The Vancouver Diaries - VI

Left: A picture of Burnaby, BC. The mountains in the background were my view when I walked to school everyday. Courtesy: Wikipedia

Rain, Rain Go Away...

The one thing you'd have to hate about Vancouver is the incessant damp, rainy weather. You have rain 300 days of the year! The only time you can catch a peep of the Sun God is during the summer months of July-August (if you're lucky!). Someone told me that Seattle has the highest suicide rate in the US of A because of its rain. I am not surprised. Vancouver, just 3 hours away from Seattle, used to drive me crazy!

The entire weather system used to confound me. Being a typical Indian, I was only used to Hot, Hotter and Hottest seasons. I was witnessing the four seasons - Winter, Spring, Summer and Autumn - for the first time! My walk from my home to school took me 20 minutes and I used to love that walk during Autumn! Bright red, green and yellow maple leaves strewn on the road creating a carpet of colors were a novelty to me! The snow capped mountain peaks formed a background to the hilly, curvy road leading to my school. I used to savour the fresh, mountain air as I walked to school everyday! It was heaven.

Winter was not really that bad. The warm currents of the Pacific kept us reasonably warm. During winter, the sun used to rise at 8.30 AM and set at around 3.00 PM. Darkness descended within 3.30-4.00 in the afternoon. I was gloomy and upset because of that. During the summer, it was the other way around. The sun was around till 11 in the night sometimes and it rose as early as 4.30 in the morning! I used to feel extremely awake by 6 with sunlight filtering through the blinds prodding me to get out of bed! I hated that.

My brother and I were dying to see snowfall. We were a bit disappointed early on when people told us that Vancouver never received that much snow. Our prayers were answered. Vancouver had the heaviest snowfall in decades during the Winter of 1996. Our driveway, lawn and backyard were fully covered with 6-9 inches of snow. All of us stayed up at night to watch the magic of falling snowflakes covering the ground in a robe of pristine white.

Huh. We didn't know what awaited us next morning. My dad sounded the alarm first.

"Uhh..hey guys, want to come down for a minute?"

My brother and I looked sleepily at each other and dragged ourselves downstairs. Mom was busy cooking.

"What?"

"Look at that!"

My father pointed dramatically to the front of the garage. We followed his gaze and gasped. Foot high Snow had piled up outside the garade door! There's no way my dad was going to get the car out unless he happened to be Moses parting the red seas.

My nose, meanwhile, was getting red in the cold. I rubbed it slowly and said,

"So what do we do?"

"We take a shovel and clear the driveway."

"Noooooooooooooo"

My brother and I cried in unison. But there was nothing else to be done.

So we donned our winter jackets, cap, gloves and all of us went to work on the driveway. We dug out a shovel from somewhere in the garage , my father took out a packet of salt and off we went to work like little soldiers. I realized that day that having a huge, long driveway overlooking a big lawn doesn't only look pretty; It means a LOT of work. For some 40 minutes we laboured to carve a path.

"Whew. You wish for more snow?" I asked my brother.

He shook his head huffing and puffing.

"No snow. I don't want to spend all my mornings like this!"

After we cleared the drive, we even took a triumphant picture in front of our garage. I don't have it with me here. It is in my parents' album. I looked at it even this time when I went to India..:)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**

The Godfather

School stinked for a while. I had no friends, no lunch partners, nothing in common. Zilch. Zip. Nada. I was under pressure on the academic side as well. I shed a lot of silent tears wondering why in the world I was going through this. But I realized soon enough crying wasn't going to solve my problems. I got in this despondent mood especially after Physics 11. I was getting out of Physics class one day, my shoulders hunched, head down - the picture of misery.

Darn. I'd have to take another long route to go to the North Building.

I had to avoid the bully guys. As if all my troubles were not enough, I was in trouble with the Italian boys "mafia". We called them the school "mafia". They tried to look typically Italian - lots of grease on their hair, an arrogant gait, fast cars. In retrospect, I think they were inspired by John Travolta's "Grease". They used to bully and tease a lot of "uncool" people (as they called them). I was sitting in the cafeteria one day doing some homework with a Chinese friend. These guys walked in and sat at the next table.

"Hey, she looks new!" One of them called out pointing at me.

I kept my head down, my heart pounding.

"C'mon, less go talk to her!"

By now, my head was deeply buried within my Math book. If I could've dug a hole through the pages, I am pretty sure I'd have stuck my head inside it.

"Hey, who are you?"

"Err.. I am Subha" and I stuck out my hand as a greeting.

One of them snickered and waved my hand away.

Yeah, sure. You dumbass.

The first guy was tall and dark with so much grease on his hair that I thought it was going to drip on me. I stared at him.

He grabbed my Math book.

"What're you doing?"

"Homework."

"Will you buy us all lunch?"

My heart raced.

How do you answer this question? Do I say no? yes? Oh God!

"Err..I don't have that much money", I answered truthfully.

"Hey, listen guys. She doesnt have money. What're you doing to eat?"

"Err..I was thinking Apple Pie.."

"Go get it.."

Am I getting away so easily? Thank heavens.

I moved to the counter and got my apple pie.

"Come here...", they called.

I took my apple pie with me, shivering a bit. After all, 6 huge, muscular guys do seem scary especially when you are 15, new, small compared to them and they're busy bullying you! :) A very unnecessary, unseeming comparison popped into my head.

I am a midget. An insect in a world of mammoths. Whatever! Why am I trying to make a metaphor out of my misery?? Shut up, brain! I don't need your literary eloquence now. Oh gosh, now I am talking to my brain. How sad is that?

"Sit."

I obeyed. Other students in the cafeteria were now watching the drama unfold. The next moment the tall guy picked up my fresh, new Apple pie and smacked it on my face.

I heard racuous laughter as they left the cafeteria. I burst into tears more out of shame and embarassment than anything else! I ran out the cafeteria, tears blinding me, looking for the washroom.

I HATED SCHOOL!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I meet a friend

After that, I avoided those guys taking circuitous routes to my class. Thinking of that incident, I went to my locker and was getting ready for another class when I saw a familiar face nearby. M was in two of the classes I was taking. She had raven black hair styled in a boycut and soft, European features. I knew she was deadly smart because she cracked some of the tough homework problems in Physics. And the other reason I remembered her was because she always had a green apple with her.

She called me in thick, accented English.

"Are you going to Math?"

I nodded my head looking at her curiously.

"Can I walk with you?"

Sure. God, you're actually listening to me. Now I don't have to cross mafia territory alone.

Outwardly, I smiled and said yes.

For the first time in 3 months, someone actually wanted my company! I cannot tell you what a relief that was. Of course, I talked with a lot of other students. But none of them were what you could call friends. All of them were "hi-bye" types. I felt a happy warmth pervading my body despite the winter cold.

Maybe, I can be friends with her.

You want someone to care if you don't turn up for class one day. You want someone to share lunch with you and sit and talk of mundane things that happened. You want someone to share your crush on that cute guy down the hall. Above all, you want to belong. I think the reason I cried in the cafeteria after the bullying session was because there was none who would come to me and comfort me after that. There was none who would lend their shoulder to me and say, "Hey, its ok!".

I know I make meeting a new friend sound a big epic victory. But then, that's how it was with me back then! I was glad MJ walked with me to Math class that day.


The Diary will continue to write itself....

After a very long hiatus, I posted in Tamil today! It is a pleasure to write in Tamizh! Happy weekend, people! :)

Dayton Temple

Vancouver Dairies -6 will be out in a couple of days...:) Till then, here's some photos I took over the Memorial Day weekend....

Dayton Temple - retouched in Photoshop

Dayton Temple - With a Pastel Shades filter in Photoshop

Ella Enchanting!

I have wanted to listen to jazz music for a while but I never got around to it. B made me a CD of "Ella in Rome - The Birthday Concert". I had never heard of Ella Fitzgerald until B mentioned her. On a really cloudy, rainy Thursday evening, I popped this CD in and turned up the volume. Tired as I was, I just sat back, closed my eyes and relaxed.It turned out to be the perfect music to listen to on a slow, rainy evening! :)

For a 1958 live recording, the sound is amazingly clear. In today's music, with all the synthesised sounds,voices and instruments, sometimes the real voice of the singer is hard to hear. Not so with this album. I could hear Ella's beautiful voice loud and clear in all its vibrancy. I could feel her enthusiasm and emotion in singing every song. A few lyrics - "Stomping in the Savoy" and "The Lady is a Tramp" - cracked me up ( you can hear some people in the crowd laughing too) . "Angel Eyes" and "I Can't Give You Anything but Love" were my favorites. Another thing special about this album (maybe because it is live) is that you can feel the spontaneity. Spontaneity, especially in the singer, is truly infectious. I have seen it in SPB's concerts where he totally enjoys the nuances of a song as he sings it and the crowd gets in step with him..:) Ella reminded me of SPB.

Overall, it made for an excellent music experience. Do try to listen to it if you get a chance. Thank you, B! :)

PS: Strangely, what started all this off was a monotone, B &W picture of Unnikrishnan on one of his CDs. I was listening to it and B thought the image resembled Ella! Strange how music around the world connects...:)

Confessions of a pinkaphobic!

"Confessions of a Shopaholic" by Sophie Kinsella is maddeningly addictive. When RS lent me the book, the very pink cover seemed to shout "Stay away" to me. You see, I hate pink (Ahem..Why do girls have to like pink anyway?).

I expected a girly-girl book and it was sachcharinely so! All Becky Bloomwood seemed to do is shop, shop, shop. So much so, that all her days seemed pretty much the same to me. I flipped a few pages and I was going, "Huh? Is she nuts?". Then I flipped some more pages and I got bored. Becky seemed such a far cry from myself and anyone else I could relate to. Do such utterly irresponsible, disorganized, confused, aimless, shopaholic people exist in this world? :) (I admit I am pretty confused myself but I do know to stop shopping if I have a $5000 debt on my Visa card! And I very definitely won't hide my bills in a drawer and hope that they'd go away.) I couldn't take the overdose of shopping at one go. I put the book aside.

A couple of days later, I went home for lunch and saw this book lying around. Hell, I'll read a couple of pages just to keep me entertained (Yes, I do have this very bad habit of reading while eating. My parents tried in vain to correct me. But alas..). And before I knew it, I kept reading a couple of pages every day and now I am hooked. :)

Despite being a pinkaphobic, Becky has successfully gotten my attention. I hope to finish it off this weekend.

The Vancouver Diaries - V

"Class, we're going to have an ice cream business as our business project... .."

I've always struggled for a balance between knowledge and ignorance. Knowledge means growth and growth is always painful. The more you know, the more you question, the more you think. A refined thought process is said to make one a better person. But there are some moments when I stop to ask myself: is it really worth going through some experiences or gaining knowledge? It is like the concept of 'Maya'. Knowing that all the world is just an illusion and there's a higher truth behind it all doesn't give you peace. Somehow the idea that the world around you could be an illusion is a shattering thought, isn't it? It means that all you believed is not true. So, you seek more, question more....But people who haven't even bothered to think of this idea can be peaceful, happy simply because they are ignorant!

"....We are going to run this business for one month. Representatives from this class are going to be executives and I won't interfere for the course of the project..."

Of course, my experience was nowhere akin to seeking some higher truth..:) But if I hadn't gone to Canada, would I have been for the worse? So what if I didn't know how to survive in another culture? How was any of this going to help me out? How different was I going to be from my friends back in India? Wouldn't it be awesome to be naive, ignorant, trusting and simple?

"....We will see how well you can apply business principles and the profit we make is going to be turned over to charity.."

The fact was that I was stressed, lonely and irritated and I was searching for meaning behind having to deal with all these things. I'd have so preferred to be a normal school kid in India with her friends, her own small circle of people she could depend on, familiar faces, familiar places, a set path for life....How nice would that be!

I was lost in the contemplation about...er..as corny as it may sound, the meaning of Life (I do sound so confused like Becky Bloomwood from "Confessions of a Shopaholic"! Eeks!) when someone prodded me from behind. Startled, I half-rose from my seat.

"Okay, Subha, you want to be VP of Finance?"

"Huh...err..ahem," I mumbled with embarassment. What was going on? I had tuned off Mrs. B's voice a long time back. VP of Finance? I turned around and glared at Barbara who sat behind me.

"Why did you poke me?" I whispered fiercely.

She mouthed, "Its ok." and gave me the thumbs up. I rolled my eyes.

"Anyone else interested?", Mrs. B asked.

Jenny, who sat in the next row, was the "cool" girl of the school. She was quite popular, involved in a lot of projects and generally nasty to everyone. She uncrossed her legs gracefully and stood.

"Okay, Jenny. You want to run for Finance too? We'll take a vote."

I got a haughty, condescending look from Jenny.

Oh, you are so sure of your popularity! How I wish I could punch you in the face!

Needless to say, she won and I was left red-faced and annoyed. I did end up with VP of Personnel but that wasn't much of a consolation to me! That should teach me to philosophize during class! Hell, I thought, why did Barbara have to startle me?

*************

"Hey, you should try smoking once."

Eva and I were talking between brush strokes in our painting class.

"No Eva, I am okay. Not curious to try."

"No, I insist", she leaned toward me and whispered conspiratorially. "It is AMAZING. I do it with my bf all the time."

She giggled. I stared woefully at my dolphin. I wasn't getting the shades right. Darn! I forgot what Mrs. Tobin said about mixing charcoal grey and white! Hopefully, I should get a B at least. It would really stink if I got a "C" in Drawing and Painting.

"So?"

I looked up distracted from my reverie. Eva was looking at me eagerly, her eyes dancing mischief.

"Uh..Eva, I think I am going to skip. I have to go somewhere this evening."

She made a face at me and laughed.

***************

Physics 11 was my nightmare. The first day I walked in they had a "quiz". I was handed a piece of paper and some 20 questions on Newton's laws. All of them were numerical problems. I was used to the theory oriented methods of India and the jump in syllabus was really pretty startling. Totally taken aback and unprepared, I did horrendously. I was ready to burst into tears. But then, what's the point of crying?

Vicky used to sit next to me in Physics. She was a very friendly, helpful soul. But I disliked the number of "likes" she used in her sentence. In fact, I had a problem with that everywhere in Burnaby North. She, for her part, said,

"You know, you should like slow down. Like your English is just too fast and I, like, can't really get it. We are not like used to Queen's English."

Okay. Whatever.

****************

English literature and English were my favourite classes for a while. I was comfortable with Mrs. T and Mrs. S. It was fun and I was in my elements. I enjoyed the way Shakespeare was taught. There were discussions about style, allusions, metaphors, oxymorons, contextual influences etc...We even got to act out a part of King Lear! I was supposed to be King Lear and I got the famous "Howl, howl, howl..." finale of Lear. I was afraid that if I messed up, I would be the butt of jokes. But everyone was much more tolerant than what I imagined. All kids made some mistakes while presenting and they shrugged it off. There was no expectation of giving a "perfect" talk or presentation. Mistakes were normal and you learnt from them. I liked that about Burnaby North. People were so casual (unlike India where you'd be the butt of jokes even if you made one silly error in front of class)!

Mrs. S was amazing with the Romantic poets. Byron, Keats and Shelley came to life in her soulful reading and dreamy interpretations. I can still remember, word for word, her reading of Shelley's "Ode to the West Wind". I still catch my breath when I remember the experience!

******************

My brother and I were tickled to death with social courtesies. It was so unlike India. If you went to a desi party, the kids were consigned to a separate floor of the house (it was either the basement or the attic) while the adults talked shop and had fun. My parents really did not understand the philosophy behind this segregation and didn't see a reason for it. We, for our part, were quite unused to being hustled off to a basement as soon as we entered. One time we went to a party, we were dutifully in the basement of the house with 6-7 other kids. The host's son was a particularly short and thin kid of about 7-8 years of age. He, for some reason, took a dislike to my brother. He pulled all sorts of weird faces and expressions till my brother wasn't sure if he was having some kind of a spasm or if this was his normal state of being.

"Subha, what's with this guy?"
"I don't know", I whispered back giggling uncontrollably.

The conversation was unlike anything we were used to. The question of the evening amongst the other kids seemed to be this: Which is more gross? Picking one's nose or peeing in public?

"So what do you guys think?"

My brother and I looked at each other's faces struggling to keep our laughter contained.

"Err..I think its fun to hear you guys discuss it...", I said keeping my face straight. My brother was totally red in the face with supressed laughter!

To add to my brother's misery, for the entire length of the evening, the-kid-who-hated-my-brother kept asking him,

"Can I punch you in the face?"

The joke was that he was nearly half-a-foot shorter and skinnier than my brother! :)

"Subha, can I punch him? I can easily just floor him. He is driving me nuts!!"

"B, no way! You'll be in trouble with mom and dad. Shut up."

"Grrr.. I can't stand it anymore! Why do they have to shut us up in the basement with weirdos like these? I want to go upstairs and have some decent conversation."

And we were mightily relieved when the "party" was over! :)

Of course, not all parties were like that. The guy-who-hated-my-brother later became my brother's good friend. We began liking parties later on. But it is always the rite of passage that's interesting....:)

Pandora, Tindora etc...

I am a sucker for Indian style vegetables. I only say "Indian style" because we use it a lot in our cooking. True to being a proper Tamilian, I like pumpkins, senaikizhangu, seppangizhangu, sakkarai valli kizhangu, chow-chow etc... Now, I don't know the English equivalents of many of these veggies. To me, they will always be in Tamizh.

I found 'kasturi manjal' in the grocery shop this past weekend. I got so excited that I shrieked,

"Is that kasturi manjal?"

I have no idea why I was so elated because I never use it anywhere! Maybe because it was a whiff of home?

So my friend sniffed around a bit and confirmed my deduction.

So, in true Indian style, I pinched off a teeny tiny bit of kasturi manjal (That's all you buy, you know. I am pretty sure none will buy 2 lbs of kasturi manjal!) and dropped it in a biiiiiiiiig grocery bag. And humming happily, I finished the rest of my shopping and headed off to checkout.

The checkout person almost thought it was an empty bag (He was a rather cute college kid. You know, the ones with a cute, lost expression?). Then he fished around the bag and found my teeny, tiny bit of kasturi manjal. He gave it a rather curious look.

"What's this?"

"Ummm..I don't know."

A pause. What could you call kasturi manjal? I was quickly thinking of a translation for "kasturi". Ok, maybe I could translate "manjal" easily. "manjal" is turmeric. So it is kasturi turmeric? He was looking at that tiny piece from different angles. Like it was going to yield an answer if he looked at it from a 47 degree angle! I could sense the "Lady, you don't know what you're buyin'??" hovering in the air.

So I hastily covered it up with a,

"Ohh..I know what it is but I don't know the English equivalent!"

"Uhh..ok..Hey Cathy, you know what this is?"

Cathy now turned around. I was feeling like a terrorist who was passing customs. She looked at it and thought for a few moments and said,

"Oh, that's Tindora. It is an international produce."

I sighed with relief. It had a name, after all. So, people, its tindora! :) It is sitting in my fridge and I haven't touched it since the day I got it. But I like having it around...:)

The Vancouver Diaries- IV

Days that were really important to me - the day I stepped into my first school, the day I met my best friend, first crush, first love, first major disappointment, first job, prom, graduation - have all been surprisingly very ordinary, mundane days! No firecrackers in the background. No razzmatazz. No appropriate ambience (rain on a disappointing day, sunny when I have a crush etc...). No background music. Just ordinary, sometimes even boring, days. Funny how appearances can be so deceptive! Little did I know back then that the nondescript rainy, grey day I stepped into Vancouver was going to be the beginning of a rich set of experiences, one that'd mould me in ways I'd not even imagined....

We were put up at the Tropicana Motor Inn on Robson Street for the first three weeks or so. I was recovering from severe jetlag. My dad had to go to work almost the next day. My brother and I had to wait for two weeks before we could get our student authorization and go to school. So my mom, brother and I spent our days sleeping, eating, watching TV. TV watching is a funny experience when you can't follow the accent that well. We used to religiously watch a series of programs just to understand the accent!

10.00 AM Charlie's Angels
11.00 AM Remington Steele
12.00 PM Mission Impossible
[break for lunch]
3.00 PM Spiderman
and so on!

There was a wonderful Icecream place on Robson (not sure if its there now) called "Cows". The icecream is just heavenly there. I was still on a rigorous diet while my brother enjoyed icecreams and annoyed me. I had just graduated to eating rice with saltless dal.

*************************

"Ummm...what is this?"

"Dear, this is your class schedule. Okay?", my high school counselor, Mrs. Gioia, said.

I was staring at a piece of paper that looked something like this with a legend underneath:

Monday A B Lunch C D
Tuesday E F Lunch G H
Wednesday B A Lunch D C
Thursday F E Lunch H G
Friday A B Lunch C D

"These are your blocks for today", she continued.

I was mystified. For me, blocks were something that two-year-olds played with. What in the world were blocks? And what was with the confusing schedule? It seems so simple now but back then, it was a huge effort for me to figure it out!

I staggered out the door heading for Block F in Room 203, North building. I had no idea where North Building was.

"Uh..excuse me. Where's the North building?" I asked a huge, straggly giant with a spiky hairdo.

He gave me a weird look that had "Dude, where are you from?" written all over it and wordlessly pointed at a door.

I was already late for class. I ran around looking for Room 203. I didn't know 203 would be in the second floor..:) I had to figure it out by trial and error! When I finally did find it, huffing and puffing, it was locked. There was none there. I was near tears. I ran back to my counselor. She made a couple of phone calls and directed me to go to the library. Class had adjourned there for some project.

I went to the library (this was another big Crusade for me to find the library) to find a bunch of students in different states of poring over some textbooks. I looked around wondering what to do all the while, quite aware that 20-something people were staring at me furtively. An old guy with spectacles walked by and said,

"Can I help you?"
"Yeah..uhh..here for Social Studies. I am new.."

He stared at me over his glasses and directed me to a table where three other kids were already seated. A girl looked up and said a bright hello. I was a bit relieved. I smiled slightly.

"Your assignment - a report on Pierre Trudeau. Class has already been working on it the past two weeks. Due on Friday. Must be typed and two pages long." He barked.

Who in the world was Pierre Trudeau? Report - what sort of a report? Typed? I don't have a computer as yet. Where do I type it? Great, Friday is tomorrow and I have no clue what all this is!

*********************************************

"Okay, kids, today we are going to watch a comedy piece. You've been given a questionnaire. I expect you to turn it in end of class. All questions are from this piece we are going to watch. Ok?"

Mr. Bain was my Career and Personal Planning teacher.

What is CAPP? They have classes for this?!!! What in the world....

I was mystified. I was sitting at a table with 6 other Chinese kids. They were all chattering away in Cantonese ignoring me completely.

Jeez, did I come to Canada or China? Why are they not talking to me?

I tried a feeble "hi" to the girl next to me but she turned her face away. Great, I thought. Just what I need.

Meanwhile, Mr. Bain rolled a TV into the class and turned off lights.

Is this even a class? We are going to watch TV inside a classroom?? Ok, let's see..

A tall, lanky guy with weird hair zooms into an apartment. He says something to a short, fat, bald guy called George.

What in the world? I can't understand the accent at all! Why is everyone laughing?! Just because the guy walked in the door??!

Tall, lanky guy opens refrigerator and takes a drink. Jerry looks at him.

Everyone's laughing again?? Why am I so dumb? I can't figure out anything! Oh my god, I can't relate to anything/anyone here! How am I going to survive?

At the end of the class, I hadn't really latched onto one single dialogue. I didn't find anything funny and I was staring desperately at the questionnaire in my hand wondering how to complete it. It was for 10 points which made it even worse.

That, ladies and gentlemen, was my first introduction to Seinfeld! :) Oh and I'd have to be the first kid in Burnaby North to have scored a pathetic 3/10 on a quiz about a Seinfeld episode..:))

And thus began life at Burnaby North Higher Secondary School!

********************************
All these memories are like wine - the older, the better! One of my best friends, Monica, once gave me "That Boy is Mine" by Monica and Brandi as a birthday gift. In "Angel of Mine" from that album, there's a line that goes, "Now I know why they say that the best things in life are free..". I think its true. Would I be what I am today without all those experiences? Would my life have been the same if I hadn't met some wonderful people in Vancouver?

The diary will flip its next page soon...

The Vancouver Diaries - III

It is one of the facts of Indian life that you get sudden “importance" and "value" if you are going "abroad". This is true especially with family. People who never used to listen to you even if you were making a very valid point start paying attention. Suddenly, you have relatives fawning over you and showing off.

"Oh yeah, she is my niece! You know, she's going to Canada."
"You know, Vasan is going to Canada!"
"Appadiya? (Is that so?). Viji is also going?"
"Lucky Viji!"
"Maybe we should call them."

You go to dinner at a relative's place and you find that you are being given extra servings, extra attention. They even go to the trouble of finding out your favourite dishes! :)

"Innum konjam saappidu. " [Eat some more].
"I made your favourite rasam today just for you."

I even have a jealous relative who fell at elders' feet asking them to bless her saying, "May you go abroad!". Not everyone is like that, of course! But the ones that are the most supercilious are the ones that are blog-worthy..:)

Though most of them are amusing, they can give you some small moments of anxiety also.

"Vasan, are you taking Subha with you?"
"Yes."
"Perhaps you shouldn't. She is just 15 and you know, that's a very impressionable age. The culture there is so different. We will be happy to take care of her for you."
I remember staring at my dad terror-struck, wondering if he was going to leave me back.
"No", my dad responded calmly, "She's coming with me, no matter what."
Whew.I was relieved.
****************************************
My first love...

We went shopping to get winter jackets. I saw a beautiful light pink, suede leather jacket on display. It was light but warm.
Me: "I want that one."
Mom: "It is very light colored. Are you sure?"
Me: "YES." (Typical teenage behavior)
Mom: "Uhh..ok. But I don't think you will have it for long."
I still have it but my mom was right. It was tough maintenance and two years down the line, a drycleaner who didn't know much about cleaning suede ruined it..:(
****************************************
Woe is Me!

I had been down with jaundice for a month or so. One day, as I returned from my usual boring class at Computer Point, I was racked with severe stomach pain. My mom had gone out somewhere. She found me doubled up in one corner of the bedroom. We found it was jaundice. I lay in bed for the next week or so completely drained, tired and racked with pain from time to time. I drank the bitter "keezhanalli" juice religiously every morning. It was more like forced down my throat..:) I was on a strict liquid diet - only orange juice and water. No salt. No spice. No sugar. No curd. No rice. Basically, zilch!
I got bored and annoyed with the food I was getting. But my tantrums didn't get me anywhere. So I was resigned.

***************************************
The Flight

We were flying Malaysian Airlines to Vancouver via Kuala Lampur and Tokyo. My brother and I were majorly excited about our first flight. I don't remember the immigration formalities because dad took care of everything (How I wish it was like that now! sigh). I was wearing an ice-blue jeans and a yellow T-shirt. We had a mini-fight over who got the window seat. I wanted to sit next to my dad and have the window seat. But in the end, my mom and I sat next to each other.

I didn't like the whole flight. First off, Malaysian Airlines looked like an oversized bus. There was a flight delay at Kuala Lampur and lots of stranded passengers were sleeping on the floors in the lounges. To me, it looked like a more refined version of Chennai Central. To top it all off, my dad didn't let me eat anything except orange juice. I thought that I could by-pass my dad and tell the airhostess to get me something. My brother was busy gorging on all sorts of dishes and taunting me. The chocolate mousse especially was tempting me very much. I tried whining to dad a bit but it didn't work. I tried the airhostess route when I thought my dad was asleep. But he woke up at just the right time, shot me a dirty look and said firmly,
"She is just recovering from jaundice. Don't get her anything."
I couldn't sleep because my tummy kept rumbling. So, all in all, it was lousy. I was beginning to think it wasn't a good idea to leave all my friends behind and go to this Vancouver place. We had a rough landing at Tokyo Narita and my brother had airsickness. I was devilishly pleased..:)

*****************************************
Vancouver, at last!

After sitting through 10 hours of the unending Pacific, I was ready to jump off the flight. I was sore, tired and sick. As the pilot circled for landing, I tried leaning out the window. I saw nothing but grey, cumulonimbus clouds muffling the terra firma underneath. I was hoping for a glorious landing where I could see the beautiful skyline and tall skyscrapers. Then I'd walk out the airport into gleaming sunshine and pleasant weather. Instead, what greeted me was grey skies, rain and an unfamiliar city....

[The Diary will continue to write itself...]

There's something to be said for co-evolution. As users and hackers get more sophisticated/knowledgeable, so do service providers and companies. Its like 'Alice in Wonderland'. You have to keep running to stay in the same place! I have too many passwords to remember. I keep hitting the "Reset Password" link in most websites. If the website had a voice, I am sure it'd shout at me. If in some evil moment, the company/website decides to get back at me for not remembering the password (well, this might seem like an exaggeration but then who knows?), how would they do it? Exactly the way one of them is doing to me: send me a snail mail letter each time I reset my password. I get 4-5 snail mail letters/ week because that's how many times I forget that darn password! Each of them reads:

Dear Customer,
We have reset your password as per your request..blah blah blah.

So if I don't want to deal with so much junk, I guess I'd have to remember my password. Simple.

------------------------------------------------------------

I read Michael Crichton's 'Prey' over the weekend. It was okay. I was reminded of Jurassic Park the way he'd organized his story. Anyways, I think I am bored of the "machines taking over the world" theory these days.

It seems so cliched to say "Time flies by!". And yet, I don't have any other phrase to describe my student days at the Univ of Kentucky (UK). Feels like now when I transferred from Louisiana to UK and arrived in Lexington on a cold, blustery day (Dec 13, 2003). I loved Lexington and UK from that moment on! I liked the pretty campus, the laidback atmosphere of Lexington, the rush to classes, endless assignments, night-outs at WT Young Library etc...
Tomorrow, I defend my Master's. It is a big moment and I am happy. But somehow, it feels sad to give a final closing line to the student chapter in my book of life. Somehow, having the "student" tag however nebulous your relation to school might be, gives a sense of belonging, of community. And its weird how I still see people who've graduated out of UK and moved onto jobs as students first (Case in point: R and K)! Maybe because that was our primary point of identification when entering the US of A!:)
Anyways, I guess I could still say that I am a student till first week of May when I have my graduation walk or maybe even till end of August, when I get my official degree! :)

அன்பு வாழ்கென் றமைதியில் ஆடுவோம்,
ஆசைக் காதலைக் கைகொட்டி வாழ்த்துவோம்;
துன்பம் தீர்வது பெண்மை யினாலடா!
சூரப் பிள்ளைகள் தாயென்று போற்றுவோம்!

[Let us dance in serenity in praise of Love,
And applaud in praise of loving Eros;
Woman annihilates man's woes!
Let us acclaim her the mother of heroic children.]

-Mahakavi Bharathi in praise of women

I felt a stabbing pain when I read
this article about parents giving away female children to Cradle Baby centres. As a girl, it affects me that baby girls are given away primarily because of the economic burden that has come to be associated with them; it annoys me that an event like marriage that happens 24-25 years after a baby is born determines its fate in childhood; it annoys me that people are so resigned to the eventuality of dowry even a quarter century from now; Above all, it absolutely pains me to see healthy parents consigning a newborn to a life of loneliness, misery and the pyschological feeling of not being wanted! If parents can do this to a child, what sort of faith would anyone have in love??!
Ironic how it goes against all the virtues of love, affection, motherhood that Bharathiyar celebrates in his poem in praise of womanhood! :(

The Ctrl + Alt + Del Life

These are the keys that save the life of a computer user everyday. Computer doesn't respond? Hit Ctrl + Alt + Del. Long running process tying up the UI? Hit Ctrl + Alt + Del. Computer not booting up properly? Hit Ctrl + Alt + Del. Want to switch between processes? Hit Ctrl + Alt + Del.

No, I am not a sales person for Ctrl + Alt + Del but it surprises me how much my life has become like that!:) Since we started multi-tasking, the highest priority interrupt has taken on real meaning!

Work on code. Read documents.

Ctrl + Alt + Del.

Check e-mail. Respond to friends and jolly talks floating around.

Ctrl + Alt + Del.

Manager requested a status update. Do that ASAP.

Ctrl + Alt +Del.

What am I going to cook for this evening?

Ctrl + Alt + Del.

Darn, I forgot to pay my bill! Do it NOW!

Ctrl + Alt + Del.

Ooops, advisor asked for changes to the presentation! Send immediately!

Ctrl + Alt + Del.

Okay, I am going to stop now before you start stoning me. I was beginning to think I was the only one unable to handle information overload. I am glad to see that the lazy geek has the same problem as me..:)

The Vancouver Diaries - II

The Interregnum

The initial excitement of going to a "foreign country" wore off. We had 3 months before we left for Canada. We moved to Chennai from Madurai (we used to move every 3 years! So no big deal..:)). We were put up in Indira Nagar (near the water tank). My brother was thrust into Hindu High School for the 3 month period. As for me, I got admitted to Sankara School (I think). There was a lot of bureaucractic red-tape about joining Grade 11 for just 3 months. I forgot what the hullabaloo was about. My parents ended up figuring that I might as well just join Grade 11 in Vancouver directly instead of going through innumerable hassles here. So it was Computer Point , Adyar for me for the next 2 months or so.

I had just finished my Grade 10 and I had excellent results. I'd had ideas of preparing for IIT, BITS etc... Now all my careful plans were getting upset and I was not in a regular "school setting". TVS Lakshmi, Madurai informed me that I had a couple of prizes waiting for me for Class X performance. I was getting royal treatment and was offered whatever group I wanted to get into! I was ranked school third in total marks scored and I had another prize for "Outstanding performance" or some such thing. I couldn't go to Madurai to receive them because my dad was busy with visa/passport business and my mother was busy getting the household ready to leave. Because I wasn't there, the guy who was ranked four got promoted to school third and he was going to get my prize. That chafed me immensely. After all, what's the point of working hard and scoring if you don't get to enjoy the pampering and prizes after that?! Why bother studying at all? Here, in Chennai, I was nothing. None even knew me. It annoyed me even more that my parents didn't think it was an issue worthy of discussion at all! What's the big deal? It is just a prize, right? To say that I was frustrated was the least of it!

What with bored housewives and retired old men who wanted to wet their feet with technology being my classmates at Computer Point, I really wasn't too excited to go to classes. Besides, the instructor was pretty boring and I was learning Lotus 1-2-3. I wondered long and hard about the role of Lotus 1-2-3 and how I was ever going to use it in my life. I really wasn't enlightened. So I just resigned myself to the boring routine. I was becoming fidgety. I missed my friends back in Madurai. I'd studied at Asan Memorial, Egmore before moving to Madurai 3 years back. I'd lost touch with those friends too. What with no e-mail, IM or cheap long distance calling, losing touch was easy back then! So, there I was in Chennai with no company and nothing to keep me occupied full time.

Of course, there were exciting moments in between. Once, a pot-bellied policeman showed up at our door for passport verification. I was excited at seeing a real policeman at our doorstep. I peeped from behind my mom's saree at the policeman and his huge moustache. He asked a couple of questions and left. We went shopping for clothing, suitcases and other things. The logistics for a family of four to go abroad are just too complex! My father used to be very busy all the time. My mother used to be busy packing/disposing household items. My brother was enjoying his brief stint at his school. He used to be roguishly happy about not having to study for his quarterly exams while his classmates were slogging at it. His cockiness stemmed from the fact that we'd leave on September 13 and his exams were a couple of days after that! So he used to go around with an unholy, impish grin on his face whenever anyone mentioned "exams"! :)

On top of all this, to complete my cup of happiness, I ended up with jaundice in August....

[The diary will continue to write itself...]

The Vancouver Diaries

It is now nearly 10 years ago now that my dad walked in one evening and said,

"Guys, guess what? We are going to Vancouver!"

He was greeted by silence. Not that we (my mom, brother and I) had any sort of hatred toward Vancouver. We just didn't know what the hell IT was!

My brother looked at me and I at him. We both shrugged and said,

"Err..so where is this place, Dad?"
[I was hoping that it was indeed a place instead of some new restaurant in Madurai!]

"British Columbia, Canada."

There were excited shrieks of "Canada" and in the general medlee of noises, eager questions and shouts that followed, we scrambled to find the long-lost Atlas at home. It was hidden in one corner of a dusty shelf, abandoned and uncared for. :) We brought it back to the center table, dusted it off and eagerly turned the well-worn pages to the Canadian map.

"There it is!" My dad pointed. "Just above the US border, on the shores of the Pacific. Can you see it?"

We squinted and nodded our heads slowly.

"Wow."
"Canada. Is it going to be very cold?"
"So will they speak English or French?"
"Will it be a friendly place?"
"Are we going to school there? How long?"
"Yay! We are going to FLY there? How long is the journey?"
"So can we bunk school for the next 3 months?"
"Will it be safe for the kids to grow up there?"
"You mean, I have to leave my friends here???"

Questions poured in from all directions.

My brother, who was lost in contemplation suddenly said,
"British Columbia. Sounds familiar."
Now, when a 10-year-old makes a statement like that, a responsible 15-year-old like me was bound to respond with a smirk,
"Yeah right. I am sure you were born there!"
"No. I have seen this name somewhere recently."

And with that, he rushed excitedly to the annual SBI calendar for 1996 and turned to September. And sure enough, there was a statue of an athlete with a caption "Stanley Park, Vancouver, BC". The picture looked very pretty with blue skies, a very fine harbour , beautiful yachts anchored and lots of people walking around in the snow.

"So what do you think?", I asked my brother.

He shrugged. "I don't know. You?"

"I don't either."

That day, I remember, the entire family was huddled around chattering excitedly, gathering as much information as we could about Vancouver, British Columbia - our home to be for the next four years or so ....

[The Diary will continue to write itself...]

Google now recognizes my mother tongue?

Now, how in the world did Google figure out that I can read Tamil and post a relevant ad in Tamil? Almost all my mails are in English. Of course, I type in 'Tanglish' but it would take some amount of deciphering by a computer to figure out that is Tamil transcribed in English. Interesting and scary..:)

Google Reader Snippets

Don't ask me why I am writing in orange. Today is Friday and I feel like escaping from the suffocating grayish, sober tones of the workweek and be "springy"..:)

I decided to try out Google Reader after a long while. I've been playing with various feed readers. It's been a sort of a favourite vetti hobby for me. Don't ask me what my fascination is with feed readers! Its like this: I like to have all my news neatly organized, arranged and ready for me to browse with my morning coffee. So I go to great pains to research a feed reader, set up my feeds and go to bed with a satisfied sigh.

I wake up in the morning and think, " To hell with feed readers" and descend into my usual chaotic browsing pattern. And that is basically: "Read whatever catches your eye." Didn't mean to bore you with a lecture on my browsing patterns.

I tried Google Reader a while back and found it confusing, contrary to all popular opinions. It was too chaotic for me with no folders, no option to mark feeds read etc... But recently, after dealing with some complex software, I figured this was easier. And I checked out the "Share" option on my Google Reader. So on the right side of this page, you'll see a box with a bunch of items that I found interesting to read and "Starred" it. Being the optimist that I am, I am going to think that I will keep updating this..:)

UK is constructing a huge parking complex at the corner of Press Avenue and Virginia Avenue. Entry into Press Avenue off Virginia is blocked. That costs me another 8 minutes in terms of diversion because South Limestone is so crowded and to even take a right turn, I have to wait at least 3-4 minutes (yeah, I timed it!). But that's not the point. The other way to enter Press is via Leader avenue. There's a T-junction with a stop sign where leader hits Press Avenue. You can either go right or left. This is probably one of the worst turns ever. You've got cars parked on Press Avenue by the curb that block your vision. It is virtually impossible for you to see if there's any car coming from the left. If its night, you can tell by the headlights. If its day and you've got music turned on in your car, you really are not going to have a clue where you're going! That's not the end of it. Leader avenue has also got parking on the street. Parking stops a few feet away from the stop sign. Common sense. But the past 2-3 weeks, some idiot has been parking right upto and at the stop sign making it a cramped, one-lane road with blind corners on either side. I noticed a week back, a cop was meticulously making out a ticket to a car parked there. And then for a couple of days, the illegal parking stopped. Now, someone's started it again. I truly wish that, whoever this person is, he/she get slapped a fine that they won't forget for the rest of their life! It is causing danger to the lives of motorists.

There have already been two accidents at that exact corner. Now, this parking situation just worsened it and I shudder at the thought of what's going to happen when the parking structure opens up to the public.Hopefully, someone is going to do something about that turning. Either prohibit parking on the street (which I don't think is possible given the parking problem at the U of Ky) or make sure that there's a three way stop or something!

The Fat Lady Sings...

So what's with the fat lady and her singing? Why is it such a stylish phrase used by password mongers and wannabe secret societies? What does it mean? Read here.

Listening...

"Listening is an art. When people are speaking it requires that they have our undivided attention. We focus on them; we listen very carefully. We listen to the spoken words and the unspoken messages." - Frances Hesselbein, The Art of Listening

Just when I was thinking that nothing could inspire me to write anymore, I ran across this article- The Art of Listening- on the web. I was googling for Peter F. Drucker (been reading "Managing Oneself" by Drucker).

Listening is an art alright. We, humans, wear many masks. We mean one thing but we say something else in the hope that the other person understands (If you're a guy and you have a woman in your life, you'll know what I mean!:)). The kicker is in the tone and body language; Not the actual words. This is the reason it is hard to make computers fathom human conversation. There's just too many overtones, too many fine distinctions and too many idiosyncrasies.

Listening, if done right, is one of the most exhausting things one can ever do. Listening to a long technical/business discussion at a workplace can be strenuous. But then, mostly we can draw a line and say, "Hey, I am not going to let this affect me beyond this point!". You have the option of distancing yourself. "Human interest stories", on the other hand, don't let you do this. You start putting yourself in the other person's shoes, you imagine what'd have happened if you were in such a mess, what you'd feel,do etc...and at some point, you start feeling the other person's happiness/agony/anger/sadness/enthusiasm! Your emotions take over rapidly because you're actually listening. This is especially true with friends and loved ones.

I don't know if I am a good listener or not. But many-a-time, I've been influenced by the mood of the people I've been talking to. With the web, feeds, phone, tv, radio etc..., one is just flooded with information. I think that the trick is to listen to the right people at the right time for the right things.

I haven't been posting frequently. I have figured out that there's a direct relation between my reading and writing. The more diverse the topics I read about, the more ideas I have to write about. Of late, it has been a dry run. I haven't picked up a book and devoted time to it in the past two months. The last book I read was "Udaiyar" by Balakumaran when I was in India. I really do yearn for the feeling where I can just lose myself in the yarn spun by the lines of a good book! Ahhh! But then, there's also this little something called concentration that has to oblige..:)
I have put aside Jane Austen's "Emma" for my next read. After reading too many contemporary, practical essays/books, I yearn for a bit of old-world-charm and romance! Perhaps, the direct result of watching "Pride and Prejudice" last weekend...:)
------------------------------------------
I was standing in queue at a bank when this quote flashed on a display screen:
"A man in love is incomplete until he marries. Then he's finished"- Zsa Zsa Gabor
Brought a smile on my face..:)
-----------------------------------------
As if there wasn't enough controversy over abortion, now we have this. I confess I'd never even imagined such a point of view! So this article made me raise my brows. Male readers, what's you take on this? Just curious.

You can tell me anything", a gentle voice prompts me.
"But I am so lost! I HATE EVERYTHING.How can I tell you anything clearly? " I replied impetuously, tears streaming down my face.
My friend took my hands in his, smiled and said,
"It doesn't have to be clear. I am your conscience...I KNOW."

All that was more than 9 years back in the hallways of Burnaby North Higher Secondary School, Vancouver when I was a 15-year old suddenly shocked into a world I didn't belong in. Well, this morning, I sorely missed that "conscience"..:) When you need something the most, it ain't there..:) And you're left wondering......

---------------------------------

Let's say I decide to give up chocolates. Due to some weird destiny, let's say that the next week I run into a cache of irresistible Belgian chocolates. Did fate send the chocolates my way because I decided to give it up? :) Is it some kind of weird temptation test? Of course, this applies to not just chocolates but almost anything. When you've made up your mind that you don't want something, it just stares you right in the face...:) And you're left wondering....

Akshaya

A week or so back, I wrote about Akshaya. Vijay had originally sent us all a link to the article and I was moved enough to write about it.

Dinesh came up with an idea to help Akshaya. All of us pitched in and Laka (and that's short for Lakshminarasimhan) became our point man..:)After innumerable e-mails exchanged on this subject and contacting Mr.Krishnan, we finally pulled through with what we could to help Akshaya.

This blog is not intended to self-glorify, publicize or preen. Our contribution is perhaps miniscule compared to so many other noble acts and there are probably thousands of others who are doing good things we can't even imagine. But I am really, really proud of our little Tamil community and friends gang here in Lexington! Proud of the fact that we have some very creative, dynamic minds amongst us; proud of the fact that they also care; that there are people willing to step up to take the responsibility; that we, as a group, didn't have any disagreements/dissensions in joining hands for a noble cause. I am proud to be a part of this community!

I hope that more communities like ours all over the world (even if just 3 or 4 people) step up to help organizations like 'Akshaya'. They need it!

Forgivance..

I was driving back from lunch via the UK (Univ of Kentucky) campus. At the corner of S.Limestone and Virginia, a young man was holding up a "Jesus forgives your past. Just ask." placard. I used to see such signs often when I was in Louisiana.

What does God forgive? Anything in the past? What if all those 'anythings' were stuff we did knowingly/deliberately? Would just repentance suffice? I mean, if we had a God who forgave us everything and absolved us of all consequences of our actions, we would all grow indifferent. I don't think humans function without incentives..:) God may forgive us but I think it is too much to ask for release from our actions! So, if I were a grad student (which I am) and I didn't do my paper despite repeated warnings from my professor that I may get an 'E' if I don't hand it in today, God would definitely forgive me but I would still get an 'E'. Fair enough? I think so..:)

Everyday gyaan

I don't mean to sound like a finishing school Miss but at some point or the other, every hostess has an overriding anxiety: how to keep your guests entertained. It may not even be a formal party but any successful host/hostess should know to keep the conversation flowing. At least, I feel that way..:)
Our driver, Sanjay, came up to our apartment in Mumbai to drop off a few grocery and vegetable bags. Mom was making some delicious food judging by the aroma that wafted from the kitchen. I asked him to stay back and eat. He settled himself in the sofa. My brother was sitting nearby, engrossed in some puzzle, oblivious to his surroundings. Looking at the two of them, one would've thought they had sworn not to talk to each other. Then, one of my dad's friends walked in and started reading some magazine. They seemed perfectly okay with the silence. I tried to talk but got monosyllables from each of them in reply.

Drat, I thought.

Then, out of a need to do something with my hands, I switched on the TV. India was playing Pakistan (Replay of the day's game) and immediately, three heads shot up in unison above papers and magazines like prairie dogs alerted to a scent..:) Now, I don't mean any disrespect when I say that except that's what really crossed my head at that time!

"You think Harbhajan bowled well today?"
"He did as well as he could."
"M.S. Dhoni is in crackling form!"
"I hope they beat the hell out of Afridi tomorrow!"
"The curators have designed awful pitches, yaar..if only they had something in it for the bowlers!"
"Nah..batsmen's pitches are anyday more interesting."
And more cricket talk followed. Meanwhile, I was thinking that M.S Dhoni's hair color looked rather nice..:)
I sighed in relief. At least, they are engaged, I thought. So how do you entertain an old man, a teenager and a young man, all with differing personalities?! Just put a TV in the middle, tune onto some game and leave them alone..:))

P.S: I used to follow cricket myself and I do notice more than players' hairstyles and coloring..:) I enjoy it every bit but then, I don't think I can ever hope to match a guy's appetite for it!

Yadda Yadda Yadda

I could only connect through phone with a lot of my old college buddies when I was vacationing in India. Some of them are so busy with their worklife that they can hardly breathe. A couple of my friends are getting hitched. I was completely vetti (jobless). A couple of phone conversations left me wondering. For the entire length I talked, I could muster only pitiful "uh-huh"s or "hmm"s as responses. To make things worse, my mind started wandering on miscellania. I had to jolt myself back into conscious conversation time and again.
"yadda yadda yadda...work..you know what I mean?"
A hopeful pause at the other end.
Gosh, I don't really know, I thought to myself. But audibly,
"uh-huh.yeah."
What was wrong with me? These were not "hi-bye" relationships. These were friends with whom I've spent four years of college life. Hours have slipped by unnoticed talking to them, laughing with them, teasing them. Where had that old camaraderie gone? Why did I feel this way with a few whilst with others I still connected as of old? How had 3 years altered some of us?
I knew that the rational answer was differing personal growth levels. Different experiences, hardships, successes all lead to different personas. Perhaps, the few with whom I could still relate to had grown alongside me, albeit in a different way. I still don't know the right answer to this.
And I didn't want a rational or right answer. It was disconcerting to find out that even the best of relationships might eventually go the same way. The frightened child in me wanted a reassuring answer. So, I tried calling again and again to wash away the guilt of the previous conversation. It was only made worse.
I was sitting there biting my lips wondering how this could have happened when my brother came in whistling. He gave me a casual look and said,

"You should change the look on your face. You look like you just stepped in a puddle of cowdung."

I frowned at him for being so flippant. For not understanding me.

"If you think I am going to understand all those pointed looks and long faces, forget it, babe! Tell me what's on your mind and *maybe*, I will try to understand your muddled thoughts." He retorted.

I poured out all my long-drawn, confused, thought processes; how I was feeling confused, alone, upset yadda yadda yadda. He sat through the entire tirade with a look of awe.

Finally, he shook his head as if to clear it and cleared his throat,

"You thought all this from a couple of phone calls?!?!!!! You know, I have fried noodles at the BITS night canteen everyday."

"What? That's all you can think of to say to me? Food?" I screamed.

"Yeah. I think your thoughts are like noodles. All tangled up, confused, slippery and hard to grasp." He shot back.

"Speaking of which, I am hungry. Chat at Chowpati beach sound good? Think constructive thoughts like this. Life will at least be tasty."

I couldn't help smiling. Thank god for brothers.. and men.:)

A Few Good Men

Vijay had forwarded this link via e-mail from The Hindu. Every day I read thousands of news items about murders, deaths, diseases and the innumerable travails of living. In the process of living, we learn how to die every single day..:( This link is a reminder to me that good people, intentions and actions are still alive and kicking in this world. It is also a reminder that there is something called selfless love.
This article shook me up this morning and unconsciously, I lifted my eyes in thanks towards the heavens..

Kurai Ondrum Illai Kannaa...
(I have no regrets, O Lord!)

Paris!

I've been meaning to write about Paris for a while now. But haven't summoned up the inspiration for that yet..:) So here's a few pics in lieu of that!

Scribbles of a jet-lagged mind

I

t makes for interesting conversations over breakfast when your ears are plugged up with a bad cold. "Could you pass the milk please?" sounded like "Coldshoe shazzame please?". "Austin" sounded like "Boston".

"So, it must be really cold there right now? Man, I can't imagine living there..grr.."

I get a weird look.

"Err..not really. It is warm enough in Austin to be in shorts and flip-flops!"

People are grumpier until after breakfast and your repeating "Pardon me" 100 times only serves to irritate them more! :(

T

imes Square, NY is a sight for sore eyes on a cold, blistery winter night. The bright neon lights and cheery atmosphere diverted me from mulling over what a cold night it was. A hot masala dosa from 'Saravana Bhavan' on Lexington and 42nd didn't hurt either..:) I let my eyes wander over the soaring skyscrapers brightly silhouetted against the night sky. A hazy fog obscured the top of most buildings. What with the ambience, I felt like I was in Gotham and was half-expecting a Bat Signal to pop up in the sky! :)

I

t is rather embarassing when you forget to remove the maker's tag from your coats/jackets. Those people just make it harder by having it stitched in. Why not just have something that you can rip off easily? Well, I knew I was supposed to take it off but never got around to it. An airline stewardess in the flight I was in had a patronizing grin each time she passed me. I couldn't think of any reason and I just put it down to one of those human eccentricities. Then, when the flight was about to land, she leaned in and whispered,

"Ma'am, you're supposed to remove this tag."

Considering that I’d walked around all over the place with that stupid tag on, all I could do was nod sheepishly. Talk about embarassing!

[Finally, I did cut the darn thing off when I got home. I guess I need to thank her for that.]

Back to the Bluegrass

The queasy feeling at the pit of my stomach whenever I reach an airport started showing itself again when I arrived at Sahar International Airport, Mumbai. I have learnt to live with it now. I suppose it is the fact that I'd have nothing to identify myself with for the next 24 hours except my passport. No address; no family; no friends; just a few printed sheets of passport. I know that perhaps this is making too much of a big deal about nothing..:) So I am going to stop. After traveling for 2 hours by car (another of Mumbai's travails), we arrived at the airport a bit off schedule. I am not one for saying goodbyes. A brief nod at my parents, a kiss on their cheeks and I was gone. I didn't look back.

Well, after a long and tiresome journey, I was relieved after I cleared customs at Atlanta. The sight of 'Starbucks' warmed my heart..:) After Paris Charles de Gaulle, I have realized how well equipped American airports are. Rather thankful for it. I peeped out the window at Lexington before landing. I was happy to get back to this sleepy little town that has been my hometown for nearly 2 years now. Frankly, I have become rather wary and sick of big, huge cities. Boarding and arriving at these monster cities leaves me exhausted. Mumbai is one monster of a city. Though I did enjoy some aspects of Mumbai, I figured I'd rather not spend my life there. Endless traffic lines, crowds and queues for everything from groceries to airport check-in lines have left me rather jaded. Atlanta was no relief either. I had to wait for a long while before my baggage even showed up and the jostling crowds didn't ease anything. I don't mean to complain. I guess these are the normal appendages of being in big metros.

The flight arrived in Lexington. People didn't jostle to get out of the flight. Everyone was leisurely sitting in their seats waiting for the line ahead to clear up. I did the same. I liked the relaxed atmosphere..:) The sight of k and rs bought a smile to my face. I picked up baggage with little problems and in a few minutes, I was home.

After the crowds of Mumbai, I confess Lexington looks like a ghost town to me! My apartment feels even more weird. I have become used to the colour, liveliness and throb of India after nearly 2 months there. I miss the noise. Sigh. It will be sometime before I get used to this again.

Don't Think. Blink.

Michael Gladwell's "blink" bore me company on Dadar Express from Chennai to Mumbai. For anyone who doesn't know the agony of a 24 hour journey by train, the Chennai-Mumbai leg would be a good starter. After the initial curiosity of gazing at bucolic landscapes and gulping one absolutely horrendous railway Idli-Vada-Chutney (reminded me of 'Anniyan' and 'Kumbee Bagam'), I settled down to read this book.

There have been times when I've taken ridiculous likes/dislikes to people and things. An instinctive feeling of warmth and trust creeps in when I meet some. There are moments when a little voice murmurs, 'No. This thing is BAD for you.' When people belligerently ask, 'So, why in the world don't you like her? You just saw her!', I've never been able to explain WHY. This book explains how we 'thin-slice' all the time and form opinions. The 'Adaptive Unconscious', as Gladwell calls it, guides you surely and firmly in the right direction before your conscious mind even realizes anything. Perhaps this is the 'gut instinct' that people rely on so much.

One thing I found interesting is the fact that people who instinctively make a decision and people who are given time to make a decision eventually make the SAME decision. Perhaps, taking "time" to make a decision is irrelevant? Do we agonizingly confuse issues by poring over too much fringe data? Maybe. Personally, I agree with the author as far as decision making goes. There is only certain core data we need to make a decision and usually, it is available at hand. The other fringe information is for confirmation and safety. And this information, at times, does serve to confuse the conscious mind instead of clarifying it. So we begin to second-guess. Doubt creeps in and the conviction needed to execute actions goes missing.

I believe in instinct. It has saved my bacon a lot of times...:) People sometimes criticize the so-called "feminine instinct". I don't think there's any sort of gender in instinct. I think women are more prone to recognize their emotions and feelings. Perhaps, in the process they end up being more sensitive to that little inner voice.

Definitely worth a read for the examples and real-world incidents that the author details. The good news is that we are born with this instinct and we can hone it. Don't think, Gladwell says, Blink.

Indian Artwork!

Above: Zari work on a silk saree

Each time I set foot into a bazaar in India, it fairly whisks my breath away (even now). Clothes dyed artfully with striking colors, tastefully hand-embroidered handbags, mirror work wall hangings, bedspreads, jewel-encrusted paintings, bronze artfully sculpted into myriad gods and godesses all continue to dazzle the visitor. It is not the presence of these works of art that is impressive; it is the fact that these are so omnipresent and abundant. Even the vendor hawking wares on the sidewalk has goods that have a certain degree of artistry and workmanship!

I recently purchased a painting made on silk that has been so finely woven that it feels like paper. The painting is no Van Gogh or Rembrandt...:) But it is attractive enough to be hung in a living room. From huge silk houses that weave intricate designs on sarees to the simple hawker who sells beautiful accessories by the roadside, here's my salute to Indian artistry and workmanship! :)

How would you phrase it?

Kerala has the evocative tagline of "God's Own Country". Malaysia is "Truly Asia". England has "Cool Brittania". Mumbai is searching for one such logo..:) Image is everything. A tagline describes the city/country in one line. It should have spice and punch.
Why, of all things, does Chennai have to have the unimaginative logo of "Singara Chennai"? Apart from the feeble attempt at alliteration, no one who looks at Chennai would say it is "singaram". I did rack my brains to think of something. I couldn't come up with anything decent but I am sure there are thousands who can do it....:)

Row 1 (Left to Right): Sunset over the Arabian Sea, "The Queen's Necklace" in Mumbai's Marine Drive, Golden sunset over the Arabian Sea

Row 2 (Left to Right): Srirangam railway station captured on my whim, Teppakulam (Temple tank) in Trichy, Tiruvanaikkoil market with the Temple tower in the background

Row 3 (Left to Right): Banana vendor in Tiruvanaikkoil bazaar, River Kaveri in Trichy, Temple tower of Ranganatha temple in Srirangam, Trichy

Row 4(Left to Right): Srirangam temple tower decorated at night for Vaikunta Ekadasi festival, Mumbai's Gateway of India commemorating the arrival of George V and Queen Mary, Statue of Chatrapati Shivaji

பொங்கல் தின சிறப்பு நிகழ்ச்சிகள்- சில குறிப்புகள்!

சூர்யா!
பொங்கல் தினத்தன்று 'அண்ணனுக்கு ஜே' என்ற தலைப்பில் நடிகர் சூர்யாவுடன் ஒரு நாள் சுற்றினார்கள் விஜய் டிவி யில். மேக்கப் எதுவும் இல்லாமல், சாதாரண நடுத்தர தரப்பினரை சேர்ந்த ஒரு பிள்ளையாக, வலம் வந்தார். சொந்த ஊரில் தனது உறவினர்களை அறிமுகப்படுத்தினார். குளத்து தண்ணீரில் குதித்து நீந்தினார். கல்லூரி மாணவர்களை சந்தித்து பேசினார்.
இவ்வளவு படங்கள் நடித்தும், சூர்யாவிடம் ஒரு அழகான கூச்சம் இருக்கிறது. மனிதர் காமிராவை பார்த்து மிக பாந்தமாக பேசுகிறார். பொதுவாகவே, நடிகர்களுக்கு காமிரா முன் நின்று, நின்று ஒரு consciousness வந்துவிடும் என்றுதான் நினைக்கிறேன். 'நான் நடிகன். காமிரா முன் நிற்கிறேன்' என்கிற ஒரு நினைப்பு இருந்து கொண்டே தான் இருக்கும். ஆனால் சூர்யாவிடம் அது இல்லை! அழகாக, தன்மையாக பேசினார். டான்ஸ் ஆட சொன்னால் மிகவும் வெட்கப்பட்டு, இரண்டு ஸ்டெப் போட்டுவிட்டு ஓடிவிட்டார். தான் மிகவும் கூச்சசுபாவியென்றும், தானே இவ்வளவு வெற்றி பெற்றால், நிச்சயம் சாதாரண மனிதர்கள் எல்லோரும் வெற்றி பெறலாம் என்று சொன்னார். நிகழ்ச்சி choreographed என்றாலும், சூர்யா பேசியது எதுவும் பொய்யாக தோன்றவில்லை. மிகவும் பிடித்திருந்தது.

சூர்யா- மென்மை.

மீரா ஜாஸ்மின்!

வணக்கம் தமிழகத்தில் மீரா ஜாஸ்மின் பேட்டி அளித்தார். எனக்கு இவரிடமும் பிடித்தது - அழகாக தமிழில் பேசுகிறார். வார்த்தைகள் தெரியாதபோது, டி.ஸ். ரங்கநாதனை கேட்டு தெரிந்து கொண்டு, உபயோகபடுத்துகிறார். 'இமேஜ் கெட்டுவிடுமோ?' என்று பயந்து கொள்ளாமல், தப்போ தவறோ தமிழிலேயே பேசினார். அவரது credit-கு, வெகுவாக சரியாகவே பேசினார். தமிழ் நடிகைகளே, தமிழை மிக கொச்சையாக பேசும் காலத்தில், ஒரு மலையாள நடிகை தமிழை தெரிந்து கொண்டு பேசுவது மிக பாராட்டப்பட வேண்டிய விஷயம். மிக சரியாக யோசித்து பதில்கள் அளித்தார். பாடவும் செய்தார்! :))

டி.ஸ் ரங்கநாதன் பேச்சை சுவாரஸ்யமாக எடுத்து போக மாட்டேன் என்கிறார். மீரா அடுத்து மேலே என்ன சொல்லுவது என்று தெரியாமல் திணர, இவர் பாட்டுக்கு வேடிக்கை பார்த்து கொண்டு இருக்கிறார்! கூட இருக்கும், இன்னொரு பெண்மணிதான் cue குடுத்து மேலே நடத்தி செல்கிறார். இம்மாதிரி பேட்டியெடுக்கும் வகையில் இருக்கும் நிகழ்ச்சியை தொகுத்து வழங்கும் மனிதருக்கு சற்று presence of mind வேண்டாமோ??

மீரா ஜாஸ்மின் - ஜில்லுனு ஒரு தென்றல்! :)

பட்டிமன்றம்

சாலமன் பாப்பைய்யா தலைமையிலும், லியோனி தலைமையிலும் பட்டிமன்றம் நடந்தது. நன்றாக சிரிக்க, சிரிக்க பேசினார்கள்.
அது என்ன, ஒரு பண்டிகை வந்தால் தான் பட்டிமன்றம் வைப்பார்களா? வேறு எந்த சமயத்திலும், இதெல்லாம் பேச மாட்டார்களா?

பட்டிமன்றம்- அலுப்பு!

பெப்சி உமா

பெப்சி உமா இன்றும் 'உங்கள் சாய்ஸ்' நடத்துகிறார். பொங்கலுக்காக 'திரை கண்ணோட்டம்' நடத்தினார். இன்றும், இவரது பேச்சு எனக்கு அலுக்கவில்லை. மனிதர்களை எரிச்சலூட்டுவதர்கென்றே பேசும் சில தொகுப்பாளினிகளுக்கு (உதாரணம் சன் மியூசிக் ஹேமா சிங்) இடையில், இவர் ஒரு இனிமையான மாறுதல். நல்ல குரல். அழகான உச்சரிப்பு. இயல்பான பேசும் முறை. எவனோ தெரியாத ஒருவனிடம் போய், 'உன்னுடைய மனைவியின் மிக அழகான அம்சம் எது?' என்றெல்லாம் அச்சு பிச்சென்று கேள்வி கேட்காமல் (அய்யோ, நான் பொய் சொல்லலைங்க! நெசமாவே இப்படி ஒருத்தங்க கேட்க, தொலைபேசியின் மறுமுனையில் அவர் நெளிய...என்ன கருமமடா!), contextual-ஆக பேசுகிறார். எல்லோரையும் comfortable-ஆக பீல் பண்ண வைக்கிறார். அந்த நிகழ்ச்சியை உமாவுக்காகவே உட்கார்ந்து பார்த்தேன்.

உமா - கம்பீரம்!

ரம்யா கிருஷ்ணன்

சிறப்பு 'தக தக தக தக தங்க வேட்டை' நடத்துகிறார் ரம்யா. அவரது தமிழ் உச்சரிப்பே மிக வினோதமாக இருக்கிறது. அவருக்கு, நல்ல husky குரல். அதை கத்தி, கூச்சலிட்டு பாழ்படுத்தி கொள்கிறார்! கேள்விகளோ அதற்கு மேல் அபத்தம்.

"எருமைப் பாலின் நிறம் என்ன?"

இதற்கு வேறு helpline ஒருவர் கேட்க, என்னால் தாங்கமுடியவில்லை...:(

ரம்யா - All glitter, no gold.

அஜீத்

'பரமசிவம்' படத்துக்காக மிகவும் இளைத்த, பழைய 'ஆசை' அஜீத். உடலில் நல்ல மெருகு. படம் எப்படி இருக்கிறது என்று தெரியாது.

அஜீத்- புனர்ஜன்மம்.

விஜய்யின் 'ஆதி'

விஜய் கூடிய சீக்கிரத்தில் முடி திருத்தம் செய்யவில்லையென்றால், புறா கூடு கட்டுவது சர்வ நிச்சயம். காய்ந்து, வரண்டு போன வைக்கோல் நிறம் வேறு பூசியிருக்கிறார்...:) நான் விஜய் ரசிகைதான். அதற்காக இப்படியா?? :))

Quite Contrarily...

"Mary, Mary quite contrarily
How does your garden grow?"

I was reading "The bad Times of India" a couple of weeks back when this poem popped into my head. Two news times were arranged side by side in the newspaper.
The first one was that some ruffians had gotten into a train (I forget which one), forced a 22-year old married woman into the toilet and gang raped her.

The second news item was that the Mumbai Police squad had taken moral policing to heart. They swooped down upon some married couples in a public park. Their crime was that they were sitting very close to each other and holding hands while walking. The lady police, being the great Kannagis and Savitris of our era, beat the women with lathis and used obscene language to abuse them! The couples protesting that they were married and they had done nothing "indecent" was of no avail.

Perhaps the editor didn't have the irony in mind when they put these two news items side by side.

Happy Pongal!

My wishes for a very Happy and Thithikkum Pongal...:)

Conversation - The Aftermath

"My village in Palakkad was old-world and quaint. Mud roads and bullock carts were all that connected us to the outside world. A friend escorted me from Varanasi to Palakkad and took leave of me at the railway station. From there on, I was in the care of my mother.

I was just 17 years old then- playful, flippant with no cares in this world! There I was in my mother's place with a 1 year old kid, with no belongings, my husband still in strife-torn Burma, no ideas about the future but my life was laughter-filled. Youth does tell, no?"

She laughed softly, nodding her approval at her younger self.

"My mom used to bemoan my fate. She would beat her head and cry, 'What is going to happen to you? Your husband is somewhere. God knows if he will return. Even if he does, will be accept you again? What if he leaves you here for life? And here you are, laughing and playing without any responsibility. All this is my fate.' She would chide me severely and cry. But all those scoldings never bothered me too much. 'Amma, tomorrow is always uncertain. Who knew that I would return to India as a destitute? You didn't know that a couple of months back. But here I am. I mean to be happy in this present day. I shall face what comes tomorrow when it arrives!' This served to annoy her even more but child, what was the point of being upset?

Meanwhile, I contracted an eye infection (Trachoma?). It was severe and it was blinding me slowly. We had no doctors in that little village of ours. My parents tried all known local medications but it was getting worse slowly. My dad had gone on a journey somewhere. While he was returning, he met a country physician on the train. The physician was going to Trissur. My father told him about my eye problem and asked if he could help. He was reluctant but my father offered him money, transportation and shelter for the days he'd spend at the village. The physician consented.

The doctor had two bottles of salt water. In each of those bottles, he had live leaches."

I was reminded of the scene in 'Anniyan' and I shuddered...:) I told her about this and she laughed out aloud. She hadn't seen the movie.

"Each day, he would pin my eyelids open and put one leach above and one below my eyes."

I really was feeling nauseated when I heard this.

"Didn't it hurt you?"

She smiled and said,

"There's something to be said for youth. I was young, careless and fearless. I didn't know what was going on. And anyway, it wasn't that painful. The leaches would have their fill of my blood and fall off. He would then put them in salt water and soak them till they threw up all the bad blood they'd sucked out of my eyes. Then he'd repeat the same procedure. He told us that this had to be continued for a month with intervals in between.

Meanwhile, he had to go to Trissur and he insisted on leaving immediately. My dad wanted him to be by my side till I was cured. He was adamant and said he didn't have the time. Meanwhile, there were others in the village who suffered from the same disease. My father pleaded with him and asked him to treat all these poor souls who would otherwise become blind. My dad promised him lots of money. The doctor finally relented and said that he would come back after 3 days and shuttle back and forth between Trissur and my village after that. And he did keep his promise. However crude or unbelievable his treatment was, the leaches sucked all the bad blood near my eyes and I was fully cured. I could see again.

The doctor came for a month and cured so many other people in my village. We were thankful! After that, my husband returned from Burma after 4 months. To have a husband abroad and not knowing whether he will return or not is one of the worst possible punishments for a woman! I suffered through it silently. There were days when I thought I'd never see him again. But he came back to me. We settled down in Trichy after a few years."

She beamed at me.

"You know, life is not a bed of roses. Thinking back to those days now, I wonder how I survived. I've been through a lot of hardships. To live through them is one thing. But to survive them and live to tell the tale to young people like you is something remarkable, I think. And I haven't lost my enthusiasm for life yet."

I have heard of resilient people before but this was the first time, I was in the presence of one. I don't care if this seems stupid or exaggerated, but I was in awe in the presence of that frail, old lady. She looked straight into my eyes for a few moments trying to read my heart. I looked down after a while. I was a bit troubled about something and I didn't want her to read it in my eyes.

"Kuzhandhai (Child), I repeat: Life is not a bed of roses. Don't ever think that life should be perfect. You may have problems and some may seem more insurmountable than others. Time solves all problems. At my age, when I look back, I find most problems trivial. But think about it. Someday, you will be in my chair and another young kid will be sitting where you are sitting right now. Without all those problems (or what you think of as problems), will your story be as interesting when you tell it to her?"

I looked up. Her eyes had a twinkle. I took my leave of her but I don't think I shall forget her that easily. She narrated everything partly in Tamizh and partly in English. I haven't written down many other by-stories and details she furnished during my talk with her. It would take a couple of more blog posts to detail everything. What I had earlier dismissed as a routine meeting with an old lady turned out to be really memorable! Perhaps youth is more dismissive of old age than it should be?

"Come back some other time, child and I shall tell you some other stories."

Her words are still ringing in my ears.

Conversation - The Exodus

I would like to call it an idyllic Srirangam morning. The Sun God was struggling to pierce through the hazy skies. The air was heavy with humidity. The devoted were making a beeline towards the Srirangam temple tower unmindful of the heat. It was late morning when I set out to pay a visit to an 82 year old lady I hadn't met before. I hadn't paid any thought to this appointment. I had this vision of a frail, demure, soft-voiced lady who would perhaps be a bit incoherent and wander during her conversation. So I was rather jolted out of my complacence when a sharp, old thing opened the door to my bell ring.
"Who is this?"
I introduced myself and immediately the lady came forward spryly to open the door.
"You've come a long way from the US. I see you've been to the temple. A rather humid day, no?"
She spoke in crisp, fluent English tilting her head a little to the side as she asked the question. She, obviously, expected an answer.
I acquitted myself rather clumsily. After all, this certainly wasn't the 82-year old I had envisioned!
"Make yourself at home, dear. I have a bit of asthmatic trouble. So you may find my breathing a bit laboured when I talk."
She smiled.
After some mundane conversation about the recent rains, my life in the US and local news, I asked her if Trichy was her native place.
"No, dear," she replied in Tamil "I was born and brought up in Rangoon, Burma."
I was a bit surprised by this but I nodded my head.
"So, how did you-?"
I suppose she saw the unasked question in my eyes because she continued.
"17 years of my life I led in Rangoon. I was married at 16 in Rangoon and I had my first child there. The second world war was on. On my child's first birthday, I left Rangoon for a long walk to India. They were evacuating us."
She paused, her eyes wandering amongst the ghosts of the past.
"I left with my mother-in-law, brother-in-law and my young child. It was a long, exacting trek through forests, hills, rivers and roads. 35 long days we trekked till we reached the soils of Varanasi. We went till Imphal before some sort of help reached us. We had packed rations to carry us through the exodus. The British helped where they could but again, they were partial to their countrymen. We had a separate route and the white men had a separate, easier trail. They hired elephants to carry their women and children. We didn't have that luxury. We trekked 8 hours a day and then we would rest in small shelters. The shelter was just a raised, mud platform with a thatched roof. They had put up temporary dividers to afford some degree of privacy to each family. These were the dwellings of the Nagas (tribals inhabiting the north-eastern forests of India). They were a rough people, clad in almost nothing, but they helped us out in many ways."

She paused. The old lady whom I thought would be incoherent not only turned out to be sharp but also had my complete attention.

"How did you manage with your kid?"

"Ah, yes. The British gave us rations every few days. A packet of beaten rice, some milk and water. But the rations were of poor quality, always left-overs from what they gave to their countrymen. We couldn't eat much of it. We used to cook at the end of each day. I couldn't feed such unhealthy food to my child. I used to give him condensed milk which we had packed from home. There was one designated person from each household who would carry the milk. In our case, it was my brother-in-law."

She chuckled softly.

"You know, my brother-in-law used to drain the milk bit by bit and we used to have nothing left. Poor boy. He was just 14 years old then and he felt the pangs of hunger more than us, you know."

She laughed again and then became serious.

"It was a cruel trek, though. So many died. We used to step over dead bodies as we walked. There was no one to even dispose of the bodies with due respect. They were left to the wolves and vultures of the forests. There were entire families that were wiped out. The young were left to fend for themselves. I remember there was a 12-year old girl whose family had all died during the trek. She was clutching her infant brother and walking. She used to often moan that her baby brother didn't open his eyes, cry or eat anything. We discovered that the baby was dead. Had been dead for sometime. But the girl was holding on to him tight. So, at night, when the girl was asleep, we threw away the baby into the forest. When morning came, we told the girl that the crows had taken away her kid. She cried a bit but then she believed the story. She was, after all, just a child herself. I took her under my wing and escorted her to India. It was cruel, child."

She paused for a moment gathering her thoughts.

"I am wandering. You'd asked about my son. There were days when we thought he wasn't going to see the daylight. The child was under-fed and totally dehydrated. There came a point when my mother-in-law decided that we couldn't carry on like this. We hired a hut from a Naga and stayed there. My mom-in-law took the baby in her arms and walked to the trail. She sat down by the side and started chanting, 'Are there any doctors amongst you? We need help for this baby'. So many hours she shouted her throat dry but none came forward. People kept walking. At last, one doctor she had known from Burma passed by with his mother. She called him by name and asked for help. But he said that he had to escort his 92-year old mother home and couldn't stop. My mom-in-law literally fell at his feet and begged for mercy. At last, he decided he'd stop for a few minutes and tend to the baby.

He told us that the baby was dehydrated beyond hope. I begged him to do something. He boiled a large pan of water with a huge syringe. God knows why he was even carrying such a big syringe. I had never seen anything like it. He filled it with water and directly injected it into my baby's stomach! The treatment was rude and crude. Yes, rude and crude. Glucose is injected into the body only drip by drip. This was a brute force method-injecting to the stomach. I have never seen such treatment before nor after that day. But, child, it worked! My baby survived and we marched on!"

She nodded her head and her eyes twinkled with pleasure.

"We went on and on. When we reached Imphal, Ramakrishna Mission volunteers took over. We were put on a train. And every day, they used to give us one bun to eat. Finally, we reached Benares after 35 long days. From then began my long journey to my village in Palakkad, Kerala."

She stopped to offer me something to eat. But I was more interested in her story...

I shall continue this resolute old lady's story in my next post....:)

Travel Myths Gone Bust

There are certain travel myths that go completely bust when you go on vacation. I learnt this a longways back. When I was a green teenager, I imagined I'd come down the airport escalators carelessly swinging a fashionable handbag across my shoulder, looking fresh as a cucumber, my hair-do perfect and untouched, my skin glowing, sporting a Colgate smile on my face. A mirthful greeting with adoring parents and friends replete with bouquets, hugs, chocolates et al..completed my imagination. Blame it on all the airport scenes in our movies with our Simrans, Preity Zintas and Rani Mukherjees..:)
Reality bites. You are greeted by serpentine immigration queues; you are lugging two rather heavy hand baggages across the airport; your flight has already been delayed a couple of hours; the flight food really did taste like dog-food and you haven't had anything to eat for the past 24 hours; you misplaced your moisturizer somewhere and your skin looks all dehydrated; to top it all, your feet are cramped and swollen from hours of sitting in the same position. All in all, everytime I get out of a flight, I doubt I look anything near fresh and energetic...:)
The other travel myth that personally doesn't hold for me is the concept of "in-flight reading". I generally find lots of people at airports with their noses buried in books, laptops, memos and what-not. I figured that this time I was going to be one of those people. I was going to be immersed in some book oblivious to the world around me and just look up when the boarding call is announced. With that grandiose vision in mind, I took "Freakonomics" with me. Guess what happened? I couldn't keep my eyes on the book long enough for me to finish one page! The reason is because I see people all around me and it interests me. The young mother who struggles to deal with her baby, an old couple laughing into each other's eyes as they carry on some mundane conversation on yet another journey, executive types who are engrossed in their work, nervous people who shift their weight as they sit around waiting for flights, young teens giggling about a cute guy sitting opposite them...the list is endless! I may never see them again but its interesting to notice a fragment of their lives. How many different shades people do come in! No two people look alike. No two behave alike. The study of humanity is the most interesting thing there is in this world...:)
That’s my two minutes of introspection and philosophy at the airport. And with that, goes me reading “Freakonomics”…sigh.

My Muse has left me.
I have the writer's block.

Not really. Well, I do try to make dramatic statements but somehow they come out better if I have a Julia Roberts or Reese Witherspoon mouthing it for me..:) It is not really any sort of "block" that is stopping me from posting, it is just plain old-fashioned laziness. Basically, there's too much noise inside my head. I've got too many thoughts racing pell-mell across the corridors of my mind. It is hard to sit and isolate one particular whizzing thought and hang onto it long enough to put it down in words.I need Dumbledore's Pensieve. Dumbledore draws out these thin, silvery wisps of thoughts from people's minds and throws them in the pensieve for future remnisciences. How I wish I had such a luxury! Maybe I could go back to all those unwritten, unsaid thoughts and attempt a rewrite. Then again, perhaps it is better not to have such contraptions. I might sorely be tempted to revisit every single memory looking for some hidden,subliminal message and finally go stark, raving mad. Whichever dude said that "A bad memory is the key to a successful life." sure knew what he was talking about.

I do hope to write some in the next few weeks. There's a special pleasure in putting pen to paper. Especially if that act is accompanied by steaming hot Indian filter coffee providing you your delicious dose of caffeine and hot dosas for breakfast..:) For now, I've got papers strewn haphazardly all over the house, a half-read journal flung carelessly across the couch, dirty dishes in the sink, trash waiting to be taken out, bills to be paid, a couple of gaping suitcases to be packed and the usual last-minute stuff to take care of before catching a plane.

Happy Holidays, everyone. Be safe this winter. Ooops..I've rambled on too long and my Muse has already flown away Eastward on the wings of a Zephyr....:) I better go now.