Frustrations Amalgamated

The Writing Instrument

2011-11-28T03:02:00.001+05:30

"Two four four one eight ... " my father was calling out every digit of the telephone number as he was speaking on the phone. He had barely finished calling out the entire series of numbers and the pen in his hand, had imprinted the last drop of ink on the blank piece of paper kept beside the telephone. The thing about pens in every house hold is that, you never find a writing pen when you need one, but you always find them strewn all over the house.

Writing is my fetish, but that is confined to the window of my blog and I don't write with ink on a paper anymore. With almost everything becoming digital, the pen as an instrument does not seem like the most important thing that one needs to carry when they go out. These days the only time I use a pen is when I buy a book to read. I open the first page and write the date on which the book was bought and sign under it, a habit that I have inherited from my father who in turn inherited the same from his grandfather. It helps me keep a record of when I bought the book and for how long its been with me, or sometimes it reminds me of how long its been lying in my shelf without being read.

My father collected about 15 pens lying all around the house, and it so happened that 13 out of the 15 pens did not write and were not in a good condition. My father demanded that I go and get all the pens repaired immediately. I told him that we lived in a generation of use and throw and it would be better to get a set of new pens for the house. I told him that pens are like plastic covers, you use them and throw them. Repairing was out of question. My father's firm conviction and belief in the concept of repair and re-use to Rasi pen shop on L.B road in Adyar.

The last time I ever visited this shop was before my final year examination. I grew up buying pens in this shop and I have been loyal to buying pens from Rasi Pens.Over the years the shop had changed, the old man who owned the shop didn't seem to be there. There was a younger man, I presumed that he was the son.The shop had changed a lot in its appearance, a clear indication that business had slowed down. The shop now sold all stationary items from rulers,pencils,sharpeners to fancy watches.There was a glass rack inside which were placed the famous Parker pens and some other pens which had a gold finish. He told me that the money he earned from recharging mobile phones and selling fancy watches and watch straps was much more than what he earned from pens.

I asked the man where his father was and he told me that he had been sick and visited the shop only once a week. As he was changing the refills in the pens that I had handed over to him, he told me that his father did not like venturing into the sale of products other than pens. He used the same tools that his father had used to repair pens and I always loved watching the process of a pen being repaired, cleaned and washed. Repairing the 15 pens that my father had collected cost me 65 rupees altogether.

I came home and found a letter from my bank. They had rejected my form to open an account on the grounds of a signature mismatch between my pan card and the form. As I sat down to practice copying my own signature, I opened a packet of chips this time not using a pair of scissors but of course the pen.

Tamil Cinema's Chauvinism

2011-09-24T02:57:00.002+05:30

A few years ago, when the popular Tamil Actress Kushboo made a public statement that women should be careful while indulging in premarital sex and must take appropriate precautions in order to avoid sexually transmitted diseases, the women activists and political parties took to the streets, burning effigies of the popular actress. According to them, Kushboo had questioned the integrity of their Tamil culture and more importantly the integrity of their women. How could a north Indian who came to their land to earn a living, make such remarks. It wasn't something that could be accepted.

A few days back on my way back home from office, I heard a song from a new Tamil movie, whose lyrics seemed outrageously chauvinistic. The chorus of the song was something like this:

Adi da avala ( Beat her )
Odha da avala ( Kick her)
Vidra avala ( leave her)

Vennaam da Venaam Indha Kadhal moham ( I don't need this Lust)
Ponnunga Ellam nam Vazhvin Saabam ( Girls are the Curse of our life time)

After listening to this, the first thought that came to to my mind was questioning the virtues and values of the lyricists and the singer who had agreed to sing the song. I immediately, took out my phone from my bag and goggled the details of the song. the song was from a movie named Mayakam Enna. Both the singer and the lyricist was Dhanush, the son-in-law of Super Star Rajinikanth and the recent national award winner for best actor. His brother Selva Raghavan was the director of the movie.

If this song had been targeted against a particular community or any caste, people would have taken to the streets and at least 50 cases would have been filed against the lyricist, the producer of the movie, the director, the singer and the music director. But this song talks about long lost lovers, who love to blame their women to have dumped them and wail. The dialogues that demean women who have ditched their lovers or husbands, are often welcomed with whistles and applause in the theaters. The heroine of the movies earns respect only if she sides her man, however evil he is.

Why aren't those who questioned Kushboo questioning the lyrics of this song? Is it because the lyricist is a MAN from their own land? Or is it because he is the son in law of the Super Star?. Tamil Cinema, which often portrays its Hero as true men who are dark unwaxed chests, should stop showing heros wailing bitching about their lovers.

As long as songs like these are written and get 12434545 likes on Facebook, with comments like super macha, I am sure that girls won't stop getting friend requests from unknown Karthiks, Rameshs and Sureshs,who sit and while away their time in shady net cafes.

10 Best Ways to Avoid Marriage

2011-08-03T01:50:00.001+05:30

If you are in that stage of your life where your parents want to perform their so called last duty for you called marriage and get back to honeymooning, or a stage when the "Single" or "In- a relationship" status seems more appealing than "Married" then please read on.

10 Best Ways to avoid Marriages in India.

1. Shaving your head: This is highly recommended for women. (Those who aren't regular customers at Dr. Batra's hair fall clinic kindly refrain from such activities).

2. Wearing Braces: This is a temporary stint and can help you avoid marriage for atleast 2 years depending on how awful you appear.

3. Getting a Tatoo or piercing at a strategic location: The more strategic the location, the more easy it is to sabotage the plans of a life long commitment.

4. To appear as someone who has renounced all forms of communication: Not recommended for those who are already in a relationship. Stay away from Facebook and other social networking sites. No one would want to marry you if you don't have at least an email account or atleast a mobile. This might make your parents a little anxious, but assure them that you are not following the foot steps of Baba Ramdev or Nithyananda and they needn't worry.

5. Faking homosexuality: This has the highest success rate when compared to any other method. If you have parents who are ready to get you married at any cost, then this might boomerang on you.

6. Quoting unrealistic demands: Tell your parents that you would want to marry someone whose name begins with an 'X'.

7. Appearing ungroomed: This is recommended only if you are extremely desperate to not get married and run out of all options. Dress up badly, forget table manners, display the gaseous outflows from your body openly( Burp loudy), scratch your head and pick you nose.

8. Feign depression: This is works only with emotional parents or partners. Warning: Will not work always.

9. Declare Bankruptcy: This should work unless you are a descendent of the Mursi Tribe in Africa.

10. Stick posters of Baba Ramdev, Bappi Lahiri, Rakhi Sawanth, Imraan Hashmi, and Lady Gaga in your room: A good enough reason for people to avoid you.

Caged

2011-03-16T23:11:00.000+05:30

She didn't want to be a free bird,
Exploring the limitless world,
She wanted to be a caged bird,
Living in her own little world.

All alone, left to herself,
She wanted to dance to her own tune,
Sit all alone watching the bright new moon,
With the only companion being her Imagination.

She didnt want to be a part of the herd,
She was a happy caged bird,
Every other caged bird thought she was being absurd,
But lived a happy life as the only happy caged bird.

The Young Urban Professional (Yuppie) - Home Edition®

2011-01-28T00:48:00.003+05:30

"I'm just fed up. Fed up of all this competing and trying to come first. What am I even trying to prove. I'm just gonna call it quits Amma!"

It was the third time that I had not made it to the top management schools in the country. What made it worse was that, Dolly got through IIM-A. Night after night we studied together, while talking to each other on the phone we discussed every mock CAT paper, and every time it was me who faired better. It was a matter of a few numbers that changed my life, her life and our life all together.

My phone rang, it was Dolly, " Dude Chill! You'll make it next year. Why do you worry. You missed it in a narrow margin"

"Dolly, What about us? Now you'll pack off to study. What about you, me and everything else?"

"Oh God! You're such a typical man. Stop getting over Senti. Nothing will happend to you, me or us"

"Dolly, I mean you're now gonna meet some awesome guys. Some of them are gonna be the CEO's of the future. I'm never gonna make it like big like them. May be I just want don't want to be them. Look here Dollzz, all that I want out of my life is a happy family with a dog, and some good memories to cherish.

"Oh God! I think you must first stop reading those self help books man. They are so full of baseless nonsense, that teach humans to live like animals. Listen I know you're worth is more than what a bloody b-school can determine. So Chill. And I'm not going anywhere. I'm on the phone always hon. So Chill. Okay.. I'll just call you back.

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Dear Dolly,

Although I feel faintly suicidal at the moment, I have made up my mind. I have discovered what I want out of my life. You might think that this decision of mine is sudden, and that I haven't given it much thought.This time I am clear and my goals are set. I do not wish to succumb to the pressures of society and digress from this. When I'm 70 years of age all that I want is a happy family and a family photo beside my bed, where everyone is all smiles. I am ready to take the extra step and ready to sacrifice anything for this. My decision has been propelled by two factors. Firstly, my limitless love for you, and secondly the trickle down effect of seeing the difficulties my mother faced as a single parent and a home maker has been the driving force behind my urge to become a successful House Husband.

When man began to take up cooking as a profession, he made a world of a difference to it. It was a man who invented the gas stove, the mixer, grinder, oven, iron and steel without which, there'd be no utensils today. I pay all my respect to that one man who thought of venturing into cooking, and there by changing the face of kitchens world over. The difference is between the way we men work and you women work. Women view cooking as a duty, since men don't view it as a duty we give in a lot more scope for experimentation.

When a man is given a task, it is a simple concept of input versus output to him.Whereas to a woman, for a given input the out put is based on her current mood, feelings, what she is wearing, how messy the task is, whether she would get dark circles after the completion of the task, hormonal fluctuations, what her friends are doing at the moment so on and so forth. This is what I have gathered from my common perception of the men and women I have met, and it is certainly not a random generalization that I am making.

Moreover, I could be a godfather to a new generation of house husbands a certain species of men who'd fold clothes, make the bed, pack Tiffin boxes, change diapers, and do every other womanly task, with great finesse and complete ease. You like the so many other typical dramatic women, might tell me that although I can do every womanly task, I cannot carry the by product of our love making in my stomach. My answer to this is, I am no god to change the chores of nature, all I can do is change my nature. I would give you full time company when you are on your maternity leave, apart from taking care of all the domestic chores that I am in-charge of. How more exciting can that get?

Moreover, the advent of the house husbands could lay the foundations for new research and inventions. Out of the world products like an automatic diaper changing machine, automatic story telling cum patting machine that would put babies to sleep, an automatic kicker that kicks you out of bed when you are late to work, an automatic nagger that keeps nagging you when you ain't doing the right things at the right time, an automatic emotion booster that would say 'Awwww' in between every sentence one utters, an automatic festival detector that decorates your house for every festival without you having to move a finger,an automatic hunger detector that would keep food ready on the table when one is hungry and many more innovative machines would come into existence. Being a house hubby would be considered of high stature. Many universities would offer diploma courses like ' House Husbandry' that teach you the science behind becoming the perfect house husband.

As the the concept of House hubbies becomes popular, more magazines discussing about topics like ' How to please you wife when she comes home from work'and 'How to be a good motherish father'. The Ads in matrimonial columns would change to 'Seeking a well manner, homely, adjusting, god fearing, well groomed bride groom from a good family'. The only harm that this might cause is that, with the advent of house husbands, feminists and women activists might be rendered jobless. Otherwise, the revolution of House Hubbies would do more good than bad. And guess what? I'd be the forerunner to all this.

I earnestly want to begin this journey towards a revolution with you.

Yours Sincerely,

House- Husband - in the making

PS: You are a complete jerk if you deny this offer.

The Beer Drinking Mataji

2011-01-15T22:38:00.004+05:30

I didn't understand what his problem was. Was it me, or my parents? Ours is a open family. To us, consuming alcohol together is not considered blasphemy, or least bit scandalous.

"We cannot continue this anymore. I mean, I'm okay with you drinking, but I can't picture myself saying cheers to your mom. Thats scandalous. I can't accept living with the daughter of a beer drinking Mataji. I guess its better we part ways, our upbringing is different." those were his last words. After that I never met him.

Thirty Five years later history had repeated itself.

My daughter came home crying. She said the man she was seeing had parted ways with her.

"I can't believe that your mom drinks. I'm okay with you drinking, but I cannot say cheers to a beer drinking Mataji.", she told me that those were his last words.

Scams bend the rules for Babajis, but rules are never meant to bent for Matajis.

Transitions

2010-12-20T00:58:00.004+05:30

I never count the number of years I have been associated with anyone in my life. This is primarily because of the fact that it reminds me of two things, firstly the time spent with the person always seems less and secondly there is a constant urge to spend more time with the person. I was in class 11 when we first met. It wouldn't be appropriate for me to call it a meeting, since I had just written to him. I don't know if I still have the letter in my mailbox. Back then, he was a journalist owning a his own little space in a weekly news paper. His story about a woman, who coaxed him into buying her a "pair of black trousers" amused me. The presence of a Yahoo ID printed below his story made me curious. We were still in the age of Yahoo Messenger and cell phones were not as prevelant as they are today. Why not add this man, I thought. I didn't have anything to lose. If he reciprocated, it would be a new beginning, otherwise I'd be just one among the many friend requests he would have declined.

iamtoobrainyforu was quite an interesting Yahoo ID, and its quite tough for anyone to deny a friend request from an id that is so presumptuous. The id gave me all the attention that I never got in real life and I did not complain. So the journalist and I got chatting and before I realised, we were talking each night, all night long until dawn. I still question myself as to what conversations can a man who is in his early thirties and a lady who is barely out of her teens can have? On the outset our story would seem like one of those tabloids on a news paper where two strangers met online, became friends and eventually one of them was taken for a ride. But neither of us expected anything from each other right from day one and the same continues till date.

I became friends with the man, before he started his own blog. We were friends before I began writing. One of the best things to happen to me in my life is writing. The man helped me discover that I could write. One afternoon the time when I was confused about which undergraduate course to join, I went to the yellow smiley beside his name and began lamenting to him. I always wonder if anyone else would have had the same amount of patience to deal with a school girl's cribbing. Anyone else would have brushed me off and said it happens everywhere. But the man told me, "Why don't you write it down?". And hence was born "Frustrations Amalgamated and my first news paper story.

When he began his blog, he often asked for my opinion on what ever he wrote. At 17, I viewed sex as a taboo and was very conscious of even uttering the word. I glanced through a few of his posts and at the very look of the word sex, I felt uncomfortable and told him that his blog was sick. It never occurred to me that those words would be completely shattering for a man who had just set out on a his journey to become a writer. The man still tells me that he can never forget the day I told him those words, the words I wish I had swallowed. It never occurred to me that no one who meets a 17 year old girl online, would take her seriously. If they did, it would be only for sex. It was later that I realised, the man sought my opinion on what he wrote because he viewed me as equal to him and my age never mattered. If I ever write anything noteworthy of being printed, I would dedicate the first page to the man and no one else.

Days passed by and years flew by. Yahoo changed to Gmail and people began switching from Orkut to Facebook. But over the years we grew with each other, and so did our writing. And as we grew, the Ganga Mail grew with him and my Frustrations grew with me and made me wise. Today the man is an established writer. We don't talk as often as we used to. On those lonely nights, as I stare into a blank blog screen, even without exchanging a single word between our chat windows, the presence of the green dot beside his name on my friends list renders a feeling of security. The feeling that only the both of us feel. And you can feel that only when you have never counted the number of years you have been associated with somebody.

Cheers!

2010-12-01T11:47:00.012+05:30

I don't think I've had enough experience when it comes to relationships. Therefore I refrain from passing any sort of judgment, when it comes to men and a women who chose to be with each other. But I do have a considerable amount of experience of dating a considerable amount of inconsiderate men, which entitles me to define my way of how a perfect date should be. If I feel that my date was a complete waste of time, I rename it to a friendly meeting. I've faced at least at least a dozen of friendly meetings that ended with a handshake, some with a just hug, some with a kiss and some with all the three. But not a single one gave me a sense of fulfillment or the feeling of complete indulgence.

The primary reason I decide to date a man, is to know him better. I wouldn't deny the fact that there is a huge element of physical, emotional or mental attraction involved in it. It is the physical or emotional attraction that propels the urge to know a person better and the reason behind every date. But you don't call every friendly meeting a date. A date is when two persons, who are physically and emotionally attracted to one another, decide to meet with the sole purpose of wanting to know each other better. A perfect date is when two persons ( irrespective of gender) decide to meet anywhere without any purpose, but feel the warmth between each other not necessarily by touch, and at the end of it depart with an enriched mind and a fulfilled heart.

Most dates are like the Deepavali sale you come across at big malls. They come with a conditions apply* tag. You go with the intention of gaining something, but in the end you find that you have shelled out more than what you had planned for, and you always wish the conditions, "no exchange or return" could be reversed. If I dated a man only because of physical attraction, I always lost interest in the first half hour and my attention would sway to a couple of other better looking or even stunning ones seated on the other tables all around me. Sometimes in life we make wrong choices. The best thing about a date is that you don't have to put up with the wrong choice you made for too long. And you could always live with the hope, that the next one would fill the void created by the previous one.

What most of us do during a date is, we begin running a compatibility check. We begin to check if we have similar interests, disinterests, and try to further the chances of meeting again if the compatibility meter showed a high. Measuring compatibility after a single meeting is as absurd as consuming alcohol for taste. It takes a couple of encounters with alcohol, before you decide which drink suits your taste. The experience with the first peg is always bitter. It takes a few bold encounters to get accustomed to the bitterness. Once you are accustomed, you know with which drink you are compatible. Compatibility doesn't occur in the first go. I'd be a complete hypocrite if I would say, I never judge the other person who dates me. I don't run the compatibility check, but behaviors and conversations often lead you into the path of judgment.

I try hard to refrain from judgment of a person's appearance or attire. A few months back, I dated a common friend. We knew each other through a school friend of mine. He texted me a couple of times and we decided to meet. He seemed a nice guy and just when I was considering meeting the man again, an awful thing happened. After the wonderful round of drinks and dinner, when the bill arrived the man insisted that he would pay, unlike the Hazar men who never even offered to dutch, and shamelessly made me pay. He took out his card in style from his wallet and handed it to the waiter. The waiter brought the bills which had to be signed. The waiter had not brought a pen with him, and I immediately got a pen from my bag and gave it to him. He signed the bills and we were still talking while waiting for the final bill. As he was using his hands to talk the man used my pen, to clean the knit in his nails. I made no judgment.

There have been many instances when I have been x- rayed throughout by a person’s eyes, and the only thing the man carried back was contours of my anatomy, while I had to carry back nothing more than mere disgust. When I say that I've never had a perfect date, it means that I never had anything worthwhile to carry back, besides flowers and chocolates. But yesterday I had an encounter with a near perfect date. The venue was one of the best restaurants in the city. The setting and ambience was perfect, not too flamboyant and not too plain. It was a cozy place. We opted to sit on a couch. Couches give you the feeling of sitting at home, and when you are on a couch, you are forgiven for forgetting your table manners.

The man looked handsome, clean shaven, neatly dressed and as he walked, I could smell a whiff of the Hugo Boss cologne he wore. He was calm, he smiled as he spoke and had many interesting things to say. It seemed as though we hadn’t planned this. We discussed about a lot of books, and even had a minor argument on whether Shobha De was a good writer. The man dropped me back home. We hugged tightly and he made sure he walked with me all the way till the door of my apartment which was on the 7th floor. It was a wonderful evening indeed, but the feeling of fulfillment and completeness was still missing. As I lay on my bed, I began recalling every moment of the evening, starting from our warm hand shake to him dropping me home. Just when everything seemed perfect, I found out the missing link that seemed like a black spot on a flawless mirror. The man had forgotten to say ‘cheers’ before the drink. He had forgotten to toast for our health, wealth and well being. Ah how could he?

Yet another friendly encounter..........

How does it even matter?

2010-11-23T00:35:00.003+05:30

Whenever I am posed with a question about where I am from, my answers in turn lead to more questions which very often result in questioning about the social class of my ancestors. Thanks to my not so black hair and a mild deficit of melanin, I am often misconstrued to be a descendant of the area above the Tropic of cancer in the Indian sub- continent. I hate being questioned and I hate it more when the questions pertain to my descent.

Most of the time, I try avoiding such questions or choose to remain silent when I am asked these questions. The reason being, the clan to which my ancestors belong is immaterial to me and I think it shouldn't be of any relevance to anybody today either. Today we live in a world where origin and descent, just pertain to the country one belongs to and nothing more. Every time I refuse to answer such questions and I remain silent, my silence is associated with arrogance.

Here's the scene that unfolds every time I meet someone new at my work place.

New Person: Hi, Where are you from.

Me: I am from Adyar.

New Person: I mean, where are you actually from?

Me: I am actually from Indira Nagar in Adyar.

New Person : Which is your native?

Me: Chennai.

New Person: You are basically from here?

Me: DUH!

New Person: You don't look like you are from here. You look like you have descended from the borders beyond the tropic of cancer.

Me: Err!

New Person: What do you speak?

Me: I speak English.

New Person : Whats your mother tongue?

Me: Its Chennai's official language.

New Person: (Shamelessly) Are you higher?

Me: Silence.......... I studied in a higher secondary school.

New Person: (Doesn't realise I am evading his question): No I mean are you higher?

Me: I am no buyer.

I answer irrelevant things until the person forgets what he/she initially asked. I wonder why someone's descent is of any relevance or importance at the work place. Leave alone work place, I wonder what relevance it has anywhere. As we arm ourselves with technology and prepare to become Global citizens of the world, questions of one descent, or origin are irrelevant.

When we know these questions are irrelevant, why ask them at all. The sad thing is, it is against the HR policies of a company to ask one about his/ her salary. It is considered ill mannered to ask someone his/ her age. But we shamelessly prod into questioning one, about his/ her ancestral clan.The sad part being, the person who is questioning never realises that he is asking something that he shouldn't be asking.

Invariably, nine out of ten times it happens that every man I meet, would first question me about my descent, or try to decipher it by decoding my name. I'd prefer the man who's hitting on me to tell me that I look sexy ( trust me it makes my day) rather than ask me if I were higher or lower. Higher or lower? Does it really matter?

Of Middle Age Masalas

2010-11-11T02:57:00.003+05:30

I am a MASALA woman. Now don't assume that I am a self proclaimed part of the SPICE girls and look like Victoria Beckham. MASALA is the Middle Aged Severely Agitated Ladies Anxiety Syndrome. I manage both, menopause on one hand, and a balding husband whose belly seems like he's pregnant with a twin Hippo on the other. I hope now you understand the reason for so much of MASALA in my life.There is a myriad of problems associated with the MASALA syndrome and all of them begin with an 'M'. Starting with Money- you always have to think about saving and not spending, Managers, Maids, Mother- in- law, Mutual Fund Investments that never yeild returns, mugging up the map of India with your 12 year old kid, Multi-tasking, Microsoft operating systems, Mallika Sherawat - my husband is her fan, Marriage, the Maruti-800 thats on the verge of death, and the list that leads to My MASALA syndrome is endless.

Middle age is usually between your late twenties and early sixties. About 30 years of your life, you live in the middle of nowhere, hoping to get somewhere at the end of it. You battle dark spots, wrinkles, stretch marks, and hairfall only to accept defeat, and when you touch the sixty mark you convince yourself that it is a natural phenomenon. The only two women who have won this battle with conviction are Shobha de and Hemamalini. I am 40 years old, and I have to fight 20 more years of middle age, before I am crowned as a senior citizen, and the Indian Railways can bestow me with economical fares.

Being the average Indian Woman who works in a corporate I need to juggle between my identity as a professional, wife, mother and a daughter-in-law. I need to keep up with the ever changing versions of softwares so that I am not termed as obsolete,and can battle out the game called appraisals on an equal platform with men who are half my age, and bear not even half of what responsibilities I carry. I need to update my wall quite often, treat and tweet along with the virtual society so that I can show the world that apart from being a woman with MASALA syndrome, I am pretty cool. I need to remind my husband who is more worried about stocks than our diminishing intimacy, that I might be a MASALA woman but I need love and loads of it to relax. I need to play Mortal Kombat with my kids and watch Animes with them, otherwise I get branded as a boring mom. I need to watch soap operas and visit temples along with my mother-in-law once in a while, so that I don't get branded as the outrageous, ill- mannered Bahu. My identity is caught between a smart professional, loving wife, interesting mom and obedience. At the peak of outrageous anxiety, the only four letter word I can use is Fool and nothing more. I constantly remind myself that I am a mother now, which means that I need to safeguard my kids from words that they ought not to know at their age.

If I ever refrain from wearing my Mangal Sutra or Bindi, it would be blasphemy. I not only need to carry responsibilities but wear them and showcase to the world that I am a married woman who suffers from the MASALA syndrome. Its been ages since I wore my trousers and shirts to office, while I still appreciate the women who carry off their trousers with a pair of gold bangles, toe rings and a little bit of Kumkum on their foreheads. At the same time, I find women of my age saying the common dialogue "How can I wear this ( what ever it is ) at this age?" Age never as anything to do with wearing things, sharing or for even pairing. Middle age is the only age where you are forgiven for a bulging tummy and out of shape body. Everyday, I need to swtich between gym clothes, office wear which is usually a Salwar Kameez and if its a friday, a saree and some appealing apparel for parties that my husband never cares to notice. Phew, I adorn a new attire for every avatar that I transform into as each day unfolds.

The only time I get for myself, is during my time at the parlour. I go to the parlour usually on Saturdays, to spruce up a little and feel good about myself. A facial would at least cover up my dark circles and never ending wrinkles. I don't even remember the last time I bought Pond's age miracle. It has been in my bag ever since and I keep reminding myself to get into a routine of applying it each night, but routines never change. Just as I get my strawberry pedicure done, my black berry would ring. My kids would ask me when I would be back home and demand for a Kinder Joy. Damn these advertisements. They know the perfect ways of getting kids to torment their parents. The other phone call would be from my maid, who'd invariably call to let me know that she wouldn't be coming the next day. I have instilled the corporate culture of calling up when you are taking leave in her.

Thanks to MASALA, my mother gave up singing when she was 26, after she became pregnant with me. She would often tell me that she gave up on her dreams so that I could achieve mine. I would often retort back saying stop cribbing and lamenting. I would quote " If there is a will there is a way". I dread the day when my daughter grows up and says the same thing to me. Until I got married, until I reached middle age and until I became a MASALA woman I never realised what Amma had gone through. Middle age makes you weigh your dreams against reality, and passion against practicality.

What makes Maska Chaska ( 50-50 ) biscuits taste better than Marie biscuits is the Masala. It is the MASALA that adds spice not only to our food but also to our lives. It makes our food eatable and life livable.

I wish I Were a Pig

2010-10-25T00:44:00.007+05:30

If you remove the first letter from the word Fairy and replace F with an H, you get the name that I adorned once upon a time. I even hate to mention the word 'Hairy'. It was in class 11 that I first started becoming conscious about having facial hair. I remember the first day of school after the board examinations, there were many new students who had joined and one girl named ‘Waxed Skeleton (WS)’ came up and sat next to me. She scanned me from head to toe, as if she was preparing for my postmortem. She stared into my unshaped eye brows, my un-waxed hands and made me realize the presence of a mush I never had.

Miss Waxed Skeleton soon changed her place and sat next to the girls who had uprooted what they thought was unwanted off their skin, and made sure it shone like the glaze of morning sunlight on water. WS was one woman who always preferred wearing miniskirts and short sleeves. Her eyebrows were perfectly shaped, her eye lashes were of the perfect length and her hair was coloured with copper streaks. She was one woman who never had a bad hair day and her hair do was always perfect. She came to school in a chauffeur driven Ambassador car and tip toed her way through the corridors so carefully, making sure she never hit against anything or anyone. It wasn't long before everyone started raving about her looks and she was the new sensation.

WS proved to give a huge complex to girls like me, who did not drive to school but instead rode to school, wearing a single plait and pinned our Dupattas to either ends of our shoulders. In life sometimes we hate people without a reason. We hate some stars although we have nothing against them. There are people whom we hate with a strong conviction. For me, WS was on that list. I hated her for multiple reasons. She dated the second biggest crush of my life, and she called me badly groomed and hairy. It was she who gave me the name that gave me the biggest inferiority complex of my life. I wasn't hairy by choice. It was nature that conspired against me and sowed too many seeds of Keratin under my skin, that sprouted out as dead black long cells to make me look badly groomed and wo'manly'. In class 11, grooming to me meant nothing more than wearing starched white ironed uniforms, polished shoes, having clean nails and neatly combed hair.

Grooming to us humans is about what we shouldn't be doing rather than what we should be. Our definitions change as the perceptions of the common majority change. Today, our definition of Grooming would not match that of Adam and Eve's, and their definitions would not agree to that possessed by Ramapithecus. To suit a hypothetical proposition of grooming proposed by a hair- free majority, to get oneself a good groom and later to appeal to him, every woman goes through a painful ritual. The worst part is that we have to pay for the pain.

With utmost courage in my heart, I went to get myself groomed and more importantly rid of not just hair on my skin, but also the name that I disliked the most. I went to ' New Star Shiny' beauty parlour. The board outside had a photo of the Bollywood actress Kajol and a note saying 'Only for ladies and kids'. As I entered, a woman escorted me to a separate room and there I was paying for pain, pouring a hot liquid over my skin and uprooting a layer of it. Every time she poured the hot liquid over my skin, I clenched my teeth and tears rolled out of eyes. As I came out after the ordeal, looking like a victim of the Bhopal gas tragedy, only one thought ran over my head.

I WISH I WERE A PIG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Bathroom Chronicles

2010-10-18T01:16:00.015+05:30

When Shahrukh Khan spent about Rs 15 crores in building his bathroom, which has a splendid library inside, the world viewed the man as an arrogant celebrity. He was accused of spending too much on self indulgence, and the media drew nasty comparisons of him with other celebrities, who spent their money in adopting kids from various countries and contributed to charity in a large way. The world could not decipher the hidden message behind his action of building a bathroom whose money could have been used to feed a lakh of children three times a day 365 days a year instead. Showing people a way that can transform their lives is equivalent to charity if not better. Shahrukh Khan has done that.

The bathroom is the only place where you are blessed with complete solitude. You have the luxury to admire things about yourself that no one ever knew. It is the only place in the world where you can be who you are, without having the fear of being judged or laughed at. In a country like ours, where space is a huge constraint not only in queues or parking lots, not all of us have the luxury of a separate room and spend what is known as 'Alone Time'. Schools in Europe and America give their kids what is known as Alone Time, whenever a child does something wrong. The children are asked to to stay alone and ponder over their actions. Not only children but even adults require some 'Alone Time'. In a normal household if anyone is found quietly sitting and thinking about something, he or she is prodded and asked a zillion questions. If you tell someone ' Please leave me alone' you are often tagged as acting pricey or moody. The only place where you can have 'Alone Time' without being prodded or nagged is the bathroom. The best thing about being in the bathroom is that, inside the bathroom, you are your own friend and you are your own enemy.

When you are irritated or angry, it is the bathroom that listens to you patiently without giving you unwanted advice. When depressed, it is the bathroom that takes your tears and welcomes you each time with an open door. You can sing, shout, scream, and cry at the same time when you are in there and no one would ever question you. The walls of the bathroom are always audience to every kind of music and any kind of singer.

A good bath gives one a good heart. The days I wake up late, the process of my daily ablutions is nothing more than brushing my teeth while I simultaneously wash my face and pour two mugs of water over myself. These are the days I come groggy to work with an incomplete feeling. These are the days where I have to coax your mind into work. An incomplete bath gives you an incomplete feeling. Your mind is cross with you that you didn't give it enough time to snap out of the previous night's dreamy fantasy, while the pores of your skin are unhappy that they didn't get scrubbed well. Your mind and you body fight against you at the same time.

Science says that a good bath improves blood circulation in the body and improved blood circulation means you brain becomes more alert. When depressed, there is nothing better than a Jacuzzi or a spa that can make you feel nice. It gets you high while you are grounded. If you can't afford a Jacuzzi a good bath can give you just the same feeling. Lifeboy has been advertising this message for 115 years now.While you visit history, it is said that King Louis XIV (1638-1715), King of France, the Sun King, had a bath only thrice in his entire life. No wonder his life was quite depressing and all he could think of was war and no peace. Had the king known the importance of bathrooms he wouldn't have built the palace of Versailles without a single bathroom.

The special thing about a bathroom is that it treats you the way you treat it. If you keep it clean and neat it gives you a nice feeling. Messy bathrooms with dirty creatures crawling can render you sleepless for nights together. In our country most of us seek solace in temples and snow filled mountains. We believe that meditation can help cleanse our mind. If only everyone of us treated the bathroom like a temple, there could be no better place to cleanse one's mind, body and soul. To me, the first step to living a luxurious life lies in a clean bathroom. I wouldn't mind spending all my life's earnings in building a dream bathroom. To me, it is my self discovered path to knowing myself. All of us cannot afford a bathroom worth fifteen crores. What all of us can afford is at least a clean bathroom.

Never disregard the bathroom for it was the place where Archimedes had his eureka moment. Spend time and have a good bath, for it could lead you into the right path.

Needy Friends

2010-10-16T02:20:00.006+05:30

It was 12-30 A.M. Just the day before Deepavali. I was working on an important presentation that I had to deliver at 9 A.M. While I was clicking through it, slide after slide, the phone just rang. It was Piglet. Piglet was my friend since college. We had known each other for 12 years now. Our lives had changed, our destinies had changed, but we remained good friends. We hadn't spoken to each other for a long time and since he was calling at an odd hour, I knew there was something terribly wrong.

I picked up the phone and piglet broke down instantaneously. He had lost his job. I simply didn’t know how to react. I was patiently listening to his story while scanning through the slides on the other hand. Dealing with two important tasks at the same time is like dealing with twins. You need to give both of them the same amount of attention, so that neither feels deprived and you feel satisfied. Six years into investment banking had taught me how to juggle two things at the same time. And then out of the blue, I told him not to worry and assured him of a job in my firm just to make him feel better. As I finished speaking a few soothing words, I got a call from my girl friend. Since I was speaking with Piglet, her call was waiting.

She had been away for a while since her father was ill. We hadn't spoken in weeks. Her father had been diagnosed with leukaemia 3 months back and has been battling for life ever since. I told my friend I'd get back to him and picked up her call instantaneously. She broke down very badly. Her father was no more. When someone so close faces a huge loss it is best to let them pour out their emotions first. Never try knocking sense into an emotional person's head. Sense and emotion never go hand in hand. This was another lesson that I had learnt from the six years as an investment banker. I listened patiently and told her she needed rest and asked her to take care of her mother. Just as I finished telling her this, my phone ran out of charge.

I had spoken for three and a half hours continuously. The battery was bound to croak it. I quickly rummaged through my room looking out for the mobile charger. It was nowhere to be found. I then recalled that I had left it in my bay. I had no option but to get back to both of them in the morning. I had left my phone on charge during the presentation. After I returned from the presentation I switched on my mobile to see twenty five unread messages. Fifteen were from my girl and the rest were from Piglet. Half the messages read 'U there?' One of the messages was “ A friend in need is a friend indeed.”

I called them up and had to spend an hour convincing them about my situation the previous night. I was accused of never being there when needed. My girl friend accused me of giving more importance to my friend while Piglet accused me of giving undue importance to my girl friend, and that I had forgotten what friendship meant.

While driving back home, I recalled an incident that happened 28 years back. It was the third day at school. I had made friends with two boys. I preferred boys over girls, because they played with cars and not Barbie dolls. One of them was named Swaminathan and the other boy was Toni. I declared that Toni would be my best friend because he was generous enough to give me 3 Parle poppins on the very second day of school. Swaminathan, Toni and I would always be seen together.

One day after school, while we were eagerly waiting with water bottles hanging around our necks and handkerchiefs pinned to our pockets, for our rickshaws and vans to drop us back home, Swaminathan's mother came to pick him up. She saw the three of us standing together and asked Swaminathan "who is your best friend?" Swaminathan pointed to me and said,"He is my best friend and Toni is his best friend". His mother smiled and enquired “So who is Toni's best friend?" Swaminathan said "He is our best friend."

We were best friends. We never knew what friendship meant.

An Earnest Plea

2010-10-08T23:17:00.000+05:30

This is an earnest plea,
from a useful resource in a company.
My state of apathy needs some sympathy,
I want to live a life of dignity.

You use me up the entire day,
I always take it.
You spit on my face,
I always take it.

You make it so hard for me to breathe,
You clog up my life,
And fill my life with filth up to the brim,
So that filthy creatures can happily swim.

You can use me to wash your face,
Kindly take your Tiffin box to a different place,
You don’t like curry leaves and chillies sticking up your nose,
But you nastily push them on to me with all force.

Thank god no one gave you Sabeena or Vim,
For then I'd be perennially
filled with filth up to the brim,
Living a life which is dull and dim.

I'm no racist, but I don't like to be coloured,
It wasn't me who said give me red,
Don't spit PAAN and make me insane,
And finally tell,its me whose stained.

You get me overloaded and it hurts,
When my cleaner pokes me with sticks,
I cry loudly and my tears come in spurts,
Coz I'm called stinky and I'm cursed.

Without qualms, you use me,
Untiringly, be it night or day,
You clog me up and have the audacity to say,
I'm a basin who is 'blocked'.

-Courtsey (Union of Corporate Wash Basins)

What an Idea Sirji

2010-10-08T22:48:00.002+05:30

Dev and Beera were best friends at school friend. Life moved on, and they parted ways like every other pair of friends in Bollywood just to meet again at the same place and same time and the same smoking zone of the same corporate.

Dev: Machan! How are you da? You studied textile engineering and you are in IT? How come you are here da? When did you join machan? Why you standing alone da? Is everything ok?

Beera: Machan I’m good Machi. I joined here six months back da. Life is very boring da machan.

Dev: Why machan? What happened da?

Beera: So boring Machan. No onsite opportunities. Same old work station, same old bike I come to office in, same old cafeteria. I want some change da.

Dev: On site opportunities? It’s just been six months since you joined da. Anyways life is like that, learn to accept it as it is.

Beera: Same old dress also I am wearing da. We wear same formal wear man. Girls are so lucky machan. They can wear so many different clothes. Salwar, Saree, trousers and what not. And now days all these girls are wearing what used to be called gym wear once upon time. And they call those leggings formal wear also. Everyone thinks they are Nadia Comăneci da.

Dev: Who’s Nadia Comăneci da? Your On-Site coordinator ah?

Beera: No machan. She was a famous gymnast da. How do they expect us to wear formal wear all five days? Its so hot here and in addition to that we need to stay in that for nine hours a day. It doesn’t suit our body. We should wear dhotis and promote Indian wear da. Dhotis and Kurtas are accepted as formals in the parliament also. I am going to write to the HR about this da.

A year later Dev and Beera meet again. This time at an air-conditioned bar in the maxim city- Mumbai.

Beera: Machan! How are you da? You got married and you are in a Bar? How come you are here da? Why you sitting alone da? Is everything ok?

Dev: Life is horrible da. No onsite opportunities. Same old work station, same old bike I go to office in, same old cafeteria, everything is same. I want some change da. Okay, you tell me machan, how are you machan? Long time no see. Where and how have you been?

Beera: I am good da. I told you last time that I was upset about the dress code policy followed in corporates, right? I did a detailed analysis and presented a case to the HR about why Dhotis should be made a part of the formal dress code. See in India our climate is humid and most of us are like bears da. The food we eat is wet and our restrooms are also wet. Dhotis are best suited for these conditions machan. Moreover they provide a free air conditioning effect throughout the day. I did a study and learnt that it prevents UTI infections also da. The HR folks were impressed and asked me to pioneer the attire change movement in corporates. Now I am the global head of the ‘Attire Alteration Management Committee’.

Dev: Wow machan. So you went onsite and all eh?

Beera: Yea machan. I just had a meeting with Ban Ki moon last week. I returned from New York yesterday machan.

Dev: Ban Ki moon is your onsite manager ah?

Beera: No da. He is the secretary general of the United Nations. We were having a discussion on understanding attire worldwide to suit the global climatic changes.

An Idea can change your life.

Skewed Queues

2010-09-30T03:01:00.006+05:30

Whenever I look at a white collared professional, I always wonder if education could have changed my life. I started to work at an age when I should have ideally been carrying a school bag instead of the cement bag and bricks. I started with an income of Rs.10 per month. For the first few years of my professional life, I carried cement and other amenities at the construction site. Then I learnt to mix the cement and sand in the right proportions. Soon I learnt how to lay the bricks and patch up the walls too. Today, I am sixty years old, an age when the government wants you to retire. It is only after so many years, that I can decipher the layout plan of a building whose bricks were laid by me.

The man who instructed us and got all the work done was a white collared professional. He visited the site once in two weeks and used to make some drawings which I never understood. All that I knew was that he was an educated man, and education had power. The power that distinguished the white collared people from blue collared people like me. The power to change the unchanged, the power to create and the power to destroy. I was determined to bestow the best education to my children, so that they could take on the world and accomplish the things I had never been able to. I wanted to give them all that was denied to me. I worked untiringly and sometimes, I worked for two shifts just to make ends meet. Supporting both a sick wife on one hand and a school going child on the other was no easy task. I have no regrets for the sacrifices I've made over the years, for today, my son is a white collared professional. He works in a fully air conditioned building. He wears ironed clothes to office and even his feet don't touch the sand.

Last week, my son had forgotten his Tiffin box at home. My wife was feeling terrible about it. So I decided to make her happy and I went to deliver it to him at his office. His office is located at the outskirts of the city and has not one, but 5 high raised buildings inside o
ne place. I wondered inside which building my son was working. Travel to his office is quite complicated. I had to travel by a van till the gate. While I was waiting for a van, I saw many other white collared professionals like my son who were waiting for the van. The moment the van arrived, all of them huddled at the entrance of the van and pushed their way inside. I found it a bit hard to make my way into the van. I was the last man to get in and I wasn't surprised about not finding myself a place to sit. I stood at the rear end of the van because I was afraid of standing near the door. The moment the van reached the destination, it was the same scene that was at the entrance. Everyone huddled and was racing to get out. I wonder how a fifty second delay in getting out of the van would affect them.

I called up my son to find out where I had to deliver his Tiffin box. He told me to come to a place called the cafeteria. I couldn't even pronounce the word properly. I finally discovered that it was a common gathering where everyone ate. At the construction site, the huge mountains of sand was our cafeteria. The only difference was that, here food was sold and at the construction site we brought our food. I saw a huge line of young men and women standing close together like a chain. They were waiting to get a small chit of paper from a man who was selling it from a computerized machine.

Soon my son arrived.I gave him his lunch, and he asked me to sit with him till he finished. I told him about how people were pushing one another in the van and right in front of our eyes at the cafeteria. He told me "Dad this is not some school or military to stand in attention in straight lines. How would you understand? All your life you were just a blue collared worker."

Yes I was a blue collared worker all my life. I never went to school to learn to stand in a line. I've never attended republic day and Independence Day parades to learn that I must maintain a two feet distance from the person standing in front of me. In the construction site, the only important thing was to follow a line. Hell would break loose if we didn't, and no one pushed or fell over one another. Every evening, we stood one behind another to collect our daily wages. There were women and children in the queue and hence, we maintained the two feet distance between each other. There were women who had to go home and feed hungry kids, fathers who had to go home just to give their family the money so that they could buy their dinner, but no one pushed or huddled or raced to get what was due to them . We knew there was no point in running a race that had no medals.

On my way back home, I struggled my way into the van and got a place to sit. Education sometimes can get your life into the right line. I think it requires more than just education to stand in a straight line.

Musings from 'KADHAL KAVITHAI' and more

2010-09-15T02:55:00.001+05:30

Note : Those who don't understand Tamil, I beg your forgiveness.

I work as a receptionist in Hotel Rambha Paradise. Today, I was fired from my job.

The series of events that unfolded:

7-4.5 AM: "It's my life..It's now or never..I ain't gonna live forever..I just wanna live while I'm alive" yes the age old Bon Jovi song blares as my Alarm rings. I have a fad for fancy alarm tones. Shucks I'm late.

7-48 A.M: (In the shower) Do I need to use the Palmolive Aroma therapy shower gel now?

The song "It's my life..It's now or never..I ain't gonna live forever" strikes my head. I take the gel and fill the bathroom with bubbles. I play with a few bubbles for exactly forty five seconds to be precise.

8-15 A.M: 'Beep Beep' mobile reads '2 messages received'. One is from my manager “Where the hell are you?" Second message is from super Manager “Why the hell are you late?"

8-28 A.M: Whoa! I'm finally ready. I broke my earlier record of getting ready in 45 minutes by a huge margin today.

8-30 A.M: I proceed to work on my Orange Scooty. Yes I own an Orange coloured Scooty. My mother thinks the colour black is inauspicious, and brings bad luck. At the same time she thinks red is too outrageous, so we decided on the most auspicious colour orange. (Each time she takes a ride on the scooty my mom would say 'Namba scooty evlo mangalagarama irukku paaru')

8-35 A.M: Stranded in Traffic. My manager calls and I miss the call. Can't call back. No balance. I ride for 15 minutes and finally find a recharge shop.

9-00 A.M: I recharge my mobile for Rs. 50. I call my manager back, ‘Your balance is insufficient to complete the call." Oh God!

Message : Your 'KADHAL KAVITHAI SERVICE HAS BEEN ACTIVATED FOR Rs.50 FOR FIVE DAYS' (KADHAL KAVITHAI in Tamil refers to LOVELY LOVE RHYMES)Arghghhhhhhhhhh no time to call customer service and blast them. No balance to call my boss too. I think 'A stitch in time saves nine'. Yes, finally after 6 minutes and 45 seconds of introspection, I give my super manager a missed call.

Me: Hello! Ah Sir, there is a small problem. Can I explain?

Manager: Where the hell are you? Don't you know that today is the welcoming ceremony of the new dance bar in our hotel and the great dancer, Miss Rocky Rampant is coming for the inauguration. I thought you would bring a big bouquet made of expensive orchids from the USA, to welcome our dancer madam but you were nowhere to be seen.

Me: Yes sir, I will be there in 10 minutes sharp.

9-30: I reach just two minutes before the Miss Rocky Rampant leaves.

Manager: Where is the bouquet of Orchids from the USA.

Me: Sir, I couldn't get orchids from USA, they said Orchids from Srilanka were only available, I bought our Dancer Madame, a wonderful gift instead.

Manager: What gift is it?

Me: A pair of leggings made from snake skin. You know sir, this really tight pant called leggings is the in-thing today. You can easily find at least a hand full of girls wearing these in every corporate these days sir.

Manager: Oh really! Then I'm sure our dancer Madame will be happy. Good job.

Me: Thank you sir.

11:00 A.M: Inauguration Ceremony over.

Manager: Super Manager is calling you.

I think to myself, 'Wow I guess I'm gonna get promoted this week.'

Super Manager: This incorrigible behaviour of yours can no longer be tolerated in this organization.

Me: Organization?

Super Manager: Yes Hotel Rambha Paradise is like every other organization. We are strict about timings and commitment. I don’t see that spark and fire in your eyes. And look at your guts, you give me a missed call. Who do you think I am? I am not your boy friend.

Me: But, Sir Can I explain what actually happened?

Super Manager: I have heard enough from you. Now please go out. You can have your salary settled next week.

Me: But sir please can I justt...

Super Manager: No more explanations. You have taken things for granted for too long. We don't need such irresponsible behaviour in this organization. Coming late is like cancer. It spreads fast and before it can spread I'm removing the root cause of the cancer. You can leave now.

I walk out of the office furious.

Manager: Can you tell me where you bought those snake skin leggings? I want to buy one for my wife.

Me: You should probably ask our super boss. He gave it to me one morning asking me to hide it in my runner.

KADHAL KAVITHAI has cost me my job. I pick up the phone and call the customer care representative (CCR).

CCR: Good Morning! This is Raj, how may I assist you?

Me: Your connection is the world on the face of this planet. It has cost me my job today. I never subscribed to any service but I get charged for it. And worse I don’t get what the service offers too.

Raj: Chill maam. Can you please explain your problem in detail?

Me: My mobile reads a message saying some stupid random service named KADHAL KAVITHAI has been activated and I have been charged Rs 50 for it. I dont want any such service and please de-activate it now. Right now.

Raj : Can I have you mobile number please?

Me: 0919802372-0942-96

Raj : Can I know why you want to deactivate this service?

Me: There is no KADHAL in my life.

Raj: Maam, this service is to help your love life. Can you please state your requirements ?

Me: I had lost my cool. 'What requirements? Okay you want requirements take them down, paal pole 18- il enaku oru Boy friend Venum. Kaalam Theriyamal Kadalai naan poda enakku oru boy friend venm. ( I need a boy friend in his sweet 18) Can you satisfy that? And I have not recieved one KADHAL KAVIDHAI till now. Can you hook me up with Jeyam Ravi?

Raj: Sorry for the inconvenience maam. I can help you with a few KADHAL KAVIDHAI's

"Justice Delayed is Justice Denied,
If you don't accept me love,
I shall consume Cyanide"

Wah Wah Wah

" I don't drink alcohol,
Honey, you give me the same kick,
I don't need a sweater when I'm cold,
Honey, You are a hot Chick."

Wah Wah Wah

Me : I need you to deactivate this right now. Bye.

11:35 P.M: My mobile rings. Unknown number. I pick the call, half asleep.

Me: Hello

Its me Raj, I too lost my job today. I told you wonderful KADHAL KAVITHAI's from my head but I guess, they were against the Cutomer Care rules.

Playing the Doosra

2010-09-02T02:20:00.008+05:30

I've always had this weird feeling that I was not an outcome of love, but I was a mere accident. Most second kids in the family tend to get this feeling when the difference between them and their elder sibling is more than about 6 years. When the difference is so vast, and you are the second child, you tend to attribute your existence to just three factors: Firstly you could have been born because your elder sibling was a complete retard and your parents needed something noteworthy to leave behind. The age gap can be attributed to the fact that it takes a long time to see development in slow kids. So you were just an outcome of frustration that was caused by the first child. Secondly in some cases, the second child becomes an entertainment factor for the first one. Yes the existence of some second kids can be attributed to the fact that they were born just get their Bhaiyas or Didis out of boredom. Lastly, your existence could have been a mere accident. This is what they call the unexpected surprise, and when your parents don’t have a choice but to keep you, the reason as to why you were born boils down to nothingness.

There's nothing new to anything second in life. The first crush, the first kiss, first job, first car, and the list of first, is endless. When it comes to the second crush, kiss, or car we don't take the effort to remember it. The reason being the immense excitement, eagerness, anxiety can be attributed only and only to the first things you do. I don’t mean to say that mothers don't want to bear second kids, but the excitement they experience while carrying the first child far surpasses the eagerness for the second. Only when a couple is going to have their first child, they say they are starting a family. Second kids are just an addition to the family. In life, additions make us happy. An additional car, additional home, additional income, and so on, but they aren't the very seeds of our happiness. To every mother, deep rooted inside the dark corners of her heart, there is a separate special space for the first child, which the second child does not have. That's why it hurts more when the elder kids get out of control or disobey parents. The first disappointments hurt a lot more. They quitely live with us, through our memories, and never fade away no matter how hard one tries.

You can call yourself an outcome of an accident if you were born when your father was close to 40 years of age or more. Who plans for a kid at an age when every man is chasing promotions and is trying to earn himself a decent roof with atleast two rooms, or few mutual funds to fall back upon after retirement? You are like free coke that comes with Pizzas. Not completely essential, but we don't mind it, since its free. When it comes to the first kids, parents look into every detail of their upbringing. In many cases the same care and concern is not rendered to the second child, because even before the second kids begin to learn their ABC, parents get caught up with other things and start dreading their middle age and the array of trauma associated with it.

In most cases, the elder siblings set the benchmark for the second kid in everything, ranging from scoring marks, playing games, being well mannered, hardworking, and a benchmark for immunity is also set by the fist kids. The second kids are expected to at least reach this set bench mark if not surpass it. We've often heard dialogues like “You both stay in the same house, how come your brother/sister can concentrate and study but you can't?" "How come you brother/sister never falls sick as often as you do?" “Learn from you brother/ sister. Learn how to behave." Second kids are tagged to their elder siblings for everything. Many parents fail to recognize them as individuals having a separate abilities and potential.

More often than not the first kids sulk and crib about having to shoulder the responsibility of taking care of their younger siblings. Having to protect them all through their childhood while travelling in the school van, while going for picnics, while playing outdoors. And all the time it is the elder kids who have to include their younger siblings in the games that they played with their friends. They claim to be the guardian angel for their younger siblings. They fail to realise the fact that this does not help the younger kids in any way. The elder kids are lauded by the world for their responsibility which just makes it a herculean task for the younger kids to reach the bench mark set by them. Another sad thing that most second kids have to live with right from the beginning of their lives is old cradles, prams, toys and even old pyjamas. Second kids live with a whole lot of second hand goods.

When it comes to important discussions in the family, the second child has no voice. And no one cares to hear him/her out, even if the poor kid makes a lot of sense. And no responsibility is given to the second kid. Parents don’t bother until the elder kid takes care of everything. Sudden responsibility is thrust on the younger kids when their elder brothers/ sisters get married. Suddenly the second child, who was deliberately not relied upon, is expected to be responsible. Any mistake anywhere and you are branded for life that you can never match up to the benchmark set up by your elder sibling in terms of responsibility.

A friend of mine who is a second child herself, told me that she would have two kids. " I will adopt one and give birth to one. So that each of them is one of a kind." "You don't have to do that", I told her. " Just treat each of them as one of a kind."

To all the parents out there, on behalf of every second child I would like to tell you that "Life is not too easy playing the Doosra, and it is utter foolishness to expect every Doosra to be a great delivery."

600020- Long live my Adyar

2010-08-27T18:15:00.007+05:30

600020, the number that has been an integral part of my life for little over two decades now. Every letter, every greeting card, every post card, the ration card, my passport, my license, and even my bank account details bear this number. The pin code has not changed for the past two decades but Adyar has, from being just another locality in the outskirts of Chennai to the most sought after posh residency. Adyar has been my home for over two decades now.

Adyar composed of its various nagar's (Besant Nagar, Kasturibai Nagar, Baktavatsalam Nagar, Indira Nagar, Gandhi Nagar, Shastri Nagar and few others) was the cozy hub that connected you well to the Elliot’s beach on one side, to the shopping hub of T.Nagar in 15 minutes, to central railway station in a decent 25 minutes (provided there is no traffic) and to the airport in a fairly decent amount of time is located on the southern banks of the Adyar River. It is bounded by the Buckingham Canal to the west, Thiruvanmiyur to the south, and the Bay of Bengal to the east. Back in the late 70's and 80's Adyar was the only affordable and developing locality that a middle class could invest in. The coziness of the locality provided by its trees, the beach and theosophical society on one side and the yet to develop Thiruvanmiyur with Kalakshetra on the other was a good bet for many. It was the only place where one could comfortably afford 2-3 grounds of plot and built a decent enough independent house. T. Nagar and Poes Garden were still considered to be the poshest localities in the city owing to the celebrities and rich politicians who stayed there.

As I grew up, Adyar grew with me. I grew up in an Adyar where the only prominent landmarks on Sardar Patel road were Madhya Kailas, the cancer institute, IIT madras, Ambika Appalam Depot, Adyar Bakery and two famous hotels - Hotel Coronet and Hotel Runs. There was no Sangeetha, no Shree Krishna sweets, no Style one, or Odyssey- the book store. I vaguely remember Odyssey coming into existence when I was in class 3 or 4. Adyar was still a calm and cozy locality yet to be invaded by Branded showrooms. I felt it reflected the simple taste and needs of its residents. While I was in class 4 a chocolate doughnut in Adyar bakery cost Rs.4.50. Then the price rose to Rs 7 and today its Rs 12 or 15. It’s the bakery that sells the undoubtedly best doughnuts in entire Chennai. And the right time to eat a doughnut is just after its freshly baked and placed in the stands for sale. The fresh doughnuts are placed on the stands for sale when schools usually close, at about 3-30 or 4. Over the years, Adyar Bakery has changed a lot. There are new shops that sell chat and ice creams inside its premises now. The prices of the doughnuts have changed but the taste still remains the same.

I guess the first fully air conditioned departmental store that came to Adyar was Pushpa Shopee. It was located in the same place where the ICICI Bank (near the Aavin roundtana) today stands. This departmental store was the only luxury shop that Adyar had back then. Since the store attracted a few elite customers from the neighboring areas of Koturpuram and R.A Puram, there were fancy attractions like a homemade chocolates shop, a flower shop and a small outlet of the Hot breads bakery in the space near its entrance. The departmental store didn't do very well and hardly lasted for about 3-4 years. In the mid 90's the concept of shopping in trolleys and in an air conditioned shop still seemed too much of a luxury to the residents of Adyar. They preferred buying the household goods with the reliable shopkeeper at the corner of their street. It is a symbiotic relationship that every resident shares with the shopkeeper at the street corner. He cannot sustain business without them and they cannot do away without him at least during emergencies. And back then, residents were identified by the house names or the colour of their houses and not by names of apartments. That was the Adyar I lived in.

Adyar did not have a vegetable market. There were few small shops not more than about 150 sq in size, that sold only vegetables and the residents got their quota of veggies from these shops or a hawker who sold it to them on a daily basis. The nearest market was the Tani-Torai market in Mylapore. Even today Adyar does not have a separate vegetable market, which is why its been invaded by the Pazhamudhir Cholai's ( A store resembling a departmental store but sells only vegetables and fruits).They claim to sell the vegetables at the market price and pose a stiff competition to the hawkers and the other small timers. Adyar being the gateway to the IT highway has given room for many such shops. The IT professionals, mostly youngsters who are new to the city, living in rented homes or as paying guests, prefer buying their random dose of vegetables in these shops, than haggle with the hawkers or the small timers. They could walk right into the store and pick up what they want without even having to know the name of the vegetables or fruits in the local language. They don't mind paying extra since it saves them a lot of hassle.

Adyar has changed and its quite difficult to keep in pace with it. A new eatery, a new coffee shop, a clothes showroom, a hospital just springs up out of the blue. Every home or apartment has a new landmark each day. Today almost every street in Adyar has a unisex saloon or a spa. You'd go mad with the choices: Naturals, Green Trends, Kaya skin clinic, VLCC, Kanya, Anushka Saloon and the list goes on and on. As a kid, I remember there was a saloon named Topaz near Guhan studios on Sardar Patel road. It was the one and only famous saloon. “Haircut Rs30/- only” the board outside used to read. It was a small 250 sq ft shop with about four or five chairs. Being the only saloon in Adyar, the owner earned a huge fortune every Sunday. In order to keep pace with the spas and the unisex saloons the saloon has spruced up a little. It is now air conditioned and offers massages, facials and even spa treatments. Topaz today, has a faithful following of customers from old Adyar.

Adyar does not have Eros theatre anymore. There is a lancer showroom in its place. Hotel traffic Jam in Gandhi Nagar disappeared a few days back. Gandhi Nagar ladies club, where I learnt my first forehand in tennis ceases to exist. There are no more See- saws or Swings on the Elliot’s beach. The entire place is so congested with eating stalls that there is hardly any place where kids can run and play games like Kho Kho or Lock and Key. Gone are the days, where the only landmark in Besant Nagar was Maharaja Departmental stores and the Velankanni church. Thankfully Besant Nagar still retains its status of being the snug residential area unlike Gandhi Nagar, where half of the independent houses have been butchered into matchbox like apartments. Besant Nagar retains the calmness of interior Crescent Avenue in interior Gandhi Nagar. Crescent Avenue leads you to the banks of the Adyar river and St Patrick’s school. An early morning walk here would make you feel as if you are in Ooty or Kodai. The RBI quarters in Besant Nagar is a city by itself inside. The only place that keeps the colony spirit, which otherwise is alien to most apartments alive. The only places that have not changed in Gandhi Nagar, are famous Grand Sweets and Snacks and 100 year old school St Michaels. Grand Sweets is a shop that every NRI is familiar with. The only shop that sells the best savories and pickles in the whole of Chennai (Don’t convince me on any other shop. This is the best).

Today you don’t have to go to T. Nagar to buy yourself a Pattu Saree. You don’t have to go to Mount road or Richie Street to buy an electronic gadget. Adyar has it all, what you need and what you will need.

I wonder if Adyar would be called Adyar in a few years from now. But something that every name board, every shop and every Adyarite would carry is 600020. Its identity reduced to just a six digit number.

Finding....

2010-08-16T12:29:00.000+05:30

Come what may,
One day I will find my way,
This time my mind won’t sway,
Like they say, Life’s not an easy way.

Fear, resentment and frustration are at bay,
Just to tell me that there’s no way.
I don’t care about what others say,
Or about the wicked games that they play,

It could be an endless journey,
And confusing in many ways,
Come what may,
One day I will find my way.

Adventures of Miss AB in Trans-fat land

2010-07-25T03:44:00.002+05:30

I am Miss AB, now don't mistake me to be Amitabh, Abhishek or Aishwarya Rai Bachan. AB- Stands for Aloo Bonda. Previously, I used to hate the name, but now I guess I am used to being called that way. I am too depressed these days that I have begun, expanding horizontally, resulting in profound rotundity all through my anatomy.

I find profundity in rotundity. You don't get what I mean right? The best things in this universe are rotund. The sun, the moon, the earth itself, apples, cherries, grapes, Gulab Jamuns, Rasagullas, Pan Cakes, Cookies, Chocolate truffle (I mean the whole cake), Pizzas, Thattai, Murukku, Onion uthappams, Gol gappas,Peanuts, Baskin Robin's ice- cream scoops, Parle Pop-ins, Pure magic biscuits and the list of irresistable round things is endless. The best round object in this world is the potato. And how can I forget, Aloo Bondas and Aloo parathas. If I had to choose between food and sex, I would choose the former, because its easily available at anytime you want, you don't have to depend on someone for it and 'FOOD'gets you out of depression.

I am a diet dropout. The last time I ever ate diet food, was when I ate Marie Biscuits. I tried a diet called the GM diet. This was when I stocked a life time of nutrients and vitamins into my body. The results of the diet seemed outstanding when I went up to measure the merits of my performance on the weighing machine. The pointer showed a four degree shift to left and I was terribly excited. But my joy was short lived, and I happened to meet an old friend who ended up not only destroying my temporary happiness but also got me into deep depression. " Oh my god!! You've put on so much weight. What happened?" she said. I wanted to tell her that I had actually lost weight, but remained silent. That was the last time I had met her. I hate it when relatives and friends remind me of my rotundity in weddings, and other happy gatherings. It makes me awfully depressed that I end up taking two servings of the dessert.

And then dawned hope. I read Kareena Kapoor's success weight loss story. Yes even I could become my dream me. I just had to streamline my depression eating. My deep depression had caused me to blog relentlessly, usually late at nights when my apetite soars high."Its okay if I ate Milk Bikies or Parle- G at night, but I must avoid pampering my taste buds by smearing Jam in between the biscuits", I thought. My oil intake was quite under control. Ever since the microwave was introduced, every south indian house hold used it mainly to make oil free papads and fryums. What actually needed attention was my Bornville, and Bonda intake.

I hate my boy friend for three things. One, for naming me Aloo Bonda, two for gifting me Bornvilles everytime we meet, and the third one for fixing up our meeting point at Bamblimas Bonda stall. Otherwise, he's a nice chap. He accepts my rotundity and does not rub it in. Unlike most men, who find the collar bone jutting out as the most appealing factor, my guy finds profundity in rotundity. I have a gym mate who is just as plump as I am and her boy friend presented her a weighing machine on her birthday. She felt so miserable that she broke down half way on the treadmill one day. If I was her, I would have dumped the third rated bastard. My boy friend is the only soul who tells me that I have lost weight after each session at the gym. I often envy the skinny women who come to gym. I am curious about how they are so skinny despite eating the same amount as I eat. Despite just eating two Chapatis for both lunch and dinner and running six miles for 2 months continuously, the pointer on the weighing machine showed just a two degree shift to the left. I had expected to lose at least 5 kilos. Just as I was about to suffer a slight nervous break down, I saw a really huge woman enter the gym. In my estimate she would easily weigh at least 200 pounds.

She saw me sit in the couch, waiting to get my new diet plan. She asked me if I was waiting for the dietician. " Did the diet help?", she asked. " Not really. I just lost two kilos after two months" I said. " Be happy you at least lost two. I lost none. Be happy girl. Fat people like me find profundity in rotundity. God made most strategic parts of the human body rotund, just to make human beings more appealing. And I have many other parts rotund, and that makes me even more appealing." she said laughingly. "Let me know after you're done with your appointment." she said, and walked towards the juice counter. Just as she turned, I saw what was written on her pink t-shirt. " Your weight is not down your waist, but up your head. All that matters is how you carry it."

Fiction's rendezvous with reality

2010-07-15T12:06:00.007+05:30

Accusations. All of us are accused of something or the other everyday. We are accused of being lame, lazy, stupid, slow (in all aspects),for the way we walk, talk, sit, stand, eat, sleep, dress up, for using a deo, for not using a deo, and so on and so forth.

I was accused of being a shame to the entire lineage of Tam Brahms owing to my perenial display of slowness with numbers. I remember before each math exam right from class 6,I would suffer from severe attacks of Arithmophobia. A condition where your mind goes blank when you're asked to add three 4-digits mentally. Yes I was mathematically challenged, but my parents thought I suffered from ADS (Attention deficit Syndrome) and needed several doses of the drug Ritalin. My father's usual remarks after seeing the 61 or 62 or 63 on my paper would be "You don't apply yourself enough."

My mother was too concerend about my mathematical instablity that she got me enrolled for a course to relax my mind and twist my body. They called it the 'Art of Living'. She did have a scientific theory behind it. She said, my brain didn't need Ritalin but just sufficient oxygen. But no amount of oxygen brought life to the dying neurons that stored the multiplication tables. They had lost the hope of living and decided to be comatose forever.

Now coming to the point, most of what I write on this blog is inspired from incidents that happen in real life and if my stories resemble what happens in your life, then I must say its purely coincidental. Many parts of my stories have happened in real life, and the rest I've made it up just to make the story readable. But what if something that is made up becomes reality?

Nikhil Subramanian, was a random name that I gave for the ex-man of my dreams. The other day, while I was whiling away my time on Face Book, I saw friend suggestions "Nikhil Subramanian". We had 21 mutual friends and the guy was absolutely HOTT. Shucks, did destiny play evil tricks? In " Those were the days" I had mentioned that my parents had read my blog on pleasing and were shocked. Actually, they happened to read the post "Those were the days" and here is the conversation that unfolded. Most of the time the conversation was onesided with only my dad speaking and my mind speaking words which he could never hear.

Appa: Now I saw what stupid things you have written on that blog of yours.

Me: What are you talking about?

Appa: How can you write something so stupid and use all unparlimentary language and give a verbal description for it? We have not brought you up this way at all.

Me: (As usual I wanted to excape the situation) I didn't write anything. I was just reading it.

Appa: What do you mean. I know for sure you wrote it. How can you use the forbidden four letter word? How can you? Do you even realise the implications of what you have done? When I saw it I was shocked. I couldn't believe what I was reading. ANd now you are lying to me about it.

Me: (Face looking down at my feet): Silent.
Mind:Ok now what's the big deal. Everyone uses it.

Appa: I wonder what you do on the computer all night. I never did such things when I was your age.

Me: Silence.

Appa: Are you writing some kind of Pornographic Novel?

Me: Shucks no way!! Are you crazy?

Appa: Don't use that word in front of me. You are getting out of your limits I tell you.

Me: I didn't use the f-word I said shucks.

Appa: Don't you dare say that.

Mind: What an accusation. No kid on the face of this planet would have been accused of such a thing ever. Appa Pronography can be either totally disgusting or atleast titilating. My blog is neither disgusting nor titilating. And using the swear word is not a big deal. And by the way you were the first person to implant wild thoughts in my innocent brain, when you took the entire family for the movie TITANIC. I was in class 5 then. You said it was a must watch and dragged the entire family- amma, paati and her bandwagon of sisters. And when they saw Kate Winslet undress you were cool enough to say " Stop complaining and Look at the bigger picture."

Appa: Just because you've been given a lot of freedom don't misuse it.

Me: Silence again.
Mind: Freedom? I must be home before 9 P.M sharp. You eavesdrop on the conversations I have with male colleagues and enquire about their last names just to make sure it ends with 'an'. Chandrashekar'an', Ramakrishn'an', Nataraj'an', Narasimh'an', Jagannath'an',Muralidhar'an'......... and the only exceptions being parthasarathy and a few other surnames. Even the otherday when Jaswinder called me, you were so inquisitive about what I was speaking with her until I told you she was female.

Appa: Read Leo Tolstoy, Read Charles Dickens. Look at the sensitivity with which they write. I spent my time reading such books when I was like you. I wonder what you read and it is reflecting in your writing. This is the last time I wanna discuss this with you. Do you even understand the implications it would have if someone from our family reads it? Delete it right away. I dont want to see you writing such stupid things again.

Me: Silence.
Mind: First go become anonymous on the blog. This is getting tough to handle. And heck no, I am no way deleting my blog. It means so much to me.

I shall write about how much my blog means to me in another post. Just as I remove my name and other details about myself from the blog, I see a comment pop up. I always get excited to see the first comment of every post. The person who commented was Venki and he said brilliant. Venki is my father's nick name. Does he have a deep dark side, I wonder.

I dont get it!!!

2010-07-11T20:01:00.000+05:30

Keeeeeeeeeeeeeek Keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek,
Ke Ke Ke Ke Ke KEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee,
You're an ass.. a complete ass,
Otha, Vadai thaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Kikkiikkkkkkii Kkiiiikkiiiii,

Kooooooooooooooo Koooooooooooo
Ku ku ku ku ku ku ku ku ku,
Omg She looks hot, Wink,
koooooooooooooooo koooooooo,

Drrrrr.. Drrrrrrr .. Drrrr,
Dud dud dud dud dud dud...
keeekk Dud Dud Dud..
Aiye Aiye Aiye,

Kek Kek Kek Kek Kek,
Drrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr,
Krrrrr thu, Krrr thu,
Wow my spit shines on the road,
Ok Let me stop admiring it.

Dud dud dud .. ROARRRR,
Roar Raorrrrrrrrrrrrrr..
Wow my fancy horn sounds like a tiger.
Roar Raaaaaaorrrrrrrr,
(Simba written on the number plate)

You dont get it right? Neither do I get the language of men on the road.

Those were the days

2010-07-08T01:02:00.010+05:30

Note: This post is dedicated to all those who were born between 1980's and 1990's.

'Alice, who the fuck is Alice?', she shouted. It was Anu, my 8 year old cousin. ' Priya Akka, isn't fuck a bad word? What does it mean anyway?' I saw my Mama, giving me a cold stare. Embarrassed, I immediately snatched the MP3 player from her hand and said, ' Why do you take these things without asking me?'. I tried hard to shift the focus from the F-word to the kid's behaviour, which I did think required some attention.

But wait, what do I tell the kid? Do I tell her Fuck stands for 'Fornication under the Consent of the King', or tell her to Google the meaning or check out the meaning of it in the oxford English dictionary, just like I did when I was in class 7?

Webster’s didn’t have that word in their dictionary back then. Back in class 7, I remember there was this boy, who had watched too much of wrestling and learnt that the f- word had a very bad meaning and showing the middle finger meant the same. It was in class 7 that I learnt to use the dictionary really very well. We searched page by page of the Oxford English Dictionary, for 'Fuck'. Finally I learnt that it meant 'have sexual intercourse with someone.' or used as an abusive word. But what the hell did sexual intercourse mean? I discovered that only in class 9 biology class.

Back then, the movies made me think wildly about the way babies were born. I often thought couples prayed to god for a baby and god made the woman pregnant at his own will. Therefore, one had to be careful and pray to god for the right thing at the right time. My Patti told me,'Kunti Devi in the Mahabharata had a child too early because she prayed for the wrong thing at the wrong time'. Watching more movies expanded my thinking and gave me a bit more clarity on the subject. I learnt that some amount of physical contact was required, and if the couple hugged each other too tightly the woman would eventually become pregnant. It was difficult to think beyond this and I didn't care to think beyond this. This thought was ingrained so deeply that even today it makes me feel uncomfortable to publicly display affection towards my friends who are guys.

I'm no more a teenager and looking back at the way I grew up, I feel not just glad but blessed. I say this because of many reasons. One being I belonged to the generation that saw the rise and fall of a new millennium. Back then in the 1990's, in the newly liberalized India, Internet and mobile communication was nothing but a dream, and Wi-Fi a myth. Owning a cordless phone that time, was a huge deal and was equivalent to having an I-pod 4G today.

It was when I was a kid, that the first mobile phones were introduced in the country. They were in the size of a cordless phone and weighed a Ton. Every call cost 18 Rupees a minute initially and even incoming phone calls were being charged. Pager phones were still in use. It was when I was in class 8 that my parents bought their first mobile phones. I didn’t know to use the T9 dictionary until class 11.

National TV and DD-2 were the only channels that were available until I was 6 years old. Then came the invasion of cable television. We didn't have cable TV connection in our house until my brother completed his class 12. My parents often thought of it as a distraction and a unnecessary luxury. Doordarshan or DD didn’t have many programs, but the few that were being telecast were watched by my family regularly. Malgudi days, Ramayana, Mahabharata, Jai Hanuman, the world this week by Pranoy Roy, the only dose of film songs- Chitrahaar, and Surabhi. The only serial that was famous back then was JUNOON. All that I remember was that the serial was based on an affair between a woman named Mini Kaur, who had left her husband and ran after another man named Keshav Kalsi, the role played by Tom Alter. I remember one of my neighbours complaining to my mom that such serials should be banned as it showcased things that were not in Indian Culture and young girls were getting influenced by what they showed.

I was born in times when there were no multiplexes and we often rented a video tape to watch movies. Whenever the video tapes got stuck, I had fun rolling the tapes back into the plastic case. I still have the video and audio tapes. It was only in class 6 that we bought a VCD player and a few CD's. I remember storing the CD's so carefully and cleaning the Kenwood VCD player every time I used it. The Kenwood VCD player cost Rs. 40,000 back then.

E-mail was considered high technology and Mr.Sabeer Bhatia was the most eligible bachelor at that point. My father had created an E-mail ID and said that one had to be very careful with it. He often boasted about how it enhanced communication with his friends in the US and it must have been an IIT guy who must have invented the concept. These IIT grads .. Phew!! And then arrived chatting. Parents were all the time on the guard, and telling us about dangerous Instant messaging chat stories on the internet, by which many young girls had been fooled.

As a Kid, I belonged to a generation which saw the telephone, change to the cordless phone and Video tapes change to DVD's. I belonged to a generation which saw Social networking change from Picnics to Hi-fi, Orkut and now Facebook. I belonged to a generation where kids were familiar only with two brands, Hot Wheels and Barbie. I belonged to a generation where games meant Ice- spice, Lock and key, or Judo and not Mafia Wars or Mortal Combat. I belonged to a generation that watched Tom and Jerry and Captain Planet and not Animax or Pogo.As a kid, I saw Madras change to Chennai, Bombay to Mumbai, Calcutta to Kolkatta and Bangalore to Bengalooru.

Just the other day, I had left my laptop with my blog page open and had gone out. My parents happened to read my blog on pleasing. As I came back home, there was an unusual lull of the graveyard and I knew something was wrong. After about half an hour my father broke the ice.’ Why do you write things like this?' he said. ‘ Write what pa? What are you talking about?’ I asked . He pointed to the laptop on my table. It had the post open. My mother had a look on her face that I had never seen in many years. She had the same look when we saw a couple at Delhi's Lodhi Park,in a promiscuous pose and I asked her whether they were playing.

'Priya this is blasphemy. We never even knew such things when we were your age. What are you trying to prove by writing such scandalous posts? Become the next Shobha de? This is technology is just ruining these people. Please remove that before anyone else from the family can read it and embarrass us. And this is the last time you are writing such stupid things. I feel so ashamed to talk these things.' my mom added.

Arggghhhh!!! Why do such things keep happening to me. I wish I could bury myself underground. I quietly walked down to laptop and began to delete the recently browsed history. I knew there was absolutely no point in trying to convince my parents about how I had learnt to view things in a different manner, which was the basic ingredient to becoming a writer. They would never get the point. My parents were thinking that I was in the process of writing a new Mills and Boon novel. First thing,I need to search for a pen name, I thought. Just then, I got a pop-up saying Anu has updated her status on Facebook. She was in class 4, yes she was on Facebook. The status read 'Hey guyz please make it to my B'day party at Pizza Corner, Nungambakkam.' I scrolled down and clicked show older posts. I couldn't believe what I saw. It said Anu has joined the group Fornication under the consent of the King. 18 people like this.

My mother began cribbing about my generation only when she was 42. I am just 22 and I've already begun my cribbing about the future kids.

Marriage Musings

2010-06-09T00:59:00.008+05:30

"Priya can you please get me your birth certificate", she shouted. It was my mom. "Why do you need that now?" I asked. The birth certificate is the one piece of paper I hate the most. It has my name spelt as "Priyavarshini" and this is circled and the correct name is written above it. My name has been a mess ever since I was born. This is one among the million reasons as to why I hate my name. “Bring your birth certificate fast. I need your exact birth details" She said. "You don't remember the time I was born??" Was I adopted by any chance? I always get this strange feeling about myself. I was under the impression that my mother had to succumb a great ordeal during labour just before I was born. Her BP shot up or something like that. I think she got too worked up about the fact that I was born on the same day as the first prime minister of the nation and just 12 days after the birthday of Shahrukh Khan. For the first 37 seconds to be exact I was like that Kid in 3 idiots. I did not scream. Before my mother's BP could rise even further, I screamed to bring the much awaited relief. I was a slow child since birth.

"3:30 PM, Saturday" I told her. “Oh what an afternoon it was. I still can never forget it. Okay Patti and I are going to the Josiyar (astrologer) to get your Jathakam (Horoscope) done. "

" Ammaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!! You have to be kidding." "Priya, I came to this house when I was your age. It’s been 30 years now." Okay I had heard enough of this and couldn't take it anymore. Moms are just unfair when it comes to daughters. When my mom's mom was her age she already had 3 kids and was carrying the fourth one. Her mother had 9 kids in all and my mother had only two. She compares herself with me but I never get to compare her with her mother. Why should I care if she got married when she was my age. Her mother had nine kids. How fair would it be for me to ask for seven more siblings? I was too irritated and depressed at the same time.

I opened the refrigerator and got a can of Kwality Walls' black forest ice cream with raspberry sauce. "I'm gonna empty this." I said to myself. So what if I become fat? It would be an added advantage and they wont get me married until I thin down. I am great at developing strategies. I was in a mood to bitch and immediately called my friend Apoorva. Okay now Apoorva is a girl's name. Her name is neutral gender or whatever. It's just as complicated as mine and that's what I like. But she never cribs about it like me. I told her about how unfair my mother was and told her about the brilliant strategy I had devised to evade my mom's evil plans to pack me off." Are you nuts? What if your mother suddenly begins to think in a fair manner and packs you off to a fat guy? And more over there are some weird men who love fat women. They are the men who prefer women in the likes of Shakeela( I am referring to an Indian expert porn actress), Namita etc. So stop devising such foolish strategies will you?", she said. Apoorva is always one woman with some sense. Her sense builds up as and when you approach her with problems. Otherwise she is pretty much the slow kind of kid that I am.

"Apoorva I am too paranoid de. I don’t think I can ever find a Tambrahm who is like Shahrukh and Shahid fused into one. I am totally smitten by this Project manager of mine. He is Tambrahm too and super smart. But he dates Neha that bitch. I wonder what she has, apart from her fair skin tone that swept him off his feet." I have a prejudice against girls with the name 'Neha'. I simply hate them and 99 percent of them turn out to be bums. Nikhil Subramanian was my longest crush in school since class 2. Neha Koccha joined school in class 11, and she started going out with Nikhil just one month after she joined. I wonder how these girls manage to do what I couldn't do in 10 years in just one month. I hated her so much. I hate her even now. Apparently, Nikhil and Neha are still going out. There was this other Neha at college. She dated four different guys during four years of college, and passed out with 88 percent aggregate and a distinction. How did she manage to do that.

Coming to the point, Apoorva gave me some gyaan about marriages. "Marriages”, she went on. “are not as bad as you imagine them to be. In India it’s not enough if the guy alone likes you. It is important for you to build a rapport with his family too. More importantly his mother. After all, we cannot live without our families."
I was beginning to feel a bit nauseating with all the black forest and raspberry sauce. Apoorva was getting a bit boring with her gyaan.

"You know ...” she went on. “See it’s like this. You often find that adopted kids are more pampered and cared for by their parents. Why is that? It is only because the parents get to choose their kids, and by default women hate to accept the fact that their selection is awful. That's why you never find mothers of adopted kids cribbing about them. But our parents often blame fate to bring slow kids like us to be born for them. They didn’t get to choose us. Similarly if you are the the 'chosen one' of your mother-in-law, there is very less chance that she would crib about you. Women hate to accept that their selection is bad. All that she can possibly do is brand you under the name of ' Modern Bahu' thats it. That is something we all would carry in the due course of time."

This did make some sense in a weird sorta way. “I have three options", I told her. "One is that I can go in with the choice of my parents and become the chosen one of the mother-in-law too, or second I could wait and find the man of my dreams. I've always had a fancy to marry an army man. This is another of my brilliant strategies for life. Just imagine, you would hang around with the elite of elite people in the society. And the best part is you are married yet single. You can send each other the cute sms'es like 'I miss you.. Want to kiss you' types and never get bored of it. You can have a perennial honeymoon and intimacy intact. The guy would visit you probably only once in 3-4 months and you get to exchange love letters even after the wedding just like in the movies. The guy would be deprived of the sight of a woman for at least a 100 mile radius and would be dying to see you. And every time he comes down, you could have a wild wild time and never get bored of it. Adding to this, imagine the perks. Free medical checkups, sprawling army quarters to live in, free transportation by trains, and in some cases you get a cook and a driver too,and huge pension ( thanks to the 6th pay comission and salary revising strategies of the Indian Government). Just in case the guy pops off, you get a huge compensation and get hailed as the wife of an honourable man. This is so much fun when compared to the boring corporate guys. I wish I can be a privileged one. My last option is to remain single. But this is a tough task, considering the fact that I have absolutely no control of my hormonal upsurges and if I choose to be single I need to maintain the reputation that Lata Mangeshkar possesses and want to be known for my chastity."

Just as I finished speaking to Apoorva, the door bell rang. My mother and Patti were back. I was curious to see what the horoscope looked like. I went and opened an A4 sheet of paper from my mother's purse. The sheet had my name written on the top left hand corner and my date of birth on the right. There were many squares and it looked like some magic square. In-between those lines somewhere, there was what what destiny had in store for me. Was I to become the ' Chosen one', the ' Privileged one' or the ' Chaste one'?

I wonder why - Sunaina

2010-05-09T23:37:00.001+05:30

I am an 18 year old woman. I don't know if should call myself a woman or a girl. Both seem appropriate and yet inappropriate. My name is Sunaina. It means one with beautiful eyes. My grandmother named me Sunaina, since I had large eyes when I was born. They are still large and the most prominent feature on my face. I live in Calicut with my family. My family is a huge one. My father's family, my Patti, and my father's two brothers with their families stay with us. They call it a joint family, but I don’t think we are joint in anyway.

I have a very peculiar problem. I don't know if I must call it a problem or a worry. A problem or a worry means the same thing. The thing is that I don’t want to worry about this problem I have, since I don’t think its a problem at all. The people around me make me realise that I have this problem. I am a woman with a small build. I don’t have huge breasts. I have been ridiculed and made to feel small because of this. My Patti tells me that I can never satisfy a man and I am a shame to the family. She even asked my mother take me to a doctor to solve this problem of mine. The doctor shouted at my mother for putting me in such an embarrassing situation. She told me not to worry about it and said that it was perfectly alright to have small breasts.

Every day I travel by bus to college. The bus often is crowded. The bus is so crowded that people fall on one another. Sometimes the pushing gets very bad. Many a time a few men take advantage of this situation. On the pretext of moving, they rub their genitals on my back in the process. The feeling is miserable. Many a times they have pinched and fondled my breasts. It hurts a lot both physically and mentally. I try resisting but sometimes I cannot prevent myself being touched. I once told my boyfriend about these incidents in the bus and he ridiculed at me by saying “You have such small ones why would anyone do that?" I felt miserable about myself for an entire week after that.

I wonder why these men do this to me. What is their intention? Do they do it because it gives them pleasure, or they think it gives me pleasure? According to my grandmother, I could never satisfy a man. Then why do I get fondled each day?
If a man has small genitals, no one would even know except his wife. He wouldn't suffer a complex about it. When I get touched and fondled, I wish I can pull down the guy’s zippers and do to him the same things that are done to me. I wish I can pass on the misery I face each day. I wish I can comment on the size of his prized masculine possession and other things. But I know I would never be able to do it.

Women's liberation to me is not about banishing female infanticide or the women’s reservation bill. Liberation to me means looking at a woman beyond just her breasts.

Of Mobiles and Automobiles

2010-04-11T16:15:00.004+05:30

There are two things that have never fascinated me. One is mobile phones and the other is automobiles. I've never even bothered to find out my own mobile model number and each time I am asked, I take out the back cover of my mobile to read it out. And each time I invariably forget it within the next five minutes of reading it. I have never felt that remembering my mobile model number is mandatory. I've often been ridiculed by shopkeepers, friends and relatives for this. Now days, remembering your mobile model number is as important as remembering your car registration number.

The other day, as I was speaking to someone from the restroom of my office, a friend of mine noticed that the cleaner there had a better and more updated version of Nokia when compared to mine. She found this extremely funny. I still don't understand the joke about the rest room cleaner having a better mobile than mine.
The only feature I need in a mobile phone apart from the basic necessity of making calls is that of sending messages and receiving them. And yes I don’t need a phone that hangs if I pressed the buttons too hard. I find it immaterial to have a phone worth forty thousand rupees, with a 7 pixel camera, hazar other features, and have balance of Rs.0.04. A phone should serve the purpose its meant for. I don’t quite understand the logic behind having a phone worth 40 or 50 grand and not being able to make an emergency call because you have a balance of 0.04 rupees. So technically, during an emergency if I cannot make a call from a phone worth 40 grand it is of zero value.

Another thing that never amuses me is cars. Ever since I was a child, I've never dreamt of owning the best cars. I don’t know the difference between a z-series and x- series Mercedes. My father often told me “It doesn’t matter how you travel from point A to point B, be it by a Porche, a Lamborgini, a Maruthi 800, or the MTC buses. There is no shame in travelling by something that takes you to your destination”. A few days back, when the prime minister visited Chennai for the opening of the secretariat,many roads were blocked and there was terrible traffic jam throughout the city. While numerous 'Honda Cities', quite a few Skoda's were stand still, I walked past them and reached home way ahead of all the cars present there.

As I walked, I wondered of what value was a Rs 25 lakh car, which earned the respect of the onlookers on the road, if it took you to your kid's birthday function four hours late.

Some nasty reminiscences

2010-04-05T02:47:00.007+05:30

I always wished life was like a tape recorder. I wish I could just press the pause, rewind and fast forward buttons as and when I liked. I could undo my mistakes, never repent for being unjust, unfair or biased. Then I could live a life without a single regret and sleep peacefully on my grave. When I look back, I regret two things I did in my life.

The first one was when I was in class two. It was on my birthday. There was a get together at home and many close friends, relatives, cousins, and neighbours were invited. I quite don't remember who all were present back then. I was very excited and happy to get all the attention and presents. My mother had ordered a huge cake from Adyar Bakery and had made a variety of snacks. Among the various guests who were present, there was also Ramanujam. Ramanujam was the son of my neighbour's servant. He was a year younger than me. My father had invited him over as there were quite a number of children and he too could play with us. I didn't want Ramanujam to be there. I didn't feel comfortable. Ramanujam was a short, skinny boy who wore half overalls, which was his corporation school uniform. He was wearing that during my birthday party too. He didn't wear shoes and his legs were dusty with sand. Ramanujam often watched my friend Aparna and I play at her house. Aparna's father was a strict man and he never allowed Ramanujam to play with us. He didn't want us to mingle with the servants. As my father called me and asked me to include Ramanujam to the games we were playing, I began to cry. I didn't want to be associated with a servant's son. My father was furious and called me aside and tried to make me understand that my behaviour was unacceptable. I didn't care about what he told me. I didn't want to play with Ramanujam and I didn't want him to be at my birthday party. I told my Father "Appa he is not even my friend." Ramanujam silently watched what happened. He wondered why I was crying. He just stood there in his half overalls and kept staring at my father. He simply stood there, I wished he had some ego and just walked out, but he stood there watching and wondering why I was crying. He knew I cried because of his presence. The emptiness in his eyes and his silence is something that I can never forget to this very day.

My father realised it was futile trying to convince me and told my brother to play with Ramanujam. He played cricket with my brother and kept staring at my tears. While the snacks were being served my mother made sure Ramanujam felt comfortable. I knew he was not one bit comfortable. He sat at one corner of the sofa in the hall and kept eating his food as fast as possible. He didn’t look up even once. May be he didn't want to see me crying. Before he left, Ramanujam extended his hand to shake them with mine and smiled gleefully. He told me "Aaapy birthday Akkaaaa". I didn't want to respond. I didn't bother to shake hands with him. He hadn't even wiped his hands after eating the cake. They were all sticky and his nails were dirty.

Ramanujam's father got a better job and soon his family moved out of the neighborhood . All that I remember of him were those half overalls and the emptiness in his eyes. I had behaved in the worst possible fashion. I was mean, nasty, arrogant and what not. I just wish I could press the rewind button and undo what I did to Ramanujam on 14th of November 1994.

The second incident happened rather recently. In class 11, there were many new students who joined my school. One among them was KP. KP was a short, stout girl who wore specs. Her hair was a distinct feature, since it was light brown, incredibly straight, rough and dry. This called for a lot of ridicule I named her bottle brush. Where ever she went, everyone screamed bottle brush or Scortch Brite. She quite didn’t realise I had given her the name and used to crib to me about her hair. I used to tell her not to worry about external appearances and that her hair was unique. I shamelessly hid behind a veil of guilt and cowardliness. Soon the teasing got overboard and KP couldn't handle it. She left the school forever. My class teacher gave the class a big lecture about treating fellow students and how we must not make fun of one's physical appearances. The guilt inside me was killing. I prayed and hoped she didn’t hurt herself physically. I tried contacting KP after she left school but all in vain. She had changed her contact number and didn't want to get in touch with anyone from my class.

The other day, as I was crossing the road near Alsa Mall, I saw KP. Before I could cross over to the other side she was gone. I tried tracking her down on social networking sites, so that I could get rid of the guilt I was living with. Sadly KP isn't listed on any social networking site.

Sorry would not be the right thing to tell KP or Ramanujam. I just wish I could press the rewind button, then the erase button and fast forward my life to the present.

I don't want to be accountable

2010-03-28T00:43:00.004+05:30

I don't want to be accountable
For the air I breathe,
Or for the food I eat.

I don't want to be accountable
For a smile or a tear,
I don't want to kiss and then fear.

I don't want to be accountable
for being happy or sad,
or shouting for when I am mad.

I don't want to be accountable
To friends, to family
Or even to the God I never see.

I just want to be accountable
to my conscience, something I never feel.

Dear Mr Director

2010-03-13T23:30:00.010+05:30

To

The Director,

IIM A,B,C,~~D,E,F,G~~ I,K,L,S

INDIA.

From:

Gangadhar Vidyadhar Mayadhar Omkarnath Shastri

Rural ( You don't care about villages do u?)

INDIA.

Dear Sir,

Sub: Selection criteria in IIM's.

I am a post master in Charuki Gaon near Maya Pradesh. I chose this profession as it gives me great happiness and satisfaction. I deliver good news and important news to people. I am a good will messenger in my own way. My aim is to develop a huge platform that will help me deliver good messages to all my co villagers and help them communicate with the world. I want to teach them about e-mail, facebook and other modes of communication about which, I have read a lot in the news papers. In this way they can communicate to their kith and kin easily and this would make them happy. I am an MBA aspirant and I aspire to get into the most reputed MBA college in the country which is IIM-Ahmedabad (IIM-A). I prepared for 4 years for the common admission test (CAT). In my first attempt I got a score of 23.4 percentile. In my second it was 46.4 and in the 3rd attempt it was 64.

I realised this was not enough for securing a seat in the most prestigious management institution in the country. So I went to the nearby town and underwent coaching there. I also started improvising on my language skills. I also learned to use the computer with the keyboard and mouse. I learned to use the laptop without the mouse too. First my eyes used to hurt as I was not used to reading on a light filled screen. It was like watching a movie introduction screen for a long time. Soon I got used to it. I learned to move from one page to another using the scroll button . Sometimes the page used to scroll fast even though i never made it move. The computer is a crazy machine. But I finally began understanding the way it functions. With a lot of effort I secured 99.34 percentile in CAT this year. To my surprise I was in the top one percent and it made me feel very happy. My whole village was astonished. My name and photograph came in MAYA Times. This was a proud moment in my life.

But sir, I have not got a call from the top three institutions (A,B or C). I wondered why I didn't get a call despite having good sectional cut offs, Quantitative (QA)-99.8, Verbal (VA)-99.1, Data Interpretation (DI)- 99.7. Then I saw the criteria for the selection process. My class 10 and 12 marks were also taken into consideration. I got 56 percent in class 10 and 63 in class 12. In class 10, I was barely 15 years old. I used to be more interested in playing Kabbadi with my friends. I was a kabbadi champion and often won every tournament organized in Charuki gaon. I wanted to become a professional kabbadi player. It was my only intention. That time I never knew anything about facebook or computers and never had any dreams for my village. I often spent my time by playing in the swimming pool, stealing chikoos from the farm, and watching rare birds that migrated to our village. One month before my board exams, my father came and told me that if I didn't pass the board exams my life would be ruined and I could never dream of becoming a renowned kabbadi player. I began studying and
I managed to score 56 percent. I never realised it was a low mark because I was the second highest scorer in my school. My mother made kheer and distributed it to the entire village, since no one in our family had ever scored so much. There was an incident in class 11, where I broke my knee which resulted in the replacement of my ball and socket joint. Since then, I have never been able to play kabbadi.

I took biology in class 12 because a girl I liked a lot, Kavitha also opted for the same group. Even tough I hated biology, sitting for two entire years without seeing Kavitha was unimaginable. I hated biology and we had to go to the nearby village for biology classes, since our village never had a biology teacher. I hated drawing ameobas or any cells. I somehow managed to pass with decent marks in biology. My focus shifted from Kabaddi to Kavitha. But Kavitha got married and left our village forever. I was shattered and heart broken. I didn't eat or sleep for 2 weeks. I didn't want to commit suicide but I wanted to forget Kavitha. That day I also decided that I would start a forum to help those who have been ditched/ dumped or feel broken in relationships. That time I wanted to feel better but no one helped me overcome the awful pain that I faced within myself. I studied B.A Hindi in college and eventually landed up as a post master.

Sir I have a dream and I worked towards it for four entire years. Despite being in the top 1 percentile,was I denied a seat in the most prestigious management institution, because I spent my teenage playing kabbadi and not planning my future? Was I denied a seat because I liked a girl named kavitha got a 63 percent in class 12 and eventually ended up as a post master in charuki? So does this mean that every management aspirant should start planning his future right from the age of 12 and not play while he is 15 as he has board exams, and not have a crush on the opposite sex?

I would be very happy if you could reply to my above mentioned queries.

Yours respectfully,

Gangadhar Vidyadhar Mayadhar Omkarnath Shastri

The tables have turned

2010-03-13T12:02:00.007+05:30

We've heard enough women crib about the demands made on matrimonial sites. Every man wants a fair/tall/slim/homely/well educated/ well mannered/long haired/should know to cook/religious girl. Some make a few extra demands like she should be open minded, vegetarian/non vegetarian, have logical thinking, tech savy etc. In addition, if the woman earned well then she'd be the perfect trophy wife. To the young bridegroom and his mother these were not demands, but the prerequisites for a woman to be a good daughter-in-law and wife. The parents of dark fat girls made sure they'd pack them off with enough dowry to compensate on the tall and slim factor.

Before the wedding, every girl made sure she gymmed hard enough, so that her collar bone would show up and applied enough Benozyl peroxide all over her body to resemble the snow white her future husband was dreaming of. In some cases the girl also pierced her nose, a symbolic act in Hindu culture which ensures that the husband lives a long life. The girls never had any demands. The only demand their parents had was that the groom should be well educated and must have a good earning. Although this was a demand they often had to compensate for it in turn, by organizing a lavish wedding/ dowry/ adorning their daughter with jewels. In most cases all of the above mentioned was done.

Today, many women earn if not more, equal to their husbands. They are ready to satisfy the demands of tall/slim/fair. They too have demands. A colleague of mine, who is a tall slim, fair skinned, good looking and well earning woman is a prospective bride. She has the following demands from her man. I wish shaadi.com would help me list at least a few of these on their site.
So here are few of her demands:

1. The guy should be a lefty, so that his brain works right.

2. He must read, write, and speak 2 foreign languages fluently.

3. He must play at least 2 sports (one indoor game and one out door game). Preferably he should a national champion in at least one.

4. He should have silky hair.

5. He must have well aligned white teeth.

6. He should be 6 feet tall. 5ft 11'' is adjustable.

7. He should know to cook.

8. He must play the guitar.

9. No big belly. A six pack would be good. An 8 pack would be great.

10. He shouldn't wear VIP, Rupa or Tantex undewear. ( Cummon we spend so much on lingere. Cant they afford atleast jockey)

The tables have turned, here comes the era of the bride.

The right time to get get high!

2010-03-07T00:00:00.008+05:30

Not often does your mind and heart speak different things. The point at which, there is a conflict of the heart and the mind, it is quite a depressing and frustrating phase of one's life. This is the point where you are lying to thyself about thyself and that feeling is quite miserable. Let me explain to you an incident that happened to me quite recently. It was during an interview with quite a well established firm.

Interviewer: So, Why did you take up computer science as your undergrad?
Mind: I was good at computer in class 10 and it propelled me to take it up in class 11 and 12. Thereafter computer science was quite an obvious choice.
Heart: It was destiny.Damn it!

Interviewer: What did you like most about engineering?
Mind: Ahem the very fact the it makes you think and face challenges.
Heart: I hated every bit of it. It made me a retard. The only thing I liked was my 1st year workshop lab prof. He was HOT!!!

Interviewer: So What all did you learn during the course of your engineering?
Mind: Well I learnt C, c++, some shell scripting blahhhhhhh.
Heart: I learned to be a dickhead. I learnt that mean bitches get good grades and I never got good grades because I was never a mean bitch.I learned to face arrears and failures with a smile. I learned that when adversity strikes you must strike back adversely. I learned to break up with the same asshole twice. I learned to become a better person. I bet you don't have someone like me in your god damn company and I bet you wont give me the job for these skills that you never have and you'll never acquire.

(Heart and mind to one another)

Heart: You are such a coward. Damn you!!
Mind: You are so stuck up. It high time you get high!

On the path of exploration

2010-03-02T11:45:00.007+05:30

All of us want only three things in our lives. The three s'es if I could call them. It's success, satisfaction and salvation. We want them at various stages in life, but we often believe to want all of the above mentioned. Right now I want success. When i am a mother I would want satisfaction and if I become a grandmother I would try finding salvation.

Success is something all of us want. It is neither subjective nor objective. It cannot be measured or quantified. The moment you achieve success you want more. The more you achieve success, the more you want it. At this point in life in life you don't want to be satisfied. Success is addictive. Its something you keep wanting until a point where you decide that you have done enough and call it quits.If you are chasing money, there comes a point where you get fed up and just want to stop and discover happiness with what you have. At this stage all you want is satisfaction, the thing you never wanted before.

Satisfaction is the stage where you are not chasing anything. Satisfaction is the stage where you are completely happy with yourself.After you are successfully satisfied, you want to explore salvation. Salvation is quite a complex thing. But it is something we all want to explore. To the liberated souls, success and satisfaction don't mean anything. To be relieved of the feeling of want is salvation.

Life's a bitch. None of us know what we want.We want salvation, which is about giving up wants. While chasing success, we want satisfaction. What I want today is something that I don't want tomorrow. I just discovered that I am not the only confused soul.

10 worst night mares

2010-02-25T23:07:00.002+05:30

1. I marry a guy with long ear hair/ I start growing ear hair.

2. I am made to sleep on the floor of the sleeper class in Grand trunk express.

3. I die on my birthday.

4. My dad sees me reading mills and boons.

5. I am locked in a house and I have to eat idlis 365 days a year.

6. I kiss a lizard.

7. I am in a jail and I am wearing the same underwear for a year.

8. Someone shaves off my eyebrows.

9. I date a gay guy and kiss him.

10. I am drowning in water and my best friend is pulling me inside.

Random thoughts

2010-02-21T22:37:00.004+05:30

The most annoying conversation at home begins when your mom starts building plans about your wedding, and the worst of all is when she tells you her thoughts about your bridegroom. So the other day my mom said " In another two years I want to be done with all my responsibilities." I thought to myself, wtf my mom would force me to love some random guy. It seemed disgusting when I thought of it in this manner. But it looked better when I thought of a wedding as the coming together of two families and the beginning of a new bond. I just told her " Amma,I am too immature to handle all this now." and simply walked away.

I do find myself immature or unconditional. What if I found the priest (Hindu priests don't wear shirts )hot and winked at him during my wedding. That would be most scandalous thing to happen at a wedding for sure. Or what if I found my real soul mate in another soul after my wedding? Why should it be scandalous if I was smitten by a guy at my office or at the bar or at some random place. It would be close to a crime if I dated another man after my wedding. Why should it be unfair? The universal truth about love is it that love isn't conditional. If love is conditional it isn't love at all.

A friend of mine told me "there is no love. All the world is driven by lust. There is only like and lust." And the real truth is that we all are driven by lust. Why do we love dogs? It is only because dogs give us the attention that we want and a sense of happiness. If pets weren't submissive and didn't make us happy we would mercilessly get rid of them. So we actually don't love dogs. They love us. We love them only because they love us. This relationship can never be vice versa. We search for companions to makes our lives happy. For our satisfaction. Relationships become sour when there is an overdose of lust. When you no longer feel good, or when you are treated badly.

The love which makes us feel good isn't love at all. If you are hurt by someone saying or doing something you dint like, then what you have for the other person is not love. But when you see beyond the person's hurting words and actions you begin realising love. The moment affection becomes conditional, and changes with time, there is only lust. But is lust a bad thing? If I gave a beggar 100 rupees to make both of us feel happy. His happiness made me happy. The ugly truth is that there is an element of lust in it. But still it makes both of us happy. Lust keeps us going and happy.

When one finds the universal truth about love, you would feel a sense of freedom or thats what I can call enlightenment. You feel unconditional and light. There is a very thin line of difference between love and lust. Lust makes you feel you are happy. Love makes you really happy.

Beauty tips from the eyes of the beholder

2010-02-16T00:33:00.005+05:30

A friend of mine has an opinion. This person is too lazy to start a blog of his own. I am not gonna say who this person is. But he has something interesting to say. The thing I liked about his writing was that he was honest and wrote what he felt. Some might find it offensive but everyone has a right to express their thoughts. So here's what he has to say

"Sometimes I hate god for snorting a line every time when he has to go and make a girl, which is one of the lamest excuses he gives to find beauty in every woman and that too for different reasons in different areas in different proportions. A respectable & perverted start to say something nice about women when i have to tell some bitter truth about few women which bothers every guy who appreciates and respects women for their beauty(inner soul,outer body & *winks*).

I still remember the day when I stepped into the land with beautiful beaches with a hope of clearing the cob webs in my heart (my heart is situated in a different place*winks again*) which was intact for 18 yrs and unfortunately it is still intact..I am just another man who wants to love a lady with ful2 passion and love.Only those who have been marked by good luck have been telling me that love is all about inner beauty which gives intense pleasure, satisfaction and blah blah, but the truth is that every human being gets attracted to beauty which pleases his vision and likes to dream of something beautiful.

Majority of the Indian minds are designed in such a way that they find women attractive only if she has a fair complexion!.Unlike other cities in India, Chennai has fabulous girls in all flavors & ice creams in all shapes and sizes having dark, dusky and fair(they are called ‘semma figures’) complexion. They have the perfect raw materials in the factory but marketing and advertisement is very poor. Now I am going to think of some examples and comparisons which would add more value to the philosophy. Ladies in Chennai=Car then, the engine is completely perfect but the looks are not maintained due to lack of servicing and tinkering work. Its like sitting in a luxurious car which has not been to car wash center for a really long time. Ladies in Chennai=food, then lets talk about Italian restaurants which serve boiled potatoes with chopped parsley not just to make it tastier but also to make it look beautiful which attracts the customer and eventually the customer falls for the beauty.

My examples do suck but if my motive is understood it will enlighten many lives(especially beauty lovers). Sometimes I see women who are hairier than me. That definitely doesn't mean that that they are ugly but "ignorance eventually leads to product failure". It is completely displeasing in appearance and all it can do is to attract some lice. But they can definitely attract some men if they take care of themselves and try to be themselves rather than trying to be someone else who is born attractive. Everyone cant be supremely favored by the gods to be blessed with a pleasing enough face to please every1 and hot enough physical mass to impress the mass but every lady in the town is glorified with a unique beauty. One girl wore a mini skirt just because it looks hot on her best friend and that made her look uglier than her recently married sister who doesn't have an incentive to look better now. She should stick to that traditional Saree which is hotter than any other outfit in this whole world. The roadside pani puri tastes really good but how many people really know about it. The marketing strategy plays an important role in selling any product. The roadside vendor couldn't impress Mr and Mrs.D.K.BOSE because BOSE D.K believes in restaurants who serve in plates.

My paragraph with all the cheap & ridiculous examples is not to hurt people bearing two X chromosomes. My motive is to just let them know that they are wasting their beauty and grace by not showcasing it in a proper way. Under- utilization is Underrated. In Chennai, beauty parlors are cheap and they have special offers so my friend took my advice, and she looks hotter now. ME is attracted to her now & she still thinks that ME is impressed by her sense of humor. They have it in them and they have to open those rich materials, Unleash the fury and show the wild side as soon as possible.

ME sounds so desperate for richness and enhanced version of woman's beauty. Ladies don't neglect your life by not looking gorgeous coz my grandpa said practice makes the man perfect and beauty makes the woman beautiful. He drinks very often. ME is definitely not a very handsome person to talk about beauty, shapes & sizes but that doesn't stop me from giving you the social message & the conclusion! Some stoned babas in Himalayas and few scientists believe that this world is coming to an end by 2012, and I am afraid. They already made a movie also.So Please look like an angel before that happens cos every girl has an angel within her(What a punch dialogue sirji?). Lets make this world a heavenly place and I want to be perplexed to chose the best. Pakaaoed by ME"

The Smell Check

2010-02-08T21:13:00.010+05:30

Most of us get nostalgic with smell. The way poets and romanticists describe the smell of earth with the first drizzle kissing it is quite cliched. It is this sense that we are most conscious of and first react to. While you pass by a garbage truck you instantaneously tend to close your nose. When you have a bad stomach and tend be on a gaseous high, you are conscious about the fact that someone would spot you spoiling the atmosphere. And some people when they pass air in company wickedly pass the blame onto others.

Just like animals respond to pheromones, we too are a victim of our nose. We unconsciously hate farters. We unconsciously drown in perfume before a date. More than looks it is smell that's a huge turn on. Its a matter of prestige too.Suppose your dream partner came before you, and you discover that he or she smelt like unwashed socks, I am sure your dreams would change. According to a recent survey, most men and women rated body odour as the biggest turn off they found in their partner. It is the sense of smell that makes the food we eat appetizing. If a rotten egg smelt like a rose, we wouldn't be hating rotten eggs. Instead we'd have rotten egg perfumes and soaps. Spa's would make u bathe in rotten egg. Now let me come to the point here.The sense of smell plays a very important role in our lives. More than the sense of touch, or hearing we pay a lot of attention to the sense of smell. At least I do.

It is because of my hyper-sensitized nose, I find it terribly difficult to travel by the local MTC buses. When I was a child, I remember getting squeezed under stinky arm pits and storms of sweat.(It is more disgusting to be in such situations than to read it. So stop getting disgusted now.)I wished the government would install air fresheners in buses instead of radios and boards with some random job advertisement. So thereafter, I decided to take share autos, which is the next best and inexpensive alternative to the buses. The good and bad thing about share autos is you always, get a seat but many times you get a seat next to human skunks. Thank god their arms were down and I wouldn't have to face the hideous experience again. But there was this particular day, I don't recall which day it was, but a sexy guy got into the share auto. When I say sexy, he was tall, wheatish, had the perfect nose, cute black eyes,and silky hair. He wore a swatch on his right wrist. He wore Ray ban sunglasses and look little bit like Shahid Kapoor. I am sure if he had a six pack or something close, he could easily qualify as the hottest model and walk the ramp on on Lakme fashion week. He looked drop dead handsome. It was love at first sight. The moment he entered the share auto and sat next to me I was flattered.

The good thing about share autos is when cute guys get in you can sit close to them. There is a good excuse, always the space is too less.The moment this guy got into the share auto, the air was filled with an aroma. It wasn't the usual Axe effect that filled the air. This fragrance was soothing and gentle.I thought to myself " No wait this was a familiar smell. Shit it was damn familiar." I tried recalling what it was. Oh Boy!! Sitting next me was a hot guy, who smelt great. More than a good enough reason to dream. He got off at a stop before mine. The aroma still filled the air. I tried hard racking my brains. The aroma was way too familiar. Then it struck me. Damn!! It was Davidoff strawberry perfume. The hot guy ..oops the hot gay next to me used a woman's perfume. Damn!!! And I was all happy to be sitting next to him. I just wished my brain had recalled the smell a bit faster.

Pleasing

2010-01-15T02:42:00.007+05:30

My maid servant came up with some gyan the other day. Here it goes "All of us love pleasing others. More than pleasing ourselves, we like pleasing others. Knowingly or unknowingly we please someone or the other every day. When we please someone knowingly it gives us a lot of pleasure. That's why we all please god. But amma, you know something; my life got wasted just by pleasing others. You also don't do that."
It was too much gyaan to deal with, all at one time.

While I was thinking about what to write, her words came to my mind. The world couldnt do without pleasing, I thought. Actors need to please their audience. Writers need to please their readers. Business men need to please their investors. If my father hadn't pleased my mother and vice versa, I wouldn't have been born today. Many give up their dreams to please others. Many give up priced possessions to please others. Many even sacrifice love to please others.

When I was in school, I did my homework only to please my teachers. I did home work only to get good grades. My parents in turn, would be pleased to see those A's and A pluses. I never did the homework to please myself. I have never felt bad when I got an A- or B+. It was the repercussions these grades would have at home, thats always made me worried. Left alone I didnt give a damn! Whenever the results for exams were approaching, I would begin the task of trying to please god. I would promise god that I would go around the temple near my house one hundred and eight times chanting the Hanuman chalisa. It never occurred to me then that if pleasing god was so simple, then I might as well could have asked god to scrap exams all together.

When it came to choosing a career, I gave up my choice just to please my parents. I convinced myself saying that they knew better. I wasn't the only person who wanted to please my own parents. Everyone wanted to. I thought I did please them by giving up dream of becoming a lawyer, but they thought they had done me good by saving me from making the worst mistake of my life. At work, I try pleasing my boss. Whether I like her or hate her I definitely cannot remain without pleasing her.Sometimes pleasing others makes us happy. Many times it gets frustrating. Every time my boss asks me how her attire looks, I'd have to lie to her that it is gorgeous. I would be pleased to tell her that she dresses up like a vamp.

Just as these thoughts about pleasing others cross my mind, the other day I saw this woman at a popular health store in the city. She was a tall, slim, fair skinned and looked attractive. Her hair was artificially straightened and she wore a simple salwar kameez and a small bindi on her forehead. She appeared to be 25 or 26 years of age.I assumed she was unmarried as I didn't see any mangal sutra hanging from her neck, nor did she wear any rings on any of her fingers. She stood in front of me in the queue, waiting to get the items billed. When the store keeper removed the items she had placed in her basket for billing, for a moment, I was taken aback. There were 15 boxes of Durex condoms. Some were glow condoms, some were chocolate flavoured and some were strawberry. There were vibrators too. Standing in front of me was a woman who came to buy condoms for her man.She chose what he would use. She was one woman who was definitely pleasing herself, I thought. I admired her guts and was pleased to see women's empowerment right in front of my eyes.

Intimacy

2009-12-15T11:42:00.002+05:30

It was smoking hot.
Their lips didn't meet,
Their bodies didn't touch,
A friendly banter came by once in a while,
Love filled the air.

A cool breeze blew,
Their bodies trembled,
Not because of fear
Not because of titillation,

He was sitting on a swing,
She was gently moving it for him,
They played with each other's minds.
A game both understood very well.

It was at nine in the night
I noticed the old couple from my balcony,
The man was on the swing,
The lady on the chair.

What stood between them was
a neatly placed chess board.
What stood between their minds
was nothing but "Intimacy".

Chai,Chai - Travels in places you stop but never get off

2009-11-16T11:22:00.008+05:30

When I walk into landmark or any book store, the last thing that I would buy is a travel book.Why would I read a travel book when Discovery Channel or Nat Geo showed me wonderful images that I can never erase off my memory.As I walked through every section scanning for new books, a book named Chai Chai- Travels in places you stop but never get off, caught my eye. The author's name was very familiar. Bishwanath Ghosh rang a bell in my head. I kept moving from section to section flipping through books trying to recall who Bishwananth Ghosh was.

Finally, I bought some stationery and decided to leave. As I stood in the queue waiting for the items to be billed, I saw a stand with the latest magazines and papers. There was cosmopolitan, Femina, Star Dust, Madras Musings, and then Indian Express. The moment I saw the New Indian Express, it struck me who Bishwanath Ghosh was. He was a famous columnist. He wrote a column called sunday spin which I never missed. I have some of his articles neatly cut and clipped in my cupboard.He was my inspiration. It was he who made fight for breaking "The Hindu" tradition at home. Although the tradition of "The Hindu" never broke at home, a new tradition of buying the Sunday express followed. Now for a long time I neither saw the name Bishwanath ghosh nor the Sunday spin column.Quietly I came out of the queue and ran to the new arrivals section. I took this bright yellow book in my hand and straight went to the billing counter. The last thing Bishwanath Ghosh could do was put you to sleep. This faith made me buy the book with all confidence.

Chai Chai describes the journey of the author to the big railway junctions in India. I never knew so many even existed. He starts off from Mughal Sarai in Uttar pradesh. Ghosh describes the train journeys so vividly that you recall some of the best train journeys in your life. He tells you the different ways in which different people in India travel. How south Indians make it a point to carry Idli's on the train while Marwari's bring five full meals neatly packed.

The author takes you through the journey of almost the entire length and breadth of the country. He starts from Mughal Sarai trvels to Jhansi,Itarsi,Guntakkal,Arakonnam and finally ends his journey at shoranur. He describes the life in these cities and his experiences there. No traveller would ever explore all of these places. No news channel or paper would cover these places unless there was a bomb blast or train accident.

As you read Chai Chai you'd notice that the author expresses his love for whisky quite evidently.This doesn't make the book shallow or a bad read. A perfect mix of facts and entertainment, I would call it. This was one of the few travel books that wasn't filled with facts and eight letter long words, which would take me at least ten minutes to figure out if it were an adjective or adverb. I would have definitely missed a good read had I not picked the book that day.Now I know why the railway system is the spine of the nation.Now I know why we have a separate Railway budget. Now I knew how some cities in India would be non existent if the railways wasn't there. He's given travel writing a new dimension, I must say.

And next time when I'd travel on a train, I would recall Bishwanth's journey more than mine.

Eating maggi together in wet weather

2009-11-05T01:09:00.001+05:30

We met, we talked, and we liked each other,

The more we talked the more we liked.

The more we liked the more we loved.

The more we loved, we never met.

The more I knew him, the more he knew me,

As we began talking more, we started loving more,

But ,we never saw each other more and more.

We ate magi together during the wet weather,

Listened to sad songs and cried together.

But still we never met each other.

We never ruled each other’s thoughts,

We never had demands from the one another,

Still we loved each other and

Ate maggi together during wet weather.

Mistakes

2009-10-01T01:09:00.003+05:30

Mistakes are made,

Mistakes are felt,

Mistakes are buried,

And mistakes are bred.

Mistakes teach you,

Mistakes follow you,

Mistakes trouble you

And Mistakes help you.

Mistakes tittilate you,

Mistakes kiss you,

Mistakes love you.

And mistakes can't live without you.

Life would be simpler if you just

eat, sleep,love,and kiss your mistakes.

A "mistakeless" life is one without

kissing,loving or learning.

Self indulgence at Five Rupees

2009-09-30T03:32:00.004+05:30

Until yesterday I thought that drowning myself in wine or chocolate, or rose petals followed by a body massage with the most expensive and rare aroma oils, could be the best thing in this world. I called this self indulgence until yesterday. Only the descendants of the Raj kapoor clan or one of the Ambanis could afford this kind of self indulgence on a daily basis. And damn!!!! I envied them for this. I always wished someone would present me with one of those 99.99% discount coupons to one of the posh spa's in town, and I could indulge in myself without feeling a wee bit guilty about wasting money.

But let me tell you, yesterday my perception changed. It was 5.00 pm in the evening, and while I was wondering what could kill my boredom which was eating my head, I just got reminded that I had forgotten to pay my Dad's credit card and mobile bills which he asked me to pay in the morning itself. I decided to walk it down, as the weather in chennai for a change was very windy and pleasant. Half way down it began to rain. There wasn't even a slight warning in the form of drizzle and the rain came with a bang. Now I ain't like any of those filmy heroines who loves to get wet in the rains and dance to tunes. Rains are such a pain I tell you. All your clothes get messy and your shoes and pants are messed with mud. The wet weather irks me and I hate it. In chennai with many drains overflowing the rain mixes with sewage and there is a high probablitiy that you are walking on diluted urine.

Before I could find a roof above my head I was all wet. So there was no point now to go and huddle up in front of those big showrooms along with old uncles and aunties. The last thing I ever wanted , on the top of getting wet was caress my wet shoulders with theirs. So I was walking with the rain. I finally reached the destination and paid the bills. The man at the counter looked at me with disgust while taking the wet cheque from my hands. I wanted to tell him " what are you staring at dumb ass??? You'd look more disgusting if wet", but I just kept quiet. Instead I gave him a nasty stare that would have told him lots more.

As I got out of the showroom, I carefully tip toed so as to avoid the muddy puddles just when a fast indica, splashed all the muddy water over me. I was fuming. I spewed the worst words I ever knew at the driver. As I was busy cursing the driver, a man in a cart selling peanuts distracted me. Wow Peanuts were the best thing that could drive away all my depression right now, I thought.

I dug deep into my bag and found one wet and slightly torn five rupee note. I walked up to the cart and asked him for peanuts worth 5 bucks. He was happy to see me. In the rain I was his only customer. He quickly took the hot peanuts into his measurement cup and packed it into a cone with papers from an old tamil magazine. The cone had the photo of Namitha - tamil cinema's sex bomb on it. I gave him the soaked torn note. He didn't seem to mind. He took it with a smile. Seeing me buy the peanuts, a small boy and his mother on a Scooty also stopped to buy some peanuts. I felt good about it. I had brought the poor chap some business. I was his lucky charm, I thought.

I was so excited about the the peanuts. It was warm and as I was holding it in my hand, I felt like I was in heaven. I was walking on the middle of the road. Cars honked loudly behind me and threatened to splash muddy water on me. I could care less. I couldn't get more wet and more muddy. I felt like the king of the world. The aroma of the hot salted peanuts and the feeling of it cracking in my mouth made me feel like I was in a spa with rose petals and honey. With the cool wind blowing and the rain dying out, and with each peanut that cracked inside my mouth I felt high. I felt better than heaven. It was self indulgence at Rs.5.

As I walked back home, I carefully crafted a small paper boat out of the paper with Namitha's picture and let it float. The boat with Namitha didn't float for long, but my satisfaction did.

Irony of similar thoughts

2009-09-29T14:22:00.005+05:30

A house with a swimming pool,

with a name board carved in gold

was life is what they thought.

Sacrificing their love for a limousine

didn't seem a sacrifice at all.

Life's journey made them

take different paths,

Walking on a lonely road wasn't

difficult, right from start.

Each passing day made them

regret choosing their own path.

Both felt Life would have been

better if they had killed the love

in their heart, right from the start".

Another couple watched the moon lit sky

with a sweet wind passing by,

For their house didn't have a roof.

Love had brought them together,

They had two lovely kids

And a lovely family.

Each day they had to struggle

hard to make end meets.

They yearned for a limousine and

A house with the name board carved in gold.

Both felt Life would have been

better if they had killed the love

in their heart, right from the start".

Of feminism, stupidity and randomness.

2009-09-27T23:21:00.007+05:30

My mother calls me a zombie. Everyday I wake up at 7, sometimes 8 and the days I sleep at 5 a.m, I wake up at 8:30. I quickly get dressed up and with a blank look on my face, I leave for work. My ears are plugged with with head phones of my mp3 player and with random thoughts clouding over my head I cross the crowded roads and subways. I get back home by 7, and straight I go to sit with my computer.I read random blogs, view random videos and talk to random people. This has been my life for the past one month, my two best friends being my computer and my mp3 player.

So this weekend, I decided to break off from the zombie routine. I took my patti ( grandmother in Tamil. I detest referring to her as granny or grandmother.) for a movie she was long wanting to watch and spent time helping my mom with the Navarathri pooja. I also decided to pay some attention to one gadget I had lost touch with- The Television. After the huge tamasha Rakhi Sawanth created choosing a groom for herself, she has now decided to play mom. As I just flipped through channels, I saw this show named "Mein, Mere pati Aur Woh" ( I,My Husband and That). I wonder which parent would refer to their child as woh. This show showcases the child managing capabilities of some pseudo celebrity couples. And Rakhi Sawant cribs about the child assigned to her. She is unable to put the poor child to sleep and ends up bitching about the child. I would want to tell Mrs. Rakhi, that being a mom is not only about raising kids. Its needs a whole lot of sacrifice, patience, love, affection ,practicality and ability to handle tough situations. The women in this show showcase none of the above mentioned qualities and they are the going-to-be moms. Wasn't there a better way of gaining publicity? I guess the supreme court should bring a stand against casting such shows on national television. These shows not only portray a false image of celebrities but also tarnish the image of the many smart mothers in the country. Moreover the impact Rakhi Sawanth would have on the mind of a poor little one year old, toddler is definitely a punishable offense. On the pretext of a reality show, T.V channels are performing a different kind of child molestation.

Another funny show that I came across was called perfect bride. I wonder why this show is called the perfect bride. A woman remains a bride for a maximum of 48 hours. I wonder if the show is to search for a bride or for the most stupid woman and man in India. The main motive of this reality show is to search for the perfect bride who can adjust to the needs of the husband and mother-in-law. And here's how it goes. There are a bunch of 12 women and 12 men who are in search of a perfect partner. The men come along with their mothers who also specify their demands from their to-be Daughters-in-law. The demands are as follows: she must be pretty, she must be well mannered, she must be able to adjust to our family, she shouldn't get angry. Now the bunch of mothers in law and to-be brides are put into one house and all the grooms are put into another. Some of the girls already begin to eye some of the guys and try to act as good as possible with the particular moms. There are situations when two women eye for the same guy and cheap fights take place among the two. Among these groups of 10 men and 10 women some get eliminated. I have no clue why. In the house these women hang around in mini shorts and low neck T-shirts and the mothers- in-law seem to be pretty cool with their clothes. Most of women are in the age group of 20-24. The men are in the age group of 24-30.

The thing that makes me wonder is how could these men and women in their 20's come on national television and show the world their worthlessness. I was under the impression that the youth of this country were an ambitious lot. I wonder which company would have given these men, more than a month of leave during times of recession. And one among these men are going to be crowned as the perfect groom. While feminists in the country are fighting for women to be included in the army, and against the cheer leaders during T-20 matches, I think they should fight against such a stupid show, which shows to the world a bunch of women who's only ambition is to become some sort of pseudo daughter-in-law who publicly stalk men. At the end of it all, I had a good laugh.

The poor quality of reality shows is something that makes me cry. I miss the days when there used to be only 2 channels on the T.V. One was Doordarshan National and the other was DD metro. The most sought after shows were The world this week, Surabhi and Malgudi days. Every week, as a whole family all of us used to look forward to it. And each time I heard the song mile sur mera tumhara I run to watch it even if it was the millionth time. Its been more than five years now, that I watched a T.V show regularly with my mom,dad and patti.

I want to be me.

2009-07-27T11:35:00.004+05:30

As I stepped into this world,

I came to be known as a Daughter.

Years rolled by and I became wife,

Soon a mother, I will be.

Time sped and I just realised,

Entangled by the chains of Daughter,

Mother and wife,

I have never been me,

Never been the one I wanted to be.

As of now I have only one dream,

Before I die, the world I have known,

Should call me no mother,

no daughter, no wife..

But just call me as

'The one and only one.'

Singling Out Men and Women

2009-04-11T14:02:00.011+05:30

When we sit to think about what made us the person today we are, what would make us the person we want to be tomorrow, there pop up numerous answers. But none of us can dispute the fact that there was a lot of sacrifice that was borne by our very own creators - mom's to make us the person we are today. My grandmother sacrificed a companion to raise three kids all alone, after becoming a widow at quite a youthful age of 32. My mom scarified promotions and perks to make me the person today I am.

The thing that bothers me today is the fact most women have to weigh their profession and work against their family. One of the biggest atrocities most middle class women face, is when they are made to make a choice between her career and family. Not all of them get to enjoy the complete package of goodies: an understanding husband and Great kids and a successful career. We do see real life examples.Jaya Baduri had to do away with her acting after she married Mr.Bachan.She had a perfect family and perfect kids but her career went for a toss. She could have turned out to be the greatest star who might have won most number of national awards if she hadn’t become Mrs. Bachan.It was a choice she made no doubt. But why do women always have to make these choices. All women get the cake but most women never get to eat it.

When you weigh down single men and single women (dumped, divorced, widowed or single by choice) you'd clearly find single women surpass single men on every scale and are a way lot smarter than them. Let’s compare two of our very able single politicians too.Jayalalitha and Atal Behari Vajpayee.Don't you find Jaya Amma a way smarter than Mr.Vajpayee? Be it in career or in raising kids, single women are better at handling both. Women always have clearly defined purposes in life.

Most single women are single by choice. This does not apply to single men. Why would any man choose to be single??? Most single men either have this huge complex about themselves or suffer from depression which makes them do weird things. So next time you get a random friend request or you receive a sympathetic mail on Orkut or face book you know who's doing it. For men who choose to be single its definitely not a choice. Singleness is forced upon them.

To the man who quoted the following: "Behind every successful man there is a woman and behind every unsuccessful one there follow two." I want to tell you that you need us more than we need you. Singleness be it forced upon us, or be it by our own choice, WE DON'T CRUMBLE.

Hey Mr. Principal!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2009-04-09T11:30:00.005+05:30

It’s that time of the year again! Board examinations! Every student is burning the midnight oil, cramming in facts that they never learnt before, and the adrenalin is pumping really high. They are told that this phase can make or break their lives.

Generally the 12^th standard board examination is the real test of fire as the marks acquired in the exam determines one’s admission into the course of his/her dreams. The 10^th standard examination which was introduced to give the students a feel of a public exam has become more important these days. Schools set the marks acquired in the 10^th standard examinations as a bench mark for giving their students the science/commerce / humanities streams. If you don’t get the required marks you wouldn’t be given the stream of your choice. This leaves many students in a dilemma. They could stay in the same school and pursue a course which they don’t like or change schools to follow their dreams.

The school is considered a second home and the teachers our second mothers. It is here that each individual learns his first lessons in life and makes impressions that last forever. It is here we make our first friends in life. Every student shares a bond with his/her school. It is unfair when schools refuse to give you the course of your choice only because you got a few marks lesser than what is required. It is even more unfair, when schools admit new students and ask those who have been with the school since Kindergarten to leave. The 2 digit number called “marks” is all that matters to them.

They don’t care about the trauma a 15 yr old student undergoes. The pain of parting from friends and teachers who have been with you during the formative years is difficult to overcome, and it is even worse when you are made to feel like a loser for not having secured the required marks. The system fails to provide you with enough information about the various streams. Students must be provided with more information about the various options available to them and asked to make their choices. It is often considered shameful to pursue any course without a science and mathematics base. All of us have this wrong notion that only those with weak fundamentals would take up the humanities or pure science groups. In the race for the IIT’s and NIT’s we fail to explore new avenues .We fail to understand that there is no Nobel prize for engineering or Business. Schools fail to understand that the marks obtained in the board examinations never judge a student’s aptitude or interest in a particular subject. They only judge the student’s ability to cram in facts.

It is sad to see that our schools are making their students mere mark churning machines. A system of testing that can judge both the student’s interest and aptitude must be adopted by schools. This would bring out the best talent in each student. The rat race for the IIT’s and NIT’s has made creativity and innovation take a back seat. Schools should focus on making their students well rounded persons with a sense of social responsibility and not mere mark-churners.

Dear Mr. God!!

2009-03-14T21:43:00.008+05:30

It was a hard day.I wanted to be in solitude for a while. So, I took a stroll to the nearby park and sat on a bench there. I was immersed in thoughts when I found this notebook beside me. curiously I opened it and flipped through the pages to read the following, I could relate to it so well.

"Dear Mr God!!

Hello, I really don't know where you exist or in what form you exist? They say you are in people's hearts. I searched hard couldn't find you in mine. But I certainly believe, you do exist. God today has been the worst day of my life in ages. I haven't spoken to anyone or even smiled a bit. Well even you didn't help me out today. Coming to the point I just realized something. You are even more confused than I am.

You created the world. Thats something worth appreciating. You really did a very good job. The mountains,oceans,rain ,snowfall,the breeze, the snow fall everything is amazing. You do have some great engineering sense. And you have crafted the interiors of the world in a brilliant way. Hats off to you for that.

You know where u really goofed up. It was when you created man and a woman. I guess you created them by mistake or something, but why the hell did you make them love? Now don't gimme this crap that you didn't create love and that it was just an outcome. You are bloody well responsible for it. With this damn thing called love came an entire package of baddies- hate, envy,jealousy,revenge. And you have the cheek to say love is simple. Love is so complicated and damn you for creating it. And guess what?? No one can live without it. We can live without food but not without love.

This damn love is creating hell for me. It really hurts God. It aches inside me. I wanna cry aloud but no one is listening. You made a mistake god. Love is very painful. Why did you create it. Did you wanna watch a 24X7 soap from the skies by creating this damn thing called Love? You are sadistic!!!

yours sincerely,

Man

PS: Come down from where ever you stay and answer me you SOB. Otherwise I'll come to heaven someday, catch your collar and make you answer me.

The frustrations are truly amalgamated.

Sarkar Raj: Not worthwhile at all

2008-06-09T00:56:00.008+05:30

The audiences are not retarded. This is the message, I would like to give the director Ram Gopal Verma (RGV) for his recent venture, Sarkar Raj. For the hype and hysteria surrounding it, Sarkar Raj turns out to be just a shade better than the worst film of his lifetime AAG.

Featuring bollywood's star family - Amitabh Bachchan, Aishwarya Rai and Abhishek Bachchan, this movie terribly fails to live up to its expectations. This would teach a good lesson for this entire family of vetran actors to chose better scripts in the future.

The story begins with the tag line POWER CANNOT BE GIVEN . IT HAS TO BE TAKEN.
Subash Nagre(Amitabh bachan) a retired Don, is a happy man who is proud of his son shankar nagre(Abhishek Bachan) taking over his place. With an extremely slow pace of delivering dialogues he tells his people outside is house, about how his has accomplished more than what he had done in his entire life time. The usual scenes of him waving slowly at the public with his Rudraksh tied up over his hands and the background score of govindaaaaaaaaaa is quite stereotyped. With soaring temperatures it is quite surprising to see Amitabh looking quite comfortable in a long black kurta and black Dhoti. Sometimes he covers this attire with a white shawl too.

Now to bring some pace into the movie RGV brings in Anita (Aishwarya rai) a bold and brash business woman , CEO of Shepperd power plant who approaches Sarkar with a proposal to build a huge power plant in Maharashtra. Shankar percieves the good it would do for the state and convinces his father who never agrees to it in the beginning.
The plot takes a twist here, and there are many people scheming against the Sarkars and and in the bargain Shankar looses his wife. RGV fails to bring out the emotions from Abhishek as he just has a blank expression on his face after his wife's death. He doesn't emote well even when she tells him that she is pregnant.

Shankar and Anita go to every village and explain to the villagers about the benifits of the plant. RGV shows their car which follows a string of motorbikes with the huge yellow flags again and again which makes the pace of the film even slower.

There are many plotting against the Sarkars and aim at Shankar's life. The scene showing Shankar being shot is extremely slow. The junior Sarkar who is more witty and smart than the Sarkar himself, doesn't have the presence of mind to lie flat of the floor during an attack. The story after this is how the Sarkar finds out who plotted against him and kills them. Being quite a straightforward don I wonder how he gets the money to have about fifty gunned men with machine guns in their hands. The film ends with a big surprise and a emergence of a new Sarkar.

On the whole the movie is extremely slow paced, without being gripping at all, it demands a better screenplay and cinematography and definitely better music. The actors havent been used well.Every scene needs a proper finishing touch. Govindaaaaaaaaaaaaa .... I guess RGV was hinting that your money was gooovinda. For someone who loves Ash and Abhi this is definitely not the movie to watch. A very poor performance by RGV.

Man proposes God disposes

2008-05-30T01:09:00.004+05:30

As a child i used to crave for those small, wonderful, colourful tofees which came in seven vibrant colors of the rainbow. Popins they called it. This small toffee was very predominant during my times. Every child used to have Popins in their break boxes and I used to long for them, look at them with so much desperation. My very caring mother never used to buy them for me as she thought those colours would not do me good.

With my mouth watering I used to look at those children eating popins,by which time the insipid marie biscuits in my hands would have become as soft as petals. Now I dont have to depend on anyone to buy me anything ,but poppins arent available in the market anymore.
I could just relate to the famous quote " Man proposes ,God disposes".

Later as I grew up the walkie talkie toy was a craze. This time god didn't deny me the toy, but played an evil trick. A huge wind blew and with that the doll fell down from the table and broke into pieces and breaking my heart too. I felt my best friend had died. I performed a decent funeral for the doll and got over with the grief.

As time passed I got over with the fascination for dolls and developed a new interest with animals.One day when I was in class 5 I found 2 abandoned squirrels in the garden of my house. They were small , cute and soft and I developed an instantaneous affection towards them. They grew up with me for 20 whole days. I used to feed them with milk from the ink filler and protect them from the savaging enemies like the crows and the cats.

But one fine day, as I was playing with them by holding them in my arms I heard a big squirrel from the tree top screeching monotonously by looking at the baby squirrels in my hand. So I decided to return the squirrels back to their mother. I left them on the bark of the tree and the baby squirrel climbed up to its mother. It was a sight to watch. The mother held the squirrel in her mouth and advanced towards her nest. Like all stories this one doesnt have an end
happy ending. Suddenly the mother lost her grip and out fell the baby on to the ground and became a prey to a cat that was lurking around.
God we were all so happy for a moment and u snatched it all away from us. From me, the mother squirrel and others.

As time sailed through I began looking at things from different perspectives and stopped blaming GOD until yesterday. Yesterday at the middle of the night I had a sudden craving for potato chips. I hadn't eaten them in a long time now considering the fact that they are too fattening. I had discovered a fat free way of making lip-smacking potato chips in the microwave. I sliced them and placed them in the microwave and considering it would take atleast 4 minutes I went to attend natures call and was talking to a good friend of mine. The microwave beeped after 4 minutes and with my mouth watering I opened the microwave. Damn its was all burnt. Thanks to the voltage fluctuation. And what made it worse was it was the last potato in the bag.

GOD YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO BE SO MEAN!!!!!!!!!!

The MISSing factor

2008-02-01T22:29:00.000+05:30

On this boring Sunday afternoon, as I was flipping through the channels, I suddenly came across this beauty pageant show held at Chennai. It was a search for the girl who was to be Miss Chennai. There were models queuing up for the initial tests.

What I could make out was that they had to be minimum of 5ft 6inches tall, 34'-24'-34' in size, have a clear skin and be able to speak in English. I must admit all of them were drop dead gorgeous.

Many got eliminated during the initial tests. Those who got selected, were trained on how to walk, how to talk , how to carry themselves about and many other things.

When it came to the D day all of them were called and asked to introduce themselves. The whole show went off in a very organised manner and it was very pleasing to see so many beautiful women walk the ramp. Finally three were chosen as winners. One was Miss chennai and the other two were the runner-ups.

Then I realised something. Most of the girls who were to be called Miss Chennai didn't even know how to speak Tamil or have any idea about Madras(It sounds better doesn't it?).

In a state which makes it compulsory for every child to study Tamil at school, bans films with English titles and fights for Tamil to be the national language, relaxes its rules when it comes to its beauty representatives.

The entire ideology of Tamil and Tamizhan is confusing . Isn't it?
Any way tamizh thai vazhga.....

Reminiscences

2007-06-14T23:06:00.000+05:30

Its been so long since i revisited this special place once again. It felt like visiting a dilapidated house a displaced clock showing the wrong time,google ads which dont pay me, it was literally in shambles.
They were the links to the blogs of few fellow bloggers who atleast were more active than me.It reminded me of both good and bad things in life. I did start off as a very enthusiastic blogger and always wanted to spend my time in this little world that gave me tremendous happiness. Here i could do what I love doing - expressing my thoughts without any hindrances. My computer never argues with me it just listens . But doesn't appreciate me at the same time. It gave me a sense of pride , satisfaction, happiness and what not.
I want to visit this world more often and revamp this little space of mine. Hello dear reader. Await the new beginning.

confessions (part 2)

2007-01-30T23:40:00.000+05:30

With all enthusiasm and excietment I approached the teacher incharge of the play, for my role. I always managed to score well in Hindi and the Hindi teacher was my favourite. She asked me to sit quietly in the corner of the room, where everyone belonging to the hindi play had assembled. I was filled with excietment and started imagining all sorts of things. Maybe I had a very important role to play and thats why she asked me to sit in a corner. Maybe I'd do my part so well that even the chief guest for the day would come and garland me.
I was sitting in the corner for one whole scene and didnt quite understand what was going on.
Finally after one whole rehersal I figured out my role. I was sure in a crucial scene that was the most dramatic part in the play. It was the scene that changed Siddhartha into Buddha. But neither my role was crucial nor did I have any dialogues to speak. My role was to cry for a Dead body. The whole thing came upon me like a ton of bricks. I wanted to disappear somewhere deep under the earth below me. I was so ashamed of myself. My role. How would I tell my parents that I had no dialogues to deliver when two of my best friends had major roles.

With huge tears rolling down my cheeks, I went home, quietly went to my crying hide out and cried for an hour or two. The crying hide out was my bathroom. Whenever I was in this huge state of depression I went there to vent out my feelings to the huge mirror there, and I would feel better. I felt much better because I wasnt assigned the role of the dead body itself.
Finally, I decided that I would not tell my parents anything about the annual day or the play.
I would do my role and run away from the scene before anyone saw me or asked me anything.

The grand day arrived and all my friends who had the roles like that of the princess were getting decked up with so much care no one bothered about this lonely mourner. I was wrapping myself around this old sari of my mother's which I sneaked out from the cupboard. While everyone ws busy rehersing their dialogues I was busy popping the free cakes the management had provided for the participants.

When I was on stage I tried to cover my face with the saree so that none saw me. Finally they introduced all the participants and introduce me as the mourner I wanted to do simply run away.

Today, when I think back I feel stupid rather than embarassed. It is every small role that makes big plays happen. So what if one did not have dialogues? So what if one did not get decked up? Every role was important. I have realised this.
But still the teacher's havent and every mourner feels the same way as I did.

confessions

2006-07-09T23:43:00.000+05:30

I havent posted anything worth while for quite sometime, so thought why not kill my boredom by blogging.

The other day I went to the beach with my friend, which brought back many memories of school life.Those memories good or bad never get washed off from one's mind. As I was coming back home in my scooter I was thinking about this one very embarassing experience I had, during my school days.

This was during the annual day , otherwise called "parent's day" in school where all the mom's and dad's await to see their chilren perform on stage. The preparation for this great show begins a month in advance. It was a tradition my school followed that made it compulsary for each student to take part in atleast one play. There were many plays in hindi, tamil, english, sanskrit. There was a dance drama and even an orchestra too , and those who were more musically inclined preferred to go for those.

It was during this time that I fell ill with fever and couldnt attend school for about two weeks. After two weeks I found out that I had been assigned a role in the Hindi play. I was very excieted as two of my very good friends in class were also taking part in the the same event. The play was about the life of Gautama Buddha , about how he becomes the enlightened one from Siddhartha.
Most of the roles had already been assinged to the students by then and only the small one's were remaining.(to be continued).....

The greatest come back

2006-07-06T22:30:00.000+05:30

The long absence from blogging was due to an unavoidable episode that occurs twice a year in my life and lasts for about 15 days. The aftermath of it , is the scariest part.

Yeah the episode was my exams. And I survived it. Three cheers to me. yeppeeeeeeeeeeeeee. A semester with 9 papers. Reading 9 books in 15 days. Which amounts to reading a minimum of 400 pages in a day. Not only reading but also remembering what i read. Gosh i survied it. But as i think about the future a cold rushes down my spine. How am i gonna survive 6 more semesters .ie. 40 more papers. Rite now its over and I have decided I’ll worry about the aftermath later.And take the future as it comes.

Mean while I can spare some time with the pen and paper – a favourite pass time.

This post is not to inform the regular readers (who are very few) of my blog , but to make a tress passer not wonder about the long absence.

Life's worth!

2006-05-09T18:25:00.000+05:30

I read this somewhere actually forgot where but it was a good one just think about it...

A couple of small kids were playing next to a small pond in the country side.
Suddenly , the ball they were playing with fell into the pond, and the boy who went to retrive it fell into the pond.
They was a lot of hue and cry and everyone was trying to save the boy.
Later, one man came out of the blue and saved the boy's life.

The boy had lost all consciousness by then. After he got back his conscience he went in search of the man who save his life. He wanted to thank the man and said , "I am indebted to you for the rest of my life. Thank you soo much".

The man replied " Its ok boy! make sure was life was worth saving."

The race

2006-05-01T10:18:00.000+05:30

I was reading the book chicken soup for the soul and came across this very inspiring poem. I read it over and over again and thought why not post it.

The Race

Whenever I start to hang my head
in front of failure’s face,
my downward fall is broken
by the memory of a race.
A children’s race, young boys,
young men; how I remember well,
excitement sure, but also fear,
it wasn’t hard to tell.

They all lined up so full of hope,
each thought to win that race
or tie for first, or if not that,
at least take second place.

Their Dad's watched from off the side,
each cheering for their son,
and each boy hoped to show his Dad
that he would be the one.

The whistle blew and off they went,
to win, to be the hero there,
was each young boy’s desire.

One boy in particular,
whose dad was in the crowd,
was running in the lead and thought
“My dad will be so proud.”
But as he speeded down the field and crossed a shallow dip,
the little boy who thought he’d win,
lost his step and slipped.

Trying hard to catch himself,
his arms flew everyplace,
and midst the laughter of the crowd
he fell flat on his face.

As he fell, his hope fell too;
he couldn’t win it now.
Humiliated, he just wished to disappear somehow.
But as he fell his dad stood up
and showed his anxious face,
which to the boy so clearly said,
“Get up and win that race!”

He quickly rose, no damage done,
behind a bit that’s all, a
nd ran with all his mind and might
to make up for his fall.

So anxious to restore himself,
to catch up and to win,
his mind went faster than his legs.
He slipped and fell again.
He wished that he had quit before
with only one disgrace.

“I’m hopeless as a runner now,
I shouldn’t try to race.”
But through the laughing crowd
he searched and found his father’s face
with a steady look that said again,
“Get up and win that race!”

So he jumped up to try again,
ten yards behind the last.
“If I’m to gain those yards,” he thought,
“I’ve got to run real fast!”
Exerting everything he had,
he regained eight, then ten...
but trying hard to catch the lead,
he slipped and fell again.

Defeat! He lay there silently.
A tear dropped from his eye.
“There’s no sense running anymore!
Three strikes I’m out!
Why try? I’ve lost, so what’s the use?” he thought.
“I’ll live with my disgrace.”
But then he thought about his dad,
who soon he’d have to face.

“Get up,” an echo sounded low,
“you haven’t lost at all,
for all you have to do
to win is rise each time you fall.
Get up!” the echo urged him on,
“Get up and take your place!
You were not meant for failure here!
Get up and win that race!”

So, up he rose to run once more,
and he resolved that win or lose,
at least he wouldn’t quit.
So far behind the others now, the most he’d ever been,
still he gave it all he had and ran like he could win.

Three times he’d fallen stumbling,
three times he rose again.
Too far behind to hope to win,
he still ran to the end.

They cheered the boy
who crossed the line and won first place,
head high and proud and happy
-- no falling, no disgrace.

But, when the fallen youngster crossed the line,
in last place, the crowd gave him a greater cheer
for finishing the race.

And even though he came in last
with head bowed low, unproud,
you would have thought he’d won the race,
to listen to the crowd.
And to his dad he sadly said, “I didn’t do so well.”
“To me, you won,” his father said.
“You rose each time you fell.”

And now when things seem dark
and bleak and difficult to face,
the memory of that little boy
helps me in my own race.

For all of life is like that race,
with ups and downs and all.
And all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
And when they shout "Quit give up you are beaten"
another voice within me says, “Get up and win that race!”

I Pray for this!!!!!

2006-04-30T12:54:00.000+05:30

Answers that make one wonder!!

2006-04-30T10:38:00.000+05:30

(My patti)

There is this one very special person in my life who has always influenced me. She is my grandmother, with whom i have grown up most of my life , the most brave woman I have ever known , and un doubtely the best cook.

This was an incident that happened last week:
After a bad day at college, i came back home in the blazing sun , fretting and fuming.
I was really pissed and didnt want to talk to anyone. My grandmom came promptly and gave me the evening tiffin, usual dosas . I had only one and got up. She immdiately said "How will one be enough have two more."
As i was already pissed I immediately retaliated saying:"Patti(grandmother) my stomach will burst if i eat even a small morsel. Can u just leave me alone I am already irritated.Don't irritate me even more."
Soon came a reply"Dont worry if your stomach bursts I will stitch it for u."
I was dumb-struck didnt know what to say. I quitely took another dosa into my plate. She made feel i was wrong but in the most passive manner and with a very cute answer.

I was wondering ..............................................

A grumpy prof's class (Lemon tree - fools garden re-worded)

2006-04-22T11:41:00.000+05:30

When songs are being remixed these days, I thought, why not re-word them for a change. I sat and did this in my engineering mechanics class. Read it and u'll get a clear picture.

I'm sitting here in the boring room
It's just another grumpy professor’s class
I'm wasting my time
I want to get out soon
I'm playing around
I want him gone
But nothing ever happens and I wonder

I'm sleeping around in my class
I'm sleeping too fast
I'm dreaming too far
I'd like to change his point of view
I’m feeling so restless
I want him gone
But nothing ever happens and I wonder

I wonder how
I wonder why
Every day he comes to bore us all
And all that I can see is his big bald head
He’s turning his head up and down
He’s turning turning turning turning turning around
And all that I can see is his big bald head

I'm sitting here
I hate myself
I'd want to go out taking a break
But there's a heavy cloud inside my head
I feel so tired
Put myself into sleep
Well, nothing ever happens and I wonder

Isolation is not good for meI
solation I don't want to sit in this damn class

I'm dreaming around in the desert of joy
Prof anyhow I'll get another toy
And everything will happen and you wonder

I wonder how
I wonder why
Everyday you come to bore us all
And all that I can see is your big bald head
He’s turning his head up and down
He’s turning turning turning turning turning around
And all that I can see is his big bald head.
And I wonder, wonder

I wonder howI wonder why
Everyday he comes to bore us all
And all that I can see, and all that I can see, and all that I can see
Is just his big bald head.......

I am tagged...for an albatross around my neck???

2006-04-19T21:16:00.000+05:30

I really don't know why these tag games are played, but now, i have been tagged. I am quite a sport and i accepted to list down eight qualities or characteristics you may call about the man of my dreams. Right now, I am head over heals Rahul bose , truly the man of my dreams in every possible manner.
Hmm ..but i guess this will remain a dream forever.
Now coming to the point , here are the eight qualities or characteristics (whatever you may call it) the man of my dreams should posses.

1. He should be someone who is not as loud mouthed as I am. Definitely not a flirt.Someone who is defintely quieter than I am so that he can listen to me.

2. Should be prepared to travel all around the world with me.Not someone who likes to stick to one place. Has to be an enthusiastic traveller.

3.He should help me out with all my problems, deal with them in a mature manner without much of advising.

4.He should be himself. Definitely not a put on . I would'nt want him to wear a mask to impress me.

5.I would like him to be a better cook than me. Should'nt be too critical about my cooking. I can stand jokes once in a while ,but not all the time. But, if he's prepared to live on tea all his life i can make that for him , I make some really drinkable tea.

6. He should atleast wish me on my birthday. I cannot accept any excuses for failing to do so. And presents ... no jewellery please.

7.I would want him to have a sexy vioce. If not as sexy as Amitabh Bachan. It should be good enough so that I don't mistake him for a girl.

8.Lastly, and most importantly he should be clean in every possible manner. I would'nt want anyone with a long beard and a moustache(yuck!!!!).That would be a nightmare.

I hope this would be a dream come true someday or the other.

A lost sense of humour?

2006-04-17T18:30:00.000+05:30

Something that has been at the back of my head for quite a long time is "WHY WOMEN DON'T HAVE A GOOD SENSE OF HUMOUR(when compared to men)??.
Among the many authors i've read no one other than P.G Wodehouse has made me roll on the ground with laughter.
Even soo many comic strips including my favourite "calvin and hobbes" has been created by a man. Walt disney too was a man. Most women writers, are so expressive but find it so hard to be humorous.I don't know why.

A fellow blogger told me that may this may be because women tend to get over possessive about their faults...so they overlook the funny side of it. This could be one of the reasons.
But, i think that women are generally considerate enough and dont laugh at other people however stupid they are. For centuries women have spent their entire lives in the kitchen cooking for their husbands and children while, all their humour has gone up in the air like steam.

However, the opppsite sex have made their lives very challenging giving no space for humour in it, and at the same time act as an endless source of humour too.

It could'nt be worse

2006-04-10T22:34:00.000+05:30

As the sunlight streams into my bedroom and my mom screams from downstairs "It's 7:30 already u idiot", I see MR.Monday wickedly smiling at me and saying its just the beginning , don't worry you have one more week of B.S. Ok planning for the week ahead to end my miseries is sooo impossible when the O.Henry on my table entertains me until 3.00 in the morning.

After having what my granny describes as a crow's bath i quickly rush down stairs and dump what books i can find into my poor little bag. I quickly gobble up what my mom calls breakfast listening to her constant ramblings.Then i make a move 2 my bus stop and halfway past i realise that i have ECE lab and i have forgotten to take my lab coat. I rush back home and return by an auto to the bus stop. I am just at the nick of time for the busand have no time to argue so pay whatever the rickshaw driver demands. This meant i have to sacrifice my evening ice-cream. In the bus, i finish my last minute writing work in the record.

Finally i reach college and make my move for the first class on monday morning. And Damn!!!! The first class on monday morning is ENGINEERING MECHANICS. Who could deal with mass moment of inertia of a particle about the x, y , and zee axis on a monday morning. Without question and beyond doubt i cannot. So i try to regain the sleep lost as none other than the E.Mech prof can sing a better lullaby.

After four hours of tiresome lab i go for lunch only to find that my lunch was chapati's with nothing.I had forgotten to take the other box which had the side dish.

Man it seemed like the whole world was conspiring to make it the worst day ever for me. I really never wanted this.

Finally i come back home to and realise i have 3 assignments due on tuesday.
OH boy! monday miseries never end!!!

How important is 1/4th of ones life?

2006-04-08T19:13:00.000+05:30

okay I have'nt posted for quite a long time. After a lot of introspection into the lives of many students I have arrived at a very alarming fact. The fact is that about one-fourth of every Indian student's life goes in preparing for , getting tensed and worrying about "EXAMS".

Think about it an average indian lives say until 80 yrs . And all graduates be it the ones doing a three, four or five year course sacrifice 1/4th of their lives for exams . Isn't it the most ridiculous thing to happen to anyone???

I was lucky enough that my school did not conduct exams until class 5 and i had an opportunity atleast to enjoy those few years of childhood. But when i see my 4yr old cousin preparing for her L.K.G alphabets and rhyme exam it makes me wonder whether our forefathers of education and the heads of the educational insttutions have any idea about why exams are conducted.

The hype and hysteria surrounding exams make it a do or die situation for every student.
Parents and teachers make it even worse.The general perception is that if one fails an exam he or she's life and career is at stake.

We ( i mean parents , teachers and damn the heads of the institutions) should realise that exams are not about getting good marks , but about displaying ones knowledge about the subject or anything for that matter. And how can we measure this knowledge???? If you failed an exam it just meant you did not have enough knowledge about the subject. It does not mean you are a total dull head and not fit for anything in life. It just gives you another chance to gain knowledge.
Knowledge is what is important not the marks. True understanding of the subject is what is important. Some may do it before the exam and some may do it after failing it.

We definitely cannot do away with exams but atleast take it in the right spirit. Lets not make it rule one-fourth of our lives ( parents ,teachers and more importantly students ). Lets begin to understand "MARKS ARE AFTERALL NUMBERS".

Hip Hip hurrraaaaaayyyyy

2006-04-01T19:16:00.000+05:30

hurrayyyyyyy

i got this

I am on top of the world....................

D'oh..............!!!!!

2006-03-15T19:21:00.000+05:30

The answers to most of these questions i am frequently asked is invariably d'oh.......!!!!!!!
(I am writing this post with fumes coming out of my ears)

*Outside the doctors clinic my mom's friend sees me with a running nose holding a hankie and asks "Why are ypu sneezing? Oh so you have a cold????"

*My friend after stamping my feet with pointed heels :"Oh my god did that hurt????"

*My teacher : "Dont be late to class . Give me an answer?????" (first of all when did u ask me a question????

*"Why are you crying??? Is there any problem???(When did crying become people's hobby???)

*I am bored. Don't irritate me.(Man i think u need to visit a psychatrist)

*I am a vegetarian . People ask me"So you dont eat meat???"

*This is the worst of it all:
My friend:"Thats my boyfriend. How's he???? Do you like him??"
(Man ! jees will u like it if i like him???? And moreover my choices arent that bad u see")

style or substance???

2006-03-11T23:47:00.000+05:30

The other day i came across this awesome saying:
"Never offend people with style when you can offend them with substance".
My take on this coming soon................................

The Good , Bad and the Ugly

2006-03-08T19:38:00.000+05:30

A general observation :
After meeting (rather seeing) many men i have come to the following conclusions:
( I know apperances are deceptive ...... but think about it ....)

1. Most fat men are very sweet and helpful (They might be disgusting, but thats immaterial).

2. Most Short fat men are even more sweet.

3. Fat men with glasses are nice but not as nice when compared to the former.

4.Most thin tall men are very snobish and have an i dont care attitude .

5. Many Thin tall men with glasses are even more snobish.

6. Thin short men are similar to thin tall men.

7. Thin short men with glasses are generally similar to the thin tall men with glasses category.

8.Coming to the niether short nor tall, neither fat nor thin category, these men are neither sweet nor harsh ,either helpful or a nuisance ................................... something like the candy :centre shock . Eat it and u'll get to know them.

The lost gift

2006-03-06T22:15:00.000+05:30

Its a precious gift, everyone is born with,
people liked me when i had it.

They wished i had it with me for long,
without losing it too soon.

With it, the world seemed bright and beautiful,
Each and every day was fruitful.

As days went by,my curiosity became wild,
With every bitter experience,
With every tryst with failure,
This gift was lost forever.

Once lost i couldnt get it back.
But, just envy those who still have
THE GIFT OF INNOCENCE.

THE AWAKENER

2006-02-21T13:26:00.000+05:30

One hot Sunday afternoon,
When the heat wave was at its peak,
No one dared to step out and peek,
I was stuck all day in an A.C room.

I had nowhere to go and nothing to do,
MR. Boredom was chewing my head.
Watching TV was out of question as
There was no cable connection.

I was getting restless and
Had so much time to spare.
So I switched on my computer
To play a game of solitaire.

Curiosity drove me wild,
So I logged on to a chat room
And was realized that the
World wide web had so much to provide.

The room I logged into was called
“THE WORKSTATION”
Here I got into conversation
with a person called “THE AWAKENER”

Soon, myself and "The awakener”
Became good friends.
We had so much in common and
So many problems to share.

We shared the problems we had at work,
And I told him my boss was a complete jerk.
We tried to resolve the problems we had
And I started getting more perks.

Finally, we decided we’d meet
And I began wondering how
“The awakener” would be:
Tall or short, fat or thin, dark or fair?

When the grand day arrived
I went hunting for a gift.
Dressed in my best I went to
The place where we had planned to meet.

As I was eagerly waiting,
I felt a tap on my shoulder
As I turned to see who it was
My heart jumped to my mouth in shock.
“THE AWAKENER” was my boss.

Dumbstruck, I kept staring at him.
A cold rushed through my spine .
Then he burst out into laughter
And I finally, relaxed.

That night I went back home
and had a wonderful sleep.
I had said all that I wanted to say
And the guilt I had in me had gone away.

Every problem would have never
Reached its peak if we had sat down to speak.
So never pile up too many things inside you
Don’t wait for “The Awakener” to awaken you.

infecting children

2006-02-08T23:20:00.001+05:30

While changing through the channels on my TV, I stopped at this very interesting advertisement. This was an ad for a vaccine against chicken pox.
The boy in the ad, is questioned by his entire family about the marks he has obtained in various subjects. The mark he gets in all subjects is extremely good by all standards. But he and his parents are still disappointed because, his fellow student a boy named Rahul gets more marks than him in most subjects.
Finally, he tells them that that he has secured 93%in science where as Rahul has got zero as he is infected with chicken pox, and the ad ends with the whole lot of them rejoicing this fact.

The most disheartening aspect about this ad is that it does not showcase competition in the right sense. How could the boy rejoice at another’s illness and how could his parents, instead of correcting him encourage him to do so?

Competition exists everywhere and in every field. It is a necessary evil. It is needed for each person to showcase one’s talents and to make a difference. Competition should be encouraged in the right spirit. The desire for approval and recognition is a healthy motive, but the desire to be acknowledged as better, stronger and more intelligent than a fellow student may lead to a destructive path.

Every parent should learn to judge his/her child based on the child’s own potential and abilities. They should stop setting benchmarks for their children based on other people’s performances.

And to the man who came up with the great ad (this is for u):
A sports man’s prayer

Dear lord,
In the battle that goes on through life,
I ask for field that s fair.
A chance that is equal with all in the strive,
The courage to do and dare and if I should win let it be by the code
With my faith and honour held high.
And if I should loose let me stand by the road
and cheer as the winners go by.
Lord, teach me to conquer if I can ,
Showing my worth in the play.
But if I should loose let me like a man , I pray.
Let me say” there they ride on whom honours bestowed,
Since they played the game better than I “
Let me stand with a smile by the side of the road
and cheer as the winners go by.

Even impossible says I AM POSSIBLE :) :)

2006-01-26T16:50:00.000+05:30

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To mind one's own business

2006-01-03T11:13:00.000+05:30

Thinking about the various resolutions people make every new year, I decided to make one for 2006. (I have decided to stick it also). “Resolutions are difficult to stick to and keeping up a resolution is a challenge by itself”. Especially for a person like me who loves challenges in life, I thought a resolution would prove to be some fun.

My mom has decided to never yell at me from Jan ‘01, but couldn’t help yelling at me for coming late home after a new years party. Her resolution would definitely be the greatest challenge any mother would face.

I have definitely learnt a lot from my mistakes in the past .So after a lot of thought, I decided, to resolve to “minding my own business this year”. When I say minding my own business it means that I will simply mind my own work (stop poking my nose into other peoples affairs unnecessarily). I hope it won’t prove to be a great challenge to keep up this resolution . This would result in lesser number of phone calls, peace of mind and give me more time to read more books and blog more. This would definitely reduce the number of fights at home and end the mahabarat at home forever.

In this world if every person did mind his own business,

If Hitler did mind his own business………
If Napoleon did mind his own business……
If George .W. Bush did mind his own business………

it would truly result in an ideal world that many people are dying to make.

Therefore, to mind ones own business doesn’t mean you are being selfish it simply means greater peace of mind for you and the people around you.

something that made me wonder?????

2005-12-26T23:19:00.000+05:30

During my visits to my aunt’s house in Mumbai, I have seen many hijras or transgendered people in the trains clapping their hands and begging for alms. Their presence always made me feel uncomfortable and sometimes even terrified me.

During one particular visit, I don’t recall when; a group of hijras approached me begging for alms. I had a firm resolve not to give them any money.
Thinking that they would not understand the language I speak I told my mother in Tamil, “They look so fit and fine can t they do more dignified jobs?”. Immediately, to my surprise one hijra shot back at me saying “ we are ready even to sweep the streets, but are you ready to employ me? Even educated people like you don’t want to employ us then how else do you expect us to survive?” my mother wanted to avoid an argument, so she immediately handed to her a five rupee note and got rid of her.

But her words made me wonder why this community is neglected and slandered in our country, which is so diverse.
A hijra’s presence is considered auspicious during weddings and childbirth, they are otherwise seen as nuisance. The society shuns them for what they are, and they are exploited both physically and financially.

The society does not accept them for what they are, so they are forced to resort to socially unacceptable professions like begging and prostitution. for example : The other day a hijra was not allowed to enter a ptc bus.

How could somebody be prevented from using the public transport ?????

It would make a big difference if we treat them as fellow human beings with kindness and just as we would treat anybody else.

On the other hand, we should restrain from giving in to their indecent and unwarranted skirt-lifting behavior by giving alms.

A thought

2005-12-05T14:52:00.000+05:30

I came across this passage i dont know where but i thought i should make a mark of it

Attitude
By Charles Swindoll

The longer I live, the more I realize the impact of attitude on life.
Attitude, to me, is more important than facts. It is more important than the past, than education, than money, than circumstances, than failures, than successes, than what other people think or say of do. It is more important than appearance, giftedness or skill. It will make or break a company…a church…a home.
The remarkable thing is we have a choice every day regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day. We cannot change our past… we cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way. We cannot change the inevitable.
The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude… I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% how I react to it.

The ultimate escape

2005-12-05T14:32:00.000+05:30

On 31st october we ( ie my friends - mahalakshmi,shilpa,tara and I) decided to do the bravest things in our lives. I shall narrate to u the whole thing that happened .
i wrote a poem on what happened.
just read it (its not perfect poetry and cannot be grouped under any class of poetry)

here it goes:

It was the day befor diwali the 31st ,
just 2 days after the bomb in delhi had burst.

It was soo morose and sad ,
adding to it the weather was very bad.

After the heavy rains had hit my city(chennai),
everyone decided to get into the mood of festivity.

Four days of holiday didnt seem enough at all
everyone was busy shopping in the malls.

Amidst all the fun we had,
there was this man who got all mad.
All that he wanted was dicipline
He was our vice-principle oduppa.

He announce monday was a working day
and all our happiness faded away.

All the way i went to college,
thinking i would be the only one
to my surprise my friends had also come.

The few teachers who came did not have
much interest to take class.

A few boys in my class tried to escape
but it was futile ,
(coz the gates were locked)

After a lot of contemplation
we decided to run out of the college.

we were'nt bothered about the 1km walk
coz we had sooo much to talk.

We finally reached the bus stand
where we saw our ohter class mates stand.

There a van going to thiruvanmiur was waiting,
so we got in without hesitating.

Finally it was thiruvanmiyur that we reached,
so we decided to go to tara's house
which was next to the beach.

Excieted and amazed by our bravery
we ate diwali sweets and sovouries.

What we did wasnt something great ,
but it was an unforgettable experience
with my mates.

hi i am back to normal

2005-12-05T14:29:00.000+05:30

I am back to normal at last. My comp has started to work properly after a long time. and i thought i should again start blogging .

My fate at the beach

2005-07-23T16:56:00.000+05:30

My friend JP left for NIT trichi, to explore the world of metals . so all of us ie all my folks went to bid good bye to her.
We went for a stroll to the beach and there as always, i met my relatives( My dad's uncle,aunt,3rd cousins,my granyy's cousins and her 2nd cousins).
i dont know them but they always seem to know me . And its my fate that i always have to meet them whnever i go to the beach. after drilling me with their inquisitive questions ............like what college?...is it good? i've never heard of it....... and giving me a big grin they finally left.
so i've decicded to sit on the shore . Even if a tsunami strikes, its better to be killed by the sea than get tormented by their words.

i try my hand at writing for a change

2005-07-22T13:44:00.000+05:30

As I sit down in solitude and begin to think about the future, I feel completely lost. I am 17 years old, the age many believe is the right one to make ones decisions about ones own career. Many tell me that this decision will determine my success in life. Success is a major factor that becomes a career decider for many students like me.
In the path to success we are made to learn class 10 portions in class nine, as the marks obtained in class 10 exams determine another so called turning point in our lives. It is based on these marks that the schools determine which group their students would pursue (Science, commerce or humanities). These marks often don’t asses ones aptitude. The common practice in most schools is that students with high grades are given the groups they opt for, while the ones with not very high scores don’t even have a choice. The ones who opt for science say it is more interesting.
At the age of 14 or 15 they have hardly any idea of commerce or economics to opt for it.
They know that science will take them to their success where as the students who opt for other courses are said to have poor analytical capabilities. Does that mean a student who takes up humanities or anything other than science never be successful?

I sit back and wonder what made me opt for the science group. Sure enough parents and my peer group had an influence but, the system failed to provide me with enough information and the right career guidance. Only those with low scores opted for other groups. It was a shame if one did not get the science group.

Even after taking up the science course not many want to pursue with pure sciences. Many opt for engineering and are caught up in the race for the IIT’S and BITS pilani. Little do they realize there is no Nobel Prize for engineering. Nobody sits and thinks about what they really want in life.

Success is something every one wants, but does success mean pursuing a lucrative profession?

With numerous career options at hand I am totally bewildered. Just then pick up the book ‘one hundred great lives’ and I read this passage by Martin Luther King Jr:

We are challenged on every hand to work untiringly to achieve excellence in our work life. Not all men are called to specialized or professional jobs; even fewer rise to the heights of genius in arts or sciences; many are called to be laborers in factories, fields and streets. But no work is insignificant.
All labour that uplifts humanity has dignity and must be undertaken with painstaking excellence.
“If a man is to be called a street sweeper he should sweep streets even as Michelangelo painted or Beethoven composed music, or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause and say:
here lived a street sweeper who did his job well.

And realize that this is some thing our system of education has never taught me.

PS: this is gonna be published in the new indian express