tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60370450367902408282024-02-21T07:11:29.652+05:30Musings and MemoriesEveryone thinks. And remembers. This blog is my personal space, and not meant for voyeurs. It's my space to talk about my experiences & relationships. If you chance upon this, and don't appreciate my thoughts or views, don't bother to tell me as this blog is a gift I give myself.memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.comBlogger83125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037045036790240828.post-87632136744354556072017-06-02T01:21:00.001+05:302017-06-02T13:25:24.793+05:30Memories don't really fade away!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Hi Thammudu,<br />
<br />
Long time... no see, no talk! <br />
<br />
A decade is a long time, isn't it? A really long time when everything fades out... okay, everything supposedly fades out. The pain. The memories. The person. The relationship.<br />
<br />
If it's true that time heals and all the pain finds its way out of one's system, then how come I still feel the pain -- as new and as raw as it was 10 years ago, as if it just happened yesterday? But it's not so easy -- as I found out the hard way in the decade after your departure.<br />
<br />
Yes, it was exactly a decade ago that I sat in the ambulance with your body to be with you during the last few hours of your onward journey. Your hand was cold. I can still feel it in mine. And I wasn't afraid. I was at some spot where sensations (except the numbing dull ache) couldn't reach me, saving myself from the overpowering pain of the truth. I refused to acknowledge both (pain and truth) as I went about making arrangements for your funeral.<br />
<br />
You would probably think that in all these years I wrote to you only twice (this being the second letter); you may be wondering if I had moved on -- leaving you, the past, our together times and all those good old memories behind. How wrong you're! But to tell you the truth, I never felt the need to write to you after my first letter... I didn't want to actually accept that you're gone. I am still unwilling to accept it.<br />
<br />
But, sometimes, it hits me -- hits me really hard. Like when I am at Taj Mahal hotel and trying to choose something from the menu, I am careful enough to pass up veg cutlet which happens to be your favourite dish. Frankly, I don't even remember when was the last time amma made allam pacchadi or undraallu for Vinayaka Chaviti. Do you know that we avoid talking about you -- unless it's completely unavoidable, when we're forced to make a mention and just let your name/memory hang in the air, in the void! It's so similar to the void your departure created in our life.<br />
<br />
Amma finds happiness in small things -- like buying your niece some clothes or stationery items or crafts material. Like reading palms and interacting with people who visit her to know about their future. Like writing those articles to various magazines (oh yes, there are dozens of new ones which are publishing her articles -- even the kind of stuff we used to make fun of because of amma's use of Grandhik Telugu). Like waiting for me to visit her every once in a while so she can share gossip and what she's been up to. So yeah, she's in her own world and it's doing her a ton of good.<br />
<br />
As for me, I'm in my own little bubble too. By the way, I've to give you the latest updates:<br />
1. Now, we've our dream house in Gopalpur-on-sea, and a German Shepherd dog called Frizbii (but neither we stay there nor is the dog staying with us -- it's a long story).<br />
2. Your niece is in a residential school now (she's enjoying it there -- or so she says and we choose to believe her for various reasons).<br />
3. We sold off the flat in Hyderabad, which you never saw anyway! <br />
4. I'm back to journalism -- so, life has come a full circle.<br />
5. And oh, Telangana is a separate State now. I wonder how you would have reacted to the news were you alive.<br />
<br />
I also got to tell you that my daughter is now a typical teenager with terrible mood swings and temper tantrums! She's got to be that, right! A chip off the old block. And oh, she now knows that her mama is in a place from where there's no return... just like Sirius Black. Fine, I know you don't know who that is but seriously, you should have read more books when you were around.<br />
<br />
So yeah, she knows that she's on her own. Just like her mother.<br />
<br />
But what the heck! Haven't I grown old by 10 years -- hiding my gray hair under layers
of colour as I keep experimenting with shades of brown and black to make
myself look younger, feel younger, look confident, feel confident, look
like all's well and I can handle everything, and feel it to be true in
every sense?<br />
<br />
So, has this decade eased the pain and helped me move on? Nope. And this year, it has all come back with vengeance as I feel miserable day after day -- as a run-up to the D-day. I was counting days and thinking '10 years ago, on May 28th night - all was well. May 29th - nothing amiss. May 30th - safe zone still. May 31st - my sleepless nights started. June 1st - the time is approaching, just a few hours more before the doctors called us (decades ago) to declare: "I'm sorry. We tried our best but couldn't save him."<br />
<br />
I still remember how amma and nanna almost collapsed. Those moments keep flashing in front of my eyes and, like a film reel that keeps moving without my intervention, those memories just keep fleeting in and out. I don't think I really want to relive all that pain but somehow, this year seems different. I somehow lost control, gave up trying and gave in to the pain that's been coming in waves for the past many days and became a part of my very existence now.<br />
<br />
But, you don't worry! You know your sister to be a fighter and a survivor, right! I'll pull through this painful period too. It just takes time. Maybe a lot of time now that I'm a bit older and prone to losing the battle before I even start. Still, I'll bounce back. I know I will. You know I will. Because you left me with responsibilities, and absolutely no choice. <br />
<br />
Well, then, time to say goodbye. Or till I write to you again... <br />
<br />
So long farewell. Stay well, wherever you are.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Akka<br />
<br />
P.S: I really really really miss calling you thammudu. And, I love you!</div>
memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037045036790240828.post-73434406442555963672016-01-21T23:23:00.001+05:302016-01-21T23:23:48.007+05:30Truth is overrated!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I was recently watching the movie <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Big, Fat Liar</i> and heard the protagonist
trying to drive home the message loud and clear: Truth is not overrated! Well,
it may be good to listen to such patronizing on screen but off screen life is
just a sum up of fuck ups. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">As far as I can see, Truth is definitely
overrated, truth is dangerous, truth will only bring harm to people who choose
to be truthful. People who want to stand by their conviction and choose to be
honest and tell the truth will end up paying a heavy price. Like Rohith Vemula who
couldn't bear the reality of the hurt that truth and his convictions caused
him. And he's not alone. I'm reminded of all those RTI activists and sincere
bureaucrats who get threatened or killed for choosing to stick to the truth.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">So, what happens if one chooses to speak the
truth? It leads to much negativity and bad blood, of course! Haven’t we learned
the lesson even after watching popular Telugu movie <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">April 1<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></sup>Vidudala</i> where the ever-lying hero chooses to
tell the truth at the behest of the girl he’s in love with – she sets a
condition that he has to speak ONLY the truth for a month if she has to agree
to marry him. And that condition which he decides to oblige blissfully unaware
of the consequences puts his life at risk. Still, just to ensure his lady love
relents to marry him, he chooses to stick to the truth and turns his
murderer-friend his arch enemy. Finally, the girl is impressed with his
honesty, regrets her condition and decides to marry him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Now, is that the power of truth? Is it okay to
think “All is well that ends well?” As this was just a movie, it was okay for
the hero to stick to the truth till the end – because every movie has an end,
usually a happy end, but in life there’s no end and The End means THE END of
life or relationship. Movies may be a reflection of life’s realities, but life
is not a movie.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">And it’s my sincere suggestion people – before
you confess and admit to wrong-doing or decide to give in to guilt feelings or
feel convinced that truth is a virtue and it’s always better to speak the
truth, think again! You may end up paying a heavy price, sometimes with your
own life maybe! Like Rohith; like IAS officer D.K. Ravi; like the 39-40 RTI
activists who got killed or the 275 who were assaulted! And you’ll end up being
a body and a number. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">So, think carefully and think again, and again,
and again – because Truth is Overrated!</span></span></div>
</div>
memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037045036790240828.post-6372101299323673132014-08-04T17:00:00.003+05:302014-08-04T17:00:36.514+05:30A toast to my virtual presence<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Dear You,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yes, I know who you are. And I know that you know who I am. Maybe virtually. Maybe I know your face and you know mine - even if it is only because of the profile pictures. I might remember your name because of your frequent updates. I'm not so active on social networking. So I won't be surprised if you cannot put a name to my face or vice-versa.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Times are changing, aren't they? We sat next to each other a while ago and even carried out conversations you say? Do I remember any of it? I don't suppose so, but let me admit that I do admire your memory and your perseverance. Is that what it is? Perseverance because you don't seem to give up! You try to push yourself into my memory and monkey around there. You're adamant about staying put there.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But what if I want none of it? Is it even possible? I dread to think... my life seems meaningless without those meanderings, peeks and peeps into your life. And yours. And yours. It is almost as if I cannot exist without you. Without your virtual presence, should I say? I know what you're doing. And where you're doing what you're doing. I even know how you're doing what you're doing. It's information overload, you say? Do you want to apologize? Oh no, please! It's all very important to me. It's not about you. It's about me. I need to know what each of you is up to. Lest I cannot digest my food. I cannot sleep for God's sake. I need to peep into everything, and everyone's life, around.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You're asking about my life? Well... does it even matter? Not to me, I'm afraid! I just do what I am best at doing. SULK. Sulk because my life is not going the way yours is going. Oh yours is so bloody brilliant and fantastic and colourful. I try to copy, to imitate, to at least fake part of it. But I fail miserably! And I retreat - crying! Wallowing in self-pity.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You say you bought that brand new tab that I've been eyeing and saving up through my nose for the past God-knows-how-many-months! Oh how I hate you - but only secretly, mind you! I cannot really show that hatred online you see. You've to come to terms with fake love and admiration if you want our virtual friendship to continue, blossom and become meaningful - in the virtual world. I don't really care if you're my friend once I log out. Do I? Let me see! Looks like I don't! But this charade has to continue.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Did you say you are wondering about your choice of your next car? Me aside: "Oh God, you have one effing family car already. Why the hell do you need it, show off?" On your wall: "Wow... amazing! I think you should go for this because of these these these reasons. And congratulations in advance. Lucky person. I'm so happy for you."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My life sucks. I'm trying still... I'm trying to adjust my lifestyle and my profile pictures and my status updates to match yours. You had a sizzler last week? Big deal! I had two continental and one Chinese nights last week. See, I'm definitely better than you! Oh God, but you're buying that posh new camera. Since when did you start showing interest in taking pictures? Oh it's for the selfies you say? Maybe now I'll eat only one meal a day and try saving up more money to buy a better camera than yours for my future selfies.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Hey, which grooming parlour do you go to for that glow on your face and the shine on your hair? I cannot seem to be able to get a freaking hair colour from the supermarket near home, and go to the next door beautician to get my bloody grey hair covered... Looking young is the in-thing you feel! Now how can I admit openly that I don't earn as much as you do but I'm compelled to maintain a lifestyle on par with you. On weekends you eat at plush places while I do the laundry at home and iron my clothes on my own because I cannot afford the expenses. Also, mind you, I'm a mother and a wife. I've duties, you see. So my inability to take care of myself and be(have) as cool as you can be easily camouflaged with fake pictures of me laughing with my only child and click a selfie in a side angle so my grey hair and uncared for skin don't become prominent. My child's innocent smile is what captures everyone's attention. And voila, my profile pictures are also well taken care of!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You don't seem to understand this double-life I'm leading... but let me tell you this. Look into yourself and you'll see what I mean. Because this is exactly what you're doing too! We're all mirrors of the mirrors - reflecting off each other and behaving like this is life. Maybe this is life. Who am I to complain, after all? So let's still be friends in the virtual world and praise one another outwardly. See you soon (with another update about how effing good my own life is - doesn't matter if my real existence is in complete contrast to my virtual presence). Take care. Muaahhh (something I've learnt to do a lot in my virtual world).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
~Me</div>
</div>
memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037045036790240828.post-58108321743936612662014-03-23T23:38:00.000+05:302014-03-24T10:15:11.333+05:30What's in a relationship, sans gender talk?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">"Everything," I'd say! Explain, I shall, if you permit me a few digressions.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">A day, a story, and a perspective:</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">"</span><i style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">A man
who really loves you and wants you to be in his life forever will never give
you reasons to doubt him. He will never take you for granted… He will always
keep you above everything else. He will fight for you and not with you… He will
remember your likes and dislikes and will not forget what is important to you.
He knows you the way he knows his own shadow… His own soul… His own life.</i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">"</span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I read this on Facebook a few days ago and was wondering, once again, about
relationships. Why should the above things be true only in case of the man, the
husband? So, does it mean that a woman need not really love the man in her life
and need only wait to be loved? Suppose it was posted by a man instead of a
woman, words like the 'man' and the associated pronouns would have been
replaced by 'woman' and related pronouns. Frankly speaking, not in Arnab
Goswami style of course, I feel the onus lies on both the partners. How can
love and relationship issues be different from one gender to the other?</span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">'The war of the genders' is a highly misused, and abused, phrase. So are terms
like 'love' and 'respect.' I really love, and totally relate to, what Sridevi
says in 'English Vinglish' - 'I don't want love. I want respect.' Once both
partners learn to respect each other - respect the significant other's
opinions, ideas, tastes, likes and dislikes, interests, and passions, love will
happen quite naturally. And then the battle of the sexes will end automatically. And naturally! Somehow, I feel, it all boils down to ego
which is a deep-rooted emotion and plucking out which takes a lifetime of
futile efforts.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Another day, another story, and another perspective:</b></div>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">On the first day of their marriage, wife and husband decided and agreed not
to open the door for anyone! On that day, first husband’s parents came to see
them, they were behind the door. Husband and the wife looked at each other,
husband wanted to open the door, but since they had an agreement he did not
open the door, so his parents left. After a while the same day, wife’s parents
came, wife and the husband looked at each other and even though they had an
agreement, wife with tears on her eyes whispered, I can’t do this to my
parents, and she opened the door. Husband did not say anything.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Years passed
and they had 4 boys and the fifth child was a girl. The father planned a very
big party for the new born baby girl, and he invited everyone over. Later that
night his wife asked him what was the reason for such a big celebration for
this baby while we did not do it for the others! The Husband simply replied,
because she is the one who will open the door for me! </i><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><b>Daughters
are always so special !!</b></span></i></div>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">This story hit me real hard as it was a bit unpalatable to me. Its appeal to me was much different from all the touching/ sentimental comments that flooded the status update. I felt this can be looked at in a different perspective where
the moral of the story can be perceived as below:</span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">"<b><i>The husband changes himself completely for the wife and sacrifices everything (including his
own parents) for her sake, in order to keep her happy always. But the wife
doesn't really seem to care for him or his parents as much as she does for her
own family.</i></b>"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I agree that daughters are extra special... being a daughter myself and a
mother of an amazing daughter, at least I should know that daughters are indeed
special. But I also know that the world around is cruelly ignorant and our
actions can be perceived in so many different ways - highlighting the grey
areas especially! This story, to me, is not really a happy one. It's a real
sharp comment (probably in the most subtlest possible way) on the sad state of
affairs clouding the most amazing institution called marriage! :(</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">As my husband insists -</span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> always - understanding and trust are the keys to a successful
marriage. And those are the very same things lacking in marriages these days -
and that's probably why so many couples are falling apart. If the husband can
support the wife in a joint agreement, I wonder why the wife cannot do the same
for him! If the husband is willing to accept his in-laws' family with open arms,
why does the wife find it so difficult to do just the same! I always wondered
if it has got to do with the mental make-up of both the sexes. And if what
everyone says - Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus - is true!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">A different day, a new quote, and a newer perspective:</span></b></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">In yet another equally disturbing
quote that's doing the rounds on social networking sites, the ultra-modern, educated, economically-independent Netizen women preach that the man shower his love on his wife in abundance "in order to gain their children’s respect. Love your wife, show the children
that you care for her! So they’ll learn how to love, and
respect women when they grow up!" Or something to that effect! I’d still hold on
to my point and say, this is quite so true in case of the woman too! "Show your
children how to love and respect the man in your life… and in doing so, you’re doing a favor
to your girls by teaching them how to do the same – without bringing in biased
concepts like ego, sacrifice, independence, individuality, and so on!"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I’d personally love it if my
daughter can punch in the face of the man who troubles her in any way – not to
protect her ego or her superiority complex, but only to uphold her self-respect
and push her self-confidence level up by a few notches. That’s the positive
spirit I’ll try to inculcate in her and make sure, as a woman and as a mother,
that she knows how to be feminine without being submissive, how to be a woman
without being a feminist, how to be independent without being arrogant, how to be selfish without being mean, and how
to be herself without being egoistic…</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I hope mothers – everywhere – are
listening! Mothers with daughters, mothers with sons, mothers all kind, and
mothers from around the world!</span></div>
</div>
</div>
memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037045036790240828.post-37629627530816084842014-01-28T18:18:00.004+05:302023-04-18T00:14:50.503+05:30Whither have thou all gone?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><i><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BwTphY_QMUo">These are a few of my favorite things...</a></i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Whenever I hear this song, I wonder where have all my favorite things gone! Each time I end up making a mental list of all things that I love. Or those that I used to love. There was a time when small and simple things were the very reasons of my happiness. These small little things were what made me genuinely happy.</span></div>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">As I now try to recollect something – anything – that makes me happy, I realized how much I've changed… With a surprise I note how I am unable to recollect most of what brings me happiness. Or when was the last time I was actually happy! Why, oh why, did I lose myself and my happy-go-lucky spirit amid the chores of life and the cares of the world! When did this transformation happen… I have no answers now but I’d surely explore and figure it out soon – very soon!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">S keeps telling me – Be happy. Forget the past. Move on! How can anyone do it – when they’re shrouded in the bitterness of the past memories, and surrounded by misery! Happiness is not just a state of mind. It's a whole lot of things put together. Happiness, just like love, is such a fleeting thing, an ephemeral feeling. And yes, it indeed is difficult to understand what makes me happy and bring it all back into my life… welcome my old friend with a smile!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Nevertheless, I did manage to come up with a not-so-long list of things that still make me happy – genuinely happy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<li>Beautiful and colorful butterflies</li>
<li>Rainbow</li>
<li>Jasmines</li>
<li>Pink roses</li>
<li>Honey</li>
<li>Chocolate chips ice cream</li>
<li>Shiny glass bangles</li>
<li>Romantic songs of the Golden Era</li>
<li>Flying dupatta</li>
<li>Raindrops</li>
<li>First sip of freshly brewed hot coffee</li>
<li>A good book (preferably a feel-good romance or a racy thriller)</li>
<li>Smile of a baby</li>
<li>Hugging my daughter</li>
<li>A word of praise</li>
<li>Bright sunny morning after a week of incessant rains</li>
<li>A loving touch</li>
<li>Cooing of the birds</li>
<li>An indulgent gesture</li>
<li>Memory of my daughter’s face just after she was born</li>
<li>A walk on the wet sand</li>
<li>A deep wet kiss</li>
<li>Roasted peanuts with jaggery</li>
<li>A tight, therapeutic hug</li>
<li>An off-white sari with a red border</li>
<li>Touch of skin on skin</li>
<li>Picking up flowers that fell from a roadside tree</li>
<li>Raw mangoes with salt and chilli powder</li>
<li>The scent of the fresh mehendi</li>
<li>A romantic movie evening</li>
<li>A shared chocolate</li>
<li>Corn on the cob</li>
<li>Kalakhand</li>
<li>Satin ribbons</li>
<li>Melody chocolates</li>
<li>Fresh orange juice</li>
<li>Pani puri from a road-side vendor</li>
<li>Childhood black-and-white photographs</li>
<li>Natraj pencils</li>
<li>Watching <i>Yeh Jo Hai Zindagi</i> episodes on YouTube</li>
<li>Photographs of breath-takingly picturesque locales</li>
<li>Waking up to <i>Venkateswara Suprabhatam</i></li>
<li>Snuggling in a warm quilt on every winter morning</li>
<li>Finding money in a jeans pocket or a discarded purse</li>
<li>Reading a romantic Telugu novel (secretly)</li>
<li>Buttered popcorn</li>
<li>Star ice cream</li>
<li>Cadbury five star</li>
<li>Nanna's creative stories on how the rats left sweets for me and my little bro</li>
<li>Staging dharna at home to make nanna take us to a movie</li>
<li>Praying to God every evening to make our toy birds real</li>
<li>My lovely ‘Lily doll’</li>
<li>Bournvita and Horlicks</li>
<li>The soft touch of an infant</li>
<li>Scent of Johnson's baby powder, baby oil, milk, the baby scent</li>
<li>Hopscotch</li>
<li>Making love in the rain</li>
<li>Gudiya ki shaadi and the goodies that we got at my doll's marriage feast</li>
<li>Birthdays and new clothes</li>
<li>The smell of brand new books</li>
<li>Pocket money</li>
<li>Greeting cards</li>
<li>Key chains with names engraved</li>
<li>The scent of the agarbatti</li>
<li>The chiming of the temple bells</li>
<li>Delicate anklets and toe rings</li>
<li>Nail polish, and lipstick</li>
<li>Kaajal and kumkum spread on to the face</li>
<li>Amma's rustling silk sari</li>
<li>Bell earrings</li>
<li>My first lemon yellow and brown churidaar</li>
<li>A cute, white, soft, cuddly puppy</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">An hour-long oil massage, and bath</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The scent of the sambrani...</li>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;">I miss all these and many more. And I miss the happiness. I miss the small joys of life. I miss being happy. I miss being myself. I miss my childhood. I miss being loved. I miss everything. I miss my loved ones. I miss my friends. I miss the long walks and talks. And I miss you!</span><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;"></span></div>
memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037045036790240828.post-22547425315413973512014-01-11T10:09:00.001+05:302014-01-11T10:45:08.201+05:30Rama, Rama kya hai yeh drama!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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On a beautiful, unsuspecting night, my brilliant daughter started off a conversation on a tangent...</div>
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<b>S:</b> Amma, do you know I don't like Ram.</div>
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<b>Me:</b> Who Ram? </div>
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(I was worried because I couldn't think of anyone with that name. I thought later, maybe it's her classmate or fellow traveller on the school bus! But no, I was surely in for a shock as she elaborated - with logic - why she dislikes Ram).</div>
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<b>S:</b> (Rolling her eyes) God Rama of course. Who did you think?</div>
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<b>Me:</b> (Breathing a sigh of relief) Nobody in particular. So tell me why don't you like Ram?</div>
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<b>S:</b> Because he left his wife and children in the jungle and I think it's unfair that he left them like that. And I feel even we're both staying like that - like Sita and her children - though we don't live in a sage's hut or hermitage or whatever it is called, we're still living in the middle of the jungle and I know how Sita and her children would have felt.</div>
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<b>Me:</b> (I was completely taken aback by her train of thought) It's not like that... it's kind of complicated and you won't be able to understand everything.</div>
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<b>S:</b> Maybe not. But I understand that what Ram has done is not correct and he was being very unfair.</div>
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<b>Me:</b> Why do you think so?</div>
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<b>S:</b> Because Ram was staying comfortably in his kingdom in his own palace while his wife and children were living uncomfortably in the jungle.</div>
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<b>Me:</b> Hmmm... okay. I see your point.</div>
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<b>S:</b> Amma, tell me one thing. Why did Ram leave Sita in the jungle?</div>
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<b>Me:</b> (How do I explain all the intricacies of a relationship from a different era, time and age to a 11-year-old without sounding weird or dismissive or oppressive or evasive?) Like I said, it's not very easy to explain S...</div>
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<b>S:</b> Why not? There has to be a reason for everything no - you always say so! What was Ram's reason for leaving Sita? Did she fight with him? Did she disobey him? Or did she wear those damn nighties that Ram hated so much?</div>
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<b>Me:</b> (Giggling despite the seriousness of the topic of discussion) No S... it's not like that.</div>
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<b>S:</b> Then tell me the entire story.</div>
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<b>Me:</b> (Choosing my words carefully, I tried explaining in the simplest and safest possible way the reasons behind Sita's exile to forest). You see, when Ram killed Ravan and got Sita back to the kingdom, there were a few people in his kingdom who thought she must also have become a rakshasi because she stayed for so long in Lanka. And once when a washerman scolded his wife about something, she fought back. Immediately he blamed her saying she's also behaving like a rakshasi and it might be because of Sita's influence. And in those days, whatever the king says/ does, it became a rule automatically so when Ram let Sita come back to the Ayodhya with him without any hesitation, that means all the men in the kingdom have to accept whatever the wife says/ does even if she's behaving badly like a rakshasi. And since that washerman was angry he spoke ill of the queen Sita as one who set a bad example for other women in Ayodhya. When Ram got to know about it, he couldn't ignore his people's opinion and being a king he had a duty and responsibility towards his citizens. So he decided to send Sita away to the forest.</div>
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<b>S:</b> But that is no reason to send Sita to the forest.</div>
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<b>Me:</b> Why not? Ram is a good king and so he has to listen to what his people say, no!</div>
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<b>S:</b> He might be a good king but he was not a good husband or a good father. To become famous as a good king, he chose to be a bad husband and a bad father. How can anyone like a king like Ram and make him a God? I don't like him, that's it.</div>
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Now I don't have any explanation to beat that sharp logic of a smart child! And with that declaration, she just turned around and slept off leaving me to my thoughts...</div>
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memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037045036790240828.post-6504069884651546322013-12-31T23:39:00.000+05:302014-01-01T12:26:27.231+05:30Resolutions are the in-thing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><i>"What's your New Year Resolution?"</i></b></div>
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That's the single-most popular question I get to hear every year as if that's the only thing that matters and my life depended on the answer, especially on the last day of an year that's gone by! Resolutions were never my thing. As a child, and a teenager, I used to make one as easily and as I pushed it (with immediate effect) to the corner-most, undusted and cobwebbed part of the attic called my mind - where the concept of spring cleaning doesn't exist.</div>
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This year, therefore, I decided to do something different: to actually make a new resolution (which I've not done in the past few years) - quite a few resolutions perhaps - and keep track of how many (of those) and how soon will I break (most of those)!</div>
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Allow me a few digressions and meanderings, here and there, while I prepare my very own list of new year resolutions.</div>
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New Year means a lot of things to a lot of people. To me, it means new beginnings, new hopes, new goals, new inspirations, and new aspirations. New resolutions too - which are of course broken in no time. But most importantly, it also means an opportunity to learn new things, visit new places, break a few bonds, and make new ones - in fact, enjoy life with renewed energy and enthusiasm. I aspire to achieve some of these at least by end of 2014.</div>
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Oh God! as predicted, I started with a digression. Now, the list:</div>
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<li style="text-align: justify;">Don't aim at buying a new car but aim at maintaining the good ol' Alto at least by dusting it every once in a while.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Forgive, forget, move on, move over, move under, make move(s) and move (to) places.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Take chances and take a lot of risk to climb that mango tree just to bite into a succulent, teeth-tingling raw mango.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Be around people with positive thoughts, attitude, spirit.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Speak only in Telugu with all the English speakers and in Spanish/Tamil/Malayalam with all Odiya/Telugu/Hindi speakers. And speak (and sing too) backwards if possible.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Spend quality time with my daughter, and control my temper around her.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Sign up for all <i>bakwaas</i> newsletters, promos and all other junk emails just to enjoy the feel of deleting them or marking them as spam.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Speak the truth and ONLY the truth, even if I get murdered in the process of trying to protect the truth and all the facts surrounding it.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Be less greedy and gluttony - eat if and only when I am hungry, unless of course it's mysore pak, gulab jamun, rock sweet (from pulla reddy) double-cheese pizza, triple-layered chocolate fudge brownie with ice-cream, nuts and melted chocolate, cheese macaroni, veg sizzler, paneer salt-n-pepper, MLA pesarattu, oily mysore/ mirchi bajji, samosa, malpua, jalebi, chenna poda, chenna cutlet, chenna-any-effing-sweet, dum-style veg biryani, bagara baingan, baingan ka bharta with butter garlic naan, masala dosa, onion dosa a la <i>Manmadhudu</i> style and a few interesting things more.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Shed a couple of grams by end of year. Phew! That itself takes so much effort I must say, and the thought counts right!</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Laugh till my stomach hurts, eyes water, my throat goes grrrrrrrr. Laugh till I can laugh no more!</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Pamper myself dutifully day after day, week after week and month after month... call home a beautician, a yoga instructor, a dietitian, a masseur - anyone who is willing to pamper me - and spend the entire day feeling loved/ great.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Cry my heart out till tears dry up completely and refuse to well up my eyes for the rest of the year.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Follow Protima Bedi's example and learn dance - how does it matter (to me) if I can't get the moves right? It's the audience that suffers, not me :D Learn groovy/ sexy moves for latest Bollywood numbers like <i>Sari ke fall sa, Halkat jawani, Chikni Chameli,</i> and <i>Gandi baat</i> just so I don't feel out of place at picnic parties.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Say 'I Love You' to anyone I feel like - everyday and many times in a day. On second thoughts, maybe I should restrict the madness to one person per day.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Sing (war and revenge songs, national anthems, nursery rhymes - basically anything works) aloud in the presence of unsuspecting friends - especially when I have sore throat and scummy cough as accompanists.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Be as naughty as I can get - naughtier and more mischievous than a child.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Read every crap book that's available in the second-hand market and complete reading all the good ones sitting morosely at the home library before making millions by selling them off as "vintage collection". </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Speak my mind and let all the idiots and fools know how idiotic and foolish they are!</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Pose for stupid photo sessions and also get an amazing portfolio done for my Bollywood comeback. Yes, you read it right. It's gonna be a comeback (that's what actors of my age do)!</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Slap all idiots who hurt me, then laugh hysterically and clap with glee!</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Believe in myself, my ability, my beauty, my personality, my everything - and then believe that everyday is beautiful and marks a new beginning.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Wish the first person(s) I see in the morning 'Happy Birthday' even if it's not their birthday! And keep changing my date of birth on FB every 10-20 days just to confuse people... :P</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Forge bonds with all my dearest friends and strengthen ties with people who matter to me - while royally ignoring those who I don't have/ want to care about - and call/ meet once a month.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Change the face of the village, and do something to make the lives of people better - like distributing free gutka or booze packets. It's easier to gain the villagers' trust and respect this way rather than doing socially responsible and morally acceptable things.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Learn to be more strong and assertive. More importantly, learn to say NO if that's the only thing I want to say.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Roam around the house in the dark in a white sari with a candle in hand singing "<i>Kahin deep jale kahin dil</i>" and other vital songs that add value to my get-up!</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Spend money on things that I LOVE rather than sacrifice now and regret later about buying or help buying things for others.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Get drunk, throw up, and then scream at the top of my voice "<i>Saale Kutte Kameene main tera khoon peejaaoongi</i>" while dramatically wiping my mouth.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Make a beginning for my very own 'Around the world in 80 days' trip with daughter.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Read all crap, downmarket works by Indian authors including Chetan Bhagat, Rabinder Singh, Preeti Shenoy, Robin Sharma, Animesh Verma just so I can understand why my students want to do a novel review on their books. Note to self: Stay away from God fiction and God(s) of small and big things.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Take Srishtii's advice and become the greatest cook(er) on earth. Join the Village Culinary Club (oops, need to check if we have one though) to hone my innate talent and learn to cook an amazing variety of dishes with unpeeled potatoes.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Take dog for a walk everyday; offer to take neighbours' dogs for walks too - maybe become the official dog-walker in the village by including street dogs in my Walk the Talk sessions.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Dig into the list of all my social networking and email contacts to see who's gonna be more useful to me and religiously follow them to spectacularly and miraculously improve my chances of becoming a part of the next-big-thing (whatever it means, it does sound good!)</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Become the official photographer for all the weddings in the village and shoot away with my amazing 3.2 MP cell phone camera.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Come up with excellent movie titles for Telugu cinema industry and win the Best Title Writer award... To sample a bit of my brilliance, here are a few: Neekem telusu nimmakaya pulusu, Veedu naa mogude, Nuvvu kaavali ante telvada be, Phakiru cheppina kathalu, Jeedi maamidi-kanne gummadi, Nenu ikkada nuvvu ekkada?, Chachinattu choodu, Veedu maaradu anthe...</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Throw stones at the neighbour's house in the middle of the night and scream "Snake, Dog, Pig, Elephant, Bear, Ghost, Thief" and whatever else comes to my mind when they wake up to abuse me.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Okay, most importantly, complete the list of resolutions before 2013 ends.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Break most of these by end of the first week and start preparing a new list for 2015.</li>
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Thank God, I'm done. Actually, no! The list I've on mind is lost in a fathomless pit. And I'm not even remotely close to one-thousandth of the things I want to put in the list. Never mind, I think this would do for a (comeback) beginner for the time-being. Uff! I wonder how people can spend so much of time, energy, and effort in planning, creating and executing a list of resolutions when they are sure they're not gonna last more than a week! Nevertheless, new year resolutions are (perceived to be) serious business, symbols of hope(s), tough work but fun too... So where's your list?</div>
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memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037045036790240828.post-65934610640590783682013-11-11T13:36:00.003+05:302013-11-11T14:53:29.880+05:30Be thankful to bad times...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Life has shown me many shades so far. Ever since I moved to this cosy little villa in a cosy little village on the not-so-cosy Sea. And the Sea, which is just at an arm's length from home, always soothed me by just being there. Energetic, bubbling, gushing, excited on one hand; calm, contented, cool on the other. But never once did I witness its ugly fury and the ferocity of its power. Though there were threats - minor and major - on and off in the past five years, neither the Sea nor I succumbed - we always stood the ground. Together, through thick and thin, rain and shine. </div>
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But now, there's a difference in our attitudes and there's a palpable distance. Not between the Sea and me, but between the Sea and me. In a different way. So what has changed? I just cannot drive down anymore to go see my old friend without feeling apprehensive. To figure out whether all is well with him. To know how he survived the gurgling and circling and depression deep within him. I wasn't around at the right moment and I feel guilty and ashamed of fleeing - to save myself and my daughter; desiring to be as away from the dear friend as possible at the most crucial and critical time; leaving his side when disaster hit.</div>
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<br />
But was it so simple? Not really. When I hear stories, in excited voices, of the cyclone Phailin from neighbours, colleagues and friends, I feel blessed to be hundreds of miles away in a safer zone enjoying a sizzler on the not-so-quiet evening that Phailin was doomed to hit my current hometown. Not that it reduced the population of our district by a few thousands but it did devastate the lives and livelihood of all survivors.<br />
<br />
Deciding to go ahead with the pre-planned Dasara vacation wasn't like running away - it's not like I would have died if I stayed on but I would have been terrified while trying to put up a brave front for my daughter's sake... And she would have been scarred by the experience. But experience it would be, of a lifetime. Like the one I had in 1990 when one of the terrifying super cyclones hit Machilipatnam. I can still recall the memory of rattling doors, the whooshing wind, the violent swinging of fans, the grinding stone pushed against the kitchen door, the gusts trying to lash against my face when I tried opening the window just a wee bit - more out of curiosity - as fresh as if it happened last night.<br />
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I still remember the way we sat against the windows holding them in place - me and my brother, along with the daughter of my aunt's tenant. She was the oldest at 17, I was 15 and my brother was 13. My cousins' children were too young to understand the effect of cyclone and the fear on the adults' faces. For us teenagers, it was exciting and scary as hell. And it was a miracle that we survived that night, more because of how long we had to hold our bladders since the toilets were outside the house and we couldn't step out unless we wished to die. Finally, when we couldn't bear it any longer, all children (including us) were allowed to relieve themselves near the bedroom door or kitchen door. And the suggestion came from none other than my super orthodox attha (aunt). It was then that I realized life is far more important than a few superstitious beliefs.<br />
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But coming back to the now when another of those vicious cyclones wreaked havoc, I wonder why do all bad and frightening things, and calamities, strike in the middle of the night? I've no ONE answer but I have a few guesses - God is probably still trying to send us a gentle reminder that while we need to face the dark dangers, we also need to learn to trust that the dawn will break soon, despite the fury and the destruction. Also, it's good to GO in an unconscious sleepy state rather than in a fearful fully awake state. And God, methinks, wants it that way - with as little consciousness and pain as possible because the inevitable cannot be changed.<br />
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I've been hearing a lot of things/ theories from various people in the past two weeks -</div>
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<i>"No matter what advancement and progress man has made, he can never gain control over nature."</i></div>
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<i>"Nature's fury is unstoppable and we feel so naked and vulnerable beneath its wrath."</i></div>
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<i>"Natural calamities like these occur because innocent saints of the Hindu religion are targeted."</i></div>
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<i>"Phailin happened because Christians in Odisha were treated badly."</i></div>
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<i>"Only Saibaba saved us. How else can we explain the minimal destruction that we suffered as compared to our neighbours!"</i></div>
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And life did come to a standstill. A clear look around me tells me what's wrong, and right, in this part of the country. The nights (should I say evenings) are dark, deep, lonely and endless. The mornings are tiring when nothing, absolutely nothing, gets done - just take a walk on the road and you'll find huge trees lying lifeless on either side of the road, an everyday reminder of how close we all are to death and how easy it is to simply lie flat and die! Walk around the college campus and see the bare ground which was once a 'green campus' and a proud home to hundreds of trees - the variety itself was mind-boggling - all fallen to dust. Meet people anywhere - the only thing they talk about now is the nightmarish experience, how they survived, what they have lost and what is intact!<br />
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Phailin is a terrifying, numbing, and unforgettable memory in many minds - including our own dog Frizbi who wouldn't leave the side of our watchman even after we returned. Each time I look into his eyes, I still see love there but trust? I doubt! Though as unassuming, un-accusing, and unconditional as ever, Frizbi's gesture of preferring to sleep close to our watchman rather than with us in our bedroom as he used to earlier conveys it all - that we left him at the most crucial time. And the ONLY person to stay with him then was who he prefers to stay with - still!<br />
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Thus he taught me another valuable lesson of life: "Respect, honour, serve, pray for and be loyal to those who helped you in bad times, but also be thankful to those bad times for they show who is truly yours!"</div>
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**********<br />
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Though I wasn't around to witness all the drama and the fury, I now have the second-hand account(s) of what and how it all happened! And Mr. Dharma Rao who talked (in the video) about losing 670 coconut trees, the morning after Phailin hit, is the father of two of my ex-students - young school-going children who I tutored for about 2 years.</div>
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<a href="http://www.ndtv.com/video/player/india-matters/phailin-winds-of-fury/294827">http://www.ndtv.com/video/player/india-matters/phailin-winds-of-fury/294827</a></div>
</div>
memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037045036790240828.post-3129629177197349262013-04-21T22:25:00.002+05:302013-04-22T14:53:56.456+05:30Disturbed musings<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="text-align: justify;">Being a girl translates to leading a very tough life in India, where 5 or 50 is just a number... Truly tough life, where every girl has to learn a few life-saving tips while walking on a double-edged sharp sword - so she could live - JUST LIVE and nothing more. No expectations, no hopes, no wishes, no demands... just plain survival instinct!</span><br />
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If a girl gets to survive without being mutilated in her mother's womb, that's the first level of luck. And then starts the actual struggle - of trying to please everyone by following a checklist of tough(er,est) rules carefully! </div>
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Here are a few Don'ts in THE checklist: </div>
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- be humble</div>
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- look ugly (preferably)</div>
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- don't get dressed attractively</div>
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- don't laugh loudly</div>
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- don't talk a lot</div>
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- don't act smart</div>
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- don't wear jeans or skirts</div>
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- don't go out in the evening</div>
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- don't mingle with men</div>
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- don't go to pubs</div>
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- don't eat out</div>
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- don't drink/ smoke</div>
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- don't do this </div>
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- AND don't do that.</div>
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Otherwise, you'll get raped and mutilated - so what if you're just a sweet little girl. And mind you, you actually asked for it by wearing that cute little (red???) frilly frock. Why, I wonder, are we living such brutal lives? Why is there so much of hatred around? Where is all the love and compassion gone?</div>
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I'm deeply hurt and shocked by the amount of brutality being inflicted on women, in an era that doesn't let even 5-year-old girls be spared from mind-numbing violence. I'm a woman and I'm a mother of a girl too... While my heart goes out to the little girl who is battling for her life in yet another Delhi hospital, I'm also worried sick about the scar it leaves on the little one's mind forever. </div>
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Would she wake up every now and then in the middle of the night screaming and trying to run away? Will she ever be able to get over the harrowing traumatic brutality she was put through and lead a normal childhood? Will she play with her dolls and soft toys with the same excitement? Will she draw 8-shaped cats, asymmetric cars, balloons and rabbits, and color them in the most hideous patchy way using funny color combos? Will she sing and dance like a <i>bindaas</i> 5-year-old? Will she, when she's just a little girl (still), ask her mom "What will I be... Will I be handsome, will I be rich"? Above all, will she EVER trust anyone again with the same innocence as she did till a few days ago?</div>
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I very much doubt it. Life will never be the same for a child when the biggest gift of being a child - her blissful childhood - has been snatched from her. I pray that the girl be relocated and brought up elsewhere rather than in this country... where crimes against children are a seriously punishable offence, where there's a zero-tolerance-level approach to pedophiles, where child psychologists and counselors can play an extraordinary role in taking care of the little angel and re-stabilizing and rehabilitating her into a normal social set-up.</div>
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A request to all smart girls out there, and all the smart boys who are girls' best friends - stay safe and learn to say an affirmative NO at least once in a while. </div>
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And please teach your young children, siblings, and cousins a few safety tips, and the difference between 'good touch' and 'bad touch' - and help young innocent girls avoid the brutal traumatic experience called rape!! What happened in Delhi should NOT recur anywhere again :( :(<br />
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P.S: It's really really unfortunate that two of my consecutive posts deal with the same topic. And I so strongly feel the need to move on, in search of some (thing more) peace(ful)!</div>
</div>
memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037045036790240828.post-39172841167144044402013-02-26T11:56:00.000+05:302013-02-26T11:56:35.541+05:30Obit to a sung-too-much soldier...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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...Since I couldn't come up with an ode! It's as good (or bad) as a lengthy epitaph can get!<br />
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I'm not thinking so much about what to write. I'm more concerned about how to write what I want to write. So many people have written so many millions of words over the past few weeks... expressing shock, disgust, concern, solidarity, angst, anger, hatred, murderous instincts - and every other emotion that one can think of when a heinous act of crime gets out of control and focus, and gains an enormous amount of propaganda.</div>
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What happened in Delhi to a 23-year-old unfortunate girl happens to a lot of others everyday in some corner of the world or the other. But the extent of brutality involved this time is what got the attention of the media, the civilians and the netizens around the world, caught people by the scruffs of their necks to sit up and take note of. And think. And react. Protest, if you will! Call it rape, or sexual assault, will you? I call it BLUDGEON. </div>
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A lot of netizens posted minute-by-minute updates of the-how-of-it-all... and about what happened to her with the grossest possible details in the most grotesque manner - probably expecting unsuspecting folks like me to 'Like' the status and share the same with scores of others. With the tag lines "How many likes for this brave girl?", "We're with you, Damini", "Nirbhaya, you're the brave daughter of Mother India", "If you ignore it, you've no heart".</div>
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Yes, I agree. I've no heart. I have no heart to Like or share something so gruesome and shocking. I had no heart to feed the wild imagination and secret pleasure of those voyeurs and perverts out there waiting for a glimpse of the-girl-who-was-violated, and all the gory insider details associated with the incident. I had no heart to rape her over and over again with words, pictures, remarks, comments, discussions, tags, Likes.<br />
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Wait a second... what am I trying to prove here? That I'm in some way superior to the rest of the human(e) race? That I've a heart while all those umpteen others have a stone in its place? Nah, I'm only trying to understand what is there to 'Like' about a crime of such violence and magnitude?<br />
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And now, after all this dichotomy, she finally rests in peace under a piece of earth, wrapped in a piece of cloth... probably with a know-it-all smile of a witness-to-a-never-ending-hysterical-drama!<br />
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Strangely, I'm happy for her. I'm happy that it's all over. For her and for me. The pain, the agony, the protest marches, the lathi charges, the anger, the 24X7 almost-live coverage, the (unwanted) attention - yes, unwanted and unnecessary attention because she didn't ask for any of it - the solidarity, and everything else.<br />
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And now, I can peacefully go back to doing whatever else I want/ used to - both online and offline. I can read (about) Happiness or 50 Shades of Grey as mindlessly as I watch(ed) the crime scene after the recent bomb blast in Hyderabad while sipping piping hot chai; I can groove to my favorite music while enjoying a Valentine's Day surprise dinner at a plush restaurant of a star hotel; I can engage in gossip about the murder of an acquaintance by her husband and come up with theories on whether it was <b>really</b> a murder or <i>just</i> a suicide; I can cook up the family's favorite meal, including dessert, and relish it without feeling guilty about the calories being downed; I can watch Tom & Jerry some zillionth time on telly and laugh out loud like a child - without a care in/about the world.<br />
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Oh that reminds me - what was my answer when baby S asked me: 'Amma, what happened in Delhi... all adults are talking about it?' I remember I told her something. I DID tell her something... but what was that? There I go blank again! Short term memory loss I guess! (My) Memory is such a fleeting thing. And Public memory? Uff forget it! Let's not get into theories and waste our time. Let's just go back to doing what we're good at - FORGET AND MOVE ON.<br />
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Love to all and peace to the entire world - minus the girl-who-died-at-last!</div>
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memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037045036790240828.post-17145033468449398182012-11-26T14:40:00.003+05:302012-12-04T13:26:53.829+05:30In memory of a mischief-maker<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Writing an obituary for a student is the worst thing that can ever happen to a teacher! Having come from a profession where we're considered above and beyond all emotions (of course with an exception of a teary-eyed and emotion-choked Arnab Goswami), I thought I'll take the shock, and the pain, without much difficulty. But that wasn't the case!<br />
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The fateful Tuesday morning (20.11.12) was like any regular one... or at least it started like one. It being a class-free day for me, S and I set out to get some work done at the bank. We went smiling, came out with the happy and hungry thoughts of invading the nearest dhaba for lunch before we work through the second part of the day. All was well and cheerful till we reached the dhaba when a good Samaritan colleague informed us that we're forbidden to go "there" as "a boy died there just now". Though the message was confusing and triggered a lot of questions in our minds, S turned the bike towards the office without another word.<br />
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Post lunch in the college canteen, I tried to squeeze out some more information from a senior colleague on the-boy-who-died. And what we got to know wasn't good news. A first-year student of the engineering college drowned in a nearby pond across the road. That was my first moment of shock. Seeing the expression on my face, S quickly rushed me out. First-year?! My only prayer since that moment was "I hope it's not somebody I know..." because I know quite a few first-year students personally.<br />
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The tension kept building up as nobody seemed to have a clue about the unfortunate kid. As the day passed and the evening set in, things slowly started seeing light and the name and other details got out. It was J bhai, one of our attenders, who broke the news to me. He didn't have much information except for the name of the boy who drowned. He then cross-checked the name and the spelling, along with the roll number, in my attendance register. My worst fears were confirmed. He was a student of my class... somebody who I knew - by his first name, middle name and last name - for the past 3 months and 4 days.<br />
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The moment was beyond shock, though that was the initial reaction as my brain went numb. Shock engulfed me suddenly and kept overwhelming. It felt as if all the energy drained out of my body. My feet, especially! As I dragged myself out of my room and down the stairs, the news was re-confirmed by two more colleagues. Though I saw a few of my students gathered near the dais, I had no courage to meet their eye, or talk to any of them... The bubbly me had deserted me for the moment and I just dragged on without a cheerful "Hello", "How're you?", "What're you all doing here?", "No class?" or "Good luck" for the next day's exam.<br />
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The nightmare had just begun as shock slowly gave way to pain. And pain was coming in waves. Everything around looked like a blur. I was talking, cleaning, arranging and re-arranging things mindlessly, watching TV - but nothing seemed real anymore. The only thing I was doing with focused attention was to trace the boy's FB account. I don't know what made me do it. But after over an hour's effort, I found him - smiling as mischievously as he always did - on FB. Reality striking, I started prying into his not-so-private life by checking his photographs, friends' comments - in fact trying to find out everything 'about him'. Ironical as it may sound, his favorite quote is "Life is too short. So why don't you love me before we run out of time." And then I found a comment posted by his friend, posthumously, "Miss you balli... <i>aise bhi koi chhod ke jaata hai kya</i>". And that really broke my heart.<br />
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The first wave of severe pain hit me just when I was about to doze off. The kid's smiling face, both on and offline, and his friend's comment kept coming back to me - depriving me of my usual sound sleep. With a heavy heart and eyes that kept welling up, we reached the college next morning to attend the condolence meeting at the institution. The garlanded photo on a stool with flowers placed in a heap in front, and the overpowering aroma of the incense kept confirming, and re-confirming, the tragedy that could have been evaded had he been a bit less reckless, and a bit more careful.<br />
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Now what can I say about <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pinkun5">Pradip</a>? He was like any happy-go-lucky teenager - dark, thin, short, smiling, reckless, mischievous and talkative. He was neither brilliant nor studious, but he was smart. Not the kind of student teachers would take note of. With a high-pitch, and slightly feminine, voice, he used to keep yakking in one of the last rows. So he was one of the first students whose names I made it a point to know; warned him a couple of times and threatened to throw him out of the class if he "cannot stay quiet". The last I scolded him was two weeks earlier when I told him he'll not be allowed to write the exam if his attendance percentage doesn't improve... :( And improve, it did not. He still bunked classes despite the warning.<br />
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He knew he wouldn't be allowed to write the exams because of his poor attendance. He knew and he came prepared... with a towel, a pack of cigarettes, the company of two friends and the thrill of swimming - in a lonely deserted pond amidst nature. The two friends who survived will certainly be scarred for life. And so will be his parents. His father (especially) who works as a security guard in one of the prestigious software companies in Bhubaneswar... who must have dreamed that his son will become an engineer, and someday will work in the same company!! The father's dreams shattered, the mother's heart broke, and the sister's hopes vanished... all in a matter of a few seconds.<br />
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Why? Why? I wonder if it's his age, his adventurous spirit or his reckless attitude that predominated and prompted him to take a swim in untested waters on that fateful day! I'm yet to get an answer, and the only person who can answer it right cannot do so - ever again! A moment of thrill cost him his precious life, nipped it in the bud and sucked the life out with ease. S is so right. Such is the fickleness of life!<br />
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All I can say now is - be happy, no matter where you are! And may your soul rest in peace!! </div>
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memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037045036790240828.post-78753691331164031452012-07-07T18:23:00.000+05:302012-07-20T12:33:48.797+05:30Rediscovering love...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii,</div>
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How're you? And how's life? Wondering what this is all about? We see each other every waking moment. And then in dreams (nightmares - yours) too. And then in the mind's eye. Telepathy?! So what's this epistle about, you may wonder! Honestly, I've no idea.<br />
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On a sudden impulsive whim (yeah, that's the me you know too well), I've decided to give you a teeny-weeny surprise, and a few glimpses - down the memory lane. Let's see what a spontaneous, spur-of-the-moment thought will lead this, and us, to! Are you ready for the reckless roller-coaster ride, back in time?<br />
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I believed thirteen is an unlucky number. Apparently, it wasn't and it is not half as bad. And I thought in terms of years, thirteen is too long a time for fond remembrances but what if memories are fresh, tender and mushy?</div>
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Walks, talks. Puns, promises. Fun, freedom. Laughter, love. Teasing, texting. Stolen glances, and kisses. Silly intranet messages, sweet nothings. Nicknames, conversations. Roses, cards. Letters, emails... But where have thou all hidden all this while? Behind torments, and true-to-life troubles? Behind age, and responsibilities, chasing me (us) trying to catch up? Or behind tactless taunts, meaningless misunderstandings, and fruitless fights? Maybe behind stubborn silences, and mock (and real) angers! Behind harrowing nights, and pits of hell!Behind remotes flung out, broken things. And hearts.</div>
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And somehow, all these subdued memories come back rushing to tease a sleepy mind on a beautiful cloudy afternoon. Thunder, lightening, rain! Reminiscences. Memories of a rainy evening - soaked to the soul. At some godforsaken place outside the city limits. Wilderness. Nature's fury. Wild thoughts. The chill and the thrill of it all...</div>
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Aimless and endless long drives... desperation to find a way - the right way - to the destination. Did we eventually find out the right way - after crossing those pastures, barren lands and deserted roads? Who cares! All that mattered was the togetherness. Along with the tension of getting lost. And the excitement of embarking on yet another adventure. Of finding a new path - to life!</div>
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<i>I can still recall...</i> our late-night rides to satiate sudden hunger pangs at the only places that would be open 24X7 - cafes at the airport, and inside plush hotels (oh, why didn't we ever think of the railway station?)! Midnight biryanis. Chai and pakode parties. Three-in-the-morning buffet breakfasts. Never bothering about the abominable amounts spent on two cups of coffee (and with my favorite tomato bhath added to the menu at times)! Forever wanting to make dear wife happy. Despite crazy demands. In fact, in spite of it. In spite of everything.</div>
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Have all those reckless early morning trips to every corner (and direction) within and beyond the city to find some hidden treasure, and pleasure along the way, vanished from our memories? I guess not! A plain white tea-pot; stones, pebbles and broken branches for the aquarium; carefully chosen unchipped tea cups; a memory here and a souvenir there - all laid out in plain view for us to see, and enjoy, and relive!</div>
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From sharing work to sharing lives to sharing work yet again, life has come a full-circle. With a daughter to remind us of the essential bits. Sharing lives was never that easy... or was it?After a decade and more, nothing feels the same. It's different. Like it is a dream. Like it is impossible! Like it was never meant to be.Like it is brand new.Like it is still fresh.</div>
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All I have on my mind now is a collection. Of memories. Good ones. And a few bad ones. Years that went by without me realizing it. Even once. Twelve years (okay, fourteen) of togetherness. Shared rooms. Beds. Hugs. Warm nights. Cold ones too. Food. Smells. Scents. Of love. Of flowers. Of boiling milk. And burnt toast. Sights. Books. Sounds. Music. Concerts. Plays. Games.Fights - for pillows, rugs, TV remote, choices. And sometimes for nothing. Many more things.</div>
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Songs. Yes, songs. That were in your heart. For me. That never came on to your lips. For fear? <i>Look into my eyes</i> ... (I tried, when you weren't looking). <i>Search your heart</i>(I did). <i>Search your soul</i> (maybe I didn't. Not well enough).<i>What you mean to me</i>... Only now I've understood that well - and beyond. Unspoken words. Un-shown hurt. Unrequited love.</div>
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Now it all comes back to me. The fresh feel of it. And what it means to be with you. Tohave you in my life. And so...</div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Bade achche lagte hai...</i></div>
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<i>aur tum</i>...<br />
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(And YOU!)</div>
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It was always you. And it'll always be you.</div>
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Despite the distractions. The occasional attractions. And the flirtations. And <i>thodi si bewafai</i>...</div>
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But I'm making no confessions here. No apologies, no pretenses, and no promises either. The world is not about to turn upside down.Things will still be the same.Crankiness, yes! Temper tantrums, yes yes! Fights and frustrations, yes yes yes! So what's going to change? Nothing. Except my own realization. Andbrutalself-analysis. And my paranoia. And my almost-parasitical need for you. And my love. Yes, my love! But my love... that's going to change. With newer understanding. Newer perspective. Renewed ties. Renewed possibilities. Rediscoveries.</div>
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So, thank you for all these awesome years. For unconditional love. For patience. For emotional support. For passion. For saner counsel. For appreciation. For not remembering my silly acts. And for remembering and making fun of me.For lovely moments.And insecurities. For understanding. And not understanding.For just being there. And for not being there, especially when I needed you most. For secrets shared. And for things I got to know through other sources.For smartness.And stupidity. For cozy nights.And memorable mornings.For abeautiful today. And a brighter tomorrow.For everything.A big thank you for each and everything.</div>
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~S</div>
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P.S: I (think I still) love you! Happy Anniversary, btw!!</div>
</div>memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037045036790240828.post-13222254938661715182012-07-02T16:23:00.001+05:302012-07-20T12:31:52.225+05:30It's only words...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>Words...</i></div>
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<i>oh those treacherous words!</i></div>
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<i>They just come and go...<br />to torture me!</i></div>
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Words. They trouble me. They torment me. They taunt me. They tease me. They frustrate me. They fail me. They ruin me. And they run away from me, laughing mercilessly.</div>
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Look at them agonizing words! Now they want to tumble out, roll across, run hither thither. Lots of them. Floating around in circles... just above my head. Inside my head sometimes. And sometimes inside out. Sometimes upside down. Sometimes hanging in the air. Just! Sometimes in plain view. Sometimes hiding. Playing hide-and-seek with my feelings. And at times, refusing to come onto my lips to give shape and meaning to my thoughts.</div>
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Just plain words. Trying to manipulate my head, my emotions, my feelings. Trying to tell me stories. Which I don't want to know or hear. Prying isn't good, I was told. Voyeurism is bad, they told me. But I still hear those words - loud and clear. Conversation(s) in the vehicles, inside homes, in front of houses, out in the open. Stories being told in excited, high-pitched voices. Gossip being shared in low, secretive tones.</div>
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Words. They just seem to stare at me from every corner. Wall posters looking me in the eye. Billboards looking down upon me from great distance, and greater height(s). Newspapers hung in stalls, strewn across the table in the reception areas of plush glass-and-steel buildings. Breaking News scrolls on 24X7 news channels. Blogs glaring at me, challenging me and my authority.</div>
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Words, and words everywhere. Begging me to read, comprehend, sympathize, empathize, re-tell. Forcing me to accept them, take them into me, shape them up. And tell the story. Their story. My story. Our story. Some story. Any story. Just tell it all... say it aloud... say it one more time.</div>
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But how do I choose my words? Carefully, of course! But there are several thousands of them - revolving around me, mocking at me, making faces. Testing my patience. And questioning my command over them. Now, how do I use them to talk about things I want to talk about? About the boy and the girl kissing under the dark canopy of the cloudy sky? On the beach. In the sand. About their desire to make love, merge their bodies, and their souls, into one. Or about mushy love stories that just began and promises just being made. Or promises being broken elsewhere, breaking hearts along the way.</div>
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How can I use words, the right ones, to show the agony of the daughter-in-law being dragged by the hair on to the streets? And rip apart the in-laws hurling choicest abuses at the hapless <i>bahu</i>. Is there a better way, really, of using words? Besides talking about couples in love... And about those that are drifting apart. About the husband cheating on his wife. And the wife two-timing her husband. Or the boss seducing the employee, and vice-versa. About the woman pleading with her man to not desert her. Or the man beseeching the woman to understand, and let go!</div>
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Nah! I don't want to talk about any of this. These stories do interest me but don't satisfy me well enough. So I'd rather talk about children, their faces a mirror of innocence. Their voices full of exciting, innocent stories. Their faces masking the mischief in their eyes. Their playful faces filling my mind, my soul, my life.<br />
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Yes, I want to use all the words in the world (my world) to tell interesting tales about, and for, children - their thoughts pure, their hearts clean, their love unconditional, their expressions cute. That's what I want to use words for. Use these very tender and loving words that I stealthily seduced into my mind (and with those sweet words inviting me back into their amazing world)...<br />
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It is best to be on a safer turf. To be able to preach still. Standing on a higher moral ground. To succeed in making a charade. Of being holier than thou! To not let them words slip out of me, take over me, betray me and spill the darkest secrets, desires and fantasies from the deepest core of my heart.</div>
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So innocent children it is! That's the tale I want to talk about. Or, I'd rather not talk at all... </div>
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</div>memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037045036790240828.post-83421358257742270922012-06-28T16:07:00.000+05:302014-01-11T10:52:47.345+05:30This is the rhythm of life...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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...Of rural life! Reported by yours truly. Sights, smells, sounds. Seen, felt and heard from the window of a bus. On a pleasant early morning. On the way to work. Passing villages by at breakneck speed. Never slowing or stopping to take a careful second look. Just a few fleeting voyeuristic glimpses. Here and there. Into the lives of others, and things around.</div>
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Smells - of fresh village air, moisture, fields. Of liquor, flowers, cashew nuts, perfume. Of piss, cow dung, poop. Of smoke, petrol, pollution. .
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Sounds - constant chattering, laughter, incessant honking, and more honking, fights, pleasantries, sighs in traffic jams, some more honking, metal on road, oxen in the fields, bells in temples, chants, blaring trumpets, loud speakers with devotional songs... hmmm, well not always! There are those filmy songs from the '80s and then there are the new raunchy item numbers too - devotion and devilish desire go together sometimes.</div>
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But sights are aplenty. I assure you there's plenty to see.</div>
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Colors - bright and brilliant - catch your eye. Shamelessly they demand your attention. Reds, blues, magenta pinks, yellows, greens, oranges - hues of nature. Blacks and whites. And shades of grey in between!</div>
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Kids wearing nothing - their need to cover their nudity and put up a show of civilization is not greater than that of their counterparts in urban India.</div>
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And kids wearing uniforms - reds, blues, whites, browns - walk past as the bus zooms by, fast and furious! Children crying for attention. Dragged forward mercilessly by rushed angry parents... With a slap or two! To make their point. To put things in perspective for the young citizens-to-be.</div>
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Green fields laid out with gourd plants, many gourd plants in fact! Bitter gourd, snake gourd, bottle gourd, ridge gourd crawling over to cover every nook and corner... wherever they can lay their long ugly stalks on! Plain grass pastures. Cows grazing. Early birds, and their prey! Pests. Dogs - barking, fighting for life, for food.</div>
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Women with loads of stuff carefully balanced on head. Multi-tasking! Walking, chattering, giggling, flirting, and carrying - clothes, pots, wood for fire, infants, burden of life - and balancing the act so well. Why is it, then, that to us - the chosen ones, the blue-eyed children of God, the gifts of God to mankind - it's so difficult to do even simple(r) tasks? What if those women took life, and people, for granted... I wonder what then!</div>
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Raucous women - brushing, combing, bathing in tanks and ponds - outdoors! Taunting, tantalizing semi-nude women with wet saris wrapped around their bodies in a cinematic fashion. Now that's reality.</div>
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And men! Where are the men? Muscular, skinny, bony, plump, tall, short, dark, fair - all kinds! Lazying, ogling, flirting, standing, watching, talking, smoking, chewing, spitting - ghutka, pan, saliva, something, anything... That's how I find them.<br />
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Men. Driving, talking, heads turned sideways or rested on shoulders pressing a mobile phone down. Talking. And arguing. Winning some, losing some. And peeing on the road (but that's oh-so-cool)! Yes, peeing... Blissfully (un)aware(?) of the surroundings. Peeing. With a contented expression. Showing they're enjoying the moment. Peeing. Everywhere.<br />
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And passing out! Naked. Semi-nude. In the middle of the road, on either side, on pavements, in front of unopened shops, everywhere. Liquor on their breath. Drooling. Liquor in their hand. Liquor on their clothes. Liquor in their head. Gambling - yes, sitting in a circle under the shade of a tree and gambling. Encouraged by onlookers. With satisfied egos. And fighting - just for the heck of it, for no real reason. Killer instincts.</div>
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And then we see people and their nameless faces. And animals... grazing lazily. Running aimlessly. Stretching themselves - some on the road, and some inside vehicles, behind the wheel, some hanging out of the overcrowded buses and truckers, some sitting on top of them, some just standing and staring at anything that moves.</div>
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Is this how it is supposed to be? The equation? The balance? Maybe, maybe not! But it is the same everywhere. From east to west, and north to south. Try the directions in reverse too. It's still the same. Only the faces change. And shapes. And climates. And colors - of skin, of clothes, of surroundings. Rest is the same. And this is India for you! The real India. The true-to-life version. Enjoy it as it is. Take it, if you must! Or just leave it, if you mustn't.</div>
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</div>
memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037045036790240828.post-68226523179424542682012-05-09T16:24:00.002+05:302012-09-15T10:37:47.908+05:30The story of my life...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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... and it hasn't been easy, I tell you! SIGH!</div>
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I never thought living with humans was that tough - what with all those expectations revolving around the relationship between us and you humans! About dogs being a man's best guard... errr... I mean friend! </div>
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Well, I really cannot recollect whether I was happy being with my mom, dad and five siblings back then (I wonder where each of them is, and whether they have similar thoughts). If you ask me, I don't really know if I'm happy now in my new home. Yes, it's still kind of new... at least I think so! Or is it, really? Anyway, these folks got me to their house a while ago and since then they have been expecting me to adjust to them and act normal! Like the other day when I pooped inside the house, they yelled at me and threatened to lock me out! Like I care! Oh no, actually I do! These guys are crazy I must tell you!</div>
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Okay let me start from the beginning... it almost goes like the famous saying 'They came, they saw, and they conquered' (but in my case, 'they purchased'). I was around 5 weeks old then. I was blissfully unaware of their existence and was playing with my siblings and mom. Dad was downstairs barking at the top of his voice and that was when I sensed that all wasn't well. There were intruders who royally walked into the house, and my life too. </div>
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At first, one of my four sisters and the only brother were taken downstairs. I have to admit that they were cuter and quite roly-poly. So God knows why I was asked to be summoned. The man kept trying to engage me, pet me, call me near him, and in general, act irritatingly friendly. And the woman was more fascinated by my brother and sister, and didn't bother me much. Soon I've had enough and tried to escape by climbing up the stairs and run to my mother. But my owners kept bringing me back to them as they decided to take me home as a belated birthday present for their daughter! </div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigjOGj2-poPJj_sJWpmSEETtIgUVfbEpZNAW-6wPiQR29vZUITlN4-ZVef83NNaD6kjEJGgOJw5LtsRL8MoHj5RKInIBiwC2SZWRGMmb1shr2GSUH-wx2FlaaGOvgjU4OPxIoLWFTvXQ/s1600/IMG_0375.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigjOGj2-poPJj_sJWpmSEETtIgUVfbEpZNAW-6wPiQR29vZUITlN4-ZVef83NNaD6kjEJGgOJw5LtsRL8MoHj5RKInIBiwC2SZWRGMmb1shr2GSUH-wx2FlaaGOvgjU4OPxIoLWFTvXQ/s320/IMG_0375.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was my second day at my new home!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was given a bath and made to sleep in a carton (what a silly way to transport me, I say!). A small portion of pedigree and milk were packed... I was all set to go though I am not sure I wanted to - leaving mom, dad and everyone else. I remember going in a three-seater to some place where the silly, uncourteous, mannerless new owners ate something without offering me anything - expecting me to curl up and sleep. Then they were running like mad dogs in a crowded place with me in the carton and my stuff in a carry-bag to get into something big that just began chugging away! Once inside the big moving vehicle, the couple took me out of the carton and took turns to make me sleep in their lap for almost 3 hours until we alighted at some smaller place... and hopped on to a scooter, stopped on the way to buy more food (how much do these humans eat I wonder!). Finally I was home - well-rested and wide awake!</div>
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Unfortunately, there was an excited little devil in that house waiting with a scary grin and scared the hell out of me by uttering cries of joy! She wanted to hold me, play with me, touch my coat, pet me - how very irritating! And that girl even changed my name from James Bond to Ebony. Yuck! James Bond sounds so much more macho! To top it all, they were treating me almost like a human, and a part of the family, expecting me to return the gesture! How stupid!</div>
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Yeah yeah, I know I'm supposed to keep up to my image of enjoying and loving every moment of it. I read it all up on Facebook where we were compared to those furry-purry creatures and made to look dumb, loyal and loving! </div>
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But don't you worry! Over the next few days I plotted each of my moves carefully and took my revenge - sometimes secretly and sometimes quite openly. I peed all over them and their house, and marked my territory. I pooped everywhere - in every nook and corner where I could reach and they couldn't. I nipped and bit them at the most unexpected times and in unexpected places... as many times as I wanted to and ran away laughing when they tried to hit me with a paper or push me away! </div>
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I hated the rice porridge with boiled vegetables they gave me initially and often refused to eat it but those devils used to wait patiently till I grew extremely hungry and went (albeit silently and secretly) to lap it all up. Actually, with milk and carrot and lentils and potatoes, the rice wasn't half as bad as I thought it would be! Or maybe it was my plain stupid hunger! Can you believe me when I tell you that they retaliated by trying to kill me with a boiled egg? This was during my third week with them, and the egg smelled like some disgusting enemy dog... boy, how I barked at my food bowl that day!</div>
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And during those days of open war, I used to refuse to drink water and tilt the water bowl upside down to spill the water all over so they would slip and fall, and fracture their bones! I kept pulling off the pleats of the sari (that moved irritatingly in front of the wearer and protected her feet) so she would fall flat on the floor. I even curled up around the man's legs to make him trip and fall from the stairs. Only none of the plans ever worked! Bloody hell! </div>
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All this I did because I knew I was too small to be disciplined and they could do nothing except perhaps call me Bad Dog at the most! Like I care! Hey, I have to share another of their secrets... They really don't know how to talk okay! Their vocabulary is limited to Good dog, Bad dog, My boy, Sit, Stand, Run, Eat, Wait and Down! Can't they speak one sentence of English properly instead of in single syllables?<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFbXisewzgolLUk3W9iJIUj-ZCmCo9yROrq0exzDtSDdSgRLalR4ANpBCoKhGyVgYl3H-n7oK8T_0OkHLOK-PT6bCeHdpFomAslI2b_6wTstJrqNQ7GpN63vXJitVH1xmVWt_6XFbbDg/s1600/shanti's+pics+036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFbXisewzgolLUk3W9iJIUj-ZCmCo9yROrq0exzDtSDdSgRLalR4ANpBCoKhGyVgYl3H-n7oK8T_0OkHLOK-PT6bCeHdpFomAslI2b_6wTstJrqNQ7GpN63vXJitVH1xmVWt_6XFbbDg/s320/shanti's+pics+036.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the handsome me with my bushy tail :)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Anyway, it was so much fun taking revenge - the only time(s) I wasn't plotting against them was when I was given warm milk and food or when I slept upside down! </div>
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Mind you, all that fun was too unreal and fairytale-ish to not end. So after a week of constant nipping and biting and pouncing, they lost it and decided to pack me off to my place of birth. I even heard them make a frantic call or two! God was I happy, yet worried... what if I'm abandoned by all? </div>
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And then suddenly everything changed. The foolish folks decided to keep me as suddenly as they decided to send me back! They slowly started changing their ways, and mine too! They kept me on leash for a couple of hours in the day when I acted rowdyish or tried to bite their feet and hands off! (To tell you the truth, I always aimed at their head but ended up at their feet :P) And they got me a lot of toys and things to chew on so I don't chew their footwear or clothes. They made sure that I was well-fed, at regular intervals, even in the middle of the night! Hmmm... they seem to tow my line finally and are trying their best to keep me happy. So I guess now it's okay to stop biting them (also it's no fun to get hit each time I bite them). </div>
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And they keep petting me, rubbing my stomach and fussing over me so much that I actually started loving it. They think that I'm the most obedient and handsomest dog in the entire world. Which is partly true, of course! I'm now a grown-up handsome boy and I love the way my long bushy tail looks - they whisper among themselves that it's because of the dog-food they keep feeding me. And they want to feed me yummy chicken and bones twice a week instead of occasionally! If it's true, then I'm not leaving them or troubling them anymore! Not today, not tomorrow and not in the next few years! Because I love the way I look today! And, however much I hate to admit it, I do love my foster family despite all their madness, stupidity, silly acts and warped behavior!</div>
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Now that I let out my story without their knowledge, let me go back to my evening snack in peace!</div>
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~Signed<br />
Ebony!<br />
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P.S: Love to all humans and peace to the world!</div>
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memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037045036790240828.post-21594471481280259572012-04-10T12:31:00.002+05:302012-07-02T14:04:55.128+05:30Conversation on a cool eve<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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God seems to have chosen some real feel-good moments and opportunities for revelation(s) for me at the most unexpected times, and from unexpected quarters. </div>
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A very close friend of mine was coming down from the national capital on a short visit over the last (long) weekend. So there we were in the car, en route to the station to pick her up. Daughter was in the back seat while the husband was sitting next to his best chauffeur-cum-spouse. </div>
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<i>Time:</i> 9.30 p.m.<br />
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It was a pretty cool drive on a cooler night with a cooler breeze and the coolest company. Of course, the car wasn't really cool so suddenly senior S (SS) turned around and encountered junior S (JS) in a semi-serious tone.</div>
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<i>SS</i>: Do you think we should buy a bigger and better car?</div>
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<i>JS</i>: I don't know <i>nanna</i>... I'm very small (Of course she means 'young'). You should only decide no! Why are you asking me? </div>
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<i>SS</i>: Because I want to know your opinion. So since I'm asking you, tell me what do you think.</div>
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<i>JS</i>: We can buy a bigger car but we should keep the bike also. </div>
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Before SS could say anything, I intervened and said, "Of course, we're going to keep the bike and this car as well! So... what do you think?"</div>
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<i>JS</i>: No <i>amma</i>... we shouldn't do that. If we want to buy another car, we'll have to sell this one.</div>
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<i>SS</i>: Why S... we don't have to sell this car to buy another. We can have both the cars and the bike as well.</div>
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<i>JS</i>: No... if we sell this car then somebody who wants a car will buy it and use it. And then there will be one car less on the road. That means less traffic.</div>
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<i>SS</i>: (Thoroughly astonished by the logic) Hmmm... okay!</div>
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<i>JS</i>: It will also mean some petrol can be saved. We should help save petrol no!</div>
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Now, can you actually beat that logic?</div>
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<i>SS</i>: Very good! And all that is fine! But what kind of car should we buy?</div>
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<i>JS</i>: I don't mind any car in which I can sleep comfortably in the back seat... because I'm sleepy right now (giggling). Goodnight!</div>
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Seriously, I can't remember if I ever analyzed a problem with such complicated thought process and came up with a solution in less than a few seconds. And that too when I was barely nine... May you have a good night my little girl, and many more such good thoughts! Amen!</div>
</div>memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037045036790240828.post-25932966670335497522012-04-06T15:49:00.002+05:302012-04-10T12:54:52.319+05:30Between now and forever!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;">I had always read, and believed, that love is an ephemeral feeling. It's strong one moment and gone the next. And so sometimes I even have a doubt whether it's true to say "I love you forever"... (like the protagonist of the Telugu movie <i>Orange</i> says); "I love you now" is the right phrase, I guess, in these tricky times! </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Also I somehow used to think you can only love people, or pets at the most! But last night was a shocking revelation for me - when I was shedding copiously bitter tears for something less valuable than life! Then I tried recollecting when was the last I cried for/ over material possession(s), and I could hardly count 10 instances - and most of them belonged to a different age and era (read when I was a child)!<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><ul><li style="text-align: justify;">When I lost my favorite pencil at school</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">When one of my artificial earrings (a gift from a cousin) fell into a drain and I knew my dad was never going to buy me another pair as I was allergic to metals other than silver and gold :(</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">When an ice-cream vendor "stole" my 10-paise coin and refused to give me ice gola :-/</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">When my brother broke my toy in anger</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">When I lost my engagement ring soon after marriage :P</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">When I lost two of my precious rings (a pearl one bought with my scholarship money and a diamond one bought by hubby dear on my first birthday after marriage)</li>
</ul><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
I think that's about it. I didn't even shed a tear when there was a big dent on my brand new car within a week of taking it out. I didn't feel bad when we had to sell the same car a couple of years later. I don't remember suffering silently about disposing of our first flat in Hyderabad as I realized we'll not be able to go back there ever again - my daughter's corporate school and our respective offices were located at a pretty convenient distance from our new rented apartment.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">However, I do remember a few instances where I cried into my pillow through the night - sometimes for nights together. The incidents almost always were related to a sense of loss - a relationship, a to-be-born, a sibling, a parent. Or when I had a serious fight/ argument with someone that made me cry out in helplessness and frustration.<br />
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But those were about differently difficult and complicated things, and revolved around a loved one. And this reason was different. It was all about a brick-and-mortar-and-four-walls structure which we were thinking of putting up for sale. I had hardly spent a year in that place. Still... just the thought made me nervous and experience the same sense of loss all over again!<br />
<br />
I guess it's not because of a return of love for material things but more because my subconscious mind sends me a warning signal - of an impending break of a bond/ a strong tie... Hmmm and why not! The house is my only connection with the city I was born in, spent my childhood, adolescence and the prime of my adulthood, made friends, had relatives, got married, had a child, saw things that are good or bad, witnessed growth and destruction spanned over 35 years - both in terms of personal life and the city itself.<br />
<br />
Can you really be so possessive about some silly material possession that you stop caring for the person sitting next to you, trying to reason out with you and comfort you? Not really. It's surely not about the four walls... it's about the bonds that are set to break. Sad but true... and I'm "human" after all :)<br />
<br />
And precisely for that - for reminding me of my love for the city, my affection for my friends, and my human(e) personality - I love you forever my sweet abode! And it's adieus - sooner or later!</div></div>memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037045036790240828.post-2070142356107545412011-08-08T22:35:00.011+05:302012-07-04T15:18:21.527+05:30To SR... with love!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The day almost ended. So it has come and gone.... Another Friendship Day. But was I supposed to make some extra effort on my part to make it special, unlike other days, I wonder! Then, I'm sorry I didn't. Oops, maybe I shouldn't exist after this day for not being a proper-and-active part of the new era! </div>
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<br /></div>
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And that makes me wonder if Friendship Day of the current era is limited to a couple of lines to drive home friendly wishes (loud and clear) to loved/ dear/ dahling friends, and acknowledgments/ likes/ same-to-you-toos on popular social networking sites, SMS exchanges, and a few calls from my own close friends wishing me 'A Very Happy Friendship Day' (which, by the way, slipped out of my mind completely)...</div>
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<br /></div>
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Just when I was wondering about all this, a whiff of fresh air brought in fond memories of SR, a very very close childhood friend of mine. Now what do I say about her... except that she has seen me in my teen years, and shared all my secrets and insecurities, joys and sorrows, has grown with me during the three years in Indo-English High School where we studied Std. VII to Std. IX together. </div>
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<br /></div>
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She was privy to all important information of my teen life like my first crush on my classmate - a tall, dark Muslim boy who used to remind me so much of Azharuddin; the next one on my senior for whom I would wait near the school gate and all he ever did was lift his eyes and just give me a shy smile before cycling away. Oh yes, my crush on my Maths teacher in ninth class never caught her unawares. Only recently did I get to know (from SR herself of course) that I had a contender in another classmate (who was fairer and taller than I) for the same teacher's attention... :) And yes, SR even knew about my first love. She was my first Best Friend for all purposes.</div>
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<br /></div>
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But then, like all good things that come to an abrupt end, our blossoming friendship had to discontinue because of dad's transfer to another city. We used to write letters once a while for a few months but new surroundings, new friends, ensuing new college environment, and then the additional burden of semi-adulthood did come between us. But we did meet a couple of times, after dad's transfer back to Hyderabad three years later, and exchanged information on what we're doing currently. And then, that was it. We lost touch completely. I guess I never really forgot my best friend but I had many other friends too... and I sometimes used to think about her and wonder where have I lost her and how do I find her in this big bad world...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I guess my attempts to trace her were never adequate. SR beat me to it too - like she used to in good ol' days with her logical analyses. Here I must admit that I somehow was reckless and never really tried to look her up and connect with her on any social networking site though I was active on a few for the past few years. But she never gave up on me. She kept relentlessly trying to trace me eversince we lost touch some two decades ago - though the only details she had of me were my name (the spelling of which changed later), maiden surname (which changed after my marriage), my father's name and work info. That's about it. And still she pursued it - using the most modern technology... the powerful medium called Internet.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I never really understood the power of the Internet till I received an email recently, forwarded by a cousin late one evening. Like most non-techies, I took the Net for granted and kind of (ab)used it just to socialize with friends, and to keep tabs on others' lives. Disgusting? Yeah, you bet! But my respect for people who're behind the IT revolution grew many-fold when I received the best email forward that put me on cloud nine. </div>
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<br /></div>
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It was from SR. All the crucial information which she thought would help her didn't do her any good. Then she made her final move... instead of trying to find me, she traced a couple of my cousins (thanks to the celebrity writer status of my maternal uncle) and sent them emails introducing herself and asking for my details. Both my good samaritan cousins promptly forwarded her email to me. My smart younger cousin even sent me her FB profile. Thanks to them, and thanks to my friend's perseverance, energy, and dedication, we got back in touch again. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And our re-union in Hyderabad during this summer vacation was one of the sweetest memories that I'll cherish forever, and carry with me to my grave. So, Mr. Charles Babbage, I thank thee from the bottom of my heart! </div>
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For you SR, I have just these three simple, little words - love you hamesha! And on this Friendship Day, I dedicate this post to you, your amazing personality, and your truly undaunted spirit !!</div>
</div>memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037045036790240828.post-35969204522994131602011-04-19T23:57:00.007+05:302011-04-20T08:43:26.788+05:30No IGNOU, only Univ... UFFFFF!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;">After a restless, sleepless and seemingly endless night, laughter, mirth and amusement would be the last things on anyone's mind. And if you've had one of those serious discussions (a.k.a 'big fight') with your spouse late at night (that led to the insomnia in the first place), you can hardly imagine the sun to shine as bright as ever in the morning! But when a phone call wakes you up in a totally confused and drowsy state when you're almost asleep and sleep-talking during most part of the conversation - hardly aware of what you're thinking or saying - you certainly would end up providing comic relief to the caller and make his day!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Though I've always been popular (especially at work) for providing comic relief, my wit and sense of humour go for a toss when my anger reached its boiling point the previous night. And not being the one to easily forget and move on, the brooder in me constantly keeps reminding me of the need for Kleenex every few minutes.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And so S was caught completely off guard when he called in the morning to find out how wifey dear is doing after last night's lost-temper-coupled-with-copious-tears-n-controlled-sobs. No wonder, S called many times later in the day to thank me for 'making his day' after a tension-filled night!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">There definitely is something comical about me. Read on to decide if you agree with me!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Tring tring... tring tring... tring tring and many more trings later...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">S: Hello, how're you?</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Me: (Totally drowsy) Fine.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">S: Are you driving? You took so long to pick up the call.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Me: Sleeping.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">S: Oh okay. Well, I'll call you later then.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Me: Okay. Hey tell me one thing...</div><div style="text-align: justify;">S: Yeah? </div><div style="text-align: justify;">(I wonder if he expected me to ask him if he still loves me since I fought so bitterly in the night. That would have been the typical me. But somehow that was the last of my worries. I guess I had more pressing things on mind.)</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Me: Did I complete my M.A.?</div><div style="text-align: justify;">S: WHAT?</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Me: Did I finish my M.A. or no?</div><div style="text-align: justify;">S: Of course you did. Why are you asking?</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Me: Then why are you asking me to complete it from IGNOU?</div><div style="text-align: justify;">S: (Thoroughly bewildered) When did I ask you to do so?</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Me: Never mind. I want to complete my M.A. from University (meaning University of Hyderabad), not IGNOU. Or was it ANGRAU?</div><div style="text-align: justify;">S: (Burst out laughing) But you completed it already from University. You had U.M., D.A., and XYZ (now I forget the other name S mentioned, pardon me) for your classmates. And you were taught by teachers like Prof. Merchant.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Me: Whatever... I still want to do it from University only. Since anyway I'm not working or doing anything right now I want to complete the second year in University only.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">(I can hear S's continuous, uncontrolled laughter in the background. But I had to fight my case and prove my point).</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Me: I've already told my tuition students that I've completed my M.A. in English from the University. So I can't let them know that I've another year to study and I shouldn't do it from IGNOU. If they find out, my students will stop coming to me for tuition.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">(Bah, why is he laughing non-stop and interrupting my thought process... nonsense!)</div><div style="text-align: justify;">S: (Says in a sympathetic tone, after taking a short break from his evil laughter) Okay you can complete it now, I mean immediately. Just sleep now and when you wake up, you'd have completed your studies. Good luck and goodnight!</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Me: Yeah, okay, bye!<br />
<br />
Now who wouldn't want to forgive, love, and live with such a silly spouse! </div></div>memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037045036790240828.post-27726096839033967982011-02-28T13:54:00.007+05:302011-03-01T11:53:20.488+05:30In the era of... err... what can I say?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Okay! I agree there have been a spate of scams in the recent past - starting with CWG... So?<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I woke up one fine day to realize that the Games that everyone was so excited about is as tainted as a tinted glass. I can still understand and empathize with the enthusiasm of every average Indian like me... and also sympathize with Mr. Kalmadi in the same breath. After all, it's a question of a whopping Rs. 160 crore. Now tell me which 'honest' person will not succumb to devilish temptation with such an amount at his disposal. It's really cruel and evil to think that s/he shouldn't. So, I have no problem with Mr. Kalmadi's theft... in fact, I think he's super cool and I appreciate his deftness, boldness, confidence and what not!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Next what do I hear of? The town is painted red with the news about the great Adarsh Housing Society scam! Where's the scam about that, I say! The poor CM was made to resign for such a small offence. He made just a few bucks for his services to his State. Big deal! Why should we grudge him his 'small benefit' for his huge sacrifices as a CM. Don't you realize how Mr. Chavan has had to sacrifice his time, energy, family life, career prospects, health, personal space, privacy, and everything else you can think of just to serve you all as the CM. What ungrateful fellas we all are! </div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
And just when I was coming to terms with a few 'minor' aberrations, the news about the 2G Spectrum scam hit the news stands and the channels. <i>Wah Wah</i>! India is progressing at a faster pace, I must admit. Here again, I've my sympathies with Mr. Raja and his DMK boss(es). I've no qualms about the Rs. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; white-space: nowrap;">1.76-lakh</span> crore that was laundered. Come on, so what if there's a loss to the exchequer, the money is gone into 'safe' hands. Trust me Mr. Raja, I'm with you on this!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
And then I hear of another spectrum controversy - with ISRO being involved this time. This, I have to admit, was the only time I felt a bit shaky. I don't mind any organization being part of any scam - major or minor. I only don't want to lose sleep over the fear of an impending nuclear war. That's my only lookout. As long as I can have a relaxed and peaceful sleep at nights (or whenever I want to for that matter) without thinking about dark nights and bullet/ cannon sounds. What's the connection, you might ask! I don't know either. I just thought I'll make up some silly-yet-grand theory about ISRO misusing (err... I meant using) SLV technology to launch super wars against all super powers on Earth and Mars and Jupiter and Mercury. Sounds cool, <i>na</i>? </div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
All was well till the Radia tapes were out! Now what I really can't stand is the involvement of those stupid petty journalists. How dare they try to get themselves entangled in such a scummy scam mess! I don't hate corruption or corrupt people! But what I don't like is... getting caught! And what's worse, making a blatant show of it! Maybe, maybe... all this negative propaganda pays off the likes of BD in the end. Let's wait and watch! In the meantime, I wish BD and colleagues good luck! </div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
While on corruption, what about the sanctions given to her home State by our honorable Railway Minister, Madame Mamta? You call it partiality? I call it favoritism. You call it injustice? I call it diplomacy. You call it selfishness? I call it indirect self-interest. As simple as that. (Oh that also reminds me another slightly related <a href="http://musing-memory.blogspot.com/2011/01/jaago-re-you-say-yes-but-how.html">incident</a>...)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
However, what I don't understand is why are Indians waking up suddenly, and crying hoarse for heaven's sake? Hasn't any of this happened before? Let's please go back to sleep and rest peacefully. Please play a deaf ear to everything around. That's much better and safer than taking to the streets, and showing (y)our discontent with protests akin to those being held at the moment by our fellow citizens across the globe. It's not really worth the effort, I'm telling you.<br />
<br />
This is not the era of do or die. This is not even the era of live and let live. This is the era of enjoy and forget about everything else. This is the era of if you can't be happy, snatch the others' happiness too. Most importantly, this is the era of scams and make money schemes. And once you make the money, don't forget to stow it in super cool Swiss accounts. :P</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
So, why are you bent upon wasting your time? Stop acting NOW if you are thinking in terms of rallies, revolution, ending corruption, <i>jaagte raho</i>... It all sounds good on TV and in magazines. If you don't wanna pay heed to what I say, please keep me out of the consequences. And don't complain later that I didn't warn you!</div></div></div>memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037045036790240828.post-44650318638064649912011-01-13T15:57:00.009+05:302011-01-17T11:34:31.297+05:30What's my next adventure?<div style="text-align: justify;"><i>"Imagine yourself many years from today. Will you look at your life with even a little dismay?" </i><br />
<b>- Michelle C. Ustaszeski</b><br />
<br />
And that's exactly what I am trying to do - imagining myself many years from now... as a sexagenarian relaxing with a book (while Mozart composes brilliant pieces exclusively for me in the background) in a rocking chair in front of the fireplace in my very own study room with a shawl draped on my frail shoulders. Picture Perfect! That got me thinking - about quite a few things actually.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So what sort of woman am I? I still wander aimlessly, wondering aloud, in search of the right words to describe myself. With two love affairs, two marriages, a divorce, a daughter, and six jobs to my credit what's it that's driving me to push all the limits of a cocooned life I had experienced in the first 22 years of my life?<br />
<br />
Despite the mental conditioning, the orthodox upbringing, the traditional environment in and around home, I guess I had secretly nurtured a spirit of adventure, confidence, individuality, hotheadedness, arrogance, ego, obstinacy, recklessness, pride, restlessness, and independence... without which I don't think I'd be where I'm today. Simply following my heart everywhere, comfortably making myself home in a nowhere land, picturing myself as a senior citizen, and looking forward to my next adventure.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">If it weren't for my rebellious nature combined with an adventurous attitude, I wouldn't have jumped headlong into another relationship/marriage after miserably failing the first time. Probably I wouldn't have thought of packing my bags without a second thought and moving to the countryside to try out yet another adventurous lifestyle - hitherto unknown to me. But... as always, I just followed my heart - without letting my head take control of my wants and dreams.<br />
<br />
Never once did it occur to me that I'll be many many miles away - far from my hometown, my lovely bunch of friends, family, well-wishers, supporters, sympathizers, loved ones... in fact, all those who matter to me, and who believe I'm important to them! This isn't the first time that I'd recklessly embarked on a new journey - to live absolutely alone, except for a six-year-old chatter box for company - amid strangers under strangest circumstances.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">If it weren't for my stupid sense of superiority, super confidence and trust in my own ability, I wouldn't have pushed the limits of my smooth-sailing life-boat, and sailed offshore! Am I regretting any of these happenings? Nope. Not at all. Quite the contrary actually. I'm enjoying every bit of it as I slowly learn to live each day. <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;">"</span></span>If you don't think everyday is a great day, try going without one," </i>says Jim Evans. How very true indeed! And I have this philosophy in life: everything I do, I do it for myself, for fun, for happiness, for experience - and in the process I learn some, I gain some, I lose some and I keep going. Just keep going, just keep going, just keep going...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Oh yes, I did hear a lot about patience being a virtue, patience paying off in the end, patience this patience that... like I care! Sincerely speaking, I've no patience. Absolutely none! All I knew in these 36 years of my life are impatience, restlessness, and impulsiveness. And I'm happy the way I am because it keeps me going - despite the hurt, the loss, the wound, the ego, the everything. True guys, I love myself and my attitude, and my sense of adventure. Because underneath all the layers of friendliness, sensitiveness, kindness, gentleness and all the other 'ness's, I'm as strong, as arrogant and as adamant as any princess of repute. :P </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So..., my ego prompts me every now and then, what's on your list next? Okay <i>you</i> tell me, what next?</div>memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037045036790240828.post-88416301729566324672011-01-12T16:38:00.046+05:302011-01-13T10:27:35.120+05:30Jaago re... you say! Yes, but how?<div style="text-align: justify;">I was recently watching the Jaago Re-Tata Tea ad about 'donation' for a college seat and the ensuing half-a-minute mini-lecture on corruption in the education system. It reminded me of this little (okay, not-so-little) episode that happened a few months ago on board the Prashanti Express during my trip to Bangalore for a close friend's wedding.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Our tickets got confirmed only in the last minute despite booking it two days in advance (that too in Tatkal). And when we got into the train it was so full it wasn't funny. Luggage was stuffed under all the three berths with not so much as an inch of space for our really cutesy small single suitcase. But we did manage to magically tuck it in. After breakfast, I had calmed down enough from the fretting-fuming-frustration, and settled to enjoy the coolness of the AC coach while taking note of my surroundings and co-passengers.<br />
<br />
A middle-aged couple, a young married girl, another young guy, besides a bunch of young Wipro employees who were returning to Bangalore from their conference-cum-fun trip at Bhubaneswar, were to keep us company for the next 26 hours. Fine! But what wasn't fine was the way 12 people (four of whom had Sleeper Class tickets) were seated in a eight-seater coupe! The TC didn't seem to have a problem with that! So far so good!<br />
<br />
Now starts our real (read juicy and gossipy) story... Once upon a time there lived a queen bee who wanted to travel to Bangalore... To cut a very long story short, let me begin with my reaction and then proceed further. I was very impressed initially with the bee and her battalion, and the bubbly atmosphere in the compartment. But let me admit that I was totally shocked when I realized that the queen bee (or should we call her 'Her Royal Highness' for the treatment she had received through the journey), who made herself extremely comfortable in cool red-and-black striped pyjamas and off-white kurta, doesn't even have a confirmed ticket?<br />
<br />
So who is this HRH? Called Naksha, this bubbly employee of Wipro seemed to be the blue-eyed daughter/daughter-in-law of a well-connected dad, and/or dad's best friend-cum-future father-in-law. It all looked quite mysterious as I tried to figure out which among the two big guys is a top cop. Of course, I couldn't solve the mystery to this date.<br />
<br />
Anyway... thanks to madame Naksha, our compartment was the most sought-after at every station (big and small) that the train stopped. At every halt, two cops in mufti would get in, ask for madam-of-seat-number-so-and-so, salute HRH, pass her packets of chips, biscuits, bottles of Coke/Sprite/ Fanta... you name it! It was fun to watch for an hour or two as our compartment was getting the attention of the entire Railway Police Force, the TC, the Station Master and every Tom, Dick and Harry.<br />
<br />
But as evening gave way to night, I started getting irritated with the people swarming in and out of the coupe. It was peak summer and the AC in the compartment was not sufficient with so many of HRH's personal attendants, friends-cum-colleagues and well-wishers visiting her at regular intervals. The TC, unfortunately, couldn't confirm her RAC ticket till late in the night, and post 10 p.m. the visitors at the station kept waking us up not knowing madam's new berth number.<br />
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Gawd! I would have died of shame for putting so many people through hours of inconvenience and torture. But HRH Naksha was oblivious to all this as she was not only enjoying the attention but also looked like this treatment is not really new to her. And all this made me wonder... if this is not corruption at its most base level, then what is! I was feeling worse thinking about all the time, money and energy of the RPF <i>jawans</i> that was spent on pleasing/impressing one woman - all for the sake of promotion, recognition or whatever favor they're after.<br />
<br />
I agree there is no happy ending to this story - but that is purely because the moral of my story is bitterly clear: As long as there are Nakshas in this world, there's bound to be corruption.<br />
<br />
So let's just go with the slogan - 'Long live HRH, and long live corruption'!</div>memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037045036790240828.post-7282437712767178102010-10-02T22:27:00.026+05:302010-10-04T15:31:47.966+05:30Ayyo... Ramachandra!!<div style="text-align: justify;">My association with Bhagwan Sri Ramachandra Maharaj <i>ji</i> dates back to a few decades. And my first initiation into Rama <i>bhakti,</i> way back in the late '70s, must have been quite a smooth affair for my parents given the family tradition and history. As a child, I used to love learning and reciting the <i>shlokas</i> my mom used to teach me. And <i>Srirama Rama Rameti, Rame Raame Manorame</i> happens to be one of the first poems I had learned after the invocation <i>shloka</i> of <i>Shuklambhara dharam</i>...<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Oh yes, any amount of talk about my mom's devotion towards Lord Sri Rama would be inadequate. Mom has been a staunch devotee of Dasaratha's God-son. And she has been writing <i>Ramakoti</i> (Sri Rama's name written one crore times) for the past 40-odd years and has completed writing His name around 90 lakh times.<br />
<br />
Ever since she was initiated into the ritual of writing the Lord's name by none other than Sri Kanchi Kamakoti Pita Adhipati (Swamy Jayendra Saraswati) way back in the early seventies, she has neither taken a break nor is she about to get over it anytime sooner. And she's quite eager to complete one crore <i>Rama namam</i>s. But it's not just her. I guess it runs in my maternal grandparents' family. A few of her sisters are deep into it too. A couple of my aunts even completed this amazing marathon feat.<br />
<br />
With this kind of devotion running in the family, will I be left untouched? Why sir, I'm a devotee! And a most staunch one at that too... So ideally I should be 'The Most Happiest' person when our family deity finally gets to find a home within the precincts of the Sanctum Sanctorum of the to-be-built new temple at Ayodhya. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
So what if something else has been razed to dust to construct a temple for my God? So what if the temple is being built on the ruins of another shrine of historic importance? Haven't I earlier approved of Kancherla Gopanna a.k.a Sri Ramadasu "using" the tax money to be sent to the royal treasury to build a temple for the same God a few centuries ago?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Hmmm... so why does it feel bad now that the verdict is out justifying the placement of the God's idols within the ruins of a blood-ridden historical structure? Because I was always made to believe that Sri Rama is the most peace-loving, non-violent and benevolent of all the Hindu Gods. Even with my rather limited knowledge of the religious scriptures, I do know it for a fact that nobody - neither a Hindu, nor a Muslim, nor a Christian - would ever think of building a religious shrine in a graveyard! </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Now how can somebody think of building a temple and place the God's idols within the premises when so much blood has been shed on the very same land (the so-called birthplace of Ram Lalla)? And that too for Sri Rama who had forgone the throne for the sake of his step-mother! I wonder which <i>Purana, Veda, Upanishad</i> or <i>Dharma</i> <i>Shastra</i> backs up the idea of a temple being built on a graveyard which was witness to the gory bloodbath and the deaths of thousands of people over the years. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Even a devout like my mom is not very excited about the Ram temple in Ayodhya. All she cared about on the day of the verdict was the safety of her son-in-law who was on his way home from work. She was also worried about the mid-term exams of her granddaughter (who stays many hundreds of kilometers away) which were to begin the very next day! I know my mom is genuinely happy with two things in life - writing <i>Sriramajayam </i>(as she's eager to touch the crore-mark) and visiting the Sri Rama temple at Bhadrachalam a couple of years ago.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
No sir, I don't think I'm a great scholar. I'm neither an authority on the Hindu scriptures nor am I a pandit of sorts. I'm just an ordinary housewife from a rural village who loves to cook, clean, wash, supervise, yell at daughter, fight with husband, order around, and still be treated like 'Her Royal Highness'. But all I want in this simple life of mine is some peace... and I do know that I feel that inner peace when I pray to God with all my heart (and silently) within the precincts of my own house. Or when I listen to Sri Venkateswara or Sri Kamakshi Devi or Sri Mallikarjuna <i>suprabhatams</i> or devotional songs early in the morning.<br />
<br />
I don't need a grand temple with a glittering golden idol of God who is forced to wear a diamond-studded crown on His head while millions of others are forced to find (read search the public dustbins for) food everyday of their life. I'd rather a few hundreds of them be shown the way to earn a decent meal a day than have The Grandest Temple for my God. I was never a fanatic to be overwhelmed with the urge to fight on God's behalf. I do strongly believe that God is Omni-potent - the most Supreme Powerful Being in the entire universe. So is it wrong if I leave God to fight for His own rights while I fight with my husband (for my rights of course!)?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Now this is where I feel the strong need for Divine Intervention. God, can you please look into this matter and take full control of the current situation? And yes, while you are at it, can you also please demolish all those religious shrines constructed right in the middle of the road by greedy land dealers with the mere intention of grabbing a large chunk of the government land for which I am forced to pay the taxes? </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
By the way, let me tell you God that while I Love (the idea of) You, I HATE the sight of your idol being incensed with the polluted air coming out of those endless rows and columns of vehicles. And don't You get irritated, Mr. God, that you've to hear the continuous cacophony, blaring honking sounds, and the non-stop noise 24X7 instead of the pleasant chiming of the temple bells? Oh, before I forget, let me reveal a secret and also offer you a bit of good advice like a good ol' friend. Please don't be too pleased with some of your "<i>bhakts"</i> who religiously and dutifully light a <i>diya</i> inside a road-side temple... these are the very people who pee on the wall right behind (or next to) your little abode. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Did someone say blasphemy? God save You... and me too!</div>memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037045036790240828.post-82743610284187759902010-09-28T06:38:00.012+05:302010-10-02T22:31:47.386+05:30'Chang amma's mind'<div style="text-align: justify;">Prayers (especially in my religion) usually begin with an invocation to the Elephant God like this - <i>Shuklambharadharam Vishnum...</i> At my daughter's convent school, she's taught to Praise the Lord or Thank the Lord for everything.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">As little S sits down for her meal, she closes her eyes and obediently utters a Thank You prayer that goes something like this:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Thank you God</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>For the food we</i><i> eat</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>For the water we drink</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>And for everything</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Amen!</i><br />
<i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And when I'm angry and don't talk to her for a while, she writes little notes and shows them to me (albeit discreetly by her standards) by stealthily tip-toeing and placing the note right next to me while I'm engrossed in reading, cooking, chatting, and whatever-else-I-might-be-doing-then. You have to be a child at heart to know all about exchanging silly notes. Anyway... her notes are almost always the same and can be summed up as - "Amma, I am sorry. I love you. Will you talk to me...". </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Or sometimes the notes would contain a short poem (and her favorite one too) which S has learnt from <i>Barney and Friends</i>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>I love you</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>You love me</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>We're all a family</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Let me give a kiss </i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>From me to you</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Won't you say</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>"I Love You" </i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
And oh... once S had modified the poem only slightly when I whacked her for creating ruckus, and not studying.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>I love you</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>You hate me. Why?</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>We're all friends - I say that</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Let me give a kiss</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>From me to you. Please.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Won't you say</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>'I Love You'?</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Need I say how very sad I was over the next few days for breaking her heart and making her feel miserable. :( </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
But my little monkey never leaves an opportunity to test my patience, let it simmer a while, then bring it to a boil... and when the boiling point is finally reached, I stop speaking to her for a couple of hours. And this time (which was just two days ago), I was totally off and I hadn't spoken to S for almost half a day. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Now little S realized she's in trouble. And she had a real tough time winning back her mom. She tried writing notes which were quietly ignored. She tried to <i>wriggle-wraggle, wriggle-wraggle, wriggle-wraggle</i> like Donald Duck who is a <i>one-legged, two-legged, three-legged, four-legged duck</i> which almost always does the trick as her mom bursts out laughing. But sorry boss, it wasn't about to happen this time.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
So, S had to tread a new path and write a different kind of note now - basically seeking Divine Intervention. And, she sent out a prayer God's way. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>"Dear goo</i><i>d Go</i><i>d,</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>I want to talk, play and study with amma. Dear God, please chang amma's mind.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>kindly srishtii."</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
But, of course, God also had ignored her for a bit so she realizes that while it's okay to make mischief and test mom's patience, it's NOT okay to disobey and ignore studies (especially when the mid-term exams are drawing closer). But God (good God) is God after all. Benevolent and loving that He is, He did 'chang' (I would rather not think about the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chang">Wikipedia</a> definitions of the word) S's amma's mind. And thus, the story ends in another "... happily ever after" reunion. Peace to all! :)</div>memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6037045036790240828.post-30858495401207251482010-09-15T22:38:00.006+05:302011-01-14T16:35:54.829+05:30Of snakes, spiders and scares!<div style="text-align: justify;">Today thou shall all be treated to a quiet recording of banter between two cousins (of almost the same age) in a smallish car travelling on the smallest path in a smaller village... <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">S: I told you not to roll down those windows.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">N: But it's hot and I want air.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">S: <i>Amma</i> switched on the fan no! And it's evening. It's not even afternoon. Why do you want the windows to be opened?</div><div style="text-align: justify;">N: (adamant) Because I don't like it if it is hot.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">S: (equally adamant) Then you go and sit in the front and open those windows.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">N: But <i>atta</i> is driving. I don't want to disturb her. And why should I go? You go if you don't want to sit near open windows.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">S: (a bit nervous and apprehensive about revealing her fears) There are snakes hiding in these trees, and they'll come inside if you keep the windows open.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">N: I don't believe you. And I'm not scared of snakes anyway.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">S: But I'm scared of snakes.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">N: Why? They don't do anything. I've seen snakes a lot of times.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">S: I also saw snakes at my <i>atta</i>'s house sometimes. But I'm scared of them. We will die if they come inside the car and bite us. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">N: If you don't do anything, they don't bite us. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">S: Why are you behaving like that? You're also scared of something I'm sure. All children are scared of something...</div><div style="text-align: justify;">N: I'm not scared of snakes. I'm only scared of lions and tigers.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">S: But they don't stay in the village or come here. Then why are you scared of them? I am not scared of lions and tigers at all. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">N: (teasing) But you're scared of snakes.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">S: (sulking) Yes because they can come and bite us now also. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">N: What else are you scared of?</div><div style="text-align: justify;">S: I'm scared of spiders also.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">N: (laughing out loud) But why? They're very small and they don't bite also.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">S: No, they also bite. And it's okay if I'm a boy and they bite me. But I'm a girl no. That's why I'm scared.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">N: Huh? </div><div style="text-align: justify;">S: You know, if a spider bites a boy he'll become Spiderman once he becomes big. But I don't know if a girl can become Spiderwoman if the spider bites her.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">N: Ohhh...<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">N and S are still lost in thought when I switched off my mental record button and killed the car's engine as well. The house is in sight, and the girls are in mirth as they spot their one-year-old brother running towards them. And there ends our sweet banter, and the complex thought process too!!</div>memorieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01593321535464029539noreply@blogger.com1