlier.

I am sure I will get more if I jog my memory. But some misconceptions I had are far too awkward and embarrassing to be put into words. So I will let it rest at that. Mean while, do share your childhood innocence aka stupidity stories in the comment box. And never ever suppress the childlike innocence, love, silliness, joy, inquisitiveness, creativity, and sense of adventure in you!

A very happy children’s day to you all! J

And that's one of the most special pics of my 6 month old nephew. The pic was taken when he was just a day old. He's the guy who is teaching me to be a child, no, baby, all over again!

That shop with the lovely kurtas

2011-10-30T06:40:00.000-07:00

Like most girls, I enjoy shopping. But have you ever felt uncomfortable shopping for things you can’t do without? Well, I am not talking about lingerie shopping, which will be discussed (later) in the post, but I am talking about shopping in general- for shoes, bags, clothes, make up or whatever.

I have a ritual of going to the Ernakulam Public Library fortnightly. Since this library is near Convent Junction, the shopping paradise for Kochiites, I pass many an alluring shop display as I make my way to the world of books in a dilapidated-on-the-outside-but-renovated-on-the-inside building.

After returning from one such book lending expedition my friend and I noticed this small shop, displaying a variety of really nice-looking kurtas. We went in and there was an aged Uncle inside the shop. All the kurtas, mind you, all, were generously priced at Rs. 250. We couldn’t quite believe it. Long, short, embroidered, all of it at Rs. 250. We started browsing through the collection happily and kept aside whatever we liked for the trial room. The uncle was also doing his bit by fishing out ones that had escaped our notice.

After a while we realized that the seemingly helpful Uncle was not what he seemed. For one, we noticed after the initial excitement of hitting upon the kurta treasure died down, that he was staring where he wasn’t supposed to. And he was too keen on finding the correct ‘fit’ for us. The trial room in the shop looked eerie too. So we were careful. We quickly bought our stuff and left the place.

My friend vowed that we would never ever return to that shop. But promises, as they say, are meant to be broken. Just last week, I was walking back from the library, with that same friend and we noticed a new set of lovely kurtas in the same shop. Despite my friend’s protests, I said, ‘Buddhe ko maaro goli’ and we went in. His gaze, whenever it found the opportunity, lingered where it was the last time around. We shifted uncomfortably and started looking through the kurtas. There were other customers too. We quickly bought one and left. And guess what? This time, every Kurta, mind you, every kurta was priced at Rs 220! And it’s not poor quality stuff! Quite good, on the contrary! I wonder what the business trick is!

So has this happened to you too? Have you ever felt insecure in the presence of a sales ‘boy’ or uncle or grandfather or whatever? Have you come across those creeps in shops who under the pretence of being helpful breathe down your neck, ‘accidentally’ touch your hand and do the your-wish-is-my-command thing in the most nauseating way? As it is there’s enough harassment in the buses, on the streets, etc. Isn’t it just too embarrassing? Reminds me of the rule in Saudi Arabia. Wish we have something of the sort here too.

That reminds me again, of lingerie shopping. A leading textile shop in Cochin opened its exclusive lingerie section with much fan fare a few years ago. And guess what? The staff was all male! I don’t know if they have changed that now. Anyway, the moment I came to know of it, I vowed that I would never go in there. And this promise to myself, I never broke.

PS: Been busy at work. Thought I would have all the time in the world to blog, but turns out I was wrong. No complaints though, I am enjoying my work! :)

What I hate about weddings I love

2011-10-08T03:33:00.000-07:00

There are two kinds of people in the world. One, those that love attending weddings and the other, that just hate the mere thought of attending a wedding. But there is also a third category of people- into which I fall- those that love attending only ‘select’ weddings.

These could be that of close friends, relatives, cousins or just some high profile wedding you have been hearing about for some time so that your curiosity gets the better of you and you have to find out what the gaga is all about. Of course, when you have been invited, this third category doesn’t believe in gate crashing.

Now, attending a wedding of a dear one is a different experience altogether. There are jokes, good humoured taunts, lots of food around and lots of people dressed to their best. But still, there are things at such pleasant gatherings that unnerve me no end, especially if you happen to be a close kin of the bride/groom to be.

What I hate about weddings I love:

1. The morning of the wedding you just can’t find a mirror to comb your hair or put on some kajal without bumping into someone. Appoopans (Grandpas) who never so much as cared to iron their shirts and Ammoomas (Grandmas) who did not even bother to match the colour of their blouse with their saree, are suddenly very beauty conscious. In fact everyone is! No one leaves the mirror alone!

2. At the venue you can never hope to see the proceedings fully even if you are on the stage. Photographers and videographers guard the stage like the guests would pounce upon the bride and groom any moment.

3. There is always some ‘well-meaning’ Ammaman or Ammayi (Uncle or Aunt) who wants to know why you are not getting married. They go to your parents and scream, “Daivame! Your daughter is 23, are you planning to keep her at home all her life? I had three kids when I was 23!” And then they take out Horoscopes and Photographs of ‘Suitable’ boys for your perusal! And all this is free service, mind you. All they expect and accept as fees is your rapt attention.

4. When it is feasting time, people behave like a group of hungry dogs who have been thrown one small bone! The moment the door to the dining area opens, it’s like an overflowing dam with floodgates open. People gush in, pushing, shoving, stamping, elbowing. If you haven’t been caught in the tsunami of starved guests at a wedding, you will not know what I mean. Every time I ‘safely’ reach my plantain leaf, with no physical and material damage, I say a small prayer of Thanks.

5. People love watching a teary farewell to the bride. So if the bride, her parents and siblings have their emotions in control, some ‘well-meaning’ person goes and whispers consolations in the mother’s ears and more often than not, they successfully make her cry. Which eventually leads to copious tears and drama and our ‘well-meaning’ person has khushi ke aasoon in her eyes.

Yeah, I guess that’s pretty much that. Oh and yes, the next day of the wedding there is at least one shameless person who pulls aside the bride to a supposedly lonely corner (in a room full of relatives where you can’t possibly find a lonely corner) and says ‘tell me what happened!’ loud enough for everyone to hear. Bride blushes and runs away or (in the worst case scenario) relents and starts recounting. And that’s when you plug your ears with your fingers and scoot!

Time Flies

2011-09-28T12:20:00.000-07:00

Time flies and how. A couple of months ago, I met this lady on the bus who I used to see while waiting for my school bus. She used to come to put her 5 year old daughter on our school bus. Since there were only kindergarten students at the bus stop my sister and I used to chat with her sometimes.

So, I see this lady, and she asks me what I am doing now. I tell her I am doing Post Graduation now and she gasps, “How time flies!” and we laugh. And then I ask her what her daughter is doing and make a guess, “She must be in 5^th standard now”.

“No! 10^th” and it’s my turn to gasp. I make a mental calculation. She was 5 back then, if she’s in 10^th standard now, she must be 15 now. 10 long years! 10 long years that seemed like 10 months or even less. And then she asks me, “And what’s your sister doing?”

“She has a two months old baby boy now”. The lady almost faints. The bus reaches her stop and she gets down and waves at me. I smile. I smile at her. I smile at the memory of seeing her with her cute little daughter in the blue uniform. I smile at the memory of talking to her about stuff like parenting and housekeeping while I was just 13! I smile at myself. I smile at time that turns everything into a memory with just a flick of its hands. I smile at the lady who merges into the landscape as the speeding bus and over-speeding time turn our little meeting into yet another memory...

Today, my PG classes got over. My nephew is now 4 months and 23 days old. And the lady’s daughter is two months closer to moving into Class XI.

Two months. And it doesn’t even seem like two days. Everything seems like it just happened yesterday...

I wish I could hold time still
I wish I could memories relive
I wish I could believe
That even time has to leave...

I wish we could say Bye with a smile
Like the time when we knew
That moments apart would be few
And a fresh day to begin anew...

I wish we could go back
Be what we were:
Carefree, jolly scholars,
Happy days more than sure...

For all my friends and teachers who gifted me the best 365 days of my life. Love you all, love you lots...

Tagged!

2011-07-12T10:50:00.000-07:00

I am guilty. Of neglecting. Of abandoning. Of completely ignoring...my blog. :(

A really cool blogger (read her, you won't be disappointed) finally gave me some inspiration to revive my blog. So here's the tag:

1. Without sharing your name, who are you?
I am that girl who loves to laugh and make others laugh.

2. Describe yourself in less than five words.
Ambivert

3. Do you have any special talents? What?
Writing. :) A bit of mimicry. :P

4. Are there any talents you wish you had? What?
I wish I could sing and paint and dance and juggle and...the list is quite exhaustive....Okay, I wish I could sing...

5. What are your most important interests? What do you like about them?
I love writing. And I really enjoy reading. Reading takes me places and I just love that about reading.

6. What is your opinion of Lady Gaga?
I would call her Lady Baba or something by the way she dresses...

7. If you could go anywhere right this second, where would you go?
I am at home now. So nowhere, I guess...

8. What are your favorite foods for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?
Breakfast- Aloo paratha, Dosa, Idli-Sambar; Lunch- Rice; Dinner- Rice (the accompaniments depend on my mood)

9. Do you have siblings? Talk about them; if not, talk about being an only child.
I have an elder sister. She's married and she has given me the best gift in the world- my nephew who's two months old. Muah!

10. Do you like sports? What teams do you support?
I watch cricket. And that's about it. Unless you count playing 'hide n seek' 'dog and the bone' etc etc during childhood as sports...

11. Do you have any tattoos? If not, would you ever get one?
I don't have one and I don't plan on getting one. Enduring physical pain for beautification is something I don't enjoy much...

12. Have you ever donated blood? Why or why not?
No, I haven’t. Honestly, I don't know why. I must though...the next opportunity, I will :)

13. How do you like your coffee and/or tea?
Hate both tea and coffee. I have a history of puking right after a cup of tea. So I stopped long time ago. But I can drink black tea and coffee

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 am doing PG Diploma in PR & Advertising right now.

16. What are some of your short-term goals?
Go on a vacation. Yes, I am serious.

17. What kind of music do you like?
Hindi Songs. Old new, I like them all. Well, not all but yes..Pehla Nasha is my favourite song.

18. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live?
Cochin seems like the best place to live in. I have been here for the past 14 years and I love it. Delhi is another place I love. But I could very well do without those horrible summers there. So Cochin it is.

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?
Yes! The first time I went I was 5 years old and I had been taken for immunization that day. I still remember the pain I experienced the moment I sat down on that metal seat to watch the circus. :p Oh, the circus was great. There was a black panther too...it was quite terrifying, actually. I was five!

21. Are you wearing shoes right now? If so, describe them. If not, describe your socks/feet.
I am not wearing shoes now. And I would rather not describe my feet. But if you insist, they are large. :|

22. List some things you’d like to do before you die.
1)Go on a world tour 2) Participate on KBC 3) Write a book 4) Go on a long tour to some rustic place with my girl buddies :)

23. What do you prefer to write with; pencil, pen, crayon, Sharpie, lipstick, chalk, etc?
Pencil. It makes my otherwise horrible handwriting look decent. And I just love holding those long, sharpened pencils. Hate the small ones my mother calls the 'aattum kaattam' types :p

24. Do you like movies? What are your favorites?
Yes. There are too many.

25. Do you like chocolate? What’s your favorite kind? If not, WHY.
'Like' is just not the right word. I 'Love' chocolate- in any size, shape, color.

Thanks Spaceman Spiff. :)

I am not tagging anyone in particular but do try it if you feel like it or if you were just waiting for an occasion (like me) to blog!

One Month Ventures: Lessons for all

2011-03-02T09:37:00.000-08:00

There are some really awkward situations in life for which we have none but ourselves to blame. I have set up many such scenarios for myself as a result of my ‘Yes I can!’ or ‘Why can’t I?’ attitude. Of course, I have totally grown out of it but the ghosts of my embarrassing ventures in the past can be a lesson to all kids and parents. All of it is like the script of some underdog movie gone wrong- too early in the plot.

Dance with me

This happened when I was in Class IV. Our dance teacher at school had announced that he was going to organize dance classes at his house on Saturdays and Sundays. Since my house was just a few minutes away from his I was instantly interested. Enthused by my enthusiasm, my mother took me there and I was enrolled into the Saturday 8 am batch. In my excitement I had forgotten that it meant waking up early on a holiday. Also, the 9 year old dancer in me, who loved doing Urmila’s ‘Yaire Yaire’ was hugely disappointed with the ‘Ardhamandalam’, ‘Mudras’ and ‘Tha-Dhai-Dhi-Dhi-Dhai’ which mostly ended up as stamping sessions. At home I used to try the Ardhamandalam in front of the mirror- half sitting posture with knees turned sideways, hands firmly on the waist. At the end of one month I was convinced that I looked more like a frog, striking the pose. And that was how it ended.

The ‘Violinist’

This happened just one year after the dancing debacle. I was in Class 5 and we had to choose one of the many options available as part of CCA or Co-Curricular Activities. Since dance was out of the question, I opted for instrumental music. The teacher was one Mr. Mammooty. His fancy name and the fantastic instruments in the room caught my fancy and I was soon learning Violin. I enjoyed it for the first couple of weeks. The third week, I started experiencing pain in my left arm and neck. The fourth week I told Mammooty Sir that I wanted to learn drawing and not violin.

The Karate Kid

It was family TV viewing time and all of us were huddled on the sofa after supper. While flipping channels, my father stopped at Surya TV (or was it Asianet?) where a girl about my age, was doing jaw-dropping Kung Fu poses. All of us were hugely impressed. So it wasn’t difficult to get my parents’ approving nods for Karate Classes that were to commence ‘very soon’ at school. My parents gently reminded me about my earlier stints in ventures at school but I assured them that ‘this’ was ‘different’. ‘Huss’ and ‘Hi Ya’s’ began, so did running and a hundred other warm-up exercises. Too much for the fragile little 11 year old, this one came to an end even before the end of one month. (Trivia: Some of those who joined the classes with me are black belt holders now.)

In my case, I brought all of it upon myself, but I have seen unfortunate little kids put into such nasty situations by their over ambitious parents. Painting, dancing, singing, keyboard, karate and what not! So kiddos, if you are getting into something like it, be sure that you want to do it. If it isn’t your type, then fikar not, you can always quit! And parents, I just hope better sense prevails. Amen.

Pervert Alert

2010-12-18T05:07:00.000-08:00

About a month ago there was a report in the newspaper about a father who died of a heart attack while having a spat with a drunken man who tried to grope his daughter in the bus. The family was on its way back from a wedding and the bus was just a few minutes away from their stop when the father noticed a tipsy guy making indecent remarks and gestures at his teenaged daughter. In the heated argument that followed, the father collapsed. He was immediately taken to the hospital, where he was proclaimed dead of a sudden stroke. After venting out their anger and disgust on the offender, the other passengers on the bus handed him over to the police.

The very next day, at the same spot where the previous day’s tragedy occurred, a young IT professional who was on her way back home in a city bus, got up from her seat, turned around and landed one tight slap on the face of a man sitting right behind her. Terrified, the man hurriedly got out of the bus and ran for his life. The fuming woman got down too and chased him with all her strength and speed. People on the street, thinking the man to be a chain snatcher caught him for her and beat him black and blue. The livid lady punched him left and right too.

When the initial excitement of having caught a thief died down, the crusaders asked the woman what exactly had happened. The woman told them how the man had been disturbing her from the moment she had got on the bus. She explained that at first she thought it was accidental but when he did it again, she knew she had to react. The man was handed over to the police and a case was filed against him under Section 354 IPC (outraging the modesty of a woman). The middle aged man pleaded ‘innocent’ and said that he had ‘accidentally’ touched the woman.

Thrice. That too in an almost empty bus. Yeah right!

And just yesterday as I was traveling in the bus, happily seated near the window, ear phones plugged in, listening to a nice Malayalam number, I saw a scene on the footpath that compelled me to pull out my ear plugs. Our bus was waiting for the signal to turn green when I saw a man, slowly, very cautiously walking towards a woman who was irritably looking into her phone. The woman had her back to the man and he was walking towards her making weird faces. And then he got too close for comfort and the woman was still unaware. Now he was literally breathing down her neck and there was a maniacal glint in his eye.

It was then that I pulled out my plugs. The stories mentioned above came into my mind and I knew I had to react. I was thinking of calling out to the hapless woman to draw her attention to the moron when suddenly the man said ‘TTTho!’ scaring the woman out of her wits. She shrieked, almost dropped her phone in the process, jumped around, went blank for a second and then threw her arms around him. The brief embrace broken, the man took out his phone, showed her the screen (which probably showed girlfriend/wifey calling), both of them started laughing, he wore his helmet, got on his bike, the woman hopped on too and they happily sped away. Everything happened too fast.

Feeling slightly stupid I pushed back my ear plugs into their rightful place and reclined into the seat. I looked at the lady sitting next to me who was sound asleep. Thank God, I didn’t think of waking her up. Or may be I should have, she would have become a partner in my folly. The guy looked so convincing as a lecher!

Anyway, the message should not get lost in the typical ‘Destiny’s child’ incident. All those jobless, groping, lewd idiots, this is what I have to say to you, ‘Get lost pervert! Women on alert!’

The potpourri my college is

2010-10-27T04:28:00.000-07:00

I can begin by describing the institute I have enrolled in for my Post Graduation, as the old, tile-roofed building in dusty brown, set amidst lush greenery; or by talking about its 31 years of meaningful existence maintaining a low-profile; or by writing an elegy to alumni who have made the institution proud.

But all that is clichéd, time-consuming and most importantly, runs the risk of being boring. So I will describe my college through the people that make it: its teachers and students. Ready?

A look around the college auditorium packed with freshers, buzzing with hi’s, hello’s and what’s-your-name’s, I knew that this batch of students like any other, was an interesting mixed bag. There were pretty gals, cool dudes (sadly very few), clowns, nerds, geeks, flirts, chatterboxes, loners, depressed souls, fed-up-with-life faces, hyperactive specimens…all at one quick glance. A hush fell over the audience as our Professors walked on to the dais to welcome the fresh batch of students. The look on their faces varied from kind to intellectual to grave to jolly to diabetic (read sickly sweet).

In the next few days I learned that my judgment of the Professors’ temperament by the look on their faces was more or less accurate. The Professor with the diabetic face used to be a radio announcer prior to taking up teaching and I assume she still misses her previous job because she delivers her lecture with ample full stops, ellipses, commas and dramatic pauses between EACH WORD! Students are noted to have art-filmish nods, smiles, long gazes into space, and a batting of eyelashes in slow motion, just after they have attended her lecture.

The intellectual looking lady is indeed one, with literary criticism and non-fiction works both in English and Malayalam to her credit. When she politely dismissed the flattery-studded opening speech delivered in her honour with a graceful wave of her aged hand and said ‘take those words with a pinch of salt’ with a wink, everyone knew this was a lady of mettle. And humour.

The jovial Professor who looked no more than sixty turned out to be eighty years old! He confessed that he along with the whole of his college nursed a crush for the intellectual lady mentioned above, who used to be his senior and also the heartthrob at college. His sixty years of teaching experience and sprightly demeanor make him eighty years young.

Then there is the kind looking Professor, whom our seniors described as the man who wouldn’t bite even if you put your finger between his teeth. There is another cheery lecturer who takes your doubts so seriously that he would devote an entire session clearing it, no matter how silly it is! I can’t decide if it’s a blessing or not.

However, the most interesting of the lot is the young grave-looking professor who doesn’t look more than 30. He speaks at a speed that can intimidate the Bhopal Shatabdi Express and takes a pause every 5 mins only to resume at a faster pace. He fills the 30 second pause with a ‘er…’ so loud that it can pass off as a belch. It has become impossible to restrain our laughter in his classes which go ‘aghhsdfjhk hjkhjkfgh kkgjdfhjgf kh skhlkjdfl dfgjgfjk ERRRRRR….. dfdfkgjhdgj lhgfgkljhkl;kb dfgjkghljk; ljfdfgkd gjfjg;jk ERRRRRRR…..’ and so on…

The student lot is colourful too and I must admit my face reading of some characters was wrong. Like for instance the one whom I thought to be a flirt and flirt only, is also a clown, chatterbox, every-boys-hated-brother, most-girls-loved-brother and hating-to-be-brother-and-hoping-to-be-lover kind of guy. He hasn’t had any luck with anyone so far.

So now, you must have an idea of the place I am in and the kind of observation, learning and research prospects it holds. More on students in the next post depending on the kind of twists and turns events take. You see, our teachers keep talking about newsworthiness.

Message Menace

2010-09-15T05:00:00.000-07:00

The phone-person in me is a changed creature since my sabbatical from work and studies. I answer calls, press the call button more often, give missed calls, check my inbox, send replies (when it's not a forward) and so on. My friends are pleasantly shocked and terribly surprised at this turn of events. One of them is so excited that I returned her missed-call, a month after it was sent (quite soon, by my standards), that she keeps sending me these messages about life, love, truth etc. I enjoy jokes but philosophical ones, that too….I am clueless about her hidden agenda behind sending me scary messages that begin with CAPS, like:

FACT OF LIFE
Life sometimes becomes so selfish that it wants everything.
And while trying for everything we miss something that is worth everything.

The first three words ought to be accompanied by thunderbolt. I was woken by the message alert at about 7.30 in the morning while I was sleeping peacefully. All I wanted was to sleep and thanks to this something-everything message, I lost everything.

Now, here’s another gem

REALITY OF LIFE
Each of us will forget everyone when we have someone with us
&
Each of us will remember everyone when we have no one with us

Seriously, what is she trying to tell me? May be I should just forget both everyone and no one.

and another…

CUTE TRUTH
The person who tries to keep everyone happy and always cares for everyone is always the loneliest person….strange but true!!!!

True. It is definitely strange…but TRUE???? Anyone care to tell me how it even qualifies to be cute let alone being the TRUTH?

yet another one...

LESSON FOR LIFE
Never be like the hand that crushes the flower…but be like the crushed flower which leaves fragrance in the hand that crushed it!

Yeah right. Just the kind of message that motivates you to crush the phone.

Come to think of it, you have to put up with all this plus the annoying service messages!

Sardars are history. Tintumon is passé. Duttumon, Dundumol and Sasimon and some other Mols and Mons are swiftly finding their way into inboxes. I love Tintumon jokes. Rather, loved. Unlike sardar jokes where humor lies in the sardar’s stupidity, Tintumon is known for his smartness and spontaneity. That bindaas LKG chap even has a website! But of late, Tintumon jokes make me want to throw up. Firstly, there’s an overdose, secondly, imagine the UKG boy (of course, he’s promoted now) having illicit affairs, getting his LKG girlfriend pregnant and stuff? And that’s supposed to be funny.

I really want a chance to get back at my loyal friend who never fails to send a message every five minutes. Some one please tell me about the best ‘free sms’ package offers. I am definitely not wasting money on this! Before my classes commence, I want to chun chun ke reply to her mind-boggling truths and facts about life, Dharam paaji style.

Onam at my ancestral home

2010-08-31T06:43:00.000-07:00

Onam today is a lot different from what it used to be. So they say. For me, it has always been more or less the same. My Onam memories have a common beginning- First Term Exams or Onam Exams. That even something as festive and uplifting as Onam, should have a suffix as depressing and discouraging as ‘Exams’ was something I never pondered upon then. The only thing on my mind used to be getting over with the damned thing so that I could enjoy my ten-day Onam holiday at my home town.

Onams were celebrated at my father’s ancestral home in Aravoor, Thrissur. It is a truly rustic little village. My father remembers the place being almost the same from the time when he was a little boy in shorts, a time when vehicles were a rare sight, and little boys chased jeeps with loudspeakers till they were out of their vicinity.

Now the roads are tarred and wider, houses have a pucca roof above them; the temple has a loudspeaker fitted on to the majestic Banyan tree; handsome Illoms (traditional Kerala houses) with no successors stand in shambles and the ones with heirs have buried them under concrete houses with no attics to hide in, no spooky rooms with spookier locks and no stories to tell.

The greenery is intact. Some places have foliages thick enough to give you the shivers. The paddy fields are lush as ever. The water of the temple pond is cool and clear. The people are conservative, concerned and loving. The lull that blankets the place since time immemorial hasn’t changed one bit. It is soothing and irritating at the same time, especially for people used to a faster pace of life.

My sister and I used to enjoy the Pookkalam routine starting on Atham, ten days before Thiruvonam day. There was a dearth of flowers at times but we settled for Mukkutipoo, Chemparathy (Shoe flower), and a variety of leaves. On some days when our creative juices were parched, the Pookalam ended up looking like the nest of a bird who decided to go all green. The Onasadya was an elaborate affair prepared by my mother and grandmother. But we had eyes only for Payasam (Kheer, a warm dessert) that was served at the end of the meal.

Cousins settled outside Kerala seldom came down for the festival and the initial excitement soon gave way to boredom while we waited impatiently for the holidays to end. My father however, had the time of his life during these holidays. He and his childhood cronies cracked up over Onam memories, anecdotes, etc. One would think that my father would have plenty of tales to tell since he is the only one among his peers (there) who moved out of the rural setting, got higher education and a career. It surprised me how he remained an amused listener in the group, while the ones that had never explored the outer boundaries of the village had huge accounts to narrate. Talk of the sprightly village soul!

Things changed a few years ago, after my grandmother passed away. There were no more Onams at the ancestral home. We stopped by when we could, just to dust and mop the place so that it wouldn’t look abandoned. Slowly we started forgetting that routine too. But roots beckon and how! My sister’s engagement was solemnized at our ancestral home and the wedding was held at Thrissur too. The house was jolted out of its long slumber and it came to life again. Thanks to my father’s love for his home.

We celebrated this Onam at our residence in Cochin. It was my sister’s first Onam after her wedding and it was bound to be special. I terribly missed her while making the Pookkalam but my parents lent their support and creativity to the process and it turned out to be fun. Amma prepared the sadya with a penchant seen never before (to please the son-in-law, possibly!) and amidst all the excitement, the ancestral home once again, closed itself into the forgotten chambers of our mind.

Pookkalam and Sadya we had at home this year

Lil Miss Muddlehead

2010-08-10T09:50:00.000-07:00

My fifty-something father looked troubled the other day. Upon enquiring the reason for his creased brow, he confessed that he was concerned about his failing memory. Forgetting certain words, names of people and reading words all mixed up (eg. resign becomes resing) were some among his problems. My forty-something mother added her own memory woes, ‘forgetting where she kept something, not recalling phone numbers she knew by-heart’ etc.

I assured them that it was normal and it happened to everyone. Eager to drive the point home, I recounted some highly ‘forgetful’ (yet memorable) acts of mine.

Haste - Taste - Waste
I was in primary school, a happy-go-lucky, candy-in-either-cheek little girl. My friend and I were enjoying our PT Period in the park when this generous classmate of ours offered us Hajmola Imli flavoured toffees. Unable to contain the urge to feel the tangy taste of Imli on my tongue, I opened the wrapper in haste, threw away the toffee and shoved the wrapper right into my mouth.

Backpacker
The whole of class VIII (divisions A and B) thronged the corridor of the hall where the Final Term Exam for Mathematics was to be held. Heads were huddled over books and the air was dense with anxiety and cluelessness. The invigilator opened the doors and asked everyone to get inside. Kids started trooping in, armed with geometry boxes and clipboards. Louder than the first bell was the alarm bell in my head which went, ‘Your bag is missing! It’s missing!’. ‘I can’t find my bag, wait, help me find it!’ I yelled. All my friends and I started looking for it frantically, among the sea of bags lying on the corridor. One of my friends suddenly started laughing demon-style, hands on hips, ‘You have it on your back idiot!’ she laughed.

Use n Throw
And today, just three days after turning 22, I saved myself from doing the biggest blunder ever. I was talking on my phone while the bus conductor handed me my ticket. In a mindless gesture of throwing out the ticket I almost flung my phone out of the moving (no, flying) bus.

If these are just some of the hundred other careless things I do now, what will I do when I am forty or fifty? Throw out the fridge and keep the rotten vegetables, may be?

Pun Moments

2010-07-14T10:45:00.000-07:00

We cherish our childhood for the innocence that it was filled with. Many of our fond childhood memories revolve around unintentional ill-timed remarks. Here are a few random incidents that come into my mind as I think of my school days.

Ant(i)onyms
We were in Class VIII. Our English teacher was dramatically reading out an excerpt from Julius Caesar when she caught a guy doodling on his textbook. Her classes were magic for those who loved the subject; the ones who mistook her pauses for effect, for a Cardiac arrest, were those who never enjoyed her classes. This guy was one of them.

‘*Thomas! Are you paying attention?’ Thomas almost jumped out of his skin dropping his text book, pencils and pencil box in the process. He stood up.

‘Isn’t this inappropriate?’ the teacher asked.

‘Ma’am…I am…that…woke late…sleepy…sorry Ma’am’, Thomas managed.

‘Say that in a proper sentence. Now, now, quick. We don’t have time to waste’

‘Er…I was sleepy…er..Ma’am…I am sorry’, the shy guy was almost blushing, what with 40 giggly faces turned in his direction.

‘Oh my God! Thomas! Be confident! Don’t be so conscious!’

At this, the class-clown *Varun, screamed, ‘Yes, Be unconscious!’

All of us, including the teacher were unconscious with laughter for a few minutes after that.

Prize-less
I was a Class IV student then and the results for the IGSC Scholarship All India Examination I had appeared for were out. We were given our certificates in the morning assembly at school. I was jumping up and down with joy when my father came back home in the evening.

‘What’s up? What’s making you jump little one?’ he smiled

‘IGSC All India Exams results are out Acha, I got the third position!’

‘Wow! Third position! Congrats!’ he shook my hand for a long while. ‘Show me your certificate’ he beamed with pride.

He read out proudly, ‘This is to certify that Miss Veena of Class IV has secured the Third Class in the All India…..’ he stopped midway and looked at me.

‘What?’ I asked, wide-eyed.

My father spent the next 30 minutes explaining to me the difference between ‘Position’ and ‘Class’. And I listened, shaking my head like one of those clay dolls, as my bubble burst, exploded rather. The background score was set by the nauseating giggles of my sister.

‘Verd’ Confusion
Our teacher was done with teaching us ‘Freedom’ by Rabindranath Tagore. *Saji Naul, the adored outlaw of our class let out a loud yawn. Our teacher, who reminded me a lot of Archana Puran Singh in KKHH, exclaimed, ‘Now, now Saji, feeling sleepy, are we? Tell the class about the poem we just learned’

‘Ma’am…please’ he said grinning ear to ear, smoothing his ruffled hair.

‘Ok then, answer this…What freedom does the poet wish for the country?’

‘Er…freedom from fear, …and…and…’

‘Freedom from the burden of the ages, bending your head, breaking your back, blinding your eyes to the beckoning call of the…call of the…what is it, say it?’ she urged

‘Umm…yes! From the call of the nature!’

‘Goodness gracious Saji!’ and she burst out laughing with the rest of the class. The beckoning call of the ‘future’ clearly held promises of more laughter!

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of people mentioned, also to save my own ass

Ten on Ten for 'Customary' Care

2010-06-30T08:56:00.000-07:00

The customer care executive brought the new car home after its first free servicing. Just as he was leaving, my newly wedded sister who was visiting us, exclaimed, ‘Haven’t they washed the car? Look at those stains!’ As I let my gaze scrutinize my suddenly quick-to-find-faults and no-more-meek-but-loud sister, the customer care executive slipped away with a sly smile.

My sister went on to the car and tch-tched at all the areas that needed to be washed. Amma and I nodded in agreement. Acha was not at home. The peace-loving Cinderella that I have become after my sister’s wedding, I wasted no time in getting a piece of cloth and wiping it all off. My sister looked on in horror and awe, at the new I-will-do-anything-for-you avatar of her little sister.

By the time Acha came home, my sister had already left with the car. He asked if the car had looked ok, whether we had checked if the tool kit and stepney were there etc etc. I told him that all that was intact but the car didn’t look properly washed. He couldn’t believe it. This had never happened before. Their servicing was pretty efficient.

And then Amma and I went on to tell him how my sister had spotted those stains, made a remark and how the guy had left the scene. Father called up my sister and confirmed that the there were stains alright. Seeing his expression of disbelief, I told him that the dirt may have come on the way as the roads were all slushy due to the rains.

‘But still…she said it was all over. How can that be? The last time I checked, there was no cyclone that could stain a car like you said. Was there?’

‘Of course not…no, never!’ I offered, wondering what ‘like I said’ was

‘And they keep calling me telling me to give them ten on ten for the reviews. What for?!’ He was fuming now.

‘A four would do’ Amma put in.

My father looked like he was ready to shoot the servicing people. He called the customer guy who had delivered the car home but the line was engaged. He called again, still engaged. My dad was fuming now. About a minute later the customer guy called.

‘Hello’ my father said, a bit gruffly

‘Mm…aah’ I could see a hint of a smile on his face

‘Well...wasn’t the car washed properly? My daughter was saying it didn’t look clean enough…’ his voice was soft now…he was smiling!

‘Oh…Oookay…oookay…oookay…no…no…that won’t be necessary…I was telling my daughter that it must have been picked up on the way….’ He chuckled. Chuckled!

‘No…nooo…no…no problem….ok…oookay...thank you…ookay…good night’ He hung up, all smiles now.

‘I told you right, it must have come on the way…he was telling me he would do a wash again if we wanted…I knew it all along. You guys just blow everything out of proportion…’ and he picked up the newspaper, the smile still on his lips.

Through the corner of my eye I saw Amma shaking her head to herself. I wondered why sometimes I couldn’t talk my father into something while others could do it so easily. I realized, the customer care guy gets ten on ten this time too.

My best friend’s wedding

2010-06-14T01:06:00.000-07:00

The growing up years were the best, right? Remember the time you took me pillion on your tricycle? And how you soon grew weary of my baby-fat and tried some Roadrash stunts to get me off the thing? You surely remember how I fell down, bruised my forehead and how Amma came chasing you with a little cane.

Remember those sultry afternoons, when Amma settled for a siesta, pulling us close to her, patting us to sleep? And how we waited for her to start snoring softly, to creep out of the cot and bolt into the other room to play Ghar-Ghar, Teacher-Teacher, Gudiya-Gudiya and other such games?

Those walks back home from school were the best, especially during the rainy season. Jumping in muddy puddles, walking through little grassy trenches gushing with rainwater, shaking Akecia trees with all our might and dancing in glee when the tree shook its raindrops on us, collecting those little fan-like flowers which you had fondly named ‘heaven flowers’, fighting with those stupid boys, looking out for mynahs in pairs…what not.

Come exam time and we were telling each other to read silently, not make faces, and promising not to talk for the next 30 mins after talking for an hour every alternate 10 mins. We used to kick each other screaming, ‘Don’t read aloud!’ but never paid heed to Amma’s advice of occupying different rooms.

Acha used to bring us separate chocolate bars which we stored in the fridge. Instead of eating one each, we always took one out, cut it into halves and relished it. We still do. One or both of us did mischief and never let the thing reach our parents. Even if it did, we stood together, speaking up for each other. And there were times we fought and I vowed that I would never talk to you. Your giggles a few moments later, would remind me that I had long forgotten the oath.

And then one day, we grew up. We were still the same but the people around us changed. Amma made disapproving faces when we laughed like demons; Acha wanted us to be more responsible; Aunts and Uncles who never spoke a word but carelessly ruffled our hair and patted our cheeks, were suddenly interested. Life changed. For them.

But before you or I knew it, you tied the knot. I loved the pre-wedding days. Talking, planning, teasing, shopping and more planning. On the d-day you looked lovely in your wedding saree and I enjoyed being the bride’s sister. I was happy as much as you were. And I am happy that you are so happy.

But there’s a void in me. There’s no fun in having the whole bed to myself, kicking for space was kind of fulfilling. Whole bars of chocolates are an effort. Watching TV alone is so boring! There’s nothing like passing our comments and judgments on every Tom, Dick and Harry, that appeared in those 32 inches. No amount of relaxed sleep is as soothing or refreshing as our heated/silly/funny arguments/fights/wrestling sessions.

I really miss you. You solved my problems. You were always right about people. You heard me out, said all the sweet things, made all the right noises, just to make me feel better, spoke up for me. You were critical without being mean. You are my best friend. Though you are just a phone call away, it’s not the same. Life has changed. Finally, for both of us.

Wrong Signal

2010-05-17T21:29:00.000-07:00

The previous night’s showers had left the weather cool, the trees green, the roads slushy and the city wet and shiny. As gusts of cool air blew in through the open shutters of the bus, onto my face, my eyelids grew heavy, and sleep slowly sealed them close. I swayed to the rhythm of the bus, which turned at every turn, jerked at every pot hole and screeched to a halt at every bus stop.

In my drowsy state, I held on to the metal bar (supposed to be the head-rest) behind the seat in front me so that I wouldn’t fall off the aisle seat I was sitting on. The bus moved on, bringing in cooler, fresher air as it gathered momentum. And suddenly, SCREEEEEECH!

I woke up, finding myself being flung onto that metal bar, almost banging my head, courtesy, the sudden brake. As I breathed a sigh of relief, I noticed, my hand was actually resting on a guy’s, who was using the same bar to hold on to dear life. The guy threw me ‘a look’. I quickly pulled back my hand, adjusted the dupatta, smoothed my hair and looked out of the window. The buses around here are famed for eve-teasers and gropers. I sincerely hoped I hadn’t come across as a female version.

The bus went on smoothly, some more fresh air. And once again, I dozed off, this time, even dreaming of something. A little puppy, if I remember it right. I touched the pup’s soft, smooth and round head. But why did it feel bumpy?

A God-sent reckless biker brought our bus to a sudden halt and I woke up. I had been running my fingers over the same guy’s knuckles. Embarrassed beyond as embarrassed, embarrassed could be, I slowly brought my hand to my lap. I wondered if the lady sitting next to me, or the ones behind, had witnessed the short knuckle-massage.

Did they think I was kinky? What would the guy have thought? I saw him move away to a seat just seconds later. Oh my God! Did he really think I was groping? What if the bus hadn’t come to a halt? Would I have taken his hand in mine, and stroked it affectionately, thinking it to be the puppy? Is there anyway I can jump out of this bus? I didn’t sleep a wink during the reminder of the journey. I couldn’t.

As I was getting down I saw that guy. Yes, the one harassed, victimized, whatever. I was tingling with mortification when I saw him looking at me. His face had a look that was half aati-kya-khandala and half aaja-meri-gaadi-mein-bethja. Disgusted, I hopped off the bus as fast as I could, twisting my feet in the process. I had only my late-night reading session which kept me awake till around 2 a.m., to blame.

Having related this incident to some really ‘naïve’ minds who never forget to remind me of it time and again and even advise me on making the massage longer and better the next time, I really see no harm in sharing this with you. The damage is already done.

PS: I won't be around for sometime...Going to be busy with sister's wedding and other stuff. Will be back with plenty tales, hopefully. Take care everyone! :)

Shopping when ABC knows XYZ

2010-04-26T02:49:00.000-07:00

My sister’s wedding is round the corner and our house and its inmates are gripped by the pre-wedding frenzy. My father can be seen making guest, shopping, catering, decoration etc lists, on any piece of paper he can lay his hands on- on the blank side of bills, envelopes, old newspapers, wedding invitation cards….talk of conserving paper and trees…

My mother can be heard giving details of the wedding to friends and relatives, and my sister can be seen & heard talking non-stop into her phone to an obliging ear on the other end, ever since the engagement. And I can be seen collecting bits of papers for my father to scribble on, fishing out old phone books for my mother and doing lunch, breakfast and dinner room-service for my sister who is stuck to her phone. Ok, that last bit is exaggerated but what the heck!

It is in the midst of this chaos that dear Uncle ABC comes to help. Now, Uncle ABC has a wide social circle. This circle includes textile shop owners, jewelers, caterers, photographers, videographers, beauticians, decorators….well anything that our situation demands. Naturally, he volunteered to help us out. After the venue and banquet bookings were done (which was handled adeptly by Uncle ABC), the next big task was shopping. Uncle ABC suggested PQR Silks for clothes shopping as he knew the owner, because of which, he claimed we could get discounts. Seeing no reason to turn down the offer, Dad, Mom, Sis and I shrugged and obliged. Uncle ABC looked pleased.

PQR Silks, Thrissur, looked like the new venue of the Thrissur Pooram. It seemed like a cyclone had washed away all the textile showrooms in the city (sparing this one) plus whatever clothes the residents of Thrissur possessed (sparing of course, the one they were wearing). How else could a six storied showroom be packed like that left, right, centre and top?!

After pushing our way to the respective sections and picking up stuff in a hurry to get out, we stood solemnly at the payment counter, expecting bags of freebies and huge discounts, courtesy Uncle ABC’s owner-friend. The discount was not jaw-dropping, just about ok. One you would get even without the ‘contact’, perhaps. All the way home Uncle ABC kept saying that they must have stuffed the kits with gifts. At home, we opened pack after stuffed pack finding nothing but clothes. The last one was opened with some anticipation as we still had not discovered one complimentary gift. And finally, some more clothes.

The next day, Uncle ABC volunteered to take us jewellery shopping and once again we shrugged, obliged. This time around too, he claimed of ‘personally knowing’ the fellows there and that they would charge just 5% as panikkooli (making cost). It was said with as much conviction as he had spoken about PQR Silks.

At the Jewellery showroom I found myself comparing the huge bangles on display to deformed potatoes and the heavy gold necklaces to decaying jackfruits dangling from sturdy branches, while the other ladies of the group selected stuff. My sister shot hateful glances my way, her disdain at my callous attitude, apparent. To keep her humoured, I started saying things like ‘Hey that’s not good’, ‘Now that looks nice’ etc.

The shopping was done, the bill paid. Only 5% of the making cost was levied and all were happy. Later, I came to know through Uncle ABC’s daughter that the bond he was talking about originated from their one-single visit to the shop. No ‘own fellows’. And charging only 5 % of the making cost was no big deal. All jewellery showrooms have that offer for people purchasing for weddings.

And what did we learn from this? That ‘contacts’ are beneficial to the businessmen alone and not to the poor laymen who proudly claim of knowing them. And when someone claims to know XYZ one shouldn’t have ones hopes high. It’s a ‘business’ contact after all!

Relief...PANIC!!!

2010-04-09T04:41:00.000-07:00

Relief for a moment,
Panic the next,
Would you care knowing
What has left me vexed?

Holding myself together I sat,
For no other go I had.
When an opportunity I found
To my destination I was bound.

Almost there I was,
Yet it seemed so far,
If only a door I could pass,
But it was not left ajar!

Has this happened to you,
like it does to me?
Shouldn’t a hundred doors open,
When closed one is ?

Clueless I am,
Really bothered too,
For this seems to happen,
Every time I go to the office loo!

"A poem begins with a lump in the throat." ~ Robert Frost
PS: This one (if you can all it a poem) did.

Aquasserenne - A backwater retreat

2010-03-17T11:46:00.000-07:00

Horrible monotony at work, hectic schedules, anxieties and other pressing issues – I was literally losing it. Well, not so much but quite. I desperately needed to take a break from it all and Voila, I had it!

My weekend holiday at Aquasserenne Resort, Kollam, Kerala, was nothing short of out-of-the-world. We began our journey at 7 am from Cochin and drove down to Kollam, stopping only for breakfast on the way. As we neared South Paravoor we could see sign boards saying ‘Aquasserenne 4 kms away’, ‘Aquasserenne 3 kms away’, 2 kms away etc on every turn. The countdown seemed too long. ‘1 km away ‘, ‘.5 km away’ (heights!) and finally, ‘Aquasserenne welcomes you’!

We were greeted by the sight of the backwaters glistening in the afternoon sun and the resort set all quiet and serene by it. After a welcome drink of chilled cucumber juice, a front office executive escorted us to our rooms. The walk to the room was a delight in itself. Manicured lawns lined with well-trimmed plants, narrow stone laid pathways, small backwater canals, arched bridges connecting the banks, quacking ducks, swaying palms and the gentle backwater breeze. Simply breathtaking. Aah…

Sometimes words just don’t suffice. So occasionally, I will let the pics do all the talking. Take for example our cottage facing the backwaters.

Or the country boat ride we had in the evening which showed us the sky splashed in rosy hues, birds flocking home and the beauty of the setting sun which is just beyond comparison.

A temple on a small islet, where fishing folk come to offer prayers to the stone idol (which looks like Lord Ganesha) before going for the catch, at dawn.

The lilting waters were a feast to watch.

A ride in a motor boat in the morning gave us glimpses of the rustic way of life the villagers are used to…

The yummy food at the restaurant Aqua Fontana deserves another post. For now, this chicken chilly pic should do. The meat was tender, the spices just right. And it went really well with fried noodles. Their special south indian breakfast thali was an elaborate affair of one dosa, one idli, one vada and a delicious serving of upma, plus an assortment of tasty chutneys. Slurp!

Ask me what I did at the resort. And the answer is, apart from the boat rides and the time spent in the swimming pool, nothing. It is one of those places where time comes to a standstill yet you don't seem to have enough of it. I kept no count of the moments that ticked by, as I reveled in the beauty all around me.

Though I have been to quite a few Indian holiday destinations, this one was by far the best holiday I have ever had. It opened my eyes to the fact that there is SO MUCH to see in Kerala, the place I live in! So many unexplored territories, so many quaint hamlets, so many beaches, so many places with a hundred interesting folklores.

The pristine backwaters that greeted me in the morning; gently washed my feet as I stood on their shores; blew breezy kisses on my face and captivated me in their sheer natural charm, beckon me for yet another visit. I promise, I won't be long.

A day at Amaara

2010-03-02T06:37:00.000-08:00

I wanted to blog about Amaara the very day I visited the place but couldn’t do so because I was busy with other stuff the whole of February. Now that I have time, I am going to tell you all about it and why you shouldn’t miss visiting this place when you are in Cochin, Kerala.

My sister who is preparing a dissertation on ‘Heritage Tourism’ has chosen Amaara as one of her case studies. So both of us set out to Amaara- one bright Saturday morning with a notepad and pen, all set to explore the place.

Amaara, is an over hundred year old house built in traditional Kerala architectural style, which has been revamped to serve as a place for shopping, eating-out, appreciating fine arts, and for relaxation in general.

The place exudes an old-world charm that engulfs you the moment you step in. There are various items on sale, such as furniture, jewellery, sarees, kurtis, incense sticks, Ayurveda soaps and lots more to choose from. But the funny thing is, you might forget the purpose of your visit (which could be gathering information for your thesis/shopping/getting a quick bite) as the tranquil ambience really gets to you.

I was literally floating around the place looking at the antiques there, sitting on the royal furniture (while no one was looking of course), running my fingers over those exquisite necklaces and earrings, and acting like an amazed foreign tourist. Though I was in a state of trance, I did manage to take a few snaps inside the place while my sister interviewed one Mr Noble (a young chap who was really noble enough to answer her exhaustive list of questions).

That's Amaara!

Kathakali as perceived by an artist...

That's their Naalukettu restaurant

Jewellery....!!

The place was totally empty the day we went there. So we could really fool around! I bought some incense sticks, which come from Aurobindo Ashram in Pondicherry, and a hand-made photo frame for my friend's birthday. There were some clutches and earrings which I wanted to buy but they were too expensive for me. Looking at those well-crafted pieces was just as gratifying as having them on. :)

There are so many other lovely pics that I want to upload but the connection is damn slow at the moment and I am feeling damn impatient. Guess one has to be amidst the quietude of Amaara to feel elevated enough to bear with the shockingly slow broadband here!

Do pay a visit to this place at Maradu, Cochin, when you stop by God's own country. You won't be disappointed!

A tale of two people

2010-02-12T10:42:00.000-08:00

Marriage is a complicated institution. No matter who chooses his/her victim…er…partner for the ceremonious hanging on the…er...tying the knot, you or your parents, it probably remains as complicated as it is meant to be. Arranged marriages seem a dicier affair with both parties stepping in blind folded. Apprehensive about each other in the beginning, these couples, after a few years (and kids) into the marriage, constantly refer to an intangible statistical data when talking to spinsters and bachelors of a ‘marriageable’ age. The data supposedly indicates a higher rate of success of arranged marriages over love marriages.

They tell you instances where the boyfriend’s and girlfriend’s transition as husband and wife, led to them morphing into two entirely different people, and how it all came crashing down. And who are these love-marriage failure couples they talk about? Their skin turns a lighter shade of its normal colour when that query is put their way but it lasts just a fraction of a second. The query is answered and the colour returns to their cheeks. Feeling a little dizzy you think, ‘Well, I wouldn’t give out such details about my friend’s uncle’s daughter’s son’s friend’s wife’s sister’s best friend’s neighbour’s niece, would I?’

I always try not to believe all these tell-tales about failed marriages (love or arranged) as I have seen quite a few successful ones around me. And that’s reason enough to believe that the success of a marriage has nothing to do with its ‘arranged’ or ‘love’ nature. Marriages are made in heaven – has to be true. How else could two different personalities (in any marriage) come together, live with the other knowing all their flaws and actually hit it off well?

Now, I know of a husband and wife (of an arranged marriage) who had very few things in common. The girl was barely 20 when she got married and the boy was 27. The girl had never been out of her little hometown in Kerala while the boy had traversed a major part of India on work. The girl talked a lot while the boy was more introverted. The girl had five elder brothers and she could never be seen without their burly shadows behind her while the guy who had left home for work at an early age was his own master. The girl was fond of Mohanlal who had made his appearance as a villain in Manjil Virinja Pookkal while the boy was a die hard Amitabh Bachchan fan who had watched all his movies at least twice.

Soon after they got married, the couple went to UP where the boy was working. Their first movie date was at the movie ‘Mard’ where the girl kept asking the boy, ‘what did they say’ after every other dialogue. Patient at first he told her what it was but when the frequency of her requests for translations increased he snubbed her off saying ‘it doesn’t mean anything in particular’. His daughter inherited this impatience while dealing with the language barrier. The wife soon learned Hindi so well that the boy had to ask her what ‘Falak’, ‘Utran’, ‘Baa’ etc meant and how ‘Jeth/Jethani’ were different from ‘Devar/Devrani’.

There were funny fights over who should handle the TV’s remote control, what the menu for dinner should be, while shopping for clothes (where husband told wife that she had enough sarees and wife told husband that he had enough shirts and both returned home buying nothing), what the kids must wear, on how many houses they should avoid visiting on their next trip to Kerala, how many bottles of water they needed to take for the train journey, whether the colour of their first car should be bright red or dull green, if the first Malayalam movie they watched together was Boeing Boeing or Yaathra …so on and so forth….yet the other is not his/her jolly self when one is away or in a bad mood. When their daughters try to take sides during an argument, husband and wife soon become one team leaving the kids wondering what to do.

In short, one completes the other. No wonder they say the ‘other half’ or the ‘better half’. The doctrine of opposites attract makes sense too.

The couple I was talking about just celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary and as you might have already guessed, I happen to be one of their two daughters. Here’s to them! Not to the daughters. The parents I mean. Ok, all four of them then. Here's to them!;)

And this is the surprise cake my sister and I bought them!

55 Fiction: Wasted Loyalty

2010-02-01T08:59:00.000-08:00

She felt unwanted and depressed.
She hated the norms of the 'society'.
Her own didn't speak up for her.
She whined and pleaded, they only patted her head.
Rules were rules.

She must say goodbye.

'Why did man build apartments if dogs were his best friends?', she thought.

Of shorts, sex robots and God knows what!

2010-01-12T10:44:00.000-08:00

How many times have you heard your grandparents muttering under their breath, ‘What is the world coming to?’ or ‘What in the name of God…’ or simply, ‘Hmm…Kaliyuga…What else?’

I am sure you haven’t kept a count. My granny used to iterate these phrases. Periodically. Religiously. Once I walked into her room in my new pair of shorts and I saw her looking at me with narrowed eyes, studying me like a scientist would a specimen. I knew she was looking at my shorts and I said cheerfully, ‘New shorts Grandmother, how do I look?’ I regretted saying it immediately.

‘Like Hanuman’s Vanarasena’ she replied without the slightest hint of humour.

If I was supposed to feel angry or hurt, I wasn’t. Blame it on my genes that often make me do the wrong things at the wrong times; I just couldn’t help laughing at the analogy she drew between me and Hanuman’s Vanarasena. She stared at me in disbelief as I chuckled and slowly left the room (to avoid further scolding/formation of ethical dress code/PGA- Parents, Grandparents Association). I heard her saying, ‘What has the world come to? Grown up girls in shorts…Krishna!’

Come to think of it. Even our grandparents must have gone through this. Their ancestors must have rebuked them for wearing or doing something that was considered fashionable. I wonder what we, as grandmothers and grandfathers would lament about. What will we say? May be ‘Shucks man! This is Kaliyuga! Yo’?!

Stuff like the super sexy sex Robot Roxxxy that was launched in sin city - Las Vegas, is just a tip-off of what lays ahead of us, that will prompt references to Kaliyuga, when we finally get there (old age). What the makers claim to be the world’s first, is a 5 feet 7 inches tall robotic girlfriend with ample assets to make any guy go crazy. They say it is a companion, has a personality (don’t tell me!), hears you, listens to you (yeah right), speaks to you, feels your touch, and goes to sleep (yes, with you). She comes in a variety of personalities, like wild, shy, naïve and matured. What’s more? If you are an aspiring partner you can customize her features including her hair colour, race and vital stats. And lo behold, you have the most beautiful bimbo with you.

We’ve been hearing about machines taking over our planet, daily chores in every household being done by automated robots, flying cars and trains, and sailing aeroplanes since time immemorial (didn’t they say by 2000 it will be blah blah blah). With stuff like Roxxxy which has her tastes programmed in sync with yours, I don’t think we have any of it in the near future. I mean, come on, people discuss, sometimes agree, sometimes disagree, and arrive at a new conclusion. Finally a discovery, an invention. Think of a world with one (or more) sexy robot(s) for every person. If you like watching test cricket, your Angelina Jolie look-alike robot likes it too. If you ogle at your friend’s girlfriend, she does it too. How convenient and nice and sweet and peaceful! (Pukes!)

AND. Roxxxy’s male version Rocky is in development. ‘Nahiii…..spare me the horror!’ Hmm…now, that could be the Shloka our grandkids would hear us chanting…

Men, women and the baby

2009-12-24T09:16:00.000-08:00

It was just another crowded morning in the bus. My bus-pals and I sat chattering at the backseat. We were literally screaming to make ourselves heard. The bus conductor was losing his temper every now and then. There were awaara-looking guys gaping at women of all sizes, shapes and ages, trying to inch closer. Women folk looked daggers at them, some of them could be heard saying, ‘Onnu maari nikkedo’ (Move over!). An occasional ‘Aiyyo!’ could be heard as people got stamped on the foot/ punched on the tummy/shoved from behind/ hit on the head by someone’s elbow.

While all this was going on, a lady got into the jam-packed bus with a cute little baby. She was juggling with the baby and her hand bag, when an aunty on the back seat offered to hold the baby for her. She gratefully handed over the baby to her. The baby was quiet for a while. Mind you, awhile.

The girl sitting next to me said, ‘Achodaaa….’ (Mallu version of aww) ‘She is sooo sweet’ and ruffled the baby’s hair. The baby turned around and looked at her.

‘Whach eech chour chame? Chweechy pie!’ my friend went on. The baby blinked, looking ready to cry. I could empathize with the baby. First you get your neatly combed hair ruffled, and then you are addressed in a tongue you can’t make head or tail of. No wonder!

‘Chaaaawch?’ (Gawd! Did my friend mean ‘what’!!)

Perhaps ‘chaawch?’ was just too much for the baby to bear. She went ‘waaaaaaah’ the moment the super-senseless-nothing (yeah, chaaawch) was muttered.

Every head turned around to see the source of the soul-stirring yet ear-splitting cry. And when they spotted the victim almost everyone turned into a court…er…bus jester.

Some began clapping, some snapped their fingers, some whistled, some sang (God save us!), some made weird noises lashing their tongues on the roof of their mouth and some of them gave an ensemble of all the above, looking something like a bad clown and a worse stand-up comedian.

Those were the smart performances I would say, because some of them went back to tormenting the baby with foreign languages.

Someone was heard saying Arabic ‘Babeeh…chweetieh…cuteeh…’

Someone else tried Chinese, ‘Shing shing shing, baby shmiling! Aah, shmiling!’

Then came Latin, ‘Babiaano, Sweetiaaano, Cutiaano’

Followed by French, ‘La bebe, bebe, la la la la……..’

The baby’s bawls went louder every time she was subjected to this guess-the-language torture. My heart went out to the baby. Perhaps she saw it too for she turned around and looked at me, her tears stopping midway. I smiled at her, giving her a marinated-in-sugar ‘Hiii!’ The baby blinked. I thought, ‘Aah..this is all that it needs…a smile and a Hi!’

I was proved wrong when the baby went ‘Waaaaaaah…’ with double intensity this time.

I shrunk into my seat, getting into silent spectator mode once again. The hungama came to an abrupt end when the bus screeched to a halt at the mother and baby’s stop. The baby stopped crying the moment she went into her mother’s arms. The people went back to speaking normally. No one was seen dancing or heard singing. As soon as the baby went to her mom, the mom said, ‘Choochie poochie….chonch cry…’ and to my surprise and horror, the baby actually smiled. Even chuckled!!

Babies are cute but strange.

Wishing all of you out there, a very merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! :)

'Sweet' Memories

2009-12-08T02:19:00.001-08:00

What did I find sweeter than a candy when I was a child? Nothing, I guess. Candies and chocolates were the be all and end all of my happiness then. I used to wait for my father to come home from office in the evening. I used to loiter around on the terrace waiting for his arrival, pretending to play or watch parrots and used to run down the stairs when I heard the familiar sound of my father’s scooter.

I would rush towards him, give him a hug, hold his hand, sport a variety of cute smiles and then look around at those plastic bags he unloaded from the scooter. And I would ask him innocently, ‘Papa maal?’

‘Maal’ was my term for candies, chocolates, snacks and other munchies. Some choice of word indeed! My father would hand me the ‘maal’ and watch me, smiling to himself, as I ran off with the prized catch of the day.

Opening the packet of ‘maal’ was an exciting activity. It used to hold stuff, which sadly, I cannot find anywhere these days. And that brings me to the topic of this post: Candies, Chocolates, Lollipops and Crunchies that seem to have vanished from the face of the earth!

The first one is a Cadbury Éclair Lollipop which used to come in a shiny golden and violet cover. Was it called ‘Uncles’ (or something like that, I am not sure)? I remember it had the cartoon of a moustached man’s face on it, hence the feeling that it must have been called ‘Uncles’. The small white stick held the most heavenly ball of chocolate covered with caramel, which I used to eat with relish. It just cost some two rupees but the joy of having it in my mouth was nothing short of priceless.

Then there was this thing called ‘Chatar Matar’, small balls of tangy yet sweet, red-coloured candies that came in a yellow packet. We used to stick out our little tongues comparing whose had turned redder after having it. Some kids at school used to say that having too much Chatar-Matar could cause cancer. That they used to say so, while emptying a packet of Chatar-Matar into their mouths was reason enough to ignore the alert.

We also used to buy bubble gums from a vendor near our school while on our way back home. It must have been some local brand because it came without a wrapper. The shopkeeper used to store these in a large glass jar and the very sight of those bubblegum balls, all of them in soft colours like baby pink, peach, mauve, and yellow looked tempting. It tasted a hundred times better than Big Bubble and Boomer which we switched on to after these gums disappeared from the vendor’s shelves.

My mother used to have a hard time bringing us home from school as my sister and I used to throw tantrums in the middle of the road sometimes screeching, sometimes whining ‘I want that! I want this!’ Mostly she gave in to our demands but lectures on hygiene and diseases and good manners came as a package with the candies she bought us.

Soon age, sense and maturity knocked out the childishness from us just like the new candies and chocolates that kicked out Chatar Matar, Uncles Lollipops, and the adorable bubble gums from their jars. But age, sense and maturity weren’t strong enough for my sweet tooth that still craves for those sweet candies which are now, a bittersweet memory.

Fone Phollies

2009-11-17T23:58:00.000-08:00

No one likes getting blank calls, answering wrong-numbers or hearing a person screeching ‘HELLO HELLO’, even while you can hear them clearly. But once the whole deal is done it becomes food for a good laugh. Most wrong-number conversations follow a similar pattern. I am sure you must have had at least one of the kinds listed below.

Instant 1 – Pehle aap-pehle aap syndrome in a not so courteous tone
Phone Rings
My mother picks up the phone
Mom: Hello
Female on the other end: Hello
Mom: Hello?
Female: Hello! Hello! Hello!
Mom(exasperated): I can hear you, who is this?
Female: You are asking me who I am? You tell me who you are!
Mom: What? You called up, you tell me, who you are and who you want to speak to!
Female: Never mind that. But who are you?!
Mom slams down the phone. Phone rings again. Mom looks at me. I act deaf. Mom goes and takes the phone off the dial.

Instant 2 – Learning geography
Phone Rings
My father picks up the phone.
Dad: Hello
Stupid sounding male on the other end: Hello..Hello…which place is this?
Dad (obviously in a good mood): How do I know? You know better right? But this is Cochin. (Ha!)
Stupid male (momentarily confused): Er…erm…oh…ok. Enna sheri.
Dad hears a click at the other end. I hear my dad laugh and realize that it was another ‘guess the place’ call and that he was in a terribly good mood.

Instant 3 – Never mind who, flirt while you can
Phone Rings
My sister picks up the phone.
Sister: Hello?
Friendly voiced guy on the other end: Assalam Vaalekkum!
Sister: Vaalekkum Assalam! (Still wondering who it is)
Guy: Pinne enthokkeya ishta visheshangal? What news then?
Sister: Mm…everything fine…good good (gulp)
Guy: Hmm…so how is your job going?
Sister: Job???
(Trivia: My sister is doing her post graduation)
Guy: Ok…leave it. When should we meet?
My sister hangs up and narrates the whole conversation to me.

‘Idiot, why did you stretch the conversation so long?’ I ask
‘I thought it was my classmate Shamsu’ she says
‘Who asked you to think?’ I am laughing now.

Phone rings again. Dad picks up the phone. The guy on the other end says, ‘Assalam Vaalekkum’. My dad says, ‘Vaalekkum Assa…’ The line goes dead.

Instant 4 – Asylum, police station, hospital…anything but your home
Phone rings. Phone rings. Phone keeps ringing. No one picks it up.
Unwillingly I pick it up. Before I say hello,
Angry male on the other end: So long to pick the phone? What is this?
Me (scared stiff): Mmm…sorry! sorry!
Angry man: What sorry? How irresponsible! I am shocked
Me(with chattering teeth): Er…mm…
Angry man: So long to attend to the patient….
Me: Patient?!
(A thought bubble pops up above my head, with the words ‘Ah! A wrong number!’ I heave a sigh of relief, so no one was going to abuse me!)
Angry man angrier: Stop acting ignorant…you are testing my…
Me: Wrong number (with finality)
Angry Man mellows down: Not the medical centre?
Me: No
Angry man: Isn’t this 58436671*?
Me: No, this 58436672**.
Angry man: Urappano? Are you sure? (As if I am kidding him, hmph!)
Me (At a loss for words, then finally): WRONG NUMBER
Toooo doooo tooo dooo tooo doooo (for those who didn’t understand, that’s the dead tone when he put down the phone)

I pull the receiver from my ear and stare at it for a second before putting it down.
****************************************************************************
So on and so forth. These calls irritate you to the core when you are in the midst of something really important, amuse you when you are jobless and you actually sit down to write all that when you are out of your mind. Yes, I have a foot in the loony bin. Pull me out and tell me about your interesting wrong number conversations. Cheers! :D

* Medical centre's number has been changed for privacy reasons
**My residential number has been changed for obvious reasons

Diplomacy, thy name is….

2009-10-27T11:19:00.000-07:00

As a seven year old girl at a distant relative’s wedding, she saw a roly-poly aunty in a bright red silk saree, and a big red bindi (the kind which can make Usha Uthup’s bindi feel inferior) adorning her vast forehead.

‘Aiyee!’ (The milder, mallu way of saying ‘yuck’), ‘Doesn’t she look like a fat Velichappadu?’ (The temple oracle who donns a bright red robe)The little girl exclaimed, loud enough for people at a radius of about 10 metres to hear.

All heads turned to the little girl. Some aunties smirked mirthlessly at the oracle aunty, some giggled, some dim-witted, poor observers looked around for the person at whom the jibe was directed, while some had the ahaa!-she-said-what-I-was-dying-to-say face. Only one young aunty who stood just next to the little girl, had an expression which kept changing from a sheepish grin (when she looked at the other aunties) to an icy glare (when she looked at the little girl) occasionally.

Suddenly the little girl yelped,’Ow!’ and rubbed her arm with the other. The young aunty smiled at all the other aunties and stuttered, ‘She is…er…kind of…she loves the velichappadus red outfit!’

Perhaps she thought oracle aunty would forget the kid’s ‘aiyee!’ and ‘fat’ in the exclamation. Others around were set for a laugh when the little kid screamed ‘No! I hate it’ shaking her head so hard that it could come off. And the aunties threw themselves in a fit of frenzied laughter. Another yelp from the kid got drowned in the sound of the booming laughter, the oracle aunty vanished; she had probably skulked away while she could.

The little kid braced her arm (which was pinched twice) all the way back home while the young aunty (yes, her mother) gave her a lengthy lecture on being a polite and nice and good girl.

Seven years later, when the girl was a 14 year old adolescent, she was quite good at being nice and polite and good. Thanks to those words of wisdom her mother gave her seven years ago. When ever she saw someone/something extremely awkward, she looked away. She giggled hopelessly later. But only later. If some oraclishly dressed aunty asked her how her saree looked, she said, ‘Aunty! Nice BRIGHT colour’ and smiled. If a bride-to-be showed her the photo of her groom-to-be, who looked like a geek freak and asked shyly for an opinion, the girl said, ‘he looks very intelligent’ and smiled. If uncles asked her to guess their age she said a figure 15 years less than what they looked like and…smiled. Happy Aunties. Happy bride-to-bes’. Happy Uncles. And a happy mother who didn’t pinch her anymore.

Now the girl is 21. She works as a copywriter. She has three types of clients:

1. Intelligent - they know what they want and working for them is fun

2. Clueless- they have no clue why they want to advertise on the web or what is good or bad copy. Working for them is ‘ok’ since they will say ‘ok’ to anything your write.

3. Average- They know what they are into but they don’t know what they want. Working for them is a pain because they will criticize everything you write, do and design and if you ask them what they want, they trail off into a long-drawn-out ‘Actually, you see….’

The girl sheds off her diplomacy suit while she and her team make schemes to teach a lesson to clients (category 3) who pass judgment on her/her teammates copy. Even the Creative Director joins in and contributes the most creative ways of kicking/punching/thrashing such clients. But when she meets the clients in person, she morphs into one of the most tactful 'diplomats' the world would have ever seen.

She greets them with a sweet smile, pleasantly listens to their complaints about the work her team mates have done, laughs at the silliest of their jokes, and tells them how helpful their critical analysis of her teams' work has been when actually she wants to strangle them to death.

Once back at her desk, she tells her team what an effort it was to smile at their supposedly funny remarks, how boring they were and how she wished to smack them hard! And the team asks her, wide-eyed, holding their breath, ‘And? What did they say about the work? How many changes are to be made?’

‘Ah! That! None! I made them understand everything. Diplomatically. They love the work, in fact!’ She says with a casual wave of her hand.

The 21 year old girl looks at her, dazed. Just when she thought she was almost there, she meets a person who has set fresh standards for her. Diplomacy, thy name is…definitely not the 21 year old!

May be seven years hence, she will be right there. Till then she has someone to look up to. Some one who taught her that diplomacy not only keeps others happy but can also turn tables in your favour, if used wisely.

Palm-misery

2009-10-08T10:44:00.000-07:00

When I came back to my desk after lunch, my colleague, The Holy Lama, gave me one of her mischievous smiles. It was an ‘I-am-up-to-no-good’ smile. I raised my brows quizzically. She looked around hurriedly, and fished out a small book from her bag.

The book was about the size of my palm. ‘Palmistry’, the cover said. ‘Wow!’ I exclaimed. I knew the holy one was in a mood to read our palms. I flipped through the book and looked at the illustrations of various types of heart lines, head lines, love lines, fate lines and luck lines.

‘Let’s look at the luck line’ I told her excitedly, but in a hushed tone (this could really put our jobs in jeopardy!)

She looked at my hand and the book for sometime, and shook her head. ‘No luck line here.’

‘What?!’ I let out a yelp. Our other team mates, Novice Writer and RGB wheeled their chairs towards us immediately.

‘What?’ they asked.

‘I have no luck line.’ I told them dejectedly, looking down at my palms.

‘Oh! Palmistry! Here read my palm’ exclaimed RGB without bothering to care about my non-existent luck line.

Everything blurred out around me. I could hear their excited voices but I kept staring at my palms which had no luck line. I decided to mope around for the rest of the day. But my teammates’ excited squeals made it impossible for me.

‘You have a luck line?’ I asked RGB.

‘Yes, a very strong one.’ said the holy one solemnly. May be it was the sunlight streaming in through the windows, but she did seem to have a halo around her head. I stared blankly.

‘A writer will have his head line touching the mount of the moon’ chanted our divine one.

We stretched out our palms for her inspection, having absolutely no clue about where the head line was, what the mount was and why we couldn’t see it if it was a mount.

Suddenly RGB and Novice went ‘Yayyy!’, since the holy one had spoken. They were going to be writers. But my godforsaken head line stood obstinately at some other mount, refusing to shift territory into the moon-mount.
So said the enlightened one. Must be true, I lamented.

I learned from the book, the story of my whole life in the next few minutes.

I would try hard to succeed but would never get there. I could get arthritis, rheumatism, heart attacks and the possibility of insanity couldn’t be ruled out. Would I get fame and success? Thin chance.

My sad pout was becoming so obvious that Novice thought I would develop Angelina Jolie lips. Once in a while I let out a whimper. To cheer me up our dear colleague read out the qualities of long hands. RGB, Novice and I happen to have long ones. We were all ears.

Inquisitive, creative, imaginative, good leadership qualities (they kept soaring…I started pulling in my pout) and…… impractical (Thud! They came down. Slump! Out came my pout with full force, once again.)

Then she read out the final blow, ‘people with their little finger, set too low on the palm (my ears perked up, as I observed that my little finger was way below the others) can even become beggars!’

‘Begging! Boo hoo’ I howled.

Suddenly, Novice sped off to her desk and gave us a startled look.

We know that look too well. ‘Boss!’ We rushed back to our desks.

Not knowing what to do with the book (as the boss approached our section), I threw it on Novice’s desk. She threw it back to me. I threw it on to the holy one’s desk who threw it into her bag with a giggle.

She said, ‘One more moment of delay and we all would have had the same fate.’

The next big task was to maintain a straight face while the boss kept throwing suspicious looks our way.

aBUSe ride

2009-09-20T08:00:00.000-07:00

My bus rides are so happening that I always end up blogging about them. To work from home or from work to home during the bus rides, I inadvertently chance upon some interesting people who somehow end up sitting or standing next to me. All said and done, my definition of ‘interesting’ encompasses everything from weird to rude to abusive!

The other day, when I got into the bus to go to work, I saw a vacant seat on the right row. A woman sat on the left end of the two-seater leaving the window side unoccupied. The leg space being poor I had to carefully go past the lady onto the seat. As soon as I sat down, the lady sitting next to me asked,

‘Where are you going?’

That was when I really saw her. She must have been about 70-73 years old. She had a very small face and it was completely wrinkled. Her left eye was fully white, no traces of the iris, with just a dot of the pupil and, no offence meant, it looked rather scary.

‘The stop after Edappally.’ I replied.

‘Ah! I am also going to Edappally.’ Perhaps she didn’t hear the ‘stop after’. I didn’t correct her.

‘These people won’t take us to Kaloor. Would they?’ she asked me.

‘This bus doesn’t follow the Kaloor route.’ I told her

‘No..No…these fellows....’ she trailed off angrily.

I saw a few heads turn at her loud voice. I thought it was wiser to keep mum. I did. And so did she. But not for long.

‘Does this bus go to Guruvayoor?’ she asked me

‘No. It goes only till Aluva.’ I told her.

‘It does. This same bus takes you to Guruvayoor’ she said rolling her eyes and shaking her head vehemently.

She was so emphatic that I did not have the heart to defy her opinion. But I was left wondering why she asked me in the first place if she knew it so well. Phew!

The bus got awfully crowded after a while. The standing passengers were doing a balancing act trying to find space for their feet. They were falling on to the seated ones with every other person who got into the bus.

The lady sitting next to me was having a tough time. Everyone was falling on her. She was making faces for sometime and then all of a sudden, shocking everyone who had been watching, she clenched her fist and gave a sharp jab into the butt of a woman in a bright orange saree who had been fighting for space to stand.

The old lady yelled, ‘Take your big butt off my face’. Trust me, it sounds worse in Malayalam.

The humiliated aunty in the orange saree looked flabbergasted for a second. And then she began, ‘You are sitting. I am standing. There is no space you old woman. If you can’t sit, then go by other means’

The old lady was waiting for a chance to yell. And she yelled. The orange saree aunty screeched back. Yell-screech-beep-beep-beep-beep went on for sometime. The old lady started a third person conversation about the orange saree aunty with me. Of course, it was all insults about the ‘fat-butt’ lady, as she said it.

I tried to pretend that I wasn’t listening. It didn’t help. She went on and on and when Edappally neared, I told her, ‘Your stop is here.’

‘Oh! Is it? No! The conductor will call out when it does. Why else do they get money from us?’ she yelled again.

I cursed myself. Why did I bother telling her?

People started getting down. She showed no signs of moving. I told her timidly. ‘It’s your stop.’

‘IS THIS EDAPPALLY’ the lady shouted at the top of her voice.

‘Yes…yes…’ a voice boomed, somewhere from the depths of the crowded bus.

She jumped from her seat, rushed towards the exit and pushed off a guy who was standing near the door with a rude, ‘Move off!’

I looked with amazement as the seventy year old hopped off energetically.

The humiliated yet game-for-abuses aunty in the bright orange saree occupied the empty seat next to me. I realized I felt jammed. I tried hard to suppress a laugh.

All about accepting compliments

2009-09-10T11:30:00.000-07:00

Who doesn’t like to be complimented? I can’t remember having a better start to a day than having someone tell me, ‘Hey! You look gorgeous today!’ or ‘Wow! Where did you pick up this fab dress?’ or ‘I love your eye make-up’ or the one topping my favourite compliments list ‘You have lovely eyes’. Whenever I receive these or may be more innovative flattering remarks I really get a high. We all do. In my case, sometimes, I feel so overwhelmed that words fail me. That must be the case. I can’t find any other excuse for reacting (in words) poorly to compliments.

I remember, once I went to college flaunting my new dress, sure to be praised for my choice of the outfit and how good it looked on me, so much so that I would have had a heart break if no one did. My friends are kind. One of my sweetie pie friends opened the compliment account with, ‘Ah! You look stunning in that!’

I smiled my sweetest smile.

‘Wow! That colour looks great on you. You look fairer.’ Said another

I smiled again. Showing all of my teeth this time.

‘Where did you pick it up? It’s lovely yaar.’ Said another sweetheart

My smile widens. My cheeks ache. But I am still smiling basking in the warmth of the kind words. I don’t know what I looked like (may be slightly idiotic) but the last one to give me a nice comment nudged me said, ‘I asked you something yaar. Tell na’ she says and chuckles at the blank look on my face.

She repeats, ‘The dress. Where did you pick it up?’

‘Oh…oh…’ I descend the 6 feet I seemed to have escalated to and feel my feet touching the ground. I stumble for balance, take a deep breath, grin at my friend and mumble the answer to her query.

I will tell you another instance where an admiring comment swept me off my feet and finally led to some embarrassment. I once gave company to my friend who was going to her part-time workplace for some important matter. After the work was done we came out of the office where a few of her friends were chit-chatting. My friend introduced me to them all and then suddenly one of the guys in the group told me with an expression that was nothing but genuine ‘Your eyes are lovely.’ Ok, I missed the flirtatious undertone. But never mind, the unexpected compliment kind of threw me off. ‘er…Thanks’ I mumbled with a smile.

I don’t know what did it – the too wide and sweet smile or the ‘thanks’ which was barely an audible whisper or the combination of the two – the guy didn’t hear me and asked, ‘What did you say?’ My imagination can run riot at times. But this time, his voice was almost a caress. I think it irritated me. I said, ‘I said I know that.’

‘You know? Ah!’ an is-she-nuts and then a very amused expression crossed his face. ‘You sure do. Okhay!’ he laughed.

Idiot. ‘You have lovely eyes’ must be his favourite pick-up line. And he delivers it kind of genuinely. I could have just said a very clear and crisp ‘Thanks’ (since smart replies are something I dare not venture into) and here I was saying things I didn’t even want to. I dragged my friend out of there making excuses of getting late and gave her friends (including the lovely-eyes-comment guy) a very awkward and hurried ‘b-bye’.

And the latest incident which happened a few days ago confirms my problem with accepting compliments gracefully. On one of those ‘less-work’ days at office KK and I were solving a crossword puzzle together and somehow I seemed to know almost all the answers.

‘Wow, wow, wow’ said KK, each time I yelled the answer as she read the clues.

‘You are smart’, ‘Intelligent’, ‘Brainy’, ‘Bingo’ she said as I gave the correct answers and I kept smiling, occasionally doing a clumsy ‘hehehehe’ giggle. Another right answer and she exclaimed, ‘Clever girl!’ and I did the smile plus the heheehehe.

‘Can’t you say even thanks? How many times have I praised you sky high? Have you ever said thanks except that smile?’ KK said, with a dramatic I-am-hurt look.

I thought of all the times KK had showered me with compliments. She had given me a very gratifying remark on my writing skills the same day. And what had I done? No points for guessing that I smiled the world’s-most-sheepish-and-impish smile.

I looked at her and said, ‘Sorry…..Thank you so much!’ and gave her one big smile.

‘Ah! There you are!’ and she smiled. We looked at each other for a moment with equally funny expressions on our face and burst out laughing.

From then on, I have made it a point to say ‘thank you’ clearly and then go into the various smiles whenever I am praised. I am still terrible at smart one-liners and on-the-spur, thank you replies, but ‘Thank you’ is good enough for beginners like me.

If you wish to see me at the advanced beginner level of accepting compliments you can help me by giving me scope for practice. Let the compliments pour in! I have set no limits on that. I will not only say a very nice ‘thank you’, I will even write you a nice note.:D

May be my next post should be titled ‘How shameless I can be’! ;)

When google made me stupid - Part II

2009-08-25T21:30:00.000-07:00

The plan was that I would meet my friend (the birthday babe) at her hostel and we would go for the wedding together. There are a lot of interesting shops around her hostel and so I decided to do the shopping there. If I was a bit early than the decided time, I could easily pick up something nice before she came looking for me.

But how can things be so simple and smooth, when I am involved? Just as I reached the hostel, I saw her beaming and waving animatedly. I could almost hear my heart going to pieces. Trying hard to conceal my disappointment of my ‘nice lil plan’ which was no more, I gave her a warm hug and wished her a belated happy birthday.

‘So, let’s go?’ she asked.

‘Umm…I have some shopping to do’ I heard myself saying.

Though she said something about getting late, I dragged her to one of those interesting shops selling accessories, bags, cosmetics etc.

‘What do you want?’ a sales girl came asking, wearing one of her sweetest smiles.

‘Perfume’ I blurted out.

She took out dainty bottles from the shelf and applied a few drops on my wrist. I stretched out my wrist for my friend’s inspection whose expression turned into something you just couldn’t pass off as a knowing smile. It was more than just knowing. ‘I know what you are up to.’

‘What?’ I asked, trying to play down the sudden embarrassment and alarm in my voice.

‘You are buying for me.’ She said matter-of-factly.

Ok. So that was a knowing-the-reality-smile.

I gulped. ‘Well yes. Now that you know, you better select something you like. We are not leaving otherwise. Do you like the perfume?’ I asked, somehow feeling more confident.

‘Umm..no. I think I need a bag.’ She said.

Without pausing to explain stuff to the sales girl we moved on to the bags and purse section. I looked over my shoulder and the girl was staring at us with a baffled expression. We checked out bag after bag, liking nothing. May be it was one of those days when even the best shops have the worst stuff. We decided to move out and rushed towards the exit.

The sales girl, the one who showed us the perfume, stopped us and asked, ‘You didn’t find a bag?’ Her voice was irritably sweet.

‘No’ we chorused.

‘I understand now. You are buying her a gift, aren’t you?’ she asked me. I hate it when people behave like know-alls. Especially when they are right. More so, when they act extra sweet and innocent. ‘Er..yes..’ I smiled one of my fake smiles I use for occasions like these.

‘Buy the perfume.’ She said giving us a 100 watt smile. It was a command oozing out sweetness.

‘Er..she doesn’t like it.’ I told her nervously.

‘Why? It’s really good. Buy it!’ She said with another big smile, a threatening tone creeping into her voice.

I mumbled something about returning after browsing other shops and pulled my friend out of the shop. That was close. That girl was dangerous.

We went to a couple of shops looking for stuff and my friend couldn’t zero in on anything. I soon realized that she was paying more attention to the price tag hanging on to each bag. She would never buy anything in that case. I decided that leaving it completely to her wasn’t wise. Since she wasn’t picking up anything and denied liking anything I liked, I marched off into a garment shop so that she would follow me. She did. Thankfully.

There I started choosing kurtis for her. Finally I found her a nicely embroidered one, a shade of crimson, a color she doesn’t have. While the lady in the shop packed the kurti, my friend began, ‘What about the discount? I am a regular at this shop. I know Akbar chettan. You are new here, right?’

It was so embarrassing. I mean, we all remove the price tag while giving a gift and here I was, listening to my friend bargaining for her own gift. I placed a hand on her shoulder, flexing the muscles on my face, trying to communicate, ‘it’s OKAY. REALLY!’ and all she gave me was a calm smile.

The lady said, ‘Yes, I am new at this shop. I will definitely give you a discount.’

And when she gave me the bill, I was really shocked. She had given us one heck of a discount. So Akbar Chettan was not fictitious. We thanked her and left the shop. Though, it was a bit weird knowing that your friend knew how much you spent it didn’t feel all that weird. I guess, best friends exude an aura which doesn’t let you feel uncomfortable.

At the wedding, the friend who had reminded me about monisha’s birthday snatched my phone from me and told me ‘I am going to put all the important birthdays on your reminder list.’ And she did just that. May god bless her.

When google made me stupid -Part I

2009-08-22T10:09:00.000-07:00

I was busy writing stuff for a new site when my friend called me up to make plans for another friend’s wedding the next day.

Before hanging up, she asked me casually, ‘did you wish Monisha?’

‘Wish? What wish?’ I asked her, slightly alarmed.

‘Don’t tell me! You can’t forget your best friend’s birthday!’ she yelled.

‘Oh no! Thanks for letting me know. Bye.’ And I hung up.

I blinked twice. May be thrice. Though my word document was filled with a famous personality’s illustrious past, it seemed to make no sense now. I forgot my best friend’s birthday. I deserved to be kicked.

I reached for my phone, and contemplated whether or not to call her right away. May be not. ‘I’ll do it after I get home’, I said aloud and got quizzical looks from the ones sitting near me.

Ignoring them, I hastily closed the word document (no, I didn’t forget to save it), opened a new tab and went straight to google. I typed in: ideal birthday presents. A long list appeared. The first search result was some online shopping stuff. The second was something similar. I browsed random pages and hit a link on page 13 0r 14, I am not sure which. It took me to a page with several links. Gift ideas for ‘women’, ‘men’, ‘kids’, girlfriends’, ‘boyfriends’. Like a dumbass I clicked on girlfriend.

Topping the list was chocolate. Ah…too common. I scrolled down. Lingerie, came the next ideal gift idea showing a blonde in blue lingerie baring her teeth with the rest of her body (of course, essentials covered). I saw my friend on the adjacent table throwing me an amused look of ‘what’s up with you?’ Mortified I quickly went back to the google result page and clicked another random page. There, a video result, with the still of a guy and girl in the shower came up. Sheesh! I deftly moved the mouse over to the page-1 link and clicked. There I followed a link that looked decent enough. And what marvelous ideas they had!

Champagne and cheese cakes on an air balloon, a relaxing weekend at the beauty spa, holiday to Mauritius, a makeover…the list went on. Of course, the champagne and cakes could be done at my home, the weekend at my home, holiday at my home and makeover, ah, forget it! Exasperated, I closed the search window and looked at my colleague who seemed to look pregnant with ideas for a birthday gift. Yeah, she had been watching. The guy-girl-shower image flashed through my mind. I tried to hide my embarrassment by putting on a serious face and asked for suggestions.

And presto! There were ideas galore. Books, clothes, make up, accessories, diary and what not. And for an instance I wondered if google had made me stupid. Why in the world did I bother googling it? Frayed nerves may be.

The first thing I did after reaching home was call up my friend and wish her. She didn’t yell at me and I wished she did. Sigh! Sometimes sweetness makes you feel guiltier. I did. I was to meet her the next day, so that we could go for the wedding together. I thought I would go there early and get something for her….

What happened the next day is another tale. For now I am leaving you at the edge of your seats…the cliff hanger series gets over in the next post. (Evil laugh followed by…er…please don’t boo. Please? )

An alternative career

2009-08-18T09:17:00.000-07:00

The recession seems to have brought out the creative genius in a lot of people. Suddenly, everyone is in a frenzy to do what’s been there at the back of their minds. Like, say some one wants to pursue his/her interest in music, some one wants to sketch, another wants to write a book, a few others want to test their culinary skills, and a lot of people (like me) with few jobs to do are either reading or venting it all on their blog.

I may not be venting but I am ranting alright. Of things that bear no relation of what I was intending to….to say? Whatever. So as I mentioned in the opening line (about creativity popping in all directions), we at work are having a hard time with our creative juices oozing out of proportion too. We just have too many ideas on how to earn. While most of my talented colleagues have an alternative plan ready, I seem to have none! :(

One of them makes backing papers and is all set to take it online professionally. Another one who takes a keen interest in palmistry just needs to place a board on her desk which says ‘Know your future’ and she will be thronged by prospective clients in no time. Someone cooks bloody well, someone sings well, some one can dance, someone acts…sigh! All but me!

And just when I thought that my future was bleak, there appeared a silver lining among the dark clouds! It is nothing I am proud of, but I will tell you anyway. The daily grind in the crowded bus is something I can’t do without. An elderly gentleman and I are the only people to get down at my stop. From the day I started commuting by this particular bus, I’ve had to screech ‘I’ve to get down, stop the bus!’ as the bus vrooms past my stop.

I stopped screeching when I realized that I could just as well pull the strings (pun intended) attached to the bell, which the bus conductor uses to alert the driver. The first day I did that, the conductor was busy giving out tickets and he looked around as the bus came to a halt. He nodded at me as I got down the bus. And so it continued each day, rather, it continues. I regret doing it now.

Thing is, the elderly uncle who gets down at my stop expects me to do the ‘honours’. Earlier he used to shout at the conductor when the driver whizzed past the stop but now he throws me a scornful look which says ‘aren’t you aware of your duty?’ every time I forget to ring the bell. Earlier when I used to shout ‘Stop-the-bus’ he used to hiss at me saying, ‘Shouldn’t you tell me before we are just there?’ but now, whenever I am a wee bit late to hit the bell, he says with a smirk, ‘Shouldn’t you ring the bell?’.

The other day I did the ritual absentmindedly while the conductor was standing right in front of the bell. He said, ‘Haha! So now, it’s become your duty?’ May be I am imagining stuff but I think it was meant to be a statement (a fact, actually) and not a question.

So, finally I have found my alternative career option. It may not be a very exciting one but at least I know I am good at it. I mean, I’ve even got the conductors consent! And one thing’s for sure. When and if I become a conductor, I’ll ensure that I am the only passive-passenger-became-active-conductor case. That is, I will never neglect my duties like the conductor I talked about did. Amen.

Birthday Babe

2009-08-07T10:24:00.000-07:00

‘And in the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.’
-Abraham Lincoln

And when I came across that quote I felt better.
I just added another year to my life today and the fact that I am not twenty anymore was hard to digest. For a girl who feels fifteen (and is sure that she will feel the same when she is 80) it did not come as the best of news.
But when I looked at the brighter side, (which became visible only after I saw the quote and few other things which I’ll explain without much ado) turning twenty-one seemed wonderful after all. If it’s the life in the years that count, then I have plenty! And today, I was just feeling too, too, too full of life.
My day began (at 12.00 am) with my sis wishing me a very happy birthday and sheepishly handing me the earrings she had bought for me (I could smell a gift in the air but she poorly kept pretending that there was none.) Then came calls and texts from my friends one by one. I drifted into a very pleasant sleep at around 12.30 am and woke up at 6.30. Dressed up to look like the birthday girl , over-doing what ever make-up I do on all other days, I set off for work in high spirits.
My colleagues wished me a very happy birthday as soon as they came in (I am usually the first one to reach office) and that just made my day. Had a few assignments to complete at work, which we did and the four of us (the cuppa copy mates) sneaked out of office one hour before time.
We bought a few goodies on the way and set off to my colleague’s house which is very close to our office. The sneaking out session was done in batches as we did not want people to notice that the creative department was completely empty. So Lekshmi and I set out first, bought the snacks and went to her apartment. There we waited for the other two copy-team girls, one of whom was attending an important client meeting and the other stuck up at the office with some work.
We set out the table and waited for them to arrive and it felt oddly good to give surprises (such as a beautifully set table) rather than receiving them as is common on one’s birthday. The client-meeting lady arrived first and we hid her in the room hoping to pull a lame surprise on the last lady to arrive.
And when she finally arrived I began giving my badly practiced speech about our fourth team mate being late and stuff, and tried looking morose. She looked up at me and said with a straight face, ‘I saw her shoes outside.’
A sheepish grin from me, shrill laughter from Lekshmi and my hidden friend, put an end to a bad skit put up by us and we moved on to the ceremonious cake cutting. Took photos, gossiped, discussed the client meeting that went well, gorged the yummy eatables, opened gifts and had a ball (in a nutshell, that is).
All in all, this birthday was great. I guess everything in life comes with a flip side. If getting a year older every year, only adds more life to your years, I really wouldn’t mind having two in a year! Er…kidding about the two-in-a-year part, ok? ;)

Ok, now all of you can wish me a very happy birthday! :)

One Trrrrringgg and I Shrink....

2009-07-25T08:35:00.000-07:00

Trrring…trrring…

Trrrring…trring…..

Every time I hear the phone (landline) going into a cry of trring trring’s I run as far as possible. I don’t know if it’s a disorder or something closely related…but I hate picking up the phone. I wish I could say something different, but like all my earlier posts, I am going to tell you that it was not always so. The reason for my phone-ring-phobic-nature is ready…

My sister and I were watching TV. We were watching some stupid black n white, running around the trees nonsense, just for the fun of laughing at it when suddenly the phone started ringing. My sister switched off the TV and declared that she was going to take her siesta. Oh yes, she has phone-picking-phobia from long since. I had not recovered fully from laughing at the nonsense when I picked up the phone and said Hello. It was the washing machine repair guy and he was asking directions to our home. My laughter started leaving me as I considered the Herculean task ahead of me….

Him: So how do I get there?

Me: Mmm…You are coming via Tripunithura…? (I start sweating, I was never good at giving directions)

Him: Hmm…yeah

Me: Ok…So as you near Toc-h residential school you will see a….

Enter my sister who starts doing a funny jig and says..”Haha! Running around the trees” and does the act herself with all the right facial expressions…

Me: Haha…er…hahahaha….come straight and hahahaaa….

I hold the phone away from my ear and tell her through muffled laughter …”get lost…haha…” I try to put on a straight face and tell her. “I am telling directions…Don’t do this…(giggle) I bring back the phone to my ear…

Him: What?? (Sounding really irritated now)

Me: I…mm…after passing the school, take the road that turns (I turn around on my chair and spread out my hands to know if it’s right or left)…mm….right….

My sister sees my direction-determining-drill and sets off on another round of giggles….

Him: What? Can you please tell me properly (His temper bordering on insanely-angry now…)

Me: Giggle…Hahahaahaha….Sorry, one sec….

I hold the phone away again and tell my sis…”Podi! Po! Hahaha….what are you doing? He is hahahahaa…..angry….”

Him: Aale kali aakkuvano? Vere aarum ille avide? (Are you making fun of me? Is there no one else at home?)

Me: mm…sorry…

One look at my sis and again I go ‘Hahahaahhahahaha……’

My mother who was taking a nap enters at this point…She sees me laughing into the phone and asks my sister, “Who is she talking to?”

She tells her. My mother stares at me, a stare which says, ‘you have finally lost it. Lost it all!’ and snatches the phone from me.

She tells him the way properly and slams down the phone. He must have slammed it harder. She gives me one icy glare and a lecture on telephone etiquette. I try hard to stifle my laughter but in vain. Finally my mother says, “Sherikkum vattayi alle?” (You have lost it, haven’t you?”)

…………………………………………………………………………………………

The repair guy comes in half an hour later. I sit solemnly in the drawing room reading a magazine as he enters. He looks at me and looks around again. He moves his shoulders slightly, a gesture you can pass off as a shrug with a ‘ah-whatever’ expression on his face. I let out a giggle and move towards my room. I see him looking at me intently this time, as he moves towards the room the washing machine is kept in. His face looks like that of a detective who has found what he was looking for. He looks at me with some pity, some remorse, his eyes saying – ‘So this is the imbecile I spoke to….’ and he nods to no one in particular….

PS: Btw, you can congratulate me on reaching my 50th post.

PPS: If you do just that or rather only that, then I will know that you have read only the PS.

PPPS: You are smart enough, do I need to say more? ;)

On a high!

2009-06-26T11:45:00.000-07:00

Destiny’s Child

D/O Mrs & Mr Destiny

Seventh Heaven,

Cloud Nine,

Top Floor of the World.

Well, that has been my address for the past few days. Drop in and you would find me wearing rose coloured glasses. Though the reason should have sent me into some sort of mental shock, thankfully, I have successfully maintained my sanity .

I am sure this is going to sound like the heights of blowing my own trumpet but then I feel obliged to share this piece of news with you. After all those long, laborious posts of mine which you read and commented on, I need to give you a reason to smile.

Well, my university results are out and….mm…...I’ve got the second rank!!!!!!!

I couldn't believe my eyes, ears, nose or anything else when I got the news. But there it was!

Ok...So here goes a list. Forgive me for all the corny stuff I am going to write but I mean every single word of it.

Thanks to all my friends who have stood by me through thick and thin, who have believed in me, who have offered me a shoulder to cry on, who have given me a million reasons to smile (and laugh), who have believed in me, more than even I have; and who have told me time and again that I can do it.

Thanks to my parents for their love and support, for never pestering me and for bringing me into this beautiful world; my sister for being my best friend and confidante and for supporting me even when I have been wrong; my pets for keeping me on my toes (thereby giving me some sort of an exercise), for their unconditional love and for never barking back whenever I barked at them.

Thanks to my friends at work for jumping up in joy when I broke the news to them and for making me feel special.

Thanks to you, my blogpals, for reading whatever crap I gave you, for pouring in genuine comments and for encouraging me to write further.

And most importantly, thank you God for all your blessings. I am more YOUR child than destiny’s.

All said and done, pinch me, kick me, punch me or hit me. I still have a feeling that I am dreaming.

PS: My shortest post ever. So the running-short-of-words thing is true after all…..

The smile that refused to vanish...

2009-06-14T04:26:00.000-07:00

It was around 6.20 pm. The bus came honking from a distance. It was a speck on the highway as I got ready to board it by moving ahead an unnecessary two-three steps and adjusting my bag on my shoulder. The bus was still far away but visible on the straight road which would have set a mirage for the passengers of different vehicles, on a hot afternoon.

The bus came to a halt and I boarded it. The conductor, a 40 something guy, smiled at me. I gave him one of my warm smiles. It’s the bus I board everyday, hence the ‘warm’ smile. The bus runs almost empty everyday and that is what I like about it. In other buses, where getting a seat is like winning a battle, in this one, I choose where to sit. In fact, there are so many choices that I get confused.

But that particular day, my choices were few. The bus was not crowded, but all the seats were occupied. The box that lies adjacent to the driver’s seat was the only option. I used to love sitting there when I was a college goer. It was the only seat from where the conductor wouldn’t poke you to get up if a lady with a baby entered the bus. If you sat on those cushioned seats, the conductor would seek you out, solely because you were on the subsidized student ticket. Ah…time flies! Now I am a working woman, and I travel paying the full fare. So naturally, the cushioned seats hold all the lure for me.

Grudgingly, I went over to the box and sat there. The conductor gave me my ticket with a smile which I returned. He went off towards other passengers to get on with his job. And I set off on mine. Watching the scenes that ran by, musing about my day at work, the thought of some long forgotten joke making me smile, and then trying not to burst out laughing with that idea getting clearer, deliberating myself to think of something that would make me stop smiling, worse, laughing like a crazy girl…

It was at this point, while I was trying to think of something that would stop my facial muscles into breaking into a smile, that a big group of chattering kids entered the bus from the stop near Oberon Mall. They would have been around 16-17 years old. The bus was quite crowded now. I did not have to rake my brains for an incident now. The smile was long gone.

The kids were a noisy lot. Six of them came and occupied the place near me. The guys, part of their group, were at the rear end of the bus. A sort of dumb charade progressed between the two ends. Then there was a lot of giggling, hi-five-ing and laughing. There were very few words spoken between them. They were excitedly going over the booty they had bought from the mall. Some where in between I heard words like, “So cute….!”, “He stared…!”, “My hair, how does it..?”

The sentences trailed off but I couldn’t gather much and I was surprised. Considering what a good eavesdropper I am (in the bus that is, my innocent source of entertainment ;)) I was hearing very few words today. I turned to see an aunty making faces at the lot. The kids were truly quite noisy.

“Wait!” I asked myself. Were those kids annoying me? Why should I be? I am just a couple of years older than them anyways. Then what’s my problem? Premature aunty-ing? I was alarmed.

And suddenly I remembered an SMS I had received from one of my friends, which said, “You don’t realize how much you miss your friends until you see a bunch of friends laughing and enjoying.” The point was driven home. I was plainly jealous of those kids who were surrounded by people who made them happy. Who made them giggle and laugh and share hi-fives. As much as I like my work, I miss my friends too. I heard my mind speaking up for me.

The kids got down at a stop and the bus was silent and empty again. My eyes lazily went back to the aunty who had been making faces at those happy kids. Now she was staring at me. An is-this-girl-crazy-too sort of expression played on her face. “What?” I wondered.

I realized i was smiling. The mere thought of my friends had brought back my smile. She did think I was crazy. I tried to monitor my expressions. I went back to my job of thinking something else that would make my smile vanish. All in vain.

A tale of firsts

2009-06-07T08:56:00.000-07:00

Life is a game of firsts. And it’s a truly unpredictable game. You play ‘first-first’ so many times, and don’t learn a thing from it. The next ‘first-time’ is ever so different that even if you learnt a lesson or two from the previous ‘first-times’ it doesn’t help.

A list of my firsts that failed to teach me anything worthwhile except making me expect the unexpected every other ‘first-time’!

My first day at school

Frankly, I don’t remember much about it. I am told that I used to shriek and squeal when my sister left for school, saying I wanted to go too. Reluctantly my parents put me in play school when I was just two and a half years old. The first day, ah yes, as my mother recalls, I was eager to leave. I left in the school van singing in joy, only to come back soaked in tears screaming, “They don’t play there! waaaaaaa…….boo…hooo…..”

My first day at ‘actual’ school

After the play school slip-up, it was time to graduate to kinder garten. This time I knew school was nothing pleasant. If they could teach ABCDEFG…in a sing-song tone in the play school, it would be worse in LKG. I held on to my father’s hand tight and was dragged into the classroom by an evil looking ayah. The harassed look on my father’s face as I was hauled into the room told me that I was not imagining her wickedness. Anyways, I was all prepared to hate school when one little boy seemed to make all the difference…. This takes us, to my first friend…

My first friend

It’s really strange how you become friends with people only to….never even think of them later!!! Yes, that’s exactly what happened with my first childhood friend Ashish. He was my bench mate and we became instant friends. My four year old brain thought that I had found a best friend for life. But alas! We found ourselves in different peer groups within a year! It’s even commendable that I really remember his name since after one year in LKG, I rarely spoke to him again. Some kids we were…

My first day at my new school

I know this is getting really boring with the gaga about my schools. But I need to mention it as it didn’t turn out the way I had expected it to. It happened when I was in class III and that was when I came to Kerala. Though born and brought up in UP my Malayalam was strong enough. Thanks to my parents who spoke nothing but Malayalam at home. So I thought my new classmates could definitely not pick me on that. On the first day, I was subject to scrutinizing looks from my classmates. I had not got my uniform stitched so I was wearing something casual (As if being new was not enough to attract unwanted attention.). Questions were shooted from all directions and I answered them in as few words as possible (I was conscious of making errors). I asked the girl sitting near me, “Ninte per entha?” (What is your name?)

She gasped, “Nee enno?????” (This cant be explained in English! Coz there is no ‘tum’ or ‘aap’ in English. She was gasping at my lack of respect in addressing her as ‘tum’ instead of ‘aap’. I never knew a word as irritating as ‘thaan’ (meaning ‘aap’ in Hindi) existed in Malayalam. Until then that is.)

Gulp. Though I didn’t know about ‘thaan’ I guessed what she getting hyper about.

Smiling sheepishly, I pointed my index finger at her and asked, “Per entha?” (Name?)

My first crush

I was thirteen years old when the movie Kaho Naa Pyaar Hai was released. Every time I saw the title song on TV, I wished I could kick out Amisha Patel from the exotic locale and take her place on the screen. As in not like a movie, but in real! My heart fluttered wildly every time I saw Hrithik Roshan on screen. I begged, bought and borrowed his posters and stuck them on my wall like a crazy fan. I had found my idol…

Ah…nothing lasts forever. He got married a few months later and I tore away all his posters from my room and vowed never to have a crush on a celebrity again! And that one, I have not broken yet. (Smiles proudly…J)

My first job

The opportunity came when I was in my first year at college. My friends and I were too excited. We were told by a senior that we were hostesses at a Builders Forum exhibition and that we were to take care of ICICI’s stall there. She convinced us that it was a pivotal assignment we could be proud of. It was three days work and we would get Rs. 1000. It seemed like a fortune and we grabbed the chance. Once at the stall we realized that we had nothing much to do. We had to put on our best smile and say ‘thank you for visiting the stall’ and that’s it. Not to mention some customers who came in to the stall just because we were at the door! Now we knew why we were there. We were exhibits as much as the things in the stall were! I have never been a ‘hostess’ ever since.

My first part-time job

A good hostess I was not. I realized that well in time and found a job as a content writer (part-time) by the end of my second year. Now what was I expecting this time? I was expecting it to be nice. For once, I surprised myself. I was right! It was truly nice. The workplace, the colleagues, the work I did there, everything. J

My first full-time job

I am just two weeks old at it and I am loving it. But it was not quite what I had expected. After the written test and interview at the place, I somehow felt I wouldn’t fit in. That I would get freaked out. I don’t know what prompted me to feel so, but the feeling was there alright. And I was in for a surprise! The very first day I found that our department head was cool as a cucumber. My colleagues were great and I even found a laughter buddy (laughter buddy, coz we don’t talk to each other, we laugh with each other. Mind you, not laugh ‘at’ each other but ‘with each other! ) which I hadn’t even dreamt of. So, as I said, I am loving it. Pa-ra-pa-pa-Paa……! J

.....................

So, that is my tale of firsts. I know it would have been a lot more interesting if it had stuff such as ‘first love’, ‘first kiss’ and more personal stuff. But some (mind you, ‘some’) of it is yet to happen. ;)

But I won’t be coming up with a list for that. Not just because I enjoy my privacy but also coz I wouldn’t want you traumatized.

Oh come on now, don’t make that face. I’m just kidding! ;)

Destinyschild finally gets her due!!

2009-05-03T05:20:00.000-07:00

I am generally not so bad at giving thank you speeches but this time words fail me. My very good friend, Miss Damsel, thinks I am eligible for the honest weblog award!!!

What more could I ask for?

I love you damsel….:)

But somehow, I don’t quite like the hitch associated with receiving this award. Which is:

In order to 'receive' this award, I must satisfy the following conditions:
LIST 10 HONEST TRUTHS ABOUT MYSELF.

Choose a minimum of seven (7) blogs that you find brilliant in content or design. Or improvise by including bloggers who have no idea who you are because you don’t have seven friends. Show the seven random victims’ names and links and leave a harassing comment informing them that they were prized with Honest Weblog. Well, there’s no prize, but they can keep the nifty icon.

Anyways, I can’t let this award slip by…I have to do it….So I am doing it…

10 honest truths about myself

1) I hate tea and coffee. I used to have a tough time convincing all my aunties that I am quite allergic to the liquids. Once, after a cup of tea, I puked. No one has forced me into drinking tea or coffee ever since.

2) I have many close friends but my ‘bestest’ friend is my sister. She is my best confidante. I have often broken promises of ‘not telling to anyone’ by confiding that in my sister.

3) When I was in class eight, I had a HUGE crush on Hrithik Roshan. My room was full of his posters and cut out’s. I tore away all his pics from my walls the day he got married. I have not had a celebrity crush ever since.

4) I hate going to amusement parks because I have a phobia of rides. My friends make fun of me whenever I refuse to get on a ride. Trust me, I feel like kicking them right on their asses when they do it. I am RIDE PHOBIC!!!

5) And yes, rats scare me like anything too! More than fear, its aversion I guess.

6) I simply adore dogs. I remember having been tagged by Damsel(she never leaves me alone!) on a list of forty things I like and the list was more like “forty things about my pet that I like”. Someone mistook this to be a dog blog too. ;)

7) I am hopelessly addicted to stories with happy endings. But I forget them in a while. Open-ended endings intrigue me and they keep revolving in and around my head for years…

8) Most people mistake me to be the older child of the family. I hate it when at social gatherings aunties ask me, “And what’s your younger sister doing?” Aaargh!!!! And my sis seems to love it. Hmph! Well, who wouldn’t?

9) I wish my cheeks were not so chubby (I love high cheekbones).(Sighs)

10) Finally, I hate to be labeled ‘over mature’. I wonder how some of them think so!!!

And the honest webloggers according to me are…

1) Angel in disguise: You ‘lol’ too much, you leave harassing comments on my blogposts, and you are the world’s greatest nag but I like your blogs for their simplicity. And yes, more often than not, you mention me in your posts. Love you!

2) Damsel: It’s not my fault that you already got this award but you do deserve it twice. I love the way you sprinkle humour to the right degree in each of your posts. And you know something? Every time I read your blog I feel I am reading a piece written by my best friend Blessy. It seems like both of you have a lot in common. Hmm, let’s find out….

3) Remu: The thing I love and hate about your blog is that all your posts are just toooo short! It’s good in the sense that they can’t bore; bad in the sense that sometimes it can look god with a bit more of descriptions. Nevertheless, I love visiting it and leaving naughty, embarrassing comments! ;)

4) Blackblood: Your first blogpost was about ‘ME’ and it was a wonderful privilege indeed! You are a hopeless romantic and all that fiction on your blog albeit mushy, makes for an enjoyable read. BTW, why have you stopped writing?

5) Chef Mithu: I have tried a few recipes from your blog and it’s been a success! Waiting for more yummy recipes…..

6) Wavestakeme: Your posts often strike a chord. They are simple, sweet and relatable. And yes, you are often the first to comment on my posts and you do it religiously. Thanks a bunch for encouraging me!

7) –Xh--: Honestly, I don’t always read your blogs since they are all about bikes (and I ..mm..am not so fond of bikes, (grins) ). But I do visit ‘tales of a lonewolf’ at times. But I am giving you the award for your patience for reading my long, laborious posts and for dropping in comments so sensible and to the point that assure me that you have read the whole post! ;) I know you are away from blogosophere for a while…but do claim your award when you are back! J

Done…and finally I get my award…yayyyyyyyyy!

(Damsel gives away the award to me….applaud please……)

'Dog'matic love

2009-04-22T08:21:00.000-07:00

Those who know me and those who have read a few of my earlier posts will know how much I LOVE dogs. I simply adore them. And that, I tell you, is an understatement. Well, that is what I thought, till this incident took place. Yes, I am coming to it…

I was in Delhi after a wonderful holiday at Andamans and Bangalore, at my cousins’ place. Delhi was the final leg of our three-destination-holiday and so I was all set to have a whale of a time there (Delhi being the last of our destinations, I wanted it to be smashing…I swear by, ‘all’s well that ends well’).

My cousins aged 15 and 19, though adolescents never behave like adolescents. I always wonder how one can be so innocent and so unaffected by the usual teen trauma. All in all, they are quite cool in the sense that they don’t care about their pimples or what one would think if they did ‘this’ or ‘that’.

So naturally, in their presence I turn a 12 year old kid too (just that I do care about my pimples). I suppose their angelic sweetness rubs on to me and I get occupied playing card games, riding a cycle, playing chor sipahi(where you put in chits written ‘raja’ , ‘rani’, ‘chor’, ‘sipahi’) etc.

So this day, the day the incident took place, the day I questioned my love for dogs, I was standing in the verandah of the house when my sister came and gave me a sharp nudge on my back.

“What?” I asked quite irritated. It was 7 in the evening and I was enjoying the twilight.

“Let’s go on a ride?” she said, pointing to the cycle.

“This hour?” I asked

“Ya!” she said with a frown that said ‘what in the world is wrong with this hour?’

“Ok” I said.

“Wait, let me get my sandals”, saying so she went in.

Meanwhile, my 15 year old cousin joined me and asked me to take her on a ride.

“Get on” I told her and we went riding slowly (after all, how much could I speed up, I was not the lone rider on the cycle).

As we rode, I could see adorable little mongrel pups and their parents on the road. I had been seeing these darlings ever since I had arrived at Delhi. And I thought I had made quite a bond with them (dog lover that I am).

But as we passed the ‘cutiepie’ lot, I could feel my cousin’s grip tighten on my shoulder.

“What?” I asked.

“Those dogs are following us” she said. She was evidently panicking.

“Those pups?” I asked her candidly without looking behind.

“No the big one…AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA”

Hearing her scream I turned around in alarm and what did I see?

Those dogs, the parents, were running behind us, barking loudly, showing their canine teeth, all sharp and yellow and dirty!

I paddled as fast as I could and screamed ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA’ at the top of my voice.

My voice combined with that of my cousin’s must have made quite a din in that usually quite area.

I wished someone would come out and save our legs! (I could see my cousin’s legs in the air but I couldn’t do the same). I was almost blurred with fear and almost losing my balancing when I saw a Good Samaritan rushing out of his house screaming... “array un kutton ko roko”

And I was wondering who was going to stop the doggies when suddenly two guys seemed to appear out of nowhere (God sent, I guess). Perhaps I didn’t see them because I was so freaked out, but now I could see them getting ready with a stick. Just as we reached them they threw something on the dogs (stone? Stick? I don’t know) and they finally…oh finally, the dogs gave up their chase. (No ‘chick’s’ legs for dinner tonight! ;) ).

I didn’t even nod thanks to the heroes who saved us. After we were well past those crazy dogs I relaxed a bit. My cousin started giggling ‘the narrow escape’ giggle. It’s contagious, I suppose. Even I started giggling.

We came back home and were greeted by my sister, my father and my cousin (the 19 year old) and I saw that all of them were laughing (except my father, he was simply smiling a smile that was on the verge of bursting into a roar of laughter! Hmph!)

“Hahahahaha…what a piece of yelling that was!” my sister couldn’t stop laughing! How mean! :X

I gave her a cold stare. But my cousin the one who had her legs high up in the air just a few moments ago, joined my sister, laughing (I told you, she is cool).

“What hahaha?” I asked her and she set off once again.

“My god! Sissy, you adore those dogs, don’t you?” My sister asked me. I tell you, she is bestowed with marvelous taunting abilities.

“Oh shut up!” I said and marched into the house.

I told myself that I hated those dogs and that they were mad. It was by Gods grace that they didn’t tear apart our feet.

After all the excitement and my sister’s taunting died down, my cousin, who was with me during that deathly ride came up to me and said,

“Chechi, now I know why the dogs chased us”

“Why?”

“I was eating oats while I was on the cycle”

Of course, those poor little things were hungry and they wanted a bite of the oats, not our legs! And I ‘thought’ they were crazy, said ‘hate you’ in my mind! Oh no!!!!

Yes, I do LOVE dogs. I simply adore them. And that is an understatement. J

Tweeze me, please!

2009-03-23T13:41:00.000-07:00

It’s embarrassing when you don’t get what someone meant. Yes, those instances when someone tells you something and you blink, and then stare, with your mouth slightly open and you finally manage an, “er…sorry, what?” Or worse, “mm…what does that mean?”

But I think it’s just terrible when you are at the other end of the spectrum. That is to say, when you say something and the person on the receiving end goes blink-stare-umm-errrr….!

Don’t agree with me?

Alright, let me tell you an anecdote that might help me get your affirmative nod on this one.

This happened yesterday afternoon, when my friends and I were hanging around college and decided to go shopping. We were looking for a ‘shirt dress’ for my friend and she just wasn’t liking anything. We hopped from shop to shop when finally we passed a posh little, ladies stationery shop. Posh, because it was all mirrors and crystal bowls and pearls. Since we had never been there before, we stepped in.

My friend (the one who couldn’t find the perfect shirt dress), asked the guy who was in the shop, “I want a pair of tweezers”

GUY: Blink- Stare-Err….

My friend repeated, “Tweezers? Do you have it here?”

GUY: Blink again- blink/stare/blink…..(and then, finally…) “er…what?”

I tried helping my friend, “Eyebrow tweezers….do- you- have-it?” I asked him cautiously.

GUY: Blank dumbos kinda stare, and then, “eyebrow, what?”

God! This guy had to be a disaster! He is kidding us of course! C’mon, he has eyebrows on his face, how come he hasn’t feeded the fact into his brain?

I say, one final time, “Eyebrow plucker, do you have that?”

Oh God, no! That blank stare? Uh, not again!

And this time, my other friend (not the one in need of the tweezers or the shirt dress), who starts laughing at all the wrong times, can’t help laughing now. She is almost guffawing and the guy is staring helplessly.

I make faces at her, trying to tell her how rude she is being and my expression-changing-face triggers another set of giggles in her.

Suddenly I feel sorry for the guy. So does my other friend (the one who is not laughing).

She says, “You see we get this thing with which you can pull out hairs, as in, your eyebrows…” My friend is a darling. I was contemplating on walking out with a “Never mind, thank you!” when she made this attempt of making him understand.

And yes, her efforts were bearing results! She gave me a look that said, “Yo! You see, you need to explain things properly. He’s a guy, he might not know, you just need to tell him”

And I returned a look that almost said, “Ya, you are right and I admire your patience! You go girl!”

While we were busy exchanging looks that spoke volumes, the guy came with a white plastic box. He opened it…and what do we see?

Stone studded brooches and hair clips!

I wish someone had taken a photo of our faces at that moment. The photo would have gifted the world a masterpiece that showed human beings wearing an amalgamation of expressions of disbelief, shock, surprise, confusion, bewilderment and even fright, in a span of less than a fraction of a second!

“No, not this…this is….omg!” my friend said. My giggling friend and I wore a face that said almost all that.

I took command of the weirdly awkward situation and said, “This is not what we want. Let’s go elsewhere.”

Before walking out, I looked at the guy who was apparently left there in-charge till the owner came. His face was hot (no, not hot in the sense that he was a hunk, but he was terribly mortified). He gave us a sheepish smile and we bore smiles even more sheepish when we came out of that posh little shop.

While we were wondering what made the guy think brooches and hair clips could pull out hairs (well, on a bad hair day, hair clips can do that…), the guy was probably wondering what eyebrows were and why in the world we needed to pull them out!

So now you know what I meant.

And yes, this reminds me of a scene from the 'forgettable' movie, laaga chunri mein daag, where Rani Mukherjee is a sales girl in a garment shop and a lady customer asks her where the lingerie section is (pronouncing it the way it is, lahn-zhuh-ree) and Rani Mukherjee, blinks-stares-umm’s-err’s and finally says, “laundry, no laundry service here”.

In the movie Rani, is thrown out of the shop after the exasperated customer tells the manager what a nut they have for a sales girl. While I was watching the movie, I had sympathized Rani. But having played the role of the exasperated customer myself, I can now empathize with the plight of the lady customer in the movie, who was snubbed for pronouncing it right! Just like us, who were offered hair clips for asking for tweezers!

Tweeze me out of such situations, please!

PS: We walked into another shop and asked for the tweezers. The girl there, promptly picked out a variety of tweezers. And my friend took one, she thought was the best quality for the cheapest price(that non-existent thing;) ). So, the girl knew! Girls are smarter than boys anyday! Aren't they? ;)

One hot afternoon...

2009-03-09T04:33:00.000-07:00

It was a hot afternoon. So hot, that you wished you were indoors in the quiet luxury of your room with the fan turned to full speed. Standing at the bus stop I wished I was at home reading the book I had left half way through. I wished I could sip a glass of cold lemonade. I wished it would rain. I wished I was in Siberia where the heat would never bother me. I wished for everything that couldn’t be and that should tell you how hot and humid the clime was.

The bus stop was unusually quite that day. There was an elderly man and a middle aged lady and of course, me. No one else. The mongrels that are usually seen lazing on the footpath were also missing. I observed that they had taken refuge from the heat under the parked vehicles. A lone mynah hopped on the road.

A scene out of an Anita Desai story. That is what it seemed like. And I was not enjoying it one bit. There was no sign of a bus and I was getting late. My friends would kill me. I knew it. And the heat only added to my misery.

With my eyes fixed on the road I visualized my knight in shining armour come to my rescue. My knight had to be a bus but I saw no signs of it. Instead I saw an old lady approaching the bus stop.

It was a day of superlatives, I tell you. First the sultry afternoon (the hottest in a long time), then the eerie silence (the quietest silence ever) and now this old lady (the oldest I have probably ever seen). Bent and slouched she came walking with her stick. She came to the bus stop and I took a closer look.

Her face was all wrinkles. But one could tell that she had chubby cheeks long ago. She was tired no doubt, but her eyes carried a twinkle that was hard to miss. Her clothes had seen their best days and I knew she was battling to make ends meet. May be she had kids, may be she did not. I don’t know.

I was busy studying her face that must have been beautiful once upon a time, when she came and stood in front of me and stretched out her hand. I was quite taken aback at this. I knew she was poor but she didn’t look like a beggar. Her face had a dignity that demanded respect. A beggar is the last thing she could be.

I realized I had no coins in my purse. I fidgeted with my bag for a while and before I could shrug my shoulders to tell her “sorry…I have no coins” she moved on to the middle aged lady at the stop.

The lady seemed to look in her purse too and after a few seconds she fished out a coin and placed it on the old lady’s palm. She smiled with gratitude at the lady and turned to cross the road.

The middle aged lady, the elderly man and I watched with interest as she walked to the wayside chapel on the other side of the road. She said a prayer and dropped the coin she had just received, into the donation box at the church. And she walked back the way she had come.

The middle aged lady’s face broke into a smile as she took in the whole scene.

I was still gaping after the dear old lady who had literally begged for God’s sake when my knight in armour finally arrived.

But now I wanted to stand and stare at the Anita Desai-like scene which had just turned beautiful by a simple gesture by the bent, old lady…

Passport to a tan

2009-02-25T04:30:00.000-08:00

The thought had occurred to me long ago but I decided to act when I got a placement offer in this company that required all selected candidates to produce a copy of ‘a valid Indian passport’ at the time of joining.

My other friends who had got selected applied through an agent. I was planning to do the same when my father suggested the idea of online booking. According to him it had two advantages: (1) No extra charges for the agent, just the nominal 1000 bucks will have to be paid. (2) I will not have to hand over my certificates, documents (and blah blah blah) to an agent I don’t even know. So, I complied.

Father did all the needy. He got the forms, filled them, got all my documents ready; put them into different folders so that I won’t have to rummage through the thick files for certificates when they asked me. That’s one great thing about him. You listen to him and he will get everything done for you. So I was actually laughing at the folly of my friends who had made some thousand trips (this literary device is better known as exaggeration) to the agent regarding this matter. Here I was, having everything done for me, without moving a muscle and there they were, running about it.

I was quite looking forward to the day of submitting the form. As I mentioned earlier, I had registered online, so I was told that there would be a separate queue for online applicants. That meant, I did not have to spend long hours in the queue. An uncle I knew told us that he had got his passport a week ago and that the online registration applicants queue was ‘really’ small.

So I set off with my mother (father couldn’t come since he did not have a leave) to the passport office at about 8.30 am. We reached there at 9.30. There was a huge crowd there. I went over to the gate and saw long queues inside. I got disconcerted for a second. Then I thought that was being silly. ‘Of course, online applicants have a separate queue’, I thought.

“What do you want?” I was jolted out of my reverie by this query from the security guard. “Passport” I told him, giving him a what-a-silly-question-you-are-asking kind of look. “Go over there and get your documents filed” he said. ‘Over there’, was a man sitting on a stool under a tree with files colored yellow and red and pink and brown and white. We walked over to him and he took all my documents, scanned them, asked a few silly questions (are you a nursing student? Didn’t he read my degree certificate that said Bachelor of Arts in bold letters? Duh…), and put all of it in a yellow file. He handed it over to me and we started walking off when he suddenly called out, “excuse me, there’s a fee for this!”

I gave him a sheepish smile and hastily added an I-knew-it-but-I-forgot-it look to cover up for my awkwardness. I pulled out two ten rupee notes from my purse and saw his eyes slightly pop out. He smiled at me. Ok, I had just overpaid him for his service of rummaging through my files. Whatever…

We walked over to the guard with renewed confidence and showed him the yellow file. “For whom is the passport” he asked. “Me” I said. “Ok you get in then” and motioned to my mother, “You will have to stay out”.

He then told me join a queue that looked pretty short. I took my place at the end of the queue. I craned my neck to see further. No! The line was not short. It was quite long. Oh shit! There has to be a mistake, I thought. I walked over to the man in uniform (yes, our security guard) and asked him if there was a separate queue for online applicants. “No! Counter 1-8 all in this queue” he said impatiently.

I dragged my feet to the queue once again. I saw my mother standing outside with nothing to do. It was 10.00 am. I looked about and saw that there were several queues there. Probably to different counters. But as the line moved forward at snails pace, I realized that what I thought to be several queues was actually one long queue! It was just like those hose pipes that lie near the garden, all coiled and wound and twisted and turned and you can’t make head or tail of it. It has a starting and an end though. My hand automatically went up to my head and I murmured another ‘oh shit’ as the fact sunk in. I was stuck up in the godforsaken queue for an eternity.

I hated every minute of it. The sultry climate only added to my misery (everyone’s misery in fact). There were several burqua clad women in the line (almost certainly getting prepared for a sojourn in the middle east where there dear hubbies worked) and I was wondering how they stood the heat.

I usually love kids and babies, but that day, I swear, I could have strangled each one that came into sight! There were so many of them around, bawling at the top of their voices, pulling their mother’s saree, crying for this and that and what not! Of course there were loveable ones too. The ones who were lost in their baby musings, laughing to themselves or the one’s who were fast asleep on their mother’s shoulders.

Then there were aunties trying to make conversation. And I am not being mean here. I welcomed the opportunity to talk to anything and everything at that moment (except screeching babies) to keep boredom at bay. We talked for all the time we were in the queue not even bothering to ask the other her name, possibly knowing that we wouldn’t be meeting again.

The queue inched forwarded and it was 12.30 when I reached inside the building! I sent to join the queue at counter four and I went and stood at the back. A guy in a green shirt followed and tried making conversation with me. I would have responded had it been a different day, a different place and a different time. Not when you are completely pissed off! His behaviour was most irksome. He was acting as if we were long lost friends to say the least! I was wondering how I could have him shut his mouth when suddenly the counter closed and the officials went off for lunch. The time was 1. They would resume only at 2. They gave us numbers and we were to stand in the same order at 2.

I went to meet my totally vexed mother who had spent all those hours wandering aimlessly. After a quick lunch we came back to the office and this time mother was let in (it was not crowded anymore).

I took up my position in the queue and the guy was there alright. Chivalrously, he motioned me to stand in front of him (it was not a favour, mind you, it was my place alright!). Again he began yakking and I gave him forced smiles. I lost the energy to say anything, even ‘shut up, will you?’

This time the queue moved quickly. There was a male who was asked to change his queue and I heard him mumbling in a heavy American accent, “oh! Welcome to Indiya..”

I reached the counter at 3.00 pm and submitted my application. I gave the fee and collected the receipt. I came back home and fell on to the bed.

I did save 500 rupees, but my skin was a darker shade of brown when I got home. I should definitely invest that amount to bring it back to the normal brown…

I wonder what my father would say if I tell him this. I am so glad he doesn’t read my blogs! :D

Aimless, jobless, clueless...

2009-02-18T02:15:00.000-08:00

I received this text message from damsel the other day which goes like this:

aeroplane: wright brothers

telephone: alexander graham bell

bulb: thomas elva edison

exams: pata nahi, pakad kar peeto saale ko!

And for a moment I thought, "yes, what a valid point. He should be beaten left and right!"

And on second thought, I found my opinion slightly changed. Afterall, he didn't invent an explosive bomb or something. Right? So then why do we curse these scholars who would have invented this curse(?) I am not sure myself.

I know you guys will think I am a bore to think so noble, but then the fact is that I just dont care! I just read damsels blog, and I gather she cant breathe, she cant pick her nose or dance or yell or whatever. Heck! She is almost suffocating to blog! And I on the contrary, am seeking inspiration from other bloggers to blog about something instead of sitting and skimming through my text books.

And that's exactly what I did, when my updates showed me that damsel has blogged about her seriously ill state of health (:D). And I must say, I was shocked! Here I am not caring one bit about the exams, doing anything and everything except studying, to kill time!

But I do agree with her on one thing. The damned study hols are being dragged for too long. Quite unnecessary, you see. Really! (though I dont care, i repeat ;))

And at the moment I am so jobless, so aimless and so clueless, that I am rambling pointlessly. Wait, I said so much about damsel suffocating and blah blah....is the same happening to me? Why else did I choose to blog about this?

I think, finally, what damsel said..is sinking in...she was right...its a maddening feeling..worse actually...I dot'n know about you damsel, but for me its because I just dont feel like its exam time.

Can I borrow some tension, damsel? I t might just help!

Now dont stare at me like that, I know I have...lost it, finally!

God bless me!

Cleaning woes

2009-02-11T07:29:00.000-08:00

I was all sulks this morning. Reason: My mother asked me to clean my room. It’s not as if I never do it. It’s just that it is such a holy mess that anyone with a sound mind would lose his/her sanity while trying to clear up the clutter.

And I was in no mood to spoil the wonderful romantic feeling I was floating in after watching varanam ayiram yesterday (ooooh surya…ok…all the ooh’s and aah’s for Surya in the next blog). I was still reeling under the impact of that beautiful movie (The Surya impact to be precise) when my mom enforced this stupid task upon me. I almost cursed my study hols which force me to be at home and let mamma take advantage of me!

Nevertheless, a wise girl as I am, I decided it was prudent to go by mother’s word than defy it.

So I set off on that Herculean task. It was truly something. To start with, there were, er…there are, these shelves where I store my books and files and documents and papers and pencils and pens and other such stuff. Then there is an all exclusive shelf for my books. Then another which holds cosmetics, accessories and other odds (thankfully the clothes are all locked away in a cupboard, so I did not have to bother. At least they don’t jump out unless you open it!)

I chose to start with the shelf that holds the books and papers and documents and etc etc. I pulled out a chair and climbed on to it and craned my neck to the topmost shelf, stretched out my hand and pulled out a red paper bag (adorned with cobwebs) and put it down. I started rummaging through it and found that it was the one which contained old greeting cards. It was the same bag, which a few months ago, I had brought to my room from the store room. I had done that because I had found the cards extremely pretty and thought it was such a pity that such lovely things should lie unwanted and not cared for in the store. I cursed myself again. I can be an emotional fool at times. Wait. I am always one.

I was about to trash out the whole bag when one card fell out of it. Mary with baby Jesus in hand, Joseph, the three kings and lambs in a stable. And inside scribbled in pencil: “May this Christmas gift you the happiest eternal movement of your life.

- Love Blessy”

Sure enough, my dear friend Blessy had copied these lines from somewhere (I don’t think fifth grade kids’ use words such as eternal) but she had definitely copied the word ‘moment’ in haste. Hence, the happiest eternal ‘movement’. And that set me smiling. The sulk was long gone and I was enthusiastically going through the cards all over again (I had done the same exercise a few months back). I sat down comfortably, cross legged, on the floor taking in, the beauty of each card, while my mother kept throwing in warning glances into my room.

I guess she realized that I was too much into dusting the cards clean than bringing my room into shape. That is when she walked into the room with a broom and a mop and started gathering all the junk strewn in my room. I was almost done with the cards and decided not to throw away even a single one (even the ones sent by people like ‘Mr Sharma’ and ‘Mr Kherwa’, whom I didn’t even know). I tried putting myself into the people’s shoes who had sent all these cards and imagined how I would feel if I saw them throwing away greetings which I sent them( I told you I am an emotional fool). I rubbished the theory that half the people who had sent all those cards would not even remember us now. I am sure that more than half of them have. But, mm…it doesn’t matter.

And so the cards were freed of the red paper bag and put into a brand new white one and put up safely into the newly speck and clean shelf. J

Mom and I took out old notebooks, pens, instruments boxes (yes, it’s been ages since I last cleaned my room), answer sheets, question papers and ink bottles (imagine!). Out it went into the trash can.

Finally, my room was cleaned. All the books in its place, nice and neat; novels, dictionaries and files in another shelf; pens, pencils and markers in pen stands; accessories, cosmetics and other stationery in their rightful places and fresh new sheets for my bed. Yes, finally it was done! Phew! I wiped my brow and sat down and looked around my room which had just received a make over.

God is great. Just a few hours ago, I was all sulks. And now, I was all smiles. J

Tagged....

2009-01-12T04:08:00.000-08:00

Should I jump into the matter just like that and carry forward the holy tag without much ado or should I give some sort of an intro to the whole matter? I think I should begin with a short prologue (I am not as merciless as the person who started this tag!)

To all those who don’t know what a tag is: I myself have no clear idea about it, but what I gathered from the dear damsel in distress, tells me that it is a sort of a chain that you are not supposed to break. If I tag you (ie mention your blog name in mine as a link and say 'I tag you') then you have to post on your blog what I have in mine. In this case, I have to make a list of 40 things that make me smile (happy/feel good....). This task left to me by a " a talented, dear, writer-friend" of mine (these were the words you wanted me to use, right? :D), threatened to kill me if I broke the tag chain. So here I go....40 things that make my lips break into a happy, contented and cheerful smile....

1. My dear friend damsel's blog posts...she always strikes the right chord and makes me smile and think, 'hey, why didn't I think of it before!' Go visit the damsels blog n you will know what I meant…

2. My weird, whacky and wild dreams that have no connection to reality in any sense. Ok, now you will say dreams are like that. What if I tell you that I dreamt Voldemort peeing in the backyard of our house, last night? er...was that revolting? Honestly, I didn't smile at the memory of the dream, I was guffawing.....n still lol-ing... :D

3. My pet dog Chikku's expression of disbelief after a nap...see for yourself.....

4. The way Chikku folds his ears that gives the impression that he is smiling while he comes running to me wagging his cute little tail wildly...just the thought makes me go 'aawww....'

5. Chikku's inexplicable admiration to my father...he starts jumping up and down with excitement the moment he hears the sound of his car turning the corner.

6. Chikku after a bath! He has this funny way of drying his furry coat by dragging himself on the gate. It looks as if he is pulling a heavy load on his back...I tell you, it is a sight of its kind!

7. Chikku chasing butterflies. He does that with a humble request, his puppy eyes pleading, "Will you play with me?"

8. The way Chikku comes running to us the moment we take his chain. He acts as if being tied is the best thing in the world!

9. How Chikku starts barking and thumping the floor with his soft paws, to be untied, moments after he is tied to his chain!

10. The way he dances around my feet when I come back from college.

11. When he behaves like a spoilt brat…it’s annoying but it’s cute. Especially, when you know very well that its YOU who has made him thus.

12. Heck! Anything and everything about my darling Chikku makes me smile. The way he jumps around, his different barks reserved for different occasions, the way he obediently waits while his plate is being loaded with food and milk, the way he barks at his bowl when the milk is hot (as if barking would scare the milk to cool) and so many more things….

Was that an overdose of ‘I love my pet’ thingy? Yes?
Well…bear with me then…there’s one more ;)

13. When my friends look at Chikku’s pic n go ‘aww’ n ‘achoda’ n ‘cho chweet’ n ‘cutie’……
I am done. Yes, I adore my pet!

14. The song pehla nasha…an all time favourite….

15. The smell of onions being sautéed, smell of chopped ginger, new clothes, the musty smell of old books….

16. The smell of earth during the season’s first shower…

17. Things with the ‘aww factor’: baby bums, baby powder (Johnson & Johnson to be precise)

18. Roadies! Most of the time it leaves me gritting my teeth at the sheer injustice of my favourite contestant’s vote out…but then I just cant sleep without watching that thing!

19. Late night sms’s

20. When you see your friends contesting to be the first to wish you on your bday! And most of the times you get the call well past after 12, coz all of them were trying at once…. :)

21. When your friends call you to enquire why you were absent in class. It makes you feel so wanted and cared for.

22. Amma giving me n my sis her share of chocolates, cakes, whatever it is… Motherly love

23. Small cute things in exciting curio shops like cherubs made out of porcelain…..

24. The movie ‘jab we met’

25. Daniel Radcliffe’s cute smile

26. Books. How could I forget that?

27. When I walk into the library and see the book I had wanted to read for a long time right in front of me…

28. Tastefully done interiors…though I can’t say the same about my room…nevertheless, it’s the best place to be. Er…for me, I mean…

29. The golden aluminium foil wrapped on chocolates...

30. Long drives in the night with amma, acha and anu….

31. Spelling mistakes! Its not that I am ‘miss spelling bee’ but then some mistakes are so terrible that you can only laugh!
There is this small apparel shop in Tripunithura, named Nakshatra, its caption goes like this, “The outsit of your choice”: D

32. Testimonials on my orkut homepage…they are really sweet…especially the one from Blessy….

33. Old greeting cards tucked away at the back of my cupboard….

34. Old photographs where I see one year old myself, two year old myself, three year old…………………………………………………………………..

35. My parents wedding photo album…

36. Something I saw on my back home at little shenoys theatre. Rab ne bana di jodi is the movie being screened their. They have the movie name on their banner and below it is written, ‘SHAROOKHAN’! I laughed all the way back…. :D

37. Itsy bitsy babies’ meaningless gibberish…

38. My friend Anuchi’s remixed versions of ‘pallavattom’ and her favourite ‘aa raathri’…gosh you have to listen to her. She is one capable of putting even Cochin Kalabhavan artists to shame…: p

39. P-Language! How could I forget that? It’s awesome! What I love is the expression of limitless exasperation on the faces of people who can’t make head or tail of what you are speaking….
For PAID lessons, get in touch with me…. ;)

40. Blogging! And the feedback on each post.....Yes, it makes me smile…

So damselji I am done! Now let me pass on the legacy to remu, angel in disguise, chef mithu,and mr blackblood

I don’t give a damn if you have the time for it or not! You better do it! Let me tell you a true incident before you even think of ignoring this. Damsel tagged me on the 1st of January. I did not take it seriously. The next day I was chased by a street dog. The day after it I fell down from a flight of stairs. And the day after that I got caught in a crowed bus and was trampled and stamped on by the people in it and I almost broke my leg.
It might sound like those silly sms’ you receive, but its true. So go carry forward the tag! Hurry!

While Bunking Classes for a Movie…..

2009-01-01T02:35:00.000-08:00

Movie making is an art. I am sure no one will disagree on that. But what if I say that watching movies during college hours is an art? Does any one disagree? Wait! I am not a bore! Nor a nerd! I don't think its a herculean task either. Just that I have had experiences that can completely spoil the fun of watching movies after bunking your classes!

Here are a few things that you need to consider before deciding to bunk your lectures for a movie:

Make up your mind: Once you decide on it, never back off! Backing-off will not only mean that you are uncool, it will also grossly affect your health, especially if your friends are well built.
Don’t put peer pressure on your friends: Never compel your friends to accompany you for a movie. I am telling you, they will either love you for the rest of their lives or they will hate you with all their heart! The former is desirable (they might even plan movie outings later on…) but if you get caught by your professors, they will forget how good the movie was, or how much they enjoyed themselves and blame you for talking them into it.
Don’t go by the reviews: A tough thing to do but then you’ll never make it to the cinema hall if you conduct a market survey on the movie’s ratings! Enjoy it if it’s good and don’t blame anyone if it’s bad! ;)
Always take the majority opinion while deciding on which movie to go: There might be many movies at different theaters and your friends might want to go for ‘Rab ne bana di jodi’ while you wish to watch ‘Ghajini’. Don’t split off in different directions (it spoils the fun) to watch the movie, instead have a poll. If you are not happy with the decision…well...play your best cards, who knows, you might just turn the majority opinion in your favour! ;) (If you succeed then offer a special prayer to the almighty, asking him to see to it that the movie turns out to be good otherwise you are done in!)
To hell with it if you are broke! Finance should never pose a problem to your movie outing. Tickets, popcorns, Pepsi cans and ice creams do require some money. But be happy to lend and sponsor for your friends if they are broke. Always remember the following proverbs ‘Do unto others what you want others do unto you’ and ‘as you sow, so you reap’.
NEVER encourage ninnies to accompany you: By taking them along, you not only run the risk of having them blurt out everything to your class teacher but also of putting up with their morose faces while in the movie hall. They will keep worrying of the outcome of your ‘bunk-adventure’ and will make you want to throttle them.
For heavens sake! Let your parents know: Now don’t give me those scary ‘Ghajini’ looks! Believe me, it’s the best thing to do. In case your professors note your absence in the second session and if they make a fuss about it and if they let your parents know…then...ah then, just try imagining your professors face when your mom tells him, “She went for the movie? Ya, I know…so?”

These are the things you need to remember before actually setting out for the movie. Here is the ‘to-do’ list once you step into the long winding ticket queue.

Always look for familiar faces: Before stepping into the queue look for faces you might know so that you can hand over the ticket money to them. Always look out for faces that are nearer to the counter. Familiar or not!
Be decent: No pushing and shoving. Anyway that is not going to help you get to the front.
Be ready to help: If someone finds your face familiar and wants you to get tickets for them as well, never say no. Remember, as you sow, so you reap.
Tell the ticket counter bhaiiya that you are a group: So that you can get seats close by. It’s really important. You don’t want to end up sitting with a creep, do you?
What next? If you get the tickets, well and good. If you don’t, then never ever make the mistake of going back to your college. It’s not only dangerous but also terribly foolish a thing to do! Go to the nearest mall or coffee shop and sit down to plan a date to see the movie. Don’t do the blunder of going back to your class and have your professors ask you where you disappeared off for an hour.

Once inside the hall

Sit only on your seat: Of course, one can sit only on one seat at a time. I know that. I am talking about the seat number on your ticket. Do it if you don’t wish to be poked out of your seat and the movie, later on.
Look out for tall fellows: Never choose to sit behind a guy or a gal whose height makes you feel inferior. You will helplessly stare at their head and miss out on the movie. I don’t know how you apply the seat number rule here. Give me ideas if you have any!
Go by your instincts: Appearances are not always deceptive. If a group of guys look like they are capable of hooting and shouting and passing funny comments during a movie, sit two rows ahead (if your seat number permits! L ) or else you will be laughing at the most touching and emotional scenes listening to their absurd remarks!
Never sit with your friend who has already seen the movie: You don’t want the story back to front. Do you?
Never sit with your friend who doesnt know the language: Take the risk of sitting with your friend who doesnt know the language if and only if you dont mind your friend nudging you every 5 seconds for a word for word translation.
Don’t let ‘uncle-ish’ guys sit with you: They are not there for the movie. Otherwise why would they choose to sit near you when there are umpteen other seats? Let them grope the ‘darkness’, not you.
Just enjoy: You are there for enjoyment. If the movie is entertaining, rejoice over your perfect choice. But if it’s an utter waste of money, time and all the energy that went into the planning, then… ‘Try’ to laugh it off. Come on it’s not all that difficult. You can always laugh at the stupidity of the plot of the movie.

So that’s it. And yes, avoid the blame game if you get caught or if the movie was bad. You set out on it together, didn’t you? Bearing the consequences is a lot easier when you are a group. Correct me if I am wrong. ;)

Guidance Gurus, keep off!

2008-12-23T04:15:00.001-08:00

Do this, do that! As if they know it all! Hmph!

I wonder why one has to go through it by the end of each academic year. No I am not talking about the ‘pester-you-till-you-die’ syndrome that parents and teachers are afflicted with during exam time. What I am talking about is even worse. You can call it career counseling. I prefer calling it holy crap.

I still remember the first career counseling session I had attended. That was when I was in the 10^th standard. The speaker, I recall, was a hyper active male who spoke animatedly. Had I seen him elsewhere, I would have labeled him an attention seeker. But that day was different. About a 100 pairs of eyes were fixed on this man who was literally running around the hall shouting out the various options we had. Since, the big decision to be made after 10^th is, ‘Science or Commerce’, this man went on about it.

The session was supposed to help us make a decision on the big question (science or commerce?), after weighing the pros and cons of each option but quite the opposite happened. At the end of it all, we were a confused lot. Some of those who had already made up their mind (even before the session) were now having second thoughts. And those who had absolutely no clue were as clueless as before. I wasn’t particularly impressed by the talk, neither was anyone else since it did nothing to solve our case.

But I was not puzzled at all. I knew perfectly well what I wanted to do after my board exams for class 10. Wait. If you are about to call me ambitious and tag me the ‘girl-who-knows-what-she-wants-from-life’, then let me stop you before you think I am as strong willed as Kiran Bedi (ok…if you like some one glamorous, shall I say Parvathy Omanakuttan? ;) ). I knew what to choose since I knew that science and I are born enemies. We never got along well. Math too. Oh how I hated math! And then there was commerce, commerce about which I knew nothing. But it was better than science anyways. So I opted for commerce (ofcourse, it was not the attention-seeking-hyper-active-male who helped me out!)

And then when we were in our 12^th standard we had another set of so called ‘career guru’s’ who were there, solely, to counsel us. This time, it was guy with drooping shoulders, a slight hunch and a paunch to go with it. He looked a dullard. And yes, he proved it. He kept on blabbering about the various options science students had but completely left out the commerce batch. Some of my friends were really upset that he had marginalized the minority and turned a blind eye on us (haha!). I was secretly pleased that he did not open his mouth for the students of commerce. A guy who says, “The students of science have a host of opportunities in engineering and medicine…”(duh…as if we don’t know) can only be a dumbo. Nothing else.

And after 12^th I ended up in the college I am, doing BA(after two years of accounts and economics!) and I don’t regret it one bit. Had I listened to those geeks advice, I would have been done in.

Just when I thought that all this was over, these career guides came into my life again. The person responsible for this was my friend (my best friend, can you imagine?L) who happens to be the brand ambassador of TIME coaching centre (well…kind of…lol).

She said, the TIME people had arranged a career counseling class for undergraduates and it would be nice to attend that. I said yes. Just to make her happy. And wasn’t she happy!

But I was far from happy. When I reached the venue there were just seven people there. Five of them were from my class. And then there were two other guys. The word nerd would describe them best. At least they looked like that. Then there was this speaker who refused to shut his mouth once it got opened. No matter how small his audience was, no matter how bored to death we looked.

At the end of the session he opened the floor to the audience. We could ask anything under the sun, well that’s what he said. (“How many times have you got beaten up for this?” I wished I had the guts to ask).

My friend urged me to ask something since everyone else was quite. I asked for the sake of asking something, “I have got placement in a company. I want to study further as well…er…what would be a better option?”

“Hmm…what do you want to study?” he asked me thoughtfully and I thought he didn’t look all that stupid when he wore a serious look.

“I want to do Mass Comm. Actually I have decided to go for the job, work for maybe, a couple of years, and then pursue my studies.”

“That’s a good decision I must say. See you can do two things. You either go for the job if you think its good enough. Or then…(looking slightly flustered) you study na. Complete your studies then go for the job. (Looking thoughtful again) or else what you have decided is also good. It is a good option.” (Yes…that stupid look was back again)

I gave my scariest look to my friend who found it really funny. Of course, she had reason to laugh. The dumbo weighs all options even a KG student would have thought of and then says, ‘do anything…’ aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!

What do I make of such guidance? LEAVE US ALONE is what I would tell all such guidance gurus. Don’t you dare make a living out of screwing our brains!

Its already a mess and we don’t need any more therapies. Do we?

26/11: Ordeal by Innocence

2008-12-01T07:17:00.000-08:00

There are times when you feel at a loss of words. It’s like a terrible nightmare you had. You are gasping for air, struggling to breathe, battling with your own body to shout or at least let out a soft whimper so that you will be heard. It’s scary. It’s surreal.

On 26th November, 2008, at 9.40 pm Mumbaikars were jolted out of their normal life and pushed into a bizarre mayhem that seemed nightmarish. A nightmare that scarred not just the city but its resilience too. The city that never sleeps, now shall take some time to wake up from its horrendous reality. God knows how long.

26/11 shall go down in Indian history as a black day. A day that shook the country and told the countrymen that no place is safe enough. The images of those four never ending days shall haunt us for days to come and shall serve as reminders to the normlessness in the country.

All that happened on the fateful night seems like a war movie. A gory war film. Gunshots being heard in different wings of the Taj, explosions inside the Trident, people held hostages in Nariman house, people being evacuated, injuries, and bloodshed. Just that this was real. In a movie the number of injured and dead increase within a stipulated time of not more than three hours. Here, there were four long days, four never ending days that saw death and destruction at its gory worst.

It was all a blur till the NSG commandos reached Mumbai 10 hours later. It was then that Mumbai realized that it was raging a war against terror. Till then, it was a pandemonium. The Taj ablaze, with staff, guests and the terrorists inside, the trident where one could hear explosions at different places and Nariman house where innocent lives were trapped: images that can’t be erased from our memory for a long, long time. Live coverage showed us how people were being evacuated, how they moaned the loss of their loved ones who were shot at, mercilessly in front of their own eyes. We saw the majestic Taj go up in flames, we saw wing after wing being demolished, window after window looking like a burning inferno. We saw people hoping against hope for their friends and relatives fenced inside, to return to safety.

Statistics of over 170 dead and over 300 injured tell us how uncertain life in this nation has become. 170, 300: mere numbers. Each one of the 170 dead was an individual with a life of his own, dreams of his own, a family of his own.

Each of the brave men who died fighting for our safety were men of valour and zeal. Hemant Karkare, Ashok Kamte, Vijay Salaskar and Major Sandeep Unnikrishnan gave up their today for our tomorrow. They fought relentlessly giving up every other worry in their life, so that we did not have to give up our peaceful sleep worrying about our wellbeing.

Now that the operation is over and all but one terrorist wiped out, is it remotely sensible to call our country safe? Are we out of the perils of terrorism that are haunting the world? Is our democratic set up strong enough to stand up to terror? Why were the repeated warnings by the intelligence bureau ignored? Why did the government turn a blind eye to the notice sent by the fishing community regarding the freight of RDX? Is there any guarantee that attacks of these kinds won’t happen again? Can the Indian government come out of its petty crib sessions and face reality for once? Are we really shining and a growing power? Can the system do anything to curb the hindrances in the way of our progress?
These are just some of the long list of questions to which public angst demands answers.

The fire at the Taj and the Oberoi-Trident is put out completely. But the incident has ignited a fire in the public that shall blaze for some time. It will take more than hollow reassurances and monetary help to stifle that fire. The answers that we seek affect our lives and our lives are too precious to be lost because of our inept politicians.

I would say, we have been done in by incompetent politicians and not by terrorists. We are done in by the lack of order in the system and not by the well planned terrorists. We are done in by the sheer negligence of our politicians and not by the far sighted terrorists. We are done in by what the terrorists have and our leaders’ lack: the do or die attitude.

Shame on the government for not being able to protect its system. Shame on the government for killing our tried and tested spirit. Shame on the government for exploiting the nation’s fortitude. Shame on the government for everything that it does and everything it doesn’t.

It’s appalling to see our politicians trying to get political mileage out of this mishap. News reports tell us how banners have been put up in Mumbai, in the honour of the jawans who sacrificed themselves in this encounter, followed by the logo of a political party. Our honourable Ministers attend the funeral functions of these jawans not because of genuine concern but because ‘minister xyz’ of party’abc’ is present there. How can he not be there as well? This is not just inexplicably disgusting but a disgrace to the brave jawans too.

These are testing times for the nation and the whole world. The blame game shall never cease and it is not a solution. It would be clichéd to say that the nation must stand united and fight against terrorism. The natural question of ‘how’ arises again and ends up at the bungling politicians we have.

Its one of those times when you don’t know what’s leading to what and you feel like shouting from the rooftops at the top of your voice: “WHAT THE F?”
The question unanswered is whether anyone hears that or not. The ‘blind-eye-deaf-ear-syndrome’ is something our system has not grown out of.

So is the political bashing we see all around going to prove fruitful? Are the forced resignations by Shivraj Patil, RR Patil and Vilasrao Deshmukh going to take us any further? Can our leaders assure us of competent successors in their places? Or is it just another cover up for the unpardonable crimes by the government?
Only time can tell.

But let’s face it. Terrorism is a reality. Let’s come out of the illusion that it’s a delusion. We saw it and we are suffering. Lets not suffer anymore at the hands of these spineless ‘poli-ticks’. Let’s call a spade a spade and demand answers to our questions.

Let’s rubbish the theories our politicians make of the buoyant spirit we Indians possess. Let them know that we won’t endure anymore. Let’s demand security and peace. Let’s not be the silent sufferer’s of the ordeal.

Turning Twenty

2008-10-26T00:02:00.000-07:00

So what does turning twenty imply? The end of teenage? Or is it that from the cusp of being a full blown man/woman, you have graduated into being one yourself? Hmm…but it definitely means you have just completed your second decade on planet earth. ;)

Why am I talking about it? Well, simple enough…one of my friends turned twenty yesterday (24 hours ago, to be precise) and she had declared the day before, “So…teenage days come to an end”, and it struck us that we were not kiddies any more.
The realization struck my friend harder because I turned 20 a few months ago, and had come to terms with the reality of the situation. She was just taking down the fact while I had already digested it.
And so she held that oh-so-nostalgic look, reminiscing her adolescent attractions, crushes, blah blah… (She claims she hasn’t had any! ;)). But I knew it from the look on her face that she was full of fond memories, romantic or otherwise (I am not sure…).

And when I actually think of it, my adolescent years are also artistically adorned with incidents that bring a sweet smile and sometimes even a hot blush to my face! Not because I have stories of teenage puppy romance, or of few snatched kisses, but because we used to see it in abundance around us (not the ‘kisses’ part). We used to giggle profusely (yeah, the girlish giggle), used to keep count on how many boyfriends the most popular girl in class had, discuss scandalous stories about the school, the teachers etc which seemed to originate from an entity well known to all : ‘hearsay’.

Most of the time we would bet on whether it was true or just a fleshy piece of gossip. And interestingly, each one of us would forget the bet because the next scoop would come up within no time, leaving no room for further discussion on the old topic. Our world used to centre on these things. Thinking about it day in and day out, being an important hobby.

If we used to wonder about relationships in their ‘puppiest’ form (of course, crushes!) then the nerdy population used to cope with the pressure of studies. To beat your friends in this subject and that. Studying hard for that extra point that would place you on a ledge higher that the rest. Though this was one area no one could avoid, there were a lot of people who were well at distance with studies. I was among the naughty and smart lot (ahem…) who was seldom affected by the mischief’s we used to do. In studies, I mean. Never once had I faced my teachers’ wrath on the grounds that my ‘co-curricular’ activities were affecting my work. That’s one thing I am quite proud of.

But when I speak of being a part of mischief’s, let it not mislead your thoughts! I was not a rebel or a hooligan. I was on the safe playing part. My friends and I knew quite well where to draw the line and so successfully kept the blues at bay. I don’t know where the mischief-makers inherit their thick skinned nature. They were never perturbed by the threats of the teachers. And they seldom got caught. That is, those who were full fledged in tomfoolery.
And it used to seem unfair that people like us, who seldom got into serious trouble, were always caught for the slightest of crimes! And how I wished I could take over their uncanny knack of freeing themselves from the toughest of knots. Alas! We just kept wishing. I am still in the process of marveling that enviable art!

So those were the things when we were going on 17. By the time I turned 18 I was at college. And what a vast change it was. Not in us. But the two institutions, school and college. Getting rid of the school uniform, not having to walk about in an assembly line was all good. But I used to miss my school mates. It took a couple of months to fine-tune myself to the new system. And there has been no looking back ever since.

To say that I have enjoyed myself more at college would be unfair to my alma mater. But sometimes the truth is truly unfair! If I had a rocking time at school, at college, we are having a BLAST! In just three years all of us have jelled so well that even the thought of the farewell is agonizing.

We saw each other turning 18, then 19 and now finally 20. And do I see any difference? Ummm…at 18 we were proud of our status as a ‘major’ from that of a ‘minor’. We were still the same old school girls ready to burst into fits of giggles at any opportune moment. We discussed fashion, films, school life and…yea…that’s about it. At 19, the effects of being in an ‘all girls’ college were dominantly visible and we used to discuss articles in the newspaper, mostly related to atrocities on women. Fashion and films were still a hot favourite.
And at 20 I guess, we are more or less the same. We still feel we are 15 and get irritated when someone asks us, “So what are you doing now?” as if they are not sure whether we are students or working women. We are mature enough to understand things but do get unnerved when pestered. And that, I think is a sign of adolescence. And at 20, you are actually supposed to behave like a woman. And often, you just can’t help being the child you are.

And so when my about-to-be-twenty, friend exclaimed, ‘So…teenage days come to an end!’ I asked her, ‘Do you really think so?’
With a wink she asked me, ‘What do you think?’
I gave her one of my impish smiles and told her ‘Well yes, teen years are over. But dullards like us, never seem to grow out of it.’

Yes, when it comes to age, we like to remain static. Now that is what it means to be young-at-heart! ;)

Halla Bol !

2008-10-02T05:59:00.000-07:00

A 25 year old TV journalist dies in what seems like a car accident on Nelson Mandela Road, Delhi, at around 3 in the morning and it is later discovered that she was actually shot in the head. What seemed an accident was probably a well planned murder. We can only keep guessing.
Soumya Viswanathan, yet another name to the long list of murdered women in Delhi. And what does the CM, Madam Sheila Dixit have to say?
“Soumya was being too adventurous!”
I haven’t heard anything half as stupid and ridiculous as this in a long, long time. What exactly did the CM mean by ‘adventurous’? It was Soumya’s sense of duty that kept her at work for all those long hours at office. Her dedication to her work keeps her there till the wee hours of the morning and the CM dismisses it as her audacity! Can anyone get more preposterous than this?
The CM’s blatant remark has rightly aroused a furore in the country. How can a Chief Minister, elected twice consecutively, and that too a woman speak like this? We have heard of male chauvinists. Is Madam Dixit, marking the rise of a new variety female chauvinists? What else can explain her insensitive statement to such a sensitive issue? It was least expected from her, who should know very well what it is like, to be a working woman.
Her downright disgusting remark definitely reveals something about the pathetic state of affairs. The government is undeniably turning a blind eye and a deaf ear to the present circumstances. They who travel in a bullet proofed car with a hundred cars in front and behind, would never realize that the only thing that keeps common people safe on the unsafe roads are the prayers of their loved ones. We don’t have black cats following us around with guns to shoot any predator that might jump in front of us. Neither do we have hundreds at our beck and call.
We are not asking for black cats, neither do we want cars following us for our safety. All we want is a safe place to live in. Is that too much to ask for? I think yes. It is too much to ask for. Madam Sheila Dixit couldn’t even lend a kind word to the demised Soumya, let alone a safer Delhi.
And it’s not just Delhi; it’s the same in every part of the country. No place is safe for women anymore. Everyday you wake up to read the gruesome murder and rape stories of women both working and non-working. What guarantee do you have that it won’t be you next? How sure can you be about your security when you venture out for work? And it has absolutely nothing to do with the time of the day. Things have happened in broad day light too. And what have the authorities done about it? I have heard of night blindness and color blindness, never about ‘day blindness’!
And where does this sightlessness of the people concerned leave us? It leaves us groping in the dark, faltering and uncertain about the future, the next day and the next moment.

Doesn’t the government have any responsibility to its citizens? Aren’t they answerable to what happens to its women folk? Aren’t they accountable for their safety? As a citizen of this country I want an answer to all these questions. Tomorrow, I might be working with a company that works round the clock. I may have to work at odd hours; I may have to be out on my own, I may have to be face risky situations. So what do I do? Lock myself up in a room with rosary beads in my hands? Steal a look through the curtains of the big, bad city and stay indoors to remain protected?
Do we even have the right to speak of women empowerment when our leaders speak of mishaps to women as a result of their sassiness? Which era are we living in by the way? Is 2008, 1500 BC in disguise? I am still not sure.
But I am sure of one thing. The media will make the CM feel sorry for her callous remark on Soumya Visvanathan. Kudos to the team of Headlines Today for having done a full length probe into the matter. I am sure the media will be successful in getting justice done to Soumya and her family members by getting hold of the culprits behind this gruesome act.
You did it for Jessica Lal. You did it for Priyadarshini Mattoo. You did it for Nitish Katara. And I am sure Soumya’s name will soon be added to that list.

PS: You guys might be wondering why I suddenly plunged into a serious issue after all those lighthearted posts on anecdotes from my life. I can explain.
You can’t afford to be frivolous all the time. It’s a big bad world out there and the realization that my fun filled college life is about to end is making me an awakened citizen. The fight for justice might be long and tough. But that shouldn’t make you sit back and see things unfold on their own accord.
Sitting here in the comfort of my home, pampered by my parents, I can only imagine what women working in the metros go through. I can’t do much to change the standoffish attitude of the people liable. But I can definitely write about it and embarrass them in whatever little way I can.
As they say, ‘The pen is mightier than the sword’!
The only difference being that here it is my keyboard and my fingers flying over it!

Conduct-less Conductors

2008-09-28T05:36:00.000-07:00

I don’t know who named conductors hence, or what origin the word ‘conductor’ has. But I am sure of one thing. Whoever coined the term to describe the ‘ticketwalas’ in the buses, was either too sarcastic or a person with one hell of a sense of humour. Come to think of it! The word ‘conduct’ means the demeanor or manner or the behaviour of a person. And I can’t think of any ‘conductor’ having displayed any demeanor or manners till date.

My encounters with the so-called conductors happen twice a day. On the way to college and back. And never once have I seen a conductor conducting himself in a way appropriate to the code of conduuct of humanity. Phew! Too much of conduct? Well, there’s yet to come.

The adventure starts early in the morning when buses are in a hurry to make as many trips as they can (or is it?). And then they have this punching system. A fixed time for each bus to reach a specific stop. That is where the first fight of the day takes shape.
‘Lakshmi’s rival ‘Meenakshi’ who is supposed to come five minutes after ‘Lakshmi’s arrival, might come a minute early. Nothing pisses off ‘Lakshmi’ more than ‘Meenakshi’s’ premature advent. And then it’s up to their conductors to get into a verbal slur of abuses, taunts and even I-will-kill-you threats! (Lakshmi and Meenakshi are buses for your kind information if you are still wondering who these lasses are. Did I just hear a ‘duh’ ?)

This ‘punch’ fight goes on throughout the day which very generously adds to a conductor’s already naturally-grumpy mood. And we the ‘blessed’ category the students are perhaps their favourite means of an emotional outlet or rather emotional outburst. It doesn’t take much. Just a look at the one rupee coin you place in their palms and you have a volcano ready to erupt. Another look at our defensive: The student ticket card, which we hastily produce to shield off their wrath, really gets them going. And all hell breaks loose!
They shout their heads off; give you glares as if the ST card just told them that they are not even worth the penny you just gave them. And the students? Some fight, some stay quiet and some smile…aah…does that soften him up? Well if you choose to fight they will make you realize that a fight is meant for savages and you won’t fight for the rest of your lives. And what if you stay quiet? Well, you will know that silence is silver but speech is golden. Silence will only invite this sort of behaviour again and again. And what if you smile? Seriously, am telling you from my experience. It kinda helps. Really it does. May not be a flirtatious smile (which I have seen many girls doing and they often end up getting a discount on the already discounted student ticket), the sheepish smile that I wear also works. Doesn’t work wonders but makes them lower their voices and the duration of the yells gets considerably shortened. So sport that flirty smile for the best results (Only if you are a girl. I don’t think there are many gay conductors around! ;) ) !

So much of talk about cranky and grouchy conductors…it would be unfair if I don’t mention those hip and cool new age bus conductors. Their clothes speak volumes about them. That tight fitting yellow shirt with a sleeve as short as two inches and those ‘trendy’ jeans with weird hangings and protuberances at the sides and their street smart looks! They don’t care if you pay them half a penny or quarter. They feel hallowed if they can graze their shoulders with you, or rub their palm against yours as they sweep off those coins! They do want you to produce your student ID card and they read it as carefully it is some holy sanctum.
No points for guessing that they are studying your passport sized photograph affixed to it and trying to learn your name and address by heart. They try talking to you and even make friends! Hey, this category is a lot better than the former peevish ones, huh. At least they don’t embarrass you in front of hundred odd people. They only make you blush pink .Or rather they think so. They actually make me cringe with irritation. This is where is use my sheepish grin yet again. Its one heck of a weapon, I am telling you!

So having said this much, does some one think I am way too mean? Well, if yes, then am sorry but these categories are existent. But let me not sound like I am generalizing too much and put in a word or two for the conductors who conduct themselves better than anyone else. They do deserve some praise, since they put up with all kinds of creeps that come into the bus and yet maintain a friendly, smiling face throughout the day. They have no qualms regarding your student and they don’t go fishing for trouble with other bus drivers. Now that’s what I call a good conductor! ;)

Sigh! Like them or hate them, you have to put up with them. After all they give you the ticket to the rest of your day!

Blind date

2008-09-05T12:33:00.000-07:00

Coolhunk24: So wen shall v meet?
Cutiepie: Meet???
Coolhunk24: Yes. Y? What’s rong?
Cutiepie: Er…well…don’t u think its 2 early…?
Coolhunk24: Gosh! Don’t tell me! 7 months of friendship is not enuf kya? Am baffled cutie. Seriously!
Cutiepie: hmm…I dint say 7 months is a short time. Even I want 2 meet you. Ohk…sorry for that reaction…
Coolhunk24: So what shall I assume…r v meeting?
Cutiepie: umm…er..well…
Coolhunk24: come on cutie..u cant do this 2 me…tell me now…
Cutiepie: hmmm…ok….we will meet next week.
Coolhunk: gosh! I don’t believe this….love u cutie…..:)
Cutiepie: lol…don’t get too excited…so where are v meeting…lol..
Coolhunk24: we will meet next Saturday…at marine drive…
Cutiepie: that’s an abstract location…where at marine drive..shall I suggest ?
Coolhunk24: go ahead…
Cutiepie: the new bridge at marine drive..where the maine pyaar kiya song was shot. Be seated on the last bench on the right at sharp 5.30 in the evening…
Coolhunk24: gosh! u r such a professional…tell me …how many chat friends have u met huh??? ;)
Cutiepie: cmon…stop pulling my leg…lol…I was just making things convenient for both of us….u monkey! :D
Coolhunk24: ok madam…ill do wat u said…last bench on the right, ill b there at 5.30. to be on the safer side, lemme add a few more details…
Cutiepie: like..?
Coolhunk24: I will b in a black shirt…ok?
Cutiepie: done.
Coolhunk24: n how will I know u r u? lol…
Cutiepie: I will come to u…no dress code for me..u c ill take time deciding what 2 wear…;)
Coolhunk24: huh! Girls will b girls I guess….
Cutiepie: yeah…boy…girls will b girls…
Coolhunk24: n do come to me…u will know me… but I have no clue what u look like…u never told me u silly girl…so turn away if u don’t like my hairstyle or my shoes or anything else…lol
Cutiepie: haha! I might just do it!
Coolhunk24: the loss will b ur’s in that case…..;)

I read, re-read and re-re-read the saved chat. Gosh! The day had finally arrived! I was to meet my long time chat friend in person! The chat went on for pages…but this excerpt was the one which concerned me…last bench..last side…new bridge..black shirt…coolhunk24…!
I hoped I was not doing anything wrong by agreeing to meet him! What’s the big deal? I am just meeting my FRIEND. Nothing else. There is no harm in that. Can there be?

I wished whatever he had told me about him was true. 5feet 10 inches tall, curly unkempt hair, cool attitude (well, I figured that out from the way he talks), 24 years old (or was he?) etc. He always sounds younger...how can a 24 year old guy talk as much rubbish as a 17 year old girl? Hmm…may be he was my type…er..you know..what I mean by that…

He was very open with me. That is what I felt. I never revealed much about me. Just my age and that I was from kochi. Nothing else. Never told him which school I was in, or where I went shopping, what dad did or how I look like. He had asked me several times. But I never told him. Why should he be bothered anyways? Whether am drop dead gorgeous or ugly like hell. He should only care about our friendship, not my looks. But I guess all boys are the same. As I always say, men…will be men!
He had once offered to show me his pic, but I said no. I did not want it. And more over, if he showed me his, he would definitely force me to show him mine. So I refused to see his, on the grounds that there would be no excitement when we finally meet (if ever!).
And so he had agreed. And I had agreed too to meet him (like a fool? I don’t know…).

I peered at the wall clock in my bedroom. It was 4 pm. After an hour and a half, I would be meeting coolhunk. Oh yes! His name is akki. Am sure it’s not his real name, but he likes to call himself that! Akki sounds cute too…even I like it! He is a northy, settled in kochi. Somewhere in panampilly nagar. Imagine, he gave me such minute details! He is rather dumb, am telling you! But then, a guy has nothing to lose…has he? He wouldn’t give a damn if one fine day I popped up on his doorstep saying, “hi…I am your chat mate!” on the contrary, he would be delighted. His parents might be flattered too, considering that he has told me that they are extremely broad minded. They might just think their son is the most popular thing alive!
And let’s assume I gave him my address and he pops up on my doorstep! My parents might disown me without a second thought!
And as I thought of it, my heart skipped a beat. Just the day before, we had a seminar on safe surfing. It was all about keeping personal things private, ie never reveal yourself. Never meet a person you met on the net, if you don’t know the person in real life etc. I was disconcerted by the thought. But I knew akki. He was civilized enough. He never asked me if I was a virgin or not. That’s reason enough to believe he is decent. Is it not? Only a well brought up person can restrain himself from making that useless (or is it?) query in a chatroom, where anonymity gives you the license to be as savage as you please.
So I kept those thoughts aside, and picked up my favourite black skirt from the closet and teemed it up with a nice lacy white top. I checked my reflection in the mirror. Rimmed my eyes with kohl, picked up the lip gloss and applied it carefully. I stretched out my hand to take the eye shadow from the shelf and pulled it back. I thought against it. It would seem too much. In fact, it might just look cheap. I tied my hair in a pony tail put on my sandals and set out from my apartment. Mom and dad were away to meet a cousin and so I did not have any problems slipping out of the house.
I just had to walk a few steps to get to the place, my apartment faces the sea. That’s precisely why I chose the bridge as the meeting place. I walked towards the bridge. I could almost hear my heart beat. Dhak-dhak-dhakdhakdhak-DHAK…it went!
I reached the place lined with benches. My eyes darted around. And then my eyes saw what they had been looking for. On the last bench on the right a guy in a black shirt sat fiddling with his mobile phone. I couldn’t see him clearly. He was looking around frantically. He must be the one. My heart beats quickened still. I walked towards him. Did he really look like what he described? Gosh! Now I could see him clearly. He had curly hair. Wait, did he? I looked again. Heck it was a wig! He bent down his head to look at his phone and I saw his wig go up revealing some grey hair underneath! He was not the lean mean guy I had thought him to be. He was stout and must have been at least 40 years old! ‘At least’ I said!
He looked up and saw me looking at him. Oh god! He gave me one hell of a grin. I saw a set of broken, dirty teeth peeping out of those thick yucky lips. I turned on my heels and walked as fast as I could. I looked at my watch. It was 5.40. So that was akki! I felt close to tears. All those stories of cyber crime came to me. I felt sick. Thankfully, he had not recognized me. Of course, how can he? When he doesn’t know one thing about me? Thank god for that! I cursed myself for my stupidity. How could I be so impractical? That asshole, moron, mud head fooled me. And I went seeking him. Wow! I have made my parents proud! “Asshole, asshole, asshole”, I muttered as I entered the lift. I know the language is quite colourful hear, but that moron deserves every bit of it. I came on the 6th floor, got out and unlocked the door of my house. I closed it with a bang, rushed to my room and fell on the bed. I dug my face into the pillow and cried, for what seemed like an eternity.
I got up after a while, switched on my PC and logged in to rediffbol and blocked coolhunk24 from my list and removed him from my buddy list. ‘That should take care of you’, I thought. "Akki, eh? His name must probably be 'Poth vasu' or 'Quotation kumaran' !
I dont know how long he waited there. But am sure a lot of girls there would have had the urge to slap him, such was the way he stared. The guy who was probably a thug, or worse a womanizer(without a trace of good looks) was erased from my ‘net’ life for good. I have never logged into any chatroom ever since.

*************************************************************************************
A tall, lean guy wearing a black shirt hurried down the marine drive bridge at 5.50 on a beautiful Saturday evening. He went over to the last bench on the right where a weirdo in a black shirt sat secretly clicking pictures of girls walking by. “Er…excuse me” the lean guy with thick curly hair said. The weirdo looked up.
“Can I sit here please?” he asked.
The psycho obsessed about clandestine photography looked up and muttered something that sounded like the four letter word. He wanted to say it aloud again, but he paused, looked at the group of girls who had just occupied the bench by his side. He happily moved away. He sat on the vacant bench on the opposite side. He could get clearer pictures now.
The handsome young guy sat down on the bench with a sigh and looked at his watch. He was late by 20 minutes.

I love you

2008-08-22T11:54:00.000-07:00

“I love you!”

Sounds great right? Especially if it’s said by some one who means a lot to you. I guess the words have an exemplary musical feel and often evoke an inexplicable, enigmatic emotion somewhere in the depths of the heart. It stirs your heart strings, tugs at your emotions and moves your soul. The person on the receiving end of these words may go through a gamut of sensations. Some may blush all shades of pink (if it is from their lover), some may turn scarlet (if it is from a person they least expected it), some might turn white for a moment and then turn red (if it is from a person they hate) and others may simply feel wonderful without any colorations on their face for they expect to hear it, time and again.

And I never knew uttering these three words was such a task (not that I have never said that, nor do I keep on iterating those words…) until I was made to do so. Yes, someone made me do it. I had never expected to do so. It just happened that way. May be I was destined to do it. And it was a beautiful feeling. I expressed it. It felt like heaven. And before your minds eye sees me kneeling down on one knee with a red rose in hand, in front of a tall, dark and handsome prince charming, let me tell you, your assumptions are wrong. Disappointed? Well...life’s like that! ;) Nothing happens as expected! ;)

So let me cut the crap and tell you who was at the receiving end of those magical words that came from me. It was another training programme we attended at college and there was this session where the speaker, spoke of his childhood. He told us that he was doted upon by his mother who loved him no end. His father, however, was very strict with him. He always scolded him for trivial matters and seldom appreciated the little boy. But if a word of praise came his way, then the boy could be sure that his father was immensely impressed. Even then, the child felt very distant from his father. He loved him (even the father loved the child) but never felt the need to express it.

“Why should I?” he would wonder. “If dad isn’t expressive, why should I be?”

Father and son continued their relationship this way. There was love, but it was tacit. No one was explicit. Neither the father nor the child. The father was never lavish with praises, but fulsome with criticism. The son, on the other hand, was receptive to his friend’s suggestions but never submissive with his father. In spite of all these differences, there was deep love, buried somewhere in the pits of their hearts and it remained forever concealed.

For on the 9th of august, 1981, the son lost his father, and it struck him that he never really conveyed his feelings. There was so much rebellion- it was revealed, there was so much resentment – it was never masked, there was so much frustration- never was it shrouded and love… yes there was some love… or just some of it? Did he really hate his father so much? Could their love erase the bitterness between them? Had he said it once, “father, I love you”, would that have changed the scene?

27 years later, the son feels, “Yes. Had I expressed my love, things would have been different.”

Silence filled the room. Our eyes turned moist. We stared at the speaker, perhaps trying to look for the faintest trace of a tear in his calm eyes. But it was not there. May be he had learned to live with it. But he did not want any of us to ever live with a similar feeling. And that’s precisely why he asked us to release all our bottled up emotions.

“Pick up your phone now, and tell your parents how much you love them. Just say those three words and see the difference it makes.”

“What? Heck, no!” I groaned silently. The story was very moving and touching, agreed. But then calling up your parents and saying, “I love you”, that was embarrassing!
“Gosh! Now how do I pull it off?” “Who will notice it if I don’t do it?”
my doubts vanished the moment the speaker tapped my shoulder and asked me to call them up. “Yes am doing it” I managed and dialed the number.
My mother picked up the phone and I said, “Amma it’s me.”

“Yes what is it Minu?”

“Er…amma, I love you”

“Hmm…what happened” she asked me and I could sense alarm creeping into her voice.

“It’s nothing amma. Just a part of the training session. The speaker asked each one of us to call up and say this to our parents. Acha there?”

“Yes, shall I give him the phone?”

“Er…ok” I managed.

And I heard my dad’s voice on the phone, “hello”

“Acha…” and then I realized that a lump formed in my throat and it started choking me. I could not get the words out. It was a very strange feeling. How I wished I could express myself and get over with it!

“I ove ou...” I managed. Sheesh! Was I on the verge of tears?

“What?” my father asked me.

“I ove you” I said weakly. Gosh! I was crying! And my stupid sobs wouldn’t let me say it properly. I did not want my father to realize that my eyes were streaming and that I was choked with emotions. After all, I am his brave girl!

“What did u say?” he asked again. This time a bit amused.

I put in all my might and forced myself to deliver the line in a way he could decipher it.

“I love you acha.” I said

“I love you too” he said, sounding cheerful and pleased.

“It’s a part of the training acha, he asked us to call you, that’s why…”

“Ok...Ok...Then enjoy the session” and he hung up.

I wiped my tears and looked around. All the girls were in a similar state. Some of them shaking with their sobs, some looking very white, and some, like me…tears in eyes and mind at bliss.
Yes. Bliss. I felt at bliss. I had never said that to my parents though I love them a lot. We share an excellent rapport yet I never told them how much I love them. I never felt the need to.
And the fact that I poured out my heart to them, that all that piled up mountain of love finally got released, gave me so much peace. So much happiness.

And I realized one thing. If you truly love a person, you just can’t find the right words to express your feelings. If your love is true and unconditional, you never think that it’s important to communicate it since you take it for granted. And to put it across in words seems a hell of a task (just like I felt). In love, I firmly believe, actions speak louder than words. It’s not the words that count, but the deeds that make or break the relationship. But some times, our simple words can mean a lot to our loved ones. So go ahead, give expression to your feelings. Tell them, “I love you!”
Kya pata…kal ho na ho... :)

Alls well that ends well

2008-08-16T10:53:00.001-07:00

Some days are destined to be bad. No matter how much you plan and prepare all goes in vain. The second last day of our trip to Hyderabad was one such gem of a day (sarcasm intended)! It began with our trip to Ramoji film city, where nothing is real but never seems virtual or rather , where everything is virtual and yet seems so real!
It was our second visit (since during the first we couldn’t even get in due to some technical problems in there) and we were thrilled beyond words for having confirmed that the technical crisis was over and that the place for open again! So our joy knew no bounds and we were excited beyond measure.
After getting the tickets we lined up for the bus which was to take us to ‘eureka’, the place from where one had to board another bus to get started with the filmy world ride. We got in as soon as the bus came and settled in hoping to really go ‘eureka!’ once we reached ‘eureka’.
And suddenly some one realized that two of our friends were missing and that they were left behind at the entrance. That was blow number one.
We tried calling them but their number was busy. We called again and my friend picked up the phone. I watched my friends facial muscles expand, contract and shrink as my friend (left behind at the entrance) narrated their plight. We waited eagerly for her to hang up and know what had gone wrong. We came to know that they had gone buying snacks for our teacher who had volunteered to stay with a girl in the bus as she was not well. And what was the outcome? Our two friends were left behind! To make matters worse, their tickets were with us! Blow!
But it was not as big a problem as it seemed. We handed over their tickets to the bus driver and told him what had happened. He assured us that they could get into the next bus plying to eureka. That relieved us.
And half an hour later they reached ‘eureka’ with a very sheepish look on their face. After some leg pulling and teasing we headed off to explore the rest of the beautiful place. All of us were awed by the kind of things we saw there. It was my third visit to the place, yet it looked as fresh and as breath taking it had seemed the first time I had been there. The gardens, those real looking hollow buildings, the railway station and air port and London Street were just mind blowing. Our eyes were quite full with the feast they just had had. It was turning out to be a good day. :)
Shopping was the next thing on our agenda and so we left film city a little earlier than planned so that we would literally have ample time to shop till we drop. Our bus stopped near Sujatha high school, a place near abids. We could either go to koti, the local market, or to city centre, a big mall, to do our shopping. I, with a few other friends decided to go to koti, since it would give us a feel of what Hyderabad really is. So we marched in that direction. On the way we went to a small restaurant to get our batteries charged with a quick bite. We had just sat on the chairs there, that some one noticed a plug point on fire! We all alerted the people there and the restaurateurs came running to see what was making us create the din. The fire blazed bigger and brighter and we screamed and ran for our lives, toppling down tables and chairs as we did so. Thankfully, some fellow with presence of mind switched off the main switch and called us back.
We really had a quick bite (as we were quite eager to leave the place that smelled danger). We got into an auto and asked the guy to take us to koti. He went on for some distance and asked us, “koti…where in koti?”
“Er…the main market.” We replied
The guy scratched his head. “kidhar jaana hai?” he enquired again.
And some of my friends started giggling and even guffawing (imagine!) and used their broken hindi trying to explain where exactly we wanted to go. I was genuinely irked as I could see the driver getting unnerved with all the giggling and laughing. That was when I lost it, and asked my friends to stop being silly. I told the driver very sternly where we wanted to go and added that he knew the way better than us, so why keep asking silly questions like, where in koti for shopping!
The truth is (which we discovered), that all drivers in h‘bad are fools. They are either from some other place or they are genuinely foolish that they don’t even know the famous places there. But we managed to reach there and paid off the silly driver.
Being stared at is never a pleasant feeling. Unfortunately, unpleasantness is what awaited us there. We saw stares coming at us from all directions. I suddenly felt like an alien being gaped at. There were all kinds of dirty looking men there. Men with long beards and dirty stubbles. Men who were badly in need of a wash, men with messy hair and stained teeth, men with crooked grins and broken teeth. And men, who seemed deprived of everything! (Well, if you know what I mean......!)
They stared as if you were the first female figure they had seen. Their stares made us feel conscious of ourselves. Stares that made you wonder if they could see through your clothes! And I instantly knew, that we made a big mistake coming there, in search of something that did not exist – the real h’bad!( the real, cool h’bad, is definitely the city! Not this godforsaken place!)
Nevertheless, we set out on our lil expedition hoping to find the best quality at the cheapest price (that non existent thing! ;))
Soon we were bargaining, negotiating trying to crack a good deal, just for the sheer pleasure of it! We bargained for products we had no intentions of buying, made them agree for a price and finally walked off with no reason whatsoever. It was hilarious! Well…not really (they threw daggers at us with their eyes, whenever we did that!)
When we had had enough of the sickening place we decided to go to big bazaar, which would at least be a better place to hang around. So we split into groups of three and got into separate autos. Three of us got in and asked the guy to take us to big bazaar. He had one of the most puzzled faces I have ever seen in my life. He kept scratching his head and he had a very mad look. Seeing his blank face I told him, “its ok, if you don’t know, we will take some other auto if you don’t know” and prepared to get down when we saw an auto with three of our friends leaving.
“Bhaiyya, koi tension nahi, just follow that auto.” And off we went following them. Things were ok for a while, but suddenly we lost track of them and our mad auto wala went his way.
“Bhaiyya, where are you taking us? Why don't you ask some one the way? See, there’s a police man standing over there, please ask him na.”
But he paid no heed to our words. He was lost in his own sweet world and turned the auto to a small path that not just looked indecent but also scary.
“Bhaiyya, stop, stop, just a second, talk, talk, talk on the phone!” I said, and handed him my friend’s phone (she dialed up the girls in the other auto and wanted their driver to instruct ours).
Thankfully, he seemed to have understood the way. He mumbled something under his breath and took us to the right place! Ah! Finally. I let out a sigh of relief and thanked god for having taken care of us!
At big bazaar things were worse. There was a lot of checking before we could actually get into the mall. It took about 20 minutes! The fact that we had to reach Sujatha College at 7.30 pm where our bus was parked was long forgotten in all this mayhem! We went in, got some stuff and it was almost 7 when we left the place. This time we all crammed ourselves into two autos so that even if the driver was a nut, we would have enough people to screw him up!
But this guy was normal (thankfully) and knew his way around. But there was a heavy block all the way and when we reached the bus it was already 7.45!
Our teacher was furious. All other girls reached the bus on time and we were blamed from all directions! Our teacher did not forget to remind us that we had to pay the extra waiting charge for our driver as well. Fortunately, we were not made to do it. To make matters worse, we got involved in a squabble with some classmates who expressed their displeasure and inconvenience in waiting for us. Tempers flew and I felt on the verge of a nerve wreck. Ugh! It was terrible.
We all cooled down after a while and I thanked our stars for having made it to the bus. I thanked god that the crazy autowala did not take us else where. The day was terrible no doubt, with all unfortunate things happening. Yet, at the end of it felt fun.
As it always does. When finally you know that you are safe, those scares seem a quest. And the moment goes down in your head as history, as a memory you will always cherish. May be as something spooky, yet thrilling. This was one such day. Bad at the outset, terrible halfway through and an adventure towards the end. Hmm… alls well that ends well.

One night at the hostel

2008-08-07T07:08:00.001-07:00

If it was god who paid a visit to the call centre executives in Chetan Bhagat’s, ‘one night at the call centre’ (by means of a telephone call), then, it was a ghost who paid us a visit on our first day at the hostel where we were put up during our trip to Hyderabad! I still get a very spooky feeling thinking about that incident which happened a week ago and I still seem to need time to get over it.
We were an excited lot as the twelve of us had managed to grab the largest of the available rooms with 12 beds! It had a balcony from where we could get a nice view of the city and the city life (icing on the cake! ;)). Just what we wanted! And yes, it’s always a pleasure to watch others swim in green pools of envy…lol…yes, our room had envious admirers!
But wait; don’t let my descriptions on the rooms deceive you. It was nothing posh or glossy. A simple room with simple beds and simple bedspreads. Yes, that is what it was. Of course, 12 hot chicks had occupied it now, giving it a class of its own! ;) But other than that it was a plain room with no flourishes whatsoever.
Anyways, it was the best one available and that was reason enough to be happy. And so that night we just couldn’t sleep. After all it was our first sleep over together! And we were in a very playful mood, all set to play pranks or indulge in some harmless mischief. Seven of them fell asleep at the very sight of the bed. That left 5 of us sitting on my bed (at the far end of the room) in a circle, legs crossed, with all lights switched off, a bed spread over our heads and a shining torch in the middle of it. We were talking about scary stories, ghosts and spirits (that endlessly alluring theme) to while away time. It began as a very funny session with all of us creating something you might want to call scary jingles for a c grade horror movie…lol! One of my friends got so seriously involved in the stupid horror jingle composing that she began counting heads singing, “inky pinky ponkey, father had a donkey…”. And she declared, “ok…so the six of us…” another friend cut her short and said, “you idiot! We are five!” another girl sitting next to me counted, “1...2...3...4...5...6…we are six” she said.
“Shut up dumbo. We are five.1…2…3…4…5. Where did u get the sixth one huh?”
The two girls who had counted six looked slightly disconcerted. One of them said, “Seriously yaar, I counted six. There was a sixth person in here. I swear.”
“Oh! Really? Girls, we had a ghost in here it seems….sixth person….duh!” said one, and all of us burst out laughing (I let out a very silly giggle though. Yes, I was scared stiff!).
“Am serious girls. I did count six feet”, she said her voice breaking at places. She swallowed hard. “Enough is enough.” Said one of the sleeping girls(oh! So the idiot was awake all the while…eh?) “Please let us sleep. What nonsense about this ghost thingy? Go to sleep please.” She said slightly disgruntled.
The duo that had felt or rather, seen the unseen presence shifted uncomfortably. They repeated, “how come both of us counted 6?” at that, Esha, the bravest of the lot(er…well…;)) threw the sheet that covered all of us and said, “ see, this is the limit. Please stop ok? You believe in this ghost crap? I don’t believe this!”
Mary, who was one of the girls to have sensed the sixth being in our group spoke, “ its not funny esha. Am scared now. I don’t believe in ghosts or anything. Am just telling you what I saw.” Another gulping voice. This time from me!
I sat up with a start and screeched,” am not sleeping on this bed. I am not!”
“Sssshhh…you are waking the others. And what’s with your bed. Stop being childish.” Said esha.
“You might be happy to know that am not kidding. And I am serious. I want to get my bed swapped with some one else’s. I am not sleeping on this one at any cost. I don’t want to turn around in the night and find a ghost lying next to me.” I said all that very emphatically. I heard a loud guffaw from my friends. Well, I don’t blame them. I must have looked extremely funny!

All the same I was serious. I couldn’t afford to wake up in the middle of the night feeling creepy just because my bed was on the far end of the room. And I kept screeching like a ninny (my screeches were stifled though) to get my point across. My considerate friends (my foot!) gave in to my screeching and one of them volunteered to occupy my bed. I was relieved. Now I had friends on either side (the ghosts can’t reach me! Gotcha!). But I was still feeling very eerie. The fact that two of my friends had counted the sixth presence (with probably their sixth sense) unsettled me. And I was not the only one to feel scared. The two girls who had caught a glimpse of the ghost were also perturbed. My friend gave me her rosary beads and I held it tight. The girl lying next to me grabbed it too, with a meek smile. (Oh! So all are scared. Gosh! Am I the only honest girl of the lot?)
That night I couldn’t sleep for a while but I shut my eyes tight. I don’t remember when I fell asleep but I did not have any nightmares. Maybe the rosary beads kept me alright. But the next morning was terribly embarrassing. The moment I woke up, I heard my friends talking about me and the din I created last night over a silly thing. They were chuckling, laughing and making me feel ashamed of myself. Poor me! All I could manage was a sheepish smile and a lame sentence, “you guys said about the ghost na…?”
I should say the incident did a great deal of harm to my image! I am known to be overly mature and sensible at times but this incident shattered that image. My maturity and sensibility is now considered a façade to hide the child in me! One moment spoiled it all! Sheesh!

But the two girls who apparently saw the spirit still insist that they were not joking. And I know they are not. I get the creeps every time they mention that they saw the “thing” sitting between me and Anu. One of them even said that the ghost was wearing a striped pant…: D!
I know, that’s worth a laugh…but you just can’t seem to laugh when it’s a ghost who’s involved. And then there’s imagination. Gosh! Imagination that runs riot!
“Could it be that someone committed suicide in that room?” “Imagine the body dangling down from the ceiling…it can also be murder…may be the spirit is not at ease. May be it was the rosary that saved us. We were talking about ghosts at that point” “maybe it took it as an invitation...” so on and so forth…
Though any thoughts on that particular night at the hostel stir my imagination, there is one thing that tickles me. The striped pants part! ;)…lol….that is really funny…good enough to tickle anyone…may be the ghosts thought of having a make over! Who doesn’t need one? The white chiffon sari is outdated. Isn’t it? ;)

The compulsive poetess...

2008-07-23T10:27:00.000-07:00

How I wish I could write,
words lovely and bright
that spread delight,
every time I write.

How I wish I could write,
a poem on a kite
which, the moment set on flight,
never fails to delight.

How I wish I could write,
getting the words right,
making it seem like a poem alright,
without bringing upon myself a huge plight!

Sorry folks! If this masterpiece seems to have shocked you, am sorry to say, but this is all I have to offer! If my creative writing professor could put up with this, so can you! And this is not all, there are "bigger n better" masterstrokes straight outta my pen which can make you rethink your take on poems and poets! ;)

Shakespeare am not,
the talent I have not got,
in the middle am caught...
to complete am sorry,
but am compelled to say dot dot dot........!

Does that sound deliberately stupid? Er...well...thats truly deliberate ( you really thought am showing off my prowess as a disastrous poetess???...too bad..huh!). How can I be all that bad? But this is where frustration of not being able to pen down a good poem can take you.

Every time the creative writing teacher asks us to try our hand at poetry, I sink deep into my chair, wishing I could evaporate into nothingness so that I would not have to see those blank stares on my friends faces as soon I presented my "gem"! But alas! that never seems to happen, and am always the "chosen one" to read aloud the blunders, I modestly call poetry! (ohk...u can afford to smirk ;)).

So what do I derive out of this? I am not programmed to write lines which rhyme and make sense at the same time. One at a time, may be yes...but meeting both the criteria together...lol...you must be kidding! :D.....
Just one humble request to my creative writing teacher. Er...ok...one last and final time am trying poetry again.

You say poems are divine,
but prose is just as fine.
If poems are to you, a shine...
prose to me is wine....
and any poem I write
is nothing but a loud whine!

This time, am sure who ever is reading is devastated(:D...sincere apologies...) but that is my state of mind, my friend. I appreciate poems but never seem to be able to write one!

I genuinely hope I am not made to write any more poems like this in class. You better pray for me. Otherwise, you might have to put up with more 'gems' like these, by the compulsive poetess....;)

About being better

2008-07-13T06:21:00.001-07:00

The other day when our teacher told us that we were supposed to attend a seminar, all of us groaned in unison. Our teacher told us that a scientist was going to talk to us. That left us completely nonplussed. Why in the world would a scientist talk to art students like us? What do we have in common afterall? What can he tell us?

Our teacher gave us no more time to think and we were asked to be in the auditorium sharp at 12.30 pm. "Oh no! Isnt that our lunch break...ugh! we'll have to finish it off in half an hour. And then no roaming around. One hour recess spoiled!", we spoke among ourselves. Nevertheless, at sharp 12.30, all assembled in the auditorium and tried occupying the back rows so that we could easily doze off or play hang man, if the lecture turned out to be boring. But to our dismay, the back rows had already been occupied. We were the last to troupe in. So we solemnly took our seats in the front!

Dr T P. Sasikumar arrived a few minutes later and after a welcome speech by one of our teachers whom he knew( the one who organised the whole thing), the mike was thrown to the scientist of the DOS. All I can say is, I did not realize how time flew by.

This man is truly a wonder. He broke the stereotypical image of a scientist I had(like most of us have). He wore perfect clothes, his hair was not unkempt at all, he wore glasses but not those mad looking ones, he was not muddled up about anything and most importantly he did not have the air of a natural scientist(the stereotypical air I spoke about earlier). Who would say his CV extends to some 20 pages, that he is one heck of an intellectual, a genious?

We were in for a surprise! He began very casually, skilfully making an impact at the same time. He established a rapport with the large audience in a few minutes time and spoke with the flair of a born orator. The subject of the seminar was "being better" and the motto of the day, as he said was, "No Problem". He spoke about how life has to be enjoyed to the maximum since its so short. He talked about death so casually, that you could do nothing but laugh. Yes! He made death sound so funny!

He spoke of the various chances that life gives us and how we should make the most of it. "Faith is somethign that you must never lose", he said, "as life always gives you chances. No big deal if you fail your exams. You can write them next year! No big deal if you dont find get a particular job. You can always find another job! No big deal if you are not getting married. If you are married, well, all I can say is that you are trapped. If you are not married, then yes, you have the honour of finding the right one!"

This was the way he made clear his motto, "No Problem!" He said that happiness is what every human being wants. But the truth is that it lies within ourselves. We just have to find it. No one needs to tell you if you are good or bad. You need to know it yourself. What should matter most is one's own satisfaction. Nothing else.

It was truly an experience in itself to listen to a spiritually, intellectually elevated person. I, as a rule resent talks, seminars or classes, where one is told how to live a good life. But this, was truly different. He spoke like one among us and the session turned out to be lively and interesting. We did not even look at our watches while the lecture was going on (let alone dozing off). It was only when he mentioned that the time was 2.15, that we realized that he had kept us engaged for 1 hr and 45 mins. We wished he would never stop and go on speaking....but alas! a scientist is a scientist afterall, with numerous things on his agenda!

I am full of admiration for him after that class and he sure has a huge fan following now! That I dedicated a blog on this should sum up my views on the talk and more improtantly the man who delivered it! :)

Ulterior motives of a teacher...

2008-07-09T11:52:00.000-07:00

Hold on! Dont let the title of this post let your imagination run riot. Its not about any creepy, lusty teacher who is a terror to his/her young adoloscent students, or about a teacher who beats her students black and blue! On the contrary its about two very sweet and innocent looking teachers whose conversation I happened to hear while travelling in the city bus today morning.

I was comfortably seated near the drivers seat, feeling the wind on my face, watching the city, getting ready for the day after waking from its sleep, beginnning to bustle with activity.

As the bus reached Vytilla two ladies got in and one came and sat on the empty seat beside me. The other one stood near us and handed over her hand bag to her friend. One of them was married I knew from the sindoor she was wearing on her forehead, and she must be around 27 years old. The other, however seemed to be unmarried, may be 23 or 24 years old. It was the younger one who sat beside me.

I enjoy sitting alone in the bus sometimes(I mean without friends), looking at the city as it passes by. But today, the moment these two ladies entered the bus I stopped scanning the city with my lazy eyes. I started eavesdropping...(you may not approve of it, but who wants your approval? Their conversation was too interesting to be missed!)

I missed the first part of their conversation as I did not pay any attention to it(It must have been boring. How else could I miss it?) . What grabbed my ears was the older teacher said, " Miss is mad!" Gosh! that interested me. I kept my watchful eyes fixed on the city life buzzing by, while I craned my eardrums to their conversation. And thats how I came to know that they were teachers. Yes, so the conversation went on like this:

younger teacher: " oh yes! Thats so true. Miss asked me yesterday if the setting of the question paper is complete."

older teacher(smirks): "Oh really? lets ask Miss to set one herself in 45 minutes " (smirks again)

younger teacher(genuinely): " May be she is capable of doing that. Am new to this, how can I set one? You tell me chechi."

older teacher(yet another smirk) : "Who told you that she can set one in 45 minutes? She cant do it herself and asks others to do it. How fair is that?"

younger teacher: "hmm...."(trying to deviate away from instigating the elder teacher to say ill about the head mistress(presumably)) " And she also told me how it has to be divided. The marking I mean."

older teacher: "What about it?"

younger teacher: "Oh she was talking about the marking scheme and all...saying that the first few questions have to be easy, then difficult essay questions and average 3 marks questions."

older teacher(I tell you, she has a thing for smirks, she smirked again!!!!) : "Why does she want it like it? I firmly believe that short answer questions must be difficult while the long essay ones have to be easy. How else can the students score? Miss has definitely lost it. Finally!" she said with indignation.

Actually whats with this "miss" thing? I was getting unnerved constantly hearing the same word being spoken. Why say "miss" every bloody time? huh! Why not Madam or Mam once in a while to break the monotony? Ok sorry....I will keep my suggestions to myself and let the story continue. Ooops!..the conversation I mean.......

older teacher continues: "You just wait and watch. Tomorrows staff meeting will be a mess. I have decided to voice my views. You just watch. Iam going to make it clear that things cant go on like this. Really!" (Lips quivering slightly)

younger teacher( Stares at the eler one with a bleak look. Probably picturing the other teacher screeching protest at her eccentric best. She gives the elder teacher one look and gulps. Opens her mouth to say something and closes it again.)

older teacher : "I really dont want my students to score less. What's the use of putting a zero on their paper? They should be given a chance to score."

"How sweet! All this time thought she was some person capable only of complaining and now, she seemed like a miracle in the form of a teacher. She must go down in the guiness book of world records, or atleast the limca book. After all, she seems to be the first teacher in the world who does not derive pleasure from marking all answers zero on an answer sheet. Yes! She must be the first one!"

I soon woke up from my reverie as I heard the latter part of her statement. It was something like this:

" I dont want the students to get a zero. What if they get the zero? Just think. Miss will blame us right? She will say its because we dont teach the students properly right? Nobody will question the dumbheads. We will ahve to bear the brunt for a thing we are not responsible for."

Oh! So that is why you never want your students to score badly? She is not in the least sweet. She wants to save her own ass and hence wants the students to get good marks. How mean! And here I was placing her world records! Hmph! So that was your underhanded motive when you said you want your students to do well! And are you not responsible for your students scoring badly? Why the hell does your "Miss" or your management pay you then? If your students dont do well, then definitley, YOU are to be blamed! I suddenly hated myself for thinking that the lady was sweet! Yuck! What a teacher! What morals will the students get from a self centred person like her? I hate you older teacher!!!

I did not pay attention to the monologue any more(the younger one as I said earlier was a passive listener. She turned more so after the older teachers final statement. The rest of the conversation was all about bitching the "miss" and the management.

I was relieved when the bus neared my college as I had had enough of that bitchy conversation on "miss". As I got down from the bus , I saw the older teacher grabbing her seat next to her junior. And she seemed to be chattering away ceaselessly. I thought of the final statement of the teacher and felt how self centred the teacher was. She was bothered about only one person. Herself. And thats not done.

Thank god am not a teacher. Thank god that I dont even want to be one! Why spoil another generation?

Driving Disasters

2008-07-03T10:45:00.000-07:00

Driving aint easy ! Thats what I would like to tell all aspiring drivers...and am speaking from my own experience(remember...the best teacher??;)) . So am here to tell you all about my driving difficulties/disasters/mishaps(er...yes am exaggerating;))...never mind!
So Ramanath driving school(name changed for security reasons;)) held in store for us lots of surprises! Susy(again name changed;)) , and I were in for a ride! (yes literally!) . When we enrolled for the driving classes we had no clue that driving was going to be so tough!
We had to use our hands, legs, brain, eyes and all our senses to drive that animal on four wheels...hmph! (yeah...it seemed more like an animal, a very wild one too...since it didnt listen to us, didnt obey us, went its way on the road and did what it liked!)
But our driving master thought otherwise...u have to tame this animal...this is what he told us...as you say sir! What other option did we have?
I was at wits end..susy too...what with all that clutch, brake, accelarator, gear, break and the damned steering wheel!!! Gosh! will I ever be able to tame this creature...I wondered...actually am still wondering! sigh!
Everyday I would wake up for the driving classes at 6 dreading our masters scoldings, tauntings etc. Yes, he taunts us big time! Making you realise that you are such a dumbo, such a ninny who shrieks when a lorry passes by(yes i do that..sheesh...), who cant even overtake a vehicle after 20 odd classes...ahem...(am genuinely embarrassed now... :).
But things got better...after evening classes started..after we started off with the "H" , the most crucial thing you had to get cleared to get the godforsaken license!hmph!
Neways...all this might give anyone the impression that am a hopeless loser on the road and that
driving is not my cup of tea...(well definitely it isnt...i dont even drink tea..am so so allergic to it.......:D.....) neither my cup of coffee(since i dont drink coffee too...:D) er...sorry for that pj..but then...whatever...u have to put up with this if u care to read....:p
Whatever...but even I cant deny that am improving by leaps and bounds as days go by. I am finally in control of the "H" and can drive pretty decently at 30-40 kms an hour( no smirks n snorts plz...) !
So thats that, and am waiting impatiently for the d-day, the licensce test day to arrive (impatiently....lol...am terribly good at sarcasm! (smirk!)) so that I can blog on that days unforgettable happenings...(yes am sure its gonna be horribly unforgettable;)!)
Till then... I have my fingers crossed....hoping for the best to happen! :)

The over burdened blogger...wondering who that is? Read on.....

2008-06-12T09:53:00.000-07:00

College has reopened and classes have started in full swing. I have started realizing what my seniors meant when they actually said they were 'busy' or 'screwed up'. The final year has come with a handful of new subjects for us to study, like PR, Enterpreneurial Development, Office Administration, Translation and Business Communication. And of course how could I forget Mass. Comm?
Everything is keeping me so busy, that I have no time for anything(well, now thats an exaggeration...I always find time to browse the net, watch a couple of my fav tv programmes, fight with my sis n play with my pet). And heck! my driving classes...gosh! I seem to be going no where with that...clutch, brake, accelarator, gear, brake and the steering wheel....goodness the steering wheel....GOD!(well I will have to write another blog with detailed descriptions of my driving disasters....)
And then my part time work...phew! But thats one thing I enjoy...thats some time for creativity, thinking over n over, playing with words(my fav game!), and then of course meeting my dear colleagues. :)
And in between all this I hardly find time to blog...n thus the delay to write this one...well I know no one's dying to read my blogs like aamir' or big b's, but then there are a couple of people who do...(am sure my sis is happy that I dont write much these days..or else I make her read all of that...I even go to the extent of blackmailing her...poor thing!;)) Thing is, I miss blogging so much that I feel guilty of not having posted anything for so long a time...
Hope to be more frequent now(to my sis' dismay of course;)) and I hope I find time to adorn my blog n make it bigger and better!
AAmir n Amitabh .....beware...ur blog's gonna face some serious competition from another....jus wait n watch!.......rofl....
I know its stupid....but i just cant help laughing at my own jokes...they r the best...lol....rofl......:D :p :)......

Uncle at 28 !!!!!

2008-05-29T03:08:00.000-07:00

I dont know whats coming into your mind as you see the title of this post, but whats coming to me is the unfortunate...or rather 'uncalled for' incident of that day. It was my neighbour Priya's enagement party. I wont say it was very interesting. And which mallu engagement party is exciting by the way?
Unless you are a close kith or kin of the would be bride or groom, these parties hold in store for you, introductions with a lot of uncles and aunties. Nothing else. Absolutely nothing ! So this was quite the same. Very boring and all that. This engagement was particularly boring. The groom to be was not present! Just imagine! He was in Mumbai, busy with work!(how can he be...i mean its his engagement!). And because of that sissy and me missed an oppurtunity of commenting on his looks, his posture, his style, attitude etc. Damn! Thats the best thing about weddings. The moment you get bored you can start staring at people around. There will be people who rise up to any occasion with their best clothes and right accessories, and we would be all in awe for their thoughtful grooming. And then there would be wardrobe disasters. There would be people looking all excited about the whole affair and then there would be people like us. Bored to death, and trying to find solace in such observations. But this party, had no gorgeous people(ofcourse am not mentioning the two most gorgeous girls on earth....;)), no hunks, no jokers and no over weight aunties draped in silk bubbling with excitement at the sight of the pretty bride! So we had no option but to keep our gaze fixed on to the small pandal on the stage where these ceremonies were going on.
Anyways, it was the grooms mother who was going put the bangles on her hand(they gave the ring to the bride to be, who slipped it into her finger herself..lol). The bride put the bangle too.
And then there was some other ritual too. The girls in-laws to be put some sweet into her mouth.
Honestly I find all these rituals very confusing. A few years back there was no such thing. No shagun ke kangan or shagun ka haar. I dont know when all this started. Probably a result of aping bollywood! Mallu weddings as a rule are very simple and humble. No shor sharaba, no dhoom dhadaka, just the simple thaalikettu, which is the mangalsutra ceremony. And engagement, there used to be no such thing! Good that bollywood has influenced mollyland! Otherwise the 'oh so boring' mallu weddings would have been even more boring!

Whatever, the ceremonies on stage got over. It takes only a couple of minutes. So after the ceremonies got over all the guests let their eyes wander around the hall, gaze shifting from the stage to the persons sitting near them. And we started to talking to aunties with lil kids....er..were they really aunties?...i mean some of them had kids who were not even an year old. So they must be just 25 or 26. I was wondering whether to call them chechi or aunty, when dad suddenly came up with the bride to be's elder brother. I had not seen him earlier, though he was our neighbour(one reason is, he was always away on work, second reason, they are not our immediate neighbours, so we dont see them very often). Whatever, dad came up to us and asked my sis and me, "do you know this uncle?" BLOW! I could see the shock and embarassment on the so called uncles face. He lost his balance for a while I guess and quicky regained his posture. I felt sorry for the 28 year old uncle guy(he looked 28...i assume he is that age, or worse, less!) To reduce the extent of his insult and humiliation I replied, "yes papa. I know this chettan(bhaiyya)". That must have relieved him, atleast to a certain extent. He is not an uncle in our eye!
Sissy n I kept saying the whole day how tactlessly papa had introduced us. And on the way back I asked my father why he had to use the word uncle. He asked me, "was that too much?" and I said,"yes, it was. papa he must be just 28, and you called him uncle?"
"Well", he said,"for me you two are still lil kids, so..."
Oh god! Is all I could manage. Dad probably did not realise that the bhaiyya, christened uncle by him, was now in a daze, wondering whether his youth was drawing to an end and senility was imminent!