Food for thought!

A city girl is crowned Ford Super Model – India and as I gather from her interview, this 18 year old survives on raw fruits and vegetables. She does not touch rice and as per the interview is happy living on a predominantly liquid diet. How people manage to do this, beats me. It’s one thing to eat healthy food – removing fried food and sweets completely from the diet, but it’s entirely another thing to just have carrot/tomato/cucumber juice all through the day! Do people really enjoy this kind of food or do they learn to like it with no other choice? And is it necessary? What do we work so hard and earn all this money for if we cannot eat food of our choice and indulge in the occasional chocolate mousse?

About (Time (Flying) High)

“Good Morning Bengalooru” screams the newspaper headlines today. I’m personally very happy that they are planning to revert to the original name and I’m leaving it at that. What completely shocked me was that it’s been a good 10 years since Bombay was renamed, and nine years since Madras was and FIVE years since Calcutta became Kolkatta and it only seemed like yesterday! The last five years especially have gone so fast that things like this shock me!

 

Sethu and I were talking about Lara yesterday (Well, he was talking and I was just listening with Ohs and Ahs J) and he told me that it’s been a good eleven years since that great 375 knock at Antigua. And, (yeah you got it) it seems like just a couple of years ago, when my bro was raving about the performance! Hmm…time flies.

 

While on Lara, I must say he’s quite a looker, next only to Stephen Fleming! J And while on Cricket, I must congratulate my cricketer hubby for his fine 83* yesterday, his second match winning innings since his comeback after a serious back injury. Congrats Se, soon we should have enough watches to open a showroom! ;-)

RadioCity yet again!

The settings are right; I AM working on a Saturday! L I came to office in high spirits today, listening to Vani Jayram and Dr. Raj singing, “Yeneno Aase…”, requested by a sweet little girl, dedicated to her mother. This was the first time I listened to RadioCity(RC) on a Saturday morning, ‘coz on other Saturdays, I’m making up for sleep lost during weekdays. And I must say I’m impressed with the great Kannada songs they play and with RJ Vasanthi who speaks unaffected Kannada for a change.

 

From what I’ve heard, I feel most RJs speak the language with a peculiar accent that gives one the feeling that these guys have the script written for them in English and are simply mouthing the lines. I’ve heard Kiran and Chaitanya Hegde(Is that his last name?) in the past, and I say, Kannadigas don’t speak Kannada like that! I even messaged Chaitanya once, a few years ago, telling him so. And it turned out that Mr. Hegde, (who probably thinks he’s God’s gift to Radio and Bangalore), was only used to receiving flattering messages and so, greatly offended by what I’d said, called me back. Poor me thought he was putting me on air, but was quite taken aback when he told me that the message was rude and that he was offended. Still in a state of shock, I just said I still stuck by my views and was sorry if I’d hurt his feelings. In retrospect, I feel the apology was rather unnecessary. Anyway, with this unsavory experience and listening to Mr. Hegde and his successors, I had given up hope on hearing a decent Kannada voice on RC, until I heard Vasanthi this morning. This lady speaks English, Hindi and Kannada and all with equal aplomb.

 

I just read that, and I’ve digressed from the subject of the post a good deal. I intended to write about Kannada movies and music of the yesteryears, but I guess that’ll have too wait…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Radio City!

For a change, and for the first time listened to radio on my way to work today. And, I found that it’s much better than post-bath dozing and reaching office with a puffy face and smudged kajal! So, Chalo, tumkar lekar chale and bairi piya it was in Shreya Ghoshal’s saccharine sweet voice. Hope the rest of the day turns out to be as pleasant as the morning! Yours too. Have a great day!

Mis(s)take

How many times have you refused to attend a cousin’s wedding on the pretext of a Lab or internal test? Me? I’ve lost count. I never considered it a big deal, missing someone’s wedding or a house warming ceremony, until the day of my own wedding reception and the poor turnout on the occasion. Until the D-day, all that matters is the fact that you are getting married to the person you love, you don’t give a damn who makes it or who does not. But come wedding day, an empty wedding hall is depressing and the absentees unpardonable. And mind you, even the ones with the poorest of poor memories will remember if or not you were present on their wedding day. So, there’s no escaping!

Ok why all this? I just missed a classmate’s wedding due to negligence. (Actually my dad’s PC that refuses to open attachments)

But I’m making up to her by meeting her shortly. You do too if it’s happened with you. J  

 

Two today!

 

What really works - As the previous post says? Posting entries via e-mail. And whatsmore, it’s really convenient. Here’s to technology for making life easy!

(A rather controversial statement the last one!)

 

Does this really work??

Posting after a long time.

Thanks for stopping by.

Friends still keep the link.

For friendship’s sake I think.

From the Archives...

I had liked this a lot when I wrote it three years ago. Not so much now. All I can see now are the grammatical errors! :-)

Reflection

A murky state of mind, a melancholic mood, a gloomy feeling, an inexplicable grief surrounded my being as I stood staring at the night sky. Not a star to be seen, it seemed as if the heavens empathized with me.

A cool breeze swept past me, as if to uplift my spirit, did not serve the purpose, it left me cold, and more helpless than before.

There was a time not so long ago when a climate like this would enliven the romantic in me. A time when the eyes of the mind ignored the dark clouds and only noticed the thin silver lining, a time when the scorching heat brought confidence rather than pain. Not anymore.

A time when I craved for attention, for people around me, now I resented the very same people. Was it me? Or was it them?

Children playing on the street, they had so much to smile about, just like I had not so long ago. The gay abandon with which they played brought sheer happiness, evident from the glee on their face. The sweat on the brow hardly meant fatigue, if anything zest for living. The enthusiasm had not faded despite the dark clouds.

Dark clouds. Symbolic of my life. Did they in their child's play have a message for me? This was a stage when the mind had closed all its doors. In spite of knowing that the visiting thoughts would bring joy, the negative thoughts inside refused to let the light come in. The mind was accustomed to the familiar darkness and feared the unknown.

I stared down at the pavement from the balcony of my apartment on the 5th floor. I didn't feel suicidal. Just sad. The sorrow did not stem out of loneliness, I wish it had. I could have atleast defined my state of mind.

My armpits ached. I turned around to go, unable to stand on the crutches any longer.

I stared into my image in the life- size mirror. I felt crippled. It was one of his ways of telling me I was lame, that I needed support, his, and that I was not normal. He had never loved me. It occurred to me that everything he ever did for me was only to bruise me deep, so that the wound remained long after he was gone. The wound would heal, the scar would remain, forever.

I collapsed on the floor and broke down. I hated myself for harboring such thoughts about him. He came like lightening into my life, which until then was like a night sky with dark clouds, with pent up feelings, ready to explode. He helped me pour out my feelings, like the showers they came. Out went the dark clouds, in came a clear sky, tranquility like never before. I gazed at the reflection of his framed photograph. He was smiling, like always.

Like a whiff of fresh air he came, he went as fast.

Sleepless in Rohnert Park

It's 12.00 in the night and I can't sleep. So I blog-hop and somewhere I catch an old Archie comic cover and now I go Pandrah-saal-pehle....

Friends' Circulating Library opposite the East-West school bus stop. The librararian who would keep aside the latest issue of Sportstar for my brother. Walking to the library alone and saying "114-return" for the first time. The Archie double digests we would borrow only during weekends. Narrating a tale to my mom in Kannada and getting a tepid response. Returning the book late and hoping not to be fined. Cancelling membership.

Wonder who's 114 now...

Hmm...

Seems like yesterday, when I landed at the SFO airport one cloudy afternoon in November. And it's already time to leave. Time flies. Yes. Especially when Life is so Beautiful.

I just read that and it seems like a last post. :-) Well, it's not. Not yet at least. Pressed for time right now; thanks to shopping, packing, disposing stuff. Will come up with a better post to shut down the blog, if I ever do that! :)

Have a great day!

Unrealised Dream

The first few minutes on the first day of school were always spent in introductions. While some teachers were happy knowing just the names of their new students, others wanted to know their parents’ names and their occupations. Some were curious to find out what each kid dreamed to be when she was older, and sometimes why the chosen profession. It was evident from what most of my classmates said, that medicine and engineering were the preferred courses even back then.

I can’t remember what I said before I got hooked to film magazines. But after I started devouring film gossip from the glittery Startdusts and Filmfares, I was sure what I wanted to be. A journalist, as my brother had told me. What a life, they led, these journalists, I thought! They get to meet all the glamorous film stars that we can only dream of, sometimes in their lavish homes too. They certainly must have several pictures taken alongside the stars. What luck! Imagine, I’d get to do what I loved doing – write and also meet all the stars for free. This profession was made for me!

Soon, my cousins and my own brother, who always had a word of advice for their sis, said film journalism was not that great. I had to be a political journalist if I had to be taken seriously. That way, I could expose corrupt politicians and unearth ugly scams. The rich and the famous would be scared of me. Wow!

And then in high school, one teacher told me that I didn’t have to be a journalist, in order to write. I could pursue a ‘more suitable’, which probably meant more lucrative career and still write. Free lancing it was called. My biggest influence, my brother, couldn’t agree more. “You should take up Engineering. You can do a course in journalism after that if you still want to”, he said. I gave in half-heartedly.

I would peep out of the BTS bus window and look wistfully at the “Asian school of Journalism” on my way to school and back. And I would tell my mom that journalism was where my heart was. Being the more dynamic of the two, she once went to the school and enquired, to be told that they only offered post-graduate courses. We made a pact between us. I would graduate, in Arts like I wanted to, and then come back and take their entrance test. I would surely clear it and go on to study journalism. And I would be a journalist.

My mom was gone a few years after that and with her that childhood dream of mine. Today, the pact remains a memorable conversation between the two of us. And I constantly wonder if I should live it out for her...

A Longish short break!

So many things to write about. So much free time on my hands. But I can't get myself to write. Not now. Will come back soon!

Close to my heart

I am ashamed that being a Kannadiga-Bangalorean myself, I did not write about an issue I am genuinely concerned about, all this while. It took someone who has just moved into Bangalore to bring out the plight of a local Kannadiga in Bangalore! And he has done a remarkable job!

Do read it here.

An excerpt(I simply couldn't resist putting it here!)--

"It’s probably the only city in India where the natives account for less that 30% of the population. It’s the only city where cinema theatres screen films in as many as five languages. It’s probably the only city where a person from another state can go about his business for years, without knowing a word of the local language.

And that seems to be a matter of concern for the Kannadiga. Every Kannadiga I’ve spoken to since my return to the city has wasted no time in reminding me how very few non-Kannadigas seem to make the effort to learn the local language. Why is it such a big deal? Are they fanatics? Not by any stretch of imagination! But they are concerned that while that city has provided opportunities to the outsider, the non-Kannadigas haven’t reciprocated by ‘blending’ in. Which to a great extent means learning the local language."

I have a few things to add. It's easy to point out the flaws in Bangalore (that have surfaced mainly due to the large number of people the IT industry has brought to the city). It's easy to curse auto-drivers and policemen and declare that they all treat localites and the others differently. It's easy to criticise the decision the Kannada film industry took to save itself. But, don't you all agree that it's also easy to live in this friendly city amongst the hospitable Kannadigas wihtout even knowing their tongue? Something that would be unthinkable in some other cities.

But, there's one way of reciprocating. For the goodwill shown and the hospitality endowed - learn the local language. So please, all non-Kannadigas reading this, make an effort to learn the language of the city you wish to make your home. Before putting German and French on the agenda, put Kannada on it. It's the least you can do.

Thanks Karthik, once again. :)

Of marriage..

Marriage and Love seem to be the hot topics in the blogosphere currently, so says this post; and incidently that happens to be the topic of this post too.

Last evening's news featured a couple in Ohio that has been married for the last 82 years! The man's 101 and the woman a 100 years old. When asked the secret behind the successful marriage they didn't say the expected, read "trust, love, care and share". The man said, very frankly, "She's been feeding me well!" and the woman said, "He never puts me down, always lets me do what I want to".

With our first marriage anniversary a couple of months away, I wonder what has made it work wonderfully for us. Friendship and patience mainly. And there's one thing I've realised - there's no definite formula, you have to find what works for you, and stick with it.

Funny...

Saw this on a Car sticker:
Support Search and Rescue. Get Lost!

And this on a piece of equipment in the gym:
Consult a physician before beginning a new exercise program.
Use Common Sense. Stop if you feel giddy, dizzy or faint.
Very direct; aren't we?

This at a fast food joint:
Timings:
Monday 9.00 A.M. to 9.00 P.M.
Tuesday 9.00 A.M. to 9.00 P.M.
Wednesday 9.00 A.M. to 9.00 P.M.
Thursday 9.00 A.M. to 9.00 P.M.
Friday 9.00 A.M. to 9.00 P.M.
Saturday 9.00 A.M. to 9.00 P.M.
Sunday 9.00 A.M. to 9.00 P.M.

Surely, they didn't know what to do with the rest of the page if they said
'All days of the week 9.00 A.M. to 9.00 P.M.'

Why the US is the best place to lose weight....

Everytime you switch on the TV.....
there is an ad trying to sell a total-workout machine for three easy payments of $19.99.
There are people who claim they’ve gone down 25 lbs, 10 inches and 5 dress sizes and are thrilled about it. They are either truly ecstatic or are convincing actors. Either way, you can’t help but wonder how you’d look if you could shed those extra pounds.

Oprah is talking about her transformation.....
and so are her guests. They insist they are more confident, more active and more successful now. Anything to be successful; what?

You can’t eat out as much as you can in India.....
more so if you are a vegetarian.
How long can you wash a BK Veggie and a King size French fries down with a tall glass of diet coke?
How many times can you relish the Veggie Delight at subway?
How many times before you realize that you are a far better cook than the non-Indians who cook at the Indian restaurants?

The gyms here are great for three reasons:
The equipments have displays that work!
Nobody gives you a second look ( or even a first for that matter ), no matter how fat or how gorgeous you are.
There are people who are much much fatter than you are, so there is hope for you.
(‘Fat’ did I say? Sorry, it's banned here. We're all just ‘overweight’.)

There is no wedding to attend every weekend.....
and no vanilla ice-cream with gulab jamun that you simply cannot resist.

There are no aunts’ houses to visit.....
and no samosas and sweets to force down your throat.

And lastly....
if you are sitting at home like me, there’s nothing better to do! :-)

-------

If that was 'why...', there’s also a 'why... not'

French fries never tasted better.

So this is what real brownies and doughnuts taste like! Can I have another piece of coconut pie please?

Lazy afternoon with a good book to read, can a bowl of Mocha Almond Ice-cream be far behind?

Dress sizes can be misleading. 'M' here corresponds to the 'L' back home. An easy fit into the M can give you a false feeling of fitness.

Finally, All sedentary work and no play can make jack(and jill) not just dull, but also dangerously overweight!

So....what are you waiting for? Don your gym wear and head staright for the treadmill! Or do you like weight training better?! ;)

Bitten by the Ammani bug!

At the cost of sounding like Anu Malik, I must admit that what follows has been "inspired" by Ammani's quick tales. :)

They moved out to live in a far away land, away from relatives and friends. Children would not be disturbed during exams and unexpected guests would not drop in at unearthly hours. It worked. They now make frequent trips to their native land to re-establish broken bonds. And they talk to their son every Sunday morning, begging him to return.

Hot Crossed Buns; anyone?

For a country and culture that believes that bread is for bedridden patients, we have a whole lot of bakeries. I bet there isn’t a single main road in Bangalore that doesn’t have one. From the small, lack-lustre Iyengar bakery to the the suave Nilgiris and Sweet Chariot, bakeries have come a long way.

Just like the darshinis of the 90’s that metamorphosed Chinese food to suit the Indian palate by introducing everything from the original gobi to the latest mixed-vegetable Manchurian, bakeries have been inventing their own recipes for a long time now.

Black forest and pineapple pastries are common today, with every birthday party in town being celebrated with one, but some years ago it was unheard of. The best cakes then were the honey cakes, which didn’t have a drop of honey in them and plum cakes, which had everything but plum.

Pizzas and burgers were stuff in the Archie comics; what we did have were potato buns and vegetable puffs. Potato bun, a bun stuffed with a spicy potato-onion curry, complete with mustard and chana dal, made for a healthy snack option. That no one was bothered about calories and cholesterol then, is another matter.

And then, there were these triangular pies called dil-khush and man-pasand, both stuffed with tooty-fuity and desiccated coconut. I can’t quite tell why they had two different names, but they did live up to the names. How can I forget the cheapest cake - the apple cake, named so for no apparent reason and made from leftovers of the other cakes; a cake I relished for several years before I discovered the secret recipe.

Apart from these delicious and ingenious products that made bakeries irresistible for people and stray dogs alike, bakeries also made the standard breads. Not the whole grain, whole wheat and white bread that you get in the west; the ordinary, milk, fruit and sweet varieties. The ordinary for sandwich, the sweet for jam, fruit to have as is and milk on the doctor’s advice, for the sick kid, who’d rather starve than have it.

Posh bakeries have sprung up in several parts of the city today, but they are no competition to the neighbourhood bakery-behind-bus-stop.
These are places you rush to for a quick bite, in sickness and in health. On normal days and during curfews, when they sell milk and bread at exorbitant rates through half-closed shutters. Where the pale yellow banian clad guy assures you that everything you ordered is “Just made, fresh from oven madam”. Right. Fresh from the microwave oven stashed away inside. :)

Bakeries - we love them!

Some things you learn as a new (house)wife...

Coffee tastes better when someone makes it for you.

Pant pockets should be checked before tossing them into the washing machine.

Don't boil milk and watch your favourite program on TV at the same time.

The fabric you least expect to lose colour will, soiling all your whites, so don’t take any chances.

It is difficult to come up with innovative breakfast/snack ideas everyday.

Upma tastes a lot better when you’ve made it yourself.

Electricity costs this much?!! Why is that light on? Is someone in the room?

Work has a way of spreading itself, so don’t look surprised when housewives say they are busy all through the day.

Jars of sugar and spices don’t replenish themselves, someone fills them up.


You do the housework just the way your mom did it, even though you never did it her way when she was teaching you.

There’s great joy in making sacrifices, big and small.

And finally, being a housewife isn’t half as bad as you’d imagined.

Coorg Diary - Part two

After the OC breakfast, we headed to the marketplace close by to buy film for R’s camera. Loaded (with film I mean), we looked for an auto rickshaw to take us to the first spot on the agenda – Abbey Falls. After some haggling, one guy agreed to take the four of us in his three wheeler for a reasonable sum. I sat on the side bar, while R, B and S were cramped in the seat which was clearly meant for two. The man drove like a maniac and the tortuous route and bumpy roads didn’t help matters at all.

After an uncomfortable and dangerous drive, we finally reached the destination. We got off the auto, but there was no sign of a waterfall anywhere. We got to know through a soft-drink vendor that we had to walk down 4-5 miles to get to Abbey. It was a pleasant walk, firstly because the path was shaded by trees, and secondly because I had thoughtfully worn shoes. A rather frail looking bridge had to be crossed to reach the waterfall and as usual I was scared. After B’s “Is there anything you are not scared of?” I relented.

The waterfall was breathtaking. We noticed a young girl on top of the falls, walking precariously to the other side and for a few moments were convinced she wanted to commit suicide. But as we watched terrified, she disappeared, only to get into a hut at the far end. These people live dangerously, everyday I mean.

Now it’s not possible that I go to someplace and don’t fall. So I had my customary fall at Abbey falls and B or S even captured the embarrassing moment on film. R refused to lend a helping hand, for the fear of getting drowned along with me. I was miffed, but they later convinced me it was for my own good. Yeah right!

Several photos and splashing-water-at-each-other later, we headed back. We had seen a foreigner cycling his way to Abbey on the way and now he was there. He had our back to us and since B was curious to know what he looked like, she requested him to take a picture of ours. She handed over the camera to him while a dozen desis looked on. If he was flattered or surprised, he didn’t show it.

We trekked back to the road, where our auto waited for us and we braced ourselves for the treacherous drive back to the city. We stopped at a restaurant for lunch and eager to taste Coorg-special cuisine asked the waiter if there was anything he could suggest. Suggest he did, but what? To quote him, “Handi Maamsa” [Translated verbatim: Pig’s meat]

“Naalakku South Indian Vegetarian mini meals please”

Cinderella Man

For a simple and inspiring tale. For one man's love, sincerity and courage. For hope and faith. To root for the underdog. To cheer the winner. For Russell Crowe and the Joy of Winning...Watch the movie.

Communication Gap

A: Hiiiii! How are you?
B: Oh Hi! I'm fine. So you finally remembered me huh?
A: Umm Yeah...I'm sorry I couldn't call you all these days.
B: Oh well, you've become very busy now. Where will you find the time for people like me?
A: (I wish I hadn't called! This is the last time I'm calling this person!)

Just how many times have you had a conversation like this? And which part do you play? A or B?
I'm A all the time and I'm tired of taking the blame. I call up, people say this; I log into msngr, I have msgs that ask me why I haven't mailed. They even end it with a "It's okay if you are too busy". Busy, me? Everyone knows that it's you who are busy sitting in your cubicle and kutting away, not me. So, what's with the insult? I'm sometimes tempted to ask these people why they didn't call. With phone and internet, I'm just a call or mail or msg away too, why didn't you take the initiative? One of these days, someone is going to get to hear this!

Sadly, I think this is how a lot of relationships end. Unfair expectations and the burden of being answerable all the time. Eventually, there are lies and the relationship begins to crumble. Do we need this? NO!

So the next time someone calls you after a long time, be nice. Ask no questions and you will hear no lies. Whatsmore, they will call you back sooner than later.

Las Vegas comes alive at night!

 

That's a photo taken from one of the several bridges that connect the two sides of the strip. There are trams and mono rails that run along the strip to take you to from one casino to another.

Newyork Newyork

 

Since the casinos look alike with slot machines everywhere, each hotel has a central theme to make it stand apart, this one's is New York and hence the statue of liberty.

Eiffel Tower at Paris

 

We couldn't get to the top of the tower as it was extremely windy that day.

Inside Venetian..

with the false roof you can't tell it 11 in the night!  

This place is my favourite - Venice recreated complete with the Gondola ride! It takes you to a different era.

The name says it all!

 

Lion's the theme here and they also have a mini forest with real lions! Very classy, this one!

At the entrance of Luxor

 

The hotel's in the shape of a pyramid, much like the new building at Infy :) Well, it was new when I left Infy :)

The Famous LV strip as seen from Stratosphere

 

Stratosphere is the last of the magnificent casinos on the strip. It is 1,149 feet high and has some amazing rides at the top. I went on one called Big Shot that shoots you up at a high speed and brings you down in a free fall, and, it does this thrice! That was one time I wished I wasn't on TOP OF THE WORLD!

Coorg Diary

Oh no, I didn’t make a quick trip to India to visit Coorg; just a walk down memory lane to relive my Coorg trip!

-----

One day soon after we graduated, tired of job-hunting and failed interviews, three of my close friends and I decided to go on a three day trip to Coorg. Permissions were sought and granted and tickets were duly booked. We decided to meet at R’s place on the D-day ( D for Departure ;)), as it was closest to the bus-stop and her father had agreed to drive us to the bus. Now R’s father is the meticulous kind who plans each trip to the minutest detail; so what ensued was a drill down session where he instructed us - individually and as a group about the travel plan and the Do’s and Don’ts. After he was convinced that each of us had memorized the entire itinerary, and could manage to return home in the event of losing the rest of the gang, we were asked to pack ourselves and our luggage into the Maruthi-800 and start for the bus-stand.

After saying our goodbyes and going through the schedule once again, we boarded the bus. I’m assuming I had a great night’s sleep because all I can remember after sinking into the seat is alighting at Coorg the next morning. Our hotel rooms were already booked by R’s father and thankfully the bus stopped at a walking distance from the hotel. Appreciating and enjoying the cool and pollution free weather (although I’m sure Bangalore also looks that way at 5.30 in the morning), we walked to the hotel.

A lawn with a pool, ducks swimming in it, a few foreigners sipping orange juice – seemed like a good enough hotel. We were ushered into a room meant for two and we quickly made sure the bed could accommodate four. It could, only if you were the kind of person who sleeps still, no room for tossing and turning here. An extra bed would cost an additional hundred, and it would be laid on the floor, no cot. Since none of us were willing to sleep on the floor, we decided to cram ourselves into the double cot. That settled, B announced she was having bath first, I screamed “next”, followed by S and R.

The room came with complimentary breakfast. Cool! But not so soon. Since the room was meant for two, we only got two coupons. That wasn’t a problem; we were used to digging into each others’ plates and were willing to do so now. We headed for the dining room and were informed that it was a buffet, and we could help ourselves. We checked out the food and man, what a spread. Two by four? With a spread like this, we could even manage a two by eight!

B and S loaded their plates with everything on display and we settled down at a table. Tired and famished we pounced on the food. Minutes later a waiter walked up to us and said “Madam, sharing not allowed”. What? There was no such notice put up anywhere, how were we supposed to know? The look on his face suggested, “It goes without saying”. So, R & S claimed they were full, while we continued hogging. Thankfully, the complimentary breakfast came only on the first morning, so we decided we would check out restaurants close by for the remaining 2 days; this after we were informed that a breakfast buffet costed 100 bucks! Unemployed girls, we could very well manage with the Rs.10 Khali Dosa down the street!

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To be continued... :)

Are We RV??

Was at Orkut sometime back and happened to click on the RVCE community for the first time. Someone had started a discussion on “Who’s doing what and where” and the response was not impressive merely by the numbers, but by the fact that all those who responded are doing extremely well for themselves. Studying in premier institutes and working in top companies. It's quite possible that only the successful ones chose to respond, losers like me kept away. Anyway, made me proud to be an RVite, even though I’m not doing anything myself!

Great college, fond memories, lovely friends! Hope to post something more about college soon. Until then, continue to rock RVites!!!

*I wrote that last sentence?!*

When Life isn't beautiful....

....talk to friends.

There are times when you just get bored of people. Tired of saying nice things and taking care not to hurt their feelings even when they do yours. You begin to doubt if there is a need to interact with people at all if most of the time you cannot say what you want to.

It’s during these times that you value friends. People you can call up at any time of the day and talk about anything; without being judged, without being misunderstood. It’s amazing how well they understand you and say things you want to hear. Self introspection would’ve given then same results, but the fact that there is someone who thinks the same way that you do is a great feeling.

How did we end up so similar? The same values, principles, shortcomings and strengths. We grew up together, talking about everyday incidents and laughing. Marathon sessions on the phone and walking to school and college together didn’t go waste after all. We became friends for life. We influenced each other and ended up being like one another. That’s the great thing about friendships. Tastes may differ, but core values remain the same. And that’s what keeps this wonderful relationship going.

Long live friendship! And a big hug to all my dear friends, starting with Sethu!

Feeling better already :)

From Here to Nowhere

I wash the dishes, press your clothes.
Lay the bed and knead the flour.
Serve the sick, play with your kids;
Shop for food and guard the door.

What lovely bangles, madam you wear.
That saree you are in, it’s beautiful I swear.
Such clean hands; and such smooth heels;
Your skin is fair, and silky, your hair.

Stay indoors, you’ll turn fair,
Of rough hands, work will take care.
You’ll be like madam, one day not far;
A house of your own, with kids and your man.

I wait for that day,
When he’ll take me away,
From the dirt and the slime,
To someplace sublime.

Now I wash my own clothes and mop my own floor.
Raise his children and guard my door.
He comes home at night, a madam in tow
He shoves me away, where do I go?

Ma, what of your promise?
And what of my dreams?
Smooth hands, fair skin...
You told me I’d win.

Love the smell of.....

Jasmine in a marriage hall.

The combined smell of camphor, agarbathi and flowers in a temple.

Hing in hot ghee.

Wet earth.

Freshly brewed coffee.

8th cross Malleswaram, the day before a festival.

Fragrant shampoo in hair.

Roasted jeera.

Mehendi, after washing the paste off your hands.

A new notebook.

Nail polish.

The combined smell of ghee and elaichi: a sweet in the making, surely!

All About Attitude

A link on Mohan's blog, took me to this site which determines one's probable death date based on a few details about one's lifestyle.

When I was totally honest, it said I was going to die at the age of 57. Now, 57 is waaaaay too young to die. Forget grandchildren, this means I would die even before my children think of getting married!

To push the date further, I lowered my BMI by four points and my life span increased by 7 years. 64 is a good age to die, but now in a mood to experiment, I changed my mode from "Pessimistic" to "Optimistic" and Voila! I'm going to live till the age of 103!

The test may not be accurate, but it makes you think if a positive attitude is all it takes to live a longer life? Maybe. Shedding the negativity and turning optimistic is easier said than done....there I go again. But then, I don't want to live a hundred years...

Poem? ho-hum.

I stopped writing poems,
Many years ago;
When a friend gently hinted,
That poems were not for me;
I’ve made a new beginning,
But I know I’m still as bad,
It doesn’t matter; does it?
It’s only just a start! :O)

Now, here's the actual poem:

Reflection
The face in the mirror,
No, that’s not me.
Those fine lines of age,
Those visible strands of grey,
The sorrow in those eyes,
No, it can’t be.

A baby in your arms,
A face in the crowd,
Small triumphs,
Great joys,
Sometimes bound,
Sometimes free.

I stop to look back,
On life that has been.
I’ve come very far,
My companions all gone,
When did they stop?
Oh! When did they leave?

The pale, wrinkled cheek,
The mist in those eyes,
The tremble in the hands,
Who is this I see?
Tell me it’s not me.
Oh! Tell me it’s not me.

It's a girl! :-) :-(

Nearly all of my mother’s friends that I met when I was in my teens said how my mom had longed for a baby girl all through her pregnancy. With her two elder sisters having had two sons each and with my brother being her first born, my mother was tired of all the boys in the family and desperately wanted a daughter.

My cousins got married a few years ago and when their baby was due, they were hoping for a baby girl too. More recently, my sister-in-law was in a similar situation. After looking at a scan of the baby’s face during the later stages of her pregnancy, everyone seemed to think it was going to be a boy. We were all proved wrong, and much to our delight I must add, when she gave birth to a cherubic baby girl!

While 24 years ago my mother wanted a girl after having had a son already, these young couples seem to prefer a single daughter to an only son. All this seems to hint that things appear to be finally looking up for the girl child in our society. Well, not so soon.

While on one end we have the financially stable, educated class of society pining for the girl child; on the other end of the spectrum we have female infanticide and sale of baby girls.

Muniratna, my maid servant’s daughter in Bangalore survived a near fatal abortion in the 4th month of her pregnancy after discovering that a fourth daughter was on her way. It is against the law to reveal the sex of fetus, but, there’s nothing that bribe can’t do. They are barely able to make ends meet, with her husband’s single income; but that doesn’t stop them from trying for a son after three daughters. She agrees with me that today, girls have equal opportunities and do just as well as their male counterparts. Being financially independent, they can look after parents just as well in their old-age; then, why the bias?

She tells me she can earn the respect of her family members only if she can bear a baby boy! Her in-laws want a boy to carry the family name forward – a vamshodhaarak. Another girl would mean more expenses, hence the abortion. More expenses? “We have to get her married and that costs a lot of money.” she says. And then there is the dowry. It never occurred to me that people would prefer a son to a daughter to avoid marriage expenses. Our culture, which expects the bride’s family to bear the cost of a lavish wedding, while the groom’s family sits back and enjoys the festivities without having to spend a penny, is to blame.

Educated, financially independent girls, put their foot down alright. But when there are more children than a small income can support, who gets the preference for higher education? Won't the birth of a son, thwart Muniratna’s daughters’ chances of that valuable education?

Idling....

Lots of free time gives me the chance to take a peek into people's lives(through blogs). Friends, friends' friends, acquaintances and total strangers. And everyone seems to be working or studying further. Getting ahead in life. Realising dreams.

And I think....

Life is like a Marathon. We all begin. Some of us pause, some stop, some go on and reach the finish line. Some reach soon, some reach later. But they reach. Are they the winners?

I've paused. I hope the pause doesn't get long enough to become a stop.



PS: Thanks to Shomo's suggestion, you can now e-mail your comments to me by clicking on 'write to me' below. If you want to. :)

Door Darshan - in more ways than one!

I was watching Hum Aapke Hain Koun the other day and Renuka Sahane's toothy grin reminded me of this erstwhile hugely popular program on Doordarshan called Surabhi.

An ever smiling Renuka Sahane and a somber Siddharth Kak hosted this show sitting on a colorful razai in the studio, while the rest of the team went to remote corners of India showcasing people's talents, bringing exotic locations into our drawing rooms and giving skilled artisans their two minutes of fame.

The 'aaj ka sawaal' and the much awaited hint before signing off made the postcard the most sought after commodity after onions. Each episode saw a new record being created in terms of the number of post-cards recieved. So much so that the government introduced 'competition postcards' to prevent the postal department from running into loss. The lucky draw at the end of the show decided which three lucky people were going to far off lands for "do raat aur teen din ki stay".

I remember borrowing postcards from my grandfather and sending in my answers too; but they never picked my postcard ever! :(

Quote from memory

Soumya and I had a pact between us before every Kannada test and exam during our Pre-University days. The deal was that she would study half the portion allocated for the test and I would do the remaining half. On our way to the test, we would narrate/explain to each other the parts we had studied.

On one such occasion, when the portion for the exam was vast and we had two sections to study – detailed and non-detailed, I was assigned the simple detailed part while she took it upon herself to study the more challenging non-detailed section, which happened to be Rashtrakavi Kuvempu’s Sri Ramayana Darshanam.

Convinced that she could not do justice to the masterpiece in the usual thirty minutes’ time; Soumya suggested we start for college earlier than usual on the day of the exam. After the standard “Tumba easy Kane” and “You have listened in class; haven’t you?” Madam Soumya started off with the narration. It sounded simple enough in the beginning; most of the incidents familiar. But as the narration continued and new characters were introduced into the plot, I started losing track. Add to that, Soumya’s “There are three ways of analyzing this statement. One:…..” and I was lost! At the end of the story-telling and retelling, I had a vague idea of the story but couldn’t remember the names of any of the characters other than Rama’s immediate family. After repeated re-caps, I memorized some names, but wasn’t sure if it belonged to a Rishi or Rakshasi. After I had settled on one of them, I could not tell which of the dozen rishis or rakshasis went by that name! But I wasn’t disheartened; this was after all, the non-detailed part; the questions would not get into the details.

The bell rang to announce the start of the exam. Not having used the Kannada script since the last test which was four months ago, I had trouble picking up speed. Due to the major influence English has on our day-to-day conversation, there were times when I was groping for the Kannada equivalent of simple words like “problem” and was tempted to go ahead with “praablam”. Save for these small hitches, the detailed section of the question paper was a breeze.

Satisfied, I moved on to the Non-detailed section. Now there are times in life when you feel helpless. You wish you had practiced copying. You wish you could just peep into someone’s paper and find the answer. You wish you had studied. You wish, but it’s too late. So there were all these 1 and 2 mark questions staring at me and asking me the names of people who did this-and-that. I wish I was confused; that way there was a remote chance of getting some answers right, but I wasn’t; I simply went blank. I didn’t remember a single name! Hoping to recall the names later, I proceeded to the not-so-detailed part of the non-detailed section and was able to answer most questions. Soumya’s “another way of looking at this…” came in handy here. Very soon there was just enough time to fill in the answers to the 1 and 2 marks Q’s and with no miracle happening, I ended up writing the inevitable. I had, “ObbaLu Rakshsi”, “Obba Rishi” and “Ondu Pakshi” all over the paper!

A week rolled by and I had nearly forgotten my dismal performance in the Kannada exam. I had moved on to more important matters like PCMB, when one afternoon Prof. Sreenivasa Shrama read aloud an answer, namely “ObbaLu Raakshasi” from my paper, to the whole class. Did anyone hear my name? Yes?

...and there are times in life, when you wish the earth would just swallow you!

Sweet n Sour

Vaish’s post reminded me of this tangy sweet we used to have as kids. Most domestic flights in India offer this along with the other sweets these days; and, a variant of it is available at all FoodWorld outlets as well.

Here’s how you can make it at home:

Tamarind, jaggery, and a pinch each of salt and chilli powder – place them all together on a hard surface and pound them with a heavy stone till the ingredients blend, resulting in a yummy homogenous mass. Draw out a small quantity of the mixture and roll it between your palms, till it assumes a spherical shape. Pop it into your mouth and savour the piquant taste!

Like it? :-)

Ram Navmi

Several temples, big and small, lined the road to my school. As a God-fearing young girl, I religiously stopped for a minute at each shrine and offered my prayers. From “Let the Physics teacher be on leave today” to “Let classes be suspended for some reason”, I always had a plea to make. I’m not sure if any of these prayers were answered, but I kept the faith and prayed, and adorned my forehead with various hues of kum-kum, ranging from pink to maroon, each day.

Ram Navmi usually coincided with the last day of school before a two-month long summer vacation, and also happened to be the day the results of the final exams were announced. The day saw me and a lot of other kids walk to school cheerfully, with big plans for the summer holidays, and without the burden of school or school bags weighing us down for a change.

One temple along the way was dedicated to Lord Hanuman and his being the greatest disciple of Lord Ram, called for a grand celebration of the festival. As devotees thronged to offer their prayers to the two deities; volunteers – mostly young men, distributed cool Belada hannina Paanaka and majjige, out of large earthen pots. The cold juice and buttermilk provided some respite from the scorching summer heat and was rarely refused by a passerby. Larger temples distributed kosumbri on pieces of plantain leaves and it was not uncommon to see people take home the “Prasada”. These together with Huli Avalakki and Rasayana were the delicacies associated with Ram Navmi.

Ram Navmi was special. While Ugadi brought with it a brand new calendar year, “Pass” on the result sheet on Ram Navmi, marked the beginning of a new academic year; starting with two months of fun and frolic!

Thinking of College…….

Lectures:
Cows and Bulls, Hangman, Listen intermittently, Giggle, Nod when you meet the lecturer’s gaze.

Labs:
Data sheets – the only thing that costs 25 ps a piece and still no one buys them.
PK supervises connection: “This wire will goes to here aa?”
Copy graphs; also the Aim, Apparatus, Theory, Procedure and Result! And….Inference!

Mass bunk:
Indefinite suspension. Enter HOD’s room. Get blasted for an hour. Blame lecturers. Classes resume.

Two days before internals:
Ask for important questions.

Day before internals:
Beg for important questions. PK gives seven. Shamelessly ask for the most important five.

Internals:
Blue books – sometimes empty, sometimes full. (Before the test I mean!)

First year: Study a week before internals.
Second year: A day before internals.
Third year: During the interval between two internals.
Fourth year: Study? What study?

Three types of people: Those who copy. Those who help others copy. Those who sit in the first bench and do not participate in such activities.

Internal Results:
One whole period wonderfully spent. Bargain for marks. Complete chaos.

Study Holidays:
Krishna Xerox: Bump into school mates you didn’t want to meet.
“I heard the exams are getting postponed”. “Who told you?” “No one, I just heard”!!!!
Exams are on schedule. Mug, mug, mug. I mean “mugs” of coffee!

Day of the exam:
Cram in the bus stop, in the bus, on the walk to the department, outside the exam hall.
“Please check your pockets desks and other places (!!). If you are found to have chits, you will be debarred for three years only” Three years ONLY??

Semester Holidays:
One week breather between semesters.

Results:
Pass. Fail. Revaluation.

Yet another semester……..

Bedtime Story

Among other things in life, confronting people who snore in their sleep and getting them to accept it, is most frustrating. Accusations made by entire sleep-deprived households are fiercely denied by the guilty lot, who win in the end, simply due to lack of adequate proof.

--------

Family functions and get-togethers are fun. All’s well during the day, but come night, everyone’s worried about the sleeping arrangements. There’s always an uncle who’s notorious for his snoring, and everyone wants a bed as far away from him as possible. So you have anxious relatives approaching the lady of the house to put them in another room, even balcony, but nowhere close to Mr. Snore.

When there are few rooms and there is not enough room if you quarantine uncle Snore, the ones who failed to approach the hostess are teamed with him. So in the morning you have this bleary eyed group of people, complaining of lack of sleep, thanks to Mr. Snore and their own negligence. For this bunch, it’s “once bitten, twice shy”. For the next unsuspecting lot, it’s a sleepless night again!
Very soon half the family has lost sleep over the snore.

--------

Hmm that’s bad, but why doesn’t anyone approach uncle Snore with the problem, and explain the inconvenience he is causing? He might understand and choose a far corner to snore and snooze while the rest of the family sleeps in peace.

Oh we’ve done that. All he ever says is, “Snore? Me? Please! No!”

New Look

I don't particularly like change. In fact I prefer constancy and predictability greatly to change and surprises; but this time, I made an exception. So here we are, with a brand new template! How do you like it? :-)

Ruler rules!

Resorting to unreasonable punitive measures, on the pretext of inculcating immaculate behavior in children, is at best ineffective and at worst, detrimental to a child’s growth.

I do not see how writing , “I will not talk in class” a thousand times can curb the habit and instill what is called discipline in a child. I do not see how being driven out of the class for not completing home-work can make the child a better student. Will humiliating punishments such as, parading a kid around the school for failing in a subject improve his grades? I think not. Hitting a second grader with a hard wooden scale on the knuckles will only make him detest school and studies further. ‘Stand up on the bench’ and ‘pinch the ear till it turns red’, might be the oldest forms of punishment, but they also are the most embarrassing.

When I was a kid studying in a primary school in Bangalore, this was the norm. I loathed school because of these cruel punishments and the insensitive teachers who meted out the punishment. Also, although I didn’t know it then, the very system of education that called for such behavior on their part.

Between the ages of three and ten, a child’s mind is very impressionable. Insulting children at this age, in front of their peers can have harmful and far reaching consequences. Sadly, most teachers fail to understand this. Why so? Aren’t students preparing to be elementary school teachers taught this in their training program? Don’t schools test them on this before they are recruited? Or are school managements, in their bid to make more money, struggle to secure more ranks in board exams, indifferent to crucial aspects like the quality of their primary school staff?

Assuming that the best candidates are selected, is their conduct with students monitored on a regular basis? Is suitable action taken against them if found guilty? Is there some means to determine if every child gets his/her due attention? Do they play favorites?
It is not enough to address concerns raised by parents and straighten things up only then. For rarely is such abuse reported to the parent by the ward, for the fear of being condemned and sidelined further in the future. It is the responsibility of the school to ensure that a working system is in place to take up these issues.

Going one step further, I would suggest that the education department should formulate and implement stringent rules, perhaps laws, to safeguard children from such seemingly harmless, but actually brutal ways of teachers. School managements, on their part, should adhere to these rules. Perhaps then, we can expect better behavior from the ones who enforce them on children – teachers!

Tummy Tale

I hated going to school. Everyday, I would come up with a new ailment to avoid school, the most common of all being stomach-ache; because with time I had discovered that it was one complaint that could not be verified. You cannot feign a fever or a cough or cold. They have symptoms that are there for all to see. No one will believe that a 7-8 year old can have a headache. There are few other diseases that one is aware of at that age, so stomach ache it was, on most days.

I was so irregular to school because of this, that one day; the head mistress suggested to my mother that she get a thorough medical examination done on me, to confirm that it was nothing serious. Though my mother knew that I was pretending most of the time - to bunk school, she wanted to be sure it was harmless. So, off we went to the HAL hospital the next day. I was game because it meant a day off school, for a valid reason. Those mean teachers would summon me to their desk in the afternoon the next day, and make me describe the experience. They would pity poor me, and gossip about it with their colleagues later in the day. Soon the whole of the primary section would know about it.

But, there was a problem. I had never had a stomach ache ever. What would I say if the doctor asked questions? Surely he wouldn’t expect a seven year old to express clearly what she was going through. What if after the examination, they found out that I was perfectly alright? They would report my condition to my mother and I would be ashamed of myself, for lying. What was worse was that, I would have to come up with fresh excuses to bunk school. After considerable thought over this matter during the course of the bus journey, I zeroed in on throat pain. However, I secretly hoped that the doctor would find something seriously wrong with me, and confine me to the bed for at least a month.

We reached HAL hospital and after breakfast at the hospital canteen, which I hated, but my mother claimed was quite hygienic, we headed to the pediatric department. My mother would have been happier if I had a stomach ache that day, in which case the doctor would be able to examine me while I was in pain, but it was not to be. I already had something to fill in the space for ‘reason for absence’ in the first page of the home-work diary. Besides, I knew better than to fool a doctor.

The examination itself was very disappointing. I had imagined it would take at least two hours, including the wait to meet the specialist. But it took less than half an hour. There was no long line ahead of us, and the doctor was not one to waste time on false-stomach aches. He asked me where exactly the pain occurred, and I pointed to a region I thought was most likely to lead to complications. But sadly, it turned out to be the most harmless zone. Appendicitis was out of the question and there was little else a stomach ache could mean at that age. All I needed to do to get rid of the recurring ache was, to drink plenty of water. That was all, no prescription, no tablets. This was embarrasing!

So out we went, my mother clearly relieved and I totally devastated; and she asked me quite nonchalantly, “Did you really have a stomach ache ever?” What could I say? – “From now on, it’s going to be throat pain”?

Spare a thought

A man puts his girl friend through a lie detector test to check if she has been cheating on him. He states he will break up with her, never to associate himself with her again, if the result turns out to be positive; and will propose marriage to her, if it turns out negative.
Lack of trust - this is the note on which the couple begin their married life together. It’s easy to guess why the divorce rate in this country is as high as it is.

Turns out, they also have a child out of wedlock. What of the child, if the lie detector shows his mother to be unfaithful? Doesn’t the child need the love and attention of both parents to have a secure childhood? Why bring a new life into the world if you cannot take up its responsibility and ensure its well being? To raise yet another generation of psychopaths who attribute all their misdeeds to an unhappy childhood?

Noodles for thought.

Saturday was special for many reasons. Half a day at school, less homework, more time to finish it, and the next day was Sunday. But there was yet another reason to look forward to Saturday afternoon. Maggi. Delicious noodles, nothing close to the Chinese version, that came in two flavors to suit the Indian palate – Masala and Chicken. Strangely, the “Masala” was marked in red while the “Chicken” was marked in Green! I was allowed to have Maggi noodles for lunch.

That ad whose wordings changed from time to time; so did the models. But the theme of hungry children coming home to steaming cups of Maggi Noodles with colourful vegetables popping out of the bowls remained the same. As did the catchy tune. Try singing it:

"Something something something something,
Something something something something,
Some-thing some-thing some-thing,
Maggi Maggi Maggi!!"

The best part about Maggi was that it was as tasty as it was made to seem on TV. Unlike other products which promised much and delivered little, Maggi stuck to its word - Easy to make; good to eat. But still, some people ruined this simple dish with their unwanted ingenuity. My heart bled when I saw people giving it a south Indian touch by seasoning it with turmeric, chana dal and mustard!

Boil one and a half cups of water, add chopped beans and carrot and peas, cook for two minutes, and then add the noodles followed by the masala. Wait for another two minutes and what have we! Yummy Maggi noodles, ready to be devoured! As simple as that. The first helping is good; the second even better. The remaining strands of noodles have absorbed the tasty soup and have become thicker and more succulent! Slurp!!
There has to be some secret ingredient in the Masala that makes Maggi so irresistible. I don’t care what it is, but I hope they retain it!

Few products have dominated the Indian market like Maggi has. Other brands have come and gone, some have stayed, but Maggi rules the instant noodles and instant food market in India. Long live Maggi noodles!

Say a Saying

Proverbs were an essential part of my growing up; thanks to my mother. She had one for every occasion. Lessons were taught and principles were laid down, through proverbs, rather than lengthy sermons. So much so, that when I think of my mother today, I don’t remember the exact words that she said when I was reprimanded, only the proverb that ended the admonition.

The one that was used on me most often was, “Gidavaagi baggaddu maravaagi baggeethe”. When translated it means, “That which will not bend as a sapling, will it bend as a tree?” !!
I was always asked to do odd jobs around the house and with the perfectionist mom that I had, the job had not only to be finished perfectly, and in the least time possible, but also done in a particular way!! I would stubbornly declare that I would do it my way for now and learn to do it her way when I was older. What did I get at the end of my compelling argument? The good old proverb and often its meaning – If you don’t learn when you are young; chances are, you won’t when you are older. So, start practicing now.

I got to hear many more over the short period of time my mother and I interacted with each other. When I came home a sore loser, blaming everything and everyone from the mike to the judge who slept while I spoke, I got to hear “Naach na jaane, aangan teda”. That put an end to my cribbing. When we heard a story of a greedy guy who lived beyond his means and suffered later, it was “Haasge iddashtu kaal chaachu”. Lazy to mend your clothes and will make do with a safety pin? “A stitch in time saves nine”. When I refused to run an errand, on the pretext that I wasn’t sure of my way around the place, “Kannu kurudaadre baayi kuruda?” it was. You may be blind, but not dumb; so be bold, girl; ask your way around. She even had one proverb commending proverbs, placing them above the Vedas in terms of relevance and the simple truths they stood for - "Veda sullaagabahudu, Gaade sullaagalla". So generous doses of proverbs it was, everyday.

When I look back now, I realize that somewhere along the way, with repeated usage, these little words of wisdom stopped being mere proverbs and became a way of life. They became principles we adopted, ideals we lived by; shaping our personalities by way of conditioning our thought process. I believe strongly in the underlying meaning of each of them and use them liberally in speech and writing today. I do not know if my mother intended for them to have such an impact on us when she used them, but if she did, she would be happy to know that it certainly has. It's no longer just a proverb or gaade or muhaavra, it's a legacy that I will proudly pass on to my children.

Maanasa Sarovara

“Maanasa Sarovara”, he says, in that golden voice. Pause. “Haadu. Haadtya?” Music. Four words and I have goosebumps.

I picture Srinath with his wide rimmed glasses, looking affectionately at his patient and beloved Padma Vaasanthi. The lady herself under the shade of a tree, joy and gratitude in her eyes, as she looks at the doctor who has given her a new lease of life. A bullock cart that rests innocently by the riverside and mother nature in all her glory; binding them all together.

The song comes alive as the two legends – S.P.B. and Vani Jayaram come together to render the most heart-warming melody that I have heard in all my life. Words fail me, as I try for the umpteenth time to capture in better words the emotions I go through when I listen to this song. I can only think of one. Happiness. A smile involuntarily adorns the lips when the duet begins and stays long after the song is over.

If music is a string and the words, beads; this song to me is the most beautiful string of beads.

Save the Earth; start with Bangalore!

Much has been said about Bangalore’s roads and the unnerving traffic. We do little else than point a finger at the inefficient government, the corrupt officials, the builders who do not stick to the time-lines and the understaffed traffic police force. I agree that all of them are to blame for the sad state of affairs in the city today and are answerable to the tax-payer for their apathy in this regard. But I have to add that we are responsible too. If we complain about the traffic, we must realize that our bikes and cars are part of it too. If we complain about pollution, our vehicles are emitting the thick black smoke too. If we complain about indiscipline, we must remember that sometimes we break rules too.

I travelled on Hosur road to get to Electronic City for close to a year and have to agree that each day, it was a frustrating one and a half hour's journey to get to work. When I peered out of the window I saw that more than the trucks that we conveniently blamed, which actually belonged to this particular road, it was the two wheelers and cars that were the culprits. While the two wheelers broke all rules to make their way through the narrowest of paths in the maze of traffic to get a few inches ahead, the cars sat comfortably and honked.

Now, why didn’t these people take the company buses like all others? If ten people were to travel by bus, it would mean ten cars less. Considering the space one car occupies, that’s a lot of space saved. But they wouldn’t do that; would they? They want to sit in the comfort of their air conditioned cars to shut off the polluted air and curse the rest of the traffic while they are to blame more than the trucks and the buses.

Yet another thought. How many of us think of taking the BMTC buses when we have to go out? If a dozen of us does it, it’s a dozen vehicles off the road. But for most of us it is a shame and below our dignity to travel by bus. We all assume that the buses never ply as per schedule, are slow, crowded, dirty, what not! Have we tried? I have and let me tell you that if you can manage to get a seat, which is not too difficult, it is the best way to commute! It is safe, economical, and more comforatble than a ride on a bike. Now you might argue that it is time consuming and in the busy life one leads today half an hour is a lot of time. A lot of time for what? Some more sleep? Another show on Television? Another page or two in the newspaper? Well, you could do that while you sat in the bus. The problem is we are not willing to try. We do not believe that one of us can make a difference. “Little drops of water make a mighty ocean” is easy to preach, but too difficult to practice.

I urge each one of you to give it a try. Take the BMTC bus whenever you can. Save the auto fare for better things. Take the company bus even if you can afford to travel by car. Walk short distances. Set a trend. Help save the city we all so love! Will you? :-)

Homemaker v/s Housewife

State of mind: Agitated.

They draw as far as the dictionary is concerned. But, if I were to define a married woman who stays at home, who does not have a paid or unpaid occupation outside of home, using one word; housewife it would be. This also happens to be the reason why I’ve decided to replace the more sophisticated and more pseudo “homemaker” in my user profile with this word.

All women make homes. Do housewives make it any better that they are called that? I don’t think so. My mother had a full-time job and she managed the home just as well as the ones who stayed at home, sometimes better and never worse. She never got to call herself a “homemaker”. Why me?

State of mind: Relaxed = Rational.

All married women have, by default, one steady job – that of managing the household, also called homemaking, which goes unstated, if they have yet another job.
If all “working women” started stating this job explicitly, we would have in the space provided for occupation, “doctor, homemaker”, “lawyer, homemaker”, “teacher, homemaker” and so on. So for a married woman who has a career, the homemaker part goes without saying.
On the other hand, what should the unemployed housewife call herself? “Jobless”? “Unemployed”? She chooses not to. She embraces this default job of homemaking as the primary one and uses the term “homemaker” to describe her occupation instead of the simple and crude “jobless”. Fair enough? Yes, for me.
Also a good enough reason to retain the debated term in the user profile. :-)

I think...

...an enormous lot goes into the making of a person. To mention the two most important factors and perhaps the most all-inclusive ones – experiences and people. The person you are, what you know, the way you react, the kind of people you are drawn to, the kind of people you despise, everything is based on your own experiences in the past or those which someone has told you about - through a book, through a movie, or by talking to you. Which means each one of us, has in ourselves, a little of every person who has touched our lives, positively. The bitter experiences and the traits of the person that led to them, we invariably choose not to imbibe, owing to the pain it brought to us. This means we evolve with the experiences we have had and learnt from, the people we meet, the positives we add and the negatives we filter out from our personalities. So the mere years behind you, beyond a certain age, have nothing to do with the kind of person you have turned out to be. It is what you’ve learnt along the way, which makes you what you are. Simply put, one is not always, a “wise old man” or a “brash young lad”!

A midsummer night's....story

My brother had come home after six months from the UK, and the mood at home was euphoric. At around 10.00 that night, there was a knock at the door and he answered it. Curious to know who it was at the odd hour, anna and I joined him. An old man, with a white beard covering most part of his countenance, stood before us. He had the familiar khakee coat on and as we looked beyond, we saw an auto rickshaw perched in front of our home. For a moment I thought it was an auto driver seeking directions; until he uttered that simple four lettered word, “File”. No sooner had he said that, than everything came rushing back to my brother as he immediately identified the old man to be the auto driver who had driven him home from the airport.

As we watched in bewilderment, the elderly man led us to his auto and produced a file. The file. The navy blue case which had all the important papers in it. Marks cards, degree certificates, work experience certificates, everything! It was then that we realized that it had been “LOST” all the while.

Our messiah unfolded the events of the day to us as we continued to watch in disbelief. My brother had been his first customer for the day and he had picked him up at the airport. Sometime in the evening, a commuter had found the file sitting innocently in the back seat and had mentioned it to him. The previous passengers had perhaps assumed that it belonged to the driver and had not bothered to bring it up. When this man handed him the file while alighting at his destination, the old man was worried. It was 7.00 in the evening and he had had several customers since daylight. There was no way he could establish who it belonged to. His conscience did not permit him to discard it either. It might mean a lot to someone, he felt, and he was right.

Illiterate that he was, he took the file to a bunch of lads chit-chatting nearby. He explained the situation to them and asked them to find the address from the papers. They flipped through the certificates and finally in one of the papers they found the address and told the old man that it belonged to someone from “Rajajinagar, 1st Block”. They also told him, it looked like it was a doctor’s. Now it was clear to the old man that it belonged to his first customer, the young man who he had ferried home from the airport. He did not need the postal address to return it to its rightful owner anymore; he had been there in the morning and could get to the house comfortably. And so, here he was.

He handed it over to my brother and asked him to check if everything was in place. My brother did not find the need to do that, after encountering such honest behaviour from the man. However, he quickly scanned the contents at the old man's insistence and as expected, found everything intact. We thanked him profusely for his kindness and he told us modestly that we had only to thank God for it. He was a moulvi in a mosque and asked us to visit the shrine sometime.

He mentioned having small kids at home and we gave him some chocolates to take home for the children.
A couple of hundred rupee notes can in no way measure up to a gesture and deed like this, but we had to show our gratitude in some way.

As he bade us goodbye and went his way, we stood there, dumbstruck. We shuddered to think what it would have been like, had we discovered that it was lost, before it was found! It would have taken my brother quite some time to even determine where it was lost. Even if he did, how could we track it down? A complaint at the local police station remains just that. Nothing is ever recovered.

When I look back, I cannot help but conclude that some incidents are beyond reasoning. Why did my brother have to forget that precious file in the auto? Why did he have to take the pious old man's auto that day? Had he taken another, would he have still got the lost property back? Did the old man, in all his innocence have any idea, what those piece of papers meant to my brother? I can go on and on about the endless possibilities. But the point is, did all this happen for a purpose? To be grateful to God? To re-establish our lost faith in the goodness of mankind? Maybe.

Back in action

I lasted! Yes I did! Without internet and music and cable TV and DVD’s.
Goes to show, there are some things you cannot live without and others you cannot live comfortably without.
Is that the difference between need and greed?

It was foggy and misty this morning and I thought I' d made a tongue twister, only until Se managed to say it comfortably. :( Let's hear you say it. "Mister Mist missed Miss Mitchell" I hope you said Missele. :(

BTW, it took me close to an hour to log comments and create this post. I'm quite sure it's the Vital Information and Resources (of my system that are) Under Siege. So I have to patiently wait till my PC gets well!! :-)

Short Sabbatical

It will be a while before I post something again. We are moving to a new apartment and I'm not sure how long it will be before we can get internet. Anyway, it's not like I post regularly even with internet all 24 hours :-) ; but since there is a valid reason this time, I thought I'd mention it. :-) ginsoakedgentleman calls my link : gowriwrites...not so often. Very appropriate ! Thanks for the link shomo & Thanks to everyone else who's blogrolled me ! (I will return the favor soon :-) )While I am in a benevolent mood, thanks to those who haven't, but read my blog nonetheless. Ok, while I'm at it, thanks to everyone who wasn't included in the above categories. It's highly unlikely that they are reading it, however ! Think I am overdoing it...Awright, catch you ASAP !!

The "number" game

I always felt that in India, the government made rules and policies keeping the interests of the minority communities in mind. Always careful, not to hurt their feelings. In Karnataka too, the larger interest of the Kannadiga populace was often ignored to appease the minorities. Of course, neither of the situations appealed to me, as I belonged to the group that was at the receiving end. I always wondered why the larger group had to make sacrifices to satisfy the smaller ones. Why were the policy makers partial to them? Why was the step-motherly treatment meted out to the majority? As if to placate me, there were always individuals and organizations that would rebel against the injustice done to us, the majority.
I doubt if this attitude of the government was received with the same rage in the wake of the nation’s freedom. And I wonder if the people who raise their voice against similar regulations today, are not justified in doing so.

Let me narrate a story. There was once a mother with her two children. The older one was a healthy, strong boy and the younger one was scrawny and slightly crippled. When they cut the cake, the younger one got a larger piece. When they fought, the mother took the little one’s side. When rules were made, they didn’t apply to him and when he made a mistake he was always excused. The older sibling accepted all this, at first approvingly and later grudgingly, but still, said nothing.
Soon, the boys were older, and the skinny second child grew up to be a strong man, the cripple reduced to a small inconvenience, and started living a normal life like his elder brother. Now there was hardly any difference between the two, but the favors never ceased. He still got the lion’s share and still escaped rules.
Now, is the older brother not justified in being infuriated at this? Is he not right in expecting fair treatment, now that they are equals? What should the mother do? Spoil him further, in order to escape his wrath and let him turn into a monster? Or lay down the rules on him and play fair, now that the two are equally advantaged? The former might give her temporary respite from incurring his wrath, but in the long run will spoil him, leading to the doom of all three. The latter, though will be received with much displeasure at first, will ensure peace in the long run for the threesome.

As a young nation, when the minorities are minorities, in every sense of the word; it is not unreasonable to give them a few benefits. No one will oppose that, and no one did. When their numbers are large enough and they no longer are a meek minority with no voice of their own, should we still make policies that protect their interests at the cost of inconveniencing the majority? Should everyone belonging to the majority faction suffer, just because there are large numbers of their kind? In doing so, are we raising what will grow up to be a troublesome force? Isn’t it high time we stopped the privileges and started treating them as equals and not as the under-privilged?

PS: India and Karnataka are just examples. I quote the situation there because, I have lived there and can comment. The argument, however, applies to most nations and states faced with the issue of a "not so minor" minority. Or so I think.

Blast from the past

No, I'm not giving you a link to some golden oldies here. MTV does that I think, or is it Channel V? I cannot remember which one. Anyway, I'll take you back to an "age" when we did not have MTV, Channel V and the like in our drawing rooms. A few people had it and sometimes we stuck a pin in the cable going over our antenna to catch the signal; or better still tied the cable to our antenna, which the cable operator very promptly undid on one of his routine inspections. He never complained, though I'm sure he could easily track the antenna down to the house. Perhaps, he did not want to offend a prospective customer. It seemed to work too; one by one, all of us were hooked.

That was the early '90s and for the first time we saw trailers of movies on TV. We saw film stars being interviewed in their plush homes, showing off their wardrobe and dogs. We saw cricket matches live from Australia at 4.00 in the morning, with no "rukkawat ke liye khed hain" and no Hindi commentary. We were overawed. We actually participated in contests with the hope of winning. We looked forward to Friday nights, for the double Bonanza we got - Close up Antakshari followed by Philips Top Ten ! For the first time, we didn't want to go to Swathi hotel to have North Indian dinner; instead we insisted our parents pack it home for us. That's when it started I think.

No one wanted to play anymore. Before, you could tell if Mahabharath had started on TV, on a Sunday morning by looking at the streets. Now, it was always deserted, with or without Mahabharath; but always with Cable TV. The only time children would come out to play was when there was a power cut in their house or in the cable operator's. After, generators came into vogue, this stopped too.

Atleast, we got our share of skipping, kunte bille, lock-and-key, i-spy and gate-gate. I pity the ones who came after us. They never heard of these games I think. Even now, sometimes on some streets, I see kids playing, but it's almost always cricket. ( With the kind of hype that surrounds the game, that's hardly a surprise ). I wonder what the little girls do. Doesn't anyone play, "Crocodile, crocodile can we cross the golden river" anymore? Doesn't anyone play, "Gate, gate, which gate do you choose" and then form a human chain to move from one gate to another ? Wasn't it this bond that built friendships, that lasted for years? Where is that bonding? Where is that laughter? Where is that camaraderie ? Is it a thing of the past? Buried, never to be unearthed again ?

Then and There

I miss going to Commercial street, at 3.00 in the afternoon, to shop, to avoid the evening rush.
I miss going to the Ganesha temple near my house, when I needed to pass an exam.
I miss going to Soumya’s house, a 5 min walk from my place, whenever I felt like going.
I miss her mom’s kajjaya and khara avlakki - with garlic in it.
I miss calling up Brinda and talking for hours, even though we were always relieving the same moments over and over.
I miss the unexpected guests, dad’s friends, Deepu’s friends, and making coffee for them and hunting for some snacks to accompany the coffee.
I miss Sethu, dropping home almost every evening, and regaling me with stories about cricket matches and trying to get me interested in cricket.
I miss going to Rekha’s house for Sweety’s (her pom) birthday. (She will protest on my calling Sweety a Pom, she insists it’s a different breed, whose name I cannot remember)
I miss advising Varun, my young and enthusiastic upstairs neighbor, on the best books to buy for the next semester.
I miss meeting up with Dipti and catching up on the latest gossip about her classmates and lecturers.
I miss going on a morning walk with Sahana, which was more of a stroll; for we were more interested in talking, than in burning calories.
I miss Soumya’s advice on just about everything under the Sun.
I miss anna’s kobri mithai, made of Kobri (desiccated coconut), instead of kayi (fresh coconut); just because the name said so !!
I miss going all the way to Sheshadripuram, with Deepu to have the best chaat made on a pani puri gaadi.
I miss the alu bonda from “namma bondada angadi”, next to the Friends’ Library.
I miss the people, the streets, the autos, the tastes, the smells and the sights of Bangalore.

I MISS Bangalore !!

Honestly, with all that, I never had the time to jot it down while I was there. You know why I love my life here? That’s why !

Workout works out !

I just got back from a workout at the gym and I can't tell you just how good I feel. It takes great drive to get up and put on those shoes and tracks and get to the gym; but once you get there it's pure magic ! I must admit that I don't go the gym as often as I should, but when I do, which is, 3 times a week on an average, I feel lighter and better. I MUST go everyday !! If you don't, you must too !!

Of commas and colons

It's February !! So, you cannot wish people a "Happy new year" without getting the stares and the "Pal, it's a month after the 1st of Jan" look. That doesn't stop me from wishing you a "Happy new month" however !

I was reading an excerpt from a book called "Eats, shoots and leaves", a book on punctuation for the sticklers (and the others !!) . For those who know where to place the apostrophes and the dashes, and when to replace the semicolon with the comma, it's an amusing read; and for those don't, it is a revelation.

Sethu rightly pointed out that the titile would take a different meaning if one were to omit the comma. One other interesting peice of information I gathered from the excerpt - The right way to write time, in figures ! ( Wish I could also fit in a "Wright" there ! ) For example, how do you write Seven Thirty in figures? I bet you thought it was 7 : 30. Well, if you did, you are wrong. It's not a colon between the digits; it is a full stop. 7 . 30 it is !! There is also a link to a punctuation test on that page which is rather simple if you paid attention in your English languge class, back in high school.

Here's the link to the page : http://www.eatsshootsandleaves.com/excerpt.html

Before I finish, I have to add a witty verse I picked up at the page:

"A cat has claws at the end of its paws.
A comma's a pause at the end of a clause."

Picture this....

• A baby lying on its back, throwing up its cute little hands in the air and smiling at you.
• A hot cup of fresh filter coffee at 7:00 on a Sunday morning, with the Newspaper for company.
• Walking in the rain, with a close friend, on a familiar crowded street, sharing a bag of hot pakoras.
• Watching someone make it to a bus, after chasing it some distance.
• Reading “Pass” on a result sheet.
• Getting up at 4:30 in the morning to start on a trip with family or friends; stopping at a road side restaurant at 7:30 for hot idli-sambar and coffee.
• Playing Antakshari at the marriage hall of a cousin’s wedding, the night before the muhurtham.
• Opening gifts.
• The walk back home after a morning jog.
• Sleeping on your bed at home, after being away for a while.
  
  
  
  
  

Its raining movies !

Sethu and I have watched so many movies in the last fortnight ! It wouldn't be wrong to say I've watched more English movies in the last few days than I have in my whole lifetime, in fact I've lost count of the number of flicks we've seen. The best ones I thought were - Remember the Titans, an old one, but very good nonetheless, The Terminal for Tom Hanks' brilliant performance and Harold and Kumar - a complete laugh riot !

I also watched and for the first time understood an awesome Tamil movie - Nayagan. With Mani Ratnam calling the shots and Illayaraja scoring the music and Kamal Hassan playing the lead, it cannot be an ordinary movie. It was the most touching movie I saw in a long time. Kamal Hassan is so good as Velu Naayakar that you almost believe you are seeing the man himself in flesh and blood. The story, screenplay and direction are in one word - impeccable. I had heard that Mani Ratnam was a great movie maker, now I saw for myself. Its a 'must see'.

Parent Trap (read Net)

I love reading mail, personal mails, not forwards. So what do I do when i haven't got any new mails in my inbox? I shamelessly check Sethu's and my bro's mail !! Not all mails, just the ones that are marked read and are from someone known to me ! (Deepu, urs is the last mailbox i raid, don't worry !)

This morning, I thought i should peep into daddy's mailbox. I created his email id for him, so, I am entitled to see it. Besides, there are only mails from me in there. :-) I logged in and was in for a Big surprise. Firstly, anna has been checking his mails regularly, there was not a single unread mail ! And to think, he asked me when I first arrived here, if he had to connect to the internet before logging into yahoo ! Secondly, I saw a single unread mail which said, "Card Details". I clicked on it and saw that anna had managed to send a card to Sethu for his birthday !! I clicked on the card, and saw that he had done everything perfectly, the card header, footer, message, everything was in place. He had also chosen the date of delivery of the card as 22nd, and not left the default "today" option as is. But there was one small mistake because of which the card would never land in sethu's mailbox. He had missed the "_" in the email id. I will tell him about it and I am sure he will correct the mistake. I just told him yesterday the steps to follow to send a card and he has managed to do it all by himself ! There's just one thing I can say, I am proud of you anna !

This reminds me of something Brinda had told me sometime back.
Brinda's mom too, like my dad knew nothing about computers when Brinda had left for the US. She said, she had just created an e-mail account for her mom and had taught her to chat. During one of her stopovers, she had mailed her mom from the transit lounge in the airport and by the time she had arrived in the US, she had her mom's reply to the mail, in her Inbox; much to her delight !

It's not easy learning stuff at their age, but they do learn. It just makes you realise how much you mean to them !

Nothing much......

Everytime i read someone's blog, I am tempted to update mine. Nothing much happening here. Just recieved a parcel from Brinda and Rekha. It has quite a few goodies from Bangalore that my daddy dearest has sent for me. Rekha has thoughtfully sent Tirupathi Prasad and a sticker of Lord Venkateshwara, both of which have been forwarded to their rightful place. How I love the Tirupathi Ladoo !
It's 5:00 and i feel like having a cuppa coffee, but i just remembered, I have to fetch the clothes from the laundry...........

Dec 31st 2003

Its already Jan 15th and perhaps too late to give my account of the last year. But, the year was so good, that I simply have to write about it, in spite of myself.

If the way you bring in the year is any indiaction of the things to follow, 2004 sure proved it. For the fist time in my life I attended a New Year party. So what if it was on a cousin's neighbour's terrace and the crowd consisted of schoolkids?? It was great fun!

Every other New year's eve other than this one was spent at home or at a friend's/cousin's place in Bangalore where we would invariably watch TV and convince ourselves that this was what everyone else did too. Oh, how I pitied my poor cousins who lived in smaller cities than Bangalore! If we, living in such a "happening" place, did nothing more than call up a couple of friends at 12:00 to wish them, who, had little to do themselves on that much awaited night than pick up the phone on the first ring; what would these kids do??! I saw what they did on the night of Dec 31st, 2003.

I was in Mysore, as part of a training program and was put up at an uncle's place. It was the 31st of Dec and after having had so many uneventful 'Dec 31st's didn't expect much from this one. My cousins, however, had been busy the whole day, shopping and making arrangements for the "party" which I was to attend too. At 8:30 that evening I went to the neighbur's terrace. My cousins were already there and so were the neighbours kids and most other kids who I had seen play or chat with my cousins. They were early because they were the hosts. I soon realised that we only had hosts, no guests, barring myself and a 12th standard kid who thought it was a hep party and came rather fashionably dressed. Soon, there was no host, no guest and we all mingled freely despite our age differences and kicked off the party. We played games - Dumb Charades, Antakshari, Queen of Sheeba et al. And, What's a party without food and drink? There was plenty of that too, and most of it home made. We had Sandwiches, pakoras, Gulab jamoon and other mouth watering stuff. At 12:00 we cut the cake and music was turned on full blast and we all danced for some time till parents summoned their kids home.

It was 1:00 by the time we got back home and what a time we'd all had! Especially myself, who had expected so little that I was overwhelmed by the experience. I soon understood that the city you lived in didn't matter, what mattered was the willingness and the interest of the people involved to make things happen. What made this party enjoyable and thus successful was, the camaraderie of the kids and their enthusiasm to come together as a team and do something, so that everyone could have a good time come evening. And, how well they managed to accomplish that! 2004 will go down as one of the best years' of my life and this will be the first (literally too) reason for that!

I just read what I've written so far and I see that I have deviated completely from what this post was originally to be about. So much so that I changed the title.

PS: It was originally called "The year that was....".