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 has become extremely withdrawn.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.