And before you know it, so much has happened.

The rains are long gone, and the sun is shining so brightly that you beam in happiness when sunlight filters through your mesh windows into the room and casts its yellow glow on the wall.

The days are hot, humid and you constantly wipe your face as you try to recollect how the sun crept back into your life.

There are mosquitoes swarming the place, reminding you of last year’s Bombay winter that was mosquito-ridden and unexpectedly chilly – for in the last seven years, winter had just meant slightly less intolerable heat.

And then there are surprises. That tell you are special, that will change the way you look at some people, some places, some times of the day. That will leave you sighing in happiness, that will make you wish that unsettling, depressing feeling at the pit of your stomach can get drowned out in the shower. That will leave you a little surer of the future, and at the same time, a little more apprehensive. That will tell you things about yourself that you didn’t know.

And that’s how my September ends. 

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!

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!

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!

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

I pride myself on the freedom of expression of opinion that India gives. If I am unhappy about something, I can freely write to a newspaper or magazine criticizing the people involved, blog about it, or go with a bunch of people and hold banners and march down the roads. I am happy that our newspapers brim with diversity of opinions and news. I am glad I can shoot a movie the way I want without pretty much getting a lot of it censored. I can shoot a movie about the political party I want to support and play it on TV. With a very few exceptions, I feel the government is quite doing well in granting me the freedom of expressing myself. But at what cost?

It is my fourth year in Singapore, and from the beginning of my stay here, I have been vaguely amused by the media and law here. My feelings have only become more appropriate now, in my final year, as I learn media law and read the hundreds of statutes that define seditious content, the word ‘obscene’ and party political films. As ever, I guffaw at what I consider a sad state of affairs when it comes to freedom of expression. There is only one noteworthy national newspaper, which likes the ruling government. Laws make sure the opposition is not anything to take note of. State television channels are a farce, as the government seems to have an invisible hand running it. People here do not really have many avenues to openly express what they feel, and in fact, not many even have anything to say. Three guys who blogged about an issue with ‘racist’ remarks were punished appropriately. Singapore is cautious, treading each step of its way with utmost concern, giving the government an absolute hand at handling people’s opinion, so that no situation arises that threatens the nation’s harmony and co-existence of the various races.

So on the one hand, we have India, that grants all its freedom, and is going far, yes, but still has way, way long to go in terms of development. On the other, we have developed Singapore, which has pretty much everything you need to lead a comfortable life – minus the privilege India grants. Even though I vehemently support the importance of having freedom of expression in my class, a doubt keeps creeping into my mind – is it worth it? India has achieved a great many things by granting this right, no doubt, but have we achieved what this right is for – development, peace? Have we taken for granted the right to speak up that seems to be running in our blood for centuries, been happy and smug about it, getting us pretty much nowhere in terms of the glorious vision of India as a developed nation?

Some answers please… a discussion could be enlightening!

Why is the human mind so complicated?
Why do we care too much about something unnecessary?
Why do we expect so much out of people?
Why does it take a lot to keep some people happy?
Why should we try to please people?
Who are others to judge me?
Don't the less complicated people make it great in life?

Questions, questions. If only I knew the answers! If only things (and people) around were much simpler to crack and decode!
But ah, what, then, would be the challenge in life?