She was sweating profusely. She didn’t know what to do.
Decisions can sometimes be so hard to make, she thought. She then brushed aside the thought and started thinking again. She must not waste any more time.
She reached out for the box of tissues on her table and wiped her face. And before she knew it, she had already wasted precious minutes.

In her anxiety, her fingers unconsciously went near her mouth. Slowly, and with ferocity she did not even realize, she was biting her nails, in a maniacal fashion. It was like she was giving vent to all her anxiety by biting off those beautifully polished nails. She suddenly looked at them, just as she realized that she was biting nails.
“God!” she thought. The beautiful baby pink nail enamel had now lost its glory. She thought of Vidya, who would keep chiding her for biting nails. And as she thought of Vidya, she thought she felt the taste of nail polish in her mouth.

“Ugggghhhhh!!!” she exclaimed.
She reached for that bottle of water nearby and gulped the water furiously, all the while thinking what to do.
Time was moving fast.
She had to act fast, too.

She hated such kind of working. Working under pressure. They never brought out the best from her, she always felt. Her best was always when she did things just by chance – her award winning short story, for instance; it was just written one night when she couldn’t sleep. This was one reason why she could never really do her school assignments well – the teachers gave deadlines. Deadlines always freaked her out. This, is very, very bad, she thought; whatever she would ultimately have in life would have deadlines; deadline to finish university education (though not exact, there was always this deadline of “Finish by 4 years.” ). Deadlines to find a job; or to get married. Deadlines to finish projects at work. Deadlines ruled life.
Deadlines!! She got highly irritated at this thought.

She suddenly shook her mind off all this thought.
Time was moving fast, again, and she still hadn’t made her decision.

God, why such a trap, she thought. Why now, why me! Why not someone else? Have you no consideration, she thought, as she wiped her face and fanned herself with the other hand, as though this fanning would give her any amount of relief.

She stared helplessly.
She looked at the time. It was ticking fast.
And she still didn’t know what to do.
It was well over five minutes. She had to do something fast.

She gingerly touched it and pressed it.
“Nooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” she screamed.
She screamed her heart out. A silent tear somehow found its way out and left a trail on her right cheek. And before she knew it, another one slowly trickled down the other cheek.
This isn’t fair, this is just not fair, she thought.

All because of the pressure. All because of that ticking clock which couldn’t make me think.
She stared at the screen.
At the minesweeper screen where she had clicked on the wrong box and lost the game with the one mine left, after 523 seconds of hard thinking.

One week since I posted and I'm already getting impatient, thinking about what to post next; topics, again, range from the A.R.Rahman concert in Singapore that I will miss because it's horrendously expensive, to the-saree-wearing-singing-hungama that happened on Wednesday, to cursing my heavy, burdening, workload.
And then, it struck me; one thing I would be ready all my life to ramble about for as long as possible - dear old Chennai.
Every time I looked at the name of my blog, I would feel pretty stupid - chennaigalwrites?? Then I convince myself saying it was a name I had thought of in class X, four years ago, when I had first heard of blogs and so badly wanted to have one, but did not know how to. Then I thought, probably the name ain't that stupid, for after all, it defines me, I am a Chennai girl.
I am the only misfit in a family where everyone unanimously hates this city. What's there to hate, I wonder. Well, of course, there are umpteen number of reasons - bad water, roads dug up every now and then, the heat, the pollution, the current cuts (thankfully not in my home sweet home!) and blah. But hey, I say, every Indian city has them! Studying in a place where none of these problems virtually exist, I must confess, I miss them. What's the point living in a place where you don't face any problems? Staying in cities like good ol' Chennai only makes you appreciate these things more. Things feel so artificial sometimes in Singapore, and I'm left wondering what's the point. Grass mowed every three or four days with an annoyingly loud machine, vehicles which take the leaves off the road everyday.... Well, give me a break!
Just facing totally unconnected streams of thoughts....I'm reminded of the highly occasional 'Bangalore vs. Chennai' fights that I used to lead back home, and sometimes here, too, with the Bangaloreans. Chennai, I say, has a soul. It has people who live life normally despite the innumerable shortcomings they face everyday, right from water to public transport. It has a just perfect blend of tradition and modernity, the perfect Kabaleeshwarar koil devotee and Saturday discotheque freak. Girls here shop in Globus as much as they would on Pondy Bazaar's famed platform shops. Chennai has everything. Chennai is brimming with life, brimming with optimism. Chennai can shrug trouble off its shoulders and come back to normalcy after any disaster, the tsunami being the prime example.
Now everytime I go back, I make sure I never have that NRI feeling (uhh, well, if I can be called one??) of 'God, how did I live in this country?' which I so terribly hate. Life so smoothly glides into the Chennai way of living as my flight lands and I start in long queues which people break with ease, for immigration. When in Chennai, I become the chennaigal, feasting on amma's amazing thakkali rasam and vendekkai curry. And jumping over those can't-be-counted number of potholes. Wading through the heavy Usman Road traffic with ease. Taking a bath before 10 a.m., before the water stops. Fighting a vain battle with grandparents to watch a different channel, and ultimately ending up watching 'Metti Oli' or 'Kolangal' with them. Bargaining with the shopkeepers in Pondy Bazaar. Standing in the strangling queues in temples. Getting crushed in the overcrowded public buses, and sometimes, footboard travel too. And yes, living a life.
Living in Chennai can make you prepared for anything in life. After living in Chennai, I sure can face most of the things in life, and with a schooling from DAV, I dare say, anything, anything, can be confronted!!!
Oh god, off I go rambling again. I can almost see the 'Organizational Communication' textbook on my table glaring at me and saying, "Hello, you were supposed to read something from this book??"
And yet again, I'm unable to think of any heading for this post, now that the org. comm. book is staring right down at me. So this post gets a name I've used twice before, it's a sequel.
And hey, Chennai rules!!! :)

11-year-old Aditya went up to his mother.
"When are you going to have the Upanayanam ceremony for me?" he asked.
His mother was confused.
"Why, oh, well....umm, soon, dear!" she said.
"Why are you delaying it so much? Amma, I'm 11 ! Innum podalena thappu!!" said he.
"Nee ipdi kekarche podaama iruppoma? We'll do it soon. " said amma.
Adi smiled and left.

Adi's major reason to ask his mother to hold an Upanayanam ceremony was because he wanted to get some attention to himself. Somehow he had felt that all his relatives had quite forgotten him when his older brother left to study abroad. They all fussed over him so much that in between Adi had felt there was a period when everyone had even forgotten his existence. He had had to pack his lunch bag even himself - put the towel and spoon inside, and oh, get the water filled in his blue bottle (which, incidentally was broken, but since no one was bothered, he had to manage with that).... He was so angry that he had to so much of work when he had to study and also play those regular tennis sessions in school. One of his class mates had then suggested that this would be a good way to remind people of his needs and wishes.
"Hey, that's a nice idea...how come I never thought of it before?" he thought. And then started his implementation of the idea.

Slowly, after the first time he asked his mother this idea, he began to ask the others in his home too. He realised that the best people to pull on his side were his grandparents (who, incidentally, had been pushing for this from quite a while ago).
Well, the idea seemed to be working quite well, for his mom decided to talk to his father about the whole issue.
"Paarungo, avaney ketutaan...We have to do it soon...and besides, he's 11, and that's a perfect age for the ceremony!"
After some more talk, dad finally gave in.
"Yes, let's do it. I'll ask appa to ask the shastrigal for a good date during this month....if we do it in July itself, it'll be good as he won't be having any exams and won't have any problems taking time off from school..." suggested dad.

Soon, things started going in full swing for Aditya's poonal ceremony. Amma fretted about for pattu veshtis, pattu podavais, madisar podavais et al. This impressed little Adi greatly. He felt grateful for the friend who had suggested this idea. "What a brainwave," he thought.

The d-day arrived quite soon. Adi could see excitement rising up his spine as he was asked to do various things. The shastrigal, though, were pretty strict.
"Nanna balamma mantra-thai sollu...."
or
"Kiaya ipdi vechukanum....un ishtathuku pannapdaathu",
which made Adi wish he didn't have to go through all these procedures. But things got exciting again soon when his father taught him the "secret" : the Gayatri mantra with the pattu veshti wrapped around them. He also got wildly excited when he had to ask for bhiksha, though he would have done it without that droning Bhiksham dehi he had to say everytime,but still he derived a lot of pleasure as all mamis and atthais lined up to give him his bhiksha.

Then came the part which he had anticipating all this while - the presents. He could barely conceal his excitement as friends and relatives poured in with gift wrapped boxes of various kinds and size, and some with cash (he was not very happy with cash, he knew he would have to hand it to amma or appa the next day....presents were anytime better, assuming, though that the people had enough sense on what to gift a 11-year-old).

As soon as they got home after the Upanayanam ceremony, Adi wanted to open his presents. Amma and appa were very tired, but they let him open them nevertheless...at least that would give them some hours of rest, without any new nagging from him.

Adi felt his hands shiver with excitement as he opened the presents. Mama's present seemed very inviting. Before he opened it, he thought what it could be. Maybe a PS2? He had been asking dad for one for quite a long time...and probably appa had told mama about it...and mama had got it.....

He found his dreams soaring. Unable to contain the excitement, he opened it. His dreams came crashing on to the ground. Lay inside a set of Scrabble. And that too, the same set he already had. The rest were no better too, except for a set of beautiful Parker ink pens from Uma atthai and a blue digital watch from his best friend.

God! He couldn't believe that most of his presents had turned out to be damb squibs. Well, at least the ceremony had reminded people that Aravind had a younger brother called Aditya who needed to be looked after, too. But he felt sad nevertheless.

His sorrows did not end there, though. Very soon, the troublesome priest from the ceremony came home to teach him how to do the sandhyaavandanam. He felt utterly disappointed and irritated. He had to do this twice a day, and that too the second one at 6 p.m. when he would be playing! It had never struck him as bothersome when he had seen his father do it every day. Dad seemed to be very excited at the prospect of his younger son doing all this that for a whole two weeks, he came home from office early so that both of them could do the sandhyaavandanam together.

Soon, things became worse. Now all that everyone wanted to know was whether he did the sandhyaavandanam regularly everyday, not excepting that nagging priest, who also dropped in at least thrice every month and oversaw his prayer. If Adi skipped the prayer even once, his mother would pounce upon him and say "Idhukkudaan sonnen, it's too early for the ceremony-nnu....yaara kaetaa dhaane!" She seemed to be taking a new stand now, though she had convinced his father that it was high time Adi got his poonal.

Adi soon fell sick of all the attention poured on him. He tried his best to divert them toward his brother, but even when talking over the phone to his brother, all that his parents said were complaints that Adi wasn't doing sandhyaavandanam properly. "Konjam avana panna sollen da," they would say.
"As though you know he does it regularly there," Adi would mumble.
So much for 'brainwave' ideas and getting attention, Adi thought.

P.S: No questioning on the traditions; I've just written what I vaguely know.

Well, yes, they do ruin my life. What would should have been a blessing turns a curse. And it's all here, in Singapore, where day and evening (thankfully, not the nights!) they torture me into slow illness.

As I sit through lectures and tutorials everyday, slowly, air-cons freeze me into numbness. Yeah, physically and mentally. To such an extent that beyond a point I feel like a body just made alive by thawing after being frozen as a part of some cryonics study. As soon as I'm free to go out, I feel like some captive tortured by unique methods running out to freedom. But oh no! You only run out of a freezing air con-ed room to enter the bus which is cold too. Thank lord, though, at least I could control the little air-con outlet in the bus.

At times, or no, always, the closed corridors are colder than the rooms themselves that I would think kenathula gudhikardhu is surely a better option than leaving the room. And yes, the rooms are not good, either. Inside, I would sit trying to cover every little portion of my hands or legs that are exposed to the chilling air.

Enter trains, AC. Enter canteens, AC. Enter TV Lounges, AC. Enter labs, you would almost freeze to death. Even after having been here for a whole year, I am unable to stand it. I would feel so content in life with that ceiling fan...instead I have to return everyday with head aches and colds because of the air-con. And not to forget the innumerable number of times air-cons make me sneeze.

I wonder how girls here come in the shortest of mini skirts possible and sit in this freezing cold atmosphere in theatres. God! Fine, you could say romba naal pazhakkam but these places are like igloos!! They sure do deserve awards.

Well, there is no escape from this monster. All I have to do is hope that I get immune and don't react abnormally. :)

So much for air-cons!!!

By the way, I realised my posts are getting shorter and shorter! No, not good lah!

When Phobiac asked me what 'Pisa' meant, it sent into a long, nostalgic journey, stretching three years, into school, into a totally different life (Phobiac, did you ever think one question of yours would give such a chain reaction?). From that time, three years back , 'pisa' became an integral part of my life, assuming more than one form and dimension.

It all started in my class XI when I had to put up with this incredibly idiotic and irritating person in school; one who made my life miserable. It was one bad day when this person had gone beyond limits that I wanted to yell something bad at her, some word which would be powerful enough to withstand all the vengeance I wanted to pack into it. Though the word I had intended to say was 'pisasu', because of all that anger within me, the word became mutilated to 'pisa'(with a hiss in 's'), just like Saraswathi did something to the tongue of Kumbakarna so he asked for some boon he had just not wanted to ask. And lo! 'Pisa' seemed to be much more useful than 'Pisasu' because 'Pisasu' was just a kiddish version (what I used to call my sis when she irritated me beyond levels.). The word 'Pisa' thus entered my life, only to stay on forever.

What further strengthened the bond between me and 'Pisa' was the welcoming of one another Pisa into home; she was this 'Candy' doll my sis gave me in class XI (Now, now, no discussions of class XI and dolls being presented! FYI, my sister got herself that doll in that age!! :P ). This 'Candy' doll was so scary to some people, and yeah, even in broad daylight you could shake her in some way to make her look scary. And when you are sleeping and she sits crouched somewhere, a so-life-like figure, you could even end up screaming. Such is the 'Candy' doll's power. For further help into visualising 'Candy' dolls, if you have seen all those 'pei' movies in Tamil where this cute doll goes about with knives, stabbing and killing people, 'Pisa' could so fit into that category. Only thing, she does not wink and close her eyes like those scary dolls in movies.

As my new 'Candy' doll looked like 'pei', I christened her 'Pisa', though oh God, she is no way close to the real 'Pisa' in school. My doll 'Pisa' is a sweetum, cutie pie. Thinking of dolly 'Pisa' sends into me pangs of anguish; she is not with me now. There in my friend's home she is, crouched, bundeled up and put in a plastic bag inside a dark, scary storeroom, waiting for me to come and take her back. Hope it happens real soon!!!

I entered the flight and found my seat. 20H. A middle aged lady was already sitting there.
"Excuse me, umm...that's my seat....", I said.
She quickly got up and sat in some other seat.

I stared at her. Does she know that flights usually have a fixed seat? Did not seem like she did. I sat in my seat and watched all the people getting into their places. Nobody seemed to be coming to sit in 20G. I was pleased. I loved travelling alone, without people next to me. I smiled.

My happiness was short lived, though. The old woman came and sat next to me! I could not bring myself to ask her to sit in that seat she was sitting before. That would be awfully rude. So I just shut and came staring out through the window. The flight was to leave at 10:30. It was 10:50 and the plane had not moved an inch from where it was when I had boarded it. As I was watching outside, somebody suddenly pulled my left hand. I was startled and looked. The lady next to me was looking at the time in my watch.

"10:30-kkey flight-a edukkanum illa? Time aaiduche!" she said.
I nodded. God! Was she the company I was going to have throughout the flight?
As though in response to her query, the flight captain just then announced that there was a small technical problem in the aircraft that would be set right soon. I groaned. Not a delay!
The aircraft finally took off at 11:15 after a lap in the runway for about 5 minutes. As the flight took off, I could not keep my eyes off the window to look at the city I so loved. How long would it be before I would see it again!

As expected, the lady next to me started her conversation soon.
"What are you doing in Singapore?" she asked.
"Studying"
"College-aa?"
"Hmm."
"Which university?"
This set me thinking. How safe is it disclosing information to some lady I meet in the flight?
After thinking for a few seconds, I replied "SMU".
"Appdiya...which course?"
"Uh.....management" I fibbed. I didn't even know if such a course existed in SMU.
"I see...."

Lunch was served soon. I could barely eat that drab food. All I was thinking was about that thakkali rasam, vendekkai sambar and cauliflower curry I had eaten at home. I sighed. This was how bad food was going to be, from now on.

I put on the headphones and started listening to "Bollywood hits". I soon dozed off for such a long time that when I woke up they were already distributing the immigration forms. I filled one. I knew that the lady next to me would soon ask me something about the form. And sure she did.

"The form asks for the number of days. What if I'm not sure of it?"
"You have your return ticket, right? You wouldn't have got a visa without showing it to them. So why do you have uncertainity in the number of days of your stay?" I asked. Then I felt stupid for that slight tinge of arrogance I had in my tone. She looked slightly startled.

"Um...maybe you could explain it to the people in the immigrations counter....I don't really know because I've never had to do anything this way..." I said.
"Yes, I can do that", she said.
The flight had started its descent. I looked down at the city polluted with lights, where I would be spending many, many days.
"How will you go to your university, ma?" the lady asked.
"Uh, take a cab...."
"Nobody will come to pick you up?"
I smiled. How I wished somebody would!
"No."
"My son is coming to pick me up."
"I see.."

The flight landed with a thud and went on with such a furious speed I thanked God and blessed the man who invented seat belts for airplanes.
By the time I had reached my university and my room, it was evening and I was hungry, for I had eaten practically nothing during the flight. I went to the canteen which had the Indian stall.

"Hey Vani!!" yelled Preethi, my batch mate and close friend. "How was the flight?"
"Yeah, ok....now, I'm starving, let's get something to eat", I said.
We bought our food and found a long table occupied by Indians, seniors and batch mates alike. All of us chatted continuously, catching up with three months of tales at home. Anthara was particularly funny, telling us stories which kept us in splits. I could hardly eat; I kept laughing with tears in my eyes. As I laughed, I suddenly looked up to the door as someone called out my name. It was Vikrant, my school mate.

"How're you....I just landed...so shameful we didn't meet up even though we were in the same city in India..." I said.
"Yeah...and hey, my mum has come. I just picked her up from the airport....she said she was hungry, so I brought her here..." he said.
"Oh, ok.....where 's she?"
"Oh, there she is, in the queue for food...."
"Ha! Sad plight no," I said, turning toward the queue,"..... for your mom to stand in queue and..."

I stopped midway, shocked.
The lady from the flight was in the queue.
"Is-s she th-the lady in the green saree?", I asked him.
"Yeah, how did you know....and she was saying that she met a wierd girl, you know...studying management from SMU it seems...."
"Vikrant, that was me!" I said, feeling slightly ashamed.
"You?? When did you start studying in SMU?? Oh ok ok...I see, very cautious, not disclosing information to strangers, is it?" Vikrant roared with laughter.
I was turning pink with embarassment.
His mom came soon.
"Dei, indha ponnu thaan naan plane-la paathen da..." she said.
Vikrant laughed more loudly, with Preethi giving him company.
Soon, the whole table with Indians was bellowing with laughter, and Vikrant's mom cast me wierd looks.

Not very long ago
A young, little girl,
Tried to write a poem,
And let her thoughts unfurl.
But alas, what she wrote,
Seemed more
Like an essay
With the lines broken,
And written
Just to rhyme.
(Ahem! What does it look like now?)

Poetry and I have rarely gone together. As far as I remember, the last poem I wrote was in my grade seven about cartoons; this “poem” talked about how cartoons can make even fussy eaters (kids) eat their food quickly. Very dumb concept, I know, but well, the poem was quite cute. I remember just two lines from the entire poem now:

“Ow! Ow!” cried Jerry,
Jumping up and down in a ferry.

God! Like most of the kids, my idea of a poem was a story basically split up so that the last word in every other line (or okay, every second or third line) rhymes with its counterpart. This way I strained my class seven vocabulary to find words which rhyme and this was a hell lot of effort. This poem was to go into our class magazine, “Fun Fiesta”, edited by Yours truly, and the name of the magazine suggested by my sis. Fun Fiesta was quite a good success for its very first edition, though it had to be stopped very soon for it being very unproductive. No more could we go about the business without money and of course, no parent was really willing to give their daughters money for a silly (!) class magazine. Also because some of my class mates became pretty dumb and started giving me crossword and Crayon Corner from the Young World asking me to “publish” it in their name. Fun Fiesta, hence, stopped being “printed” after two issues because of the aforesaid reasons.

After this last poetic effort of mine, I decided that it was high time I stopped trying to write poems and concentrated on stories instead. So Chumki came up. In the next year, a joint effort between me and my friend happened and we came up with a story titled “The Hallucination”. A very weird story it was, and it still got published in our school magazine, replete with typos. Next year, I went a step further and wrote a story in Sanskrit. Uhh, well, this wasn’t my story, but was an Akbar Birbal thing translated into Sanskrit. It was very funny to imagine and write Akbar and Birbal talking in Sanskrit, with me consulting the dictionary to find the Sanskrit equivalents often.
These school magazines are highly funny things. When my sister was in her seventh grade, she wrote a poem on teachers, which was published in a newspaper. When she was editing her school magazine, she came across the same poem being submitted by another school mate of hers. When asked, this girl said she had copied the poem from some other school magazine. One silly poem written ages back, and it was still making rounds.

Not knowing what more to write,
That girl,
Who had stopped writing poems
Ages ago,
Again tried to write one,
To finish her post.
This one,
It seemed to her,
Was worse than the one
She had written in the beginning,
And knew that it was best
To shut up and stop.