......

Blog update long overdue.Don't know what it is but just haven't gotten around to doing so.I notice that this space has become like a personal diary of sorts.Nothing along the lines of Bridget Jones though.Finally got my hands on a copy of the second part (The edge of reason).Was worth a read.Entertaining if nothing else.Kinda like those comedy shows on TV which you defintely wouldn't rate as great but you watch it because it makes you laugh anyway.

I'd made a lotta plans for this week since I'm off from work.However, all of them are down the drain along with the rainwater that been collecting from the incessent downpour.Bleagh.This confines me to home and gives my mum an excellent excuse to begin my "cooking lessons".

I'm bored bored bored bored bored.

If I could I'd just pack a backpack, some roadmaps, pile some music into my mp3 player, pick up a digicam, and go on a road trip.Not particularly in need of company.Just by myself.Just travel, explore, take my own time and not follow any hurried schedule.Connect with people who I know I'll never meet again.Read.Not keep in touch with anybody.Not answer any frantic calls demanding to know where I am and what I'm doing.Not be obligated to be at anyone's beck and call.Just coexist with the surroundings and absorb all that I see, hear, smell, touch and experience.Take a break from the noise in my head.All the insignificant worries that clamor over each other like a trough full of worms.I'd try and spend time with kids.They heal as much as they entertain.I wouldn't care how I looked.Wouldn't bother changing into contact lenses everyday, wouldn't line my eyes, wouldn't put on earrings.Just t-shirts, khakis, shoes,watch.Oh and deo (all important).Not care about what anyone thinks or says.Talk when I feel like, withdraw when I feel like.Just do what my gut tells me on a daily basis.Just be.

I see red.

It's a minute past midnight and here I am, sitting infront of my PC because one emotion floods my brain,not allowing me to sleep.That emotion,ladies and gentlemen,is anger.Pure,absolute,unaldulterated anger.

Here's a question.How much shit can a normal individual take in a day?I assume that our Creator endowed us all with the same shit-taking capacities.But how much crap is an individual willing to take?Therein lies the difference,my friends.

This world,I have effectively concluded,is filled up in most part by people who will do anything to get their way,to rub off some of their bad vibes on others,or just proudly display their absolute lack of a long-dead thing called courtesy.They will step on your toes,muck your face in the mud, drown you in a marsh,whatever.As long they go to sleep satisfied every night.

Now when one is a child,one mostly learns to "seek the goodness in everyone",which,by the way,is a complete load of nonsense.When one actually steps into the world and is on one's own,all the extremes of mean,crude,opportunistic,psychotic behaviour can be observed.

But what do people who don't even know each other get out of being downright rude?Please justify to me why a woman should be asked to delay her phone conversation with her fiance by the driver of her cab just because she requested for the volume of the cab radio to be reduced twice?Impertinence?Yes sir!You betcha!And please note that the woman in question had used the words "please" in her request, which had to be repeated only because it the volume was increased to ear-splitting levels again.

Oh and there is also this whole battalion of chauvinists who think its their right to look at and speak to women condescendingly,contempt and irritation punctuating every word they speak.

To say nothing of petty politics people employ to get to the top:"Oh did I trample you into the mud on my way up?So sorry but you know I think the colour of dirt really suits you.Cheer up,you'll get used to it."

People using me for their personal hidden agendas,taking me for granted,treating me like nothing,telling me what to do,bullying me.........I've just had it!!!!!!!!!

The journey to being an adult just chiefly comprises of learning to be as ruthless as the world around you.Period.And I think the last trace of my foolish naive attitude just flew out of the window.

Something I've always wanted to be told :-)

You Are 24% Girly

You are a pretty hardcore tomboy, and a very free spirit. Gender roles be dammed, you like to do things your way.

How Girly Are You?

Hear,hear....!!!

After much pleading and child-like pouting,
I hereby declare The Rainrider's birthday week (12-19 Oct) OPEN!!! :) :) :) The big day,by the way, is on 19 October.

Those who feel sweet enough to wish him may do so via comments to this post :)

Have yourselves a happy week!!!

Mmmmh,it's been a while since I posted anything.Not that there hasn't been anything to blog about.It's just that everytime I started writing,halfway through I'd lose interest and leave it unfinished.Consequently my google documents account has a lot of half-written unfinished drafts.Maybe I should just get clever and put them up as contests-"Finish the draft and win a prize....".Though I can't,for the life of me, imagine who'd want to finish my sentences for me.

Here's a whirlwind of an update:

• Worked nights all of September.It's been an eye-opening experience.I've learnt to value food and a good consistent healthy routine because...
• ...on one fine day,I had one of those dramatic faint-and-fall episodes at home.Result:doc prescribes 3 months worth of vitamin and iron supplements.Bleagh
• Went on a short weekend getaway types to Pondicherry before that with Dad,Mom and Amit.Want to go back again.
• The Mal family and the TamJ family have been exchanging sweets lately...Kaju katli and Nagapattinam Halwa.Sweet Business,that.
• 3 birthdays went by.Amma got two sarees, Dad got Peter England trousers and C-ma was wished over conference call and ended up with confusion about what I was doing with her nephew after a night shift

Yesterday was "catch-up on your chores" Sunday.After a really longish break, I managed to oil my hair before washing it as opposed to the usual run-in-shampoo-condition-run-out routine with Amma's yells trailing behind me accusatorily as I run off to work with wet hair tied up.

Spent some time with T and expressed deep dislike for his maidservant.I must've sounded like Amma when she goes off on her ranting trips about our weird maid with kleptomania;my reasons,however, were completely different and extremely scandalous.

We ate lunch at Subway yesterday.As always,there was one difficult customer making everyone in the queue behind her pull their hair out.Madam arrived in a car,stepped out on her stilettos and firmly ordered her boyfriend to "stay there" while she gets their takeaway.The guy must be stupid or henpecked or both because he actually parked the car and followed her in.Grave mistake if you ask me.He would've realized yesterday how crabby and whiny she can get at the same time.But like I said maybe he was stupid so maybe he's the kind who says stuff like"She's so assertive and aggressive....I love aggressive women you know?" *wink-wink* Bleagh.

Anyway back to our story....not that there is much of one here.Madam placed her orders and gave the already confused new staff an even harder time as she kept complaining in extremely high pitch about how she didn't want olives added, or cheese, or this or that.My God!!!Oh yeah she said that too."Go-hod!" with nose in the air and eyes rolling.Kinda made her look like she was having seizures,that over exaggerated eyeball movement.The S & H boyfriend, meanwhile, stood very close behind her for a while and when she started yelling, quietly went to the nearest chair and sat down.When it finally seemed like the order was getting around to being ready he stood beside her again and sympathetically enqured what happened."They screwed up my sub" was the anguished reply.Stupid woman.

On the other hand, T sweetly assumed his duties of deciding on our orders (he knows I can't order food even at gunpoint) and patiently answered the befuddled questions the newbie staff asked about toppings preferences.What would I do without him.

As we chomped into our respective subs, we watched a little girl who by all means was a dynamite in the making.She entered hand-in-hand with her father loudly exclaiming that he didn't give her time to wash her hair.Jaws dropped."She scares me",T said.Her father ordered and while they waited,the mite ran around her table scrunching up the menu pamphlets and throwing them at her father.The patriarch caught her, grabbed her close and did funny antics to make her laugh repeatedly.It was a really sweet laughter I thought.

"She sounds like a ringtone", T said reaching out to take a paneer cube out of my sub.

When the girl's food arrived, she took one look at her plate and loudly said "Baba I won't eat this!"

"Why dear?"

"Because I don't like it."

"You must finish it, it's good for you."

"Wait till I tell Mummy!"

Somehow, he managed to coax her into eating quietly.T, his sub finished, took a leaf from the girl's book and pleaded child-like for an iced tea.It was a complicated manouevre which involved me leaving my half eaten sub and walking all the way to the counter to get it.A few mock angry glares later, I fetched the drink.The girl had finished her food and was now running around pausing at tables and peering into faces of its occupants.

At one particular table, she gazed at a baby. The baby's grandma smiled at the girl and asked her if she wanted a baby.

"I already have one" was the reply much to everyone's amusement.

Kids are such sources of amusement.They put a smile on your face no matter what.I watched as the baby's father joined their table and bent down to kiss the baby's head gently before sitting down while his wife smiled at him lovingly.I turned away from the intimacy of the moment to look outside.A ragpicker passed by with his baby son in his arms wrapped in a cloth.The baby playfully whacked his nose and squealed.The ragpicker laughed and for that one sweet funny moment he might've forgotten about the miseries of his existence.

Sunday's here.Yay

It's 7:30AM on a pretty nice Sunday morning.As I write this post Elton John's Tiny Dancer plays on Winamp.I'm also downloading some stuff I heard on The Rainrider's ipod.

We went to the beach yesterday morning after my shift got done at 6:30am.I'd lost it the night before, snapping and snarling at every poor soul who dared to cross my path.The victims:Amma and The Rainrider.They understandingly put it down to lack of holiday and stress from doing night shifts.I decided that I just had to go to some place thats open.Nothing more soothing than sitting by the sea quietly, just watching and hearing the thoughts that go round and round in your head.It's almost as if one was taking a step back from the mad melee of life and choosing just to be an observer.Typical of me to like that kind of thing.One can't take rome out of the romans I suppose.

So we went.Him all grumpy and befuddled with sleep and me unable to stop grinning like an idiot because at that time, riding and listening to music seemed to me the best thing in the whole wide world.The wind blew my frshly washed and conditioned hair in all directions and I closed my eyes letting it caress my face.Rainrider's ipod was plugged in my ears and as I listened I realized how much I've come to love Simon and Garfunkel in recent times.Also realized that I miss good music so much that it is almost a physical ache.

We didn't spend too much time on the beach.Hardly any infact.Except for the few minutes that he went running behind couple of pigeons armed with his trusty canon powershot, leaving me to watch a boxing class in progress. I marveled at how one tiny little thing who was just as tall as the master's knee kept going smackety-smack pulling out his punches.Kids are such reservoirs of energy.They'd put a wound up spring to shame.

I woke at 5:30AM today unable to sleep.The night shift is leaving my body quite confused.It is also teaching me to appreciate the little things that I take for granted.Sunrises and daylight make really glad to be alive these days.So does a good restful sleep.

I wrote a little bit after I woke.The morning cool just as the sun rose felt positively delicious.It's nice to be awake when my family's up and about.And like I've said a thousand times before,there's something magical about a sunday morning.The world just seems a lot more relaxed and laid back.Rewinding after a week's worth of work might just be the thing that everyone's most grateful for.

I long for all the sundays from childhood.After waking up I'd switch on the tv and watch "Rangoli" on Doordarshan at 7AM and watch all the hindi movie songs.Amma would have to do much prodding to get me to brush my teeth.Then it would be back in front of the TV with my bowl of Bonny-mix,watching whatever cartoon prgramme my brother would happen to be watching.Shame they stopped manufacturing it.Shame I don't get to spend enough time with those I want to.

I've a couple of things to be taken care of today.Eyebrows need shaping badly,need to buy amma's birthday gift (her birthday's on wed),need to get 'finances in order', need to get around to organizing a weekend getaway.I also feel like making lunch.

Despite a bad headache,I've a feeling it's going to be a nice day.

Morose

It's 3AM and I'm at work, halfway through an eight-hour shift that runs from 10.30PM to 6.30AM.I'm feeling unusually hungry today.But somehow I just don't feel like stepping outside the team area to go to the canteen and eat.First of all, I really can't bring myself to like the canteen food.Secondly, going out now would mean seeing the darkness outside albeit through thick glass windows.For some reason, thats not a sight I want to see now.

The mall that houses my office is all shut down and dark as well.Darkness somehow reminds me that while I'm here, my loved ones are all fast asleep at home, secure in their respective slumbers.Here I am at this obscure time of the night fighting all the anxiety that's knotted in my chest.How I wish I could go back home and crawl into bed and under the covers.It's funny how much I love my bed considering that it's actually a 'diwan' on which two very old foam mattresses have been placed.Infact I think the mattresses are more than a decade old.

A meeting is supposed to happen tomorrow.Not the official kind.I might have preferred the official kind.It's got the significance of being a step towards "building my life" as my mum calls it.And now at the very last hour,I find myself wringing my hands in sheer restless apprehension.Some unexpected regressions in what Fred and I planned are sending us down the road to hysterics.

Also I'm fast approaching a deadline and I've made hardly any progress and I'm really disappointed with what I've managed to do so far.Not like I'm able to make any difference to that either.

Baba once jokingly called Amama "Mrs Vepralam" which literally translates to mean Mrs Anxiety.Looks like that trait has been generously passed down the lineage.

I'm tempted to call the rainrider just to talk.But slumber is such an essential requirement.Especially when one's stressed out and upset.I don't have the heart to wake him.

Also toyed with the idea of calling Amma.That would alarm her.Given the way her BP has been fluctuating like India's performance in international cricket, I'm pretty sure she'll freak out.Especially if I tell her that I called to say I'm feeling kinda lonely.

So I've decided to stick to my desk and chair in the corner and count the minutes.

Highway of sadness...

I travel to work by the same route every afternoon.Yes,afternoon.I've been on the afternoon shift all this month and that gave me the chance to do a lot more people-watching on the way to work.In the morning shifts,it wasn't really possible considering that there aren't too many people out on the streets at that unearthly hour.Also I'd spend that 20-minute ride pulling my eyelids apart at regular intervals.But now,however, the city is halfway through it's day by the time I start mine.

There are two sights I come across everyday.A female beggar with a bad leg is one of them.I'm not quite sure what is wrong but her left leg is always in a cast-like covering,from the knee all the way down to the ankle.And she moves around with a crutch.A cynic's impulse would be to consider her a fraud who begs from sympathetic people.But somehow I can't really bring myself to think of her that way.It will be apparent why,when one takes a look at her face.Her eyes are always dull and she constantly wears a look of misery.She also contorts her face in pain frequently.

The other is a beggar on the pavement just outside my offfice.He looks like he has serious malnutrition issues.He is painfully scrawny and his back is badly bent.I've never found the courage to look at his face or his limbs to see what state they are in.He has a stainless steel container that he uses to catch the attention on passers-by by knocking on the pavement.

Yesterday it rained hard in the afternoon.As soon as I woke from my 'power nap', the storm clouds gathered in a jiffy and within five minutes it was pouring.The rain God must be one heck of a cheeky blighter.After gathering my anti-downpour weapons (namely my brother's windcheater and Amma's embarrassing John's koda) I set off to work.

I saw her first.She sat under the Egmore bridge, seeking shelter from the rain.She wore her miserable expression and massaged her bad leg.I couldn't figure out if the droplets running down her face were the raindrops or her tears.

I looked around for the man with the bad back when I got close to the office.He wasn't there.The puddle water from the road kept spilling onto the pavement in murky brown waves.I wondered where he was taking refuge.

He was back today again at his usual place, knocking his container on the ground with an alarming clunk clunk.People stopped by sometimes to drop a coin into his container with a loud clatter.The others just walked on either out of indifference or out of a sense of helplessness that their meagre change was not a permanent solutions to this man's strife.A sense of helplessness that I can identify with.People give him change out of pity.But how much is that rupee or two really going to help him or others like him?If only there was something one could do to really lend them a helping hand that galvanizes them on their way past poverty.

This reminds me of an argument I once had with a friend.A heated argument with Abhishek whether "whatever happens is for the good" or not.Being the self-righteous bum that I was back then,I told him that I agreed with the cliched phrase.He reacted in apparent anger and said "what about the plight of the millions who are suffering around the world?" I managed to provide some weak,ineffective replies then but now the argument is vivid in my memory.

No,life isn't fair and I guess it wasn't meant to be that way.But as long as the scales are tipping in your favour,I suppose you might as well be grateful.

:(

I've a nagging suspicion that I've lost the ability to write.I haven't written any poems for AGES.
And when I do brace myself and sit down to write a couple of verses,all that happens is a few lines of immmature trash end up at the top of the page after which the paper is hastily crumpled and thrown away.Who'd want to treasure a reminder that screams "you can't write for nuts!!!".

I happened to read my last few posts and felt that each one was more mundane than the other.Caught up in the daily grind like the author.Also noticed with a broken heart that visits or comments to my blog have become a well rounded zero.PR has never been my forte so I'm not going to bother with the publicising.

Kinda reminds me of what Tim Allen said in an interview.When asked if humour was a gift or a talent anyone could develop, he said its a gift and he's always afraid that it'd disappear one day and he wouldn't know what to do.I know what he means.My 'gift' seems to have disappeared.

Solitude

Yesterday after a long hiatus, I ate a meal all by myself in a public place.

Though the new job and current set of colleagues are nice and likeable, I can't say the same for the office canteen.The food is uninspiringly boring and doesn't carry any traces of anything such as delicacy. Also a couple of us have the morbid fear that it's prepared in quite unhygenic conditions as well. Amma doesn't always find the time or good health to pack me dinner so I have to eat from work. However, the likelihood of me eating anything from the office canteen anymore is extremely low.

Thanks to T's habit of turning up at dinner to spend time with me, I've been eating food from either one of the food courts in Spencer's plaza. One has plenty of choice as far as food is concerned in the plaza but then again, continuous indulgence in the same might just have your pocket moaning after a bit. Together T and I sampled stuff from Pizza Hut, Pathankot, some north Indian place I can't remember the name of and our very own Saravana Bhavan, that God sent blessing to mankind - especially the kind from Chennai.

So yesterday I went back to Saravana Bhavan to eat dinner.And while I silently waited for the food to arrive, I had the opportunity to indulge in the long forgotten pastime of mine - people watching.

The mall was crowded. All kinds of people hung around in every nook and cranny possible. Large families of 18 or 20 members just stood in the middle of corridors blocking everyone's way.When they did eventually move, they moved as if they were underwater and to the unfortunate one stuck behind them, it took truck loads of patience and fervent praying before they shifted and stood in front of someone else in a hurry.Where there are large crowds, one can also expect the lewd and the lecherous.They made pathetic attempts to "impress" every female who passed by irrespective of her age.With such loafers, even little girls aren't safe.Some of them stood at strategic spots and gaped open-mouthed, saliva beginning to dribble down the corner of their mouths. And when one shot them a contemptuous look, the assholes would think they're being 'checked out'.Profound idiocy as never before.

The restaurant was crowded. I sat in a section that was a narrow corridor off the main area. The walls were tiled, giving one the overall feeling of sitting in a bathroom rather than a restaurant. As part of Independence Day celebrations, they had artists painting 'patriotic' tattoos on willing bodies. Couple of kids ran around the restaurant, absolutely gleeful about the flags they got painted on their faces. One fat little one waddled along and stopped short when he bumped into a waiter.The kid's nose was in contact with the man's stomach.He then slowly looked up into the man's face and got a kindly smile.The kid glowered at him, shoved the man aside and resumed waddling behind the other brats who were too fast for him anyway.

Just before dinnner arrived, I ran into a friend from school who I haven't seen in years.I got the "you've lost so much weight" dialogue again much to my pleasure.Two minutes later friend disappeared into the crowd and food appeared.In the course of dinner, I messaged Uncle and was thrilled when he actually messaged back and was indignant on my behalf that I was working on Independence Day.After some more quiet masticating and mulling over thoughts of the Rainrider in my head, I was finally through with my dinner.When asked for the bill, it was brought four times faster than the food itself.The change however was another story altogether.

On my way back up the stairs to work, I thought about how not very long ago I used to sit by myself at one of the popular cafes in the city day after day, reading or writing. I missed that solitude at that moment.The feeling of being part of a crowd,yet lost in private thoughts in my head.Maybe I should do that sometime again considering that I've found better places than that cafe to write in peacefully.....

"Oh where,oh where can my baby be...?"

Today feels like a disaster. It feels like the continuation of yesterday with a solid headache thrown in for good measure. The biological clock is amazingly resilient considering the fluctuating routines it’s going through at the moment. Of course, it’s not in such great shape, but hey I ain’t complaining. At least it’s still functional.

The Son and his Daddy are off on a holiday. Daddy needs a break from the daily 13-hour nonsense. So Daddy, who had a scruffy beard and longer-than-usual hair, got the Son all fit and handsome and both of them rode off.

Mommy on the other hand is wondering what to do with all the silence. She can’t call Daddy to say good morning, can’t message him frequently, can’t call at mealtimes, or talk to him at night. Mommy tries to fill her time by talking to other people and updating Grandpa about Daddy’s whereabouts but she can’t shake off the feeling of loneliness. It just hangs around her, catching her unaware and making her mouth droop.

This is the first time she has been away from them. She thought she’d make it through fairly easily. She thought they all needed a change. She knows now that she couldn’t have been more wrong. She throws herself into work but to no avail. There’s nobody to come home to and share gossip with. No one to pamper or speak to in Baby-Talk. Nobody to make fun of or fight with. Nobody to wrestle with playfully.

Her meals are solitary and perfunctory. She doesn’t really notice what she’s eating. The vegetables lie uneaten in her plate since there isn’t anyone to chide her into finishing them. She looks at the last bite sadly, wondering what Daddy is eating and remembering all the times he’s insisted on taking the last sip or bite out of whatever she’s been drinking or eating.

Everyone who even remotely resembles Son or Daddy catch Mommy’s eye now. Few more days, she tells herself. When she talks to her parents and Daddy is mentioned, she smiles wistfully in fond remembrance. Every time she puts her footwear on she remembers that she’d forgotten to give him the extra cushioning for his trekking shoes. She wonders how he’s getting by without them.

All through the day, she wishes she had gone with them instead of staying back. And at night before she falls asleep, she sends a silent prayer to keep them both safe and to pray that the rest of the wait is through in the blink of an eye.

Moojik and moi

Its 9:30pm on Thursday the 2nd of August,2007.No no this is not a bit of my life that is being recorded because it is of any historical importance.Its just that I'm hungry,bored and longing for the weekend.Dinner's not until 10pm and even then I've no clue if it'll be worth the wait.However, since I've got this far on a growling tummy, I might as well stick it out until 10.

I realized today that I've been listening to very minimal amount of music.And I hate that fact.Whatever little I listen to is courtesy rainrider's birthday gift to moi- a Transcend mp3 player with fm radio built in.The icing however was that it came with the rainrider's collection of classic rock.God bless the man.So whenever mum and dad think I'm doing something of earth-shattering importance inside my room, you can dead certain that Transcend is infusing life into me and preparing me to keep going for yet another day.

My love affair with music has been very humble.It isn't the dazzling,passionate kind.More like the quiet, life sustaining, undeniably essential kind.Don't get fooled into thinking that I come from a family of musicians though.The only person in my family who's learned in that aspect is my mum.She underwent vocal training in carnatic music for about 6 or 8 years and as a consequence she's the only one in the household who can croon without making other living beings in the vicinity wince.Dad's singing is used strictly as a tool for torture while bro's attempts can provide a good laugh every now and then.Then there's your's truly.I like to pretend that Amma's gift was passed down to me but the truth is far from that.And there are witnesses to prove it.

As far as vocal talent goes there have been the odd flukes when I didn't make people feel like they were being tortured for classified information.Then again there have also been the other instances.Here I recount all my embarrassing moments onstage in front of a microphone.

Instance number 1: Independence day celebrations in school.I was supposed to sing "Ae mere watan ke logon" whoch was originally sung by Lata Mangeshkar.I had a girl playing the keyboard for accompaniment.The practices went really well and all the hunky seniors said I sang "really great".Come the day of the performance.The chief guest talked till my mouth went dry and chose to let me sing just when I was all disoriented and grumpy with his speech.So I began.I couldn't hear the keyboard and the keyboardist couldn't hear me so we followed two completely different pitches.Musical chaos ensued.Except that there wasn't anything remotely musical about it.All the rude little brats in the first row stuck their fingers in their ears and screwed up their little faces.Princie winced every now and then and the chief guest maintained a stony face and nodded stiffly every couple of seconds.

Two minutes later I howled to a teacher vowing I'd never sing again while some more little brats sniggered behind me.

Instance number 2 : I was supposed to compere a show and sing a bit (I think). All went well except for the closing.I ended the show with a bang.And a crash.The mike stand was then declared to be hopelessly beyond repair.

Instance number 3 : Music auditions in college.I planned to sing "The way you are" by Shania Twain.Simple song.But when my turn came I did something weird in between, stopped, gulped and looked at D sheepishly.She very understandingly let me continue.Also made the mistake of shortlisting me.They then tried making me sing "My immortal" by Evanescence.Disaster and more pained and screwed up faces is what ensued.Thankfully that was in the practice sessions and I chickened outta singing it onstage.

Many more goofups are etched on my mind but if I list them all,this would be a post of epic proportions.

Then there was my dalliance with musical instruments.

Piano in Calcutta under Ms Anitha and Mrs Francis.They complained that I played too stiffly.But they couldn't see that it was because Tommy sat at my feet always and I could hardly breathe for fear of moving.

Keyboard in Chennai.Gave it up.Got bored with all the politics and all that.

Guitar from 11th grade.Hung around till I learnt the major chords (which took 3 months.The instructor was "throrough" types) and then quit.Since then once in a while when I'm bored or lonely I experiment on the guitar.I haven't gotten anywhere in terms of learning but I rather like the experimenting.

From what you read above,you would surely have realised what a bumbling disaster I am when it comes to music.But that thankfully doesn't diminsh my love for it.I need it to be a part of my everyday existence.I don't care what genre it is.I've adopted a "has notes,will listen" attitude.The lack of it now is like a huge crater in my soul that makes me irate and snappy.If only my 'aapees' would let us listen to moojiks while working (long sigh).

Morbid monstrosity

Its been awhile.And I'm recieving instructions from various sources to update my blog.

The only reason I've been avoiding it is because I can't seem to find something to blog about.Or rather too many things have been going on and I can't pick just one and blog about it extensively.I dont' want my blog to turn into a "Dear diary..." entry either.Hmmm....

One thing I 've been absolutely horrified about is the steep incline of crime rate against innocent children.The baby with 26 stab wounds, the kids being tortured at school with corporal punishment, the female foetuses found in wells and garbage bins, the mother who tried to drown her little children...I mean what really is the world coming to?!?

I cannot even begin to comprehend what kind of twisted fiend would stab a little, vulnerable, innocent baby boy.What was the moron thinking???Was it his/her idea of some recreation or some sort of outlet to psychotic thoughts???Whatever the answer, the incident shocked,disgusted and sickened me all at once.

It was quite disturbing to know that prejudice against female offspring still looms large all over the country.How can one engineer the gender of one's unborn child to make it suitable to one's whims and fancies?And why should the hapless and helpless child have to pay with her life for what is clearly the best example of society's idiocy?The standard response to why people shun baby girls is "a girl means added burden of saving up for her dowry.Besides she could get pregnant and bring shame to the family.Why have a liability when we can have a son who'll earn and bring the bread home?"To all of you who say that, where are you going to go when there'll be no women left to give birth to your 'precious sons'?This issue infact was excellently brought out in a movie called Maathrubhoomi.It was gory and almost repulsive but it conveyed the message with unforgettable strength.

Then there's the abandon-your-baby spree thats been going on in full swing these days.Reasons why the infants are abandoned generally prejudice against the baby's gender, lack of funds to raise the child, shame at bringing an illegitimate child into the world, anger at the child's father or mother(!!!) etc. In a hypocritical, narrow minded country like ours I think there's no remedy to gender prejudices.Its just bloody pointless.All the protests and movements that are planned make only a meagre change,if any.However lack of funds to raise a child stumps me as a reason to abandon one's own flesh and blood.If you can't afford children,why procreate?My father's answer to that was "sex is the only recreation poor people can afford".Right.There are products called contraceptives in the market, some of which have been made affordable even to the lower strata of society.Lets suppose the people in question can't afford those either, in that case, shouldn't they be looking for means to survive rather than throwing themselves at the first person who comes across?Its just irresponsibility at its worst.I'm probably being too harsh but why subject a child to a lifetime of misery just to get one night's worth of fun?

These sort of things anger me more than anything else.

Oh and other bizarre incidents include either one of the parents killing the kids because of "family feud".

Mankind's sensibility seems to have gone absconding permanently.

I couldn't agree more with the saying about the grass being greener on the other side than I do now.

When I was little all I wanted to do was become an adult. Now that I'm actually being given the "privilege" of being one, all I want to do is frantically turn back time somehow.

Being a kid is so much more easier. Not that I'm having a burdensome life as an adult. Life is going just right. But then I look at all my little cousins and nieces and nephews who are not-so-little-anymore and wonder how the heck everyone grew up so quickly. I guess I've just been cribbing for so long about being a child and not being taken seriously, that I haven't noticed that I've been given the chance to shut up now. Paradoxically I now want to indulge in baby-talk, be pampered, pinch people on restless impulse, act like a kindergarten kid....

The first shock came with a phone call to my cousin brother whom I haven't spoken to for around five years. No specific reason behind the silence, we'd just gotten out of touch. So when he called from Mumbai and asked for me, I expected a bratty little voice to say "Mish chechi, what you doing?" ("Mish" because he could somehow never say Nish). What I did hear, however, was this deep mature voice enquiring how Nish chechi was doing. And that too in the most well-behaved, polite voice I've ever heard in my entire life. I was so stunned. Absolutely stunned. My mum reminded me that he was a seventeeen year old young man now. Gosh. How very different from the little devil who repeatedly chased my brother and me around the house in red underwear, despite the fact that we were both older than him.

Shock number two came when the nephews from Orlando arrived. Gone are the energetic bright kids. Now they're tall strapping teenagers who have built their respective fortresses of awkwardness around themselves. The younger one's hairstyle is rather cute now, though. Black curly snake-like strands, about two inches long and giving him a cherubic appearance. I can just about picture girls his age "crushing" over him. Consequent surprises included discovering that my niece had grown taller and more quiet and that my baby nephew had started talking (wasn't he born very recently?)

Other than all this my cousin sister who used to latch herself onto me (literally!) has become extremely withdrawn. When I gently probe to know "whats up", she doesn't say anything except "nothing much" or "you won't understand". It wasn't too long ago that I'd said similar things to my mother. When I told mum she just sighed and said "it's the age". It IS the age indeed....

I feel old.

I'm contemplating saving up considerable amount of moolah. For my dentures, hearing aids...walking sticks....spectacles...the save-me-a-place-in-heaven-Lord pilgrimages...

And while I plan my exit formalities from good ol' Earth, you can fund the journey upto the exit stage.

Be generous.

PS- Please donate through cash or cheque only

The "M" word...

“Marriages marriages everywhere
May no man ever be spared!”

These days all I hear people talking about are weddings, marriages, engagements and honeymoons. And that would be quite an understatement. I mean it’s just everywhere like some kind of plague that’s spreading with an alarming speed all over the world. No disrespect meant to the institution of marriage, but it’s just bewildering, baffling and sometimes even frightening.

My darling mum has also recently discovered that her little girl will be all of 22 years this July. There’s some ominous fascination that our family has with that age. All of sudden aunts, cousins, grandmothers, uncles and practically every other conceivable relative are nodding vehemently when mom voices her concerns about starting to “look for a boy” for me.

It’s hilarious, in part, because the above mentioned people haven’t even begun to treat me like an adult. Not to say that I’m behaving like one and not getting due credit for it. I rather like being a brat, getting loads of attention and having a pampered life (yes, I’m not ashamed to admit it anymore). Sure, there are odd moments in some days when I very much feel like a woman – like an adult who has finally begun to know her mind that’s now surprisingly clear of most kinds of childish anguish. I also feel like I’ve found the strength to chase my dreams whether or not I’ve got people backing me up.

But a wedding this soon? I really am not too sure…

I attended the reception of a classmate from college, last weekend. She looked very pretty. One could see the amount of work that had gone into looking pretty for the wedding too. But she stood there smiling a genuinely happy smile all the while, looking very poised to start a new life with the man who stood beside her, accepting good wishes and presents from the crowd. This young lady was the same girl who exhibited the requisite rowdy component in order to a student of “3 bcom b”. How time changes people and their perceptions.

All the mild phobia about marriages apart, I do sort of understand why proud bachelors and bachelorettes (as the mirror in Shrek calls them) finally give in to ‘holy matrimony’ as it were. Sure it’s very empowering and liberating to live a single life in complete independence, provide for yourself, be ‘forward-thinking’ and whatever other perks that kind of life could possibly offer. But I imagine that after a while (and the duration of that time frame varies from person to person), one does begin to find a life alone rather lonely. One might have friends or a hundred one-night stands or both but at the end of the day, when one is going through a really rough patch or one of those pensive phases, one does wish there was someone to come home to. Someone who’d provide that much needed other human presence to make the residence a home. That person needn’t be Don Juan Demarco but if he would just be genuinely happy to have you back home, wouldn’t that be a much more appealing option as compared to returning to a dark house and tripping over clothes on your way in because you forgot to put them to wash in the first place?

I once read an article that said that men like to be married for three reasons. I’m not entirely sure if I remember them accurately but I recall them as being conversation, companionship and stability. Those who have been lonely would probably agree with me when I say that it is most likely a comforting thought to know you have a warm body to sleep next to in the darkest of nights (and no I don’t mean sex).

Companionship and conversation definitely strike me as very good reasons to want to get married. Maybe they are the very foundations that keep marriages going. I mean if you can’t stand your husband’s/ wife’s presence and/ or you think talking to him/her is like wasting the romanticism over a dodo, there aren’t too many chances you’ll be doing the ‘funky chicken dance on your golden anniversary’, are there? And considering that every couple is going to get their share of irritating in-laws, painful acquaintances, fussy problematic babies, schooling and education related woes, anxieties in planning retirement etc one might as well make sure that the person one wants to share all this with is worth all the trouble.

Maybe marriages aren’t so bad after all. But the next time I hear someone flinging a not-so-casual suggestion at me to get married to ‘a nice boy’, I swear I’ll scream.

Mmmmh...

A Saturday in the life of a Nyscha....

• wake up at 9am when amma threatens that she wont call a 6th time
• sit at comp bleary-eyed and call the rainrider to say good morning except for the fact that he's halfway through his day
• idly surf the net till realization dawns that an exit interview is due in about an hour's time
• run around bathing,getting dressed and being fed breakfast simultaneously
• reach the destination and finish formalities in 15 minutes and grumble to self about how much money has been wasted for transport to complete something that hardly took any time
• take trip to the parlour and have east indian ladies gasp in horror at the split-ended hair
• come home and set up 'the den' to watch pirates of the caribbean-the black pearl
• take a nap afterwards, all enamoured by Captain Jack Sparrow (who needs pretty-boy Will Turner?)
• wake up and have minor warfare with 1. a beloved and 2. a complete mutthead
  
• go to the temple in the hopes of flattering that ever so wily Creator
• sprawl on the sofa back hope,switching between two mal movies on tv which have already been watched earlier
• log on, think of something to blog about and come up with this nonsense

Over and out.

Men are from mars, women are from venus.So where are Jerks from?

This post comes after a collection of especially mind-boggling collection of what i call 'aaarrgggghhhhhhhhh' moments with some of our shockingly bizarre fellow humans.

First of all, let me set the record straight.I'm NOT anti-social.I'm reticent and there's a marked difference.People-watching, therefore, has always been one of my favourite games. I'd rather observe and analyze than actually jump into the fray.Most certainly am the perfect spectator.

While people continually amaze, inspire, amuse and interest me, there are a few who completely disgust me on any given day.

For instance, the rear-wheel rider who was passing by the auto i was travelling in, in slow-moving traffic. I was on a phone-call and so was this monstrosity I speak of. He actually turned my way, waited till I happened to glance at him carelessly, and blew me what he thought must be an extra hot sizzling kiss.EWWWWWWW.If I could associate that repulsive pucker with a sound effect, it would be 'squlech'.Bleagh.

Another example is a woman I would, for propriety's sake, refer to as Countess Ridicula. Just as Dracula fed off people's blood, this one feeds off my patience and positivity, which I may add are things I'm slightly deficient in, as it is. She could find obscure things to make tragedies out of ("where's my pen?who stole it?who doesn't want me to be happy?"). Its just a goddamn pen!!!!!
She also believes that people should 'put their partners in place' by regularly being rude and picking fights with them. Also tries very very very hard to trespass what I consider extremely restricted areas of an individual's life. Someone should tell her that personal lives are meant to be just that-personal. I mean why do I owe her an answer to "who were you with that day in spencers"???

Pet peeve number three is people's prejudice with looks. I'm not referring to general preferences but extreme prejudice. "That guy is dark therefore he isn't my type". Apparently these days its not enough if people are intelligent, honest, sincere and own genuinely wonderful personalities. For inconsiderate clods like Countess Ridicula, the person has to be fair, the nose shouldn't be off centre, should wear the green shirt that tamil movie star Rajnikanth wore in some random movie, should be tall, slim, owner of minty fresh breath......blah blah blah. Countess, incidentally, happens to be the kind who looks like a lizard that crawled out of a newly exploded volcanic crater. And that is being considerate.

Does anyone ever think about the cliched line 'beauty lies in the eyes of a beholder'????and I mean REALLY think about it. If you think you're hot stuff, there might be ten others who think you look like doggie crap. If you think someone's 'a big fat stupid ugly ogre', there might be others who think otherwise. The concept of beauty is so subjective and so hopelessly stupid to use as a judging criteria when getting to know someone. All it takes is one really bad accident to make a 'pretty' woman 'ugly'. And with more and more people opting for cosmetic surgeries these days, looks like the road to beauty is two-way.

This is one of the reasons I really love the Shrek series. Shrek is a genuinely warm and sweet character who gets misunderstood because he's an ogre. I particularly love how Fiona's curse went-
By night one way, by day another-this shall be the norm
Until you find true love and love's first kiss and take love's true form.

When Fiona and Shrek finally share their first kiss, she takes on the form that he, her true love, thinks is beautiful. It doesn't matter if your colleague thinks you're short and fat. If you've got someone back home to love you and behold you as beautiful, you might just be one of the luckiest people on earth.

I sincerely request whoever is reading this post to please, for heaven's sake, not be so blind as to discriminate based on superficial factors. A lot of movie stars aren't conventional good-lookers for that matter. Mohanlal is a brillliant actor.But I doubt if he'd be a strong contender in beauty pageants. Similary SRK isn't really handsome but his personality charms the heck outta people.

The next time you feel like demeaning someone's looks, PLEASE be considerate!

Finally getting somewhere

Standing up to people for what you believe in,takes quite a bit of courage. It needs more than just immature rebelliousness which may give you the initial impetous but not kindle enough fire to drive you till the goal is reached.

I've always been a "go-along-with-the flow" person,simply because I find arguments, disagreements and protests quite unpleasant.So far, I've let life sweep me along,let things and people happen to me, so much so that I'd become a spectator in my own life.I watched and watched and watched while keeping my hopes locked away in secret places within.

Thankfully its beginning to change.The biggest proof of which have been the events of the last two weeks.I've finally found the guts to say no,when I'm being offered a compromise instead of what I want.Its not worth dreaming if one doesn't have the courage to try and make dreams come true,irrespective of the consequences.

Surprisingly, people or events seem frightening only as long as you choose to remain fearful.When one decides to face the music,suddenly the threats seem mild and less terrifying."Nothing is as bad as it first seems".Indeed.

In chasing my dreams,I'm getting closer to the core of who I am.No disguises, no pretences, no placid consolations.

Nothing is sweeter than true strength of conviction and the feeling that I'm one step closer to my ideals.

"Dream a little dream of me...."

The other day, on my way to work, I heard someone ask his friend the timeless question - how is life?

I quietly asked myself that question and phrases flashed in my head - oppressive heat, uninspiring work, alienation from familiarity, vague feeling all day everyday stemming from being a regular doormat.

Without warning, I was reminded of the dreams I've had of an 'ideal life'. Dreams that I've shared with different individuals at some point in my life of almost 22 years. Dreams that sometimes seem like some bizarre alternate reality.

I've always wanted to be a writer. A full-time writer. As a child I also wanted to be a musician, a singer and a dancer. Music and the written word are still very much the mainstays of my life. Sort of like the much romanticised first love, that one never forgets. Not writing for a considerable time makes me feel like something has congealed within me, as if the blood in my body isn't flowing as effortlessly as it usually does and absence of music just makes life so unbearably empty.

In my idealistic dreams, I'm a writer. A woman who walks around in those checked, knee length kurtas in muted colours and pure white pajamas (cotton-natural fabrics please). Hair piled up high and wearing my black-frame glasses, I sit at my desk in the afternoon, in my 'writing room' tucked away in a quiet corner of the house. I tap away at the keyboard, turning visual images into words on the screen while country music plays softly in the background.

My dog, Chenghiz, comes into the room once in a while and sits snuggled against my feet, his body warmth relaxing my tensed muscles. I take breaks in between, bending to scratch C behind the ears while thinking about how best to present an idea in words.

After a while, I get up to check on the sleeping forms of my twin little girls. One sleeps on her back, her arms and legs stretched out and mouth slightly open. The other looks at me with bleary, sleep-swollen eyes from where she lies on the bed, curled on her side. She reaches out to me and I sit cross-legged on the floor beside her, hold her plump little outstretched hand and hum quietly. Soon enough she drifts back to dreamland and I carefully tip-toe out of the room.

I walk out of the house, onto the simple porch and sit on a wooden bench, looking at the sea. The wind chimes fill the air with soft tinkling sounds. My attention is drawn away when C runs past me and chews on the little ones' latest painting project that was happily abandoned on the floor, for some other source of distraction.

When the kids wake from their siesta, they come to the kitchen, rubbing their eyes and wanting their respective wake-up hugs. All petting done, I busy myself readying their evening snack and milk. Little girl no 2 wants to be hauled up to the marble kitchen counter and gets her request gratified soon enough. Once settled on the table-top, she picks up a ladle and examines her reflection in it, making silly faces. Her hyperactive sibling chases C around the kitchen, attempting to ride on his back.


Later that evening, the family has dinner together. The twins, their father who has returned from work and I, exchange little details of the day while C tries laying his head on every alternate knee to get sympathy and a few extra scraps.

The kids run around,afterwards, with C, knocking things over once in a while. Their extremely proud father watches and shakes his head in mock exasperation. Soon, they're hastened to bed after they brush their teeth, kiss C, Daddy and Mommy goodnight. Daddy cuddles up with them till they fall asleep.

My husband then finds me, reading in our 'hideout', as he jokingly calls it. We talk about each other's day, small everyday gossips, relatives and their bizarre mannerisms. We laugh, share concerns and periodically admonish C to go to his 'basket-bed'. We eventually fall asleep, nestled against each other.

In the middle of the night, Little Girl no 1 loudly calls for 'Daddy-Mommy'. C trots into our room,as if to make sure we're making efforts to attend to the Princess' request. I shuffle my way to her side of the bed, pick up beloved Blanky, her inheritance from her father, off the floor and tuck her in under it with a soft 'Night-night,pumpkin'.

As I make my way back to bed, the father opens one eye to look at me. "Blanky?",he enquires,his voice thick with sleep. I reply in the affirmative. By the time I curl my free arm around him, he is snoring softly. I smile and close my eyes, trying to find my way back to dreamland, hoping Blanky doesn't fall off the bed again.


I've nurtured dreams of this kind of a life for a very long time, protecting it carefully like children carefully cupping little treasures with their delicate hands.
Dreams, I've come to realize, might just be the only things that keep people going in this dreary world.

Dream a little dream by Beautiful South

Stars shining bright above you
Night breezes seem to whisper I love you
Birds singing in the sycamore tree
Dream a little dream of me

Say nighty-night and kiss me
Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me
While I'm alone and blue as can be
Dream a little dream of me

Stars fading, but I linger on dear
Still craving your kiss
I'm longing to linger till dawn dear
Just saying this

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you
Sweet dreams that leave our worries behind you
But in your dreams whatever they be
Dream a little dream of me
......

"Sunday...My I-don't-have-to-run-day"

At long last Sunday is here. My life these days is spent waiting for weekends to arrive. Primarily for two reasons – Sundays are invariably Rainrider time and I also am gently reminded who I really am on weekends.

On Friday, I completed one month of being in my new job. It’s a job that I was sworn against. A job that every second person in my family pursued. The field which for me “held no appeal”. Now I’m trying very hard to be good at it.

There are parts of it that I love. The concept, for instance, however complicated, is fascinating in its own way. But the people bit remains a challenge, and infact bigger than ever.

I’ve come to realize that reticent or reserved people are quite a target for the rest of the world. To those whom socializing comes easily and effortlessly, we quiet ones come across as unusual, puzzling and anti-social even. I encounter surprise almost on a daily basis from people who wonder why and how I stay “so quiet all day”. And the body language issue just complicates it all. Little details that lead to misunderstandings of gross proportions.

Also happened to receive one of the most unbiased evaluations I’ve ever received. J is one of the best trainers I’ve had and hers was probably the one of the rare courses where I exulted in eagerly answering questions and didn’t give a damn if my batch mates thought I was doing a Hermione. She’s also the first person to call me intelligent after I stopped topping my class continuously till the eighth grade.

In any case, it’s a Sunday and thank god for Sundays. When one focuses and being good at something that’s not their first choice, one starts missing things they love at some point of time. I miss writing. I miss talking to people I like. I miss college and its familiarity. I miss spending time with my mother. I miss the Rainrider and all the times we’ve spent idly lazing around with each other.

But when the opportunities become rare, they also become all the more special. Like the night we spent on the beach. The moon shone right above our heads from a clear, star-lit sky and the strong sea-breeze left saline traces on everybody’s lips. The moonlight gently illuminated the beach but just enough so that it still cloaked everyone in dark anonymity. Rainrider’s ipod provided the music, one earphone plugged in either one of our ears. No words were spoken. It was just the sea, classic rock and us. The combination couldn’t have been better.

The universe has strange ways of putting things in perspective.

Womanly wisecracks...

Here's a question.How many times in your life have heard the dialogue "ek aurat hi doosre aurat ka dard samjh sakti hai" or similar equivalents in other languages, in soaps?The answer, I'm quite sure, is a gazillion.

For those who don't really follow the national language, the line literally means "only a woman can understand another woman's woes".

Utter crap.

It would survive only in soaps where actors are too busy looking for reasons to hysterically howl and do justice to that damned bottle of glycerine they emptied into their eyes at the director's insistence ("More .More emotion, I say!").

The truth is most women can't stand each other.There are the exceptions of course.
I know guys really raise their eyebrows and protest when they're told this. ("But you gals have so much fun together!").To you all I say, well there's a lot more going on apart from what you see on the surface.

Simple case in point.I did half my schooling in an all girls convent and half of it in a co-ed .The convent emphasised discipline, a fact thats quite understandable given that most parents sent their daughters there to "evolve into ladies".Ahem....yes.

However, I doubt if I learnt anything even remotely lady-like.They tried really hard to make us all cut our nails short,polish our shoes till they sparkled, sit with our knees together and ankles crossed ("A proper lady never displays her underwear!").The result?Most of us ended up becoming rowdy things who very effectively acted demure whenever Sister Bernadette was around.What a waste.

We also learnt the womanly art of sarcasm, something no man can ever beat us at.

I carried the knowledge of that spiteful art to co-ed and found I didn't really need it there.Why?Because the girls in co-ed were too busy giggling,blushing and acting coy, all for the benefit of the boys.But the moment a dispute came up, ("why did you smile at him when you KNEW I was trying to flash my dimples at him for the past one hour???"), claws were displayed and the yowling could be heard in the entire corridor.

Then fate put me in an all girls college.This experience was slightly better since I did find friends there (the exceptions I mentioned). However, just like you can't taken Rome out of the Romans, you can't rid a woman of acid comments and back biting. The proof was everywhere. Gang wars in class (the non violent types), prominent students vs other prominent students, one committee vs another,even lecturers!!!

I thought it'd all balance out at work.Ridiculously innocent of me to have thought that.

A woman without some amount of spitefulness is, I suppose, like a bodyguard who cries for his mommy everytime he hears a sound.Pointless.

Sru was right.Women just cannot get along with other women.

All the scathing observations apart,given the choice,I'd still be a woman anyday :)

In unfamiliar territory

So here we are. Stepping into a new and very different life.Sampled some yesterday.The novelty seems exciting and there's the challenge of having to start from scratch at something you don't know jack-shit about. Yes,its very different indeed.

A place other than the tin-box we used to refer to as our campus. This one in contrast is HUGE and believe me when I say HUGE I mean HUGE.The sheer size is relieving somehow. It houses so many people, its actually like a freaking stock exchange!!!Of course there's none of the desperate madness,just a very orderly calm. Now THATS a little tough to get used to after being part of a 65-strong, extremely loudly opinionated fish-market-like class.

Despite all the friendly, open treatment, there's the constant feeling of 'you watch your own back'.It isnt a reference to malice of any sort. Just the realization that we are after all responsible for ourselves and how our lives turn out to be. Highly empowering and terribly frightening at the same time.

The 'fun' is different too.Its all grown up and carefully controlled.None of the spontaneous madness we've been so used to.

Being/acting grown up has its own perks.One finally gets taken seriously and treated as an equal.By most atleast.Decisions are left to you and what you do is entirely your problem at the end of the day. And if you find yourself in a barrel full of shit, you might as well climb out of it all by yourself.

Also,for once, my 'seriousness' doesn't seem out of place.Yay!

Once upon a time, I left my mother's safe womb to enter a strange, unknown world.I had help then to cope, to be taken care of, to be comforted and cossetted. Years have passed and I'm in a strange place yet again. Except that this time around I learn to cope, to take care of myself and be my own source of comfort.

And yes, emotionality is ephemeral.

Random rambling...

It was a lovely evening. Moonlight gently bathed the roads in the absence of the streetlight which flickered pathetically till it mercifully died. I switched off the lights in my room, as I always do on full moon nights, so I could see the patch of silvery moonlight that filtered through the window and fell across the foot of my bed.

The radio played some obscure songs and radio jockeys tried hard to come across as sparkling personalities through mere modulations of the voice. I love listening to the radio. Especially through those pocket transistors. The sound quality has an adorable old-times feel to it. More specifically it takes me to the times when Baba (my grandfather) would sit at his desk at home, listening to his transistor and writing little notes to himself in his special handwriting which was conscientiously neat, yet terribly cramped because he hated wasting space and he’d do those fancy cursive writing things as well. Add to that a lot of pressure exerted through his ball point pen and you’d know what Baba’s handwriting was like.

As I sat at the foot of my bed in the “moonlight spot” and looked out of the window, I got around to thinking about how I’ve changed as an individual in the last three years. Other than the fact that I’ve learnt a whole lot of cool stuff from friends I made in college, I realized that there’s been this very obvious shift in my mindset and thought processes.

Strangely, I’m able to answer some of the questions that rattled around in my sore head 2 years back.

http://imunleashed.blogspot.com/2005/02/questions-unanswered.html

acn, whoever you are, and if you’re still reading my blogs, I know what you mean now and I completely agree. Life, love and compatibility definitely are very subjective issues. There is no one-size-fits-all in these cases. Only thing that makes sense is to find out what they mean to you and take it from there.

So far, love and marriage to me have almost been synonymous. But I guess, love needn’t always lead to marriage. No, I guess not. As much as the very concept of idea puzzled me and even frightened me at times, the fact that I can choose what I want marriage to mean to me is a huge relief. I don’t really consider hormones and “the rush” to be reliable compasses in this aspect. I don’t need chemistry, I need companionship. I don’t care if the man doesn’t make me go weak at the knees but I definitely want him to be there when I fall. The idea of marrying someone who can converse, make me laugh and listen patiently appeals more to me than someone who can effectively deliver charming one-liners.

Another aspect that has changed in gargantuan proportions is my perception of friendship. I didn’t quite get the fact that I was supposed to ignore those who judged me for stupid things like “she wears huge oversized t-shirts and has huge spectacle frames”. I thought I was supposed to do everything I could to “fit in”. Thanks to the Landlord of the Cosmos, I met people in college who changed it around for me. Not that they don’t know my shortcomings, not that they haven’t confronted me about it. Not that we’ve never disagreed. But no matter how we’ve angered each other, we’ve always got around to talking and liking each other all over again. Its such a comforting and strangely enlightening revelation that despite differences, people can still be friends, lovers, spouses.

Also the “wanting what I can’t/ shouldn’t have” syndrome has gone away. Sru called me a ‘fighter’. Little does she know that I’ve been fighting all the wrong wars till very recently.

Life’s strange. The answers are always around right in front of us. Yet we choose to ignore them completely till we’re ready for the knowledge. And almost always, we’re never ready till we’ve put ourselves through considerable pain and misery. Hmmm

picture not-yet-perfect

yello,

well, jobless days are here again.For want of something to do (yes, I'm already bored) I've taken to creating public web albums on picasa to "showcase my talents as an amateur photographer" (ahem, ahem). all of them have been taken by yours truly and many thanks to those who lend me their digital cameras to fiddle with. especiaalllll danks to fred for encouragement,patience and Canon powershot a530 (darling man you are)

Check them out and leave comments :)

www.picasaweb.google.com/nyscha.a

Peace

Tagged

Tagged by Fredhttp://theinsanegenius.blogspot.com

1. One thing you are very much afraid of?
Painful and prolonged death

2. Two incidents you can never forget in your life?
Being chased by a dog while riding a cycle
Having dog do his poopie in the sand right in front of me and fred on romantic beach outing one evening

3.Three books you would love reading again and again?
Gone with the wind
The ground beneath her feet
The namesake
Interpreter of maladies


4. Four women who are most beautiful?
4. Nandita Das
3. Beyonce Knowles
2. Smriti Rao – newsreader on ndtv
1. my unborn daughter (if that makes any darn sense!)

5.Five of you favorite food items?
1. fred's brains
2. maggi
3. chaats
4. anything chinese
5. anything ammamma makes

6.Six words you use very often oral/written?
Slightly
Wokay
hmmm...
mmmh…
uh-huh
achicho

7.Seven things you like about yourself?
me*7

8. Eight film personalities who are your all time favorites?
Tom Hanks
Nandita Das
Rahul Bose
Konkona sen-sharma
Nicholas Cage
Will Smith
Hugh Grant
Julia Roberts

9.Nine movies you wont mind watching again and again?
Happy Feet
My best friends wedding
Stepmom
Father of the bride 1 & 2
While you were sleeping
Shrek 1 & 2
Philadelphia



10.Ten songs you would like to listen to everyday?
The Cuppy Cake Song
A Hundred Years - Five For Fighting
Only Time - Enya
Dani California - Red Hot Chilli Peppers
You can sleep while I drive - Trisha Yearwood
Can't help falling in love - Richard Marx
Hallowed be thy name - Iron Maiden
Just the way you are - Billy Joel
Reflections - Christina Aguilera
Lithium-Evanescence


Tagging :Anyone who reads this blog and wants to pick it up! :-)

The first of (hopefully) many to come...

The first times are always memorable.First step,first friend, first kiss,first job, first kid...

I got my first pay yesterday :)

I've gotten a fair bit of pocket money in the past in the form of internship stipends (which also I was very proud of) and prize money from winning presentations with my partner-in-cahoots, H.
But this pay means a little more to me than the others since it came from doing something that I've had my heart set on for a long, long time. The opportunity seemed to appear out of thin air and even though it initially seemed like I'd have trouble doing it, my wonderfully rebellious set of friends talked me into it :)

I'm not sure what I should do, spend it or save it. I'm torn between the two.

But for now, the neat white envelope addressed to "Nyscha", bearing the company's name and postal address, lies carefully hidden in a safe place, bringing a smile of quiet, feel-good satisfaction to my face.

KK,Sang-thanks! :)

Ghost rider and the pursuit of happyness

Had the pleasure of having an extremely rare “double movie Sunday” last weekend. Two flicks in the space of 24 hours. There might be people who’ve done more but in Nyscha’s life, 2 movies in a day is definitely talk-worthy and most certainly blog-worthy.

That morning at 11, Fred and I enthusiastically waited in line to see Ghost Rider. We’d been wanting to see it since forever and were finally glad we were getting to see it. But the joy didn’t last too long.

The movie was L-A-M-E. No matter what means the director employed to make it worth a watch, every scene just fell flat one after another right from the start. The movie is about a young stunt-biker, Johnny Blaze, who sells his soul to the devil in exchange for curing his father’s cancer. The devil then returns much later to ask an older Blaze to hunt down Blackheart (devils’ son) and destroy him. To complicate matters, Blaze’s old flame Roxanne turns up and reignites his hots for her.

The actor who played young Blaze seemed rather indifferent to his role. His emoting just didn’t come across. The younger version of Roxanne wore a strange, ill suited short dress that made me groan. Little did I know that the older version (played by Eva Mendes) would turn up in extremely figure-hugging, circulation-restricting clothes later on in the movie. The woman was annoying. She kept twitching and swinging her hips in an exaggerated fashion in a desperate bid to look saucy and enticing. Oh and not to forget her shirts that seemed to have buttons beginning from the upper reaches of the abdomen. She would’ve put our dear Pam Anderson to shame. All in all, every time she came on screen, she made me want to put my fingers through my eyes, all the way to my brain and swirl it around.

Nicholas Cage (Johnny Blaze’s older version) and Sam Elliot (played the caretaker) were the best in my opinion. Cage gets under the skin of the character with ease and one doesn’t have to work too hard to imagine him to be stunt-biker in Texas. I, personally found the parts where he changes into the ghost rider, pretty convincing. Darn good job. Sam Elliot does his bit rather well too. Both bring charisma to their respective characters.

If you’re looking for a convincing storyline, don’t cos there is none. The special effects were decent, though. Every time the bike changed into ghost rider’s machine, I couldn’t help grinning and feeling an odd little boy excitement well up in me. The scene where Blaze discovers that the caretaker is actually his predecessor and cheekily says “Lets ride” was corny but left me grinning from ear to ear.

Talking about dialogues, I’m pretty sure my 5 year old niece can write more sensible stuff. I mean how in the world can stuff like “he may have my soul but he’ll never have my spirit” be included without an intention to make the audience moan and slap their foreheads. Miserable dialogues.

If I were to rate the movie on a scale of 5, I’d grudgingly give it a 2 ; 1 for the special effects which kept me in the hall for 2 hours and 1 for Cage and Elliot’s prowess in acting. And I would banish Eva Mendes from Hollywood altogether. Sheesh.



That evening I came home and watched ‘The pursuit of happyness’ with Amma on dvd.

The movie is brilliant.

Its no candyfloss crap about how the protagonist gets whatever he wants within the space of one frame to another without any obvious effort. The real life story about Christopher Gardner, the movie is down-to-earth and heartbreakingly real.

In the movie, Will Smith plays Christopher Gardner, who is a single father struggling to make ends meet. The man is not dumb or useless. In fact the one aspect of the character that shines through the entire movie is his intelligence and fiercely stubborn will. Not to mention his patience with his rather unhappy wife and his little son played by Smith’s son in reality, Jaden.

Sometimes one finds oneself with all the right capabilities and traits only to find that the right situations to make use of those capabilities eludes one everytime. This movie is about how Christopher Gardner went from being the frustrated salesman of a not-very-popular medical scanner to a stock broker after fighting against odds repeatedly. The key word being repeatedly.

Will Smith’s acting is par excellence. Wearing a constant worried expression on his face, he efficiently plays the part of a father who roams the streets looking for a place to stay for the night while his young son hangs on to his hand and tells jokes that he scarcely realizes his father isn’t listening to. Jaden is a natural. Nobody could have played the part of the child better than him. It was just right. Never under performing, never going over the top either.

There are numerous touching scenes, the most tear-jerking one of which is the part where Gardner and his son spend the night locked up in the bathroom of a station because they’ve nowhere else to go. It shows Smith holding the child close, while tears stream down his face endlessly, when someone bangs on the door from outside. Another one shows Smith holding his son tight in his arms in a church, terribly guilty for having yelled at the child minutes before.

Gardner’s character comes across as an immensely loving and sensitive father, from the scenes where he stubbornly asks his wife to leave the child behind when she leaves, to the part where he tells the child never to let anyone else tell him what to do.

I could cite a million other scenes that I loved in the movie. But its best understood when watched. Wonderful movie and definitely a feather in the hat for first time English movie director Gabriele Muccino who had previously directed Italian movies.

I rate it a 4.5 on 5. Don’t miss it

The Flintstones

My dearest,

I’ve been relatively idle the last few days and as a consequence my thoughts have been running amok like a crazed chimp on a rampage. This post is a product of one those moments but rather heartfelt all the same.

Your 12-message-long sms had me grinning today in the midst of what was supposedly a solemn ceremony. You’re one of the very few people I’ve met who doesn’t get bored with people just because of familiarity. You’ve no clue what a colossal relief it is considering the fact that I can bore brain-dead people back to life.

What’s also relieving is that you think I’m worth pursuing. Quite literally, because you seem to like following me around the house idly and even end up standing beside me sometimes, looking at my reflection in the mirror while I line my eyes with kohl.

Talking about mirror images, one image of yours comes readily to my mind when I think of you. Location : the Marina Beach. Time : 7pm. We were sitting side by side, a little away from the sea. You held me close, your arm wrapped around my shoulders. My head fit perfectly under your chin. In the course of conversation I looked up at you as you laughed. What I saw that moment I will remember forever. Your laughing countenance against the backdrop of the clear, starry, beautiful night sky. Priceless.

Billy Joel’s “Just the way you are” is playing in the background while I write this. The lyrics remind me of you. Direct and straightforward. No frills. Exactly the way I like it.

I’ve come to love your system of ‘fluid plans’ (I really do!). Going from being a person who had to have every moment in her life scheduled and planned, the trip to being a follower of the ‘fluid plan religion’ has been rather rewarding and enjoyable. Anything’s fun when its with you and your ‘evil laugh’.

Your fondness for animated movies earned major brownie points with me. Especially the fact that you love Shrek 1 & 2. Even though you weren’t really eager to see Happy Feet, you came along just because I wanted to and ended up enjoying it. So much so that days afterwards, when we saw two li’l kids energetically tapping their feet on their way out of the multiplex theatre, you excitedly exclaimed “Happy Feet!” rather spontaneously, much to the pride of their mother.

Clichéd as it may sound, you’ve always been there for me from the moment we knew each other. Your habit of playing guardian to those you’re close to, puzzles me. I’ve no clue how an individual could have so much patience. You were always just a call away, quite literally. Of all the people I’ve ever known, you’re one of the very few who are genuinely interested in knowing loved ones inside out.

With you, I feel certain that even if I close my eyes for a while, you’ll still be there when I open them.

A darling husband, best buddy, faithful supporter, confidante, protector, generous provider, disciplinarian, trustworthy companion, unbiased critic – you’ve played every part to perfection.

I don’t know why it didn’t strike us before that we were more or less what each one of us was looking for.

I love you, Fred Flintstone.

Yours,
Wilma Flintstone

Deep breaths and tightened jaw....

Life is weird.Rather like a jack-in-the-box.You never know what it chooses to startle you with.Good stuff,bad shit.They just keep coming.People you thought knew you and loved you inside out,walk away without a word.People who you thought played a pivotal role in your life,make their exit without looking back a last time.No remorse,they move on.Those whose faces you've never seen,become your best friends over the internet.Ones you considered temporary become your life support system.Some folks you were waiting to get a break from end up leaving you in floods of tears when the time to part has finally arrived.People surprise you constantly.They walk in and outta lives as they please.They love you,make you laugh,make you cry,shatter you,change you,teach you.You cry for the ones you've lost,ache for the ones you miss and hang on,scared and alone,waiting for the next time jack springs outta his damned box.

Speak with your eyes
so my soul may hear;
speak unspoken words of love
Talk to my heart
and allay every fear,
send it soaring to the sky above

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

wrote this bit and just couldn't write more....symptoms of block still very persistent...will finish it at a later date....in the meanwhile,just couldn't help publishing :)

photo courtesy:T-Man

end of the long road

Its quite literally the end of final year.The last day seems perilously close and yet so tantalisingly far away.We are all anxious to "get the hell outta college" on one hand and yet a quiet nagging worry about the course of the future holds us back.To add to it all,the authorities decide to stretch the last weeks further and consequently stretching our collective patience like an extra-gooey bubblegum.

Strangley,instead of getting all mushy and sentimental about the good times coming to an end,we snap and snarl at each other,angrily muttering "I'll be so glad to get rid of YOU" under our breaths every now and then.Tempers explode frequently and suddenly the classroom is a hostile place.Maybe it was never a haven but then the common objective of enduring 3 tortourous years had somehow kept us all together and ensured tolerance and some amount of cooperation.

A lot of us are unsure of where life will take us beyond graduation day.The rest of us know,but the knowledge doesn't seem to make it easier.The anxiety is almost palpable.The extra pressure loaded on by lecturers makes it a zillion times worse.At the end of the course,we're left just as disoriented as we were when we stepped into college.Maybe even worse.

If i were asked what I've learnt from this course,I'd have to give a it a good thought.A really good,long hard thought. Some of the things I've come to realize in the last three years

1. If you don't have survival instincts,you better have a darn good best friend



2. Authorities will NEVER have a completely good impression about you.Its more worthwhile doing what pleases you



3. If you have a lot of group projects,practice diplomacy like nobody's business



4. Even if the person sitting next to you picks his/her nose,there a lot of things you could enjoy together



5. Self-promotion is all important if you want to be recognised



6. You can hurl insults and be really good friends with the same person



7. Expect politics everywhere



8. If you aren't well versed about "the birds and the bees",go read the graffiti on the toilet walls.Chances are they are much more enlightening than that dumb illustrated encyclopaedia at home

Call it fate or whatever, I somehow am a part of a 5 piece group,where each one of us have completely contrasting personalities. That of course has ensured that we've done some of the best projects in class.It has also ended up in some unhappy disagreements. We've all been annoyed with each other at some point or the other.But there have also been times when there's that single moment of bonding that makes one grin like an idiot and feel nice.

AR,T,AJ,H-I'd never claim to know you guys completely in and out.Thats impossible.But I have learnt quite a bit and as much as I'm longing to leave college,there are times when there is a quiet unease that these are probably the last times I'll walk into class,my eyes seeking for your familiar faces.Probably the last times I'll say 4 hellos before sliding between the last table and bench.The last times when I'll sit with you guys on the sand on the ground,cribbing about how boring and expensive canteen food has become.There won't be anymore birthdays with the not-so-surprising surprise birthday cake.

No grinning at double-meaning jokes with T and discussing some 'artistic' things.No baby talk and silly acting with AR.No bossing over AJ and making fun of her.No smacking my forehead and rolling eyes at H's sardarji jokes.No looking scandalised and embarassed looks at her notoriously loud laughter.No collective groaning when given extra work.

Its gonna be weird,you guys...

Love,

the fire-breathing-bad-tempered dragon.

Where did the words go....?

Day 1:
Its 7am and I try to summon some amount of will to get out of bed.In that state of semi-consciousness,my mind drifts from one thought to another out its own volition.
"the bed feels so nice and comfortable..."
"assignment submission today..."
"the bed feels so nice and warm...."
"I hate that bitch...she makes life so painful..."
"this pillow is such a blessing"
"its been so long since i wrote...."
SNAP!!!
The last thought is disturbing and gets me up and about faster than my mom when she wields a ladle

Day 2:

A free hour in college.The class is chaotic to see the least.Fish markets seem more serene in comparison.One group of girls in the front racuously crack lewd jokes and laugh,causing the others to stuff their fingers in their ears as far as they'll go.One gang sits around singing Hindi songs and dancing enthusiastically every now and then.Another bunch of "young ladies" vigourously run up and down the classroom in a bizarre game of "snatch your neighbour's dupatta".
We sit at the back,observing the amusing developments from vantage point and laughing silently.Inspired by the humour,I dig into my bag and produce a notebook which contains half-baked ideas from my previous attempts to write.I sit poised,pen open and ready,waiting for words to rush into my head the way they always do.Only this time they don't.I shake my head once or twice and sit expectantly.Then I try and force the process.It ends in the book being angrily stuffed back in and a scowl settling on my face.

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

Day 'god-knows-what':

IIT Saarang 2007.Decibels.
T and I are among the few fools who are seated right under the sun.As the sun slowly bakes us, we watch as bands get on and offstage.We make brief comments and nod occasionally.When really good bands play,we 'head-bang' enthusiastically.Inspiration grips me again and I dig in T's bag till I unearth a pen.An abandoned music sheet gets picked off the floor.I make notes about the good songs and the bands.When asked, I say its for the new post on my blog.

At the end of the day,the paper is forgotten in T's bag and the bag dutifully returned to its owner.



Its frustrating,this writer's block...the very thought of sitting with a paper and pen or a blank word document brings on the emptiness. A complete lack of words. With it comes a sense of inadequacy. There's definitely no dearth of subjects or ideas. On the contrary, there have been too many, all shelved for too long. Now they are nothing but dust ; a gnawing void that eats me everyday. It even makes me a little guilty. Like writing is a duty that I have failed to do. Soon common sense kicks in, says "what nonsense,get a grip and get on with life". I do just that since its rather convenient as well. And the paper remains blank, waiting for someone to make its existence purposeful.

seeking method in madness

For those who are wondering what the reason behind the bizarre title of this blog is....this blog is precisely what it claims to be...delirious...crazy...unorganised...and a desperate attempt of a writer to get rid of that persistently annoying writer's block