Musings of a Chennai gal

Mornings in Mumbai...

2012-02-02T02:14:00.000+08:00

... are a raucous affair. I decided to blog about it this morning at 6am, when I woke up to a mixed alarm of howling dogs and mosque azaans. I lay in bed, eyes closed but mind completely awake and taking in the sounds of the weird morning and awakening. It was as if the azaans were echoing off each other - for the number of mosques in my locality, it's no surprise - there was not a second when somebody wasn't singing, and all that varied was how loud the azaan was, depending on how far the mosque was from you. In that darkness, the azaans reminded me of when my friend walked around with her iPhone in the breathtakingly beautiful Blue Mosque of Istanbul while I sat shivering in a corner with my eyes taking in the splendour of the mosque at night.

And as if to wake me out of my reverie, the dogs howled some more; it was bloody awful, eerie and was ringing in my ears. At that moment, despite the fairly animal-friendly self I was (even if I'm tempted to run in the other direction or yell back at a barking dog), I wanted to find a stone to throw in the direction of the dogs and have them scatter away in fright.

And as if this wasn't enough, the doorbell rang and made me jump - my roommates were returning after spending a whole night at the library studying.

What else happens? I shouldn't forget the crows that go berserk at some 3 in the morning, cawing away like the morning wasn't going to break. The security guard blowing on the whistle like crazy, and walking around the apartment, beating his sturdy stick on the ground, as if it would be any deterrent to a sulking thief. I'd listen to the man walk around the apartment, tracking the sound as it faded and came back aloud again. Oh yeah, there's also the random something he burns in a little pan every night - to ward off the mosquitoes, apparently - that will make you choke if you happened to open the main door.

There is another man I should talk about. A complete nut case, loudmouthed and rude old man who cleans our building's staircases once a month or so. He is loony enough to think it is alright to ring the bell multiple times in succession at 6 in the morning and yell at us for buckets of water. I have yelled back at him in my broken Hindi, and roommates of mine who are not easily shaken have given them a piece of their minds too, leaving me shocked (and grinning) at their ferocious displays of anger.

It's only a matter of a few weeks. The apartment will soon be history as we move to campus accommodation. I wonder how mornings will dawn there - I anticipate queues for buckets and brushing teeth, and don't look forward to it, because hostel life in Singapore was a breeze that way. But well, it's all part of the big experience package I signed up for when I decided to move back. And what the heck, doing it for five days is going to get you used to it. Yay to hostel life!

And BY THE WAY - the blog is SEVEN years old! Wow. I feel OLD. The blog is OLD. And there are at least five people reading it, I think, so yay again.

Of six months and 75 years

2011-12-23T04:14:00.001+08:00

It’s a strange feeling. It’s been six months since the moveback to India, six months since I became a student again, six months of feelinglike an old, wise, out-of-touch-with-India woman, six months of alternatingbetween missing Singapore and digging India. SO MUCH has changed in thesemonths, and today I realized, for the first time – and maybe it’s simply acarryover effect of all the good things happening in university over the lastfew days – but I’m totally happy about the move.

So the university turns 75 this year, and there’s been quitea bit of (well-deserved) hoohaa, but I should be thankful – these events mademe get closer to the ground realities, soak in the atmosphere, convinced me I reallyam back, and told me that it’s all for the better.

The first of these was the session on surveying M-Ward East,a collection of slums that have the worst Human Development Indicators inMumbai. After a couple of days of mayhem and understandable disorganization –over 1500 students were to be involved in surveying 20,000 households, usingtablets, so it was an organizational nightmare – we set out into the field,armed with water bottles, hand sanitizers, stoles around our heads, et al. Iwas excited about the project – my course doesn’t have sessions where you haveto go to the field and interact with the beneficiaries of the developmentprocess I am supposed to initiate – but was at the same time very unsure of howfar my Hindi would take me. Luckily, I was teamed up with a boy who had noissues with Hindi, and the very first survey we did will always stay in mymind: him completely at ease, joking, laughing, connecting with the people, andme listening to his every word to improve my fairly abysmal Hindi vocabulary. Overthe next seven days, I realized how many things we take for granted – running water,electricity, access to medical facilities, etc. As a relatively socially consciousperson, of course I was aware of problems people have with these things, but tosee them live, in one of India’s richest cities, was shocking (yes, even thoughwe’ve all seen Slumdog Millionaire). I spoke to women about their reproductivehealth, struggling to ask questions about their sex lives, vagina, etc.(resorting to crude ways of asking about it with a ‘Sorry, my Hindi isn’t thatgood!’), only to hear a number of them tell me nonchalantly about their babieswho have died; it was especially painful to hear of a woman’s abortionexperience, when her midwife put her hand so far deep into the woman’s uterusthat it got scratched by her nails and was infected for months after theincident. It was an eye-opener in a number of ways, and most of all drivinghome hard one lesson – I have nothing inlife to complain about, when there are millions who are surviving through days, forget living through them, hoping orplanning. These seven days, life went by in a flash: coming back late at nightafter the surveys, showering, falling on to the bed and not waking up once tillthe alarm rang the next morning.

And this Monday, the school started its platinum jubileecelebrations. Four days of seminars, panel discussions, academics debating theoriesthat went over my head, listening to a monk from Arunachal Pradesh telling usabout their sentiments about being part of India, hearing out an activist supportingManipur’s Irom Sharmila who has been fasting for eleven years to repeal adraconian army law, listening to students from the North East giving theirviews on how they feel alien in India even as the country claims them as one ofits own, watching documentaries and short films by brilliant student filmmakersacross the country, cheering performances from a highly-talented Naga troupeand a bursting-with-energy, feminist troupe from Tamil Nadu, hooting and goingwild at a beat boxer’s performance, and wrapping it up by dancing to the DJ whohad to stop spinning by 10pm to not annoy the residents nearby.

And this evening, somehow the realization that I talkedabout at the beginning of this post struck me, as we watched the cooks andservers at our dining halls and canteens put up a smashing performance – the oneI think that got the most cheers and even an encore. For all that I havecribbed about the university, the curriculum, the bureaucracy, the pseudointellectuals, prissy girls, wannabe boys, childish people, professors stuck indecades-old procedures and all that – there is something we have all learnt inour few months here, and something I know we will have learnt by when wegraduate: appreciating others, and respecting people from backgrounds verydifferent and often much more difficult than your own. Yes, the really urbanones will never be chummy with their more heartland friends, we will all formour groups with people from similar backgrounds, some of us will pretend toknow more than our professors or criticise anything that comes our way – but somehow,and at some point, we shed these selves and know that in no way can we considerourselves superior to anyone else, worthier than anyone else. The universitysuddenly seemed to be a beautiful place to be in, and I was proud to be in aplace that had done some incredible, life-changing work in its 75 years ofexistence.

And for some reason, I left the place happy, brimming withhope and eager to push out the cynicism that has been entrenched in me sincemoving back. And for this reason, I knew that this move had to happen; it’s aphase of life God planned for me, to help me learn some things I would have notlearnt so effectively in Singapore. I have no idea where life will take menext, and where I want to be, but for now, this seems perfect.

P.S., and note to self: Don’t be fooled by all this optimism.It’s time for classes, assignments and worst of all, dissertation, to begin,and be sure to look out for a crib fest next month.

How I watched Rockstar

2011-11-15T21:00:00.001+08:00

Rockstar was the only Hindi movie I wanted to watch badly in 2011. And with much enthusiasm,despite reports of a sagging second half, I set out last weekend to watch it inEros in Mumbai. Before anything else, it was a pleasure to not watch the moviein a multiplex – it’s been at least six years since I did so! The screen was huge. I was prepared to be blown away –with amazing visuals, and most of all, what I’d come for, Rahman’s music ondolby surround sound (which was surprisingly non-functional in the cinema, Ithink).

As for the movie – I’ll not talk about the script or thewooden doll Nargis Fakhri (why, Imtiaz Ali – she destroyed the very soul of themovie). To me, the movie did a brilliant job – thanks to Ali, a zillion timesfrom the Rahman fan – bringing the god-awesome-brilliant-out-of-the-world songsto life on screen through Ranbir Kapoor. And is this the guy who was unbearablein Saanwariya all those years ago? Good lord, hasn’t he matured as an actor –this might very well be the break that he got hints of at Wake Up Sid. Thanksto him, the songs sprang to life, dripped with agony, pain, exuding promise,happiness, steeped in anguish, anger, oh-world-up-yours-ness. After watchingSakkarakatti, I realized how directors could mutilate songs on screen (rememberthe zombies in Chinamma Chilakamma) and make you relive horrific memories thenext time you listen to them (it took me a few months to get over thoseimages). Ali has simply made me cherish each song even more, feel the emotionin each song that Mohit Chauhan and Rahman create. After the movie, I became aneven bigger fan of Kun Faaya Kun – the beautiful lights, the mosque, thehaunting music on screen – love. At 3.15am, a few hours after watching themovie, I played it on the iPod on bed, lay with my eyes closed and – for thefirst time even though I’ve heard it before – moved to a different plane; onewhere Rahman’s voice felt as if they were ripples on water; the first bit onthe harmonium with Javed Ali’s and Rahman’s voice felt like heaven; and whenyou realize how the divine sound awoke the music within JJ, Mohit Chauhan’svoice carries a meaning of its own.

And The Dichotomy of Fame – gave me a pleasant shock when Isaw Shammi Kapoor playing the shehnai (yes, I could have made the link when hewas introduced as a shehnai player) – but it became even more beautiful whenRanbir could so powerfully emote to show his anguish, pain and annoyance – andwhat, beautifully, brought out the best music in him. Aur Ho, a song I usuallypaid little attention, became a haunting portrayal of confusion, and knowingwhat those mysterious lines the lady sings are, makes it lovelier. Sadda Haqbecame powerful, and I was screaming with joy in the cinema hall. I love SheherMein even more, more deeply in love with Phir Se, and must seriously work onediting Tango for Taj my ringtone.

I’m so much more in love with the soundtrack that I don’tmind sitting through the movie again and enduring the pouting woman’s face,just to relive every song and watch Ranbir bring it to life. What more could aRahman fan – and a true music lover – want?

Wrapping up the first milestone

2011-10-31T22:39:00.000+08:00

HOME, MUMBAI: This must be the first time since I startedblogging that I haven’t mentioned my birthday and put a traditionalI’m-xx-old-oooh-aren’t-I-growing-old post. Have managed to do it while workingcrazy hours or slogging on the Final Year Project, but one difficult exam onOct 5 put me off it this time. Guess it’s a sign of old age. Yours truly is now25 years old. It’s c-r-e-e-p-y as hell to associate this number with me, butI’ve realised I’ve talked about it so much that 25 only feels natural. It’s onlybecause I’m back in school and there are all these 1990-born children in there.And the fact that kids born as late as 1996 – yes, ninety six – are in classten now! I remember when I was inclass ten!

But 25 is nothing, I know. And Imean it, not just because I’m that old. I think 40 is the real killer. Even 39is ok, you’re still in your 30s and as a woman, probably done with taking careof your toddler child(ren) and hopefully back at work. Forty is still far away,so it still feels old.

MUMBAI: The rains. The snails inthe bathroom. The incredible amounts of dust. The university’s absolutely ridiculous methods offunctioning, which besides ripping apart in feedback forms, self-important Ihave decided to give some suggestions to (anticipate a post which states I’vebeen kicked out of university!). Whittling down weekly beverage consumption(:P) sessions to once-a-month-if-lucky sessions (somehow I frequently run intodry days every time I’m downtown!). Fortnightly movie sessions tooh-is-that-the-name-of-a-new-movie-ness to friends still in Singapore.Unlearning the conveniences of things like air-conditioned ATMs, easy billpayments and finding anything online.Learning how to yell at someone in Hindi – be it the stupid pizza deliverypeople with no change for 500 for a 468 rupees bill, or the ATM guard whodecided to be cheeky and asked if we couldn’t read the non-existent sign thatthe ATM wasn’t working. Marvelling at Maharashtrian cooking that has tomatoesand coconut in pretty much everything, and at the sweet samburr. Getting acquainted with different Hindi accents andidentifying their origins. Sitting through a conversation I have no interest inwith a polite and smiling face. Being called graceful (yikes! But turns out I am…) A dandiya session where mypathetic coordination skills provided amusement to the children I was dancingwith. And perhaps a significant achievement which my parents might testify to:sleeping through a whole hour of power failure at night only momentarily wakingup to realize the fan wasn’t working.

You would realize I haven’t evengone into the studying part of it. It was just like jumping into an alienexperiment I have no clue about. The first couple of months were spent inpretty much open-mouthed amazement at just how disorganized and bureaucraticthings can be here (“Please write a letter to...” for anything and everything),and the next two months were spent adjusting to it. Exams have been writtenwith half-baked, half-remembered knowledge, and I have nightmares about grades,till I convince myself I should look beyond grades and all that.

Maybe it’s the whole end-of-examand going-home warm feeling, but I’m pretty happy at how it’s turned out sofar. It’s been a challenge, there have been many disappointments, but what’slife without anything like that?

HOME: I’m at home for Diwali after seven years, and I’m bored. It’s somehow not the same as celebrating it in Chennai. I miss – gosh,has it been that long, it feels ridiculous even saying this – school friends,visiting relatives, and the excitement about new clothes and sweets and spicysavouries. Sitting in a random city away from these people and with two wisdomteeth extractions, I haven’t even got the will to get off the couch, go to theroad and light the ‘shaastratukku’ crackers that have been purchased (yes, andby the way, what’s with the bloody expensive crackers they sell these days?!Good lord!!)

TV, with its 200+ channels holds even lesser attraction.Stuff cooked at home remind me of a literal experience of the saying ‘Kai kuettinadhu vaai-ku ettaliye’ (what the hand can reach, the mouth can’t).

The vacation is nearly over, there’s an event at home soon,the world’s population has officially hit 7 billion, and it’s raining all thetime in Coimbatore, and I don’t have any inkling on what to do for mydissertation. That’s what vacation has become. YAWN!

The moment of reckoning

2011-09-28T21:06:00.001+08:00

Somehow, all this while, returning to studying didn't feel that difficult. As in, you had to sit in lectures, listen to some interesting professors, some drones, some 'ok' ones. And submit a few assignments - reading books and reviewing them, getting lost in technical jargon; writing term papers - starting them with utmost ambition only to see it all whittling away in the face of the deadline. It all got done, and got done with relative ease (yes, in retrospect, but still...) - maybe it was just akin to writing a press release that I used to sit on and finally rush through when the client suddenly remembered and asked for it. Screw the academic language - I simply wrote whatever my head said, with clarity. But now, exams stare down my face four days from now, and I'm staring at a volume of documents to read that's unimaginable. Explanations, critiques, papers written by twits who seem to be more intent on showing off their command of the English language and less on making people understand what they want to say. Theories that simply befuddle my practical head, and theories that arise to critique the aforementioned ones. This is it - the moment of reckoning. What studying again was to lead to - exams that test your ability to remember and lesser on your ability to understand theories and apply them.I slave over these documents at the rate of five pages an hour, which is terrible, given that a number of distractions beckon and I willingly give up at the drop of a hat - newspapers, sitcoms, songs, writing notes such as this one.

This has to pass. Otherwise I'm staring at an October-full of agony. I've done so many exams before, passed 12th grade with reasonable success - this can't be that bad, can it? Wish me luck while I mutter 'Come on, Vani, be serious' under my breath every ten minutes.

Existential thoughts

2011-09-07T22:06:00.001+08:00

You are probably tiring of the number of times I mention the creepy crawlies that my home abounds with, but they really set me thinking. And this evening, it was a snail that set me going. Moving slowly down the white tiles in the bathroom, shaking its head and two antennae slowly, pushing forward in slo-mo. Snails have always terrified me - not for the fact that they are insects (or animals?) that creep me out, but because they move so, incredibly, slowly. No, look at one the next time you see one, and keep looking, and you'll probably get what I mean. Why do they move this slowly? Where are they going? What do they do, you know, in life? I can see why God made dogs, cats and cows; butterflies, cockroaches, and ants; monkeys, horses, centipedes and moths. But why snails? What's their purpose in life? I've always wondered if anyone's tried to understand what goes on in the, erm, minds of these animals. I know they don't have a sixth sense that lets them think outside of their fight/flight tendencies, but well then, what else do they do? What differentiates them from the million others of their kind? What do they do when it's not their season to be alive and about?

There are so many things to think about, especially when you have work to do. I wish my purpose of existence was to read, read a lot, travel and ask questions that other people can think of solving.

The Dogs of Deonar

2011-08-29T01:56:00.000+08:00

I was waiting outside an ATM. The white kurta-ed man inside seemed to be taking an eternity to come out. I started humming, tapping my foot lightly, looking around, till my eyes caught hold of my reflection on the glass doors of the ATM. I stopped humming and tapping my foot. My breath quickened. Calm down, I desperately told myself. They can smell fear. Did I have any food on me, I thought; no. For right behind me, were two street dogs, cream-coloured – you know, the typical street dog kind. One was slowly trotting, coming close to me. The other stopped, and lay on the floor, stretching itself (yes, ‘it,’ not ‘he’ or ‘she’), as if it knew I wasn’t anything interesting.

Do dogs know if we pretend? I put on a calm face, started to whistle (only to quickly stop – what if they think I’m being friendly!) and stared up at the sky and around, all the while keeping an eye on the reflection to see what the canine beast was up to. It came close to me, but suddenly had a change of mind, and thought it would be better to go back to its friend (who in the meantime, was performing athlete-type warm-up stretches – despite my horrific fear, I had to laugh), and started to sniff about it. White-kurta man came out at this opportune moment, and I made a dash in to the ATM and shut the door.

Despite everything I missed about India while in Singapore – the lack of crows (making me cry ‘OH MY GOD, THAT’S A CROW’ the rare moments I spotted one there), the whole cows-on-the-road feeling, the proud ‘Oh yes, I’ve sat on an elephant’ that I told my astonished classmates in college – I had no regrets about dogs, especially the street variety. You have stray cats in Singapore (they terrified me too: I’ve written about them here and here), but dogs in Singapore are all pretty, adored, on leash, with owners who groomed them to their best ability, collecting their poo (dogwalkers always carry a plastic bag) and taking their runs with them, and stuff. Pampered.

Fast forward to Mumbai, India. Street dogs abound in my area, and not only do you have to maneuver about them, but their turds too (it only got worse with the rains – many a time, I’d step on something to hear a squelch: whether it was mush, some tiny animal that I’d just killed, or dog poo, I’d never know). Hours after moving here, I had to shriek to my dog-loving friends to keep the street dogs away. Don’t play with them while I’m there (dogs on leash were ok!). They get into barking matches (thankfully, no howls – street dogs in Ahmedabad would howl through the night, not letting you catch a wink). They pee on the tyres of good-looking Skoda cars. They gang up and threaten the more scared among us by following us about. They taunt the pet dogs tied up inside their homes. As happy as I am that they lap up the leftover food I leave for them, I don’t like the fact that I have to take a particularly difficult way to enter a shop because they have spread themselves royally at the entrance.

Compared to these vagrants, the pet dogs seem like mellow creatures. It’s especially hilarious to see (when you’re at a safe distance, that is) a street dog tease a pet dog; the funniest of all was a large black dog that responded to the calls of a street dog but angrily jumping past every window in the wall of the house it was in, following the street dog that was gaily trotting past, basking in its secure position well away from the barking beast inside the house.

Oh well, what would life be without a bit of spice. Till the ATM incident yesterday, I was thinking I have become a little better at handling my fear of dogs. Unfortunately, no, I do have a long way to go. Maybe by the time I’m done with my studies in Mumbai, besides being able to speak Hindi fluently (that would be the day!), I’d be better with dogs – not to the extent of being able to pet them, but at least not walk away swiftly in terror? Only time will tell.

Here and there...

2011-08-10T19:22:00.000+08:00

Dated 9 Aug 2011 and posted today because, hey, two months on and I still don’t have internet at home

It’s been two months since my massive move back to India, to Mumbai for the first time. And in this short span, I have seen so much: seasons (hot-humid-summer to horrible-rain to current-pleasant-weather), bomb blasts in the city, had endless permutations of pavs (vada-, misal-, bhajia-, etc.), jumped past dog poo, spoken Hindi that makes my new friends laugh in good-natured (I hope!) amusement, among other things.

The day I landed was a hard-hitting lesson in back-to-India-ness. I had all but stepped out after a shower for two minutes, that I was covered with sweat that was mingling with dust from the roads (yes, it sounds revolting, but you can imagine. I wonder how students on exchange from Europe/the US handle it, but perhaps they have conditioned themselves to the I’m-coming-to-India experience?) Some five minutes after this, I had to cross perhaps the most dangerous road of all times. I patiently waited for the pedestrian crossing signal to turn green, realized vehicles don’t give a damn about it, and ended up running in terror, in between honking vehicles that screeched to a halt so they don’t kill me. I walked around the college campus, somewhat let down by the size of it (the whole campus was as big as the South Wing of NTU), but still happy at how green it was. I was surprised that every girl was in a kurta and chudidar. I found the canteen food good, but it was in a smelly place; I wanted to avoid having to walk over to the other side to wash my hands as far as possible. Two hours outside and I was craving to get into a mall for the air-conditioning (after being frisked and getting my bag checked at the mall entrance). I was disoriented and upset at the enormity of my move.

Two months on, things have changed. The rains have begun, and the umbrella-hater me has had to walk everywhere with on in hand. Through the slush, into the auto rickshaw, sitting on wet seats, stepping into slush, and the like. Opening the cupboard to find fungus all over my black pair of jeans. Worms in the bathroom, leading the way to other kinds of worms and now, snails. I have gone from the phase of aversion to acceptance to now cold-hearted brutal murder. I have gotten used to saying Rupees and Paise, and not dollars and cents, and the fact that the 50 paise has no value today. I don’t run away from dogs anymore, just stand by and admire the gutsy mongrel doing his business by the tyre of a Honda City. I rattle away in crappy Hindi, know that kulta is a ‘bad’ word, swear more than I ever did, order Indian dishes I’d never heard (zhunka bhakri!), and enjoy my only non-Indian food at McDonald’s, having the McVeggie burger with fries. I negotiate the risky crossing with ease, shouting out the choicest of abuses at sedan drivers, sometimes even in Tamil. I’m used to the delays associated with Indian-ness, and although it gets the better of me very often (and it spirals into a whole hour of grumpiness and Singapore-sickness), I can recover with the help of Amul ice cream, Dairy Milk or Cadbury’s Bourbon. Drinking a can of beer that I queued up and bought at a ‘wine shop’ while the owner threw dirty looks at ‘girls these days,’ was a big achievement. NRI-ness has on the whole gone down, I think.

And yet, it all feels so weird. I sink in nostalgia when I see Facebook updates on anything to do with Singapore; miss the fact that it’s National Day today and the crazy ads they have for the NDP. I spent a good ten minutes explaining the ‘We must be vigilant’ video they show in the MRTs. I look out for Singapore in charts showing statistics on different countries in class (though they mostly drop it out – either it’s too small or too developed ;)), and ‘lah’ and ‘sian’ have been taught to roommates and anyone else who bothers to hear me rant. I still say ‘I’m going to India’ when I mean ‘I’m going home.’ I miss wearing nice clothes – I’ve been wearing my pretty clothes to school because I don’t know what else to do with them. In a class where pretty much everyone is in a kurta/leggings or pretty tops and jeans, I go with my best workwear, and even dresses, and soon everyone is going to tire of asking where it’s from (and sometimes I feel weird; it feels a little show-offy to say that this dress is from Bandung, a hill station near Jakarta). Terribly miss the variety in food, the outside-of-work life, the endless movies, fast internet and God, the desserts (brownies here are terrible, and cakes, I’d rather not have).

As I still negotiate the space between ‘I love India and it’s so much fun’ and ‘Ugh, why did I come here’ I guess the brain has already started leaning towards the former, and the heart is slowly following too – a sense of acceptance that one good life’s done and another has begun, and the optimistic self tells me I have to give things in India a fair chance. Thanks to the besties who still call/email from Singapore and keep me in the loop – so much so that sometimes I feel like I’m just on extended holiday in India – and the new ones here in Mumbai who make it so much fun – I guess I’ll survive.

Disorientation

2011-06-07T22:22:00.001+08:00

It's bye-bye to Singapore. Spent my last few days in the country frantically meeting people, saying goodbyes, taking endless photographs, packing stuff into cartons and suitcases, weighing things endlessly on the weighing scale (only to know I’ve still screwed it up!) and trying to pack everything special about the country with my friends into few days.

And when I reached Mumbai in less than 5 hours (on an Air India flight that took off and landed on time, yay!) I felt completely disoriented. It was hot, sweaty, I was amused with how I was actually making my way around in Hindi, and finally the fact that from having my own room, a queen-sized-extremely-comfortable bed, I had reached an apartment I shared with 5 other people, to a bathroom that had a long creepy worm and promised to invite snails when the monsoons arrive.

I spent a whole day in my new institute, and was tested right at the start with the extreme inefficiency still rampant in my country, sadly. Documents I’d sent all the way from Singapore were promptly lost, and I had to do it all over again there and then. I was asked for a way to calculate my CGPA (apparently, Second Upper Honours don’t quite tell you about my performance in university!), and asked for a migration certificate although it’s been three years since I graduated, asked for originals of documents whose scanned copies I’d sent via email. I was irked to the extent that I asked the officer how a reputed institute such as this was still stuck in age-old procedures of faxing and original copies, only to shot back to say all that might work in Singapore, but not in India. It was a great ‘Welcome to India!’

I was shocked at how much prices had gone up (somehow things are different when you’re not with your parents and are spending your own money!), confused with the endless cellphone provider options, suddenly felt like buying an iPhone only to realize 750MB data plans cost over Rs.2,000 a month. All the same, it was a relief to be able to go into any restaurant and know that you can order a vegetarian dish freely.

It feels strange. This blog was started when I was new in Singapore, a way to help me connect back to India and laugh at and adjust to things in Singapore. Now, I’m convinced that I’m returning to Singapore in a few days after this vacation. That I will take a flight, sleep a few hours and get to work. Think of lunch, dinner, and where Chinese, Thai, Greek, or Italian food would be part and parcel of everyday dining out. It’s strange that these are things of the past, at least for the next couple of years.

Oh well, for now, things have been put on hold thanks to a comfortable trip back home, with my delightful nephew keeping me extremely amused and occupied (this deserves a whole new post!). But Mumbai beckons next week, and it’s back to figuring out life once again!

Mandu, Makku

2011-05-18T23:57:00.000+08:00

- I should rethink the name of this blog. Really. To quote one friend: 'Idhu boangu!' Chennai gal is moving. Back to India. Far from Singapore. Far from Chennai. To Mumbai.

- I have always thought of myself as a less materialistic person. My prized possessions are notebooks (the kind you write in), greeting cards given by friends, scribbles on the back of flight tickets, my camera stuff, books - basically, things that are tied more to experiences than the happiness I get with possessing them.

- Oh, how wrong I was. Over three years of working, I've amassed nearly 40 kgs of clothes. I don't even want to check how much the carton of books weighs. I've always dreaded this moment, but for reasons cited in the above point, I'd always thought my worst nightmare when moving would be the books.

- Going back to studying is incredibly exciting. The feeling of being responsible only for myself, and not for an organization, a team, a boss or a client. Even though I'm worried about how I'm probably going to be among the oldest in my class.

- Going to Mumbai is even more exciting. Never mind I'll be staying in some corner of the city, far from anything happening. Never mind that after three years of comfort in a room all for myself, I'll be sharing a room with two other people. Never mind the dollars will stop coming in. It's Mumbai!

- With just over ten days left before I make the second biggest move of my life, all I want to do is write, and write. Keep listening to music. Praise MSV's genius in Ninaithale Inikkum. Forget work and handover. Forget packing, shipping, 20kg boxes, and Air India flight strikes.

- And if you're wondering why this title (if you do understand it at all) - just two Tamil words I haven't used in ages. I suddenly realized they used to be part of everyday vocabulary!

Janma, Karma and such things

2011-05-11T00:14:00.000+08:00

I'm highly amused by my own thought process. In the ten-minute walk from the train station to home, my mind thinks of at least a dozen things. Amazement at the fact a train is speeding away on a bridge a few metres above my head. The moon and its stage in its fortnightly life. Why some women look pretty in skirts and why I can never pull it off. Counting the number of people smoking in that ten-minute distance. The old man who has his special little flashlight to shine at the rubbish bin to see what he can rummage to recycle and earn a living. Bus numbers 24 and 22. The song on the iPod and the lyrics that struggle to escape my lips loud and clear, and that sometimes do when there are fewer people around, and just the process of this happening.

Today's was occupied by rebirth, karma and the hand of God in our lives. Nothing religious. Nothing rebellious. Nothing that questions or doubts. Simple curiosity.

So our lives are predestined and all our fates have been sealed by God long ago. So long ago that it's ridiculous to even slap a time-frame on it. God probably thought of my current birth some twenty-thousand births ago. Of what S/He would make me do, what I'd earn good credits for, what I'd repent for, what I'd pay for. Of what my karma is going to be. So why did S/He decide my life should go this way? What about those who're not quite enjoying their time on earth - what if they are paying back for bad things they did in the previous birth and end up doing worse things in the current birth because of the terrible life they have to lead? Are they just caught in an infinite loop of bad karma over and over again?

Thinking these thoughts is just amazing. So much fun. That's why I loved Sophie's World and being in Athens, where Socrates, Plato and Aristotle lived and debated, gave me that thrill. That's why I wonder now if I really did go to these places, see and live all those things, and that this day one week back I was relieved to have made it to the airport in time to take the flight back home. What if I'm just a pawn in someone else's game, a character in a story like Sophie was? What if cities, parents, books, Rahman, tennis, Obama, Osama and all that were merely inventions of a woman or a man who is scripting my story? Ah, the challenges and questions life throws at you!

Greeced and Turkeyed

2011-05-04T01:40:00.000+08:00

And a much awaited journey came to an end as I stepped out of the Emirates flight and immediately took off the fleece jacket that had saved me during the cold and windy days in Greece and Istanbul. Directing the cab driver to my apartment, telling him which 'deck' to stop at, and simply looking at the red-and-cream apartment buildings, simply felt weird. All I could think of was if I had really lived here before, gone to see some of the most beautiful places in the world, and actually returned. The mind was playing tricks, I was disoriented.

It's 1.30am now, and I'm wide awake, working on Spark, typing this and that, and looking at the photos from the 12 days I spent there, memories of roads made of cobbled stones, cafes and people watching, innumerable 'Hello ladies, are you from India?' questions, stuffed peppers, handsome European and Turkish men, 4-euros-for-half-a-litre housepour wines, of digging my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket to shield them from the freezing cold, and even thinking what kind of warmth holding a cigarette (and maybe taking a puff!) would bring. It's not fun to be jetlagged and thinking of what's gone by - and so quickly at that, I should add.

The ever optimist I am, though, I'm glad to have been there, done it - and to be back. Glad to be able to walk barefoot on the floor, wear shorts, not layer two tees to keep me warm, and weirdly, even craving to have my tau-guah noodle with chicken rice chilli and teh-c, to enjoy everything Singapore while I can. And I'm going to try to fall asleep, thinking of the Ayasofya ceiling, the awe-striking cliffs of Meteora, the Blue Mosque lit at night, the view of the Parthenon from every road, and the brilliant blue of Santorini's waters.

More on the trip, the sights, the people - weird, interesting, creepy, the food and everything else - hopefully coming soon!

(Another) New Beginning

2011-04-10T19:51:00.001+08:00

Black Beauty is now history. For the first time in nearly seven years in Singapore, I'm moving houses without lugging along my desktop with its CRT monitor (I know!), CPU, keyboard. I felt a twinge of regret and sadness as the karung guni (how rag and bone men in Singapore are referred to) opened up the CPU, asked me where the hard drive was (I'd removed it last morning) and kindly offered me $2. 'Just take it,' I said. 'I don't want any money!' And there, the monitor, CPU and the keyboard (I will miss that the most - it was the most wonderful keyboard ever) were tugged away right before my eyes like scrap (that's nearly what they became, but that's besides the point). Here's something I'd written about her when she was still new. It hurts just to think of the number of years that have passed in between!

Anyway, back to the new beginning. I've moved house for the fourth time in less than three years, but there's not been a single place in all my years in Singapore that I've been as happy about leaving as the last place I was in. The new house seems like a blessing compared to the old one - it's clean, new, bright and the best part of all, I only need to peep out the window to watch trains passing - something that will have me squealing in delight till I get used to it.

Oh well, there's a lot to get used to, but I'm not thinking about it all. For now, the biggest point is that Greece (and now Turkey - woohoo!) is just days away. Let me while my time away thinking of the Parthenon, Mousakka, feta cheese, baklava and Bosphorus.

For posterity's sake

2011-04-03T03:56:00.002+08:00

Hey kiddo,

I wonder if cricket is still big in India in your time, or if football or basketball has usurped its place. Anyway, in this short letter you'll learn about a historic moment for the game, how I lived through it and simply how it felt.

Growing up, we all heard about 1983 and Kapil's devils, and photos of a grinning, mustached Kapil lifting the cup were immortalized often. We're talking about the cricket World Cup, held once every four years. 1983 was before my time, but after I'd turned 10 or so, I used to watch every World Cup, and watch India lose. Sri Lanka won under chubby Ranatunga's captaincy, and even Pakistan (oh, Pakistan) won it one year. Australia - those arrogant men, as I often considered them then - won it twice too. India would get kicked out miserably, unceremoniously, and I used to watch my grandfather switch off the TV, disappointed and retire into his bedroom. Then in 2003, magic happened - we got into the Finals. Against Australia. Twenty years after we'd won previously, and the whole nation was on tenterhooks. All until we bowled our way terribly out of any hope for victory. 2007 was disastrous, let's not even get into it - you can search online if you want to know more about it.

Then 2011 arrived. We worked our way into the Quarter Finals, with some hiccoughs along the way... drawing a match with England, losing to South Africa, but pulled off awesome wins against Australia and Pakistan.

And bloody hell, we were in the final. Against Sri Lanka. So I ended up at the same place I'd watched India beat Pakistan, at the same table, with the same people. Endless baskets of fried potatoes in various forms, towers of beer, stuffed-with-cheese pizzas went around, and we watched Sri Lanka struggle to get a good start. Until this guy called Mahela Jayawardane started getting consistent and steadily moved from 50 to 60 to (before we knew it), 100. We watched in shock as every ball in the last few overs was sent to the boundary, and ended with a target of 275 to win the World Cup.

Shocked as we were, oh well, we thought, we have Sachin and Sehwag. Sehwag then got out on the second ball. Sachin, please stay, we implored. He smashed some balls to the boundary, and then got out too. A hush fell around the pub. Then new players came in and we successfully brought the score to 30 to win from 30 balls. 27 from 24. And before we knew it, it was 15 from 12. A six, a couple of fours, and we were going deaf - party horns, cheering, whistles abounded as we finally brought it to 4 runs needed. We held our breath as Dhoni lifted the ball to the air, and the whole place exploded. People had climbed onto the bar tables, random people were hugging each other, and despite all the screaming, some idiot of a man asked me if I was Sri Lankan and if that was why I was not happy - I gave him a look of utter disbelief until I waved him off and said 'Whatever!' 28 years we had waited, and it had happened.

Anyway, we left the place we'd hogged for nearly 9 hours, ordering endless plates of food and drink. A place where we saw kids a few years younger than us - a whole batch of bimbotic (would you even know what that means, I wonder...) girls and boys who made me feel old and incredibly mature. Boys who were saying the lamest of things, and girls who were extremely unintelligent - generally and when it come to cricket (they cheered for replays of wickets without realizing they were replays; and sample 'Oh I wait for the umpire to lift his forefinger in the air before I cheer for a wicket' - please, don't ever be like this).

I wish I could tell you how it was, but imagine me, the tricolour painted on my right cheek, hands up in the air, screaming my head off, my voice breaking, jumping. I wonder if you'll ever live through the excitement of waiting for years for a win and savouring it, and whether sportsmanship is the same as it was that day (although my own parents used to tell me that it was already on the decline then). Would you ever experience cricket like we did, the way it brought the fans, the non-fans, the seldom-watch-it-ers together, and the agony, anguish, grief and debilitating joy that it brings?

Oh well. Writing this while grinning excitedly was draining enough. And anyway, here is the gist of this story in case it didn't clearly come through given the late hour and incredible excitement: I WATCHED INDIA WIN THE WORLD CUP!!!!

2012 could happen

2011-03-27T19:30:00.000+08:00

Given the spate of disasters damaging the world recently, my friend and I were discussing how 2012 might, after all, actually happen. We were musing on how terrible it would be that millions of people in our age-group would be dying before seeing so much in life, and how it's even worse that kids were coming into the world without seeing anything at all. As horrific as it sounds, I thought it was ok, because if the whole world was dying anyway, there won't be any life - no one - to think back on this and feel sad about the billions of life that were lost in the catastrophe. To think about the billions who didn't live to see the many wonderful things life had to offer. Life, and indeed, existence itself, might be a concept that's lost to the universe - we still haven't come across life forms anywhere else, and everything might stop existing as we know it, because there is no one to prove the existence of anything. Such a Sophie's World-like thought.

And then we moved on to discuss what would be our preferred form of dying, if 2012 did happen. My friend preferred inhaling some gas that would lull her to a peaceful sleep that she would never wake up from. No water, I said, drowning is terrible. Fire is painful, not that either. None of the choke-for-air-and-die types for me. Earthquakes are terrible too - I don't want to be crushed by some heavy pillar and die a slow death. I finally settled for a nuclear bomb explosion. One explosion, and poof! we are dust. Wiped out, meaningless, the very fact of existence in question.

Exhaustion and disconnected thoughts.

2011-03-18T00:09:00.000+08:00

It's stupid of me to want and write now. I've just come back from a photography class that lasted three hours and was led by one of the most can't-teach-for-nuts-and-is-uninspiring teacher ever. Worse, it was a photo critique class, I had lost my photos because my desktop decided to fail the day I brought a new laptop home (it was as if the desktop, my 7-year partner in crime, knew...), and had to pull some old photos from Facebook to take something to the class, all of which had problems (I cringed as we went through each photo, finding one issue after another, amazed at how much difference a few weeks of lessons can make to composition and all that...)

Anyway, on my way home from the class, I cursed myself for being over-ambitious and loading my life with so many things. Work is unimaginably hectic already, and I insist on doing things outside of work just to make sure there's more to life than work, but ruining any chances of free time in the process. I want a weekend with nothing to do, and I don't think I've had that for over a year! All the same, with my typical indecisive air, I tell myself I'll never be happy if I don't have enough things for my mind to think about. I want to work hard, learn something new, sing, read, write, swim, try to take good photos, travel, work on Spark and spend a weekend afternoon yapping away with a friend. How can I want everything!

I have no way out other than to wear myself out doing all of the above, take a breather and get back to the manic mode of doing it all, all over again. And that's just what I'm doing. I lull myself into sleep reading a book. I effortlessly shift from Harry Potter to Milan Kundera to Nikolai Gogol to Ruskin Bond to my current massive project, reading Ponniyin Selvan in Tamil. I make my computer/iPod want to cry out in pain with endless repeats of Norwegian Wood, Rehna Tu and Pudhu Vellai Mazhai. I work till I feel like I never left the office and have exhausted all the 'take-away' lunch and dinner options. I read the newspaper on the way back from work, enjoying IHT's brilliant stories, and read a book on the way to work, dozing off mid-way. I crave for tea every four hours, but restrict myself to green tea instead. I fall asleep thinking of walks with ice-cream in hand, of spending an hour updating my diary on this manic life, and of packing the tripod one Saturday and going to Little India for a photo shoot.

I've probably said this countless times before, but I think this is the busiest I've ever been in my working life. It's also the most exciting, though, thanks to the umpteen things I've managed to cram it with. Anway, at 12.04 on a Friday the 18th of March, things can't be looking any better: I'm watching Rahman perform some 20 hours from now, a dream come true (I'm probably going to burst into tears of joy when I see him, or screech till I lose my voice). And Greece is barely a month away, and hopefully there are more things to look forward to.

Oh, what the heck. I'll survive. And survive well, that I know.

Wants...

2011-03-01T23:43:00.000+08:00

1. to be able to sleep at 11.30 and wake up at 8 in the morning
2. to finish Milan Kundera and HP7 in one night's stretch
3. to swim ten laps. Like NOW.
4. to not think about work for 2 days. Just two.
5. to have a peep at what life will be like, say, 6 months from now.
6. to eat rasam sadam and vendekkai
7. to be a violinist. Or some kind of eccentric musician.
8. it to be Mar 18 soon, and then for the month to fly by and reach mid-April
9. to spend two hours selecting the songs to put in her special 'Greece' iPod playlist
10. to watch Pete Sampras play. Again.
11. to go to NTU and take a walk down that deserted stretch of road with an ice cream in hand
12. to go on a photo shoot to a beautiful place
13. people to not fret about things that aren't going to kill them
14. to be able to listen to at least three songs in a loop, all at the same time.
15. to sleep NOW.

Am I some dissatisfied individual or what!

At the risk of sounding like a broken record (again)....

2011-02-14T23:44:00.001+08:00

... here's more on the violin since my last crazy post.

(after 40 sec - check out the wacky, brilliant violin in the background)

Done for the day :D

Conversations with mom...

2011-02-06T20:36:00.001+08:00

... take the most amazing turns. Starting off with how the day went, and what I did (‘Did you call your cousin? How did the practice go?), the conversation turned inevitably to, yes, food.

'What did you cook?'

'Cabbage curry yesterday, and rasam today.'

'How was the rasam?'

‘Err…’

‘Let me rephrase. Did you eat it?’

‘I eat anything I cook, ma… I had to cook on Friday because all stores were closed.’

‘Excellent! What did you make?’

‘Dal… there wasn’t anything else at home…’

Resigned sigh. I can feel it sitting thousands of miles away. I decide to perk the conversation up.

‘Oh, and guess what, I think they sell chow chow at Fairprice here… but I’m not sure if it is that…’

‘What does it look like?’

‘Like chow chow, but with fewer ridges…’

‘Oh, just buy it anyway, what’s the harm. You know what, it might be sorakkai…’

‘I thought sorakkai is smooth, like a cucumber?’

‘No, no, they do have pear-shaped varieties too, very healthy, it’s a pity we don’t eat it at home!’

‘Oh, I’ve had it at university!’ I quip, remembering the first time I’d ever heard of the vegetable a few years ago. ‘Or wait, was that noolkol…’

Mom loses patience, I think. ‘Then?’

‘I should start working on the next issue of Spark… it’s on womanhood, totally up my alley!’

‘Speaking of Spark, what’s this story you’ve written?! Living Together?! I read the title and I knew it had to be yours…’

‘So what?’

‘Writing about gay relationships, then this.. un poakke seriyilla…’

‘Part of being a writer is to be able to think up scenarios and transfer the emotions…’

‘Yeah, yeah, porum…’

‘It’s ok, one should experience everything in life, you know… writing about it doesn’t mean anything…’ my voice trails. I sense she’s ready to move off the topic.

‘Did you go swimming?’

‘Shit! It’s 8!! I wanted to go at 7.30. Now it’s too late…’

In the short span of ten minutes, I realize I’ve disappointed and annoyed her, got her amused, and shake her head in disbelief. Boy, shouldn’t she be happy to be entertained by me like this!

PS: shameless plug: read the stories mom mentioned here and here!

The crazy, long-overdue violins post

2011-01-27T23:36:00.002+08:00

Aren’t violins simply amazing? Their versatility, their ability to add emotions and a whole new colour to a song are unmatched, I think. Seriously, very few instruments can sit smugly in western music and Carnatic music!

I’ve always been fascinated by violins and the entire strings family. As I grew to understand and appreciate the nuances that instrumentation brings to a song, strings became my favourite. I quickly grew to like Lalgudi and Kanyakumari’s renditions and got annoyed with Kunnakudi Vaidyanathan’s weird antics with his violin. And Ilaiyaraja was a demigod, what with the liberal and unassuming ease with which he slipped the violin into his songs and background music – be it the unbeatable Mouna Ragam title tune (oh, I could sink to the floor in joy listening to the orchestration in the end) or the way it cruises throughout the song ‘Kadhalin Deepam Ondru’ (throughout the song, but especially the first interlude), or the loaded violin in ‘Poongatru Pudhinadhu’. And of course, ‘How to Name it’ and ‘And We had a Talk.’ Or the lovely interludes in ‘Valai Osai’ from Sathya. And sample the violins in MSV’s ‘Chittukuruvi’ in Pudhiya Paravai – brilliant! My memory fails me – but Ilaiyaraja really was the master when it comes to violins – I think he really made the most of them.

And enter Rahman. He brought in a whole new dimension. Be it the rich orchestration in some songs (say, Pacchai Nirame, Oru Deivam Thandha Poove, or Veerapandi Kottaiyile), or the exuberance in Hosana (the last stanza – brilliant!), its utterly cute presence in Omana Penne, or the ridden-with-goodness-and-hope strings in Iruvar’s Aayirathil Naan Oruvan. I am especially a big fan of the way the violin teases the listener in ‘I’ll be Waiting’ from Jhootha Hi Sahi – check out the violin which creeps in the first time Vijay Yesudas sings ‘I’ll be Waiting…’ – it’s just the perfect complement to the mood of the song – enough to make me swoon to the beauty of it all. The beautiful Waltz for a Romance from Lagaan. The emotionally charged bits in Vennalavin Theril Yeri – giving the saxophone a breather in the movie (Duet is one of Rahman’s really, really exceptional albums – purely for the way instruments lead the way). The sheer joy of realization that the violin helps to achieve in Netru Illadha Matram, and conversely, the realization of what you’ve missed out that it brings about in ‘Azhage Sugama.’ The goosebump-raising bit in Pudhu Vellai Mazhai at the end of the second interlude. And the big daddy of it all, the orchestration in the Bombay Theme.

I have racked my brains for over an hour trying to think of the best ones from Ilaiyaraja and Rahman that the only non-Indian ones I can think of now would be the bit towards the end in Baba O’ Reilly, The Verve’s Bitter Sweet Symphony, and I think it’s not really the violins – but Kashmir. The start to the Golden Eye theme song also has interesting strings – I love the rapid movement! The theme music in The Last of the Mohicans and Shawshank Redemption are totally amazing too!

Phew! I’ve been wanting to write this for ages, and I’m glad it’s out of the system. I’ve been going crazy trying to want to listen to every single song I’ve written about here. I read this now and it sounds absolutely disjointed and random, and I’m not going to attempt to bring any order into the chaotic thoughts.

P.S.: How on earth could I forget 'Kya Kare Kya Na Kare' - brilliance!

It's a special day

2011-01-05T23:58:00.000+08:00

The blog turns SIX.

AND.

SPARK TURNS ONE!

I owe a LOT to both these outlets. As ironical as it sounds, I can't express in words quite accurately how they have both made a difference to my life. One prompted me to write to get used to the new place I was in, sharpened my curiosity and helped me make some really good friends. The other was my proud entry into the publishing space, my first attempt at serious literary writing, my avenue to realizing the abundant brilliance in the world and what really has convinced me that passion not pursued means it's a life wasted.

Thanks so much if you're among the few ones still reading my blog. You have no idea how much it pleases me.

And if you haven't already done so, check out Spark!

Arbit thoughts on New Year's Eve

2010-12-31T18:01:00.001+08:00

I'm shocked that the first decade of the new millennium is over. I still remember my sister and I were watching Titanic as 2000 dawned. And close to midnight, we ran to the balcony and counted the seconds to 2000 on her watch. I was a gawky 14-year-old, and she, a college student. She's now a mother! God, I feel so old!

I've been reading so much about the Margazhi season recently, that I am longing to go to Chennai so badly. I'm fiercely jealous of anyone in Chennai right now, and anything that people have to say about the city and the December kutcheries, etc., are capable of causing a spiral into nostalgia. As a kid and as a teenager I used to hate attending a lot of these kutcheries, but thinking back on them now, I figure I rather enjoyed them once I was there. Visions of accompanying paati (all gleaming in her silk saree) to a TM Krishna kutchery in Music Academy, and with amma to TTD for a Nithyashree kutchery seem like glimpses of someone else's life. Not to forget good ol' Krishna Gana Sabha that we used to go to thadukki vizhunda, simply for the sheer proximity of the Sabha to our house. And as years moved on and kutchery outings became rarer, the TV - especially the Margazhi Mahotsavam on Jaya TV - slowly became the window to the world of December season kutcheries.

The other day I asked my mother if Salem had any such thing. Her response indicated Salem didn't even feature in any musician's plans. Obviously, I thought. What wouldn't I give to go back to my life in T.Nagar - to five years back - when life, home, friends and everything outside of Singapore centered on Chennai!

When I think back on 2010, I feel it was a strange 'non-happening' year - despite everything that happened - an escalation of responsibilities at work, carrying the DSLR pretty much everywhere, and opting to have fun by watching movies, eating out and simply yapping away. I think I used up most of 2010 making plans for 2011.

Of course, Spark was among the biggest things that happened in 2010. My writing habit has been whipped back into shape, I have been having great fun editing people's works, reading the brilliant things a lot of them have to say. My awe for anyone who can write poems has increased manifold.

New Year in Chennai meant a trip to Muppathamma Kovil beating its crazy crowds. I haven't been home for New Year's in three years. Midnight would have made no difference at home because I'd be fast asleep :) Tonight, I'm determined to catch the fireworks in Singapore and take some photos of them - fingers crossed!

I know 2011 is going to be a big year. I see it coming. I feel strangely optimistic and confident, and yet my brains are telling me to stay calm and be practical. Keeping in line with my usual levels of resolutions, here's what I plan to do in 2011:

- take Spark to new levels
- more photography. Joining a beginners' class soon!
- travel. Greece is happening next year. I still can't believe it :)
- ice cream at least once a week, but reduce the number of chocolates.
- a return to those long walks I used to take in NTU.
- chart out a proper plan to volunteer/give back - no sporadic money donations, something bigger.

That's enough, already. Cheers to the New Year! Hope 2011 has more happiness, no disasters or war, amazing health and fun!

The day that wasn't

2010-12-26T11:04:00.000+08:00

Yesterday should have been a historical day in the life of the Chennai girl.

At 8.30 pm last evening, I was seized by a sudden urge to cook dinner. But what? The obvious starting point was vendekkai, okra, ladyfinger. That was enough; I grabbed my bag and walked to the supermarket.

It's not a good idea to go to the supermarket when you are hungry. You end up buying the most random things - simply everything looks appealing. After getting my shopping basket heavy with a bag of oats, kiwi, butter, Nuttella and such unnecessary stuff, I finally walked to the vegetables section. Potatoes looked good. Did we have onions? I don't know, why don't I throw them in anyway. Tomatoes, ah, yes.

The basket was too heavy to handle by now, so I decided to skip the cauliflower and capsicum. Struggling with three bags, I came home, turned the music on extremely loud so I can hear it in the kitchen all the way from my room. I had no idea what I was doing, but was elated for some reason. Turns out I did have onions, by the way. Never mind, chop them up. Blanch the tomatoes to make puree. Boil the potatoes in a microwave. And chop the baby okra.

I threw them into the cooking pot one by one, adding in spices as I wished. Pepper. Cumin. Coriander. Chilli. A generous helping of salt. Added some water. Dumped the potatoes and okra in, and closed the pot. My own recipe. And when I removed the lid to check it after five minutes, darn it, it smelled good. Quite good.

I was shocked. Really. This was the most I'd done in my life outside of those cook-vegetables-add-salt-chill-powder-and-coconut, and minor variations of the same recipe, the most I've deviated from this being for dal. Remember, I'm talking about cooking by myself here.

I gingerly opened the lid to the pot again. It still smelled good.

I did a little jig in joy. I can cook! And it's nothing, my mind reasoned in happiness. Cooking is totally overrated. If you have the interest, it's a cakewalk. I was immensely pleased. I was already thinking of what I could tell my mom on the phone later that evening. 'Yup, it was my invention!' I'd proudly say. And I knew that mum would be heaving a sigh of relief and laugh at my excitement.

I switched it off just when the okra was starting to turn squishy. Yup, just fine. Excited beyond words, I dunked a spoon in and tasted it. The thing was friggin' hot, obviously, and I couldn't taste a thing. Ah, it can't be bad - and so it went on a plate.

My first reaction upon eating was that it was, erm... missing something. It wasn't salt, I'd learnt to identify that some three years back. The spices were ok. Not that it tasted bad, but something was off. I was disappointed. I thought long and hard for five minutes, and finally decided it had to be the bloody tomatoes. Those awful orange tomato-thingies you get in Singapore. They were the cause for my rasam tasting like boiled water, and now they had ruined my precious dish. The more I ate my preparation, the more convinced I was that it was the tomatoes - yes, that weird, tangy taste from pulikkara tomatoes. Bummer.

I was disappointed only for five minutes. Mum called soon after and I excitedly told her about the dish. 'Vendekkai and potatoes?!' she asked. 'Uh-huh. And it doesn't taste bad, except the tomatoes ruined the taste a bit,' I said. 'Err... ok!' she concluded, and went on to discuss how the pulikaachal she'd given me was doing. As long as it's not Maggi, mum is happy with whatever I cook. I guess she's just happy I'm getting my fingers burnt. The daughter who used to run away from the kitchen if the mixer was on or if mom was spluttering mustard seeds, has grown up.

And so you realize why yesterday should have been a historic day, and yet didn't quite turn out to be one. But of course, as with anything else, I move on.The biggest take-away from yesterday's incident was that it reaffirmed my delayed realization that cooking isn't that difficult at all. A little interest and involvement, and you're there already. Now, it's time to build that interest and involvement. For right now, any interest only stems from not wanting to eat anything else that's already out there (no Subway, no MOS, no Sticky Rice - ok, let me cook!)

P.S.: How do you like the new template? I spent over an hour going blind searching for the perfect one (not girly, not Manga, not grunge-rock, nothing too artsy, nothing too simple - I know, I'm a nightmare), only to choose the first one I'd seen and bookmarked. I realized with horror that my basic HTML skills have gone down the drain, and stared at the 60 pages (on Word) of code before giving up trying to edit it.

And I'm back...

2010-12-14T21:29:00.003+08:00

1. The flight I came in had no row number 13. 12 and then straight to 14.

2. Half an hour into the flight, I look out and I see a beautiful sky - a brilliant blue that gradually fades away into white only to merge with soft, puffy clouds. The clouds look so beautifully white, like snow - I feel like I'm flying low over the Arctic or something. The sun shines brilliantly on my back. We're at an altitude of 38,000 feet, and we're crossing the seas comfortably. I don't think I'll ever be able to get over the fact that man invented planes.

3. The old man sitting next to me - I'm sure he was in his 60s - started off with gin, then had two glasses of wine and two glasses of orange juice.

4. It's amazing how within 45 minutes of seeing blue, clouds which were fluffy white soon got tainted with a tinge of setting-sun pink.

5. On my way home in the taxi, I saw a SQ flight taking off (or landing) on a bridge a few meters above the road on which we were going. It was brilliant, and I was shamelessly staring open-mouthed.

6. Trips to India can just make you feel totally disoriented. I was up till 2 in the morning trying to fall asleep, went to the office in a daze, ate at 2 pm (this from the person who wants lunch at 11.30 am), was starving at 5 pm, and was craving for noodles with a dash of Amma's pulikaachal.

And I know that by tomorrow evening, home, rasam, nephew and Salem's setting sun will feel ever so distant.

Diaries from home

2010-12-09T20:54:00.002+08:00

I’m officially allergic to Salem. This is the third time I am visiting this city and been sneezing unstoppably. People try to convince me that it’s because I’m getting too used to the ‘pure air in Singapore’. Rubbish. This has never happened when I used to go home to Chennai. Never. All the same, it is highly annoying to be doing one of the following all the time: a) sneezing; b) trying to avoid sneezing; c) going through the painful moment when you have to sneeze but it’s not happening.

Sunsets in Salem are beautiful. The hills just provide the perfect background, and it’s amazing to watch the red ball of fire go down every day, painting brilliant streaks of orange throughout the sky.

Mom tries to interest me in cooking – again. She asks with complete incredulity: ‘Why can’t you make proper rasam?’ (she’s been trying to teach me for the last five years) Having been subject to my brilliant doubts such as why ulutham paruppu is labeled ulundhu (she was shocked when I said ‘Ohhh! You mean ulutham paruppu and ulundhu are the same?!’), she should know better than to expect more from me. My bad luck, I screwed up while cooking something as simple as oats, eliciting the oft-heard ‘Yevan unkitta vandhu maataporaano…’

Of the last pages of a book

2010-11-23T22:35:00.004+08:00

There's just something incredibly exciting about the last few pages of a book. Any book, good, bad, random - it doesn't matter. A story is coming to an end, the episode of life of the humans in the book that it's all about, is coming to an end. You are about to read something that a writer thought was beautiful enough to leave you with. It's just magical.

I have just put down Murakami's Norwegian Wood. I was reading it munching on a pizza slice, and after Chapter 10, had decided to read the rest later. But I made the mistake of reading the first few lines of the next chapter on the facing page, and wham! I had to get back to it. I was done with my food, and went to get myself a drink. And my music player switched to The Battle of Evermore. I hurriedly put the song on a loop, and went back to the book.

I was reading a work of genius, surrounded by mandolin in a song that is sheer brilliance. An insane Tuesday couldn't be coming to a close in a better way.

Rediscovery

2010-11-12T00:03:00.002+08:00

It’s been nearly six years since I started this blog. When it came about, I was fresh from Chennai, barely months into university in Singapore, and longing for anything to do with Chennai. The first thing that came to mind when I had to describe myself, thanks probably to the ‘orientation’ sessions in college, was ‘I’m from Chennai’. And it became the obvious name for my blog.

For years I bandied the name about, proudly flaunting Chennai-ness: yes, we’re from the best city, truly the cultural capital of India, what with its eclectic mix of everything: where you have jazz and kutcheries, boutiques and Pothys, Sathyam cinemas and Jayanthy theater, fusion cuisine and kaiyendhi bhavan, jeans and dhavani – you get the drift. Chennai was simply the best; warm, open, all embracing. Beaches, molaga bajjis, candy floss and kites. Kapali kovil and Mahabalipuram. Pallavan buses and flying trains. And most of all, Chennai was where home was.

Over the years, my definition of Chennai became vaguer and vaguer. Parents moved from Chennai to Ahmedabad to Chennai and now to (sigh!) Salem. Chennai became a pit-stop during my trips to India where all I got to see was the bit during the travel from the airport to my relatives’ at night, and from my relatives’ to the airport/train station in the morning to get to where my folks lived. During these rides, I’d take in everything ranging from the radio stations or the cell phone service providers (there seemed to be one new each time I was there), to the new Katthipara junction (‘They finally built it!’), to the BMW showroom. At those rare times I got to meet friends, we’d go to (or I’d hear them talk about) the latest hang out joints (Dosa Corner/Mocha) and how there’s even some place to do shisha (sheesh!). Slowly, thanks to staying away and being stuck with the same idea of Chennai that I had when I left, I felt like I didn’t know anything about my city. With home being away, Chennai felt even more different. There was no amma’s rasam to think of when I remembered Chennai, no friends from school left to meet and reminisce with, no songs on FM that I knew, and RJs and VJs and actors I had no clue about. My friends used tamil words I had no clue about. The Chennai that I knew, that is imprinted in my mind – of Lloyds Road-Sapphire bus stop-17M-North Usman Road-Hot Chips-Jayanthy Theater-MTR ice cream-lime soda salt-goli soda-Ranganathan Street-Ramakrishna Mission Ashrama-British Council-Kutcheri Road-Ambattur– is actually becoming a blur.

And I started wondering if there was any meaning in calling this blog Musings of the ‘Chennai gal’ anymore.

But I didn’t want to change it. In the weirdest of ways, it’s what keeps me connected. It helps me realize that come what may, Chennai is in many ways the same as it was six years ago. The chaos on North Usman Road, the koovum, the Adyar Bridge, the Karpagambal mess, Spencers Plaza, the Kapali kovil sannidhis, the Amman songs blasted on loudspeakers, the soan papdi man – these will always be there. Water will still taste salty, and roads will still always be dug up. The flying train will still be empty, bus conductors will still shout and swear, and auto drivers will still try their luck asking you to pay ridiculous amounts to take you two streets away. Church Park girls and New College boys will remain the same. There will still be a ‘jakkamma’ lady on the platform, and sundal boys in the beach. Autos will be loaded with school kids, and they will attend tuition classes. All girls will try a hand at Carnatic music and dance, and the hi-fi ones will go to Swingers. Energetic old uncles will go for morning walks. Colourful umbrellas will abound in September for Vinayaka, cheedai will be made for Krishna Jayanti, and parks with mustard seed plants will be made for Navaratri golus.

When so much of Chennai will stay the same, why should I reconsider my identity? And so I decided that I will remain the Chennai girl forever.

Cheers!

The birthday post

2010-10-05T01:14:00.003+08:00

I have finally turned 24. I say finally, because I have long considered myself to have turned 24 - don't ask me why.

This is probably the first birthday I haven't greeted with bursting enthusiasm, with plans for the next year, and a constant grin on my face. Perhaps a sign of wisdom finally creeping in? Oh well, time will tell - for all I know, tomorrow I will get to work and swear reasonably loudly whenever I see an email that annoys me, or laugh like a fool at the lamest of jokes.

As listed to my wonderful colleagues who graciously agreed to do a vegetarian lunch in honour of yours truly today, these are my priorities for the 25th year in life:

- Travel more
- Take more photographs
- Be even more chilled in life. Boss interjects saying I'm quite there already, but I think it can be much better - I've decided I should up the ante a little bit there.

And I decided to shamelessly check what I put out on Oct 4, 2009 and evaluate myself:
- put even less tension: CHECK!
- write more: CHECK! Thanks to Spark, that is!
- sing more: CHECK! If all goes well, I shall continue to strain my throat and perform early next year.
- read more: CHECK, going on as usual. The library is being massively built!
- put the blessed d5000 to good, frequent use: CHECK! Nearly a thousand photos in one day, most of which I can daresay look pretty good.

Given my reasonably low goal-setting habit, I have done well and am immensely pleased. Now as 25 begins, and I enter it a little hesitant as I'm painfully aware of the possible changes it heralds, all I can say is hope it's all for the best!

Spark's August issue

2010-08-05T23:36:00.004+08:00

... is one I'm incredibly proud of.

Anita Nair, Devdutt Patnaik and many others have contributed such brilliant views - ranging from Indian literature to mythology to politics to sports to movies, to society. We also have a moving piece from Tenzin Pema, a Tibetan journalist, on what India means to many a Tibetan. And a quirky piece on traveling in India, written by a Singaporean traveler Eugenia Koh. Brilliant photographs of the many facets of India by Mahesh and Jai Chabria. And an amazing epic of a piece from PR Viswanathan that you just shouldn't miss!

Read it here http://sparkthemag.wordpress.com and tell me what you think of it!

What to name it

2010-07-21T00:23:00.002+08:00

It's 12.30am and I really should be going to bed soon if I want to wake up on time tomorrow, but I just had the sudden urge to type, to write... and in a way, chronicle the thoughts running in my head at this hour. Given their disconnectedness, I should perhaps number them!

1. I've been spending hours trying to praise myself and it's not easy. I've never found it difficult to describe myself.. give me a couple of minutes and I can write a page of what I perceive myself to be. Despite this modest declaration, this exercise has been challenging, exciting and taxing. I wonder if this exercise will eventually have a successful outcome! (There, could I be any more vague?!)

2. There is so much happening in life. I'm struggling to divide my time between work, Spark, photography, books (The Count of Monte Cristo currently), my singing, friends, swimming and myself! Weekends - those magical days that I used to relish for their nothingness - have now become packed with attention to the abovementioned. It's amazing to feel that your days have more meaning than just what work affords, though!

3. It's been two years since I started working. Can you believe it?! It's shocking (and great!) how the mind still feels like it belongs to the gawky, enthusiastic, I-am-going-to-save-the-world 21-year-old.

4. Inception was brilliant. I can't wait to watch it again! And for the record, I really enjoyed Raavanan too. Yup, alright, it's not a usual Mani Ratnam, but is it so difficult for us to appreciate when a storyteller strays off his usual way?

And dreaming of the trip to Phuket that's coming up, I shall stop this ridiculous chronicling and sign off.

Randomness - after a long time!

2010-06-06T22:33:00.006+08:00

Wow, it feels strange to even be writing on the blog - it's been THAT long! I've really missed blogging... ever since the birth of Spark, things have been incredibly busy. And for some reason, I feel that every spare minute I have is being used up for something, and for the longest time, I've felt like I've been leaving no time for myself. But I guess it's good to be busy too!

After what seems like ages, I finally had the whole of today's afternoon free... all to myself! I completely enjoyed it - reading, watching videos, napping at odd hours... ah, such bliss! It just makes you so much more energised about going to work the next day! (I'm sure that is in large part because this Friday I'm going home to India!)

For a strange reason, started listening to Carnatic songs, and needless, got swept away by a wave of nostalgia. I have trained in Carnatic music for almost nine years, and quit when I was 15 - in large part, it was due to teenage angst, I guess - not wanting to be forced to do anything, hating the teacher for only criticising me and never encouraging me, pressure from the family, and so on. My mother's words still echo in me - she used to keep saying that I'd regret it some day.

Thinking back on those years, I guess I don't regret it so much now - I do regret the fact that I stopped practicing, which led to my pitch sinking as low as maybe DK Pattammal's. As I struggle to touch the high chords when singing for a concert I'm taking part in, I feel angry - my voice has never been suited for high pitches, but somehow, this felt very disappointing.

Browsing around for songs, I chanced upon Santhanam - a very popular singer, a chubby, old man, long gone, with an arresting voice. I will always remember Santhanam for the songs of Oothukaadu Venkata Subbaiyer songs. Having first heard those songs as a 4-year-old, they were probably the very first Carnatic songs I listened to. They used to play so often that I learnt nearly all of the songs simply by listening to them. He was perhaps the most popular singer of those kritis.

A vivid memory to do with Santhanam is from when I was probably five. My sister and I had just returned from school and were untying our shoes sitting on the sofa, when my mother came rushing in, looking anxious. 'Santhanam died,' she said, 'in a car accident this morning.' She was very upset, while my sister and I were simply puzzled. We both looked at each other and shrugged, unable to understand why that mattered so much to my mother.

Listening to these songs - Paal Vadiyum Mugam, Alaipayuthey, Thaaye Yashoda, Kuzhaloodi Manamellam - have simply brought so much joy! My mother will probably have a 'I-told-you-so' face if she ever happens to read this. I just want to tell her this is also so much fun; I know she'd much rather I'd continued to learn, practised, but having dipped a toe into the wide world of Carnatic music, the ability to enjoy parts of it, are sheer fun too.

What a random post! Totally loved rambling :D

Spark - March

2010-03-06T23:21:00.004+08:00

And here we go with another issue! This time around, it's a trip down the memory lane!
Read it and let us know what you think!

http://sparkthemag.wordpress.com

On a side note - this is probably the first time I've missed a blog birthday. My blog is now 5! I'm quite upset that I've not been able to spend much time here now, but at least my writings have gone on to another level and I hope anyone who's been kind enough to still look at my blog for updates goes on to read Spark!

February issue of Spark

2010-02-09T21:42:00.003+08:00

... is here!

Visit http://sparkthemag.wordpress.com/ to read the issue and let me know what you think!

Spark was started by my sister Anupama and me and with the help of a bunch of friends and writers, we have put out two issues to date.

So read it, and if you like it, pass the link on to your friends!

Two more days to go!

2010-01-03T10:09:00.006+08:00

What's happening on 5 Jan? Watch the video for the pleasant surprise we have in store for you!

Visit http://sparkthemag.wordpress.com to subscribe and ensure that you don't miss it!!

Thought process during a tense cricket match

2009-11-06T12:19:00.002+08:00

Below is what I had written yesterday when watching the last twenty minutes of the Ind vs. Aus 5th ODI in Hyderabad. It's been long since I'd engaged in such manic writing, scribbling while I was watching the match. Slightly over 600 words in about 30 minutes - that's a crazy feat for me given the length of time that's passed since the times I could sit down and write a story in one stretch. Anyway, this is hopefully a sign of times to come and more tales to tell!

"How long it’s been since I watched Sachin the God in action!! And today I watch as he bats in his fullest glory, crossing the 17,000 mark and at 170 at the moment, battling to help India reach the target of 351 to win against Australia. It’s a closely fought match – they need 43 from 33 balls to win – so close! It would be such a pity if… I shut my mind desperately to these negative thoughts, hoping they will make it. My heart beats fast, praying fervently that Sachin’s such-a-brilliant knock is not in vain. That will not be fair, oh, so not fair! 350 is a formidable total and the team has done well to score more than 300.
What’s going to happen? It’s been years since I watched such an interesting match closely fought, probably not since the 2007 20-20 Ind vs Pak final that India won after a nail-biting finish.
The tension is too much to handle – my stomach churns and my head hurts. I can’t stop frequently wondering how on earth Sachin is able to stand at the crease facing every ball, while the crowd waits with bated breath for some miracle to happen.
A four! From Jadeja. The crowd is jubilant. A miracle from just anyone will be highly praised about now.
33 in 26 balls.
My heats skips a beat every time somebody catches the ball – caught? I scream every time somebody throws the ball, praying it’s not a run out.
A wide. Four overs left.
Two fours!
23 from 22 balls.
The crowd is going mad, and so am I. Jadeja, the unlikely man.
Sachin on strike. 22 from 20. OH COME ON!!!!
I’m scared to move or inch anywhere from my seat for fear of disturbing some cosmic balance. This is getting too hard to bear. If I were Sachin, no, worse, Jadeja, my head would burst now.
The ads are annoying!
SACHIN IS OUT!!!
Dude, I can’ t believe you just hit that ball. YOU. That ball.
I sit in stunned silence and watch as Sachin walks out, raising his bat in acknowledgement for the crowd’s ovation. Thatha is thoroughly dejected. We were this close – it was one run for one ball.
It’s annoying to think how close we are and yet anything could happen.
Jadeja, standing yards away from the crease gazing at the ball nearly got run out now.
Damn, that idiot just got run out in the same fashion. B******, you’re not as old as the kid in Lagaan. Didn’t you learn??
I could just kill SRK in his stupid Airtel ad right now.
The Indian team is unbelievable. 180 from Sachin and we’re this close to losing.
17 from 14.
Thatha’s left the room having given me the responsibility of telling him how we lose.
We just nearly missed losing another wicket by a run-out. Gosh, don’t bowlers know these things? They’re the ones at the stumps so often trying to get the batsmen out!
Nehra just handed the Aussies his wicket on a platter. Halwa catch.
Sigh. What a waste of effort!
If I see the Itchmosol ad once more, I think I’ll cry.
SIX!!!!!
10 from 10 balls.
God, God, good God.
Everyone is on the edge of their seats now.
Some guy in glasses just closed his eyes. To pray, I think.
LAST OVER.
I think tears are forming in my eyes.
Thatha can’t stop chanting ‘My God.’
7 from 5 balls.
Batsmen discussing.
5 from 3.
A six, God. PLEASE!
And I think he’s run out.
HE IS.
Australia wins by 3 runs.
How effing unfortunate!!!!
3!?!? THREE????
Ponting is clapping to his heart’s joy.
Sigh.
Yuvraj looks like he’s about to cry.
SIGH.

23

2009-10-04T22:43:00.005+08:00

The 24th has begun... on a day of unimaginable fun and good food and dreams come true!

Resolutions for the year of the age that I can't believe I have already reached (Gosh, wasn't I 19 just recently?!?!):

- put even less tension
- write more
- sing more
- read more
- put the blessed d5000 to good, frequent use.

Thought it would make sense to put these down given I'm pretty sure Oct 2010 (AWK! A DECADE THAT I REMEMBER EVERY YEAR OF!!!) will come soon and I'll look back at 2009's post to see how things have changed...

My computer makes me ponder

2009-09-05T01:02:00.000+08:00

It’s one of those nights when your computer decides to test your patience. I give in to its demands, watching patiently, watching the seconds go by in the iTunes player slider as it moves to the progress of my song.

My computer has chosen to behave today to make me reminisce about those days long ago when dialups ruled the roost. Days when you had to wait patiently while your computer tried to connect you to the World Wide Web. Days when you had to hear the ‘keeeee, cccchhhhhhhh (with the ‘ch’ being the noise you make before you want to kaari thuppify on someone) while it desperately made a connection to some invisible server through your telephone to launch you into the world of knowledge (that the internet was in those days).

When did we become so impatient? When did 6 mbps connections become so intolerably slow? Remember those days when we joyfully and proudly announced to our friends that we have 128 kbps connections in our computers?! And anyway, exactly how are 6/8/10/100 mbps connections making a difference to our lives? We didn’t die without these earlier. We aren’t doing anything exactly extremely productive with the time saved either (thought borrowed from Before Sunrise). But still, it’s totally similar to the ‘how on earth did we find people in a huge mall [substitute with marketplace depending on where you were those days] without cell phones!’ moment.

Anyway, I’m still waiting, watching the circle of dots in the firefox tab go round and round as the browser tries desperately, as it has been for the last seven minutes, trying to load the next Facebook page. No social networking for me tonight.

Will write something

2009-08-26T22:35:00.000+08:00

after Hong Kong

The Mystery Playlist

2009-07-27T23:57:00.000+08:00

It was just another of those boring study sessions I had gotten into with my friends. With exams beginning six days later, we decided it was time we dusted the heavy books that we’d bought with much gusto at the beginning of the semester and flipped its pages. So I decided to bring down ‘A History of Communication Study’, while my friends decided to bring down ‘Advanced Calculus’ and ‘Artificial Intelligence’. Off we set to the school, looking for a bench to park ourselves in for the next five to six hours.

Going to the school to study around the exams was a substantial experience in itself. As somebody who loves being organized, I’d packed three highlighters, at least two pens of different colours, lecture pads, the iPod, a jacket (if we happen to stay till late in the night and it starts getting cold), a novel (in case the text books get really boring), a punching machine to punch the notes and folders to file these notes in, and finally, a sachet or two of cereal, in case sustenance became an issue in those dead hours of the night. Each of my friends armed thus with his or her essentials (packing which would have taken at least an hour, with each waiting at the doorstep of the other), this was just like any other study session, and we were off at 10 30pm to the school.

Half an hour later, after walking the lengths of each and every floor till we reached the sixth and found a vacant bench, we threw our bags and settled down. Of course, walking to the school itself and then to find a place made us greatly exhausted – two of us set off to get something hot to drink.

It was not until an hour after we’d left our rooms that we actually settled down to study. I plugged my iPod earphones in earnest and opened the third chapter of ‘A History of Communication Study,’ and brought out my stationery and neatly ordered them about – highlighters on the left, pens and the notebook on the right, water on the left, etc. Choosing a song that would match my mood to study and excel in the subject – something on the lines of a Baar baar haan from Lagaan or Jana Gana Mana from Aitha Ezhuthu or Unnal Mudiyum Thambi (!) – I was encouraged and enthused to unprecedented levels.

Studying, highlighting, note-taking and hot-drink-drinking were going on at extraordinary levels. Pages were turned in no time and information was getting registered in my mind at record levels. This was further boosted by my shocking realization that I could still remember vividly what I had studied six pages back. Adrenalin was pumping all over and I was finding it hard to restrain myself from jumping on to the table and explaining to anyone who cared (and even those who didn’t) the diffusion of innovation.

Of course, all good things have to come to an end, and half an hour later, I found myself staring at the same line in the tenth page of the chapter, wondering what on earth I was reading and how it made no sense. I’d re-read the line for probably the seventieth time and I still had no clue what the devil it meant. Frustrated, I pulled the earphones of my iPod – now sarcastically commenting on my state of affairs with a ‘Yeh kya hua, kaise hua, kab hua, kyun hua..’ – and looked at my friends who were just reaching the euphoric state of everything being interesting and going into their porous heads with ease, the state I was in about thirty minutes back.

I took to staring intently at the crescent moon instead. I admired the milky clouds that swept by, and smiled to myself at the beauty of the thin piece of moon that had chosen to show. Anything, absolutely anything was more interesting than studying now.

Just when I was lost in admiration of the night sky did I hear those familiar notes first. My ears pricked up instantly, and soon enough I found myself humming the tune, desperately trying to remember what song was playing. Another few seconds later, ‘Oh!’ I gushed. It was ‘Andru Vandhadhum Adhey Nila!’ I grinned, and unable to help myself, said ‘cha, cha, cha!’ to the tune. I couldn’t remember how many years it was since I’d heard that song.

Happy, I went back to the book, but the situation was worse than earlier – now I couldn’t move past the same line that I’d read seventy times because my mind kept trying to listen to the song. Anyway, a couple of minutes later, the song stopped and given that my excuse to be distracted was gone, I returned to the line to read it another twenty times. My mind still kept humming the song and anticipating if there would be anything else coming up next.

Soon enough, another song started playing. This time it was the sax that gave it away – it was ‘Unnai Ondru Kaeppen’. I was thrilled beyond words. Another of my favourites I hadn’t listened to in years! I was thoroughly excited by now. I shut the book and hummed the tune lightly – not out of fear that I was disturbing my friends, for now there were slowly coming out of the euphoric state, but for fear of disturbing that delicate ease that hung about the whole place now, with all those songs coming as a blast from the past.

I was fully tuned in now, grinning from ear to ear, as the mystery computer played ‘Kadhalin Deepam Ondru’ and then ‘Pudhu Vellai Mazhai’ and ‘En Mael Vizhunda Mazhai Thuliye’, and better still, Jayachandran’s version of ‘Deivam Thanda Poove’. I was reveling in ecstasy. Who was this unknown person, playing songs as if lifted from the top of my head or from my favourited playlist?

As more and more lilting melodies (‘Karpoora Bommai Ondru’, ‘Oliyile Therivadhu Devadhaiya’ and ‘Yedhedho Ennam’), quintessentially Ilaiyaraja’s (‘Koo Koo Endru Kuyil Koovadho’, ‘Vanitha Mani’ and ‘Rum Bum Bum’) and the lesser-known yet incredibly favourite Rahman’s (‘Pyaar Yeh’, ‘Dheemi Dheemi’ and ‘Kollaiyile Thennai Vetthu’) started playing, my excitement rose to feverish levels. I couldn’t believe my ears, and couldn’t stop wondering who this was.

I couldn’t resist the temptation to look for this person anymore. This person, who seemed to be made of the stuff of my dreams. The man God had probably made for me to discover in such unusual circumstances.
‘I’m going to look for the person playing these songs,’ I announced to my friends.

‘What songs?’ my friend asked, puzzled.

‘Can’t you hear them?’ I asked, equally nonplussed. Couldn’t they hear a thing? Or worse, had I peaked at levels of boredom and started imagining things?

‘Those Indian songs… Tamil…’I muttered incoherently.

‘Oh, those buggers playing those random songs?’ my friend said. ‘Senseless people. Can’t they see others are studying?’

I half opened my mouth to defend my unknown prince, but knew better and decided to keep quiet. ‘I’m going to look for him.’

‘Him?’ my friend asked, amused, an eyebrow raised. ‘And how do you know it’s a he?’

I hmph-ed and walked off, and took the stairs to the fifth floor. The songs were definitely clearer now, but still far. It was ‘Sambo Sambo’ playing now.

I went down again, as the song changed to the disco theme in Punnagai Mannan, followed by the love theme. My mind was abuzz with possibilities. Maybe a post-grad guy from India, with a brilliant ear for music. My kind of music. Or a senior who, till then, I had rudely dismissed as a dolt. Or a batchmate who I had unceremoniously chosen to ignore and keep away from my busy mind. Somebody I had possibly known and avoided, or someone new to know, befriend, and… I checked my mind, trying to be practical, and walked down to the third floor, the fourth floor disappointing me.

The third floor was buzzing with activity – there seemed to be the entire cohort of some discipline sitting down for some mass studying. The song was definitely louder, but I couldn’t stop an Indian face. Frustrated, I moved on.

I stopped short at the end of the stairs. It was here. The person playing the songs was here. The song now playing was ‘Nee Our Kadhal Sangeetham’. I walked on as if in a trance, ignoring the angry mutterings of the students around, cursing the weirdo playing these songs in an unknown (to them) language without any consideration at such a loud volume.

I walked along the innumerable rows of benches, and found that he was probably sitting in the area to the left of the long path I had walked. I turned left, as if drawn by some invisible hand. I took a deep breath as I walked towards the last bench, partly hidden from my view because of the giant vending machine.

I walked straight there, and stopped. The song had changed to something fast-paced – by now I could hardly realize what was happening – and my heart was hammering against my chest. I had no idea why I was this tense, or who I expected to find there. I walked the few steps left to see the person’s face.
‘Hi, Meera!’

Unable to control myself, I gasped. I felt weak at my knees, and could have slumped to the ground.

Of course, I composed myself, and said ‘Hey, Gayathri,’ to the girl in my team in my Marketing elective, and walked back, utterly defeated, and seething with rage thinking of the studying of ‘A History of Communication Study’ that I had to get back to.

A movie and upsetting thoughts at midnight

2009-06-14T00:12:00.003+08:00

Just finished watching Before Sunrise. My first time watching it and I'm quite sure there will be a number of repeats on this one.

Watching this made me think about how long it has been since I had any intellectual conversation with someone who I could keep pace with and who could provide me enough fodder for thought. AGES! I had quite a few of these till a couple of years back, conversations that were not about anyone but treading on spirituality, philosophy, music and many, many other things.

And now... common drudgery is simply ruling my life, with my waking thoughts dominated by work, the weekend that's either about to come or the way the weekend is flying, Monday mornings, client expectations, the need to sleep so that I'm alert at work the next day.. since when did life start to be so full of working?

I know it's all my making. It's not that I'm a workaholic. I'm sane enough to know that work is, after all, only work, and not life. Why, then, is it occupying such a huge slice of current life? A lot of things revolve around work, that relaxation is only like some magic potion that I desperately hope takes my mind off the impending day at work that is coming soon.

I have no patience to be online to chat with anybody anymore, I worry and moan endlessly about how all those short stories I lovingly form in my mind evaporate into thin air for lack of time, patience and energy to actually write them down. And in those rare cases I do find the time to write them down, I lose the mood mid-way and the story falls into a horrible spiral of hopelessness that I'm apologetic the story ever got to be written.

I look at my entries till about two years back and wonder where the enthusiasm and dreams about publishing went. How sad is it that as you grow older, you become more 'practical' and don't dare to dream so much anymore?

It's funny how a movie can have such a huge impact on your thoughts.

We all dream big, but over the years, we replace dreams with the more pragmatic solutions. I'm only hoping I don't have to fall into this upsetting trap. Of course, who knows what the future holds for us?

P.S.: Now, now, no advice please!

What a year it’s been

2009-05-30T12:21:00.000+08:00

A year of working (almost!)

A year in the house and now on to a new one

The new house is windy, bright, with large shelves, swimming complex a few minutes away, and on the 18th floor – which is what I’m most excited about!

Will miss the bookshelf in the old house, though. The bookshelf based on which I chose the room (talk about priorities – my room had only a wardrobe and nothing else).

May has gone by in a flash – May was when I got my first peek into the world of fashion (one that got me incredibly bored once I got over the ‘I’m watching a fashion show!’ mood), of homosexuals (I mean, real ones, not boys that we make fun of – and that was a first too), late night parties with new people, and well… models who had no butts or boobs (why do designers want to model their clothes on people who look sick? There’s a reason I won’t understand fashion). A month of a lot of responsibilities, late nights at work, a bit of falling sick, and oh, how could I forget, the month of Tioman!

Tioman was brilliant. The amazing beach (a little rocky, though), the I-can’t-describe-how-it-was waterfall, good food, lazing about, and my first successful snorkeling adventure (yayyy for swimming!)! it was awful to get back to work after the trip, but I was soon so caught up that – like now – Tioman didn’t even come up high on the list of what I did this month!

It’s amazing how work seems to swallow so much of your thoughts. But screw that, it’s the weekend and I’m busy packing my stuff and quite pleased with how less chaotic it’s been.

Thanks for all the lovely times in the old house and a toast to the new house and the good memories it is to bring!

April

2009-04-30T07:19:00.001+08:00

This was what April was all about:

work.

Work.

WORK.

Weekends that disappeared in no time.

Sleep, books, a bit of swimming.

And before you knew it, May is here and that means the long awaited vacation comes. Hope it's fun and is the much-needed break. Of course it'll be - it's a beach, a resort and blue waters! Tioman, here I come!

A Saturday Affair

2009-03-28T15:23:00.005+08:00

On a bleary Saturday afternoon that can be best described by the word 'blah', for all its dreariness, nothingness, for the lack of promises it held for the rest of the evening, I set about a task that gives me the energy and mood for the rest of the day.

We had made semiya upma, our kitchen lacking everything except the basic spices and a pack of frozen vegetables lying frozen in the refrigerator. Lazy to step out of the house in the sun and buy anything back, which must be washed, chopped and whatever, this was the easiest alternative.

As we cooked in the nickel-aluminium (?) wok that Amma had bought for me last year in the hope that I would step up and become interested in cooking my own lunches and dinner, I felt annoyed. At all the brown marks that the wok had come to bear, products of overheated oil in which me and my friend had tried many a time to make something edible (no, I'm not getting into what came out from the wok - things I have cooked deserve a special story of their own, and this blog has come to witness many such in its years).

Annoyed, half an hour later, done eating the semiya upma that might have needed salt but we still stuffed in by coating it with spicy pickle, I set down to scrubbing it clean. I toyed with the idea of soaking it in soap for a while, but didn't have the patience to wait before cleaning it. It was one of those times when you are so bent upon finishing your task that you have no patience to wait for the in-betweens.

I put on those bright yellow rubber gloves and grabbed the mesh of wire that had been strung together to make a scrubber. Turning the pan inside out, I scrubbed with all my might.

Scrub, scrub, scrub. And more scrub.

About five minutes later, I ran some water over the wok. Lo and behold! The scrubbing was working, and the brown parts were slowly turning golden. Encouraged, I scrubbed harder, unmindful of the ache in the right arm that was vigorously promoting my cause.

I turned the wok this way and that, trying hard to reach those unreachable parts near its handles, the rims, and pretty much every part of the wok I could see.

Ten minutes later, when the wok was covered with soap that had turned black (courtesy the metal scrubber), I ran water on it.

The wok shone quite brightly.I put the wet, dripping wok on the shelf, and gave a grin and left the kitchen.

Only remnant of that enthusiasm now is in my urge to go shower quickly, and get all the grime from the wok that stuck to my palms out and feel clean.

Half-full-half-empty

2009-03-04T11:31:00.003+08:00

It's amazing how confidence can drop to rock bottom levels, hopes can be washed away, and the bits of positive thoughts remaining in your mind can be squeezed out... all in an INSTANT.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm a fool to think positive all the time. It doesn't seem to be helping, so why not just rejoice in despair and take pleasure in being pessimistic?

Delhi-6

2009-02-28T12:13:00.004+08:00

I went in yesterday knowing that reviews said the movie wasn’t great, but I did expect some nice bits here and there and the music to make up for the disappointment that everyone had dubbed it to be. And well, at the end, I was as confused as the movie was as to how I felt about it!

Not all movies need to have stories – some get along just as well with lovely portrayals and bits – and while this movie did have quite a few of those, there was something lacking that made it fall apart.

It seemed like there was so much going on, so much that the director wanted to tell us, and unfortunately, his screenplay and editors wouldn’t let him do so, so he packed all he can that he thought made sense and put it in 2.5 hours. What a waste of stories/thoughts that could have really given us some poignant moments to take away from the movie?

Anyway, I’m sure the movie’s been hacked to death by many reviewers, but here’s what I liked:

1. Abhishek. Not only was he cute – the first ever time I have found him so! – I think he pulled off the American thing well. The good thing about his character was that he didn’t smirk or frown at the various things Indian – no ‘I have to carry this bucket into the bathroom?’ or ‘I want mineral water’ or unnecessary ‘In the US we do this-and-that’. He slipped easily into India and everything Indian, determined to have a good time. I wish someone had dubbed the American accent for him, though. Couldn’t pull it off.

2. The spontaneity with which Abhishek slapped the local inspector and landed in jail. The naivety with which he remarked ‘You are a public servant!’ which earned him the slap. No random huffing and puffing about India and stuff. Borrowing his oft-repeated phrase, ‘cool’.

3. Rehna Tu and Dil Gira. Very, very, lovely. Though I thought Rehna Tu was a song on the lady, it was a fresh idea to picture it on something else. Dil Gira.. was heavenly. I loved the colours, the painting-like-finish, and I’ve just fallen in love with the song even more.

4. Ali Uncle (Rishi Kapoor), Mamdu (I don’t know his real name) and Gobar (Atul Kulkarni). Among the few people in the movie that I thought had some strength to their characters.

5. The movement of the camera, be it jumping like the kaala Bandar or as Abhishek jogs through the street or the scene in the mosque that made me gasp in awe; the lighting that was so pleasant and complemented the mood and feel of each scene.

6. The way various things in Hinduism were portrayed, without making fun of them – the cow giving birth in the middle of the street (‘Mother cow giving Baby cow’) and how Waheeda Rehman is simply back to normal.

These are pretty much all I remember from the movie. The rest of it is a hazy hash of random things happening, sniggers from the cinema audience when people cried in the movie, and the other miscellaneous things that I cannot remember.

2009-02-23T12:01:00.002+08:00

HE WON THE OSCAR!
I'm mad with joy!!!! Speechless, grinning from ear to ear with everyone around me wondering why I"m maniacally grinning..
Gosh I can't type.
Just wanted to remember this moment of extreme happiness. That I"m an insane fan of this genius!
More later, but thanks to dearest amma for letting me know the news.

Random grouses on a Monday morning

2009-02-16T10:56:00.005+08:00

My eyes burn and I despair at the phenomenon called ‘Monday’, of the start of the working week, of the pain of waking up early, going to work, and living through another week.

It’s been a good 9 months since I started working, and Mondays are still not something I can come to terms with. Why do I have to work, I wonder, and what’s the point? And this stretches into deeper, unfathomable ponderings about why we invented so many things, when all we need are the basic food, clothing and shelter, and ok, hospitals – which means there should only be four kinds of jobs in the world – farming, weaving, construction and medicine – why are there THIS MANY jobs and kinds of things to do – stretching from banks to Public Relations and advertising and insurance? How did the world become this complicated? Why did it grow so big that we need trains to get from one place to another and engineers to design those trains and how they run and architects to build those stations and technicians to run them? Why did people start earning so much and have the concept of ‘money’ that we needed banks, which finally grew so enormously shady and everything and ended up ‘lending’ money and now owning what we call ‘toxic assets’. Why did we have to start manufacturing the same soap across hundreds of countries and sit and plan the numbers of these soaps that have to be produced? And why did these companies have to so LARGE that they all need machines to do their calculations supervised by humans, and have humans write codes to run these machines? And me, as a ‘Public Relations professional’, help all these organizations deal with these changes and help maintain/form a good impression for the company among the people’s minds.

Gosh, when did things take such a complicated turn?

Pardon the random musings of the Chennai gal on a bright Monday morning, but writing things like this helps me get ‘closure’ (I’m using this word very often these days, I realize, and what’s more interesting is ‘closure’ is only temporary for me) and get practical about the fact that despite all my thinking and philosophical exercise to the mind, these things still happen, we still slog, work day in and out, earn money, spend and do other things that we hope compensate for the fact that we have little/no life, and spend our long-awaited-weekends doing more things that help console us about the sad truth that ever since we turned 3, we have lost the simple pleasures of life. Excuse me, the phone rings, work beckons.

P.S.: This rambling took all of ten minutes, but now I'm charged, and ready to face the week!

Hide and Seek

2009-02-09T23:40:00.004+08:00

I first saw her on my way home from work and stopped dead on my tracks. Bright, big and beautiful, she was shimmering in the night. It was captivating. Without any hesitation, I decided to go in pursuit of her.

Of course, she wouldn’t give in that easily. She felt mischievous, and hid behind trees, turned into buildings, and sometimes, vanished into thin air, till I’d stop again and looked wildly about, for she could have gone anywhere. And then, I found her.

She grinned at me from between the trees, and I realized how silly I was to have gone looking for her in just one direction.

Lost in my thoughts, I lost her again. I walked aimlessly, forgetting my way home and forgetting where I was. My shoes were pinching my toes and I winced in pain with every step.

Finally, I found her again. Her shine made me find her, and I fished my bag for my cellphone to get a picture of her. Alas, it was of no use – nothing could capture her glow, the sheer intensity with which she radiated her happiness, and I was forced to just give up and stare at the beauty. Rich, creamy, surprisingly, even spotless. Kaise Mujhe playing in the iPod was the perfect accompaniment to the out-of-the-earth feeling, as I stood stunned at the wondrous capabilities of God – how could He make the moon, dripping with radiance akin to that of a gushing, happy bride? How did He know of Music?

I came back, wishing to talk to no one, just wanting to savour every bit of those few wonderful moments, and reliving them by playing the song, longing to be able to float in a dark pool with the song playing and the moon shining brightly up a dark sky.

P.S.: I know the pictures are quite awful, but that's the best my old camera could do.

P.P.S.: While gushing over the moon is quite normal for me any Pournami, apparently, today's moon is/was the brightest and biggest in some 50-over years.

iTunes tag

2009-01-15T22:39:00.005+08:00

Ranajay tagged me to do this quiz - and it was so hilarious that I decided to take it up. You got to answer these questions with the names of the song that are playing on my iTunes in shuffle. No cheating! Only thing I did was to skip the Tamil songs. I'd really like to run it again with the Tamil songs! So here goes:

1.If someone says, "Is this okay?" You say?
Aahista, Aahista (Swades)

[Slowly, slowly - yup, just the kind of practical advice I'd give to the person, no kidding!]

2.How would you describe yourself?
Witchy Woman – Eagles

[OH MY GOD! Despite what the friends say, I wouldn't do this to myself!]

3.What do you like in a ~~girl~~ boy?
Main Mast

[Interesting! :D I do hope he really means it, though!]

4.How do you feel today?
San san-an-an (Asoka)

[Pretty much how I feel everyday - the singing, the dancing, the I'm-high mood!]

5.What is your life's purpose?
Dil Kya Kare jab kisi ko kisi se pyaar ho jaaye

[There goes my belief in myself :( THAT is my life's purpose!?]

6.What is your motto?
Aao Na
[It's just getting worse - and sleazy!]

7.What do your friends think of you?
My name is bhai, Mumbhai – DISHYOOM!
[This I know they'll totally agree with!]

8.What do you think of your parents?
Love will find a way (phew!)
[Thank God, it didn't get worse]

9.What do you think about very often?
I have confidence in me!!!

[Yes, happens.]

10.What is 2 + 2?
O Humdum Suniyo Re
[As usual - don't give two hoots about Maths]

11.What do you think of your best friend?
I’ll be there for you!
[Nope, I didn't rig it, it was really this song]

12.What do you think of the person you like?
Tubthumping!
[Not really.... or maybe, in a silent way]

13.What is your life story?
Silsila yeh chaahat ka
[KASHTAM!]

14.What do you want to be when you grow up?
Chupke Chupke

[Quietly going about doing what's close to my heart? Or something stealthy?]

15.What do you think of when you see the person you like?
Ra Ra Rasputin

[LOL! Evil man, you!!]

16.What will you dance to at your wedding?
Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom

[My sanity will be in question]

17.What will they play at your funeral?
Chhodo more (Zubeida)

[Good, sad song]

18.What is your hobby/interest?
Pyaar tune kya kiya

[Why? Why, why me of all people?!]

19.What is your biggest fear?
Daud

[Yup, no running away]

20.What is your biggest secret?
Strangers like me

[Could I interpret this as unique?]

21.What do you think of your friends?
I need some sleep

[YAWN.]

This was really funny - so if you're bored, just go ahead and do it!

High on Joy

2009-01-12T12:14:00.003+08:00

The exhilaration, the sheer joy, the shivering hands, the excitement, the fast heartbeat, and the weak threat of tears in my eyes when I saw him go up on stage to collect the Golden Globe - oh my, it's been months since I was this high on joy.

Congrats, Rahman. You ARE the best we have ever had. Any of the rest who thought otherwise... like... shut up! :)

4

2009-01-05T19:40:00.001+08:00

Happy Birthday, Bloggie!!!

Weird food and thank you notes and the new year

2008-12-31T10:18:00.002+08:00

What’s with Asians and MIXING the strangest things to eat? Or eating flowers? Having tea made from the weirdest ingredients?

The day I landed in Singapore, my relative offered me aloe vera juice that I gulped in out of courtesy, stifling the tears back in. Few days later, on campus, I tasted the weirdest, sourest lime juice I had ever tasted, so different that I went to the stall guy and asked him if it was vegetarian (I know, I know, but I was just 17 and paranoid – I had just seen a ‘vegetarian’ stall selling pork). Soon, I saw that people had cucumber + aloe vera juice, and that fruits called honey dew, dragon fruit, DURIAN and longan existed. That people have juice made from celery, while all juices I had had till then were made of the traditional apple/mango/orange/carrot/grapes. And then there was bubble tea - never mind the jelly-shaped things that float into your mouth as you sip the juice through a thick straw, the juice itself was probably made from ginseng. Soon, I had grown used to chrysanthemum tea, jasmine tea, and horrors, until a friend recently gifted a box, got to know that there was something called Turkish Delight where the chocolate was stuffed with rose (I nearly lost my appetite for chocolate, I tell you – and that means that Turkish Delight had tasted terrible). And just a couple of months back, I ate fungus – not even mushroom, mind you, but bamboo shoots with fungus. Braved fungus once more yesterday, and survived.

And today, I have braved myself to a challenge and made myself a cup of hot green tea. It looks a muddy light green and I’m doing everything to not drink it though I brought it upon myself. I took one sip gingerly and it tasted like I was chewing leaf. LEAF.

Singapore is a foodie’s paradise, and for a vegetarian not too keen on trying new things, it’s nearly hell. But well, I have braced myself for the challenges and have learnt how to eat things I am just too sure will bring tears to my eyes.

Well, it’s 31 December and while everyone in the office is sending each other thank you notes for the year that it has been, I should probably thank this weird city I have lived in for 4 1/2 years, in whose honour I have dedicated dozens of posts in this blog, for making me steely, giving me courage and confidence, and most of all, to take things in my stride and laugh at one and many a thing.

Happy 2009, everybody! May this year be healthy, peaceful, prosperous (with all signs of the credit crunch disappearing) and joyous!

Ghajini: Kaise Mujhe Tu Mil Gayee

2008-12-27T13:44:00.004+08:00

Kaise Mujhe was the most beautiful thing in the movie - my love for the song has only gone up exponentially since watching the movie. Brilliance from all angles - A R Rahman, Benny Dayal, Shreya Ghoshal, Aamir Khan, Asin and even the guys behind the movie for giving it the whole out-of-the-earth-floating feel. Just closing my eyes to the song and remembering flashes of the song from the movie chokes me - hardly any other moment in the movie touched me so. So beautiful, so poignant, so moving, so sincere and genuine... oh, 'if music be the food of love, play on', for life without music is ill-spent.

Why moms rock..

2008-12-16T21:53:00.004+08:00

... amma's important update to me for the day was the new Rahman song she had seen on TV - 'jiya se jiya', how Rahman was awesome, the beats, brilliant and the song, rocking!

Of life itself...

2008-12-07T23:35:00.007+08:00

It’s been ages since I sat down and typed anything sensible in my blog – I must say I’m getting really depressed with the quality of all the writing I’ve been churning out lately; they all just go to show the state of mind I have been in all these days – confused, aimless, happy at times and unhappy quite often too – and one look at the archives of the blog was enough to irritate me into consciousness.

The blog was started when I was new and wide-eyed in Singapore, and those were days when I had something to write about everyday. I am stunned at how these days I hardly make a joyous note of the insignificant things in my life that brighten my day. Guess working does that to people, and I hate it. Working has made me busy, uninspired, mechanical, and don’t get me wrong – there is nothing wrong with my job itself, I love it for all its nice and makes-you-want-to-break-something moments, it’s equally rewarding – but working itself, has changed me. I’m no longer carefree, I realized, and I don’t like that at all. So, well, I decided to spend some good time writing about all the insignificant but momentous things that have been going on in my life these six months of working (gosh, it’s really been that long??).

Graduating. It was joyous, but really felt like I was leaving something of my life behind. Irresponsibility, innocence, the freedom to commit mistakes, starry-eyed-ness about pretty much everything. Campus walks, project-cursing, the benches. And sigh, even exams.

The house. It’s a simple, lovely house where the landlord has generously left behind his stuff that we have conveniently gotten used to using for ourselves. The room I took has a bookcase. Pretty much why I took the room even though it’s small and hardly has a cupboard and didn’t even have a mirror when I moved in. But the bookcase, wooden, light brown, mounted on the wall, really tempted me and I knew I should have it filled. I’m well on my way! (Ignore the fact that it's the bookcase that has to hold anything that won't fit in my silly wardrobe that can ONLY hold my clothes on hangers!) Look at the books! Making way for more..

The work. I have been enjoying, much to my surprise. It’s fun to learn new things, and sometimes it’s good to do things well for that rare element of praise that comes your way. I know – I have to grow up, but heck, I’ve just been working 6 months. Only thing I don’t like as yet is the loss of being/thinking irresponsibly, of having to think twice before narrating your weekend screw-up with the danger that your colleagues think you’ve lost it looming heavily around, and finally, the horrible branding of ‘cute’ on you. While it feels nice to be the youngest in the team, sometimes I feel childish and like I know nothing. Not to say of the millions of times you feel like an idiot for having to ask how to reply to an email or handle a situation. Well, you gotta learn!

Movies, music. So many to even remember and list since I started working. Why, I watched a movie on my first day of work too! Kung Fu Panda. Hilarious. Been enjoying all the best animation, the latest being Bolt – totally worth your time! Music has been keeping life together as strongly as ever. Even during the fifteen minutes I have in the morning between my shower and leaving for work, I switch the computer on for a loop of the one song that totally fits the mood of the morning. The favourites have been Jashn-e-Bahaara, Iravu Nilavu, Taxi Taxi, Tu Bole Main Boloon, Manmohini Morey, and recently, Guzaarish and Kaise Mujhe. The CD collection is growing, thanks to my proud contributions from my salary. Yuvvraaj kinda disappointed me as I could not find his usual brilliance – and I thought Ghajini was another disappointment until I got hooked to most of the songs. Waiting for the movie to release – should be worth a watch.

There was a karaoke session in between too. Three hours of non-stop fun, where my friends were treated not just to songs they knew but even ‘Engeyum eppodhum’ from Ninaithale Inikkum, ‘Oru maalai’, and to my utter delight, ‘Pudhu Vellai Mazhai’ and songs from ABBA too! While my throat ached with the sudden overuse for singing, I realized with horror that probably the only sruthi I could sing in these days would be naalarai kattai. At this rate I’ll end up like DK Pattamaal. Shit.

Otherwise… there have been some travel trips. One to Batam, Indonesia for voluntary work, another to Bintan, Indonesia that had the most beautiful beaches I'd seen (the photo - there's the beach, the music and a book - ice cream was the only essential thing missing!). There was also a short trip home during which all that happened was rain, rain and rain like it was the end of the world. It was great fun with my sister’s baby boy and watching his antics and carrying him to various corners in the house and showing him ‘apple’, ‘rat’ and ‘bananas’ off the huge picture of Ganesha in the living room. Miss the boy terribly.

Life still seems to be a dream, like I am living someone else’s life and not mine. Isn’t that a horrible wake-up call? I mentally make a note to start off with various things like continuing my German, learning to swim and paint, but things don’t seem to stick. Maybe it’s time for my first new year resolution! Well, I’ll make it later :D

All things bright and beautiful

2008-11-20T23:55:00.002+08:00

Sticky, salty water. Noisy people. A sweaty feel. Tamil+English. Loud TV. Sweltering heat. Smoke. Dust. Music all the time. Tamil. Mosquitoes. Jeering people. Rasam.
HOME!

Beaches and bikinis

2008-11-10T00:09:00.006+08:00

If you, like me, grew up in India, the only beaches you’d been to (unless you’d been to Goa or gone abroad, of course) would have been where you stood, holding your parents’ hands and letting the waves wash your feet. Your mother would have pulled her sari up to only reveal her ankles, and your dad may have rolled up his pants, unless he’d been the adventurous kind to jump into the sea and have fun.

Until very recently, I had no idea how beaches in other parts of the world could be. Where the water is true blue and breathtakingly beautiful that you could see the sea bed through, where people wear their bikinis and swim.

2 days back, I left for Bintan, an island in Indonesia just an hour away from Singapore. A beach freak, I was excited beyond words! And I wasn’t disappointed – the beach is the MOST BEAUTIFUL I have ever since in my 22 years! It is the kind that you watch in movies and go WOW – do such beaches really exist?

A day after spending a good few hours to going deeper into the water than you can ever imagine a non-swimmer-but-still-a-beach-freak like-me would go, I was quite stumped for a number of reasons.

I sat by the pool sipping a cool drink, watching women well over 50 splashing about in the water in their bikinis. Trust me, they weren’t the fittest babes around – but nothing stopped them from having their fun. And that really, really baffled me – why are we Indians so different? While in India, I used to think it was only the westerners who roamed around in bikinis or wore the skimpiest of clothes – you get the drift. I received quite a shock when I visited the beach here for the first time, slightly even turning red at the sight of young women in their bikinis. Even Asians do this? What surprised me even more was when a Thai friend showed me a picture from the early 80s of her family where her mother was dressed in a swimsuit too. They were just a normal family, and they’d have been like mine, had they been in India. And yet, a world of difference!

Why are we so different? Heck, I don’t even know swimming because by the time I realized I could learn, I was already grown up and the prospect of going into a pool in a swimming costume was frowned upon! Our idea of fun in a beach is so ridiculous – I know it is a LOT of fun and I still swear by it – but how come it is that we don’t know so many things? Like the sheer enjoyment of a piece of clothing that is not cumbersome and gives you the pure joy of going a few more feet deeper into the water than that you can afford to in your saree/salwar kameez/jeans?

It’s just a wholly different world, and it’s one that my colleagues can’t even imagine as I try hard to express them. “You don’t swim in your beaches?” they ask. It’s another thing our beaches are quite dirty and nobody in their right mind would want to swim beyond a point, but the very fact that we women couldn’t do so even if we wanted to is plainly horrible.

I know I should be thankful that I get to experience a lot of things, but I can’t help thinking many a time of the many of us who don’t get to do so. How much are we missing! Will it change? Soon?

Crime

2008-10-19T10:35:00.002+08:00

Sometimes, we make mistakes despite knowing they are wrong. This is called committing crime, and I recently did.

I watched Sakarakatti.

I’d read the reviews that had trashed the movie beyond repair, and I still went, believing Rahman’s songs in the movie will provide some respite and will be worth watching for. How truly mistaken!

This is by far the only movie I have seen that really doesn’t have a storyline. I mean, we all say that for many movies, but most have a fledgling storyline that at least has a teeny bit of logic, a sequence that at least exists for the namesake, a screenplay, however horrible it may be. This movie, didn’t have ANYTHING!

The movie starts off with a bunch of adigaprasangi kids that are wondering how to get girls to like them (at 10 years?? Why, oh, why?) and decide readings books on sex is the way to go. And suddenly, out of the blue, ‘Elay!’ starts. The song is one of the best in the movie, with such feel-good lyrics and when I used to listen to the song, I used to imagine a bunch of fervently-committed college kids who are do-gooders. What a waste singing it to kids who are busy ogling at girls! The brainless director wasted the lovely meaning of the song on kids and cartoons (speaking of which, what the hell was the genie doing? Why did the kids walk on the long log a la Lion King?) Argh! It irks me to see the songs wasted!

This is only the tip of the iceberg, really. The hero, a friggin’ 18-year-old is going way too far to prove his love to another equally dumb 18-year-old in college. And how does he fall in love with her? When he sees her cussing her driver when their car breaks down. Wow, so much for the guy for whom the Elay song is wasted. He falls for her looking at her swear and at her sexy short winter clothes that she wears in Chennai.

Add to this confusion another 18-year-old idiot, the hero’s cousin who comes from Coimbatore (and wears tanks, layers clothes, and what not!) and falls in love with the hero too. Why? Coz he sees her in a towel. I mean, even Annamalai was better coz Kushboo had a deeper reason to fall in love with Rajini :P

I’m not going to bother with the rest of the ‘storyline’ because there’s none. The only deepest regret I have is that I can’t listen to the songs of the movie now without remembering the damned graphics. Chinamma Chilakamma, and I remember the mummies and the long-toothed rakshasi that flies about for no reason whatsoever. I miss you da, and I remember weird space ships and the space scooters on which the Coimbatore girl and the hero fly (the hero is next to her in the song throughout, and yet she sings I miss you da when in real life, she is sitting next to him; I shouldn’t even bother finding logic, I know).

And Taxi, hahaha… they brought down French girls and got Blaaze to do the rap and this was the most sensible song in the movie! And for this reason, I think, they showed the song twice in the movie! For all the buddies that the hero has in the movie, he sings at some other guy ‘En uyir nanban nee thaane’.

Whatever. The only entertainment I got was with my friend when we roared with laughter every minute. My first tamil movie in a cinema after a year, and this is what I get. My bad!

Zwei und zwanzig

2008-10-04T01:06:00.002+08:00

It's one of those numbers you never thought you'd be associated with in life; and yet, there they are, not lurking in the corner anymore but jumping out to stare you in the eye!

So I turn 22, and I look at the year ahead and wonder what surprises and what changes will happen, and how life will turn. Hopefully all turns are for good!

Awk, it's just the most sensible birthday post I've written in the last almost-4-years of blogging. I guess the blog is the perfect place for me to see how I've changed from some gawky teenager to some sensible (!) and mature (!!) woman - lady (?!)

Happy Birthday to me!

Living away from home

2008-09-08T15:39:00.005+08:00

Why it sucks: Think it's been four years since I had cheedai.

How I still manage: Just found them in an obscure shop in Little India, imported from Grand Sweets. Wish they'd had the thonnais with steaming hot pongal or sambhar saadam or thayir saadam or.. time to stop, I'm drooling.

Elay! Vaa ley!

2008-08-22T14:47:00.003+08:00

It's Friday and I'm desperately trying to churn out some fluff writing at work for an event. I realize, with horror, that it turns out to be more difficult than I thought. Nevertheless, I chug on, with extreme happiness that a week with long hours at work is finally coming to an end.

What contributes more to the tempo and enthu in which I'm doing everything is the song I'm listening - Elay! It's cute, funny, fast, interesting and enjoyable! And it's got everything I like - acoustic guitar, a violin that's on a frenzy, Naresh Iyer [;)], pace and interesting and understandable lyrics. And the part of the song I love the most (for reasons I really cannot follow) is the way the song grinds to a halt in the end, with the sudden halt of beats, the chords that still play on and the voice and the words - 'Kaadhal station vandhiruchu vaa...'

I feel like an idiot getting so excited for (of all things), the ending of the song, but.. it's..

Awesome!

Randomness reigns supreme in Vani's life.

More News

2008-07-13T23:12:00.003+08:00

(I know, even I'm getting tired of announcing this-and-that in my blog, but that's pretty much what I am doing these days - looking forward to things to make life seem good! Not that it's bad, though!).

We've moved in! Hostel life officially came to an end almost 2 weeks back, when we finally brought in our things from here and there and started 'living' in our house. Other things took longer, and it was only today that I finally got my desktop a wireless USB adapter and finally came online!

And so, I waited for a week to write what I thought of Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na.. What do I say? Bloody entertaining! And very, very cute and magical. It's cliched and everything, but it's the movie I'll associate my end of college with. Of course, the movie has the same theme, but everything about the movie was so thoroughly enjoyable and things you could relate to - which I believe very few directors have been able to achieve!

And the songs.....wooohoooo! For the first time in my history of AR Rahman movie watching in Singapore, where I clap with uncontrollable glee every time his name comes on the screen, some guy sitting in the row behind mine commented 'Why so much happiness for this?!' and I wanted to say, I'm-super-excited-and-the-title-is-my-favourite-track-and-the-title-song-looks-so-bloody-nice-
what-more-can-I-ask-for.

That says it, I guess. I totally, totally loved the movie for everything it was, it's funny, magical, cute, entertaining, dumb and silly moments. Coz it was just what life was till a very few days ago.
RANDOM.

It is a big deal, by the way.

2008-06-23T11:09:00.003+08:00

The first email to the big boss. Tons of proof-reads by self and others. Automated spell check working in full swing.
A silent prayer, and the 'Send' button.
A tiny breath of relief escapes.
And the reply to the short email composed for over ten minutes comes in less than a minute: "ok"
Welcome to working.

Damaaaaaal dumeeeel

2008-06-04T21:25:00.003+08:00

Naalu varshathoda mudivu varudhu.
Stomach is knotted with fear!
Title's significance shall be explained later, if the author is in the mood to.
Update: Managed it :) Good, not bad, but some disappointments. Anyway, 4 years had quite a good end. Thank God!
Title's significance (lame ah irukkum, be prepared): ozhunga irundha pattasu, illati thalaila idi.