Three minutes of Afternoon

#.

2011-12-24T21:46:00.000-08:00

Leeds, United Kingdom, 2007

Three years ago, the night before Christmas, I remember the air being cold and languorous. The city was a ghost town; people had retired home early, last minute shoppers scrambled in and out of the supermarket, the streets were empty and wet. So much for festivity and gaiety, the only thing that seemed to sparkle were the fairy lights strung across the main square. It wasn’t the coldest winter, so to say, but there was something fug about the atmosphere. You know, you could feel that silence penetrate right through your coat and slice into your heart – well, yeah, the sodding scene was such – melodramatic to the hilt.

‘T,’ I said to my flatmate, who was with me at the time, ‘This is bloody depressing.’

She nodded, pulling together her coat and tucking her arm into mine, hoping it would feel warmer. ‘This is sad. It’s not even snowing. We’re supposed to be having a white-freakin’-Christmas.’

Then, we turned around the corner and saw this guy. Everyone had gone home, and there was this guy, wearing a hat, an open guitar case in front of him, singing Dylan's 'Tambourine Man' to an empty street. We stood near him listening to him sing, his voice soft and soulful, filling the intersection near Next with a kind of warmth that I can't quite describe.

T turned to me, and said, 'You know..it just struck me that it's the last Christmas we're spending together.'

We introduced ourselves, dropped a quid and paused when he looked at us. 'Please,' he said, ' would you like to buy a CD?'. T and I looked down, and in his guitar case, he had cut CDs and put them in self-made covers. The Black and White print read 'Jonathan Walker -The Ashville Sessions 2007'. He looked at us smiling, adding softly 'It'll be a real one some day'.

As I stood, trying to make up my mind, T took her wallet and asked him for a CD. It is for you, she said when were home, everytime you listen to it, I know you'll think of this Christmas.

Later that evening, I searched for Jonathan's Myspace profile and sent him a message thanking him for making him for making our Christmas so special. He replied, thanking us for our kind words and wishing us for the year ahead.

It's been three years since I graduated. Three years since I saw T, as she now lives in Italy. Yet, every year, around Christmas time, we still talk about that walk to the city square, and turn on Jonathan's CD to listen to his voice. This year, I learned that Jonathan has gone places with his singing. He sings on the streets of Leeds and Liverpool, and has recorded a live CD. On Youtube, youngsters who've had the chance to say hello have recorded videos of him. To those people who walk that corner by Debenhams or Next, he is now a known face. These days, I figured, they stop to listen.

I wrote on T's wall this morning, asking her if she remembered our last Christmas. Hours later, I got a reply that said, 'How could I forget?'.

A chance encounter with misery

2011-11-29T08:40:00.001-08:00

Weird people have a way of finding me.

This time around, I took a share auto in Madras. It was one of those days; I desperately needed inspiration to get a spot of writing done, and the weather was remarkably kind: a pleasant wind, and rustling leaves and all that. I looked around for a spare seat and sat near a non-chatty kind of girl with no friends (as I always do) just to make sure that I could steer clear of anything eventful. She seemed a good deal like those movie extras who go unnoticed although they've been lurking around somewhere in the background for the whole two hours.

I settled in, called out to the driver to drop me off at Blue Star and took out my phone to text a friend. Suddenly, the girl tapped me on the shoulder. I looked up, wondering if she wanted to shift a bit, and was just about to move when she said ‘I need your phone.’

Erm. Ok, so I couldn’t decide if it was new-age daylight robbery lingo or if she merely wanted to use my phone.

‘Huh?’

‘I need your phone. Please, I need to make only one phone call. I’m from Pondicherry. I'm new here and it’s very urgent’.

You see, there are moments that you are immediately put to this formidable universal test of ethics. Was it alright to refuse someone who looked so earnest? Anyway, as doubtful as I was, I gave in to the pleading after she began to plod my shoulder every now and then in an exceedingly annoying fashion. And there were no means of escape.

I dialled the number she wanted me to, then handed it over to her.

I don't know who she called but I couldn't help overhearing her breathless conversation to the person on the other end. Parts of the conversation sounded off-key; there was mention of a motorcycle, a payment and the police.

I interrupted and asked for my phone. Blue Star was just two stops away. She mumbled a hurried goodbye and gave it back to me, gushing about how thankful she was.

'Sure,' I said, 'Do you have family here?'

'Actually not, but my brother's here'.

'Oh, he works here?'

'No, he's in jail.'

'JAIL? You used my phone to call someone in JAIL?'. I swear, the skies were already looking grey, and my heart was going to pop right out of my chest. Perfectly marvellous, this was. Now all I could think of was one of those crime dramas where my call would be tracked by an office full of spectacled full-suits who spoke in a dull whispers about how I was a possible accomplice in an attack on some famous person I don't care about.

I was perspiring, and it wasn't even hot. 'Well, what's he in jail for?' I dragged on, hoping it wasn't something horrendous.

'Oh, he just stole a bike. I mean, it was a new bike I think that's why he's taking such a hard hit. But it's alright, I just have to pay about seven thousand and he's out'.

'So wait, let me get this straight, your brother steals bikes?'

'Yes. I don't understand why they had to put him in jail though, I mean it was only a bike.'

What do you want them to do? I felt like asking, award him a bronze medal for robbery? I couldn't wait for my stop. Now she was getting terribly chatty, and I wanted to shove her through the window. Finally, we were close to Blue Star. I told her I was getting off, to cut short her conversation.

'Alright,' she went on, 'Thanks for the help'.

Just before I got off, another woman got in, and wedged her way between the both of us. 'So are you a college girl?'. She seemed happy, and was probably getting home from the temple.

'No,' she smiled and nodded politely, 'I'm in the Motorcycle business'. A moment later, they got talking.

Jesus Christ. I got off, and looked at my phone. No, no unknown callers yet.

The sinister logic of combo steal deals

2011-11-13T07:05:00.000-08:00

I tell you, watching a movie in a theatre these days requires an incredible amount of patience. It's not like there aren't spectacular ways to waste time in Bangalore, but you see, when your clock is ticking on a city curfew of 11 PM, you pretty much just settle for whatever crap can entertain you for 2 hours.

After elbowing my way through this insanely long line of visibly excited teenagers and bored families with bawling infants, I found myself staring at the guy at the till.

'Yes, Ma'am'?'

I looked at a bunch of burgers displayed on the side and told him I want one.

'Only a burger?'

I nodded.

'We don't have a burger Ma'am.'

Ok, so like I was blind or something. I pointed to the burgers at the side and asked him what those were. Clearly, slapping him hard wasn't an option. Neither was giving him a pair of bifocals.

'Well, you only get the burger if you order a combo with coke'.

Erm. 'I don't get the logic. Fine, what about all those veggie rolls? Can I have one of those?'

He shook his head. 'No, you can't have one unless you order a combo?'.

So by this time, I had already lost my appetite, save one for an argument. 'Oh so wait. Let me get this straight, I can't order anything on your display unless I opt for a combo with coke'.

'Yes Ma'am'.

After a long debate about marketing math and suppressing the desire to add a few emphatic expletives now and then, I caved in and told him to go ahead with a combo deal. Impatiently, the guy in question took a burger and a roll, shoved both in the microwave (with the plastic), threw over a napkin and pushed it over the counter.

I waited.

Then he looked at me sheepishly and added, 'Erm. We only have large cokes, no regular size'.

Oh, how F****** generous.

If you want Biryani home-delivered, don't dial the municipal trash collector

2011-10-24T09:17:00.000-07:00

Seriously.

Because the last time, we had a get-together and ordered 12 plates of Biryani - and had this delivered to our doorstep.

Lesson learned - Make sure the guy at Home delivery has never worked for a Municipal Corporation before.

Conversation with a random man at the internet centre:

2011-10-05T08:23:00.000-07:00

Random Man - Excuse me, do you work for a software firm?

Me - No, I work for a content syndication firm.

Random Man - So do you work in software?

Me - No, I work with content.

Random Man - So you work in a software firm.

Me - No, I work in a content syndication firm.

Random Man - What kind of software firm is that?

Oh. Sweet. Jesus.

You don’t suppose you have success… and all that excess.

2011-10-04T12:28:00.000-07:00

So I’ve come to learn something about ‘success’ the past week. I’m seriously beginning to doubt that success is but a painful societal obligation. I mean, here we are, spending all of our youth, trying and trying and trying endlessly to simply be good enough. When did good enough become so hard to be? That’s exactly what I found myself thinking when I was sitting near this guy in a bus who had applied to patent some secret software he was developing for a nameless company in the USA.

‘It beats me to think that you’re just 26,’ I told him, a tad let-down that my life seemed like a record chronology of bad choices in comparison, ‘I cannot believe that you are going to patent something. Like Wow.’

‘Well,’ He said, ‘I can’t help it. I guess it’s just that I know I have to make lots of money before I get old’.

‘So how much money do you want to make?’

He looked at me, a confused expression on his face then paused a moment before replying. ‘I don’t know… I mean, just lots I guess’.

‘It’s a simple question. Just how much money do you want to make till you’re satisfied?’

‘I don’t know, I mean, just till I feel really successful I guess’.

It struck me then that he didn’t really feel successful at all. And here I was, thinking about how much he had achieved so young. Upon reflection, I must admit, I wouldn’t know the answer to the question either. How much would I try till I sit back and think that I have enough? Hours after I got home, I couldn't stop dwelling on it. So I found a quiet moment to curl up on the couch near my dad when he was watching late night telly.

'Pa. I'm so sad. I feel like I'm just working and working and working and I’m just not getting anywhere.’

And he said, ‘You’re doing just fine’.

I paused, and thought about what he said for a moment. Actually, I wasn't doing so bad. Heck, I'm only 25. Maybe, that’s the assurance we need from time to time, that we’re all good enough even without the throwing ourselves out there to achieve what other people call success…and all the excess.

The reason why we need stars on the ceiling

2011-09-12T10:30:00.000-07:00

You know, those days when you lie back and stare at the ceiling fan? Well, of course, everyone does. It's in that moment of nothingness, I realized, that each of us really connect with the universe. I mean, it is for that one instant, when we let go, watching the blades whirr in that crazy, ultra-maniacal speed and have our mind completely free of certainty, that we truly live.

Without a care in the world.

Charity and other forms of divine insurance

2011-08-06T01:40:00.000-07:00

As a general open rule, I suppose, it is right to be charitable to those who choose to beg. Typically, it's how the public sees it. No matter how sneaky, or poor, or annoying or sorry they seem, the way you behave with them kind of determines your supposed nature towards humankind. No one ever talks about the guy who handed ten bucks to a roadside con, they all talk about the guy who shoo-ed him away. As was my plight on an eventful Saturday morning trying to find a copy of a Wodehouse omnibus on MG Road.

I had no more than fifty bucks in my wallet. It was one of those days when I was comfort shopping i.e. swiping my card so that I would feel less guilty about destroying my bank balance. I walked down to Mamma Mia on Church Street, bought myself an ice-cream and strolled out. Then, out of nowhere, a gypsy pounced on me (quite literally) and took away the ice-cream. Now, it's not like I wouldn't have given it if she just, you know, asked me for it. But I was surprised to see that everyone around me were looking at me. For a moment, I thought this was because they were as stunned as I was. But no, turns out everyone was hoping that I don't tell her off.

Anyway, as if that didn't annoy me enough, I had to walk an extraordinarily long way to the ATM with absolutely no money in my wallet. As expected, I was destined for worse. There was an old man sitting by corner of the road. All the people before me seemed to drop a coin or two as they walked past, so dutifully I took out my wallet hoping to find out a coin when I got near him. Just that, I stood in front of him for an entire minute searching inside my wallet stuffed with bills and couldn't find anything. I don't know what you'd possibly do, but it was that awkward moment where I had to tell him that I hadn't any money on me.

You see, here's the odd thing about a situation like this. I felt guilty for no fault of mine. I I mean, of course I’m aware of the misfortunes that befall humankind, and have since given thought to doing much towards the greater common good – but this whole universal test isn’t fair.

‘I don’t have any money,’ I told him, apologetically, ‘I thought I had change. I don’t’. It was the truth, and I hoped he would believe me.

I think it was ten seconds of expressionless staring before he stood up, dusted his rags, collected the change in his bowl, walked to the nearby stall and bought himself a cigarette.

I tell you, the next time someone gives me a sermon about the potential karmic returns of charity, I'm going to tell them to sell their soul for a bar of chocolate. Really, it's a shorter ticket to heaven.

Damsel in Denial - The wrong men are right for most women

2011-08-05T21:21:00.000-07:00

Well, I confess my heart has been considerably heavy for the past month. First, I’ve listened to an overload of friends crying over guys-who-have-absolutely-no-shame. Second, I’ve been waking up to wedding invites. The thing about both problems is that it involves forcing a certain amount of spirit and cheer, of which I obviously hadn’t any. In fact, even my sisterly-sermon skills have taken a hit. And I don't mean that in a good way, mind you.

Take this incident last week, for instance. I was right there, sitting at home, minding my own business and all that when an old friend calls for some comfort. It didn't quite occur to me that the the word comfort here actually meant that I would have to employ the 'Listening ear' (popularly known as the 'nod to everything and shut the hell up') tactic instead of 'Sound advice' (otherwise known as 'what you are saying doesn't make sense'). After listening to a fast-paced plot of how the guy in question had destroyed their relationship, had absolutely no sense of respect for her, and was surely dating someone else behind her back, I said, 'Well, this guy is not worth your time.'

My suggestion, it seems, fell on deaf ears. 'The thing is,' she tried to rationalise, 'we've been together to so many years, and it's just unfair. I don't know why I put up with this. I really need to get over this. I bet he's just out there having fun.'

I tried rephrasing the second time. 'This guy isn't worth your time. You know that'. But, I don't think she heard me quite yet.

'I was just thinking about the last time we talked and how he sounded like he wanted to work things out. And now, he just brushed the whole thing off like it doesn't even matter to him. I'm like so so sick of this,' she went on,'I'm never going to talk to him again'.

This time, I switched to 'Listening Ear'. Because I was going to lose my mind if this went on for the next ten minutes. 'You know what, just give him time and he'll come around'.

I might as well have prophesied a miracle. She agreed immediately and hung up. Lesson learned today - never try to give 'Sound advice' when a woman is whining. Especially when she's convinced she's right about the wrong guy.

All that looks the same size..actually isn’t.

2011-06-22T06:16:00.001-07:00

At first, I received this note as change after I paid a bill at a restaurant. Oh well, nothing seemed wrong then.

Later, when I hopped into an auto to go home, I realized that there really was something wrong with the note.. Erm. Oh-my-bloody-God.

I half expected creepy Ashton Kutcher to jump out of a bush right now and scream ‘YOU JUST GOT PUNK’D!’.

The guy who handed this to me, I figured, was quite a crafty one. Muse.

So much for wishing hard that something alien happens...

2011-05-17T10:03:00.000-07:00

My flat got burgled.

Turns out after all that swearing and complaining about my mundane life, the universe decided to intervene. And not in the nice, quasi-peaceful kind of way it is supposed to. The story goes thus: The new guesthouse I had moved into a month ago temporarily didn't really have any problems. It looked straight out of those housing adverts; a little too good to be true. And my room was deservedly the one with the best view and the nicest balcony. Well, obviously, I didn't think twice about grabbing the offer. It felt like the safest place of real estate in the world.

Only when I came home after work to a building of bawling girls, did I have second thoughts. Jewellery, watches, and cash had disappeared into thin air. The strange part? My room was the only one that the thief found uninteresting. Apparently, the poor guy didn’t have a taste for red wine and good books.

My ovaries are feeling rather suicidal and other such problems

2011-04-05T23:36:00.000-07:00

Ok, I've had enough of the Biological clock jokes. I know I turn 25 this year. On a positive note, women in Britain are freezing their eggs, just in case Mr. Right walks in on them really late. Erm. I haven't considered the option but I don't think frozen eggs are going to help my case. First, they freak me out. Second, OK, its just weird.

A friend very sympathetically suggested adoption if I cannot garner the courage to reproduce. But adoption is so another ball-game. I mean, it's like shopping. Part of it is just cruel. It's more like searching for the perfect brand for some people. A lot of people won't admit it, but seriously that's what it is. Look at Angelina Jolie's multicultural baby collection. It's almost as if she wants to establish her own civilization soon. And Madonna. Seriously? Yeah, yeah. Africa is good press. I'm not anti-adoption but of late, I mean, it just sounds a little out-there. I'd love to adopt a cute little baby and not know where it came from or how it did. Now, that's difficult isn't it?

Coming back to the subject of my hyper-sensitive, clinically depressed ovaries. They seem pretty happy being out of work at the moment. They would prefer if no one asked about their well-being. So in case you are one of those who wants to point out that they'd be wheezing by the time I hit 30, trust me, you needn't worry. They are prepared to work overtime. But, really, enough with the questions.

The strangest people inspire me

2011-01-15T22:41:00.001-08:00

It's weird how you can feel like an absolute wipe-out one minute, and like sunny skies soon after. Here's what happened - It was a presumably bad start to another Monday morning; I didn't hear the alarm, for the fourth time that I reset it, and had to run hair un-brushed, buttons undone, all the way uphill to wave down an auto. And if you live in Bangalore, and are accustomed to how autodrivers behave here, you can imagine how long it was before someone actually felt like offering me a ride. Sheesh, seriously. After a twenty minute wait, I got into a rickety old yellow wheezer and looked down at the guy's license plate because it looked so goddamn ancient, and was a bit worried to see that his photograph didn't resemble him one bit.

And near it, I found an old laminated newspaper clipping that read 'Driving in Twilight of Life' - Oh. My. God. This was some famous celebrity auto guy. Amused, I picked it up to read it.

Turns out, Krishna Kamath, the guy whose auto I had got into was one of the oldest auto-drivers in Bangalore. I leaned forward and asked him. 'Bhaiya, yeh aapka interview hai kya? (Is this your interview?'. He nodded and answered shyly, 'Yes. I've been driving for nearly fifty years. I love waking up early everyday and driving my auto.' I asked him if I could shoot a photograph before I paid him off and he agreed.

Some people make late Monday mornings worth the wait.

And at the stroke of twelve on Dec 31st, I was....

2011-01-01T10:25:00.000-08:00

on a bus.

Sounds pathetic doesn't it? But really, that seemed the only way to usher in a year that I know is going to emotionally and physically drain me because I've got to mentally prepare myself to move..again.

And for some reason, as I looked out of that window at empty roads and flickering street lamps, I couldn't help thinking of how much of this year is going to pass by me through windows.

I feel like a sodding lump of lead. Oh well.

Santa probably has Alzheimer's anyway

2010-12-25T10:53:00.000-08:00

The thing about sadness is that it is all-consuming. It exhausts you right to the bone. I mean, I just can't deal with the whole thing. And I think what I hate most about it, is that it never lets you sleep.

I don't know what it is, but everything about Christmas reminds me of impending doom; the mistletoe, the retarded bilingual carols, even all those weird people in Santa costumes handing out lollies. Surprising. This is supposed to be the only super cool pagan ritual worth celebrating since 1 C.E.

Watching Indian news channels could harm your brain - Tried and tested.

2010-11-01T10:20:00.001-07:00

I don't understand why Indian news channels have begun to resemble episodes from corny Indian reality shows. Someone has got to do something about these god-awful news anchors and television journalists. Sagarika Ghose dolls herself up enough to make you want to take a gardening hose and just wash her down, Arnab Goswami is outright obnoxious, Rajdeep Sardesai screams into the camera like the Indian public are hard of hearing, and finally, there is Barkha Dutt, the scum of mainstream Indian news media. Watching her everyday is like watching re-runs of something as lame as Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahut Thi. Also, when she is out of work, I think she's busy searching for anything she can fill air-time with. If you want something minced to bits and served with flavour on air, give Barkha a call and she'd be right there - she pencils everything down, like those waiters who constantly ask you what you'd like to eat and how you'd like it ten thousand times. She makes porn out of events of national importance. Remember the days after the Mumbai attacks when she analysed a curtain for three hours, and then moved on to all that painful rhetoric about the government and how no one is paying attention and how everyone should be really concerned about the world coming to an end this very minute. Really, forget being scared of terrorists, you'd be scared of all that insanity she spews forth. It's like she's on the brink of losing her god-forsaken mind. And all that obsession with 'Breaking news'. Since when did Rakhi Sawant become breaking news? or that calf born with three horns? or superficial Katrina Kaif holidaying in Mexico?

I'm not saying that Indian journalists (including Barkha) are all dumb, but really all that breaking news is destroying my brain. I'm sure they have enough air time to show some of that intelligence that are supposed to have.

1.

2010-08-29T23:58:00.000-07:00

Remember the co-worker I had introduced to you a few entries ago? The attention-seeking, bride-hunting, incorrigible, sociopath who made me wonder if the male race is, by all means, a genetic failure? Yes, TT. That's who this post is about.

Turns out that I wasn't wrong and judgmental about him, after all.

On Monday, a rather depressed friend from the office on the first floor, came to my cubicle and asked for help. 'M, I know you have alot of pets at home. I rescued a squirrel that fell off the tree in my garden, and I have no idea how to save the little fellow.. could you tell me what I could do?'

After an hour of discussing details on how the poor little thing could be saved, he decided to book an appointment with the family vet. 'I don't think vets here are of any good', he said, sympathetically, 'but you're right. I'll give it a shot'.

Later that afternoon, TT who had been sitting in the opposite cubicle came over and asked if we could go to Kairali for lunch. Yes, I said. And hardly a few minutes later, we were speeding down street alleys to the Kairali at Koramangla.

Lunch was an unhurried affair. As on all work days, we did everything we could to stay outside, and keep ourselves from dying of boredom at our desks. But on the other hand, this made it imperative that we found something in common to talk about. And knowing that he'd talk about his bride-hunting, and not wanting to hear about his frantic search for a female slave companion, I stayed quiet. TT and I had nothing in common, except for the fact that we loved prawns and that there was already a plateful of it in front of us, which we were picking at with our forks.

Suddenly, he decided to break the silence, ' I didn't know that you liked squirrels, M'.

I looked up, and stared at his face, wondering if his passionate tone was honest. This was the most humane thing he had said to me in months. 'Well, yeah, I have squirrels at home, other animals too...'

'That's amazing,' he said.

'I didn't know you liked squirrels,' I started to say.

'I love them. But it's difficult. How do you manage to cook them at home?' he asked me.

Need I describe the look on my face?

2.

2010-08-28T23:58:00.000-07:00

Obviously, I ignored him the next day at work. But he moaned and whined all morning about how bored he was, so I asked him if he wanted to have some tea and ice-cream?

'Ice-cream? Are you mad? Do you know I hardly have time to find a wife?'.

Since I had become used to this conversation everyday, I insisted. 'What's wrong with you, TT? I mean, seriously. It's not like there's a shortage of women in Kerala, you know. You'll find someone soon. Anyway what's the deal with this urgency? Why the hurry to find a bride?'

I knew that this did not comfort him. In fact, I couldn't believe I was actually encouraging someone to do something that went against all my principles. But maybe, I thought, 'maybe' people like TT were different - after all, we all long to marry someone someday, settle down and have kids. Maybe some people found love differently, and didn't want to wait all their lives for 'the one'. So, for some strange reason, I found myself brimming with empathy and was willing to listen all day to his constant complaints about marriage.

Just as these thoughts randomly whizzed inside my head, he turned away from his desk and wrote down the details of another profile he had come across on the matrimonial site he had been logging onto everyday. Fair. Slim. Long Hair. Unemployed. Syrian Christian. 24 years old.

I smiled, and sat beside him. 'Why the hurry? Let's go have some tea'.

'No,' he sighed, ' You don't understand. I want to get married soon because I cannot wash plates. I also want someone to iron and wash my clothes everyday. I need someone to sweep the house and wipe the floors too'.

I don't exactly think the feeling that crept inside me was disgust, this time. I mean, it was more the kind of thing they say serial killers feel before they mince their victims with a hacksaw. It surely wasn't anywhere close to disgust - I think it was a crazy, maniacal rage. I was picturing myself impaling him the way they did in those Dracula movies in the early 80's.

'Oh, really. Why not just get domestic help instead', I said, coldly.

'Are you crazy? Why would I want to pay? This is a woman's duty', he explained, irritably.

This is the point in those serial killer movies, that they attack the victim. The minute he said that, I came to realize - that there truly is reason to want to murder someone, right then and there. I didn't say anything though. I guess, at this point, there was nothing I could think of to say. The only words that were at the tip of my tongue were profane, and the only thing I wanted to do was kill him.

After a while, he got up, packed his bag and came over to tell me that he was going to Kodaikanal. I told him to have fun, and asked curiously if he had a matrimonial date with some girl from Palakkad. I was hoping the answer was negative. For some reason, I found myself worrying for the women he had 'shortlisted'.

'Of course, not' he laughed, 'I'm going there because its raining heavily and there are alot of frogs'.

'Huh?'

'Arre.. to eat. I'm staying at the sterling hotel to hunt for frogs. You don't see frogs too often in Bangalore'.

'What? Are you insane? How will you catch frogs?' I felt nauseous.

' Easy. I'm just going to take a rock and smash the ones I find. If they don't die, I'm going to put them in hot water in my room'. With that, he left.

Milana

2010-08-22T02:51:00.000-07:00

Everyone name their children after colours, grandfathers, Gods or Goddesses, but my cousin named her baby after her favourite pizza place.

'Why?' I asked her.

'Everyone's going to think of something lovely like food when they say her name', she smiled.

Weird, I thought. But totally uber cool.

Where are my kids, cars, whores and houses?

2010-08-18T09:23:00.000-07:00

Seriously. What is it with Indian parents? It's almost as if once their kid turns twenty four, all they do is cry. Do they not realize that their children will one day use the grey matter they have been blessed with and rationalize the world around?

My parents and I seem to have swapped lives ever since I grew out of my teens. Now, it isn't me listening to songs from the 60's and moping about how life is unfair and how we are all heading towards nuclear Armageddon, it's my folks. Anything that has ever happened to me over the past five years - boyfriends, breakups, exam scores, jobs, illnesses, weight-loss, graduation - has just made my parents more cynical and upset about how their first daughter is growing up. For them, it would've all been better if I just stayed thirteen, when they could tell me what I was to do and I had to listen. Or it would've been better if they could boast of my exemplary achievements (which there are none).

I think a part of it is some kind of social dilemma - Indians are all about being the best at everything and if they fail at it, their children have to achieve what they couldn't. So in short, your accomplishments aren't really accomplishments unless you have managed to live up to generations of expectations. In India life is a 'Vicious circle of Probability', a kind of fantasy tree that is planted and rarely grows. This is how it goes -

1950 - A man tried his best to become an engineer, but his father didn't let him live his dreams, he goes to option 2. i.e strive hard to make his son become a successful engineer.

1970 - So the son grows up, trying to become an engineer to please his father, but hates it and hates every moment of his life and swears that he's never going to let his children become engineers. His father tells him continuously that he's a failure.

1990 - Now the kids grow up, and are actually interested in engineering, but they take up a creative course because they want to please their father and fail to do so. So they spend the rest of their lives telling their children what decisions to make.

2010 - Kids these days don't listen anymore so they are born failures anyway.

Now all my parents do is point out minor successes of the children of people who hardly mattered in our lives. X has a job at the Bank. Y just gave birth. Z is earning ten times more than I am. They are so caught up in this web of pitting my accomplishments against the children of others, there is nothing I can do to make them think of me as a success - unless of course, I live up to their vision of the first child, and become a disturbed 'Child of Firsts' - the first to own a car, the first to earn the highest, the first to get married, the first to have children and so on.

What I'm trying to tell my parents constantly is that I'm fine, that I'm alright and they don't have to worry. But my mum clearly isn't convinced - ' You are 24 and not married as yet', she says. I'm thinking of a couple of fictitious triumphs to calm her down, but then again, I know this is a never-ending soap opera.

Wait, what is my mum looking up on the yellow pages now? Dear God, I hope there isn't another one of those prophetic cephalopods in my locality.

Waltz for Eva and Che

2010-08-11T02:43:00.000-07:00

Eva -
I don't expect my love affairs to last for long

Never fool myself that my dreams will come true
Being used to travel I anticipate it
But all the same I hate it, wouldn't you?

Chorus:

Eva- So what happens now?
Che - Another suitcase in another hall
Eva - So what happens now?
Che- Take your picture off another wall
Eva- Where am I going to?
Che - You'll get by, you always have before
Eva - Where am I going to?

Time and time again I've said that I don't care
That I'm immune to gloom, that I'm hard through and through
But every time it matters all my words desert me
So anyone can hurt me, and they do

(chorus)

Call in three months time and I'll be fine, I know
Well maybe not that fine, but I'll survive anyhow
I won't recall the names and places of each sad occasion
But that's no consolation here and now.

Huevo - Don't ask anymore.

Movie - Evita (Another Suitcase in Another Hall) - 1996

----------------

They say some songs are a reflection of our lives. This is probably mine.

Matchfixing and reproduction - Indian Marriage for Dummies

2010-08-08T11:41:00.000-07:00

I wish I could tell you that my life is full of nice, out-of-the-world experiences, but it isn't. What I can tell you about, though, is how oh-so-phony life can be sometimes.

Last Thursday, one of my co-workers, TT, walked into office looking rather flustered and annoyed. It was quite an obvious way of telling us that he was angry, and to keep to ourselves. He didn't smile all morning, he didn't plug in his headphones and start humming, he didn't join us for coffee, there were no phone calls, no bathroom interludes - he was behaving the way Indian heroes do when they get dumped before intermission. Was he ill? my other co-workers discussed. A bad date? A death in the family? warts in the wrong area? None of us had seen him that sad.

At four, I was throughly concerned. This wasn't normal, maybe I could help. You know, be the shoulder to lean on (not literally) and all that. Besides, I've always been good at advice -I love to get all Socratic and discuss the ways of the world. So I walked over to his desk, and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. 'Hey, TT, are you ok? Want to get some coffee or something?'.

He turned back and said, 'A thousand girls'.

Ok, obviously the moment he said that I laughed out loud. I mean, come on, that sounded so Kushwanth Singh. 'A thousand girls, TT? what? all of them last night?'.

But turns out it wasn't a joke at all. 'I have to get married in December', he explained, 'and I looked through a thousand photos of girls, but have only shortlisted three. There aren't enough girls in this country. I'm depressed'.

'You looked through pictures of a thousand girls? Like how crazy are you?'. I couldn't help saying that. Come on.

'No, M. I like December, its my favourite month. I have to get married this December. And I cannot find a girl. You don't understand'.

'So? you're like hunting for women online? Isn't that weird? How do you judge them from photographs? How did you just shortlist three?'. I was (by this time) more amused than ever.

Some are fat, he said, others are thin. He wanted someone curvy and intelligent, but not more intelligent than himself. He wanted his bride to be fair, because he was dark. He wanted her to be ambitious, but not enough to make him feel insecure. His woman shouldn't have short hair, should have clear skin, preferably different coloured eyes, should dress traditionally and should be willing to cook him meals and work and take care of his children.

'It's so hard, I have to find the right girl because I want to get a child which looks right, can you help me, M?', he looked at me so earnestly, I felt like slapping his face. What I wanted to say was 'You don't need a wife, you poisonous, psychotic beast. You need therapy'. But I knew that wasn't going to make a difference.

'Well, I'm sorry, Matchfixing isn't really my forte', I said, softly.

'I know, it's so hard. Imagine! A thousand profiles and only three girls worth my time.' he laughed. I couldn't understand which part of this demented, demonic master plan amused him, but obviously, I had to laugh too.

Ha, Ha, he laughed.

Ha, ha, I laughed.

But never before had a joke filled me with such disgust, nausea and dread.

Gone too soon

2010-07-12T12:00:00.000-07:00

Bert. You little heart-breaker you. You didn't say bye. Just so you know, you'll always be my baby.

Forever comes,

in different ways,

to each one,

each time,

each now.

Forever us,

in togetherness,

we'll be,

we'll wait,

we'll grow.

Rest in peace, munchkin. Sweet dreams.

Joey, all you need is some Chai and a history book.

2010-07-02T01:50:00.000-07:00

Look at him.

I mean, just look at him.

When I first saw this picture, my heart skipped a beat. OK, I admit I have a thing for spectacled, extremely geeky, sorta cute journos. But hey, there's something so irresistible about guys who write, who are witty and who are so damn well-read. Oh well, then a friend of mine felt she must pop the bubble I live in and sent me this.

And I realized that probably dream guys are just that - a dream.

And before I knew it, Blogosphere was buzzing with tall tales of new age racism, debates on multiculturalism and fantastic arguments on the plight of the browning White World. I spent the entire day reading comments, blogs, articles, rants, status messages - everything that could possibly help me see the humour in his article. I found none. Then I looked through a couple of responses to the article in The Hindu and The Express and realized - wait, this is the funny part everyone missed out - What Joel Stein was saying was different from what he was trying to say.

Yes, there was a difference.

What he said was - that his town of Edison, NJ is populated with trashy, ugly people from the Indian sub-continent. I'm sure there are Pakistanis and Bangladeshis as well, just that Joey can't tell the difference. Altogether, he said he resented going back because Edison lost its old, White World charm, and that it had become a two storey town of Betel sellers, Roti eaters, Bhangra dancers and stank of Cologne.

What he was trying to say was - that he felt like a foreigner in his own hometown because of its huge immigrant population. Simple.

A few years ago, this article would have had me furious. I've never been to America, but I think spending a year in Britain, (where I felt like I was back home in India) taught me that every coin has two sides. I understand Joel's sentiments about his home town; I can imagine how horrid it must be to come back home and see your quiet neighbourhood transformed into a circus of sorts. I sympathize with him having to put up with the strange scent of turmeric, chilli powder and incense. And having to look around for non-spicy food.

What I couldn't understand was his ignorance of history in general, his prejudiced rant on the Indian stereotype, and his utter, blatant disrespect for (South)Asian culture. And no-one echoed my sentiments better than this guy.

If you're reading this Joey, here's what I'd like you to know -

I never knew how a bunch of people half a world away chose a random town in New Jersey to populate. Were they from some Indian state that got made fun of by all the other Indian states and didn't want to give up that feeling? Are the malls in India that bad? Did we accidentally keep numbering our parkway exits all the way to Mumbai?

Indians didn't have a grand plan of settling in Edison, or any other part of the world. When we grew up, America was the first country any average Indian heard of. The only world outside India for most of us was America - and of course, Britain. But then, America just seemed funner, greater and grander than Britain at that time. If you must know, alot of us are still sulking with Britain. But to be fair to you, yes, our malls are bad.

Lyndon Johnson's 1965 immigration law raised immigration caps for non-European countries. LBJ apparently had some weird relationship with Asians in which he liked both inviting them over and going over to Asia to kill them.

Ok, so you tried being funny. It was a little bit, that last part. But I think I'll pass. This was the Act of the century wasn't it Joe? The one that was supposed to signify an era of change and American liberalism?

For a while, we assumed all Indians were geniuses. Then, in the 1980s, the doctors and engineers brought over their merchant cousins, and we were no longer so sure about the genius thing. In the 1990s, the not-as-brilliant merchants brought their even-less-bright cousins, and we started to understand why India is so damn poor.

Yeah, even I thought all Indians were geniuses. But when I grew up, I realized that most of us in my country weren't geniuses because not all of us could afford an education. So I'm sorry if many of the not-so-brilliant merchants (Gujaratis and Punjabis I think you are referring to), brought along their even-less-bright cousins. The truth, we don't really care about how educated and sophisticated each other are. And about India being poor, yeah. Sad Story. Did you know that India was one of the wealthiest countries in the world - it took us several thousand years of existence and a few hundred battles to get to the lowest rung of the ladder. Wait, you're American right? - do you know why and how America got rich as it is today? Or did you flunk history at high school.

At which point my townsfolk started calling the new Edisonians "dot heads." One kid I knew in high school drove down an Indian-dense street yelling for its residents to "go home to India." In retrospect, I question just how good our schools were if "dot heads" was the best racist insult we could come up with for a group of people whose gods have multiple arms and an elephant nose.

Joel, the dot you are referring to is The Bindi. If you must know what a Bindi signifies, look at this. Every Indian woman wears a Bindi with her sari regardless of what religion she belongs to. Also we're a proud, beautiful, exotic species who love spicy food, singing and dancing. Personally, I don't see how you find racial attacks funny. Did you laugh when Jews were slaughtered in Germany, Joey? I wonder.

Unlike some of my friends in the 1980s, I liked a lot of things about the way my town changed: far better restaurants, friends dorky enough to play Dungeons & Dragons with me, restaurant owners who didn't card us because all white people look old. But sometime after I left, the town became a maze of charmless Indian strip malls and housing developments. Whenever I go back, I feel what people in Arizona talk about: a sense of loss and anomie and disbelief that anyone can eat food that spicy.

Well, nice to hear that you actually liked something - Dorky Indians who played Dungeons and Dragons with you. How many Indians did you make friends with? I wonder. As far as I know, Indians love the outdoors. Most of them play cricket, football and tennis. Ok, that last part is funny. Did you ACTUALLY think that you can separate Indians from their food. Holy Moly. Which world are you living in? We'd carry spices in our wallets if we had to. We don't consider Hamburgers and Pizzas food. At all.

Their assimilation is so wonderfully American that if the Statue of Liberty could shed a tear, she would. Because of the amount of cologne they wear.

Indians wearing cologne - This is the first time I've heard of this one. If I see anyone wearing cologne next time, I'll remember to laugh. For sakes.

Frankly, I don't understand why TIME would waste any space letting you write a humour column that doesn't make anyone laugh. Remember that saying? It's not satire if no one's laughing. I definitely didn't find it funny, and I don't even care enough let an idiot like you bother me because - quoting you - you said you are 'an arrogant, solipsistic, attention-needy freak who pretends to have an opinion about everything.'

But on the brighter side, probably you ought to share a few good xenophobic jokes with the Taliban. And have a chat with my friend IC, who deserves your space in the TIME mag. He looks alot like you, a better version and a better person. And most importantly, he writes stuff worth reading.

Otherwise I think you're alright. Not Hot. Not intelligent. Not irresistible. Other than therapy, all you need is some chai and a history book.

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

P.S - Just so you know if Russell Peters had written this, we'd laugh. Yes, since he's the same ethnicity and he's been in our shoes. Maybe a tan would've worked for you? Also, why is this hilarious article of yours not in the TIME mag international edition? Too few for satire here, eh?

My brain pulls the sleeping beauty act at the wrong time

2010-06-28T02:13:00.000-07:00

So there we were, five of us, stuck at work at 7pm. Reason? I couldn't come up with a title. Now, of course you might say, 'Oh, come on M. You write, and writers are supposed to be good at this'. But I'm not. I suck so bad at coming up with anything when my brain is fast asleep. Tell me, what sort of a silly brain would be this lazy knowing that its job is a regular day shift.

Tick Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Ok, five hours. And still no title.

'Come on, just give me a hint. Anything. I don't want another article on Jodhpur with the 'Blue-city' title. It's overdone.', my boss said, rather irritated with me.

I was thinking. I mean, trying to think of anything and everything blue. Trying to get my stupid brain to wake up - Blue suede shoes, royal blue, cerulean blue, oasis blue, blue lagoon, blue frog, blue roses, blue films. What not.

But nothing fit. It felt like walking into a shoe store that was filled with odds. Finally, a tiny little idea popped up out of nowhere. Hey, at least it sounded brilliant in my head.

'How about 'Blue Belles of Jodhpur'? That photo story has images of pretty women doesn't it?'

My boss looked at me incredulously. Seriously. For three minutes straight. And then says -

'Wow. Yes, just the brilliant idea I've been waiting for. So do you have sub links to porn sites to go with the story?'

Wait - was that sarcasm in his tone? It's not my fault that my brain falls asleep now and then. At least, I TRIED, OK?

Sigh. Someone help me.

When The Real World Meets Meerkat, She says...

2010-06-24T03:23:00.000-07:00

Baby, I'm just an ordinary girl.

I grew up in a town that had just four streets, three schools and more pigs than anywhere else in the world. No, I don't mean to say I grew up in a sty, I was just brought up in a place that resembled one. So when people look at me and go - 'Oh My God M, you are so effin' kidding me. What did you do growing up with no internet/football grounds/theatre halls?' I look at them and say - 'I lived.'

It's true.

You see, I've been town-hopping all my life, but never once in those days did I feel the need to flit around in a tutu from one kitty party to another or throw tantrums about frilly socks and barbies. I just wore what was given to me. When we got back from school, we played outside in the yard with spare parts we found or climbed trees that hung over the compound. Once a year, the circus would come to town and we would visit it, all dressed up, as a family and go on every ride twice or thrice. I also had to share the television remote with siblings, cousins, grandparents, aunts, uncles, maids, office staff, and visitors, so I didn't really get the point of why anyone would want to watch tele anyway.

And the house we all grew up in - it smelled of warmth and food. All day long. There were no pizzas or take away, but the fridge was always full, brimming with nameless snacks that were carefully baked to perfection. At nights, when the power went out, we sat by candlelight and ate our food. On sundays, and other days, we played scrabble, rolled around in the mud, build sandcastles and had water fights with the gardening hose. Most importantly - Oh, my - most importantly, we read. We read all the time: Books found their way in-between our school texts, gifted to our neighbours, read before bedtime, read when we were ill, taken with us on long bus rides, and given to us on our birthdays. It was these books that eventually helped us grow, to dream, to strive towards becoming better people.

Now, when I look back, those years of childhood seem so far away. I'd spent my years travelling to and fro, moving out and moving in, living off my suitcase and trying to fit in place. My lifestyle has become a 24 hour mess of phone calls, facebooking, emails, text messaging, dolling up and wearing high heels. I look at life in the city and realize that I've grown out of most of the things I grew up with - the life I had lived seemed so far fetched. Yet, every time it rains and I step out of my office to feel the drizzle on my face, I know that you don't have to pursue happiness, it's always around - just that ordinary girls see it and Posh Totties don't.

I'm no atheist. There's definitely some supernatural cause for my misery.

2010-06-15T00:00:00.001-07:00

I don't believe anyone who says they don't believe in God. Really. Most of the time, they dish out rubbish from books like 'Why I'm not a believer' or 'God exists and so do Martians' or 'Jesus is a fake - I am the real God' or utter tosh like that. But wait till the next disaster - a break-up? genital warts? a math exam? or say, (worst-case scenario) - someone close is dying, then they're singing 'Hallelujah' all over the place.

This, I do not understand.

I'm not a religious person. I've been brought up just about religious enough to understand that religion really has to nothing to do with The Bible or the Vedas or the Quran or Avestas - instead, (I think) the basis of all religions is simply a question of faith. I mean, it could be a hundred different books, but aren't they all saying the same thing? Krishna asks Arjuna to believe in himself when he's in doubt. Jesus asks Mary not to cry because he's going to come back anyway. Mohammed spread word about oneness. And suddenly there are countless saints and gurus in the East and West spending all their time writing thousands of books explaining faith.

And faith is a great thing. We'd do badly if we didn't have faith in ourselves and each other, wouldn't we? Also, faith lets us hope for the craziest things - that beach-house in the Bahamas, that those bad GRE scores don't really ruin our chances to an Ivy league college, that our pets are going to live eternally, that our relationships last against all odds - it's comforting.

But what's with everyone trying to figure out where God is? And wasting all their energy rationalizing that he doesn't exist because he doesn't have a facebook account or no photographs for us to have a look at his face?

That's like trying to prove you love someone by jumping off a cliff.

Personally, I think people like to believe that there's something greater than our sodding existence, that there's a heaven to look forward to, or that maybe we stand a chance of being reborn as something nice, like a rabbit or something. So they put their faith into someone they think is (way) better than your average human being, and they call him God.

Ask me. I talk to God all the time. I don't pray, I just talk - sometimes when I've had a rough day, when I'm flustered, or when I really really need to win a lottery. Of course, nothing happens. But I feel like someone's heard me. No going to a temple, no sitting through boring sermons, no praying five times a day, no nothing. But I talk to him, complain for hours and then cry from time to time when I really need something.

But you see, that's the whole deal about religion that bigots, scientists and the intelligentsia don't get. It's ridiculous to do some hare-brained analysis on the power of our conscience, and psychotic to interpret religious texts literally and go around preaching bullshit.

And its plain depressing.

You see, we are humans. Denial is the only straight road we tread because it's the only comfortable one. Being blind to reality from time to time is important because it is comforting. Take a woman who's dying of cancer, take a parent who cannot afford to support his kids, or better still, let's take ourselves as an example. Do you think our lives would've been better if it had only 'truth and logic' in it? The world'd be one hell of a disgusting place then. I mean, its depressing to think that all of us evolved from monkeys, bad enough. So its only natural that we look into ourselves or look up to someone else for some kind of hope.

If I were to put a label on myself I'd probably be an agnostic. I don't like to think that this is all there is to living and neither do I think God is a celebrity I've got to go all gaga over . I'd like to think that somewhere in-between is where we really are on this planet and that in the end, a conscience and a little faith is all we need.

The Life of Cat

2010-06-08T04:02:00.000-07:00

If I could live my life all over again, I'd like to be born into cat society.

Look at Cat - she goes to meet her boyfriend, this dirty tabby who lives down the street every other day. And when she's not busy sleeping with him, she's busy having his kids. It's amazing how she just never tires of sleeping with every tabby there is - usually the tall, dark and poofy kinds - and always comes back home to have her kittens. I don't know how she manages, but she seems to love being a single mom. And she usually sits around, begs for food when she's hungry, steals it if we're not around and sleeps around 16 hours a day. Whenever she feels like a manicure, she finds Mum's precious leather couches to sharpen her claws. No amount of chasing her will help.

If she's bored, she has sex. Not just sex with her boyfriend but with every Goddamn cat on the street. The number of cats who struggle their way over our compound - sigh. Once she even had an underage boyfriend. What was she thinking? Anyway she dumped him soon after. Thank God. Yeah, so she has no qualms whatsoever. Not only does she get to walk around naked, she gets to look all perfect.

Why isn't my life that easy?

I mean, she doesn't even have to have a name. Well, Cat's an atheist, and didn't want to have any silly religious name that clung to her and defined her actions. But I guess if she ever settled for a name it'd be something like 'Princess Cat II' or 'Cat, her Highness' or something like that. Personally I'd like to believe her real name is 'Catastrophe'.

I tried getting her to read this blog, but I don't think she cares too much. She also refuses to move from her favourite place (pic above). You know , maybe that's why I'd like to be born a cat - The only religion I'll know is apathy, and the only God I'll worship is myself.

Globish, English and Rubbish

2010-06-04T08:53:00.000-07:00

That's what People Like Us in the real world supposedly speak.

A few years ago, when girls in my class were spending sleepless nights in an attempt to score higher in their GRE and TOEFL exams, and twelfth grade students like my little sis were trying to digest the literary insanity that is Shakespeare, this French guy came out of nowhere and proclaimed that none of us speak English the way it's meant to be spoken. So after a grand, fantastic study on how pathetic non-native English speakers destroy English, he came up with a term that he felt was what we really spoke -

Globish.

So this pretty little word in its real sense described the simplified, mutilated form of English that People Like Us speak, a language that accounts to a little over a 1000 words, and is enough for us to get by and be understood in the world of the Land of High English. I'm sure the word flashed across his mind when he was 'power nap-ping' somewhere in his 'ideating' room or something. But anyway, someone somewhere hit the cosmic button and the entire universe suddenly seems to have parted to two sides - English speakers on one side and the rest of world on the other. Obviously, it attracted more attention than it really deserved - and my American India-Crazy friend IC, came all the way to India to write about the phenomenon that is Globish.

Now, IC is the perfect American journo - absolutely sexy with glasses and books in his suitcase and everything, and he eventually wrote this fantastic piece for the New Yorker - but in the ten days that he spent in India drinking mineral water, teasing me about 'my infamous Indian accent', telling me that I'm too cynical of Indian politics and asking me why I don't pronounce my 'r's', I wondered how much he actually observed about India.

Way back in 2005, when Mary Blum wrote about how 'Nerrière speaks excellent English but switches to Globish if he is not getting through.' in The New York Times, I couldn't help but think, 'Seriously, give me a break. A frenchman who speaks excellent English?' and of course, this video was the last thing I needed to watch. What he seemed to be promoting in the video was not simple English for the common person, but a dictionary for fools. I'm sorry, but that's what it looks like to me, no matter how intellectually anyone tries to explain it.

IC's review is a great analysis of English as a language of influence, a language that was moulded and twisted by generations of people who spoke it, fought for it and read it. But for obvious reasons, it stays within those limits. It never once lets you think of how that People Like Us didn't have a choice when it came to English. We had to learn it. We had to read English at school, and were expected to speak at least two other national languages. English was (as IC writes) our ticket to step up the ladder, to up our social status. English allowed us to walk around with our noses in the air. But in the Land of People Like Us, we think in two languages - we are the kind who are accustomed to bargaining with the regular autowalla in in Tamil or Hindi, and the kind who enjoy spending hours on the phone talking to our friends - in English. We needed English, and we had to stay connected to our roots. So we made English 'local'. What's wrong with that? I would never say that the English I speak is 'Globish'.

Here's why -

Firstly, I don't believe that there can be a single set standard for any language - be it English or any other - because (not matter how you look at it) language is a tool for communication. Any language being a science or an art is secondary. Yes, Dickens, Tennyson and all you people who are buried in Westminster, its true. And Will Shakespeare, I hope you know you were famous not just for your plays, but because we couldn't figure out what drugs you were on when you wrote them. Of course, Thiruvalluvar - Dude, what were you thinking? Have you heard of Madras Tamil? Thanks to you, I nearly flunked high school.

Secondly, who was the clown who said that native English speakers speak great English? Is the famous American 'Whateverrrrr' and the over-use of the word 'Like' (eg. what are you like doing today? I'm like thinking of going downtown' - perfect English? And the average Brit discussing 'Who he 'bonked' today'? It's difficult to communicate in any language without alternating rules with functionality.

So Globish doesn't make sense to me. Sometimes IC laughs and says, 'Speak English, you silly Indian'. Then I ask him if he can pronounce the word 'Bharath' and he pauses for a minute before he says 'Parrot'. I laugh. Seriously, how ironic.

I wonder how it'll be for Native English speakers after the Indian population explodes in another twenty years and Hindi becomes the only known international language. It'd probably spell chaos for those in The Land of High English then - they'd have to switch from speaking Ignoramus-ish to Hin-glish.

P.S - Apologies to folks in Britain. You tried killing us with English, and we just killed English instead.

Can a heavy lunch during work hours damage your brain?

2010-05-18T03:20:00.000-07:00

We were sitting at this nearby restaurant, waiting for our food. The conversation was centered around the arbitrary use of English language in India and whether the average Indian really benefits from learning English in the Indian education syllabus -

AMg - Dude, I don't understand why Indian writers use such big words that no-one can understand. Do you think its because they want to sound intelligent? I bet they use a dictionary. Have any of you read Arundathi Roy? I think all these people keep a fucking dictionary open in front of them.

JMc (sounding really flustered) - Please, Indian writers are alright. Why the hell do we have to study Yeats and Byron in Middle school? Have you read 'The Solitary Reaper?' I don't see what the hell he wrote that poem for. I mean, who the hell reads stuff like that?

AMg- (very seriously) - Ya, that's true, but see, that's because in those days these poets were really intense and thought alot and shit like that. So they wrote stuff they felt deeply about.

JMc - (Delirious tone) - Like we cared what they thought about... I mean if they wanted us to understand what they felt and shit, they should've written it in simple English.

AMg - (Very very seriously) - Arre, that's what I'm saying dude. No-one should have Yeats and Byron in Middle School. That's deep intense shit, its something you'll connect with when you're stoned out of your mind. Trust me.

The waiter brings us dessert, and all of us take a moment trying to figure out what the hell we've been served.

Me - Ok, so what the hell is this shit?

AMg - Tuti Fruity.

Me - What the hell is that?

AMg - A bastardized version of fruit salad with ice cream.

When in doubt -

2010-05-13T02:46:00.000-07:00

Me - How was I to know honey is actually Bee vomit?

Chris - Yum!

Me - Wait till a bottle of my puke hits the shelves.

Chris - #&*@!

The this, that and those days

2010-05-08T22:50:00.000-07:00

I love Sunday mornings. I love waking up early, and curling up on the couch waiting for the sunshine to fall on my face. I love making coffee for my dad and pointlessly arguing about something we've seen on the news. I love annoying my sisters who love sleeping late on weekends. I feed my cats extra. I tidy extra. I go through my memory trunk and sit for hours in the spare room looking at photographs. I catch up with my girlfriends and we speak for hours.

I think everything I love about my life happen on arbitrary Sundays, a Sunday like today. Especially since every Sunday begins or ends a phone call with Revathi, the only kind of best friend a girl can ever wish for.

You know those days when you wake up and feel like Dita Von Teese?

2010-05-05T22:50:00.000-07:00

Sunday was like that.

I woke up and realized that I had enough of it all - quasi-flirting, quasi-relationships, emotional insanity, betrayal, and 3 am phone calls. I was tired of being the person I had become, I looked into the mirror and didn't know the person I was staring at. Over the week, I'd had the worst spats and cut ties with a few of my closest friends. I didn't know what the heck I was doing to myself and the people around me.

But then Sunday happened.

It was the hottest afternoon in Chennai, and the temperature was soaring. People stood under any shade they could get. And I walked out completely dissed, hair uncombed, smudgy kajal, a ridiculous top and flip flops. Then I met him. And we spoke about nothing exceptional - the weather, the traffic and our so-called-lives. We sipped on lemonade in a room of apple flavoured smoke. And we did nothing all evening but walk around the block before it was time to leave. We did nothing but talk. We did nothing at all.

It was a just another Sunday.

But when we went back home, my head was singing. For the first time in long, I laughed at something funny on television. I picked up a book I'd saved for reading. I could think of nothing but chocolate cake. I reread NK's message and deleted it. I called my best friend and we spoke about random stuff. I felt weird. I felt uncluttered and free. My head felt woozy and my heart felt light.

The truth was that it was the hottest Sunday in April, and I was wearing this ridiculous top, flip flops and was perspiring. It was easily the worst day in the lives of many.

But who cared?

It was Sunday and I felt like Dita Von Teese.

Marriage in India is like some weird ass mating ritual.

2010-05-05T22:21:00.000-07:00

It really is.

If there is one goddamn good reason that every Indian girl with half a brain would want to leave the country, its because we want to save our lives before being put up for auction on some matrimonial site. Not that marriage is a bad thing, you know, but the idea of marriage in India - the whole idea of picking-off-grooms-by-looking-at-photographs and checking off a mental list of his body stats - hairy, tall, bald, fat, thin, nose, penis of working condition, etc. and financial stats - does he earn enough to get me enough shopping allowance? Is he linked with enough powerful people? - this whole idea is twisted and beyond me.

An aunt I haven't heard from in a hundred years calls me this morning and this is how the conversation went -

Aunt - 'Meera, How are you. Heard you are in Bangalore? when are you planning to get married?

Me - 'I'm fine. Yes, I'm in Bangalore. Not anytime now'.

Aunt - 'When we were 18, all of us got married and look where we are, none of you children these days listen. You should get married.'

Me - 'Sure. Alright, I'll speak with you later.'

What I really wanted to tell my aunt was that it isn't 1960 anymore, and that women have ambition, and I can see where she is now and that's definitely not where I want to be so long as I'm alive.

I mean, this is marriage right? not fresh meat I'm shopping for lunch?

Where is the love?

Mum says that love doesn't matter. And that it will come. I wonder if she meant those new shoes I was planning to buy or some guy with a puffy moustache.

My family has three hundred billion uncles and aunts.... and counting.

2010-01-27T06:15:00.000-08:00

Seriously.

For the past few years of my life, I've been (im)politely corrected each time I referred to someone as 'Mrs.X'. This reference almost always ends with another person immediately suggesting, that I 'just call her X Aunty'.

So it is fair to ask the obvious question (unless you are Indian, of course) -

Does this mean everyone around you is an Aunt or an Uncle?

Apparently, yes.

Right from the tea-stall owner to the strange woman who handed me an extra plate at dinner, it is supposedly discourteous to not refer to them as Uncle or Aunty. This Uncle-Aunt, Brother-Sister address is so completely, and atrociously Indian that even our country's pledge reads ' All Indians are my brothers and sisters'. I mean, why couldn't they just not get so damn sentimental about Independence and simply say something to the lines of ' We will stand together as friends and co-exist and love each other' or something? But no. And it's not surprising how everyone becomes some sort of extended family once you call them an Uncle or an Aunt here. From the 'Aunty' at the counter in Spencer's Daily to the Tea Kadai 'Uncle', everyone wants to know about my well-being and my love life. Unbelievable!

It is difficult not to be amazed by Indian society sometimes.

P.S- Swami Vivekananda, just so you know, you're like awesome and all that, but I really think that pledge could've been written with a little more thought.

If there ever was an agrarian crisis

2010-01-11T22:28:00.000-08:00

Mum - Why are the animals on my farm walking all over the place on Farmville.

Sis - Ma, you've got to lock your animals in line so they don't wander away.

Mum - What??How can you do something so cruel?!

Sis -??@#!#$ They're digital animals!!

Mum - So? Just becaue they're digital you think its alright to ill-treat animals?

Scribbling on empty pages

2010-01-05T08:56:00.000-08:00

There's this retarded American thriller about a bunch of teenagers tripping on magic mushrooms and killing each other - I was watching it on New Year's eve when the clock struck twelve and the world was going berserk.

I know that it sounds like the most pathetic thing to do on 'such an occasion', but there was nothing more comforting than silence to welcome this particular year. You know how you're almost always certain things will never happen the way you want it to? That's exactly what 2009 taught me. I've finally realized (after a hundred pitfalls) that most of us fall short because we're always waiting for someone else to come fix our lives. We rely on advice, books, teachers, parents, friends, just about anything and everyone we can lean on - except ourselves. This is the year I'm going to start repairing all the damage from the last year.

So as far as resolutions go, I'm going to start with getting my hair done and buying myself a new phone to reorganize my friends list. And call the people I've promised to. By March, I should get my bank accounts and investments in line. By July, I hope I'm sitting at a news desk once more poring over stories around the world. And by December, if, and only if I just manage to muster the right amount of strength, I guess I'll kiss NK goodbye.

Where are my twenties going?

2009-11-12T10:56:00.000-08:00

That's the question everyone seems to be asking around me. Not to mention that everyone I ask the question to either counter-questions me or says ,' If only I knew'. Why the sudden need for everyone to know where their lives are headed? I mean, did we care where life was going when we were 10? No. Did we care where life was going when we were 17? No. It only hits hard at when we hit that despicable number - Twenty. Then everyone's suddenly talking utter tosh about climate change and marriage and turning relationships long-term and money and investing and yada yada yada... If you ask me, it doesn't even matter. None of us know what going to happen anyway.

The only thing I know is this - if I waste all my time worrying in my twenties, I'm going to be doing something worse when in my thirties.

REGRETTING.

Now that's something I dont ever ever want to be doing.

------------------------------------

2009-09-24T22:42:00.000-07:00

I am so eff-ing MAD.

The best friend called this morning after NK ditched us on a forwarded text. Seriously. A Forwarded text-message. I've realized that people who are always going on and on about open communication being the solution to any successful relationship are just a bunch of posers. The truth is and has always been relative. There are certain things that are best not spoken about, and thats final. For eg. If NK really knew what I had in mind right now, he might have regretted sending me that godforsaken 'forwarded' text message.

Now, where's my goddamn phone.

A second thought

2009-08-30T09:32:00.000-07:00

I don't understand why the issue with time management. I mean, there used to be a point in life when I used to have those spare minutes to spend daydreaming, and now all I'm thinking about is work. My God, I'm turning into exactly the kind of person I would've hated - A hyperventilating wage-slave of the 21st century.

If only men could move to Mars...

2009-08-17T01:57:00.000-07:00

I'm only part-feminist - I totally disagree that men are of no use to Planet Earth.

I mean, who would change car tyres, kill lizards, kiss and cuddle, be big and warm when necessary, smell of aftershave etc. if it weren't for the good ol' boys in each of our lives. But then, that's where the fine line exists - right between the aftershave boys and the roadside morons who have no other work but to go around snatching women's bags and pawing girls on the street.

The evening went thus - I walk over to Cascade, this so-so chinese place, right near home for the regular dinner with my colleagues. Then, around 10:30, when there's quite alot of traffic and shops still open mind you, I'm walking back home. Then these two morons, zoom right past me snatching my handbag and pulling me along the road for a good 25 mts. Why would a handbag interest guys so much? I don't know. Unless they're planning to put my mascarra, liners and compact to good use.

Anyway - three stolen debit cards, stolen medical insurance, lost keepsakes, T's wallet, Ipod, Camera, tearful farewell to handbag, two days and a night in the hospital later, I can only say that if the all the world's men moved to Mars and only visited when needed, Earth might've been the bitchiest, funnest, safest planet to live in.

How to maintain a fine balance between guy friends, girlfriends, and green tea.

2009-08-06T23:20:00.000-07:00

I can be a lazy lump of lard when it comes to keeping in touch with everyone I know in life.

Last week, I realized that there's this deal when it comes to serious friend maintainence - the issue of too much and too few. For instance, if I call my girlfriends twice a week - they feel I'm not spending enough time with them, and I call my guy friends twice a week - they start wondering why I'm calling so often.

After a month of relentlesly fixing loose ends with friends and acquaintances of all kinds, I've come up with absolute solutions to solve all friend trouble.

1) If anyone yells at you for not keeping in touch, tell them that they are on your speed dial. It makes them feel important and saves you the time and energy for any further explanation.

2) Once they finish their rant on how you never bother keeping in touch, come up with a sad story (100% works on guys) eg. my aunt's aunt's brother's daughter died. etc. who cares, but you'll get the sympathy vote anyway.

3) I tried calling you 981249693769 times but it said 'you were busy' or not 'reachable'.

4) Blame it on work, and start complaining till their ears bleed. No-one likes it, and they'd probably understand right away.

5) Spam everyone's inboxes with forwards. That way they can never complain that they didn't hear from you. In fact, after a while they wouldn't want to hear from you either. Tch!

Yes, we are all here. And we can hear the music.

2009-06-26T00:14:00.000-07:00

I know it must've been difficult. But I promise I'll teach my kids how to moonwalk.
R.I.P.

Do we see better with our eyes closed?

2009-06-25T00:23:00.000-07:00

When I was in the fourth grade, I remember, there was this girl who carried a Bible in her hand telling everyone that she knew where paradise was. Where is it? we asked her, where? We could not wait to hear it. There weren't too many who could understand the Bible, and this girl was obviously way high up the stairway to heaven now because like , she knew stories like Samson and Delilah, and how they never had sex because it was a sin, etc. She was 12 years old that time, and 12 years was still very very senior because the rest of us were still in single digits.

Anyway, that night, when our matron had turned off the lights and put us to bed - (Yes. I went to a boarding school) we sneaked out and followed her to her cubicle in our PJ's and sat around her bed. 'So Jenny, where is paradise? Tell us.'

There were 6 other girls with me, and we were all like choking in excitement. Jenny closed her eyes, murmered something and pointed to the girl near me, ' Lil, close your eyes and tell me if you can see it'.

Then Lil closes her eyes, and does that weird murmuring thing again, and the next thing you know she does this fake passing-out act. WHOA. I mean seriously, that was soooo fake. When we shook her, she sat up and smiled, ' I saw it Jen, I saw it, it had so many lights'. And then all these other girls near me, they all start clapping and behaving like Lil and Jenny were like St. Peter and St. Mark. DUH. Lights? So I put up my hand when Jenny finished her second round of murmuring, 'I want to see Paradise. I go next'. Jenny then said hesitantly, ' Alright, close your eyes and tell me what you see'. Then I close my eyes, and guess what - I see nothing. For five minutes, I waited and waited and waited. Then I began getting frantic - but that was it, I saw nothing. When I opened my eyes, all seven of the girls were sitting on their beds staring at me with that expression on their faces.

'So, did you see anything?'

'Well, yeah,' I lied, ' I saw lights as well'. I looked at Lil and she was giving me that you-say-one-more-word-and-I'll-kill-you look.

Then Jenny stepped forward and said in the meanest tone, ' Don't be such a liar! I know you didn't see paradise, you aren't even a christian, no non-christian can see paradise.' I don't remember what exactly I did after that but I screamed and threw a pillow on her and ran out. I'd never felt that miserable in my life ever. So I closed my eyes and imagined my own paradise - you know something straight out of Enid Blyton - like someplace with wishing chairs, and all that.

Ah, but that was 1995.

Later, the whole deal about paradise changed. At 13, I couldn't care less. It was something old people had to worry about. All that mattered was life at school. Waking up every morning to see frost on the grass. Playing pranks on the boys we hated. Sending anonymous notes to the ones we had a crush on. Writing journals. Trying to catch hail when whenever it rained heavily. Running through fields.. till somewhere you stop and think, oh alright, I've got to grow up. I was attending math tutitions and sure as hell nowhere near Paradise.

Neither was I near it at 17. In Boy's arms. The feeling that nothing on earth really mattered. The one line emails that said 'Why aren't you here?'. The late night phone conversations about matters of great un-importance i.e. nothing. Wondering about the future. Talking endlessly about dreams..but then, college life eventually ended..and so if paradise were heading to, we'd lost our way long ago, and we certainly didn't want to go there together. DUH.

21 was nothing close to Paradise. Working part-time and blowing it all away on saturday nights at university. Late night cook-outs, and late mornings. Cleaning kitchens and laughing about it over breakfast. Coffee and newspapers, and intelligent talk. One night-stands seemed so passe' and long term relationships were no more as meaningful. It was the single life that mattered.. the best of the days yet to come.. but it wasn't anywhere near perfect.

I don't know.

But now, I'm shutting my journal at 9 because work is exhausting and I need a breather. Coffee is beginning to give me a headache, and the traffic makes me want to throw up. And I still haven't seen paradise. Life seems so blah - the monotony of an office routine is beginning weigh me down, and my diet has switched to anything-that-I-can-swallow-in-ten-minutes. It's now that I realise, when I shut my eyes, that all the happiest things I could think of were in the past. School, college, boyfriends, family outings, winter breaks.. and it strikes me that maybe there is a chance that paradise wasn't so far after all.

Maybe Paradise is not where we are going to, but what we are leaving behind.

Ten reasons why the past two weeks have been happy

2009-05-22T20:23:00.000-07:00

1) Loads of chocolate cake, Rasamalai and sweet Boondhi. Setting an auspicious date to start diet, or hit the gym.

2) My maid's neighbour is dead, or so it seems. I really wonder why people die in her family every week. Ok, I actually bought it the first time when she said her brother died. Felt sad, and gave her a whole lot of sympathy, including 1 hour of listening to gruesome details of how he was murdered, and some money. But then, over the past three week, two sisters, a father, a brother-in-law and a stepson have been 'murdered'. Now, the neighbour. Like, seriously. But, I must say, she's quite a storyteller.

3) Remember that lizard in my house? Mr. Speckles? Well, like I said, he began dating while I was away. I spotted three ugly baby lizzies in the kitchen. It's sort of sweet in a very sick way, I think.

4) The UPA government is singing 'Jai Ho' and are all set to change the whole look of the Lok Sabha and all that. They're planning on getting new carpets and new tables.
(And NO, I don't think they care too much about water or power right now, dude, get a life. That's not their problem.)

5) Vellupillai 'retard' Prabhakaran has been shot down like a rat. The Sinhalese army is probably happy, but no-one could be as happy as me. I love real-life drama. Yes,I'm gross.

6)'To-be' former colleague, and partner in crime at work mentioned a few weeks ago that soon he'd be laughing his way out to freedom, while I sit at my desk slogging the rest of my contract till I drop dead. But apparently, not! Operation Freedom from American Company has finally come to pass.

7) Two random people said 'You've lost weight'. Ah, just when I needed come comfort.It made my day.

8) I had Chicken Lasagne. Twice!

9) Five new books on turning 23! with this really cute top from my sister, which my dad thought was 'completely inappropriate clothing to be worn out in my lifetime'.

10) Two entire weeks of doing nothing, but watch television, eat cake and live the Epicurean way!

Bangalore Bug-spray massacre in my kitchen

2009-05-05T23:35:00.000-07:00

So all of you know how tough life can be. I mean, not just tough but sometimes so IRRITATING - like some crazy foot rash you just can't seem to get rid of. Also, I (don't) really know if its my landlord's fault - OK, I get that he's like this exotic animal enthusiast and all that, but seriously there's a limit to that - that there is ugly,speckled, blackish- brown, slimy looking lizard in my kitchen. Now you may laugh and say ' Oh, come on, lizards are the most common creatures in an Indian kitchen' but hello, I beg to differ, this lizard just DOESN'T die.

The first time I saw it, it was just a baby. Yeah, it was disgusting and ugly of course, but it could barely climb the wall. Now since, I'm against baby killing of all kinds, I felt sorry for this abandoned baby lizard and didn't kill it.

Then the second time it showed up, it was sitting there happily. You know, it was sunbathing by the tubelight, like as if it was the Bahamas or something. It totally totally pissed me off. If my landlord was breeding exotic lizards, he might as well do it in his house right? So, to do my bit, I went to the Med store, got Lakshman Rekha and drew these godawful pink lines all over the house. But no, Mr.Speckles just skips and prances all over the Lakshman Rekha as if nothing had ever happened.

All hard work down the drain.

So the third time I tried Mortein. Not just once or twice but a whole load of times. While it did help in killing a number of cockroaches (that I didn't know existed till they all came out choking and dying), the stupid lizard didn't die. I mean, he didn't even get giddy. How can you not get giddy if I sprayed Mortein for a whole minute non-stop? ARGH!

I have to move my house. I really have to. I can't bear to live with this goddamn lizard and I'm so sure he'll soon start dating other lizards and start a family in my kitchen. Then there'll be so many lizards that I'd have to move out anyway. Argh. I hate this.

My life feels like a spoof on 'Famous Five', just that the other four are missing.

2009-03-25T08:16:00.000-07:00

OK, I can now swear hands down that my landlord is a smuggler. I mean, ok, I thought the whole 'I deal with exotic birds and endangered animals' story was quite weird when I signed my rental agreement. But it struck me when he showed me pictures of this crazy blue pigeon which was supposedly 2 crore rupees. Really, a TWO CRORE deal for a pigeon. God, so the first time he showed the pictures, I was looking around curiously to see if the darn pigeon was somewhere in his house. Hah, then point number two struck.

The apartment was SO damn small.

Funny question # 1 - Why was over-friendly dealer in exotic species living in the shabbiest part of town? Like, for instance if I had a two crore pigeon or some Persian cats or say, some strange two-headed unicorn ponies, would you stay in some decent ( not expensive but you know..'decent') place or this shabby wreck of a house? Decent place, right? Hmmm, so he's keeping low profile.

Funny question #2 - I never see him. When does he leave? And when does he enter the house? Does he have a trap door or some strange back entrance that I don't know off? Hmmm..very fishy. Also, if I do see him, it's only when I get home really really late from work. And he frantically hangs up every call if he sees me anywhere near him.

ALSO,

Funny question #3 - He doesn't answer unknown numbers. Now, I know alot of people don't answer unknown numbers, but my landlord doesn't answer them at all. The one time I frantically called him to ask him if a transaction had been made, he just wouldn't answer - till I sent him a text saying it was me who'd been trying to call.

Funny question #4 - Where are all these weird birds and animals? His house is just full of empty cages and aquariums.. all stacked on the top of each other, but he claims that the animals are all at home? just...WHERE? in some underground zoo?

WEIRD. I've been feeling like this is a case of Spy vs Spy. But maybe...I mean, maybe... if that two crore blue pigeon built a nest and laid eggs near my kitchen window it wouldn't be so creepy after all.

The beginning of a trial

2009-01-31T02:53:00.000-08:00

So, I've made up my mind to listen to his advice.

As he said :

A) We’ll get an early start tomorrow morning and try to enjoy each others’ company here in this beautiful place.

B) We’ll stop feeling sorry for ourselves. It’s not very attractive.

C) We’ll make our plans for the future.

Number of positive, happy things I've done today:

- Called about ten friends and caught up after ages. Also added the 'You guys never keep in touch' dialogue for some effect.

Felt good.

- Thought it'd be a change if I tried something new. Opted for a cup of tea this morning. Hmm. Not so bad, after all.

Felt good.

- Called mum.

Felt good.

- Wrote an extra of my thoughts in my journal.

- Felt good.

See, I told you Adi. I'll make a start!

On Happy days and those days..

2009-01-29T08:32:00.000-08:00

After telling myself time and time again that I shouldn't go overboard with NK, I decided to post him a letter saying how happy I was to meet him over the weekend.

From

M.V.
Web services,
Bangalore -01

27th January 2009,

Hey you,

Gotten over the weekend? I don't think I have. It was one of the best weekends of my life. We should meet up more often you know.. I miss you so much, it was pretty sad that I'm seeing you after so long and that we still couldn't spend time with each other. Anyway just wanted to tell you I miss you. I hope you like the movie I've sent. I really want to watch 'Happy Days' you know..

Love,

M.

It will reach tomorrow by 12 pm, the woman at the courier office told me. Thank you, I said, that'd be perfect.

================================================================

Walked into the office this morning to find something lying on my desk. Had my letter been returned already? I'd just sent it last night.

Apparently it wasn't.

From

NK,
Associate,
A& M Solicitors,
Hyderabad - 16

27th January 2009

Hey -- ,
:) I'm sending you the 'Happy Days' cd or DVD (Don't remember). I had such a great time over the weekend, thanks to you. Send me the pictures soon.My handwriting is pathetic (seek forgiveness for that). Haven't written to anyone in a long time. Writing to you after a hundred million years :). Really don't know what to say.. I'm not a writing person. This is one of my longest mails to you.

Really miss you.

Regs,
NK.

P.S: The movie is really really good.. I copied it onto my comp and sending it to you.

Inside the cover was a 'Happy Days' DVD.

I don't know why I couldn't stop smiling. I just knew he'd probably be smiling too by 12 pm this afternoon. Probably that's why.

Should I worry about the recession?

2009-01-29T07:26:00.000-08:00

Remember how I've always cribbed about life and all its pitfalls. Apparently I was doing too much of it post Dec 31 2008 and my boss decided to bring it up this morning.

'Uhm? Are you OK?'

Yeah right, I'd be okay. Who'd be OK after finding out that

1) I've become three kilos heavier
2) that the doc says I'm allergic to Bananas, lime and fish
3)Which meant that I cannot have Vanilla icecream and Banana slices or Banana slices sprinkled with sugar, or Fried Kerala Bananas, or tandoori chicken with tangy lime,or musambi juice or lemonade or lemony mocktails or lemony sweets or lemony anything
4) And to top it all off, my company has frozen pay hikes to save themselves.

I kindly decline the offer to spend a completely non-probematic, non-complain-y New Year.

Eavesdropping

2008-12-12T08:17:00.000-08:00

Girl #1 (waiting for the lift and looking at her reflection) : God, I look so fat..
Girl # 2: Please..don't talk.. you are so thin.
Girl # 1: This is one of those mirrors that show you thin when you're actually fat.

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

(A very serious conversation inside lift to Floor 9)

Guy#1: Dude.. guess what.. I figured that you can apply to be a part of LeT online.
Guy#2: F@#$! Are you serious?
Guy #1:I'm serious. All you have to do is fill up a form, they even have like a corporate office and everything.. damn good perks apparently.
Guy#3: How much does it pay?? Did you'll find out?
Guy#4: Is it easy to get in?

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

Girl#1: ARGH. I hate her man.
Girl# 2: Hate who?
Guy#1: She's so dumb. I can lead a team better than her, I swear.
Girl#2: Okay, stop overestimating yourself.

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

Girl#1: You think I'd put on weight if I keep eating in the canteen?
Girl#2: I don't know, though I don't think it's good to keep eating here.
Girl#1: why?
Girl#2: I mean.. we might start putting on weight slowly..

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

Guy#1(on a serious phone call from desk phone): Listen, the best thing would be to cut costs right now and put an end to the matter right away.

(3 second pause with hmm hmm hmm..)

Guy#1: Otherwise, call that girl and tell her straight away that you are married to someone else. Really da, in Alaipayuthey it worked.

(1 minute pause)

Guy#1: Seri da maccha, use that other excuse I told you, seriya?

*click*

The truth is..

2008-12-10T06:31:00.000-08:00

Life will totally totally kill you. And noone tells you that.

Two and a half weeks of work and I can relate to the term 'all-out-corporate-whoring'. Nothing can describe it better, really. Bitching, analyzing, who's doing what, who's doing who, who sucks up, who doesn't, and the end of it all, it boils down to pure, unadulterated bullshit called 'Business'.

Sleepless nights after covering the Mumbai attacks, I went out with the usual gang to Fuga. I couldn't believe myself; here I was, my poor country still recovering from the shock, and I was going dancing. Dancing when people are going to funerals, but here's the strange thing. I had had enough. Enough of sitting and making news for people to read so that I'd get an amazing rating, enough of poring through hundreds of horrific images of death and misery. Really, I needed a break.

NK called sometime then.

NK: Where are you?

Me: I can't hear you, the music's too loud.

NK: I cannot believe you are in a club at this time. I absolutely disapprove of such behaviour.

(Red alert when he starts sounding like my dad)

Me: I just needed a break..

NK: So why couldn't you go out for dinner? Why to a club? You went dancing yesterday, and yesterday was the last day.. There was an aticle in 'The Hindu' about the youth of our country being absolutely indifferent to the issues of our country..

(Double red alert when his lawyer mode on and starts sounding like the Prime Minister)

Me: I just needed a break.. stop lecturing me now..

NK: Fine. It's no use talking to you anyway.

Me: Stop saying that..

NK: Okay.

Me: Stop saying okay.

NK: Okay.

(Perfect example of how boys rarely listen)

After he hung up, I realised our personal fighting rule didn't seem to change the way we saw things either. The next few days, I was back at work.. TV channels were slowly stopping coverage of the attacks, newspapers were not so interested anymore, and my boss walked up to me and said ' Drop Mumbai, take that story on Shahrukh Khan'. I called NK to tell him what I thought of it all, but he didn't pick up. Later that night, he sent a message saying he would talk to me later because he was at a party.

I know he wouldn't be reading this, so I can proudly scream 'And for crying out loud, life goes on doesn't it?'. How terrible it sounds.

The real world is changing me. And I'm in a place I absolutely don't want to be, yet I hope its for the better.

The week of firsts and other important issues in life

2008-11-30T21:37:00.000-08:00

It's Sunday, and I'm sitting in my office. That should explain the work life to my friends who crib that they can't find a job.

Things have been good the first week actually. I figured that every other person I know hates my boss, and that doesn't change a thing because she's the boss. The canteen breakfast is pathetic but the spread for lunch is fantastic and can even to make you fall asleep at your desk. Have also figured that having my Gtalk status as 'Busy.At work' sounded so pathetic because I've begun to sound like 'one of those' people I didn't want to be EVER. It's just sort of hitting me how difficult my life is going to be:

1) My social life is looking worse than the financial crisis.

2) If I'm going to be working for the next half of my life... OH MY GOD. I'll be working for the next 3/4th of my life, not even half.

3)There are so many things I need! Shoes to begin with, nice party wear, some tees, uhm.. slippers..random pretty junk..earrings.. Jeez. This is so unfair. I need to get paid more.

4) And if I don't get paid more, I might die in debt.

5) And if I don't work more, I won't get paid more..

6) And if I do work more, then its goodbye to social life.

SIGH.

My life is so complicated.So unfair.

Losing myself

2008-11-20T21:02:00.000-08:00

I'm sorry, but I've been up to here doing stuff that feel so wonder-woman to me.Really I'm not exaggerating.

UPDATE:

3 weeks earlier

Have been fighting with HR guy from American company who seemed more interested in letting me know why 'my skills' weren't that great after all instead of listening to what I have to say. HR girl seemed better. Why don't guys EVER listen? If he had paused for breath, I could've told him he had a nice voice at least. Well, I said AT LEAST.

2 Weeks earlier

HR guy resorts to desperate measures and starts ringing me at seven thirty in the morning asking 'Uhm.I'm calling from American Company.Are you free to speak for a few mins?'. JEEZ. At seven thirty?Is he kidding me? Ok, even that was forgivable. But then he's flooded my inbox asking to reply 'urgently' because 'the position is crucial'. As if. More or less of a 'dude, if you don't take this you don't have anything anyway'. I didn't want to make life easier for him of course, so I told him that 'I'd think about it' and would 'let him know of my decision soon'. Bah.

1 week earlier

Ok, I gave up. Was busy weighing my options and all that crap, and NDTV flashes that we are going to be in serious trouble in the new future and all. What's with this damn world. God. Then I've got people telling me that it's better to take this up than sit around jobless (which made sense slightly but still). So I tell my folks that I've got to pack up and leave to another city to start work in American company. Oh ya, needless to say mega prime-time serial type drama followed. Also noticed that my folks have adopted new way of talking to me i.e. they email me. I cannot tell you how funny this turned out. I'm mailing Amma and Appa when they are in the same house. When I asked Amma later, she says she just finds it easier to put up with disobedience over email. WHAT.

5 days ago

My entire family decides to drop me off at Bangalore. I cannot believe Amma took off work. This is the first Vijayann family vacation in forever.

3 days ago

I walked into the office of American company at the heart of Bangalore city. Turns out my desk is right near HR guy.

Hah! I'll save the gossip for later.I don't have time anymore, I'm a working woman now you see. Giggle, giggle.

The Whole New World,politics, Obamania and other such things.

2008-11-02T20:35:00.000-08:00

'I'm asking you to believe, not just in my ability to bring about real change in Washington.. I'm asking you to believe in yours'.

- Barack Obama.

America's waking up to a new world, or so it seems. The race is over and the White House has thrown its doors open for the first black man. Everyone is happy, in fact, exhilarated beyond vision. A 600 million dollar campaign had paid off. At least, something got people glued to their television sets, and distracted them from their real world misery. David Plouffe has every reason to ruffle his feathers and smile ear to ear. His work's paid off as well. Don't get me wrong, I wanted Obama to win hands down; America needed someone who didn't want to fight evil and the world needed to see change in the country it really couldn't do without. But here in the real world around me, things have gotten no better. So I apologize if I don't sound that excited to scream 'O for OBAMA!' the hunderedth time. Or in true madras basahai - 'Obamakku oru O podu!'.

While America's been surfing high waters of change, India's been sinking lower. Lower, lower and lower. The last DMDK youth conference held by Vijayakanth, strangled traffic on Mount Road for four to five hours. No, there was no legal action taken. Then, there's a raid on the home of a television actor by around 50 DMDK party cadets for personal reasons. Noone went to jail for that, not surprising is it? In Maharastra, Raj Thackeray is leading an anti-marathi parade. This, in a country that boasts of the being the most culturally tolerant nation. In the north-east dozens of militant separatist groups are beoming active. Noone cares, bombs have become an everyday deal. Rakhi Sawant hogs primetime for winning a dance show on a famous news channel. Surprising? Naah, It's India. This is where we just let everyone be.

In the past year, India has sunk lower on the scale of corruption, crime and security. Now with the recession slowing taking over, alot more people are dying of hunger, alot more people are in debt, and alot more criminals going scot-free. Will a new political system relieve us the way the current elections swept away the old American mindset? Probably it would, probably it wouldn't. But here's the thing about depending on presidents, elections and business party politics in terms with a whole new world. There will never be an end to terrorism unless the government stop funding terrorists, politicians don't care about the people either, they care for votes. what's left is an anonymous mass of people - ourselves. And the only choice we have is to be the change we want to see in the world around us. I don't know when we are going to realise it, but I think on that note, I cheer for Obama one last time. I cheer for probably the first president who wrote his own speech. I cheer him for keeping the faith alive.

Go Obama!

And the world must know

2008-10-21T05:30:00.000-07:00

that the name of my sister's college principal is Freddie Mercury.

Nice things happen to the wrong people. Sniff.

2008-10-20T23:36:00.000-07:00

Typical email from NK to BCC'd list finds itself at the top of my inbox this morning. It read :

Subject: My latest acquisition-- my pups!

Hi,

please find attached the zipped folder containing the pictures of my two little pups. I have in addition to these two another lab which is evidently not in the pictures. The Bassett hound is named Vito, the lab in the pic is called Max, and the other lab is called Nero.

Kindly revert for further clarifications.

NK.

I wonder if lawyers should be sent to letter-writing schools.

2008-10-08T03:06:00.000-07:00

Conversation with dad:

Me: Pa, I'm going to marry whoever I want.

Him: I've got to see him first.

Me: No one's ever going to be good enough to you, you'll have a problem with everyone.

Him: Yes.

Me: Why is that?

Him: Because no one is good enough.

Me: ???!

Tough love is an oxymoron

2008-10-08T00:44:00.000-07:00

I've come to realise that it becomes increasingly difficult, as time passes, to unlove anyone. I mean, that's just it. No matter how you try you cannot unlove anyone or anything. How absolutely deliberate of God, seriously. Like a hundred year sentence isn't long enough.

I was looking at last year's People-I've-got-to-kill-before-I-die list this morning, and couldn't help but think - really, I mean they weren't all THAT bad. The thing is, at some point, I think you just give yourself time to heal and the things that hurt so bad once don't hurt quite as much now. So, there. I sat striking all their names one by one: forgiving Miss.M for making me kneel in the hallway after prep, forgiving the Buffoon for being my worst nightmare throughout school, forgiving the Jackass for still being who he is, forgiving that girl-next-door who lied to me. Forgiving. Forgiving. Forgiving. That's all I did all morning, until 1 pm. Because at the stroke of 1, I reached the one name that I could not get myself to cross - NK. Could I really forgive him?

We clearly don't feel a thing for each other - or so we have believed for the past years. Yet, why would two people so insanely different, who get to see each other just once every year, who fight so often, who are headstrong and stubborn, and who have their futures all 'sorted out' still accommodate the other person in their lives? I don't know the answer, and I'd leave it upto you to figure it out.

And forgiveness. Wouldn't forgiveness erase all the bitterness in a second? Then why was it so hard to strike his name out from the list?

possible reasons could be:

1) that he cheated me.

2) that he was so close to me, and he still lied. About her, about his feelings for her, and about what he felt for me. So, back to point no.1.

3) the worst part is that he still means alot to me. As a friend, and as a confidante. And back again to point no. 1.

How extraordinary we were - two people who cannot sort their differences out then and there, and who keep a thing going on for years together, brimming with unfinished sentences, unfinished arguments, and worst of all unfinished conversations. It's like - there's always something but there's nothing. And then to make it worse, going around attaching meanings to alot of nothing; like ignoring phone calls, never replying to emails, and being perennially busy. How silly of me. Of course, I should've known.

But, probably this is why there are times when you can love a person so much and hate them with equal measure. Or you can hate a person simply because you like them so much. Maybe this is why we could never unlove people entirely too. Maybe this is also why it is so hard to forgive them. They mess up your life in ways that you could never repair it, yet they fill spaces that were empty with their presence. I thought about it for a long while, and realised that I couldn't score out his name as yet. I am not ready enough. Not now. If unconditional love is the only way forgiveness is possible, and hatred the price I will pay for it, I don't think I'm ready for the bargain.

This post is something I never thought I'd write. But as Pitseleh says, a therapist costs money, a blog doesn't.

Is there a new word for (dis)tasteful?

2008-10-03T22:40:00.000-07:00

A man carrying a Burberry umbrella worth 200$?

A baby wearing a Fendi bib worth 100$?

Does this remind us of over-exploitation or the underbelly of India? In fact, this reminded me of a few other photos that Vogue carried earlier.

inspired by the horror of Abu Ghraib prisoners?

and this?

apparently they were inspired from..

Please, someone get them new talent. Or at least some grey matter.

(Source for pictures: printculture, Michelle Malkin, Huffington, and NYtimes)

Changing times, old clothes and new habits.

2008-10-03T20:43:00.000-07:00

Pardon my absence, but I am currently walking the plank, blindfolded, and I know there are a whole lotta sharks waiting to feast on me. In fact, I'm just waiting to be pushed forward.

After three day trips to Bangalore, meeting up with childhood friends who've changed, crazy job interviews and trying to convince mum and dad that I've grown up, I'm exhausted. Not because of the travel, but because of the change. It's so hard to get accustomed to. Now, I've got to shop for 'work clothes', and neat purses, and tidy my hair up to look 'suitable for work'. Depressing isn't the word, I tell you. The world seemed so much nicer when we were in college. No worrying about bills, or taxes, or late night shifts. No worrying about travelling, or fuel, or whether I could just get a day off.

I'll probably be pushed off to swim with the sharks soon. If there's anything that could offer me comfort right now, I think it'd just be a week of sleep. Or maybe, something more comfortable, like a coma.

Why won't I listen?

2008-09-16T23:49:00.000-07:00

Because it is plain depressing.

Here's a quick recap of today:

The financial markets are down. Lehman brothers- Merrill Lynch double whammy. Serial blasts. The Congress is in dilemma. Eighty five billion to save AIG. Woman sets maid on fire. Teen stabbed 666 times in satanic rite. Quake hits western Maharashtra. Another Indian girl found dead in the US. Dengue fever spreads. Acute milk shortage in Patna.

Really. I couldn't care less. After throwing all the newspapers in my house into the bin, I watched Cartoon Network with my baby sister.

-------------------------------------------------------

Ignorance is bliss at times.

A birthday toast

2008-09-15T00:06:00.000-07:00

To idiocy,

without which no-one could

ever be

Friends.

To arguments,

without which no-one could

ever share

their differences.

To love,

without which no-could

ever find

the depth of existence.

Happy Birthday pretty boy,

Have a lovely 23rd.

Love,

A series of fortunate events.

2008-09-14T20:32:00.000-07:00

For once, my life is taking control of me. My ongoing personal crisis with jobs and relentless complaining about how the world could possibly be such a cruel, unfair, greedy place seems to have sent a telepathic signal to Zeus. Or lesser, not-so-popular-yet-super-kind-God, like say, Arabinose. At least it meant someone was listening.

Fortunate event #1

American company calls for an interview in desperation. I knew it was in desperation because the mail had a smiley in it. A SMILEY. Potential employers using smilies in emails always answers a two way question. Firstly, you know that they will take you even if you don't seem like you could contribute in the least way to the company. Secondly, you could also play your cards and make them wait. No, I'm not in the least surprised and I must say I've been playing aces - now they are willing to pay me how much ever I want just to keep me. And no, I won't apologize for being a brutally honest and sly money-minded minx. I need to be able to afford that trip to Central America.

Fortunate event #2

Remember how I felt that I'd never be able to churn out that book? turns out that there might be a publishing house that is interested in reading unsolicited manuscripts. The woman who spoke to me was also an uncompromising feminist. I knew it because she had just published a whole load of women writing which made no sense to me. All the same, both feminist nature and enthusiasm to read manuscripts appealed to me. Maybe, like maybe, there might be a teeny weeny chance she might like what I've written - especially since it involves a lot of heterosexual relationship bashing.

Fortunate event #3

After an entire month of bitching with girlfriends about the asperities of sharing the planet with the male species, NK has made me change my mind. Of all people- NK. But then I got thinking, maybe they aren't all that bad. He has actually returned all calls and messages over the past week playing professional lawyer, best friend and outright ass at the same time. I guess it also has to do with the 'famous-NK-birthday' coming up which involves alot of women, alcohol, binge drinking and a warped body clock. But anyway our lack-lustre conversations have actually started to sound like normal conversations now. Part way I think there are calm seas and sunshine ahead; the distance doesn't seem too bad now.

Also to add to it, I just found out that mum had left an insane amount of Gulab jamuns, Besan laddoos and Khoa in the fridge. Ah, life can be so awfully sweet at times. I feel so much better when it takes care of me rather than the other way around.

(This is for the three people who have made me listen to the Sunscreen Song over the past years- Uthree, NK and Gradwolf)

22/ Quarter-life crisis.

2008-09-09T01:05:00.000-07:00

No, it isn't just the Goodbye-to-college-drama and Phone-number jotting to blame. It also has alot to do with sleeping 24/7, retrieving old phone numbers from scraps of paper, calling people I've ignored long enough, trying to fix things on the job front, being awfully jet-lagged, and getting used to travelling half-way across city to shop.

Also, I've been drawing lots all morning to help me decide. Not that it is (in the least way) helpful, but heck, at least its something. I've never been this uncertain about my life. Earlier, I actually liked this whole uncertainty thing. It made things seem more exciting. Now I'm starting to wish I was one of those people who applied to Oxford three years ahead - Just in case.

Appa tells me that everyone feels confused at twenty two. He doesn't even believe me that there are some people I know who knew what they wanted to do from the time they were, say 0 years old. For eg. The Scientist knew what he wanted to be from age 3. His parents and him had it all figured out by the time he was 5. Then there's NK, who decided early on that his talent for arguing with me would pay off in Law school. When I tell Appa this, he yells and says if I'm going to compare myself to people I'm never going to get anywhere, later adding that if I so badly wanted to become a writer, to take a pen and start writing now.

Now, I've been thinking about my downhill-spiralling life all morning with a pen in my hand: Twenty two. No big fat paycheck. Not even small measly one for that matter. Clueless. Two degrees.

The only thing I feel like writing now is my obituary.

Priceless.

2008-08-28T14:46:00.000-07:00

My favourite of the four of us on the Swiss rail.Yes, I said four. Not two.

Housing on campus and the hell within.

2008-08-26T16:24:00.000-07:00

I'm very tolerant. Really.Not that I am a real joy to live with, but I tolerate more than the next person. Sadly, now it feels as if I've got to remind people about how nasty I can be.

The Onion people who live with me have absolutely no clue how good a vaccumed carpet and a clean kitchen can feel. No, they really don't. And it is p.i.s.s.i.n.g. off. The poor carpet would scream if she had a voice. Onion peels, rice grains, dried dal, biscuit crumbs, bread crumbs and what-not. The last time T and I had tried to make a deal, they swore we would take 'turns' in emptying the garbage. And so much for the talk, they stood watching T , Goel and I as we dragged two dripping (I think it was spoilt yogurt.Eww.) stinky bags late at night just so we can sleep without the entire flat smelling like a pig pen.

T and I had mentioned it a number of times, For. e.g.

T : ' Listen Onion#1. I mean, our kitchen looks really diry, let's do our dishes and vaccum the carpet..'

Onion #1: 'yes yaar, really.. it's dirty, no problem..' she munches on something very high-calorie and dusts off crumbs onto the carpet.

Me (second try): Listen you guys, I mean, we might not get our deposit back if our flat looks like this.. its really dirty..'

Onion #1: 'Arre.. ya I know, we better get it back yaar..'. More munching, more spilling.

Argh.

ARGH.

Sick.Sick.Sick.Sick!

If this were America, I'm sure I could sue. But since its not, I'm going to try the next best thing.

Murder.

#1.

2008-08-23T19:05:00.000-07:00

Surprisingly, Former class topper turned enemy turned best friend turned lawyer sends me a rather sweet text message that read:

'I got your mails. The postcard was wonderful. and it makes me sad that its the last mail from England'.

I am busy wondering whether it was actually a hint of an I-am-missing-you-a-little-bit or please-stay-in-England-and-do-not-return-EVER.

As of now, I'm comforted by the fact that boys talk in riddles so that you can never figure what goes on in their lousy heads. Since he wouldn't read this anyway, I must also tell you that he might not have meant anything at all. But then, who knows.

Boys are boys.

And girls are girls. Hah!

The truth is illusionary.

2008-08-21T19:08:00.000-07:00

Earlier this week, I had received an automated reply saying: Prof. Shortcake would not be available until the 1st of September to read my draft.

What.Was.She.Thinking.

After an entire three days of cribbing, I've decided to forgive her because she probably needed to see life outside that lonely hell-hole of an office she sat in. Well, actually I forgive her just for wanting to see life.

So much for an education, my university is run by the a bunch of academic yahoos who I sometimes feel do not know a damn thing about the real world. For instance, Prof.B. and Prof.Im-a-know-it-all who took my core module in the first term who could talk for hours on 'Media and the effects of television in spreading AIDS awareness in Africa' or 'How the Gulf war changed life for an invalid stuck somewhere in Iceland' knew probably nothing about how difficult life actually was in Africa, or that people weren't really affected that personally by the Gulf War.

Someone needs to tell them, noone gives a damn.

I remember people go on about the education I would have if I studied abroad, the way I would learn to see things differently, the way I should meet people from other cultures. Now, a year has passed.I've researched this and researched that. Every godforsaken soddy subject that has possibly been studied in Social science. Yet, I've had only eight hours of class a week, four essays, and a dissertation (which I am told does not matter in the least as it will not get me a job). BIG DEAL. Now if I were to weigh the education I received in India to education here, I think I'd gladly give it a 50/50. In India, people literally killed themselves to get to the best engineering and law colleges. Here, people go through hell to get into the club of the Greater common good that only talk all big about the world outside. And do nothing. Either I am confined to books, or I'm confined to 'an academic way of life'. What cost both ways? It's like a choice between being blind in my left eye or my right eye.

Somewhere inbetween, the importance of being trivial is lost.

I still haven't lost hope though. I must ask Prof. Shortcake how her little pancake party by the Thames went. I hope there was no research involved.

The truth she sees might be illusionary, but maybe this time it was necessary.

Well, Good for her.

Trials and tribulations

2008-08-20T17:30:00.000-07:00

Everyone around me seem to be having a crisis of sorts. Particularly of typical English variety - For instance, finding housing for around 50 GBP hoping it comes with at least enough breathing space for a mouse, or whether we would get jobs, or worse still, what happens if we get those jobs in the worst hovels of un-merry England where there might be no 50 GBP houses and no sane people.

As usual, poor laid-back and not-so-ambitious me has listened to everyone's troubles for the past week and been on exceptionally good behaviour. Even at the swear-y parts. I'd joined in complaining at dinner, discussing the day's house-hunting disasters, sulking, grieving about what after-college life would be like. You know, that sort. And I must say I had been enjoying myself tremendously, till it hit me that my countdown timer is showing an all-time low of 12 days.

Jeez.

Just when I start enjoying the fact that life could be a big joke, reality comes and ruins it. Seriously.Isn't life bad enough? I wish there was something else to worry about other than jobs; why can't everyone just relax.Look at me,I'm Youtubing still..

Oh my God.Wait a sec.. Youtube has a CAREER section.

Yay!

To India, with Love.

2008-08-14T17:21:00.000-07:00

'Distances
but
teach from afar,
racing time
racing age
yet at home in our hearts'

With love on your 61st.

M.V.

2008-08-12T06:34:00.000-07:00

My countdown timer reads 21 days 09 hours 25 minutes and running seconds. I cannot believe it. I've got to shop all I want, eat about a million Yorkie bars, lose some weight, do my dissertation, print it, bind it, throw it in that crappy submission shelf, travel, ship my luggage home, go to WY playhouse, and all I get is 21 days?

Argh.

This is so unfair. This is why leaving college totally totally sucks. It wouldn't hurt if I had a year more.At least then I would've had enough time . Two weeks will just fly by before I can even finish an iota of this goddamn disssertation. I don't know what's worse right now, graduating college in two weeks or regretting half the things I didn't do later. It's not my fault. Its the Universe's. Its not fair that humans get only a hundred soddy years to live. Really, even vampires get seven hundred. And that too when they don't even deserve it. Greedy blood-sucking devil spawn.

I need more time in my life.

ARE YOU LISTENING YOU UP THERE.

sulk.sniff.

I don't want to leave college.

2008-08-10T17:28:00.000-07:00

How happy is the blameless Vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd.

- Alexander Pope
(Eloisa to Abelard)

I watched this movie about lovers and memory today. I can't tell you much except that the girl had carrot coloured hair. Tangerine Perhaps. Sometimes it was blue.. sometimes she had it green but most of the times it was just, you know, carrot coloured. I was watching it halfway through my third bag of Tyrell's sweet chilli and red pepper. I've got to stop. Damn, I've got to stop.

The funny thing was, I felt as if I was watching a version of me on screen; dysfunctional, impulsive, easily angered, stubborn and selfish me. And it felt like I was stuck in a time warp inside my own muddled head.Time. Memory. Colours. Love..

I like it when movies do that though, you know, when they sort of feel like a reflection of your life. It makes you feel as if you are looking at your life played out by two absolute strangers and you realise that probably what you've been through isn't so crazy after all.I wonder how it might be if we all erased people we wanted to forget, from the depths of our minds and the corners of our hearts.

Would there be black vacant spaces inside of us then?

2008-08-08T16:53:00.000-07:00

Oh my God, I have to lose weight. No, you don't understand.I can't seem to fit into my favourite jeans. Not fitting into favourite jeans can only mean that Yorkie bars and Chips are showing their true colours. And my arms are starting to resemble Jayalaitha's. What am I turning into? I can't even hide them. In another few days I'm going to look like Fat Monica. This stupid internet is not helping my case either. First my hair, now my arms. To top it all, I type in 'How to lose flabby arms in ten days' in my Google search box and get this.

The Question : How do u lose flabby arms? (by Ms.Desperate).

The Solutions:

Cut them off. - Phil,W. San Francisco.
Ask Oprah, She has the same problem. - Crumrudge.,XXooXX.
Cycling machine will reduce flabby arms - Nicole, H., Indiana.
Dude, What are you saying? Cycling doesn't have anything to do with arms. - Sparkle, Ohio.
Surgery. I mean eating healthy takes alot of time.. - WHATEVER.
hi, its good that u are so consious. I wish i were also this consicous.Do you have flabby chins also?I'm soooo fat.. - Darsee, the angel.

Ok, so much for Google making our lives easier.

Especially mine. Hmpfh.

2008-08-08T12:20:00.000-07:00

Argh. This is ABSOLUTE misery. I am never going to have rapunzel-type hair. I hate all these stupid shampoos and I'm going to throw all of them in the bin right now. I've started to shed more hair than my dogs! How much sadder can my life be? And it has nothing to do with nutrition because I'm eating well. Yorkie bars and chips not counted. But I've been eating mushrooms and peas and all those things. There's enough hair in my dustbin to donate to Tirupathi for the next four and a half years. What am I going to do? I am surely going to be baldilocks with the three hairs not rapunzel! I am never going to join advertising companies and promote these dumb, no-good, good-people cheating shampoos. I should have believed Appa when he said all those people wore wigs. I am not going to trust anything from now on. And that goes for hair oil too, Esp. Parachute. Like, damn all of you. This world is just so full of waffle-cock.

The world is so unfair.Now, I'm not going to comb my hair for the next five days, that way, I save time and hair.

But on the other hand, I'm also happy that T's hair is falling. Her bun looked more or less the size of a golf ball today. Giggle. Well, if I'm going down, I'm taking her with me. I need some company if I'm going to pull a Eva Salvail.

2008-08-06T14:48:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking alot about my life lately and wish I'd stop. I really really wish I could stop my mind talking. It's like listening to a godforsaken stuck cd-player. And Youtube is like the greatest man-made nightmare of all time. Seriously. I've watched more videos in the past half hour than a Spielberg prototype watching re-runs.Click.Click.Click. I don't know what I hate more right now, this worthless dream of joining the spiritless mass of a workforce after university or the fact that I feel like I've done nothing remotely useful in the past few months.

I haven't seen the great outside forever now, thanks to a sorry piece of research work my academic bargain demands. Which, by the way doesn't even mean anything to anyone as I'm simply a 'Master's student'. For all this trouble, I could've packed my bags and retired to living in a treehouse in the Amazon. At least, that could've been exciting.

And now since I've finished my daily rant, I'm off to T's room to see what she's doing.

Oh, wait. Maybe I'll watch that Jon McLaughlin video again.

2008-08-06T09:56:00.000-07:00

England.

It makes me feel as if I am in a void afterlife..it feels like a postcard gone wrong.. nothing fits.Nothing lasts.

Perfection is such a flaw.

2008-08-04T19:45:00.000-07:00

----------------------

2008-08-04T19:26:00.000-07:00

Sometime in 2006 -

2 a.m

Me: NK, are you awake?

NK: Yes.. am awake. What's wrong?

Me: There's a power cut here. I'm freaked out of my mind, its so dark. Talk to me, I just can't tolerate the darkness.. its creepy..

NK: What's so freaky?

Me: The Darkness!!!

NK: So do you sleep with your eyes open every night?

POV 1 - A ballad to black innocence and blue skies.

2008-08-04T16:21:00.000-07:00

I think what we need is the return of a macabre killer Goddess. The one who punishes by cutting people's heads off, and wears decorative pieces of skull and bone jewellery while she stomps around relishing the taste of blood and mankind. She has the power to destroy, the power to make her own decisions and more importantly, the power to define just how fair is 'fair'.

I am a social sciences and media student.I am supposed to be seeing the world in grey, not black and white. But it seems impossible, and so difficult to live in a continuous tone when everything around you is black or white. I cannot get myself to view sexual violence against any person (be it man or a woman) as anything but as violence against a person's right to an emotional state of mind. I'm being as objective as I can, but seriously, there are few questions I would like to ask.

Firstly, in a country (as in rest of the world) such as ours where crimes by men far outdo female crimes, why is it still that women are the ones who are brought up with strict moral instruction? Why shouldn't men be taught to behave? Secondly, if men have the right to wear whatever they choose to, so do women. The 'provocation' argument is out of the question. Women don't go around pawing shirtless males (if there be any good ones) on the road, or guys walking aorund in shorts. In fact, I must say that I welcome the new reform in murder laws in Britain. There will now be no cases of people killing supposedly nagging and cheating spouses. Of course, I still think domestic violence is something that needs to be looked into and not seen as a 'normalcy' of heterosexual relationships. There is nothing normal about husbands and wives battering each other to death and burying the remains in the backyard. Yes, sadly I believe the practice is quite common in Britain.

And for our country's good educated first class lawyers who champion that there should not be a death penalty for rapists, I wonder what they'd think about it if their wives and daughters got pawed at by a bunch of assholes. Would they file a case that sits in a sessions court for the next half of the century or would they be man enough to beat the bastard till he can't ever touch another woman? I wonder. Don't get me wrong, I don't have anything against lawyers, I respect them alot. I have my share of intelligent lawyer friends to bail me out as well, but seriously. All everyone talks about is evidence, how does one provide evidence when the injury caused cannot be seen? In that case,wouldn't there be no evidence whatsoever of love, faith, hope, or even of a consciousness?

Our newspapers on the other hand have promoted sexual violence to an extent that we have begun to think that it is normal. Why is it normal to be taught to fear everything that is male? its ludicrous. Noone is born a victim. Right?

I don't know what's worse, men who refuse to behave or women who refuse to stand up for their rights. But I've sure figured one thing.

Justice is a game of chess.

It's a game that is about strategy and winning, abiding yet slithering under that thin sheath of law. And in a country like India, so long as you (have the money and have power) you champion for justice. For whose? Yours alone. At what cost? if you have the money, then you could afford to buy yourself a life, but what for the teeming millions who don't?

Maybe I will keep a sickle under my pillow.

Just in case.

(The views expressed here are entirely my own, and even if you want to, I cannot publish flak, you could do that on your own blog though)

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2008-08-03T18:13:00.000-07:00

I have got to stop this habit of drinking coffee thrice a day. And reading blogs. Argh.

This god-awful cold is to blame.

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2008-08-03T17:06:00.000-07:00

There's a song from the movie Evita that reminds me so much of my life. In fact, its lyrics describe everything I have ever felt and asked myself, over months.. and years.

It feels now as if I was destined to keep moving. The last time my cupboard at home actually held something that belonged to me was when I was eight. After that, I've lived off the trunk I had inherited from dad. It was the same trunk that he had taken to boarding school for twelve years. It was the trunk that held all his memories once..today it holds mine. It stayed with me through nine years of boarding school, three years of college, when I happened to stay in the best hostel in the city, and now a year in University, far far away from anything I have called home.

And, suddenly, it seems that I've got to start packing again.

But to where?

The only answer I know is that it will be another home.. another place where I will eventually have to live off my suitcase, where I will eventually settle down. But even that is easy, the hard part is saying goodbye. Goodbye to T, Goel and Zen. Goodbye to a year of new found friends and good times. But then again, thinking about it, I must say I've become accustomed to it. This strange..moving life of mine. There are just more odd things to add to my trunk.

' I don't expect my love affairs to last for long
Never fool myself that my dreams will come true
Being used to trouble I anticipate it
But all the same I hate it, wouldn't you?

So what happens now?
Another suitcase in another hall
So what happens now?
Take your picture off another wall
Where am I going to?
You'll get by, you always have before
Where am I going to?....

- Evita

There really couldn't have been better words to describe my life... Oh well, but then again, I'll get by as I always have before..

Different perspectives on the KNOT.

2008-08-02T18:36:00.000-07:00

What's with everyone getting married?Jesus. These are people who are my age! Isn't the math easy?

Marriage = living SEVENTY FIVE years with the same person.

How very romantic.

How very scary.

Revathi tells me she does not want to marry a Mallu guy who's born and brought up in Malluland. He should be Mallu born and brought up some place else.He should also be very rich.Very smart.

Uthree tells me in a very American way that 'It all boils down to my parents because they hold the key to many decisions in my life still'. I think Uthree might stay in the US for longer where she holds the key to her decisions. Of course, she doesn't agree.

Cat wants to get married. She's been all about weddings from the time I've known her. Typical Monica from friends, I can imagine what her wedding would be like - There'd be perfect flowers, perfect clothes, perfect bridesmaids, and most importantly the perfect groom. Seriously, God help humanity if anything imperfect happens.

Siddharth thinks that marriage is a silly deal. He doesn't believe in it he says. What is the deal about two people living for the rest of their lives together right?We've got just one life, we might as well use all the cards.

NK will be a very obedient boy and marry girl according to family wishes. Even if he does like someone, the family will have to give the 'go ahead'. Thinking about it, NK s perfect soap opera material. He can play the sensible, extra hardworking boy with a vicious witch of a wife. Perfect it'd be.

Kutty has given up all hope when it comes to guys. Totally.

T wants to get married and does not want to get married at the same time. For all she is, I hope she doesn't marry anyone out of sympathy. Her big heart needs some shrinking for her own good.

And me. The only time I had ever taken the marriage deal seriously was when I considered marrying Michael Jackson. I'd even sworn to myself that I'd wait till I became twenty to do that. I made my dad get me this lifesize poster of him to stick on my wall so I could look at him everyday and everynight, had all the albums he had ever possibly released ( not his Jackson-five days). In fact I remember I even watched 'Moonwalk' about twenty times and cried every time he got hurt. Then I think I went a little crazy, and my parents had to put an end to it when I had exhausted about five film rolls shooting pictures of his songs on TV. That made about one hundred and eighty blank shots of the TV, my camera confiscated and my Michael Jackson dream coming to an end.

Well, OK, at least I took it seriously and everything for an eight year old.

IMAGINE IF MY DREAM EVER CAME TRUE.

Thank God for small mercies.

P.S. Please God, tell me where Charming is.

Travel notes - Scarborough, North Yorkshire.

2008-08-02T14:35:00.000-07:00

T, Goel, Zen, The Scientist and I took a bus up North a while ago. We had heard of limestone cliffs, castles and beaches that stretched on forever.

If you have heard Simon and Garfunkel's rendition of 'Scarborough Fair', you might have imagined a place that one got lost in.. a place where knights rode white horses .. where rivers laughed and skipped over brooks and stones into the endless sea..

In reality, it is nothing like it. The town is shrouded in some sort of mystic silence.Its beaches are calm.. its people live in a world of their own..

The first place we headed to was South bay. It was where Edward II's famous 'Scarborough castle stood'. Empty. Forlorn. The ruins looked undisturbed by time and promise.

The guide booklet we were given told us that King Edward II gave the castle as a gift to his (possible) lover who was later executed. Hah. So much for Romance and Blue blood in the 13th century.

We expored the castle for a bit before we headed down to the seaside. There really wasn't anything much to look at. But here's something interesting that we did not expect to see..

For those of you who cannot get a clear view, this is 'Anne Bronte's grave'. What's so special about Anne Bronte's grave? Well, probably nothing at all.. but if you have read 'The Tenant of Wildfell Hall' you will realize that we were standing barely steps away from one of the most prominent figures in Victorian England.

The roads were packed with souvenir shops and fish n chips stalls. The five of us finally had to settle for some orangeade and water to survive the heat. Before you ask, yes, summers can get awfully dry and hot.

After lunch at this small joint (which had ceiling fans!) we walked down to the harbour to watch the sunset before we headed back home..

The long road to Sunshine, beaches and peaceful living..

Travel Notes - Leeds, West Yorkshire

2008-07-30T14:14:00.000-07:00

There was once a kingdom here, the Chestnut guy tells me. An ancient Celtic Kingdom called Elmet, in the middle of forest called 'Loidis'. Of course, there are no remains of it, but I believe if you walked through the city today, you could still feel the beauty of the middle ages - lost somewhere in its primitive squalor.

Its beautiful chapels have been turned into a jumble of nightclubs. No, the locals don't seem to have a problem. They love their public houses as much as they love God. Most of the churches in Leeds are small and independent, just as the town people. They find love and worship in small things - community service, clerical work and industrial labour. But what does one see in Leeds?

I also figured that people from Leeds aren't called Leed-ians (like Londoners in an obnoxious way). They call themselves Loiners.

Sounded kind of gross to me.

Loiners?

Sounds like a bunch of shags, like one of the guys said. Ah well, who cared.

The city centre (probably the smallest city centre you might have ever been to) is a fifteen minute walk from the University Campus. Located off Briggate, it houses an entirety of shops and retail outlets. You couldn't really afford anything in Victoria Quarter for all its worth (unless you have recently robbed a bank). For example, the sign at the window said the pretty red Westwood dress 'just' cost nine hundred pounds after a fifty percent discount.

Its the nonchalance of the city that touches you eventually; its life is slow, mellow, distant from the humdrum of activity. People sing.. they dance.. noone cares.noone notices. After a week of living here you might probably befriend the handful who live here. The other half you don't meet, you can recognize. Coffee bars, restaurants, underground clubs and stores.. you might know everything in a month, but something somewhere... touches you.

I couldn't describe what it is.

2008-07-28T17:17:00.000-07:00

The best part about this is that it works.

I can say whatever I want, and the millions who read will listen. There are no can-dos and can't-do's. Its simple and easy. Its exciting and exhilarating. It sets my mind free... from the prison of my body..

I like this feeling. Its warm and fuzzy, a little like the time I first rode my cycle without those extra wheels. It was the first time I didn't have to be afraid of falling or being laughed at, because no-one was going to be around.

And finally, you turn up.

Someone who will listen to me.

Its perfect right? Its like a connection between two people stuck in different parts of geography.A bond between two strangers... a conversation between nobodies.

Random things I've noticed in the past few days

2008-07-25T17:00:00.000-07:00

- Revathi hasn't shown signs of coming online which means either she is busy or she is ill.

- The guy in the second window from bottom seems to have washed his vest and undies. I'm sure of it as they aren't hanging on his window.

- British newspapers are full of hogwash.

- Yorkie bars and Sweet chilli chips are all I need to survive in this country.I've eaten so much over the past week.Burp.

- Listening to KT Tunstall reduces Emotional 'fuckwittage' and boosts energy levels.

- That my sister sounds like my clone over the phone.

- Cat and Uthree haven't bothered to spend quality time mailing me and I'm making a mental note of it to blackmail later.

- That NK actually seems to like that painting.

- I've been messing up my sorry brain thinking about my apparently-not-so-bright looking future.

- That I love bugging Goel.Love.Love.Love.

- T looks so awfully tired everyday after labwork that I have to bite my teeth and keep all the bugging to do over weekends.Bah.

- That both T and I are going to live on Goel's Colgate toothpaste tube till September and continue to fight over it every morning.

Birthday Woes

2008-07-24T11:57:00.000-07:00

Today's the winner. It really was one of Those moments. Goel and I spent four and a half hours in the city trying to decide on a gift for T. Four. And. A. Half. Hours. It couldn't get worse than that. She doesn't read, so books were out of question. We weren't sure whether sizes would be right, so shoes and clothes were out, she had just bought herself a Dorothy Perkins bag so that was out as well. Finally, we were left with two options. Get something blindly, or head home.

Exhausted after an eternity of window shopping, we hurried here and there picking up a few last minute keep-asides like the cake and candles before heading home.Tired as hell. But that wasn't what fate had in store for us. Two people who had toiled hard for the perfect birthday and everything.

Five minutes before we surprised her, when Goel and I sat blowing balloons, it suddenly hit us.

They read 'Happy Retirement'.

Tamilzha.. Tamilzha? (P)unintended.

2008-07-23T14:05:00.000-07:00

I think I understand why the world finds it so hard to like us poor Tamilians. I mean, seriously, it cannot get worse than it already is. Its bad enough a few sorry ones like me (by sorry here I mean belonging to the strata of Tamils who can barely manage to read and write the language even though we've studied it throughout school) still manage to pull through .For instance, I still don't know how you say 'ninety' or 'nine hundred' or 'nine thousand'. Worse, I go to Madras after ten months in the UK and figure that my blessed state has taken Tamil loyalism to a whole new level - even phone card instructions read in Tamil. Jesus. Trust me, even the woman who sold me the sim card took about half an hour to figure out what the hell the instructions read.

How Paavam.That's a problem in trying to get to understand Tamil culture.People don't realize that it isn't really that we wouldn't like to be friends with everyone and talk other languages (We are really a nice bunch, you know), its simply that we like what we've got and don't expect anything more. Really. Have you noticed that we show no signs of getting bored with ourselves.Look at us: when has Sun TV ever run out of old soap operas, or Kumutham stopped telling you who that actress slept with and this director married the third time? When has Sun music run out of callers asking for the repeat of the same hit song or Spencer Plaza showed signs of being empty? We even watch the same comedy scenes and know the dialogues of every sorry Tamil film we've watched in a lifetime. And that's just it, we don't miss anything.We don't get tired of our Idly and Sambhar diet, we don't get tired of the constant everyday bickering with autodrivers considering we are the only state that still does not follow a meter system, we still have open manholes all over the city, we still go religiously to Sathyam cinemas and whistle. And that's just it. Our lives are just about enough. There are no great Tamil dreams, we know our politicians are a bunch of boneheads who are both ugly and money-minded. We even know that people will still vote for them just because of the free rice and free television sets.

Sigh. I sit back and watch my friends bickering and boo-ing down Tamil mentality and blah-blahing about the state of affairs in the future if we do not make friends with our malloo and gulti neighbours. The thing people don't get is being Tamil has nothing to do with being friends with anyone. If you are in Tamilnadu, for instance, I don't think you can ever really be anything but a Tamil. You could be half-Irish,point five percent punjabi, three fourths a Zebra and still you get to only feel Tamil and nothing else. Pathetic and awesome at the same time, right? that is exactly how banal the average person's lifestyle is.

This time I went to Madras, for all the cribbing I've made my friends from Bangalore endure, I don't think I wanted to step out of home. It just felt good- That soddy life, the humdrum of Mount road, the evening traffic, the dirty streets, uninteresting Spencer Plaza, and the fragrance of fresh Bru early in the mornings. I don't really know which part of me I'd call 'Tamil', but I sure as hell know that part of me totally, totally is.

2008-07-22T17:09:00.000-07:00

A picture
of T's
extremely
pretty
shoes.

2008-07-21T17:00:00.000-07:00

The (in)convenience of having best friends who know you so well (that it gets painfully annoying at times):

Me : re...do you think..
Revathi (cuts me short): Yes, he loves you alot. I don't think that, I know that.

Me: You know what, I got drunk last night, I even had a few cigarettes. I've started smoking you know..
Revathi (Dead silence):
Me: ok, fine..I was kidding.
Revathi: Yeah, I knew that was coming next.

Me: Are you busy?
NK: I'll be back in a while ok..
Me: Fine..
NK: I know it isn't fine and you're mad at me now.

Me: You know,, I dunno how to describe it, I felt like.. so confused, I mean.. like I hate it and like it at the same time..you know..like sort of its nice but not so nice.. but in a nice way... you get it?
Uthree: Yeah, I know. I totally understand.

Taking a bow..

2008-07-21T10:28:00.000-07:00

I couldn't think of anything to say about myself, really. I find just about anything and everything interesting, especially things I don't understand.

Guys, Math, the stock market, and the English weather.

oh,well.

A New beginning

2008-07-18T03:33:00.000-07:00

I don't know why I had to start writing afresh. But I think, at 22, afresh means letting go something. It means stacking up uniforms, snapshots, school-ties, frames, sweetwrappers, letters and a whole load of what-its and what-nots into a big cardboard box, shoving them in the highest loft, then breaking the ladder so there's no way you can climb up and have all that again even if you wanted to.

This blog is about the moments that follow the cardboard box shoving.

It's about the things that were, things that will be... it is about new people, new places,new coffee joints, and a few old things I still have hidden in my closet.