Sau Far, Sau Good

Five years, four cities, three phoren lands and two degrees later, my blog has finally done a Sachin Tendulkar on the web with this - the 100th post. Again, like Sachin Tendulkar, it took many many attempts to get the post online. As an idealistic rookie in 2007, I was certain that I'd be typing my 100th post that very year. (But then again, I was also certain I would become a geo-political journalist and write my way to a Pulitzer Prize back then.) So today, I'm glad it's taken all of five years to get here. Believe me, you would not have wanted to read a hundred posts on how my life was trippin' back in 2007.

In five years, so many things have changed.

My carrier (as those well-meaning aunties and uncles who intercept you on the way to the dining area in a phamily phunction call it) has taken a blind U-turn...eerily resembling my driving...to land up on a new and interesting road.

My parents have taken an equally blind U-turn and gone from Oh god, she's only nineteen! We don't want her to elope with some rockstar dude with facial piercings and indecipherable tattoos! to a contrasting Oh god, she's twenty four! Why can't she just find someone to marry instead of making us search? 

And then again, so many things haven't  changed.

I continue to make friends who are completely ok with giggling like a gaggle of geese (do geese giggle? It just sounded nicely alliterative, though.) They (the friends, not the geese) have been part of some wild adventures (in des and pardes) and continue to inspire the crazy in me.

I still obsess about chick-lit, weird television soaps, certain shirtless gentlemen, MO of serial killers and psychopaths of the creepiest severity.

So, What?

So, yes...these five years have truly been a roller-coaster ride. Beginning in Bangalore, going through Hyderabad all the way up to Delhi, peaking in Germany and Italy...nosediving into Chennai and ending back where it all started. The people, the memories, the adventures, the heartaches, the exhilaration of new beginnings has made this ride completely worth it.

But the ride's only completed one turn...like all roller-coaster maniacs, no one can sit on a ride just one time around...you simply have to re-strap, take another deep breath and get started on the adventure all over again...

Thawing the Block

It takes a nationwide bandh to awaken this blog from its semi-comatose state. Although I had set off for work this morning, ignoring all the Why are you going? Buses are being burnt, people are going crazy on the streets, throwing stones on glass buildings, shouting profanity at auto-drivers.. (ok, I made the last one up. But if I ever took part in a riot, that's what I would do.) ...after reaching work, I was politely told to head back, thanks to these bus burning people. Hmph.

Now that I'm on a house arrest, I might as well make use of the impromptu holiday, and inject some life into this poor blog. I figured out the apt post to do it. This post is all about why I did NOT visit this place for so long. (And by visit, I include all the random times I keep opening the site only to increase the ticker count on the right side.)

So my laptop has turned into a hot gizmo. After working sincerely for over four years now, it has decided that it prefers Delhi over any other city, and is emulating its scorching temperature. If I keep it on for over an hour, I can use it as a grill to make cheese sandwiches. Two hours would produce a decent tawa for a crisp butter dosa. Anything more than that, well, it emits a feeble phatooey noise, and gives up on me entirely.

I've begun going to the gym. I think that's a good enough reason, thanksverymuch. I usually get back home in a zoned out state, walking as stiffly as a cardboard cutout, wincing with every movement that even saying the word 'Blog', induces pain in at least 19 body parts...so writing on a blog doesn't even figure in the picture.

I've begun doing bizarre things at work. The other day, I was walking through this forested path when I chanced upon a couple of mango trees. The trees seemed to have been planted by a kind soul who thought he could inspire a Robert Frost out of anyone walking down that path. I plucked several mangoes from the trees and loaded my bag with them...all the while, feeling this childish excitement at having re-lived a childhood fantasy. On my way back, I was told that they weren't just timepass mango trees (you know, the sort that kind souls plant in forests), but were part of an orchard owned by a farmer.

The child in me would have gone "Muahaha, I stole mangoes from an orchard!". The adult in me went "I deprived a poor, struggling, farmer from 11 mangoes." I felt bad all the way back home. And then I ate them. They. Were. Delicious. So the child beat the adult. Hah.

And then I got chased by a turkey. The first thing you would wonder is Who gets chased by turkeys? Well, my friend, I do. I didn't even know turkeys could run this fast. Or were this agile. When the turkey finally decided that pecking the grass was more interesting than chasing me, I had my own little thanksgiving ceremony that moment.

So yes. *That's* what has prevented me from writing here. Hot Laptops, Painful Workouts, Stolen Mangoes and Irksome Turkeys.

While there's so much more I want to write about, I have already spent a good half an hour on this post...and if you add that to the hour I spent on Facebook and Gmail, you would be nearing the hot as tawa mode on the laptop. I really want to get this post up, and re-read it a couple of times (because I'm that much of a narcissist), before the laptop decides to call it a day. But, in the words of Arnold Schwarzenegger (who is a living nightmare of what happens if you go to the gym for far too long)...I'll be back. 

Year We Go Again!

Someone told me that the world would end at the turn of the century, so I spent most of 1999 worrying that I would never get to live beyond eleven.

It didn't help that my parents moved to Bangalore that year, making sure that not only would I not live beyond eleven, but I'd have to stay in a completely alien city without any of my friends when the inevitable would strike. (Of course, now I'd say Bangalore is the least apocalyptic city, given its immunity from earthquakes, tsunamis, volcanoes and cyclones.)

So as we approach the next apocalyptic milestone of 2012, I'll remove the scaredy-cat sunglasses and look forward to a year that promises new beginnings. But I'll finish my final Oh my god so many awesome things happened this year that I don't want to leave 2011 post with a flourish.

The year started with A Return to the Masterland. After spending a great holiday in Bangalore, I wearily returned to Delhi to complete the Big D. The Two Arms were thrilled at seeing me off (partly because I think they were worried that the impending dissertation might have taken a serious toll on my sanity and I may steal a fisherman's boat and row into the Bay of Bengal.) But I finally got the chance to fulfill a childhood wish of wanting to be at the Parade Escapade.

In the middle of chaotic half-edited word documents of various chapters in my thesis, I found the time to write a frantic Birthday Post, which endorsed my dwindling levels of common sense. The Glove Day followed soon after, marking the end of the Blue Moon era on my blog. The Illusive Eyes became the finale to unfinished business, and I packed my bags, leaving India with my Coffee Infactuation.

I returned to this blog a little after my visa expired, to witter endlessly about my Phabulous Phoren summer. The hangover lasted for more than a mere post, so it was followed with the Italian Adventure. When I finally ran out of things to write about, I decided to add a sequel to my Beeyay Trilogy with the Yemmay Yepisode.

Back in the home-city, I figured the first rant I simply couldn't ignore, would definitely Drive You Crazy. The rants continued with my take on Love. And as a nostalgic time-turner, I wrote the Glove Story and a Whimsical Tale.

So it's been a year of adventures, misadventures, sleepless nights, tiring days, worrisome traffic, lonesome monsoons, hilarious moments, engaging friends (and engaged friends), endless conversations, beautiful memories, bizarre situations...and nearly everything has ended with a smile on my face.

As the year draws to a close, I feel awfully like I'm standing at the end of an immigration line, waiting to cross the barrier and enter the country of 2012, as the official stamps my 2011 passport, wishing me a 'Happy New Year'.

The Blue Moon's Gone

It feels so gratifying to sign into this thing and click on 'New Post'. Do I have something to talk about? I don't know, really. But to be able to let the fingers flow freely on the laptop is a freedom I've finally found after a long long time. (F'alliteration galore!)

So what kept me busy? Lots of things. Dissertation, Birthday, Farewell, GloveDay..impromptu sleepovers, crazy cricket matches and the eggjams that are peeking at me from around the corner, seeping guilt into my heart as I type this.

So. The big D. For all the people who don't know me but randomly stumbled across this blog because you pressed the 'next' tab on the top right corner of this page, I did a thesis on Play Therapy with Street Children. Extremely gratifying, I must tell you. Not only did it improve my Hindi by leaps and bounds, but it gave me the much needed element of childhood in a life where everyone expects me to grow older. Hmpf. Thankyouverymuch, but I prefer being a kid, still.

Speaking of older, the birthday finally arrived! Began with I-M (I promise I'll come up with a better name soon!!) and Cake-Stealer bringing me cake early in the morning! Ironic, isn't it? Cake stealer bringing me cake? But 'twas fun. And the rest of the day went off pretty fantastically too. Thank you Glove for making the Twenty Three seem Old enough (ahem, my birthday gift) and Young enough (The Balloon that you all willingly let me spank your heads with.)

Speaking of Glove, we also had the Glove Day!! Imagine every conceivable girly thing you would've seen in a cotton-candy world Pajama Party. Now throw that out of the window. We had a celebration that was out of this world. From random badminton competitions to pretending to spit paan on newly painted Connaught Place pillars on a deserted Sunday, we managed to take an ordinary day and turn it into an extraordinary memory! A speshal mention to Al's super-cool parents who let us party like there was no tomorrow in her house!! And Muttley for giving us the much needed exercise. First running towards him to play with him, and then running away when he got over-excited and tried to nip your ankles.

And then came the Farewell (I don't think I'm going in any particular order, but whatever) Naaaaice it was :) 'Nuf said.

So Master's is officially over. I should really get cracking on the 'Oh, so you're a Yemmay now' post. Well, it's not officially over since I have the eggjams to devour. So yes, abrupt ending to this post that was threatening to enter a nostalgic blackhole.

Good night, Good luck, and the Moon is waning the Blue-ness! (Uh. I think that means I'm going to be more regular in posting things on this super-colourful page.)

Bibliophilia!

Donald Duck did it. He got me hooked to books. In a desperate attempt to quieten my constant chatter, my mother found me a couple of tattered Donald Duck comics in her library and gave them to me at the age of two, to flip through and amuse myself. However, her plan failed horribly, because not only did I NOT stop my chatter (I would make up gibberish and substitute them for the dialogues I was too young to read), but I demanded to be taken to the library every second day, to find and 'read' more!

It's been twenty years since then, and the bibliophilia in me has spread like an epidemic through all possible genres, even giving me the eternal hope of writing a book someday. Recently, Facebook had the BBC Booklist Buzz that got me thinking about this post. (If you've been tagged in that note, how many books have YOU read?) While some part of me felt immensely inferior, thanks to the insane number of books I have NOT read, the other part of me felt like documenting the fun memories of those that I have read.

Through my entire childhood (uh...I would define childhood as 2 through 22), I've been gifted books as birthday presents. Of course, having a birthday in book-ridden March when exams are scorning intently at you would put people off at the prospect of more books, albeit for entertainment. However, I'd wait eagerly for my birthday presents, tearing off the wrapping of all gifts that resembled books first. Within the next few days, I'd stay in a blissful oblivion of the outside world, as I floated in and out of pages and pages of wonderland.

The first books I was gifted was a twin pack of Snow White and Cinderella by my neighbours. The beauty of fairy tales began with those two books...and has lasted ever since. (That can't be truer, since I spent last night on the couch, weeping happily over the ending of The Princess and The Frog - a really beautiful movie!) After pre-school years of 'I have 20 ladybird books how many you have' discussions, I finally moved on to greener pages.....the Enid Blyton series.

Enid Blyton is the rite of passage to childhood, if you ask me. Blyton and Dahl were such prolific writers, that they can be indisputably credited with the ability of sparking creativity in every starry eyed child. From getting scared while reading 'Witches', to getting ravenous while reading about the sumptuous feasts in Malory Towers, my holiday train rides were never complete without a brand new, crisp, Blyton book. When I finally ran out of bookspace (which I unfortunately did, thanks to the 3 generations of Reader's Digest my family has been collecting since forever), I gave up all my Blyton books to my cousin, so that she could be introduced to this magical world of the English Countryside. However, a couple of years later, when I went visiting there and saw all my books looking so out of place in her shelf, I secretly collected them all back and brought them home to re-read them all over again! (And uh, this wouldn't be too far long, so it shows the sort of childish insanity I develop around Blyton books!)

While Blyton introduced me to Girl Power, Carolyn Keene, Ann M Martin and Francine Pascal reinforced it. After years of constant reading, increased glasses power and countless taunts about reading in low light/moving car/upside down, I can officially claim to have read ALL of the Nancy Drew and Babysitter's Club books. (Uh, I somehow gave up after reading about fifty Sweet Valley books. I had discovered Judy Blume and Harry Potter by then.)

So after the overdose of girl power, I had the next obsession with books...and magic! Anyone my age would instantly connect with Harry Potter best, because we grew with him. When I was 11, so was Harry. Reading and re-reading each book over and over again made me sink deeper into the world of fantasy and charm. Watching the movies, and then dissing them for not having stood up to my creative vision of Harry's adventures made excellent pastime. Of course, randomly playing Harry Potter quizzes in class (and I'm talking about college here, mind you) was so entertaining.....as I tested the depths of my memory trying to figure out the actual meaning of Dumbledore's name.

Today, I have read so many books I'd NEVER be able to remember them all. The fact my very thick glasses (now replaced by very thin contact lens) testifies to. My tastes in books have probably changed a lot. I've been through the:

'Classic' Phase - When I would devour Austen after Austen....I still love reading her books..and using the quaint English expressions in speech and befuddling people!! Of course, Shakespeare and a few other Classic Authors fell into this category by compulsion, as they were prescribed in curriculum - but they got me hooked to discovering more of the series as well.

'Comic' Phase - Tinkle was my favorite-st train comic!! I would always secretly dream about writing to Uncle Pai and praising him to no end about the stories! While I've read dozens of Archie Comics and Tin Tins (which were never really comics, but a frozen motion picture in boxes), Tinkle has, and will always remain THE comic forever. :)

'Indian Author' Phase - When I discovered R.K.Narayan and he transported me to a world I would give my left hand to be a part of. Of course, Rohinton Mistry, Ruskin Bond, Vikram Seth, Shashi Deshpande and Anita Desai have all been an integral part of the books I love to read, but R.K.Narayan's entire collection will always hold a permanent membership in my mind library!

'Chick-lit' Phase - From Opal Mehta to The Zoya Factor, I've read them all. And someday, when my life gets as exciting as theirs, I will write one. Till then, I'll continue drawing inspiration from feisty chicks all over the world and devour their adventures.

'Romance Phase' - Yes, I read Mills and Boon, ok? There you go, I've admitted it on the world wide web. They are the BEST cure for my aerophobia, ok? At least, if my plane were to go down, I can imagine being rescued by the handsome pilot or co-passenger and live a happily ever after life, no?

'I should read this book because everyone else has read it Phase' - Uhh...Kite Runner, God of Small Things, Shantaram, Midnight's Children and all of Jhumpa Lahiri's works fall in this category. I know, I should've probably discovered these books myself. Having others forcing me to read the above titles have had me both cringing (whoever you are, who lauded GOST and made me read it, I will find you, hunt you down, and make you read my Mental Chronometry book. And test you on it.) and reading up more (like The Joy Luck Club - Amy Tan, inspired me to read Lahiri)

and finally, the 'Oh no, I have nothing new to read now, so I will just pick up the first Nancy Drew/Harry Potter/Famous Five and get right to it' Phase - The one phase I love slipping into every once in a while. :)

I've been bitten by the book bug, and I have a bibiliophilia. The one disorder I'd never like to be cured of!

The First Step..

Picture this. A small, chubby eleven year old girl in a mismatched uniform in the office of a gigantic school. Children walk past her, chattering away happily, as she sits awkwardly on a chair, fiddling with her new school bag and feeling more lost than someone with Dissociative Amnesia. She waits for someone, anyone to tell her where she's supposed to belong in this sea of students in a completely unfamiliar city in the middle of a school term. A group of teachers walk past her, assuming her to be a wallflower. But one lady notices her. The girl feels a tap on her shoulder and turns around, the kind lady smiles at her. The lady asks the girl her name and age. She then asks the girl to follow her and enter 6-B, the class she teaches. She introduces the girl to the class, gives her a smile and begins work for the day. For the teacher, it is a small gesture of attention. For the girl, it is the first step.

Thank you, Revati ma'am. For giving me the confidence to enter my first step into a new city, a new life. I may not remember much about the continents of Africa and the Americas, but I will never forget my first day in Bangalore, and how easy you made it for me. (You'll probably not be reading this, but I had given myself 10 minutes more that day. If no one had realized that I was a new student and was waiting for any teacher to acknowledge me, I would have run away from school and somehow found a way to go back to Delhi and continue with my old life there.)

Teachers are the first handrail one grabs before climbing the stairs. They stay with you till the end of the stairs, and expect you to make the journey on the next floor by yourself. Until you reach the next flight of stairs. I have probably not considered all my teachers 'special', but the person I am is largely due to the teachers I had. So today, this is a humble thank you, to all the unspoken heroines (mostly) of my life.

Thank you, Mrs.Jain, Mrs. Bannerjee, Mrs. Roy and Mrs. Anand for making my first years in Delhi so special. And instilling the ability to lead (haha, I was the Head Girl of the junior school - a post I exploited quite well, thanks.), the ability to express myself and to question anything that doesn't feel right.

Thank you, all my teachers at Kumarans. If I were to start writing all your names here, I'd probably need the school magazine and a couple of spare hours! Thank you English teachers, for critiquing and moulding my writing, thank you Maths teachers (I love the subject, and I'm sure a large part of the credit goes to you guys), thank you Science teachers (for actually making sure I understood 'application based problems'....sigh) , thank you Social Studies teachers (I DID love the subject. Honest. But mostly after I had finished my 10th bored exams!) and a special thank you to Sanskrit Sir - your classes were the *best* (and I learnt a fair amount of Sanskrit in the process as well!)

As a child, I always secretly wanted to be a teacher. More precisely, a librarian. Not the mean sort, who give you pincer stares and grab the book you're holding, enter the code and shove it back into your hands....but more the sort who would read out stories, encourage children to pick interesting books and spend all her free time re-reading Blyton, Dahl and Montgomery books. (of course, this ambition of mine was always hidden beneath the cloak of 'I want to be a neurosurgeon-forensic psychologist-mystery writer-television journalist-radio jockey-hostess of a travel/cookery show'.

And if school planted the seed of wanting to teach, then college just nurtured it further. MCC exposed me to a spectrum of teachers who have the scary and forbearing task of shaping the future of girls. And some who played a special part in shaping my future need to be thanked. So thank you Mrs.V (you were Miss.V when you started teaching us!), Mrs. P and Mr.R - for being the coolest Journalism teachers and showing us the gloss and grime of media. A HUGE thank you to all the psychology teachers - simply because I'm pursuing the same subject, and I wouldn't have had the confidence to do so, had I not been taught well enough to pique my interest in it. Thanks, Mrs.Matthew, for incorporating Greek Mythology so flawlessly into otherwise mundane Literature classes.

Someday, I'll make my ambition of being a teacher come true. While there's a part of me that believes that almost everyone is a teacher in some way or the other, the aura that the lady with an attendance register, a couple of haphazard notes and a firm glare that can instantly melt into a smile exudes is a class apart (pun intended). The first step determines a new journey and unknown adventures. And what better profession than to be a mentor for taking that step?

Thank you. :-)

The Alphabet Avalanche

Have you read the story of the Alphabet Soup? It is about a little boy who loved food more than study (hm..I wonder why). So his mother cooked up (pun intended) this brilliant idea of serving him alphabet soup, that could help him learn while eating.

I want Alphabet Soup. Something that would help me learn while eating (since Eating is a rather over-regular habit of mine) But more than that, my brain currently feels like an Alphabet Soup - overloaded with letters, words, phrases, sentences, whole paragraphs and texts. I suppose it's what happens if you get branded as a geek (Hey, I'm happy to be one ok?) But it is finally turning against me.

Too many alphabets in the mind, and too little time to sort it all out. Each alphabet has become an abbreviation for a much larger topic and they're all swirling and tumbling out like an avalanche. The best way to get it all out is to write it somewhere. And since I have finally reached a stage where I type almost ten times faster than I write, I figured this place would be the best to let the dam burst and bring forth all the alphabets.

So, just for my own purely narcissistic incomprehensible catharsis, here goes:

JHEDKGHFJIRUTHYOPINLGKFHDJSNIWHGYTEIFHSLSKAHFEFNVMCNXZASKWOQPEORUFHGNDMSLAPWRIDN.

It isn't a code. It isn't cryptic in any way. It's just a way of getting my frustration out on my keyboard and onto the screen. Suddenly, my mind feels less jumbled, less complicated. Try it, it may not make your hair shinier or skin fairer, but it will definitely make you feel lighter.

A'am Lovin It!

Okay, two things come to mind with this title -

1) The new Shrek Menu at McDonalds. You HAVE to try their new guava-mint ice cream! Have to! (P.S. I tried it, thought it was pretty much like the mint fudge sundae at Corner House, except with a little more toothpaste and guava juice thrown in.) Also, you must take their happy meal! They give you the cutest Shrek toys! (I got a Puss In Boots that purrs thrice and goes 'Do I know You?' in a very 'I'm-too-hot-for-you' tone. Oh well, some compensation for the real Antonio Banderas.)

2) Now this is the story that really matters, since the title is supposed to be for this one.

My family is the epitome of a nuclear family. We're little units, scattered worldwide, and meet at least twice-thrice a year. The one thing that has kept us bonded are the 'Mango Stories'. Each of us has a tale of his/ her own related to mangoes.

Recently, when we all had a reunion of sorts, it happened to be Mango Season and these stories re-emerged. Today, as I happen to have accomplished a certain task (which I shall talk of later), I feel it's probably the best time to write an ode to these Mango Stories. Because they deserve a mention somewhere in the leaves of our lives. And because, maybe, the generations to come will get a glimpse of 'my' own little mango story.

So every summer, my grandfather (or thatha, as I refer to him) sits down with a HUGE plate and a bowl of mangoes. The news is generally running on the TV, occasionally alternating between some movie (when I manage to find the remote and change the channel), and then going back to the news (when my dad re-finds the 'lost' remote).

He begins to peel the mangoes first. Not in a clumsy way that would waste more fruit on the skin, but with the skill of an artisan. He practically carves the mango, coaxes the skin to leave as much juice as possible within the fruit, and just surrender itself without too much trouble. The skin that he peels off the mango is so thin, it could give the phrase 'Size Zero' an inferiority complex.

Now that's just not it. He not only peels the skin thin, but in one single gesture. At the end of this masterful operation, we find the entire mango skin like a twirling ribbon around the mango, that can be pulled off with one stroke, and not a single crack or seam can be seen. An entire mango is de-skinned in one long, tenacious but graceful attempt.

Remember the times when we would sharpen pencils and take extra care not to break the shavings? We'd try to make them as long as possible, and compete with each other about the length of continuing shavings. Transgressing to mangoes after that seems the only natural thing to do.

This is my thatha's little mango story. Once the peel is off, it is carefully preserved (by me) and observed ( by me again). Eventually, my mother gets exasperated at seeing me collecting the now rotting skin, and throws it away. But for me, it still signifies a piece of untainted beauty and perfection.

Yesterday, I peeled a mango. In one shot, I managed to get the entire skin off without breaking it or cracking it. I was so ecstatic that I held up the skin to show it off to everyone at home. In the process, I stained a shirt with mango dribbles from the juice of the fruit (okay, so that would mean my peel still had juice and fruit, and was thick. Uhm. Some points were deducted for that.)

I looked eagerly at thatha for approval. He smiled, and although he can now no longer sit on the floor and cut mangoes like he would every summer, he was content with my peeling. I guess he realized that there is finally someone in the family who can continue his tradition of mango-peeling! (Okay, I'm sure the rest of my family can peel mangoes really well too. But that's their story to tell. And I just have to share mine.)

So I created my own little mango story yesterday. Up until last night, I always wondered what story I'd tell my family if the event came up (believe me, the mango stories always come up. My dad's story of having climbed the Mango tree and chipped his front tooth are evidence of the fact - he still hasn't done anything to that tooth!)

Patience and Perseverance lies beneath that Mango Skin. And although my shirt has been given a touch of abstract art (It's true dude. Mango Stains are tough to come off), I'm glad the splash of yellow lies there. Reminds me of how much A'am Lovin It! :-)

Shopping for Adventure

Ever been to T.Nagar? Try it, once in a year or so. It's highly recommended to sharpen your survival instincts and clean the rust off your 'fight-or-flight' responses. Of course, whether you come out of it unscathed, depends upon Social Darwinism and um, what you ate for breakfast that day. But still. It's always worth it.

Mission: To Buy.

Now, you could be buying sarees, jewelry, flowers (real, fake, dried...or even something you've never imagined of.). Or maybe you want to experiment with the latest styles and want fake hair? It's there. (Believe me, I had to ogle at the lady selling it for one full minute before realizing it really was fake hair.) It's like Aladin's Genieland. You wish for it, it's there.

Vision: A must.

It's good to have a vision beforehand. That sort of helps you figure your route-map for the day. T.Nagar is not for those who want to 'explore'. You may find yourself dragged into the invitingly cool air-conditioned showrooms of a saree shop, just by the crowd entering it (like the Mumbai Locals, but here you're entering better weather.)

Or you might just find yourself dragged away someplace random if you happened to stand for less than 10 seconds without a vision. (In my case, I was projectiled towards the fake-hair-selling-lady, because I was trying to take in the 'atmosphere of it all'.)

So, um, anyway, plan your vision carefully. Draw a map, prioritize your ambitions of the day. Sketch out routes that will take you to the-right-shop-at-the-right-time. Keep strict timing for every rack, every floor, every style you're remotely interested in. Little alarms might help too. Be prepared to revise your vision. Chances are you will find a hundred better options.

Position: Always train the GPS in your mind carefully to know exactly where you are and where you're headed. You may begin at Pothy's (which resembles an African Safari, with actual foliage and pretend monkeys peeping at you from the entrance) but land up at Kumaran Silks, Nallis or RMKV, without your realizing it. It's like a tour you embark upon in a dazed sort of way. Keep pinching yourself once in a while to know your positions.

Composition: Like I mentioned in the beginning, it helps to strengthen yourself a bit before starting your adventure. A hearty breakfast, extra glasses of milk, and maybe a mound of fruits ought to help. Oh, and carry some glucose biscuits and an endless supply of water (I have no suggestions on how to carry that) in order to sustain yourself with an irritatingly optimistic nature about finding what you want to find. You'll find it, but not without turning a few hairs grey.

Hm. I've never tried it, but maybe watching The Amazing Race, Armageddon, Independence Day (feel free to improvise and choose other movies too!) might prep you up for what's in store. Ooh..you could get walkie talkies and stay in touch with home base (just makes the whole trip more adventurous, don't you think?)

Conclusion: Do a re-check of belongings, bodyparts and such after your shopping is done. People have been known to have left their sanity behind, as they step out of the mayhem. Of course, if you're like me, having no sanity to begin with, then it's fine. No problems.

And finally. Remember to see, re-see, re-re-see your wares at the end of the day. Believe me, it'll be worth all the effort. :-) I know this sounds like a statutory warning, but nothing can ever beat the charm of shopping in T Nagar. This place has a charm of its own, that drags you and intoxicates you with the colours, patterns, sounds, smells and people (uh, don't imagine them all together. That just sounds odd.) Show off your wares to other Bangalore people, and watch their faces light up with awe (ok, this I haven't tried yet. But if you have, let me know if they DO light up 'in awe')

So people who visit, and work in T.Nagar, hats off to you. You've battled the recession, rains, heat, (no bomb scares, strangely), and made this market one of the most exciting places I've ever been to.

This place reminds you of what 'culture' really is. How warm people are, despite having to serve hundreds of demanding clients. How they stay cool despite the scorching heat. How they never fail to greet you with a smile, even when you haven't bought a thing. How they all mingle amongst each other flawlessly, helping a fellow shopper find her 'perfect' ware. It's an amalgamation of goodwill, if you ask me. The place where occasions become adventures and functions become fairytales.

The Thought Bubble

Exams get you thinking. More than just the ritual of learning *cough* mugging. For a change, this time, I actually managed to sit it out and read up the causal factors of all disorders. It made me think all the more (really, why don't I ever contemplate life on non-exam days, when I'm more jobless, I wonder.)

In School, I would always end up with a throat infection or an upset stomach every March and September. I still remember this one time when I had written an exam in school, and then had to sit mum throughout the entire bus journey (and our school was on the outskirts of Bangalore, so go figure!) , only to rush back home from the stop and throw up. I would never eat outside, never drink cold water/ice cream/just ice (yeah, it's a peculiar habit, I know) at least weeks before an exam. And despite that, I'd land up with a stomach/throat infection. Every March and September.

Today, it's manifested in a whole lot of different ways. I don't worry so much about the exams. Other things take up priorities. But the throat/stomach infections got me thinking about the stress that we all carry on our heads all the time.

Nearly all the causal factors of disorders that I've studied include stress. From Unipolar Depression to Schizophrenia, Eating Disorders, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Conversion Disorders..etc. They ALL have the common etiology of stress involved. In fact, stress has been credited with a whole set of disorders, called psychosomatic disorders, instead of just being causes of co-morbid conditions.

How many of us can stay cool in the face of exams? I know I can't. Sure, I walk into the room like an ice cube, but before entering, I'm a bundle of nerves. I wonder if it is worth the cost of my sanity?

We all live in this thought bubble that unless I have a schizophrenic relative, I'm not likely to get Schizophrenia. Oh well, I'd like to tell the rest of us, happy wishing. Stress is harmful, way more harmful than we can ever imagine, if we let it take over our lives so completely.

The prevalence of most disorders caused by stress is highest in the age range of 20-30. We're building futures, shaping careers, managing and sharing lives...basically constructing that dream house for when we retire. So I guess it's unfair to believe that we can all just take a break, relieve the stress and wait it out. We are probably going to have to deal with it instead.

So just take a minute off your work/study/life. Close your eyes. Replay the technicolour movie of the most important people and events in your life (happy ones only. I don't want to get into therapy for depressive disorders now!). Think of that flower you saw on the bush, but did not stop to admire it's hue and texture. Think of the time when you saw your first perfect A (sure, I'm a geek and that works for me!). Think of everything that can possibly bring a smile to your face.

And then open your eyes. You'll see the world differently. I know I did. It's worth spending a minute every now and then to appreciate what you have rather than worry about what you may/may not have in the future, right? In fact, if nothing else, it gives you the determination to pursue your goals with an increased fervor. A will to build more dreams, and convert them into reality.....who knows, maybe some day, you'll close your eyes for that one minute and think of the very dream you're trying to achieve today?

P.S. If I sound like an evangelist/fanatic/yoga teacher/value education teacher, kindly blame 'Abnormal Psychology and Modern Life'. A book that has inspired me to take a minute off, and think. Made me realize that my life is much more important than appearing as a statistic in their future editions.

An Idiot Exemplified

I used to be the most loyal defender of the Idiot Box. I never believed a word that others said about how it can spoil you, make your brains freeze or just turn you into a couch potato. But today, I stand corrected.
Reasons why watching TV is the worst possible time pass at 11.30 in the morning:

1) Only re-runs of Ekta Kapoor and pseudo Ekta Kapoor serials are aired. The women, dressed to give a rainbow an inferiority complex, are in a constant tug of war with one another. The men are only present in these shows to be unfaithful, marry thrice, die twice and undergo a series of plastic surgeries until they end up looking quite the same as the first episode. Earlier, the one difference between these soaps and movies were the song and dance sequences. But due to a lack of story and creativity, even film songs have entered these mansions. Why induce melancholy in life by watching these sagas anyway?

2) Spitsvilla- I know I’ve spelt it wrong. But seriously, all they do in splitsvilla is spit at each other’s reputations and sub-zero sized images. A score of girls try and woo two desperate looking boys just so that they can claim their fifteen seconds of fame, and if luck is on their side, maybe even the love of one of those loser fellows. Really, have girls in this country become this desperate for companionship? Their antics make me wonder if accepting fraaanship requests on social networking sites is a much better option.

3) News Channels- This is not prime time for news anyway. It’s prime time for scandalous news. Try any desi news channel, and they’ll be discussing why Shilpa Shetty has become so Anglicized or something equally intriguing.

4) Teleshopping Channels. This is the time allocated for teleshopping. Even normal channels that usually air sitcoms end up airing teleshopping ads. A failed actress would be coaxing you to buy that magical roti-maker or those massage belt thingies that are bound to make you a smart, thin and efficient home-maker (the contemporary euphemism for housewife.)

This is only a chip off the humongous block of crappy stuff shown on TV at 11.30. The genres of shows change with times of the day as they cater to varying audiences. Using this point, we know that 11.30 is perhaps the time for home-makers to view television. So has Indian Television come to a conclusion that home-makers needs shows that are mundane enough to stimulate a pea-brain or am I just turning cynical after having watched this much TV in my holidays?

Point. Zoom. Click.

Technically, I should be using this time to study for my photography exam. It’s being held so early tomorrow morning that I’ll probably have to coax the sun to rise so that I can grope my way to the nearest bus stop and land up at college on time. This is the reason why I must dust my dying driving license and well, use my sense and drive. That accounts for a whole new post anyway, so let me just get to the point, zoom and click.

Remember Chewing Gum, Exam and Friends? Well, my photography class had a somewhat similar beginning. I am not trying to become an ‘accomplished’ woman of the Austen times by trying out theatre, photography etc. This class was compulsory and if not for this, I’d be still content with my four eyes and camera-phone to capture images (I recently discovered that I do in fact own a digital camera, but happy events have stopped occurring in life, so there is nothing to capture in it.)

We began class a month ago. Our sir likes to give the sun an inferiority complex by rising earlier. In an effort to impress him, most of us tried reaching on time but in the process ended up looking like doped kids picked up from the corner of some random alley. The theory classes were fun, sitting under a huge tree in college. In fact, my first ever picture (during the class, that is) was of that tree. When I see the outcome, it just looks like a mass of spangled leaves with sunshine peeking through, but anyway, it’s the thought behind the image that counts. :P

We progressed from college to Loafer’s Lane and then moved on to explore the world yonder. In the past few weeks, we’ve been to Pottery Town, Dhobi Ghat, MG Road promenade (or what’s left of it) and Russel Market.
Pottery town was our first excursion with the camera, so we considered ourselves to be these crime-scene photographers as we trudged along the muddy (well, it rains everyday and this is pottery town, so there’s nothing else but mud) lanes with the SLRs, capturing the most bizarre moments and claiming them to be masterpieces.
Dhobi ghat was especially interesting as we saw over 50 men and women washing clothes continuously, almost in a rhythm. The swishing of clothes in the wind and the mixing of hues in that space of land was a photographer’s paradise, with the donkey and everything.
Russell market was, well, crowded. Even as early as 7.45 in the morning. Of course, we had to choose the eve of St.Mary’s Feast to shoot pictures around the Basilica of St.Mary. We explored Shivajinagar and got lost in the by-lanes that led to these alleys of auto-repair shops. We stalked random people who looked like ‘intriguing subjects’. We also tried capturing a Policeman, but he gave us such a look of disdain that we meekly scampered away.
MG Road was dirty. Well, we went to the promenade side, which has been ravaged by huge metal rods and garbage. What was once a walkway filled with bougainvillea blossoms is now a garbage dump with weeds and thousands of fountain Pepsi glasses. Looks like someone had a party and forgot to clean up, a century ago. We tried our hand at panning and painting with light (if you don’t know what this means then I’ve achieved my ultimate goal of photography class- befuddling people with technical and impressive jargons!) A couple of rats, hawks and red ants came up and watched us in action. I swear I saw a snake and some maggots as well, but my friends shooed away that observation, claiming it to be false. They were just trying to reassure themselves. I did see those creatures. In the history of our photography class, the sun finally beat us. It set before we finished, and we were left with specks of orangey-blue dotting the skies. That contrasted sharply with the neon billboards and headlights of zooming vehicles. The sunset was a spectacle. Perhaps because I’ve not seen many of those in Bangalore. Blame it on the load of work, or my anti-social nature of being ensconced in a confined space, I have to concede that the world looks bloody brilliant during the sunset.

With those, and a couple more excursions, we ended our photography class. But in true filmy style, we had a grand finale. As you read this, in some printing press in the streets of Bangalore, our pictures are being printed on the cover of the College Magazine (or something or the other related to college…we’re not too sure). Our sir did some photo-shoots of the new auditorium and needed, ahem, models to make the college look more vibrant. So we gladly replaced our alumni of supermodels and clearly high on the overdose of photographs, we flounced about the basketball court looking slyly at the camera. The moment I get my hands on whichever book that carries the picture on it’s cover, I’m going to frame it and show it off to the next couple of generations (My general tendency is to appear hideous in all school/college magazines, but this one, my newfound photography intuition says, is going to be a classic.)

Well, that is it. The classes are done and it’s now my job to go and study (ha ha) for the exam. I have seen the pictures I’ve taken so far. They haven’t been spectacular, but there is some potential that is straining to appear amidst those images. If I manage to achieve my goal of retiring at the age of forty and settling down in the Fiji Islands (I have a friend there, you know.), then I’ll scrape a living out of clicking pictures of sunrise and sunset. Waitaminute, did I say sunrise? Doesn’t the sun rise, at like, five in the morning? *look of horror*

08.08.08

Much much unlike the previous two posts, this one is going to be short and sweet. Again, the desire for the dateline overtook the writer's creativity and I wanted one post for this date. Really, this blog is becoming like some sort of museum, where I'm collecting memories and storing them..knowing for a fact that this record can never be lost in that eternally messy room of mine.

Well, I dont really want to spend much time here today though....the Olympics, my psychology project analysis, assignments and a storybook beckons me to get off this space. I'm quite certain I'll come up with many 'productive' posts between 08.08.08 and 09.09.09 and not just rant and rave about how cool the date looks on my blog! :)

So, you’re doing a Beeyay? – Part 2.

It’s back by popular demand. By the people around me who refuse­ to acknowledge the existence of grey matter in a college girl who’s doing a Beeyay.
After that disastrous encounter at a family function, this one occurred at the local market. I was trying very hard to convince my mum that we had bought enough vegetables to last this century when someone waved enthusiastically from the other side of the road. It turned out to be an old friend of my mum’s who was also battling with her weary looking son about the quantity of vegetables being bought. She walked up to us and blissfully ignored the chaos around, speaking as if we were all lounging in some café.
I’ll jump right to the point and only describe the part of conversation involving me and my (sigh) lack of insight while choosing a career.

Aunty: So, you must be in your final year now na?
Me: Yeah I’ll be entering final year this June.
Aunty: What plans do you have for the future then?
Me: Oh, well, I’m considering some options in Psyc…..
(Cutting me off abruptly)
A: Actually, I wanted to ask you something.
M: Yes aunty, what happened?
A: My son no? He also wants to do this Psychology and Journalism and all that.
M: Oh really? I’d love to tell him all about the subjects and syllabus.
A: Yaaa…but you know? I told him to do some correspondence course in Journalism after Engineering or something. He cant do Beeyay and all….this is not a time for playing games with career you know?
M: umm... I guess not. But studying Psych and Journalism is not really ‘playing games’ aunty. We have a challenging syllabus and project reports, exams and stuff.
A: Yaa all that is fine and all. But who will give him job and all? I mean, it’s a Beeyay no?Nowadays, only engineering is lucrative.
M: Well, actually, Journalism is a thriving field as well. And so is industrial Psychology. In fact, we’ve been told that in the next couple of years, they will be very lucrative.
A: Aiyo. It’s okay for you and all. You’re a girl. You don’t need to worry about money and all. What will people say if my son ends up with only a Beeyay? How can he earn as much as the engineering people? He can’t take up these things just because he likes to interpret dreams and all.

I choose to end the conversation here because that’s what my mum also tactfully did, by intervening. She had seen fire alarms go off within me and decided I was better off searching for good mangoes instead of fighting a losing battle with the lady.

It struck me then. Perhaps if I was a boy, I wouldn’t have found it easy convincing people around me to let me choose what I want to do. It’s a sad thing that girls are still not taken seriously unless they choose a ‘Manly’ field like Business or Engineering. Beeyays are just an extra line on a CV that will not go very far from college. Not everyone is like that though. I’m sure many parents don’t blend in gender with careers, but if they do, then who benefits really? It’s a bittersweet thing- the thought that perhaps since I’m a girl, I’m allowed to follow my ambitions and aspirations and choose any career I want. Maybe there is at least one male peer out there, who really wanted to be a Scholar of English Literature but is studying Computer Engineering instead…..

Study Leave = Leave Study

Study leave is a concept I understood after getting into college. Although the college grants 2 weeks very benevolently in order to get you to study, personally, I think there is an underlying message: study leave is actually meant for one to leave studying. I mean, I can’t think of anyone who would spend every waking hour of those two weeks cramming up notes. But the holidays..I mean…study leave, opens up a plethora of possibilities to understand and contemplate one’s life.

Some of the most fruitful things I’ve been doing this past week include:

i. Teaching my toddler neighbour how to give me a high five. He did give me a high five eventually, after he wet his diaper and my arms that were carrying him.

ii. Reading, re-reading and re-re-reading all my personal diaries since the 8th std. In effect, I managed to re-live my orthodontic trauma. Really, I have to burn those pages in my diary that describe every millisecond of my orthodontic treatment.

iii. Finally cleaning out a mysterious shelf in my desk. But I ended up spending all my time in poring over some frayed pages of the 6th std Social Studies project that eventually, I ended up putting all the junk back inside and rushed off to lunch.

iv. Conscientiously reading my 750 page Psychology textbook. But drifted off to another 750 page book. Harry Potter.

v. Arranging all my pens and pencils in the order of colours found in a rainbow.

vi. Reading Bridget Jones’ Diary and heaving a huge sigh of relief that my life isn’t as messed up as hers.

vii. Watching re-runs of Roadies on MTV. Heaving another sigh of relief that my life isn’t as messed up as theirs either.

viii. Finally sitting myself down in front of my books, forcing them open and reading one chapter….before drifting off to fantasies that included re-runs of Jodhaa Akbar and free pizzas.

Hmm….I wonder if I can classify any of these under the typical characteristics of early adults (a definite question for my exams next week).

The Sem gone by

We bid our fond farewells to Semester 4 on Thursday. As I looked back to catch a quick recap of my life at college so far, everything passed by me like a technicolour blur. It is only when I begin a new semester sans the things I leave behind, will I realize how important they were in my life. Nevertheless, this is my attempt at capturing small moments that may not repeat themselves in the forthcoming year. (Mushy post coming up.)

Mrs.V - It’s hard to believe that we’ll have to tolerate a full year without her. Sure, we cribbed during all the report-writing classes and the project presentations. But we’ve had our fun moments in class. We’ve discussed everything- from Kareena Kapoor’s diet to life during the Emergency. We sometimes forgot she was our teacher. We’ve counted her ‘uuuh’s and laughed at her windshield wiper gestures. I’ll miss those Monday morning quizzes that we never studied for. Those brownies that we were always promised, but finally got on her last day. And now, when she’s off to a different continent, I can almost imagine her trying to tame a class as wild as ours all over again!

Dr.R - Film App. is the first phrase that pops in when I think of him. Thanks to him, I got to watch Spanish, French, Italian, Japanese and Iranian movies. With coffee breaks. Whether it is studying realism through art and films, or even something as mundane as editing symbols, his classes were different. I guess we’ll see him around once a while, but even then I’ll miss those classes where we were allowed to play Dumb Charades instead of studying!

Sanskrit – I leave behind a subject that I’ve studied for almost 8 years now. I don’t exactly miss the subject, but the teacher at college was actually quite nice. She began to grow on us only when we were in our last month of the semester. I’ll miss those classes where we would pretend to read but actually play Bingo. The nicknames we gave almost every other student in class. The imitation of her accent and her funny signature in our test papers.

There are lots of things that are anchored with Semester 4. But I just realized they are more fun to keep in the memory. My writing would never do justice to many more events that shaped this semester. And as I move on to the next sem, I hope that we get to meet people as special and interesting as the ones we bid farewell to.

Only ten days!

Oh, and by the way,

Only Ten More days to go for the Big Twenty!!
Note to self: Considering the fact that you are the only avid reader of this blog, this post seems kinda silly.

Just another day

It’s the 29th of February. And I won’t get to write that for the next three years. This is why I dragged my fingers out of my Journalism report window and into this blog. Much as I hate interrupting my conscientious effort to produce a 2000 word feature on development journalism, I figured it would be fun to have a blogpost dated 29th Feb.

I got up with a bad dream that a Pomeranian dog had bitten my left hand. I was sitting in the Veterinary Hospital on Rose Garden road, waiting to be treated. (For the life of me I cant understand what I was doing in a Veterinary hospital instead of one inhabited by humans.)

And that was the only remotely exciting thing that happened to me today. Unless I get hold of Freud’s dream interpretation book and realize that I’m actually supposed to expect a windfall…or a knight in shining armour, I guess I'll have to stay satisfied with one extremely weird dream.

So there you go. My February 29 flew by before I could say 'Leap Year'. There was nothing extra-special about the day. But still, it’s a whole 24 hours added to this year. And this leap year promises to be significantly better than the last one. (Which was spent in gloating about the fact that I had 1 extra day to prepare for my 10th bored exams)

I’ve done it! I’ve posted something on the 29th, albeit a little nonsensical. (Okay, very nonsensical). I wish on this day, that by the next 29th of Feb, I will have much more depth in my perception of life and mature blogposting skills. Sigh. Leap years don’t make wishes come true, do they?

Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

-Robert Frost.

(I'm not a connoisseur of poetry. Except a dash of Odgen Nash, I've never really delved into the more profound verses of poets. But I stumbled upon this one when I was casually flipping through an old school poetry book. For the first time, I could relate to this poem. There is some connection, almost as if Mr. Frost is telling me these words personally. Call me cliched, but the hint of any connection with Literature whatsoever has now raised my hopes of perhaps getting some inspiration to perform better in my OE paper!)

Surfing the tide....

It was a Sunday afternoon. No one was at home. And it stood there, looking so inviting. I succumbed to the temptation and quickly drew the curtains. The room became considerably darker now. Aah…perfect. I looked around, half afraid that I’d be caught. But I quickly walked towards it, not wanting to waste any more precious time. It glistened because of a small ray of sunshine coming from a crack in the curtains. Slowly, I picked it up. Giving it a fond look, I committed the ultimate crime. I pressed the red button and switched on the TV. A cacophony of noise immediately took the place of eerie silence and I felt that familiar sense of warmth in me as I sat down with my partner in crime, the remote control; to do what I did best -Channel surf.

Bad habit, I know. It can spoil your eyes and all that. Yes, I’ve been told too. But I’m addicted to channel surfing. And this one Sunday, the remote was all mine. So I started off with the usual channel 8. I’d work my way upto 38 and then start all over again. I’ve tuned all my channels within that frame. On some really boring days, I’d even go all the way upto 99. And then come back to 1. So let’s see what treasure I struck upon today…..

Click Shah Rukh Khan is spending his New Year’s Day in Goa. Good for him. Click Hritik Roshan movie involving aliens and irritatingly bubbly kids. Click The best of Roadies…..all the contestants are sword fighting with some pehelwan kinda dudes. Click Hum Aapke Hain Kaun. Much as I hate to admit that I’ve watched the movie almost 35 times, I decided to bookmark that channel and come back to it later. Click Dawson’s Creek: Some funeral procession going on…not worth mourning for Dawson’s friends on a Sunday. Click High School Musical 2! Oh, but wait…it’s only one of the songs…and it’s in Hindi! Urgh! Click Heroes Nice. I’ll come back to that too Click Q Tv….man is explaining something in Arabic Click Kishore Kumar lookalike contest, I think Click Rerun of some singing competition involving children Click another show involving a children’s singing competition…..really, when I was their age, I’d spend all my free time in the park with other kids…not pleading with the audience to vote Click Oprah’s prime time….oh no….must change the channel quickly…I ran out of all the tissues in the last episode itself Click Some gory movie involving gangsters of some kind. Couldn’t really hear the dialogues…everything was being beeped off Click Tom Hanks….goodie…..but wait…this was only a trailer for the movie that will be aired on Tuesday Click Teleshopping network, I think. Whoa! They’re showing some miracle massaging belt or something Click Another Hritik Roshan Movie…oh wait….this is the sequel to the alien one! The prequel and sequel being shown on rival channels at the same time…doesn’t happen very often Click Click Click All News Channels 19 year old to head a political party. Click Kannada music channel: Kariya, I love you!! Oh dear. Click Discovery: Hmm…sparrows eating lichen with frost on Cacti in the Atacama Desert Click aaah Back to Shah Rukh Khan’s new year plans.

So what did I achieve from 15 minutes of non stop channel surfing? Well, for starters, I know I’m not missing out on anything fabulous while I waste my time watching one channel alone. The feeling of watching everything and yet nothing is so satisfying. Sigh….May god bless the person who invented the remote control!