The Life and Times of Altu-Faltu

Altu-Faltu saying Goodbye to Blogspot

2009-11-04T09:41:00.003+05:30

Altu-Faltu has found a new home. This blog has now been moved to Wordpress. So for those of you who regularly do visit this page, please do so at the new address here.

Every bit of randomness that Altu-Faltu is known for will continue unabated.

Voices with Soul

2009-10-18T22:24:00.002+05:30

This altu-faltu avatar has never had the time, inclination, or the mood to get hooked onto Hindi music. The little I know is all thanks to other people: conversations or playlists of others. My introduction to Hindi music, Bollywood and Indi-pop, began with Abhinav entering my life. He sent me a few lines of one of his then favorite songs as a message. Curiousity exposed me to the voice of Mohit Chauhan. I fell in love with that voice.

Over the last 4 years, I have heard a few songs here and there and liked some, but never enough to make my own playlist of Hindi songs. Abhinav used to play them and I would listen and enjoy them for the time, or the radio would be playing something that would perk my ears up or stir something in me. Most of the time, the lyrics were way beyond me. But I did develop a taste for some songs, the ones with soulful voices and beautiful lyrics. These I now have on the shortest playlist ever.

The most interesting feature that these songs share is not the just soulful voices, the emotions, or the depth in them, but the fact that they are all male vocalists. This afternoon I realized that over the years, all the songs that I have liked are all sung my male singers. Be it Kishore, or even Manna Dey, or be it Mohit Chauhan or Kailash Kher, every single Hindi song that has touched me on some level have the depth that only a male vocalist can bring to the number. I do not say that the songs sung by the likes of Lata and Asha, or any other new female singer, is not good, but the female voice does not seem to carry the soul and emotion that a male voice brings to a song.

I brought up this issue this afternoon while listening to the radio. A spree of male vocalists crooned one after another and then suddenly a female voice shrieked. To me, who does not understand the intricacies of singing, or vocals, it seems that the female voice is to high pitched to be able to bring forth the emotions in the lyrics. The deep voices of the male singers are soothing, touching and stirring. There is something there that awakens the soul of the listener, and can take the listener to a different dimension altogether. To me, it is easier to associate with the emotions of a male vocalist than to those of a female. I'd rather end my day listening to Mohit Chauhan than even the best female playback singer in Bollywood.

About a half hour ago, another song on the radio caught my attention. I had never heard it before, and considering I do not watch Hindi flicks, I had no idea what movie it was from. The music was soothing, the lyrics were nice and the voice was husky and soulful. But this time, it was a female voice. With no idea what name to associate with the song, or movie, I decided I wanted to find it. All I had was the voice of the woman singing and one single word that stood out in the chorus. Took a while, but I did find it.

Iktara from Wake Up, Sid

To me, this is the first song I have heard by a woman that I have wanted to listen to repeatedly.

"Expensive" Penniless Thoughts

2009-10-11T18:31:00.002+05:30

I've reached the 100th post on my blog. It has been a while coming, perhaps a very long while. This space started when my husband taught be how to start my own blog in 2006 so I would have a place to write down my thoughts. My very own personal space where anything I thought of could be written, and if I was lucky, even read by someone out there in the world. It started as a place where the most random thoughts found a space, so I called it Random Ramblings. And random it was, there was no consistency between my posts, anything and everything got written in this space.

A couple of years ago, while going through a blogroll of a blogosphere friend I found another blog with the same/similar name and decided that it was time to go from Random to something else. The posts would still remain random, but somehow I was never sure as to how many people read my blog. I knew there were a few out there, a couple of them, I have had the pleasure to meet and befriend, but to me it seemed as though I did not need someone to give me a "penny for my thoughts", they were free and for all to share. They were perhaps unimportant thoughts, but they were my thoughts, and as I had written in one of my posts, it didn't matter if someone else subscribed to them or not, they were what was inside my head. So was born Penniless Thoughts.

Over the last year, my Penniless Thoughts have proved to be quite expensive. I have poured my heart into this space and one such outpouring undid too much. The last year saw me lose too much and perhaps gain very little. So its time to say goodbye, once again, to a name I thought I would associate with my blog. My blog remains random and my thoughts remain penniless, but my life is now about other things. This will be the last post on Penniless Thoughts. The forthcoming ones will be posted on The Life and Times of Altu-Faltu.

Taken from the title of my favourite book by Ranjit Lal, this space will now be the outpourings of Altu-Faltu (literally translated, this Hindi phrase means good for nothing). The protagonist of the book is a monkey in Delhi named Altu-Faltu. I associate with him, he is naive and even stupid sometimes, a wastrel, and good-for-nothing. But he does go to great lengths to get back the love of his life, Princess Rani. I, too, will go through every process in the hope of one day finding what I have lost over time.

So, to the readers of my blog, from the next post on, welcome into your world Altu-Faltu

Trusting Myself

2009-10-07T19:41:00.005+05:30

Flow like the river,

into the open arms of the sea.

Trust the lay of the land to take you there.

Allow the embrace to consume you

and trust yourself with what awaits.

The latent lack of trust within me has allowed weakness to fester. Unnecessary questions arise where none are needed. Over-analysis ruins the moment and time passes into oblivion. I failed to trust myself with myself.

I now allow myself to listen to my life, trust that it is showing me that kind of person I can become. I now trust myself with the process of change.

A fledgling leaps because it trusts it's wings; a lemming leaps because everyone else is doing it. One is an adventure into new dimensions, the other is suicide.

- From Richard Bach's Messiah's Handbook: Reminders for the Advanced Soul

The Storm

2009-09-08T18:00:00.002+05:30

The storm rages on

within and without,

throwing up jetsam and flotsam

that remains unexplored on the sand.

Drifting

2009-08-24T22:28:00.003+05:30

I want to drift peacefully away

on a wave,

to be carried home

to you.

Confessions of A Lost Soul

2009-08-24T19:47:00.005+05:30

Not too long ago I threw my hands up in the air and decided that this was it, that I was supposed to spend the rest of my life trying desperately to keep myself from slipping into the abyss of a depression. I was almost lost in that abyss, taking no pleasure in the company of friends and family, preferring to wallow in my loneliness and self-pity, and allowing my personal blog, my only outlet, to die. Everything seemed bleak and grey, and my state of mind alienated me from everything that I enjoyed. I lost too much and then ended up in the loneliest place I could have gotten myself into.

I do not completely understand why I am penning this down on a public forum. It is not something I wish to share with the whole world. But perhaps on some level it is my way of telling myself that things get better if only I take the time to look away and find what it is that I am looking for; there is no solace and comfort in a single place or with a single person. The world is out there and unless I open myself up to the innumerable possibilities there are, I'll never find the peace my mind craves.

I have for too long assumed that life is difficult and that there is no escaping that. Accepting that was hard, for I had festered in a dusty little corner on a creaking rocking chair for too long. I never once considered the possibility of solving my problems myself without the aid of others. It was always someone else's duty to help me find the answers. And so the answers never came and neither the acumen to deal with reality. So today, I lack the strength, courage and discipline to deal with my insecurities. I have allowed my fears to thrive and take over my life, so much so that now they are too hard to give up.

I looked to others to tell me of my worth, never recognizing my own self-worth. This has made me extremely dependent on my loved ones, adding to their already full plate of emotions. I was always someone else's responsibility. So dependent am I that even going grocery shopping is a tedious task alone, ashamed as I am to admit it. Gone are the days when I could fend for myself, not have someone else run around for me or with me. I gave up my independence long ago. In all fairness to everyone around me, I know that I have been wrong. A habit that I am trying to kick. I have confused my dependency on others and their willingness to help me as love. And in the event that that "love" is not available, my ego is bruised.

My efforts to change my ways have all failed. Every single attempt was a "frog in the well" effort. Not once did I consider a world of options. In this process of "trying to change" I have hurt people who are the closest to me. Apologies do not cut it all, the word "sorry" has been lost in translation.

Loss can be a great teacher, if we open ourselves up to the possibility of learning something completely new. Take away the most important things from a person and there is no choice but to make do with what is left, as tough as it would be, and as much as it would hurt. From somewhere comes the strength to survive. I have lost the most important thing in my life. My biggest fear has now become a reality. And from the deepest recesses of my soul I am looking for the strength to find it again. I am looking for a chance to learn, live and love again.

I write this not to garner sympathies. This is for anyone out there who in times of loneliness and darkness can know that they are not all that unique in their experiences. I hope that for anyone reading this, it brings an understanding for the need to keep growing, that it is possible to find what one truly desires if one can look in the right places. Identify the destination and work towards it. There is love and support all around us should we choose to look. I write this to tell myself that it is possible for me to get back what I have lost, that I have the strength to better myself and find my way in the world. I hope that I emerge a winner at the end of it all, even though for now I am scared.

Strangers Together

2009-08-19T12:40:00.002+05:30

I looked for you

in the depths of windswept valleys,

in the mists of silent nights,

in the corners of my favourite room

in the colour of gossamer kites.

You sit opposite me,

smile, talk, laugh, live,

You are there, flesh and blood.

And I still look for you,

in the squares of crosswords,

in the fine print on snow-white pages,

in the deep lines of my palm,

in dreams of our future and long gone ages.

You are at my elbow, in front of me,

I cannot see you, or know you.

The years together have made a stranger of you.

When My Love Cried

2009-08-19T12:35:00.002+05:30

The wind was a corpse

sprawling the cosmos.

Stillness was the sentry

on the mouth of hell.

The sun, the all-light, knew

seaweeds, and morass, and stones and brimstones,

and all things

monstrous and gruesome

had cornered the world.

Darkness was a man's hand away.

It was the day my love cried -

it was the day the earth tried

to console and contain my love.

The earth herself cried.

Hope fled the land.

It was the day snarling asteroids

smashed their fists on the earth's face,

a raging requiem

for my love's lost tears.

Take Me Along

2009-08-16T22:38:00.002+05:30

Take me for your own,

You've nothing to lose.

I'm guaranteed -

Flaws in me that you may find

are repairable.

I'm replaceable too.

The discretion is yours.

If at a point in time you dislike my words,

my attitudes, my actions,

there is a clause that is unique -

The infinite trial period.

You see, I'm there for the asking,

unconditionally.

Take me along, or......leave me alone.

For Her

2009-08-16T15:23:00.002+05:30

There is a fulfillment of need with her, I said,

More than I could ever give.

Sensible and patient, I assured you,

With more direction than I could ever hope to achieve.

A simple, caring person

No flamboyance or show.

"Beautiful" was the simplest word I could attribute to her.

But without a single colloquy

And from a drivel like you

"Opulent" would be enough for me to know.

Your lost in her plenty

It is what you deserve.

I am happy

for love her you do.

Life Begins at 31

2009-08-14T14:50:00.004+05:30

Someone recently mentioned that the stars change after a birthday. It is for that person to recognize the chance and take it, or ignore it. For me, a lot of things I would have liked to do as a child, I did as an adult, learnt really, and have enjoyed every new experience. This year there is greater change in the air. I have been given a new lease on life, to make a change at the ripe ol' age of 31. Changes that are necessary to to find myself.

I don't know what I truly want to do with my life. I have, till now, latched on to others interests and made them my own as long as they seemed different from the norm. Its time I found my own passions and interests. Its time to grab my independence and make the best of the good years that I have left. Its time to find what I lost and learn with every passing day. I need to make my mistakes and remember every lesson that I learn. I have to find myself.

My life begins now! A little late, but thats alright.

An Unobstructive View

2009-05-25T19:13:00.002+05:30

For 25 years I lived with myopia, saw the world through the lenses of my spectacles and for the last 11 years, through contact lenses sitting pretty on my eyeball. Everything looked good through them, after all, without them I was as good as blind - anything further than 2 feet was all blurry and only color, no form. And yet, for all the time I wore glasses or lenses, I never really did get used to them. They never became a part of me - somehow I always felt my life wasn't meant to be lived in the constant company of "soda-bottle" glasses.

With encouragement and accompaniment from close quarters I finally learnt to swim a couple of years ago and was immediately able to begin coaching as well. I had finally found the one thing that gave me complete peace of mind. And then came the revelation that I could not swim with my lenses on, even with the protection of goggles. The trip to Thailand was spent in agonizing thoughts of what would happen to my lenses if sea-water went in. A visit to an ophthalmologist scared me off contact lenses completely. Life went back to wearing spectacles again, something I completely hated.

If Abhinav had not mentioned it, I guess I would not have had the courage to even consider it - I figured I could give refractive surgery a thought. But the knowledge that someone would do something to my eyes was so scary that it took me a month to even begin my research on the topic of LASIK surgery. After a lot thought, research on the internet and information from friends who were already living life sans glasses, I went to see a doctor I was told was good.

A year ago I was disappointed with the news that the procedure could not be done then. But here I am writing my first blog post without having to peer at the monitor through anything, but the healing epithelium of my eyes. This is the first thing I am doing on the computer since my surgery and I feel great.

Perhaps its all in the head, but I feel as though I've been given the opportunity of a lifetime to try and do anything that I could not for the fear of breakage or infection. Snorkeling is the first on the list. Just the knowledge that now I will be able to see anything clearly under water is so exhilarating that I cannot express it words. Everything seems brighter now, and clearer, as though the lenses of my spectacles were permanently dirty or that I had deposits on all my contact lenses. The gulmohar tree outside my room seems to possess brighter shades of red and green. It seems that I am now looking at everything through "different" eyes - as an uncle put it, I now see everything "in a better light". I feel free, perhaps that's the best I can do to explain what goes on in my head.

I struggled for a long time with the decision to undergo the procedure or not, it was after all my eyes. My mother-in-law kept using one term every time we spoke, she said it was "life-altering". I don't know about that yet, but it convinced me. And if by some twist of fate I had gone to see some other doctor than Dr. Rohit Shetty at Narayan Nethralaya, I guess my struggle would have been longer. From the word go, I had more faith in my doctor than I had in myself as a patient. As I lay on the table waiting for the surgery to begin, my heart raced, but the knowledge that I was in good hands seemed to calm my frazzled nerves. The day the vision in my left eye dropped suddenly, it was the look on my doctor's face that said "oh, its nothing" was the only thing that kept me from hitting the panic button. Thanks, Doc, you made the whole process a walk in the park, and more importantly, thanks for taking away all the pain even before there was any.

My mind is at peace now, knowing that I leave the country with an unmyopic view of the world, literally and figuratively.

An Apology to Myself

2009-04-09T11:06:00.003+05:30

There have been many words written in this space, but each one was discarded as not being the right ones that mirrored what I was struggling with. I still can't seem to find the words. As lost as I may be now, I hope that some day I find what I'm looking for.

Of Love and Romance and Friendship

2009-02-17T10:04:00.004+05:30

Can romance be defined in simple terms? Is there an explanation that captures the essence of the word? Or does it mean different things to different people? The dictionary lists meanings from the likes of romance novels and medieval tales of chivary and heroism to an emotion of love, a relationship. And yet neither the dictionary or the thesaurus gave me what I was looking for. Searching with a preconcieved notion of how I define romance, I found the dictionary lacking. Then how does one define "romance"? Do love and romance go hand-in-hand, inseparable commodities both?

Love is, perhaps, complicated. But does that make romance a complicated matter as well? I cherish every memory that to me has even the littlest gesture of romance, but each is accompanied with a thought of love, a rememberance of affection and togetherness. I, as perhaps many others before me, have had my fair share of shattered moments of romantic togetherness. I have done my part in breaking the romantic mood of the moment. And after a while those moments seem to disappear. Either the emotion no longer exists or the experience is no longer romantic, or important. I seem to find moments of solitude romantic, not moments stolen with someone else. I find gazing out of my window far more romantic than spending countless minutes watching the sun set over a hill while holding somebody's hand, unless the those moments are spent with the one person who gives me the most joy.

And then what do you do when the only person you love and cherish does not reciprocate? You cannot make someone love you if they don't. But will the feelings of love and romance continue without any form of reciprocation? Are humans truly capable of holding onto a feeling with the hope that someday something will change? Is patience truly a virtue? It seems to me that disbelief will soon take over anyway, and the need for romance will die soon enough. How long can someone harbor an emotion that gets no response? Perhaps anger is the only emotion that stays till the end, without any need for sustainence. Scepticism, an after-effect of pain and hurt, becomes a way of life. Doubts, distrust, anger, and an overwhelming need to go solo is all that remains. These then become an inherent part of lifestyle changes and cultural shifts. A way of life for more and more. Perhaps, more for the women than the men? A way of life that screams "Wham, bam, thank you, ma'am"?

And what about friendship? It is true that romanticism can be associated with friendship as well, but isn't there a string attaches then? "Friends with benefits", perhaps. Everyone enjoys the feeling being important to someone else. Fuel for the ego. And then the knowledge that the importance is no longer yours to keep can shatter emotions and the head is a whirlwind with the only physical aspect of realization is a throbbing headache. Friendship is good, hanging on to a person we are in love with because its the only thing they have to offer. So you swallow your pain and try against all odds to be the best friend you can to your loved one, forever holding onto the hope that something's gotta give.

What makes a person tick, a love shunned and the pain associated with it, little moments of romance captured and stored away as the most beautiful memories one can possess, or a friendship that hurts? Peace and quiet, a simple life? Or the need for looking for change and excitement anywhere one can find it?

My thoughts are reflected in what someone I care deeply about has posted on his blog:

taare humse zyaada jeeyenge socha tha

lekin waqt ne yaad dilaaya aakhir

ke taare bhi toota karte hain

ab bas ek aur chaah hai

ki yeh toota taara kisi ki khwaish bane

I, too, like everyone else, want to be someone's dream!

Koyaanisqatsi

2008-12-19T22:25:00.007+05:30

The Hopi term for a life in turmoil, or as the movie puts it, a life out of balance, seems to be a fitting term for the way humanity seems to be surviving today. Every scripture says that the world was created in balance, for every good there is an evil, for matter exists antimatter, for light there is dark. Every act finds a way of balancing itself out. Essentially the universe will find a way to balance itself out. Is Karma a part of this balancing act? And if there is a balance, then why is that to an ordinary person, the world seems to be an unfair place. With innocent people suffering for no apparent fault of theirs, where relationships seem to get harder to sustain, where trust seems to be irrelevant, and with no solution anywhere in sight, life does seem to be greatly out of whack!

Thought for the Day

2008-12-07T19:43:00.003+05:30

It isn't the big troubles in life that require character. Anybody can rise to a crisis and face a crushing tragedy with courage,but to meet the petty hazards of the day with a laugh--I really think that requires SPIRIT.

- a part of a letter written by Jerusha "Judy" Abbott to Daddy-Long-Legs, from the book Daddy-Long-Legs by Jean Webster.

Terror in Mumbai

2008-11-27T22:22:00.002+05:30

It has taken just about 25 men to bring an entire city to it's knees. The economic centre of the country has been under the control of terrorists for more than 24 hous now and the nightmare is nowhere near over. I have followed the news through the day, read the BBC and CCN reports and stayed with blear-eyed journalists doing their thing. There are innumerable discussions taking place on every news channel and the regional language ones are, as usual, taking reporting to "new heights" making the whole thing look like a scene out of an action flick. Our prime minister addressed the nation looking like a wax doll with a movable jaw (perhaps a ventriloquists doll?), the most immpassionate speech I have ever heard. Top notch ministers have reached Mumbai, it seems, to "support the masses", or is the Indian public so stupid as to accept this move as "touching" rather than a ploy for garnering votes and collecting (what some promiment Mumbaiites have termed) "brownie points"? Does this not reduce the security required for protecting the city? Every visiting minister is legally entitled to security that the tax-payers provide. What use are the ministers in Mumbai? Why does it take so long to diffuse a situation that involved 25 armed young men? Is it really that tough to bring the situation under control? Does the footage of some personnel of the Mumbai police force talking casually on mobile phones provide any form of encouragement or security to the masses? Security personnel with barely any protective gear seen at the door of the Taj Mahal Hotel are disheartening.

Will there be an end to this nightmare in the near future? This does seem to give Hindu extremists a new lease on their mission. If these terrorists are aprehended, will it stop with them, or will the Purohits and Sadhvis rise again to "defend" Hindustan? Will there ever be an end to terrorism? Is this the beginning of the end where one faction is pitted against the other and they, perhaps, kill each other off? And where does this leave the common man?

I am inclined to feel happy that very soon I may be away from all this, but will no matter where I move, terrorism might follow. Will I ever be away from it all? If the World Wars could reach the South Pacific islands, then what stops terrorism from reaching every corner of the globe? I will, perhaps, only increase my worry. And am I not being selfish with such thoughts?

For everyone who lost their lives in the last 24 hours, may their souls rest in peace. And for the families who have lost a loved one, in whichever country you might be in, my heartfelt condolences and may you find strength to deal with the loss. For the people still caught inside the beseiged buildings, my prayers are with you. And for the citizens of India, wake up and stand against the lack of leadership that this country suffers from.

For Want of a "Daddy-Long-Legs"

2008-11-25T12:10:00.002+05:30

If you have never read the book entitled "Daddy-Long-Legs" by Jean Webster, I suggest you do. The story of a young American orphan girl, whose anonymous benefactor wants her to study further and become a writer, is a beautiful (and suprising) love story.

Jersusha Abbot finds herself in college thanks to a philanthropist who wishes to remain anonymous, his only condition being she writes to him every month detailing her progress. Jerusha is told not to expect replies as the benefactor finds letter-writing very tedious. Assuming her letters will go unread, Jerusha addresses them to Daddy-Long-Legs, as her only glimpse of this gentleman is his tall shadow thrown on the wall by the moving lights of a carriage.

Written as a series of letters, the first part of the book is Jerusha's take on her life, a documentation of her growth as a student and a person. She is thrilled to find someone taking an interest in her after living in an orphanage for 17 years.

The book finishes in a suprise, or at least it is if you read it at the age of 12, perhaps as an adult there is no suprise love story in the book. All very predictable. But as a 12 year old it is not easy to find parallels in one's own life, but as an adult, rereading the book brings to surface emotions and thoughts that are, perhaps, inherent in every person.

Imagine the thrill the young orphan feels when she finds out that someone has taken an interest in her. Isn't that similar to what anyone feels when there is one person who is more than willing to shower attention on us? The feeling of being special and wanted, the feeling of being a part of something or someone. The need to be a part of someone else's life, to share every moment with someone and to share every thought, dream and emotion. On some level it doesn't matter if the sharing is not reciprocated (Daddy-Long-Legs never responds to any of Jerusha's letters, but she finds solace in the fact that she can share anything with someone), just the fact that there is at least one person you can turn to.

With no "Daddy-Long-Legs" life could become tedious, where would Jerusha have gone had not this gentleman taken an interest in her? Where would we be if we are not able to find our very own "Daddy-Long-Legs"? The mind can play a lot of dirty games with us, some are strong enough to get through them, some aren't. Friends and family, a support system, the one person who acknowledges our presence, the little things most people take for granted and the most important aspect that others crave.

A little attention goes a long way!

Of Behavior and Babies

2008-10-04T16:38:00.007+05:30

What is it about having children that makes people behave in the scariest of ways? Why does the thought of having children scare some men away and why do most women insist on experiencing pregnancy, childbirth and motherhood? Why is it that some couples who have no children fight over the decision to become parents, while others who have children fight over who makes the better parent? Why is it that there are so many couples out there who want to have children and cannot, while there are others out there who can and don't want to?

Why do most women say that their lives are incomplete unless they experience pregnancy and childbirth, while there are others who simply prefer motherhood? Why is it that the birth of a child can hold a troubled marriage together as well as break another one? And why is it that parents are in a hurry to become grandparents?

Is it all about procreation? The passing of genes from one generation to another? Or is it an emotional behavior, where insanity, too, can extend its menacing tentacles? Is experiencing childbirth and motherhood genetically encoded in the x chromosome that there is so much fuss created by women? And why are some women more confident about their ability to handle motherhood, than being able to handle their marriages?

Why does a beautiful thing as brining a little life into this world create such a turmoil? Is human behavior so complicated that there is no one simple answer to these questions? Or have humans become so complicated that the simple explanation has been lost through the ages?

My Friend, The Artist

2008-08-25T19:36:00.004+05:30

I’ve been told that every artistic person has his/her own eccentricities, some quite extreme. I know one very dearly and his eccentricities endear him to me. I’ve known Manoj for almost 10 years now and, in that time, I have seen him grow as a person and as an artist. We met in Pondicherry through a common friend we both knew through our childhood years. We have been friends ever since and he has been my refuge when loneliness would catch up with me.

But this is not about my friend. This is about an upcoming painter called Manoj Dixit. Not being privy to the extent of his talent in the first year of knowing him, I was pleasantly surprised when I saw a painting he had gifted someone. There was a lot of talent there. And the more I saw his paintings, the more I admired him. There was something very simple in his early work that drew me to them, something I could associate with. It was like watching people’s lives come alive on canvas – and this coming from someone who knows nothing about art appreciation. To me it seemed as though the Indian countryside was coming alive in colours more vivid than what I could see in reality. I found myself forming stories around the images of rural life that he painted.

I recently returned from Pondicherry where I watched him finish a painting from his latest series. There is one in particular that deserves mention (painting below), or rather it is my favorite piece.

I witnessed the completion of the painting during my stay and hoped that one day I would be the proud owner of that piece. I saw how he struggled to perfect it and the turmoil he went through to bring an idea that germinated in his head and heart onto the canvas and make it as real as possible. In the process, I realized why Manoj's art appeals to me- at heart, Manoj remains a boy.

Manoj is open to experimentation. In the time that I have known him, I have seen him work on canvas, with wood, metal and paper. I remember the day when he showed me pieces of old fishing net he had brought home. Today they have been incorporated into a couple of his paintings. He has experimented with old pieces of wood to recreate the look of traditional pillars on candle stands. Thick bark has been painted on and the result is astonishing. He has dabbled in making mirrors and his latest experiment is wooden lamps. Pieces of wood from old or demolished houses have been converted into contemporary lamps.

Apart from creating artistic pieces, Manoj also runs a couple of guesthouses in Pondicherry. Both houses are adorned by his creations and every single one of them is for sale – paintings, mirrors or lamps.

His paintings can be viewed and bought through his website.

Manoj has had the opportunity to exhibit his work in Mauritius and Pondicherry. I am sure there will be many more exhibitions in the future, some of which I hope to be a part of. Here's wishing my friend, the artist, all the very best.

Sweet Oblivion

2008-08-09T21:32:00.002+05:30

I am told that death is the final frontier, the last escape from it all. There's no returning (unless one is a strong believer in reincarnation) to life as one would have known it to be. The end of all happiness or pain, the end of everything one may have held dear. But then I am not an expert there, haven't been there or done that.......yet.

I am not good at solving problems, in fact I can't even face them head on and try and solve them. Escape is always the temptation that looms ahead. (This is perhaps not the kind of confession one makes on a public forum, but then penning the thought down seems to be an escape as well.) I am not good with discussing my problems either, somehow every time the end result is a steady stream of tears.

So seeking sweet oblivion from it all, I found sleep. I have discovered that lately sleep has helped me escape facing the hard times. The body always needs sleep. If it helps recoup a tires physical body then why not a mental one as well? If it helps in easing stress, then why not emotional turmoil as well? Its a wonderful place to be in, where I am hardly aware of all the drudgery of life and can ignore all that troubles me for a later time. Except that when the later time arrives I conveniently choose silence and sleep to escape the pain the ensuing discussion may have.

I am not proud of this confession, but I can't seem to find a way out. The temptation of sweet oblivion is too strong to ignore.

Little Pockets of Happiness

2008-08-09T21:22:00.003+05:30

It's amazing where people can find joy, even a little bit. I never thought that watching my husband's little face twitches while he sleeps could fill me with little pockets of joy, or talking to my nephew whose words are still .... well, not words, could make me gush.....

And then there is something like a haircut. After a long time, I feel good, only because I love my haircut.

Validations, Reassurances and Emotional Dependence

2008-07-05T17:48:00.002+05:30

Is there any difference in the meaning of the words? Does one smoothly fall into the bracket of the other? But more importantly, a simple question with perhaps a not so simple answer - is there anything wrong if someone turns to another looking for validation of an action or words said? Is there something wrong when a person turns to another looking for reassurances? Does this fall into the bracket of "emotional dependence"?

It seems to me that everyone does it from time to time, everyone needs to be told that they are good, or not. Perhaps even criticism is better than complete silence. Children do it all the time, they need to be told that their artwork is wonderful and deserves a place on the refrigerator door, or that a misdeed is forgiven. If this validation is not wrong, after all it is necessary during a young person's formative years, then why do things become different when one is an adult? Is this world so rough-and-tough that one has to learn to sustain oneself emotionally? Then why do people compliment each other, are they not a form of validation?

Take the workplace - an employee has worked hard on a task, but if there is no acknowledgment from the boss, then the employee is disgruntled. It doesn't matter how good he thinks his work is, if there is no acknowledgment in return (either monitory or otherwise), then it seems to count for nothing. Is this also not a way of asking for validation? A young woman looks to her lover/boyfriend for validating her knowledge that she is desirable. The fact that a person can find someone else to share their life with is also in a way a form of reassurance, that one is capable of doing find the "right one". After failed love, to be able to find it again is also a validation that it can happen. In some way, perhaps, we can say that promiscuity is also a way of convincing oneself of one's sexual prowess, perhaps of validating one's own vanity.

But where does one draw the line between looking for reassurances and being emotionally dependent on another person? These days, it is common knowledge that being emotionally dependent on another is only a step away from getting hurt or being disappointed. Isn't seeking validation a part of being emotionally dependent? If so, then it is wrong, and if wrong, then why do we continue to seek it? One doesn't look to a stranger for compliments and reassurances, its usually from someone with whom one shares mutual comfort. And if this comfort is mutual, then why is it wrong to be emotionally dependent? This comfort is a validation of the fact that one can reach out to the other for anything, share anything. If boundaries are drawn, as to with whom one can depend on or not, then how does one identify relationships and friendships?

Thought for the Day

2008-07-05T16:48:00.001+05:30

"Unless you have chaos inside you, you cannot give birth to a dancing star"
- Friedrich Nietzsche

Redemption

2008-07-05T13:58:00.003+05:30

Does the word "sorry" mean anything these days? It is after all overused and highly overrated. I use the word often enough just so I don't take my near and dear ones for granted. It is my way of saying "I know you are there, and I appreciate you being there for me". But can anybody be redeemed by a simple apology, one word that says I'm sorry? Is it really so simple to say those words? Or does it take a harder penance than swallowing one's pride to utter such simple a word?

I am guilty of hurting people who have, at some point in my life, been important to me. I have alienated them for reasons apparent and for reasons not so apparent, and found them again only when the need arose only to disappear from their lives again. Convenience, true selfish convenience.

Pride always got in the way, I couldn't find it in me to be the first to make the move. It seemed so much easier to have the other person call first, at least that way I didn't have to worry about what they were thinking. For a long while this has consumed me.

I came to Pondy to run away from things, not face my fears or take any responsibility for my actions, but I have found myself unable to bear the heat any longer. I have finally called my friends to make my peace, to say I was sorry for running away.

The good thing about friends, the real friends, they care about you enough to let go and accept you and start from where you left off, as though nothing had changed. The camaraderie is still there as it was before. And today, I am proud of myself. I feel happy and free, in fact I'm almost ecstatic.

Prose and the Modern Reader

2008-06-06T13:19:00.002+05:30

The age of flowery language seems to have been thrown out the window. Gone is the day when writers wrote to woo the reader with romanticism and words flowing and twisting around themselves - an entire paragraph dedicated to writing what could have been said in a single sentence. The length of sentences as well are a point to discuss.

Take this piece for an example: (from Dominique Varma's "Shifting Sands", published in 2004)

"The tranquil camels glide between thorny bushes unmindful of their prickly barbs, leaving in the sand the imprint of their undulating footsteps. A greater peace in the world than this landscape of yellow dust glowing with the iridiscent orange of the receding dusk is impossible to find. The desert acquires a wealth of colours and thick forests of clouds cast their tormented shadows over the wavy dunes."

Would the modern day reader have the patience to allow those words to weave into their imagination? Well, perhaps there are still some out there who would not mind such a tirade, but personally, it seems a tad bit too nauseating (and it seems I am not the only one to think so either).

But (and this thought occurred to me while reading Rushdie's "The Enchantress of Florence") it seems to me that a book, however nonsensical or wonderful, captures the readers attention if the words used are more honest than flowery. No need to show the world that the author has a fantastic command over the English language, but to announce how honest one can be by writing about the sex life of the story's protagonist (or any other character, for that matter) or perhaps, by using words such as "fuck" with increasing regularity.

Now do not get me wrong, I'm not berating the current style of writing, frankly, I love it. But it seems to me that if I want to indulge in old-time romanticism, I will have to pick up a classic, or waste my time reading a nauseatingly flowery-languaged novel.

And its not just with books, it seems to the trend in songs as well. Gone are the good-ol' melodies and romantic (though bordering on "cute") lyrics. Bollywood, too, had its fair share of beautiful songs that are immortal, but gone are the days of "the Gulzar-type" lyrics. There was something in those songs that stayed with the listener, and it wasn't just the melodies.

Poetry doesn't seem to be poetry anymore (honestly, I could never write like Tennyson or Byron). "Contemporary" is such a wonderfully convenient description - contemporary architecture, contemporary literature, contemporary art.

I love contemporary, but I miss the way the old-timers used to write. Modern day writers can't capture those thoughts even if they tried, it would just come out ugly. Well, perhaps, its one of those things one would classify under "lifestyle changes". Change is inevitable.

2008-05-22T19:27:00.003+05:30

It has been almost a year since I walked beside the colorful shops of Zohari Bazaar in Jaipur, and for the last week I have not been able to get the images of the crowded market out of my head, mingled with the pictures the media has circulated since the serial bomb blasts. I have shopped there to my hearts content for the better part of 7 years, enjoyed every minute of the hustle and bustle of the place. But never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine something could go wrong in such a wonderfully crazy and colorful place.

I spent the last couple of days wondering if the shops I used to visit still exist, if the shop owners are alright or not. Two in particular come to mind every time - my "jutthi" shop owner (who was right opposite Hawa Mahal) and my mother's favourite place to buy gems. Lucky for the latter, his shop had moved into the interiors and has been left unharmed. But I worried about Munna Bhai, my trusted jutthi guy, who had been selling me the most beautiful slippers that lasted longer than I wanted them to since '98. I had been fighting the urge to call him and ask after him, kept putting it off. I have no personal relationship with him, after all. It doesn't matter to me anymore. Or does it? I finally called him, not knowing if the number on the card was still valid or not.

It has been not more than five minutes since I hung up, and I still cannot understand the relief I feel. I wasn't even sure if he would remember me, but he did. Even asked after my parents. He suffered no losses, but a few shops down from him people lost their lives. Somehow, my short conversation with Munna Bhai has touched me, and I sit here on the verge of tears (of relief, perhaps) trying desperately to put into words what I'm feeling and failing miserably at it.

I looked through the last batch of pictures I had taken in Jaipur to see if I could find pictures of the Zohari Bazaar as I remember it. There were none, but I am glad that today I go to bed knowing that the few people I got to know in the area are alive and well, and running their business as before.

Old Friends

2008-04-22T13:44:00.007+05:30

Keeping with the theme of recalling stories from the wild, my narration would not be complete without mentioning my monkeys. I was hooked to them, addicted and obsessed. I used to write long letters to my grandmother from field filled with stories of which monkey did what, considering she was perhaps the only one who seemed genuinely interested in the antics of monkeys with funny names. Though it has been about 7 years now since I last saw my first ever study troop of Nilgiri langurs, I still remember them like it was yesterday.

The following post was published on my now obsolete blog, but when a girl is alone in the wild, the lack of friends can show in weird ways.

It was exactly five years ago that I first started my journey down the enchanting path of "monkeybiznez". Enchanting? What could be so fascinating or enchanting about following monkeys day after day and hour after hour?, you may ask. The first day on the job I was introduced to my study troop of Nilgiri langurs by a common friend, who'd known them for the previous five years or so. And an introduction in all its meaning it was, the only thing missing was a handshake in its physicality. There were 14 of them, led by the able and erstwhile Jack, the dominant and sole adult male of the gang. Each monkey was introduced to me by name, each with a physical characteristic that distinguished it from the other. What my friend neglected to mention was that each had a personality unique to itself - styles of moving, sitting, grooming and eating (including preferences for types of food) were different. It didn't take me long to be able to recognize each of them for who they are and not by "what".

In his book, Golden Shadows, Flying Hooves, George Schaller writes about his experiences in the African wilderness where he spent years studying the lions.

Merely to watch the constantly changing facial expressions of lions when they interact or respond to their surroundings is a fascinating way to spend the hours. The face of a lion is a marvelously subtle yet clear conveyor of emotions. Kipling's observation that "The beasts are very wise/Their mouths are clean of lies" applies particularly to cats, for they express themselves unambiguously, their features and sounds mirror their minds so precisely, that only the most insensitive of persons could grossly misinterpret them.

If you ask me, that's a biased point of view, but he was passionate about the lions.....he has a right to be biased. I would describe my monkeys in the same way if not better. Every emotion so well carved on their tiny faces; every movement, every posture so well depicting their state of mind. We humans have evolved a way to get by without others completely understanding us, we don't let others into our lives completely. I could spend hours sitting with the monkeys and not tiring. Some people are of the opinion that it could be a very boring and tedious job, but I say to them, how often do you come across an entire family that is willing to let you into their lives so completely that there will be no reason to hide any emotion from anyone and that you know your friends inside-out?

It has been about 2 years now since I last saw a Nilgiri langur, but memories and wonderful videos on the web, like the ones below at www.arkive.org, keep them fresh in my mind.

Nilgiri langurs groomingBBC Natural History Unit

Nilgiri langurs feedingIcon Films Ltd.

Memories from the Wild

2008-04-16T23:00:00.013+05:30

Last weekend's trip to Nagarhole brought back so many memories that I cannot resist sharing them. I narrated stories the friends accompanying me, and then I find an old album with snapshots of my time in the Anamalais (Indira Gandhi Wildlife Sanctuary). These stories may not interest too many people, but for me, these memories are meant to be shared.

My favourite memory is undoubtedly having my ass sniffed by a wild dog...well, at least there is a possibility that my ass was sniffed by a wild dog. There was a small field station set up in the middle of a tea estate in the Anamalais and it was shared by three of us for the duration of my stay there, one of them was a doctorate student from Mysore University. Data collection ended at 6pm for all of us, and by about 6.30 the two of us would be back. One evening my friend came rushing in with the words "wild dogs" pouring out. I (being in the process of getting my boots off) pulled my shoes on and ran behind her. Oustide our little abode the hill sloped down, at the bottom of which was small clearing and a tiny stream running through. A pack of wild dogs (dholes) had just killed a sambar stag. It took the pack about three days to finish the meat. This was fantabulous, to be able to observe wild dogs in such close proximity was perhaps the highlight of my field career. Anyway, after staring at the scene till it started getting dark, we decided we'd return after dinner with torches so we could count how many dogs there were in the pack. And so it happened that while I was shining my torch over the tea bushes and my friend was doing the same from below, we both felt as though there was something behind us. Ever felt something so close to you that is feels as though it is touching you, even though it isn't? Well, thats how it felt. We both turned around immediately and tried to see what it was. All we heard was one single, very soft footfall, and nothing else. We ran through a list of animals that it could possibly be, deer hooves sound different, bears are too heavy and so are leopards. And wild dogs are dangerous. We immediately hastened back. Having our butt chewed off was not our idea of fun. For the next three days we watched the dogs and the pups feed on the meat and slowly disappear. I've never seen a wild dog since and never been able to photograph one.

For all my trundling through the jungle, I've never seen a tiger in the wild. At times I'm ashamed, but then, I'm not the one that controls these sightings. I console myself with the thought that I missed seeing a tigress by minutes. The 1999 large mammal census was my first ever and I was excited. Accompanied by a couple of forest guards, a tribal tracker and a volunteer, we climbed bare rock faces that made me feel it was my last day alive and through giant grasses that scratched any exposed skin, then through thick rainforest that suddenly opened into a marshy clearing. The clearing was strewn with elephant prints, a herd had perhaps passed through the last night. And hidden between the elephant prints was the pug mark of a tigress, clear and perfect. The pug mark was so fresh that the water displaced by the paw of the tigress was still slowly seeping back into the depression. My heart was racing, I was scared and excited. Our immediate concern was to look around for cub pug marks as well, for a tigress with babies was not something we were prepared to encounter. Lucky for us, she was alone and for all we knew she was watching us while we worked to take a plaster cast of her foot print for the census. The closest that I've ever come to encountering a tiger in the wild. Sadly last weekend at Nagahole was the same sad story, no tiger for me. Perhaps the next time I should try being a part of Dr. Ullas karanth's entourage.

Ever since college, the name "Grass Hills" was imprinted in my brain. I craved to get there, and when opportunity knocked in the form of a Nigiri tahr census, I jumped at it. I've blogged about this place before. The visions that have been planted in my brain are permanent. I hope to return some day to see the hills covered in grass but sadly entry is restricted. The picture alongside can pass of as some place in Jaisalmer, Rajasthan, perhaps, but no words can express the beauty of this place. The number of Nilgiri tahr we saw that day was encouraging. This is an endangered species, and the results of the census told us that there was hope yet, unlike what has been happening to the tiger population. The view from Grass Hills is breath-taking. It offers a wonderful view of the hills that fall toward the plains with the Kadamparai reservoir nestled between the lower hills. The other side offers a vista of the mountains, the border between Tamil Nadu and Kerala, only a valley separating the two states.

But the one place I knew like the back of my hand was my own field site, Andiparai. The adjoining picture shows most of the fragment, taken from the hill opposite. This little forest had 14 troops of Nilgiri langurs, the species that was my specialization. I trudged up and down that hill every day for the better part of four months. I saw a bear attack a troop of monkeys on that slope. I have gotten lost in that jungle and almost panicked. Every morning was a battle to overcome my fear of entering the forest alone. The slightest sound, even of a leaf falling to the ground, would send me running toward the direction that I hoped the main ghat road was. A wild boar once chased me, and the scary part was that I couldn't see it come after me, after the first glimpse I had of it. I was following my study troop as always and suddenly I hear wood being knocked on, the sound a male boar makes when trying to rub its snout on a tree trunk. At first I thought it was an estate laborer come to chop wood, illegal as that was. I walked towards the sound and my footsteps made the sound stop. And then, out of the undergrowth comes a boar and I run. I was barely 20 or 30 metres from the ghat road, I could hear the buses and cars, but I was in a state of panic. Every direction I scrambled to get onto the road was blocked by the thickest undergrowth I had every come across. After a minute, I realized there was no sound behind me and my monkeys were not shouting alarm calls for my benefit. The boar would have panicked and run in the opposite direction, but I never stopped to check, I was too darn scared.

Full moon nights in the estate and we'd go for walks without torches, trying to be brave. There were bisons to be seen and every shadow looked like a bear in the bushes, one of the most unpredictable animals one can encounter in the jungle. A leopard often visited the area around one of the manager's home, and I would be there trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive cat. Apparently a few days after I saw the animal, it returned to the area with cubs, something I still wish I had seen. There have been up close and personal meetings with striped-necked mongooses, and giant squirrels, with lion-tailed macaques and elephants. Encounters that I wish I can continue having.

These are my memories from the Anamalais, there are some from Ranthambore, Sariska, Nelliampathy and Mudumalai. But none were as exciting as the 2 years in the Indira Gandhi Wildlife Sanctuary.

Weekend in the Wilderness

2008-04-14T18:56:00.009+05:30

I'd been looking forward to this for a long time. Two weeks ago I asked Sudeep if he would like to join me on a trip to Nagarhole (Rajiv Gandhi National Park). But nothing was confirmed till the last minute, and even then we had no accommodation reserved for ourselves. Nonetheless, we decided to just drive down and see what we could find. If none were available at Nagarhole, we'd drive on till Wayanad, or somewhere else. So it was that 3 young techies from Infosys and a retired ecologist made their way to Nagarhole. At the gate to Rajiv Gandhi National Park we asked the guard if a place to stay could be had anywhere in or around the park. He handed us a card to a home stay, and we found ourselves lodged with a lovely Coorgi family in a 20acre coffee estate. Fresh coffee and good food were ours for the weekend.

But for me, biased as I am, the trips into the jungle were eagerly awaited. I could not wait to smell the forest and hear the birds and the beasts again. Lucky for me, our little homestay was right between Nagarhole and Wayanad. So we got to see both.

The Tholpetty Wildlife Sanctuary is just a tiny part of Wayanad district in Kerala, and an afternoon safari is what we decided to do. And so, through a lot of dust we got to see gaur, elephants and monkeys. There was an elephant calf hiding between it's mother's legs. For me, to be able to see a sight like that is wonderful. Perhaps I'm sentimental about it all, but to see a bison calf quietly sitting among the grass while the rest of the herd grazes around it is a sight to be savored till the very end. The afternoon heat takes away a lot from a forest. The sounds and smells are very different, and what I wanted to experience was the damp and cool quiet of the place.

So early the next morning we went off to Nagarhole for our safari through the Rajiv Gandhi Wildlife Sanctuary. A multitude of deer greeted us, so many that it raised the question of overpopulation of herbivores and the decline of the predator population. But then I do not have statistics any more, so venturing into that stream of thought was unwarranted. Again, a breakfasting elephant family was perhaps the highlight of the trip. Overdosing on spotted deer was not my idea of spending a weekend, but then one has no control over these sightings. A peacock in sudden flight is as beautiful a sight as a mongoose nosing around for it's breakfast. A dark shape in the distance proved to be a wild boar looking at the large green bus lumbering past it. Headed back after our safari through the park, I happened to see a giant squirrel cross throad in the rearview mirror of the car. Got Sudeep to stop and everyone had an up close and personal introduction to a Malabar giant squirrel, one of the most beautiful arboreal mammmals there is to see, endemic to the Western Ghats.

I got all that I wanted from this weekend. Nagarhole in the early morning light is a far cry from what it is like in the heat of the afternoon. The birds are all chirping and flitting about, the smell of the plants and the dew-moist bark of trees are refreshing, the earthiness of the place is humbling. The silence that seeps through all the jungle sounds is heavy, but not uncomfortable. It felt as though I could wrap myself in it and cuddle up in its embrace and remain there forever.

Memories flooded back, so after every trip into the jungle I narrated experiences I had while I was on field. I so wanted to step off the jeep or the bus and wander the jungle alone, trying to step quietly, not knowing what my next step might reveal. Fear and solitude mixing with excitement and uncertainty, a heady mix indeed! A short trip to Irpu falls in the nearby Brahmagiri Wildlife Sanctuary had me desperately wanting solitude. The crowds that were there to enjoy the cool waters of this waterfall was not a good mix as compared to the rest of the weekend. Even the few hours at Ranganathittu bird sanctuary was not enjoyable, only because of the crowds. It took away the excitement of see painted storks, terns, cormorants, and not mention the crocodiles. But then I can't have everything my way, I was, after all, a part of the tourist crowd. I'm retired, I no longer can venture into the wilds on my own. So now I look forward to every time I can go for a safari through a jungle. I shall savor every memory and cherish every sight, sound and smell.

(More pictures of the wild weekend can be seen at http://picasaweb.google.com/ssarkar.goyal/NagaholeWayanad)

Colors of the Rain

2008-03-26T18:29:00.007+05:30

There is a golden glow outside my door, it is beautiful. I have sat with my fingers on the keyboard for over 10 minutes now wondering how best to describe what I can see through my balcony door, but the words are hard to come by.

At about 5.15 this evening very large and very grey clouds rolled in. For a while the sun shone brightly while the clouds gathered, and then the waters burst through the very bloated bodies of the clouds. An hour later, as the rains recede, there remains a golden glow about everything and the world feels fresh again.

I have been an outdoor person most of my adult life. Hiking was, after all, my livelihood. It has been a very long time since I went on "field", and this is the first time that I have missed being in the hills and jungles. Today is the first that I have really missed walking through misted pathways, smelling the jungle around me, listening to the squishing sound of the grass and sedges under my boots, stopping to admire a flower, or watching the birds flitting about. I miss the sound of the squirrels and monkeys in the trees, the cicadas giving me a headache with their incessant and desperate calls, the green glow that bathes the forest after the sun filters in through the canopy. I miss it all, the sweat, the pain, the peace, the beauty; everything that comes with being alone with nature.

(I have done nothing to the above image to give it a "golden glow", thats exactly how everything through my balcony door looked!)

Coming of Age

2008-03-26T12:25:00.003+05:30

She looked radiant, albeit a little confused. Dressed up in all the finery her family could afford, the girl was ready to face the guests. Meek smiles and shyness that is associated with the virgin bride. I saw her photographs a few days later, decked up as a young bride, though marriage was not on the cards that day, she was about 13 or 14 years old. She had attained puberty and the community needed to know. Her mother was beaming with joy as though her daughter had snagged a great boy and was now on her way to join him. The mother is our maid. The wondrous news that her daughter has finally "grown up" was announced to all and sundry, invitations were sent out and arrangements made for a grand celebration.

Walking through the streets of Pondicherry a few years ago I passed a procession, a young girl dressed in finery and flowers, seated on an open platform, a brass band preceding her. I figured that was a marriage procession, the girl on her way to be wed, but was informed by my friend (who incidentally was a Tamilian Brahmin) the procession was to mark the girl coming of age, attaining puberty. It was the first time I had heard or seen such a thing. To me, it was something of routine, something that didn't need such grand displays of finery and advertising. I saw a few more such celebrations during my years in Pondicherry, and every time I went through the emotion of revulsion. Why on earth would a girl coming of age need to be displayed? She deserved her privacy!

My mother-in-law explained to me that in days long gone, when matrimonial sites on the internet were unheard of, it was a family's way of telling the community that their daughter was now of marriageable age. Acceptable as that explanation was, I would not have liked to be put on dispaly when the only thing I would want is to be on my own, and try to fathom what was happening to me.

Anyway, there are traditional reasons for these celebration, but personally, I do not see the need for such displays in this day and age. And if attaining puberty is something to be celebrated that why is the girl later treated as an outcast every month after that. In some communities she is still not allowed to enter from the front door of her own home those few days every month. She cannot enter the kitchen, sit on a cushioned chair, touch certain things, sleep on a carpet on the floor, etc. I understand that superstition and beliefs came about as stories or dos and don'ts for people to accept and understand a concept that today can be explained very simply using science. But when those beliefs do not hold good in a life ruled by science and modern amenities, why aren't those age old traditions done with? Education plays a huge role in monitoring those beliefs today, then why is it that even now in most educated families of some communities this still takes place? The friend who told me about the procession went on to explain how things were for his sister at their home. No offense meant to any community, but I felt uncomfortable to know his sister was embarrassed when neighbors saw her enter and exit through the back door every month, the neighbors always knew! If puberty is celebrated with all pomp and show, then why can't the daughter be celebrated every month as well, instead of making her uncomfortable?

I never went through all this, I don't know what its like to be put on display when I can barely understand what is happening and why. I never had to use a back door and nobody had to know anything. Perhaps my pampered upbringing has created a bias, I don't know, but to see the confused look on the face of a teenage girl and her realization that the entire community is now aware of what is happening to her body is not a pleasant thought for me. Does it have to go on like this?

Pondicherry Calling

2008-03-10T13:44:00.004+05:30

Sunsets on the beach, and if I could wake up early enough, then there were sunrises on the beach as well. The smell of fish frying, the hauling of nets, the sound of the waves, the colours and the people. I miss Pondicherry like no other place I've been to. I've called Bangalore home, as well as Jaipur, but it is Pondy that keeps calling me back.

I loved my years in Pondy. There were tears, broken hearts, homesickness, new friends, music, food and drink. Everything. So what if I called a room in the hostel on campus "home". Nothing seemed to matter.

There were "jazz concerts" at Auroville every Sunday night, which didn't really have much to do with jazz, but just the local musicians getting together to perform. The countless rides through Auroville in the dark, taken only because there seemed to be some thrill in riding in a place that was closest to a jungle as we could get and no street lamps. There were weekend binging sessions at Guillaume's house, with the dogs, cats and birds. Then it became the weekends with Manoj at Le Reve Bleu. Good food, lots of drink and wonderful friends. Life in Pondy, for me, revolved around friends. There trips to Mahabalipuram just for chocolate mousse (in fact I never saw anything in Mahabs, till Oct. 2007, long after I left Pondy), bike rides on the East Coast Road only because we were bored. I learnt to ride a cycle at the ripe old age of 21 and then graduated to Scooty there. I learnt what it takes to be an ecologist there and learnt that the best way to grasp a concept is not someone teaching it to you, but to experience it yourself.

I grew up in Pondy, met my best friend there and fell in love, all within that tiny town. Perhaps the best four years of my life. Memories galore. And I never tire of going back there again and again. Any long weekend and I suggest a trip back. Anybody I know taking a trip down my memory lane makes me yearn for the place.

What is it about Pondy? I have no idea, cannot explain it and will not try. I am blissfully unaware of deeper meanings and related philosophies. I don't want to know or explain anything. The place is eclectic, mixed up, quaint, beautiful and home. I've always said that the French in Pondy try being Indian and fail miserably at that, the Indians try being French and fail miserably at that and the ones inbetween don't care.

"Give time a break" is the catch line to promote tourism in Pondicherry. It needs no advertising, I think. Time does seem to be on a perpetual break there. Frankly, there never was much to do in Pondy, and yet it seemed like I did a lot. Even this post seems to fall short of everything that I want to say. It's a part of my life I will never get tired of missing!

The Other Face of Fear

2008-02-21T17:26:00.004+05:30

This other face of fear, what gave Altamira it's bisons, is how man caves into his brain in a frenzied release of the animal. This need to stoke a shallow-fingered dream in kilns of caustic color has to do, perhaps, with conditioning. If this scent of a shirt feels like a presence or a prayer finds a stone to worship, it has to do with conditionality. The chair I set by the window commands a chiaroscuro of rooftops and trees, where the sunset forecloses the rise and an aloneness common to all things deciphers means of survival. There being no answer to why I am here doing what I do. I work hard to place a warm coal in the heart of an embolus of shivery loss and carefully burn. So light remembers itself only as an emanation of darkness.

Another Day

2008-02-21T17:14:00.005+05:30

Another night
dark and quiet.
The sounds of the retiring city
permeating the darkness.
The pain of the day
now seeps into my tired body.
Loneliness knocks on the bedroom door,
despite the people gathered.
Restless minds,
no concentration.
Slowly the darkness will fade.
Will daylight renew the pain?
Will minds wander still,
in the light of a new day?
What will change?
But then,

tomorrow is another day.

Please Hear What I'm Not Saying

2008-02-07T22:21:00.001+05:30

Last night's "chat" was interesting. Atul and I had quite the conversation and it brought back memories from college. It was all about silence - the comfortable silence and the uncomfortable one (the villain within, perhaps?).

First year college, and I bravely signed up for a course in Peer Counseling, blissfully unaware of how many tears it would cost me and how much I would learn about myself and about others. But what was most memorable about the course was a poem that our coordinator had distributed. The sheet with the poem on it said the poet was unknown. I fell in love with the poem. At that time it shook me to the core, realizing how well I could associate with it.

That poem needs to be shared, and I can conveniently post the link to the poem here, but I can't seem to get myself to do that here. I can't have the reader pause even for a brief second to open another web page. So it shall be posted here in full. The poem, that I later discovered, was penned by Charles Finn in 1966.

Don't be fooled by me.

Don't be fooled by the face I wear

for I wear a mask, a thousand masks,

masks that I'm afraid to take off,

and none of them is me.

Pretending is an art that's second nature with me,

but don't be fooled,

for God's sake don't be fooled.

I give you the impression that I'm secure,

that all is sunny and unruffled with me, within as well

as without,

that confidence is my name and coolness my game,

that the water's calm and I'm in command

and that I need no one,

but don't believe me.

My surface may seem smooth but my surface is my mask,

ever-varying and ever-concealing.

Beneath lies no complacence.

Beneath lies confusion, and fear, and aloneness.

But I hide this. I don't want anybody to know it.

I panic at the thought of my weakness exposed.

That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind,

a nonchalant sophisticated facade,

to help me pretend,

to shield me from the glance that knows.

But such a glance is precisely my salvation, my only hope,

and I know it.

That is, if it's followed by acceptance,

if it's followed by love.

It's the only thing that can liberate me from myself,

from my own self-built prison walls,

from the barriers I so painstakingly erect.

It's the only thing that will assure me

of what I can't assure myself,

that I'm really worth something.

But I don't tell you this. I don't dare to, I'm afraid to.

I'm afraid your glance will not be followed by acceptance,

will not be followed by love.

I'm afraid you'll think less of me,

that you'll laugh, and your laugh would kill me.

I'm afraid that deep-down I'm nothing

and that you will see this and reject me.

So I play my game, my desperate pretending game,

with a facade of assurance without

and a trembling child within.

So begins the glittering but empty parade of masks,

and my life becomes a front.

I idly chatter to you in the suave tones of surface talk.

I tell you everything that's really nothing,

and nothing of what's everything,

of what's crying within me.

So when I'm going through my routine

do not be fooled by what I'm saying.

Please listen carefully and try to hear what I'm not saying,

what I'd like to be able to say,

what for survival I need to say,

but what I can't say.

I don't like hiding.

I don't like playing superficial phony games.

I want to stop playing them.

I want to be genuine and spontaneous and me

but you've got to help me.

You've got to hold out your hand

even when that's the last thing I seem to want.

Only you can wipe away from my eyes

the blank stare of the breathing dead.

Only you can call me into aliveness.

Each time you're kind, and gentle, and encouraging,

each time you try to understand because you really care,

my heart begins to grow wings--

very small wings,

very feeble wings,

but wings!

With your power to touch me into feeling

you can breathe life into me.

I want you to know that.

I want you to know how important you are to me,

how you can be a creator--an honest-to-God creator--

of the person that is me

if you choose to.

You alone can break down the wall behind which I tremble,

you alone can remove my mask,

you alone can release me from my shadow-world of panic,

from my lonely prison,

if you choose to.

Please choose to.

Do not pass me by.

It will not be easy for you.

A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls.

The nearer you approach to me

the blinder I may strike back.

It's irrational, but despite what the books say about man

often I am irrational.

I fight against the very thing I cry out for.

But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls

and in this lies my hope.

Please try to beat down those walls

with firm hands but with gentle hands

for a child is very sensitive.

Who am I, you may wonder?

I am someone you know very well.

For I am every man you meet

and I am every woman you meet.

Over a Cup of Coffee

2008-01-31T18:28:00.000+05:30

I've been craving a cup of coffee. Not just any cup of coffee, but one sipped over a long, interesting conversation.
I can't remember the last time I had a great conversation with someone. A real, interesting, memorable conversation. There is always one to be had electronically, but when was the last time a few friends sat down with drinks and talked.... no not talked, but conversed - exchanged thoughts and ideas and a few laughs? There have been dinners galore, but I must confess the conversations were not memorable.

Where have all the conversationalists gone? Aren't there topics to discuss?

There was a new year party organized by Abhinav's office, heralding the arrival of 2006. We were engaged then. I remember the discussion from back then and the one before that was what got me hooked to Abhinav himself.

I'm looking for a conversation, over coffee or beer.....it doesn't matter. An excuse to talk about the big things and the little things and everything else in between.

There's a Circus in Town

2008-01-21T13:04:00.000+05:30

I pass a circus quite often on my way to my parents home. The posters displayed along a kilometer of wall, cars and bikes parked just outside the large tent. I don't remember when I went to watch clowns and acrobats last, but I do remember my parents holding my hand under a large red and yellow striped tent. I remember the acrobats, the animals, the smells and some of the clowns.

But I don't need to wait to be seated under a colourful tent to witness a circus performance. There's one in my head at all times. The only difference is that the artists that I have been able to hire are all the silly, funny, scary, and monstrous thoughts that have made my head their home. I hardly have a moment when they aren't turning somersaults in my head. Not a single day when I have been consistent with the flow of thought.

The thoughts are not solitary, they are assisted with a myriad of pictures (most often in colour) and imaginary people. Plenty of the latter though, almost as many as would live in a small town. With everything thrown in together, living in close quarters, they make my brain seem the large, very colourful tent I used to read about in Enid Blyton's children's stories.

I remember the circus of my childhood very vaguely, there was no lasting impression, something that grabbed me, or made me want to "run away with the circus". How could there be? When there is one that is constantly performing in my head?

An Experiment with Colours

2008-01-21T12:44:00.000+05:30

It took root courtesy an emotion called "boredom". I had nothing much else to do and there were a couple of terracotta vases lying around the house looking unwanted and yet patient. Asking if I might try painting the pair, I picked up a brush, bought a couple of bottles of paint and got to it. The end result thrilled me, and yet there was a part of me that wanted someone to say they were beautiful, or at least worth displaying.

And that started the flow, there are now an additional 5 clay pots on display in my mother-in-law's boutique, one gifted to my mother, one gifted to a friend for Christmas and another that traveled to Goa to be finally given a place in my aunt's bedroom.

My mother-in-law had bought the vases for our home, but she liked the painted look so much, she decided to sell them and pull me into the business. This was about a month ago. And I haven't sold a single piece yet.

It doesn't matter that I haven't made a sale yet, I'm not all that good. I did need a lot of reassurances from family that I was good at painting, considering my imagination helps only in story-telling. Every completed pot needed a nod from Abhinav before I could show it to anybody else. But it helped.

I can now spend hours sitting on the floor with little bottles of paint around me, a myriad of brushes and a few pots, experimenting with all the colours that I have. The experiment is a success, albeit there has been no sale. It takes my mind away from thoughts I don't want hovering around my brain, keeps sentiments at bay and makes me feel happy, and more importantly, satisfied. I hardly feel bored any more, there is always something to look forward to, and time slips by. My days fly by in a whirlwind of colours.

I do not create masterpieces, but I do make sure I have my fair share of "piece of mind"!

Another Year, Another Adventure

2008-01-03T17:12:00.000+05:30

One more year has gone by, lessons learnt and some, perhaps, forgotten. Laughter and tears from the past year has been neatly packed away as memories, to be recalled at a later time. Adventures had, relationships built and some broken, some still waiting a conclusion. Changes made and new things tried.

This year has a lot in store. If everything goes as planned, there will be major changes to deal with, perhaps a change in home and lifestyle. Everything new....but nothing certain.

It is this uncertainty principle that makes life interesting and exciting. Looking forward to everything that will come my way.

Happy new year!

A Walk Through History

2007-12-18T19:31:00.000+05:30

A visit to Hampi had been playing on my mind for the last couple of years, but trips to the Heritage Site never seemed to work out. Finally a long weekend in November allowed us to plan a few days amongst the ruins of the city that was once the seat of the Vijayanagara Empire, and is also said to be part of fabled "Kishkindha" or the "monkey empire" mentioned in the Ramayana. Situated on the banks of the Tungabhadra river and surrounded on the other three sides by rocky hills and massive boulders, the beauty of the little village is mesmerizing, to say the very least.

The ruins of Hampi, now a World Heritage Site, ooze a romanticism that cannot be captured in words. Rarely can a "tourist spot" in India allow someone to enjoy the place in solitude during any given season. Spread over about 30sq.km and some monuments being away from clusters and the main village, there are areas where a visitor would perhaps be the sole person admiring a ruined temple or columned streets. Let imagination take flight and it’s a walk through the ruins of ancient Greek or Roman architecture. The similarity is quite prominant where pillars line the old streets or surround a water pavilion or what remains of some royal buildings.

Most structures of this magnificent kingdom lie in ruins, only the base or foundation stones of the Royal Centre remain today. Of the many temples, most of them have lost the roof carvings. Every temple in the area was destroyed except one, the Virupaksha Temple, where worshippers still throng to pay homage to the Pampa Devi, or Parvathi, the consort of Shiva. (Pampa is also the ancient name of the river Tungabhadra) The story goes that when the Muslim army invaded Vijayanagar, a pig crossed the path of the oncoming army that was ready to bring down the temple. Being an inauspicious sign, the army was to return that night. The night brought out the cresent moon, an auspicious sign this time and the Muslims decided to leave the temple standing. All other Hindu structures were destroyed.

The sheer number of structures found in and around Hampi doesn't allow for a quick visit. There are examples of Indo-Islamic architecture in Hampi. Within the Zenana enclosure stands the Lotus Mahal, the base of which is in the Hindu style while the geometric arches resemble Ismalic construction. The shrines of the Hemkuta Hill are dated pre-Vijayanagara Empire. And of what remains standing today, a considerable proportion is attributed to Krishnadevaraya, the most famous king of the Vijayanagar dynasty.

For two centuries the Vijayanagar Empire stood the ravages of time. Founded by two runaways from the court of the Sultan of Delhi, the empire became one of the strongest of the time. But playing with politics has never boded good for any civilation, Greek, Roman or Indian, some of the strongest civilizations have crumbled to give way to new ones and those too have fallen to the ravages of time and politics. A regent dabbled in the games of the southern states and pitted one Deccan sultanate against another and allowed the demise of the Vijayanagara Empire to begin in the hands of the Muslim rulers of the north. The conquerors then destroyed the city, which never recovered.

Some of the monuments are being restored. What can be seen drives in a sense of awe and magnificence that is rare. The immensity is staggering, the beauty breath-taking and the sunsets are some of the most amazing sights there are to see. To go armed with inquisitiveness, a sense of adventure, a need for tranquility, and an appreciation of beauty is vital to enjoy Hampi to its fullest. I go back again in another month with a hope to discover things I never did the first time, and to be able to enjoy what the city has to offer again.

(more pictures on http://picasaweb.google.com/ssarkar.goyal/Hampi2007)

Culture Shock

2007-12-18T19:26:00.000+05:30

Not too long ago I found Abhinav reading up on prostitution on good, ol' Wikipedia. Curiosity resulted in the answer that he had to write an essay on culture shock, or if he ever experienced "culture shock". We got talking about it and he described how different life was for him after the family moved away from Air Force bases. He also brought up our trip to Thailand last July.

At first glance it wasn't all that very different from India. Further glances didn't change that outlook much either. But talking to Abhinav about his thoughts on the sex trade in Thailand brought to surface all the mixed emotions I went through while walking the streets in Pattaya. I never discussed it with anyone, just wasn't sure as to how I could describe what was running through my head, most of which seemed quite incoherent to me too. Emotions raged through me without a break the moment I stepped out of our hotel. Old images that I used to think up were all too real to comprehend.

Prostitution is the oldest trade in the world, no denying that. And sex has become such a hush topic that any such discussion or act is morally judged. I am not all that different either; more often than not I too base thoughts and reasons on moral grounds than use logic or even science. After all as an ecologist I should know that man is not evolutionarily monogamous.

Yet the sheer number of sex workers, strip clubs and brothels on the streets of Pattaya had me gawking like a villager let loose in Manhattan. A small walk along the beach road in Pattaya and we had a couple of propositions, one walked right between Abhinav and me, and I wasn't sure who was getting propositioned. Rather that was what I wanted to believe, but honestly, I was repulsed that someone, anyone, could be so forward, even though livelihood depended on it. Individual streets catered to different sexual preferences and every corner were men ready to advertise for a club. Cabbies did so too, and even hotels had travel desks where guests are asked if they would like to visit a strip club.

A late night on MG Road in Bangalore took me back to the few days I spent in Thailand. A girl in a sheer pink sari walked by with nothing under and to ignore her trade I wondered how she managed to keep her sari tied on.

I am not stupid or ignorant. I have always known that prostitution is rampant in any and every part of the globe. I even trained as an AIDS counselor to give me all the information I needed not ignore the sex trade. And yet...nothing could prepare me for the reality. To see it and experience it and watch the expressions or lack of, on the models in the clubs was not a very pleasant experience. Even wondered how or why so many men derived pleasure from it. Nothing fit the image that television helps build up, but perhaps there might be something else out in the world where legal and moral issues don’t allow for such grim thoughts. Or perhaps I’m just not sexually adventurous.

An Escape Through the Pages of a Book

2007-10-19T17:00:00.000+05:30

It has been only books. The last few days, I haven't done anything constructive other than read, read and only read. Was never a Harry Potter fan, didn't see what millions around the world saw in those stories. But, nonetheless, I went through all seven in 2 weeks with a couple of other books thrown in to beat the monotony of similar scenes in my head. I'm still not an admirer of Harry's adventures, I think the Baggins' family had a farther reach into my imagination. But I read, only for the sole purpose of getting lost in someone elses words. And now its time for Robert Jordan to take over my imagination, an epic that will keep me occupied for quite a while.

I've always been an avid reader, lucky for me my parents encouraged it. Enid Blyton took over the child's mind, creating myriad scenes to explore. Other authors replaced them over time and those scenes became a place to run away everytime I needed a place to hide.

The rate at which I gobbled books slowed through high school and college. There never seemed enough time. And the last time I went through an entire section of a library in a few months was a couple of years ago. The months I spent trying to get through a doctorate program wasn't the happiest I've ever spent. Fortunately the English literature section in the universtiy library came to my rescue. Read as much as I possibly could, sometimes going through days without sleeping. I couldn't help it; it seemed I didn't require any sleep. Those were lonely times, locked away in my room in the hostel, books to keep me company. And I must confess, the best company I had had in a long time. Thank God for books. Every story I read took me through different adventures. I was in someone elses imagination, adding bits and peaces of my own to make things a bit more exciting, perhaps a little different. I had cocooned myself in a world where dragons existed and the world was filled with different beings, in a place where people traveled to exciting lands and went through varied range of emotions, in classical worlds where women wore dresses heavier than them and in contemprary literature where life took on its own complications.

It has always been easier to live through someone elses words. There was an escape route from my fears and foibles. From me. There still is, the only difference now is that trying to use the old familiar escape seems to sap me of more energy than it ever did. Yet I cannot stop myself, books have become a balm to a weary and tired mind. An addiction that I do not want to give up. I wait for one adventure to finish to begin another.

It is the age of the e-book. I have a small collection of those too. But it is not for me, I cannot sit for hours together in front of a computer screen scrolling down through the end of the book. I've tried, and haven't developed the feel for it. There is no personal touch, no personality. I need the feel of the pages on my fingers, hear the crinkle of the paper and smell the ink of the print. Without them there is no "book". Beats the idea completely, or perhaps, I am biased. To me, escaping through the pages of a book into a life that is not mine is far more wondorous than to feel the glare of a screen that appears inanimate in all respects.

A fantasy land filled with dark shadows, hardships and mysterious powers awaits me, a land that will help me lose myself for a while.

Anger Cannot be Dishonest

2007-09-17T19:53:00.000+05:30

That is what Marcus Aurelius said. "Anger cannot be dishonest". But what about the thoughts and associated feelings that come hurtling into the heart and mind. Pain, dispair, fear.... anger does not seem to want to travel alone. Would they be honest too? What about the words that are spoken in anger? Are they honest? If so, then why, after retrospection, does guilt and self-loathing creep in? Conflicting emotions, and not all can be honest, or can they?. So how is the heart to deal with the turmoil and how is the mind to find peace?

A Tiny Piece of "Heaven"

2007-08-06T19:44:00.000+05:30

I keep going away to a place in my head where my thoughts fly away to the clouds on a summer breeze and I'm left alone to be, well, alone. Then I can pretend that all is well and dandy and that nothing can bother me. Smiles and conversations galore, of course, there's noone around to have a conversation with, nor share a smile with. Its all in my head. I can smell fresh hay on the breeze, I can hear the birds twittering and flittering about, I can hear the water gurgling at my feet and the sun keeps me warm. My tiny piece of heaven, if heaven does exist.

Once, I spent more time immersing myself in my imagination than I did facing reality, just seemed to be the easier way out than having to deal with a myriad of emotions that I had no idea how to control. Slowly, very slowly, I learned to find some peace in reality. I found tiny oases in the middle of a concrete jungle where I could be with one with my thoughts, find some clarity in chaos and share those moments with someone. I found someone's arms where I could hide my face and cry all I wanted and share my deepest darkest woes with.

And yet, somewhere in the back of my head, I keep wanting to go back to where I came from, the banks of a little stream where nothing mattered but me. I keep wanting to protect myself from pain and turmoil and in the bargain realize that some part of my past will always play a major role in shaping any given moment. And its not just me, I figure it happens to everyone.

Whatever may have been our experiences in the past, good or bad, we each have our own way of dealing with them. Of course, the best thing to do is learn from them and move on, not hold on so tight that it doesn't allow the present to be enjoyable. We may do that, let go, but no matter how well we may dealt with the past, those experiences will always present themselves at some point in the future and the memories return and we want to protect ourselves from allowing history to repeat itself. We promise ourselves complete honesty but those experiences will always come in the way of open communication, with oneself or anyone else.

Here's the thing. We get hurt, we recover and then discover that if the plunge is not taken again we may lose out on something wonderful. When the plunge is taken again and you are in the thick of things, natural instinct kicks in and all we do is try to protect ourselves while trying hard to be honest. Things said and done at that point will always have a hint of the past, there is no letting go.

Perhaps I'm not explaining myself well. The bottomline is, no matter what, when and how, and with whom, our past will never allow us to completely open up to others. We will not be able to understand another completely and whole-heartedly accept an observation, an opinion or an alien emotion. It then creates a barrier and the feeling of loneliness creeps in again. That's when I want to seek out my tiny piece of heaven to shut out reality. It's just so much easier.

Pain

2007-08-02T15:59:00.000+05:30

He's right. Nobody, and I mean nobody can hurt anybody unless they allow themselves to get hurt. And the more they try to protect themselves from the truth, the more painful it can be. Face it, it can only be good for the soul. Growth for the self. Let the thoughts fester and it will return to haunt. Find a release and honesty replaces self-pity. Silence can never replace the joy of togetherness. Strength and trust in oneself can only build pride, can take us to new levels of self-discovery.

Ode to a Stranger

2007-07-30T13:00:00.000+05:30

Life has a funny way teaching us little lessons, and more often than not the teachers are people we've never met before, and perhaps never might. We might know about them, their names, seen pictures, heard stories. A friend's friend perhaps, or someone you randomly may have come across as technology makes the world a smaller place. But here's what fascinates me. If it wasn't for these little (or perhaps, life-altering) incidents, we would be a stagnant lot. We discover (or rediscover) ourselves and others who are a part of our lives. Do we acknowledge the presence of these people? I've never done it, and more often than not, we don't even realize the way things happen, blissfully unaware of the workings of the forces at play.

But here's what I need to say to someone out there, thank you. If it wasn't for something you did, (though it had nothing to do with me), you've helped me tremendously. I'm a happier and a more confident person for it. I now understand so much more than a few weeks ago and if I do not acknowledge this, I'll never be able to move forward. You gave me back my peace of mind and my strength.

We've never met, perhaps we shall some day. And if it wasn't for strangers making their way into my life, I would never have rediscovered relationships and emotions that make them stronger.

From Learning to Teaching

2007-04-23T22:22:00.000+05:30

Not too long ago, precisely a month and 10 days ago, I did not know how to swim. Not even to float in the pool. Today, all that's left for me to learn is the coordination between the arms and my legs for a good (if not perfect) execution of the butterfly stroke. I was so good at staying afloat that every time I tried to swim under water, I would immediately rise to the surface, no matter how hard I tried to push myself below. My feet or my buttocks would come to the surface.

But all that's over and done with. Not only can I swim, I can swim quite well. And I enjoy being in the water so very much that I found myself a "new career". Since the 19th of this month, I have become the new assistant coach at the swim camp held at the Karnataka Golf Association.

I help out with the kids batch as well as with the adults and each person requires a different method of teaching. The little ones require the most patience, and I realised that I had more patience in me than I ever gave myself credit for. For a 50 year old lady who had a near-drowning experience once, getting into the pool each day is a challenge. She struggles to contain her panic. And yet she tries, her determination to learn to swim is what made it worth the while to spend the extra time trying to get her to let go off my arms.

Learning was definitely fun, but teaching others how to swim is just as much fun, and a completely different way of learning for me, too.

The next item on the agenda....snorkelling!!!

Men and the Fairer Sex

2007-04-03T17:35:00.000+05:30

More than a decade ago, I found 2 copies of the 50th Anniversary Treasury of the Reader's Digest. One belonged to my mother, the other my father had bought for himself. That's pretty much when I started rummaging through the ancient copies of the Digest to find some good reading, admittedly some of the stories and articles were really very good. Of course, I also quickly grew out of the fascination for those little stories, somehow the quality of the stories never remained the same.

But this isn't about the Digest, it's about the one article that got me hooked. In the Anniversary Edition there was an essay/article written by Marya Mannes that I had read so many times, I had it memorized. I liked the way it was written and the subject was such that it would captivate any woman. Published in the June 1964 issue, it was a woman's perspective on the relationship between men and women. And I think it's worth sharing.

Ladies, tell me if you agree with what the author has to say, and gentlemen, I'm sure there's something you can learn from here.

THE POWER MEN HAVE OVER WOMEN

The power men have over women is that they wear neckties, use shaving cream and are usually bigger that we are. They are not necessarily brighter, but they usually have us where they want us. Like a man with a dog.

The cocker spaniel (or poodle or basset hound) sits at the feet of the man, waiting for three things: a look, a touch and a word. He wants them more than a bowl of dog food; he’ll do anything for them.

Now, the dog is no more a slave than we women are. Like some of us he can be very independent indeed, leaving home for the day to chase rats or rabbits, quite able to feed himself and survive the rough-and-tumble world outside. But his disposition - like ours - his sense of well-being, his sense of security, still depend on the look in the eye, in the touch of the hand and the voice of the man he returns to at night.

But the silly male fool is often unaware of how much a look, a touch, a word can hold for a woman. Nor does he seem to have any idea at all of the degree to which their absence can make her cross, resentful, tiresome.

Let’s take the eye first. Why should I look at you? the husband says; there isn’t anything I don’t know about you, there’s nothing to look at. He does not mean it unkindly: it’s just a married fact of life. You live with a woman or picture for twelve years or more, and how often do you look – really look - at that woman or picture? And yet the female is starved for more recognition: the direct glance that says, I know who you are; you are there.

It’s not a question of ardor (though the warm eye is certainly preferable to the fish eye); it is the direct engagement, the forging of an intangible bond between man and woman. If you want to know what tragedy is, and the death of love, look at the countless married couples sitting in public places, their eyes never meeting. Not because the woman does not look at the man – she searches, hoping against reality – but because the man does not look at her. The engagement is broken. Each sits alone, encased in a plastic bag of indifference.

It is clearly easier for a man to look at something that is beautiful and new and exciting than at something that is familiar and possibly fading. But he forgets that the familiarity and fading are, in part, his doing, and that a woman is invested with beauty and excitement by his attention. We bloom under it, we die without it.

Now for the hand. A woman who is not touched may exist as a person, but not as a woman. Here again I am not talking of ardor. It is the exceptional man, who after 15 years of marriage and a long day at the office, can lunge at his wife and cover her with passionate kisses. No, women – even the most spirited – are much humbler than that. An occasional hand placed fondly on the shoulder, an arm in arm, a brief kiss on the cheek; things like these make us so happy that we wonder why some men forget them. Are they that much trouble and effort? We are lovable if we are loved, and a part of loving is touching.

We need words, too. Not only the comfortable exchange of thoughts and gossip, cozy and welcome as that is, but once in a while words beamed (like the look) directly at us.

Gentlemen, you have heard it before and you shall hear it again: when we wear a new dress and you notice it, say something. One phrase will do: “Nice color”, or “Not bad”, or “Wow!” If you don’t say anything, we count it a failure. You don’t know what power this silence has over us. We brood. It doesn’t matter how good we think our taste is, how sure we are of our fashion sense; your silence can shatter our confidence. We would rather have you say, “Isn’t that a little too tight?” than nothing at all. We’d rather be mad than ignored. There is nothing in the world that makes a woman walk more proudly than the verbal pat. Wise men know this.

The men who have wit must also know what power this, too, can exert on a woman. Make her laugh and you’ve made her helpless. Women are far more likely to be enslaved on a long-term basis by a homely man who is funny than by an Adonis who isn’t. In fact, the higher the sights of a woman, the freer her intelligence, the more she values intelligence in men. It exerts a compelling fascination that many men are still slow to recognize, since they confuse it with rivalry or competition. It is woman asking the most of man so that she can pay him homage. The strong silent man is powerless beside the witty articulate man. The right word is a mighty weapon.

Of course, all these powers of men over women emanate from one premise: caring. If men don’t care, they don’t look, or touch, or speak. And if they don’t look, or touch, or speak, they shouldn’t be living with us anyway.

But here we come, to the old and lingering inequity between the sexes. Everything in the long history of the male has conspired toward his self-assurance as a superior being. Everything in the long history of the female has conspired toward her adaptability to him, whether as wife, lover or mother. We are bred to care for what he thinks, feels and needs more that he is for what we think, feel and need.

There is no valid comparison between a man’s economic support of a woman and her hourly involvement in caring for him. We worry more when he looks seedy that he does when we do, because we notice him more. We concern ourselves daily with what he would like to eat, whom he would like to see, where he would like to go.

And this remains true even now, with all this talk of equality and emancipation, and in spite of the very real evolution of women into complete human beings. For there can be no love without this caring and catering by women. The only difference now is that it is voluntary when it used to be obligatory: no longer the price of room and board but the tender of love, freely given.

Swim Class

2007-03-03T17:35:00.000+05:30

The last time I was in a pool, i distinctly remember the shallow end being SHALLOW, the water was at my chest height. That pool was, well, at the recreation section of an apartment building in Kochi. So today, the first day at swim class with Nisha Millet, we were asked to get into the shallow end, of course, but SHALLOW here meant a height of 4 feet, and I am 5 feet. I was neck-deep in ozonated water. To steady myself on my feet in the pool was hard as hell, every time I tried to keep my feet flat on the floor of the pool they would automatically rise and just the tips of my toes would be touching the tiles. It took quite a while to get used to the bouyancy.
Then came the breathing lessons, and for some of us, a lot of water drinking while trying to breathe out under water. Sputtering and coughing, I managed to get the hang of it, and happily floated while holding onto the side of the pool. Letting go was not in my list of "t0-do's" on the first day, but like gym class, the trainer is boss. Following instructions from Nisha, I managed to get the hang of floating around inthe pool and propelling myself a bit in the water. Tried my nose at breathing while going in and out of the water in short intervals, that was the hard part.

Day one over, tomorrow comes the lessons for the feet. Apparently I shall be able to swim on my own in a couple of classes more. But there is something I realized today that made me really happy and eager to want to do more, it's never to late to learn anything. There is nothing embarassing in telling someone you don't know how to do something. And the sense of euphoria and pride that comes when the learning is accomplished is tremendous.

Learning To Do Things

2007-03-02T19:50:00.000+05:30

I learnt a lot of things late, and still learning. I am not talking about learning life's little lessons here, that is always an ongoing process, this is about things I could have learnt when I was a kid or a little earlier then when I'm good and ready to hit the big 3-0.

The first time I moved out of home was when I went off to Pondicherry to start my masters in 1999. Before that, through many a holiday, my childhood friend would try in vain to teach me how to cycle. I never owned a cycle to ever learn, for some yet unknown reason my parents never got me one. But to survive the intense heat in Pondy and to get to class not dripping in sweat, one just had to learn to cycle. For a while my roommate would give me a ride on her cycle, but that, of course, was hard on her, and I would have to walk to other buildings for classes we didn't share. Finally, she took it onto herself to teach me how to cycle. She made it a point to wake me up at 5.30 every morning and get me to balance on her bike. It took me 5 days and absolutely no falls to learn to cycle. And I loved it, not the fact that I could finally cycle, but cycling itself. A semester later when a classmate bought a Scooty, I learnt to ride that too and the sense of freedom was tremendous.

When I learnt to drive I wasn't all that comfortable taking the car out on my own. And I never spent too long at home to continue driving. I was happily shuttling between cities. So, as of today, I have no confidence behind the wheel and have managed to develop a phobia. But I have made the decision to learn to drive again, in a couple of months, of course.

Gym taught me to breathe properly, something most of us think we know how to do, but actually don't. Of course, not to forget "life's little lessons" that gym has taught me. Abhinav listed those quite well here.

As a little girl in primary school, I would spend a lot of time at the pool in school, watching the girls in action, wondering if I'd be able to learn the to swim some day. Never did. But as of tomorrow, I will start. Abhinav and I have signed up for a swim class, and I have waited for this for 2 weeks now. Eager and excited.

The other things that are left to learn, well, there's salsa, for one, and everything there is to know about wine, from the growing of the grapes to the tasting of the wine. Someday, that too...

The Juice Vendor

2007-02-14T18:30:00.000+05:30

I see him everyday, at least the days I walk to and back from the gym. In the afternoons, he's standing under a tree on the same side of the road as the gym, and he moves across the road in the evenings. I don't know his name, never bothered to speak to him or buy the fresh sweet lime juice he sells.

He's not alone. An old lady, probably more than 80 years old sits on a battered rug on the footpath. There are a couple of children too, a boy and a girl, neither being more than 10 years. The little boy is usually dressed in a dirty old school uniform. Perhaps he does go to school. The vendor is a young man, perhaps in his early 20s, definitely not more than 25.

This juice seller caught my attention the day he was looking into a notebook and asking the children something about the contents of the page. From the way he looked through the page it was quite evident he could read, and the way he was addressing the younger boy and the complaints of the little girl, it seemed to me he was looking through their school work. Since then I have paid attention to the little group on the footpath everyday.

They aren't local, they definitely do not look it and they speak a dialect which has a few Hindi words mixed into the melee of fast flowing words. I don't see him sell too much juice, but there have been the odd sale that I have witnessed. Call me a dreamer, or perhaps I'm weaving a story spun around this boy to keep my imagination alive. Perhaps I just want a story to tell. But in my imagination he is the breadwinner of this little group of people on the footpath, making do with what they possibly can. I am tempted to talk to the young man, but have no idea what to say to him or how to find out how he came to be standing under a tree selling sweet lime juice. I thought of stopping there for a drink today, but somehow couldn't work up the courage to talk them. Would I be considered crazy if I did? Would it really matter if I was considered crazy? There is something about this group that intrigues me, but I have no idea when I'm going to find out what that may be.

There is, of course, a part of me that doesn't want to find out anything about them. They've captured a part of my imagination that seems to entertain me on my long walks to and from the gym. Stories about them pop up in my head and disappear to be replaced by another string of images. I feel as though its somehow its more interesting to use my imagination, afraid that my bubble will burst.

Happy Fat

2007-01-16T18:02:00.000+05:30

There is something that montessori teachers are taught during their training - if a child is happy after he/she joins a school, then the child will put on weight. Putting on weight is a sure sign of happiness, no matter how much one may eat. If one is sad, the body will refuse to show it in girth....so the amount of weight I have added to my already healthy body is an index of my happiness ..... :)

So if there is anyone who has been cribbing about the amount of weight they have put on, do tell them about this and make them feel good about themselves!

New Year Resolutions

2007-01-12T18:38:00.000+05:30

We all make them, serious or not, one way or another everyone comes up with things they want/should/could/need to do as a new year appears in the horizon. Some go into self-assessment on deeper levels, while others just laugh it all away and come up with things to do that are just not meant to be carried through. After all, "new year resolutions were meant to be broken".

I've been on a journey of self-improvement for the last six months at least (maybe more, can't really recall), though at times some of the resolves I made drifted away with the breeze (sometimes the gale) that blows right through my apartment. But there was one which was tempting just for its novelty value.

Ever since my marriage I have (not very desparately) tried to lose weight (I am told that marriage invariably makes the girl put on weight. How? Beats me!!). Now I ain't "fat" at all, just "pleasantly plump", perhaps, considering there are bulges where there should be no bulges. There was, of course, no way I could control my diet, I need my more than fair share of saturated fats. Food, I can't do without more than a bit extra. So I invested in a very easy way of toning my body, a few massage sessions and a machine that would help me sweat. Sadly I couldn't see it through due to unforseen emergencies. So finally when Abhinav mentioned a gym, I jumped at it, both knowing very well that between the 2 of us, I would be the one to not see it through or not focus on it (considering my attention span is that of a toddler).

Through the last week of December I kept at my dear husband to get us the gym membership we had been discussing for a few weeks prior, for that would be my new year resolution. Little did I know it would prove to be addictive.

Filled with apprehensions and a sullen mood I entered the gym for the first time to learn my routine on the 1st of Jan. I left the gym that evening feeling wonderful physically as well as emotionally. Apprehensions and sullen moods were a thing of the past. Since then (though it has been only 9 days in the gym) I have felt great, fresh even after a workout, and happier than ever before. I have missed a couple of days of my workout and been feeling lethargic and a bit emotional, waiting eagerly to get on the treadmill again.

I have friends and family who have been regulars to a gym before, but noone mentioned how exhilarating it could be. At some primal level, it released years of whatever it was that was waiting to get out, and I love every minute of feeling this way. This is one resolution I don't intend to break till it is absolutely necessary to do so, this one is for keeps.

A Weekend Adventure/Life's Lessons

2006-12-08T12:35:00.000+05:30

Last weekend was meant to be an outing to be remembered, my first trip into the jungles after marriage, with my techie husband in tow. I wanted him to experience my world. But sadly, the trip was cut short barely 45km outside Bangalore when an oblivious pedestrian decided to be a "victim" associated with the car that we were traveling in.

Abhinav has spoken for both of us. He's described here exactly to the point what we went through last Saturday and what lessons we learnt from the experience.

Defining "Life"

2006-11-30T18:08:00.000+05:30

Its been a very long time since there was something written in this space, a very long time since I thought there was something worth sharing......buts there's the catch, there hasn't been something to blog about, or more truthfully, there has been so much that I have no idea where to start. I'm still in a place where I'm struggling to grasp the meaning of day-to-day events, learning to handle what my life throws in to make everything more meaningful. Of course, most of them I don't get, unable to understand where, how and what makes things go wrong and what needs to be done to make everyday fun, happy and satisfactory.

"Happy" and "satisfactory" - big words as far as I'm concerned. Unable to provide parameters to define happiness and sastisfaction, I'll throw it open to discussion. Anyone with any input in this respect is most welcome to teach me. Are they both interdependent, or are they one and the same thing? It's easier to understand personal happiness and satisfaction, but do those parameters change when other people are involved? Is it even right to assign parameters and definitions to these words? Are they mere abstractions? Or are they words that help make dealing with life easier? If there is no real meaning to them, then are they just empty words that people latch on to so that there is more meaning to the word "life"?

By now I should've been world-wise, with some understanding of the way life works, in funny ways or otherwise. But, as I learnt this morning, I haven't. Still a child in that respect. I really have been sheltered my whole life and now to face the realities of the world is a real challenge, and facing failure when it knocks on my door is not easy. Then there's emotions galore. What I came to realize this morning was that no matter what I do, how badly my mistakes my reflect on me or make me feel, there's always a way to bounce back - as long as the support is always sturdy.

A Problem Called "Askintoo"

2006-10-18T10:47:00.000+05:30

My last post received a comment that was remotely not related to the topic. Greatly as I appreciate the fact that someone stopped by, I don't appreciate the fact that this person seems to have made a lot of people, me included, quite mad. He/She is more interested in making money and passes the idea on to a load of other people. Curious as to who this person was I tried to go through his profile, fortunately or unfortunately (I'm not sure as to how to view this intrusion) the profile is not available. A simple search led me to a whole load of people who were very angry with the comments left on their blogs.

Is this spam? Can anything be done to stop such miscreants?

The Truth About Relationships

2006-10-17T13:04:00.000+05:30

For the most part, I'm no expert on this theme. While in college I took up 2 years of a psychology course called "Personal Growth and Interpersonal Relationships", more out of curiousity than for personal betterment. Well, it helped, helped in ways that I'm not sure I yet can fathom completely. Since then I have been on an on-going search for the answers to questions that my relationship with people puts into my already overworked brain. Its a constant search, what to do and not to do; what to say or not to say; how to be or not to be; followed by the 'when' and 'where'. Everyday brings new lessons, each relationship provides a new taste and a new sensation.

So there were things I learnt in the past. I add them to what I'm learning at present. Then starts the confusion. Not everything I learnt in the past will help me cope with what I am going through at present. Every thought is different, every feeling is stronger, every experience hits closer home. I'm not an advocate for living life by my own rules, if I was, then I think I'd pretty much be a loner. I like having people around me, and each one has different needs. To accomodate those needs, I have to be flexible. I try to be more accepting, broadening my horizons to see what others see. Who knows, what they see just might be a wonderful sight to behold - so why miss it? That means I tend to change with every new day, change on the surface, the core of me still being me. But those little changes seem to be the ones that make it hard to deal with relationships. For one they are the perfect blend, for the other, completely disastrous. I realize we all change to accomodate the ones we love into our lives. Small as those changes may be, they just might bring the keystone crumbling down.

Years ago I came across a passage in a book that caught my attention. It seemed to ring true in my heart. Not wanting to forget it, I wrote it down. I cannot remember the book its from, but if memory serves me right, the author was Lawrence Sanders. This is what it said:

Love corrupts, and absolute love corrupts absolutely. Love is what everyone wants and noone finds? People find it. But love corrupts, and absolute love corrupts absolutely. Parents and children, husbands and wives, and especially lovers: love corrupts them all. Because you have an image of the loved one, and the loved one, sometimes unloving, still attempts to adapt to your image. But then, you find the image is a sad substitute of what you first saw in the loved one. We change to accomodate love, and by changing, we destroy it. That first insanity cools, by changing what we are to answer the lover's demands. And by answering them, we kill the heat. Nothing more? That's what the lover asks then. Nothing more? Is that all there is? If there's everything, there's nothing. There has to be something more.

A History of Grief

2006-10-05T18:09:00.000+05:30

The sun that breaches the horizon,
curling out over the landscape
in tendrils out of momentousness,
means we can return, turn over,
be turned, take a turn, turn away.
I open my eyes and the dancers
have left the hall.
The floor, which
seemed made for this, is empty.
The blackbird is aloft, and out of sight.
I may never see it again,
and if I do,
I will stroke its rainbow feathers,
dumb to the tips of my fingers.
What else am I to do?
One night has passed in a river
of molded emotion,
and my feet tire of this number
ONE.
As before, it is a city outside.
How many will ever know
I was with them, in common,
without a ticket for addmission:
a participant in onlooking.
It would not be enough to say
that rain shall wash away
these differences and rivulets of sameness
into the empty calendar,
long out of date.
I now say again,
I will begin as new and
take away what has been given.
This day, the summer, if it ever was
is Indian.
I will write to you often
and remember a certain dance
whenever the voice behind me
on the street
is yours.

Easy Money?

2006-10-05T08:52:00.000+05:30

For a long time now we've all been reading reports on the escalating crime scene in Bangalore. What was once a retired person's haven has become India's largest IT hub and along with that status it has pulled in various other "job descriptions". Mugging being one of the most popular.

Not too long ago Bangalore Times (the city suppliment of the Times of India) published a report on the large number of muggings that have taken place in the city after dark. Radio City RJ, Fiona, had her face slashed while she and her fiance were being mugged. (Read article here) A blog entry talks about someone's experience and fear after a couple of similar incidents near his home. Another blogpost

The menace increases and sadly the authorities do nothing about it but make large promises. Newspapers take reader polls, but they too go ignored.

A few days back my brother-in-law came home with a "funny" story to share. He laughed at the matter, to me it was a serious affair. He was "mugged" in broad daylight in the heart of the city, very close to his work place. How the miscreants got away with it is what was the "funny" part. According to my BIL, a gang of eunuchs managed to corner him and get hold of his wallet. Unfortunately for him there was more than Rs.1000 in there, and the gang got away by taking Rs.1070 from him that afternoon. Lucky for him, they returned his wallet with his credit cards. A report was made with the local police, but to no avail. According to him, there didn't seem to be any point in filing an FIR. Back at the office he is informed that this has happened to others before. A couple of days later, looking back on the incident, he tells me that there was something very fishy about the eunuchs. Somehow there seemed to be something about them that didn't seem too "eunuch-like". Probably in the way they spoke, or perhaps in their general behavior. A little conversation with other people revealed that there is a gang of men, normal men, who dress up as eunuchs and rob people of all the money that they carry. Some may go further by asking the person to step into the nearest ATM to withdraw cash if they are not carrying enough. Apparently there has been an article written about this gang in a newspaper, but sadly I cannot locate it.

About a month back my husband called me while on his way to work. Apparently someone stopped him to say that there were sparks coming out from under the bonnet. The kindly gentleman then helped to check under the hood for the problem, saying he worked for Solar Automobiles (a leading Maruthi dealership) and discovered that some part was broken. He even removed the part to show Abhinav that was truly broken. He then called someone for a replacement and helped install it. When it came to repaying the gentleman, Abhinav had no ready cash, so he took the person's name and number and promised to go to Solar and pay the dues. On calling Solar he discovered that the person was fictitious, noone by that name or description worked there. The concerned person at Solar even mentioned that no part was sent out on request that morning. According to the management at Solar, they had received reports from various parts of the city that a couple of men on a bike would randomly stop cars and tell them there was a problem and they would help, cheating the unknowing car owner out of not only an original car part, but also the money that would cost to have it replaced.

Movies depict mugging as a poor soul cornered in a dark alley and robbed at gunpoint. Here in Bangalore you don't have to be in any dark alleyway to be mugged, and definitely not at gunpoint. Knifepoint, maybe. Who could imagine mugging taking on so many forms? No wonder we fall prey to the muggers.

Bangaloreans will not stop going out, will not stop partying and enjoying themselves despite how unsafe the city has become. Fear will probably never take over this booming city. But what does one do to avoid getting into a sticky situation with miscreants? Is there no stopping them? Is there no solution to this problem?

(Metroblogging Bangalore post)

Its All About ME!!!

2006-09-29T21:37:00.000+05:30

In my profile I call myself a "quirky little thing", but I have no idea how far those quirks can take me. This would pretty much be one of them, writing about me on my own blog. Isn't the whole blog supposed to be about me? Well, that's my understanding of a personal weblog, where the posts pretty much describe my thoughts, wants and needs.....basically pretty much describes ME. Of course, the description is quite complicated when u have to go through a lot of posts to figure out who I really am. But, since Atul decided to tag me, I am left with little choice but to give in to his request.

So where does one start? For a dreamer like me, it could be anywhere. I have no fixed point of reference. But isn't being a dreamer a very good start? My whole life has pretty much been spent in faraway places, places that perhaps don't even exist. Some, of course, do. And that makes me a vagabond too. I have referred to my nomadic lifestyle in previous posts, but then, hey, thats who I have been, and still am. A vagabond. Being tied down in one place was never my idea of life. It was all about unseen places and the wilderness, all about discovery. Then something else discovered me. Love. I fell in love and married the man I fell in love with. Gone are my nomadic days, but it has made me what I am today, a woman in love. Still a vagabond at heart, my love makes me want to find my roots. That brings me to the next attribute. Thinking too much. My search puts my brain into overdrive. Every thing gets thought over and analyzed repeatedly, and more often than not I end up with the wrong answers, and I go back to thinking more, and the cycle continues. (Suprising that I'm actually not thinking too much about this post at all...seems to just flow out as I go clicking on the keyboard) I must admit to spending too much time on the unimportant things, but the fact is I send my poor brain into a frenzy! Then there's my impulsiveness, sudden urges to go ahead and do something, crazy or sane. When a thought enters on an action, I pretty much have to act on it. Somehow those actions get translated in expressions, guess one can say I have an animated face. My husband wants a collection of pictures with my extensive repertoire of expressions, and he sure has made a good start. There something else that my husband repeatedly tells me, there is a child inside me. I must admit to behaving like a little girl sometimes and the truth is I feel like a child pretty much all the time. Wonderful feeling that.....and like a child, I love the pampering and coddling. Oh! And didn't I mention I was quirky? Sure I did.

I don't know if I want to tag others, but I am curious, wish Abhinav, Naidu and Jitu would do the same as me. It would be interesting to know what they have to say about themselves.

So What Happens Now

2006-09-29T18:39:00.000+05:30

A cluttering of landscapes
The mind in the dream of a mind
Trains of promises building steam
and the fires burn on.
Rivers unbroken on an ubroken plain
I struggle with options
A flash of light on a mockingbird wing
Trifles of imposters gather.
There is room in the soul for emptiness
and that is frightening; awesome.
As wind where there could be no wind
sun, where the eyes have never set
Earth, where the aliens are home.....
Is this death or the sum of dying
or laughter because it hurts to laugh
or merely
a slip of faith on an oil-slick
of the unknown?

My Love

2006-09-26T12:43:00.000+05:30

You kissed me
and I partook from the cup filled
by the Goddess of love herself.
My mind cleared of all doubt,
crossed over to cervitude.
You kissed me
and my lips
felt like a rose that blushes
at the gentle touch of a breeze.
You kissed me
and I heard St. Peter's bells toll
to announce my love.
My life begins anew
rendering my pain into passion.
You lovingly draw back the veil
that hides an aching past
and reveal to me
the cadences of my heart
singing in chorus with yours.
You showed me happiness
that cannot surpass the soul's joy
at the marriage of true love.
You are my weakness,
but in that you are my strength.
You are my dream
and you wake me to reality
by the feel of your body next to mine.
Let not the waves reveal the secret
that our feet struck a carmaderie
on the shifting sands of life.
Let noone pursue my love
to be able to do evil unto her.

Woman That I Am

2006-09-26T12:34:00.000+05:30

I wish there was hatred in some eyes
Rather.......
Woman that I was born.
That I was dead at times
When instincts were more alive.
The look in some men's eyes
Just tells me where I stand
Whatever might I do,
there only will I remain.
I never felt more vulnerable
Betrayed,
Being a woman that I am.
Unattacked, unmolested
Yet violated I stand.

A Duet Divine

2006-09-26T12:30:00.000+05:30

Swaying with the rythm
of remixes and rewind
the twosome together,
entwined.
Two separate hearts
bound in a friendly handshake
and duet divine.
Butterflies turn moths at night
A receptacle of fear in paradise
that holds back
the eyes from encounters
of a passionate kind.
With each crescendo
the heart beats,
With each high
the bodies break free,
Only
not from self-confinement.
The masks that society shed
we wore
in quiet contentment.

A Perfect Mirror

2006-09-26T12:25:00.000+05:30

Come to me,
Strike at my soul
Tell me in loving language
the cadences of the human heart.
Tell me about the trees,
the stones, the sky
and of how spirited they are;
How much of bravado there is in them.
Their tales of love nad sordid misery.
Come tell me old embattled stories
of a withered poem that let go man's crisis.
Anguish has fallen upon me like a bewildered axe.
A poem stares at me
Perfect mirror for my soul.

Me???

2006-09-26T12:19:00.000+05:30

There are many things I do not reveal.
Whatever is my truth is lost in the swirl
of my rotating disguises.
There I am in the corner on a creaking rocker
in the musty light reeking of dust and yellow paper.
Sobs echo in the hall
but as you come closer
there I am laughing at my own jokes.
What's so funny?
I am.
Those claw marks on my cheeks
are just the tears burnt dry
from this week's lie.
And the fading sun you see
is just the morning over me.

BlogCamp Images

2006-09-12T17:27:00.000+05:30

The pictures that were taken at BlogCamp, Chennai, are at this flickr page or can be viewed at this picasa page

To Home-Make or Not to Home-Make

2006-09-11T19:32:00.000+05:30

Lets be politically correct here, so I'm going to refer to myself as a "Homemaker" and not a mere "housewife". Somehow that sounds a lot more jazzy to me, gives the life of a stay home woman way more oomph (though I like the sound of "pizzazz" better).

I incorporated myself into the profession of a homemaker about 3 months ago, and since then have not even thought about leaving home to get me a job, or rather I should say another job.

Before this change in profession I was a nomad, hopping and skipping from one place to another, not staying for more than a few months in each location, covering pretty much the length and breadth of the country. And now that I'd decided that enough was enough, my nomadic nature decided to kick in and overtake my desire to finally "settle down". The strangeness of this overwhelming urge to travel (and keep traveling) is in the fact that I don't just want to go places where I can follow the first troop of monkeys I find, or look for wildlife per se, it's not only the call of the wild that beckons, but other locales that boast of beautiful beaches and the high reaches.

Am I regretting the change in profession? No, absolutely not, and that is stranger still. Till a few months ago the last thing on my mind was to do what most veteran homemakers are great at. I had no intentions of planning a meal in advance, or waking up early in the morning to get breakfast ready (here I just hoped that my husband would leave late like he used to earlier), running from one room to another and cleaning up closets and beds, and more importantly, getting finances in order. But life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans. Marriage changes a lot, and in my case, changed it for the better. Its a learning experience, everyday brings new challenges, just as in any other profession. Do I work as hard as I used to before? Thankfully, no. It's not too physically exerting and neither does my head spin while trying to plan the day. It still sounds weird to me when I admit to myself that I enjoy looking after the homefront. After years have I found some peace of mind and finally a place to call home, and by 'place' I don't mean the physical 4 walls that go to make a house, but anywhere that keeps me close to the man I love and married.

Anyone reading this would probably be wondering if I'm utterly confused, my nomadic nature and my need to be rooted in complete conflict. Thats probably true. This urge to go traveling again stems from the fact the I now have someone to share those experiences with, someone who enjoys traveling just as much as I do. He will always be home to me, so where's the conflict? I'll always be a homemaker wherever we might be together.

In any case, my love for travel is something I know will never be thwarted, so there will be plenty of opportunities to go places. As of now, our current travel index shows we're out of town almost every second weekend. Not bad, I should admit, but heaven knows I want more, there's too much to see and too little time to see them all in.

So there follows a resolution, as much as I can plan meals and scrub and clean, I can also plan my outings. From now on, the first opportunity that comes my way to go a-galavanting, I'll grab it. Sad to say that the timing may clash with that of my husband's work, but heck, if I can't satisfy my need, I don't think I'll be able to satisfy his very well, and this would help me do a better job on the home front too. So Goa comes a-calling and then there will be more! Does this make me a bad homemaker, hey, I'm not judging, and I hope noone else will either!

Tuesdays with Morrie

2006-09-10T12:01:00.000+05:30

Not to violate any copyright laws, the title of this post is not my own, its the title of the book that I am currently reading.

"Tuesdays with Morrie - an old man, a young man and life's greatest lesson" by Mitch Albom. It caught my attention when it was lying around in my inlaw's place, as though it was begging me to pick it up. Somehow it refused to get out of my field of vision. Picked it up to pass my time at BlogCamp, and something about me has taken me on a journey I am yet to fathom, somewhere it touched me at a place I am yet to understand. There are certain passages in there that I can relate to. Here are some of them, to me they are worth sharing :

The Tension of Opposites - Life is a series of pulls back and forth. You want to do one thing, but y are bound to do something else. Something hurts you, yet you know it should'nt. You take certain things for granted , even when you know you should never take anything for granted. A tension of opposites, like a pull on a rubber band. And most of us live somewhere in the middle. Like a wrestlig match. So which side wins? Love wins, love always wins.
So many people walk around with a meaningless life. They seem half-asleep, even they're busy doing things they think are important. This is because they're chasing the wrong things. The way you get meaning into your life is to devote yourself to loving others, devote yourself to loving the community around you, and devote yourself to creating something that gives you purpose and meaning.
Detachment from an experience - Detachment does not mean you don't let the experience penetrate you. On the contrary, you let it penetrate it you fully. That's how you are able to leave it. Take any emotion, if you don't allow yourself to go all the way through them - you can never get to being detached, you're too busy being afraid. You're afraid of the pain, you're afraid of the grief. You're afraid of the vulnerability that loving entails. But by throwing yourself into these emotions, by allowing yourself to dive in, all the way, you experience them fully and completely. You know what pain is. You know what love is. You know what grief is. And only you can say, "All right. I have experienced that emotion. I recognize that emotion. Now I need to detach from that emotion for a moment."
The young are not wise. They have very little understanding about life. Who wants to live every day when you don't know what's going on? When people are manipulating you, telling you to buy this perfume and you'll be beautiful, or this pair of jenas and you'll be sexy - and you believe them! That's nonsense. It's very simple. As you grow, you learn more. If you stayed 22, you'd always be as ignorant as you were at 22. Aging is not just decay, you know. It's growth. It's more than the negative that you're going to die, it's also the positive that you understand you're going to die, and that you live a better life because of it.

It was humbling, this book can teach anyone how to live life without the fear of death, or how to live life knowing full well we're gonna die soon.

BlogCamp 2006, Chennai

2006-09-09T15:42:00.000+05:30

The concept of an "unconference" is new to me. In fact, a presenter said something to the effect of "why do we blog? To share, to store and to read". This arena brings together people from very different backgrounds. This includes journalists and writers, techno-geeks (sorry, guys), rural community experts, an ecologist (me) and a hoard of other professions that I haven't been able to identify. This is where everyone gets to share, everyone gets to absorb and learn new things and everyone gets to hear about new concepts, stories and ideas. Any blogger, or non-blogger for that matter, is welcome.

BlogCamp brings together an ecclectic mix of individuals who share their experiences and thoughts, discuss various blogging issues and new-comers (like me) get to learn the ABCs of blogging (if not more).

My Experiences at BlogCamp, Chennai

2006-09-09T14:09:00.001+05:30

WHAT AM I DOING HERE???? I am currently sitting in the auditorium of Tidel Park, Chennai, attending a blogcamp......BlogCamp.in......and I got caught into this all thanx to Abhinav. He was keen on this and I tagged along hoping to have fun at the beach party.....shallow as that may sound.

But here I am, nonetheless, and currently sitting through my first session of the day (after a flight that was 3 hours late). They're discussing community blogging.....something, as was blogging itself, a whole new concept. My only experience in this respect was when Abhinav and I started a blog together, but nothing came out of that. There's a strange discussion going on, but stranger still is that I understand.... well, some of it at least.

This is a post that will extend over 2 days, my experience at Blogcamp, Chennai, what I learn and how much I will be able to implement on my blogs. And for my own good I'll probably just follow dear Hubby around! This way I know I can ask all the silly questions!

Today, 9th Sept., Sat., there's talk on disaster blogging as part of collaborative blogging....not up my alley.....like someone mentioned, I guess I don't believe in social responsibility. What next?

What comes next is basically something about journalism and open source blogging, something else that is not my cup of tea, but the example that has been given is what has caught my attention. The one-eyed baby.....a cyclop? Scott Carney, a reporter with Wired News and a freelance journalist, wrote about this. He wonders why most bloggers do not question what they read or see. Sadly, I happen to be one of them, read about interesting stuff but never question it, come across a controversy and never discuss that either. The reality would be that I'm stuck in a rut.....I'll question only issues that I am personally interested in, which pretty much boils down to my work. And considering Altu-Faltu (my alter-ego) is currently on sabbatical, there isn't much that I am keen on discussing. This brings me to questioning the extent of it my horizon......shouldn't I be expanding at least a wee bit more, learn more so that I have more to blog about? The real question is, do I have the patience for that? Something that this blog should reveal in the future. This, of course, has nothing to do with investigative journalism, but a simple matter where if someone comes across any controversy (e.g. the ban of certain drugs in the US, but sold over the counter in India) to question it and to do something about it, do help the betterment of society by blogging about it after some minimal research so that it catches the attention of readers and there may be a change possible because of pressure from the common man.

I must admit, after a bit the whole session was a complete bore.....things were too much for me, guess I could say that it was way too geeky for me. But the day ended well, beach party, alcohol, food and lots of noise and people. A calming session alone on the terrace of the house. A long walk on the beach, a heartfelt conversation that should've been done a long time ago and then sleep under the stars on the terrace of the beach house. Mosquitoes, drizzle and the ealry morning call of the birds are not my idea of a "good night's sleep". But well, another day dawns and more sessions to go, and this time there will be a more positive outlook from me.

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Day 2 at BlogCamp today and this time I think I'll be better equipped to handle the discussions, somehow today's topics seem to me more to my liking, well at least the morning session. Someone's talking about blogging about places in rural India, there is a part of me that wants to tell them about Altu-Faltu, but very unsure if that would really be related. I must say, that after yesterday's sessions I'm keen on starting over again, get Altu-Faltu to give up his sabbatical and restart his adventures in the Indian wilderness and to start a travelogue and my long awaited ecological blog. I realize now that I don't have to have my own domain to do this and I'm not planning on wasting time and energy (maybe even money) on that, all credit for this goes to Amit Agarwal, he was an eye-opener! That pretty much means that there's plenty to do when I get back home.

I blog because I enjoy it. There are people talking about how to increase traffic on a blog, what to do to make sure that traffic stays, how to advertise it, etc. And here I am wondering how valid it is for me. Sounds like a cartload of jargon to me, but that's my fault. My lack of knowledge makes me feel that all this isn't for me. But considering that this is a platform where even amatuer bloggers are welcome and where there are people who are from a non-technical background (though might be a very miniscule percentage of the participants), this forum should allow for the fact that there will be people like me around, call us the underdogs if you please.

And should politicians blog? Damn, our Indian politicians aren't that honest. Yes, the citizens can do that, political blogging. But politicians blogging, NO WAY! Though this can be a very debatable issue, considering the young guns could try. But the real question is will they!

Finally, after a couple of terribly boring sessions, there is a man standing in front of me who does something pretty interesting. Sharad Haksar, a digital photographer, talking about some of his controversial images. His images are a must see, and currently is collecting images that highlight brand irony for his new book. That should be worth the wait.

Ladies and gentlemen, after the first session that I enjoyed, there is now Sunil Gavaskar giving a talk on podcasting. He says he belongs to the 'transistor generation', and he's talking about podcasting. The truth of the matter is that all he needs to do is speak into a mic and the guys at Yahoo! do the rest. But it's Sunil Gavaskar!!! He's a brand on his own, one of the most well-known public figures in the country. He does not talk about anything he does not know about. All he talks about is his experiences with podcasting. Says he might start a cricket blog, being taken by the discussions that he witnessed before he took the room captive.

After 2 wonderful sessions there comes a complete downslide. Nandhu was to talk about blogging as journalism, but not only is the content not too relevant, the content is being READ OUT! All he's doing is reading out his latest blog post. This is an "unconference", so where is the discussion, where is the interaction with the audience and the eye contact? All that is required by him is an announcement that says his presentation is on his blog, give us the url and ask the audience to read it and leave comments (if any) on it. What precisely is the point of reading something out? Nobody is listening and nobody is interested. I'm pissed, lets be candid here, completely bugged as of this time. What a waste of time!

The current, post-lunch session is on corporate blogging, and there is a repetition of yesterday's boredom kicking in, especially since for the last couple of nights has been sleepless. Its hard to keep my eyes open but there is nothing much I can do about it. There is another session taking place in the conference hall where there is talks on science blogging and other stuff, probably even personal blogging. Shouldn't I be there, after all that would be more relevent for me than corporate blogging and how common people can make a difference in a company's attitude or quality of their product, than not attending something that I have no interest in? Confession time, I'm simultaneously researching fire ecology on the web while I blog and pretend to be listening to things that are happening around me. Good session or bad, my state of sleepiness will not allow me to absorb anything further. If the sessions here are not spruced up, I'm pretty much done with BlogCamp.

The last session at BlogCamp, an open discussion about blogging in general. Is blogging addictive? Personally for me, no. But there are people who cannot go through a day not blogging. How important are the comments on each post? Is it important to comment at all to a post or would these comments rather be some sort of a conversation/discussion? The first time through the entire camp that I have something to say, the one thing that I can ask questions about or provide some input. Have I been waiting for this or what!!!

The best part of being a part of BlogCamp is the fact that I'm meeting different people through the day. Yesterday was very intimidating, there was too much jargon and expertise floating around for my comfort, but today is a different story. I've made friends, had amazing conversations and realize that its ok to not know anything and to admit it, there is no shame there. And then there was Ashwan Lewis. He was my batchmate in college and I meet him here after all these years. Of course, it took me about a couple of hours to remember his name. Its a great place to meet people and learn. Amazing, I think I'll do this again, and not because Abhinav will be attending, but coz its interesting, but the next time I shall hope to be more prepared to understand what is happening or try to be more knowledgeable about the Blogosphere than I am now.

But all said and done, the entire show was well organized, though I have heard that the BarCamp held in April this year was way better, in terms of participation and quality of speakers. All I have to say is this, Thank you BlogCamp. Here's looking forward to the next time.

Bigwigs and Little People

2006-09-04T10:34:00.000+05:30

There was chaos on the roads in Bangalore yesterday....and all for the sake of one "important" lady! Sure she's important, gets maximum security.....probably way better than our Prime Minister, but does Sonia Gandhi require an audience of 1000 odd bus load of people?

Apparently nobody in Bangalore city wants to hear her banter, good or bad as it may be, so bus loads of people were brought into the city so that the dear lady might have an audience. I have no idea as to how many buses were plying in and out of the city, and frankly I don't even want to know, but what happens to the regular traffic in the city? There is no way the city's roads handles regular traffic, so when the extras pour in, especially in the form of large transport vehicles (including SUVs full of the gunda variety) the entire city comes to a standstill.

A journey from one part of the city to another that on a normal day would take about 30 minutes took more than 2 hours to complete. An ambulance traveling with a patient had to climb over a 2 metre wide divider in the road to get to its designated hospital. A taxi headed to the railway station had to rush past in top speed almost brushing against nearby cars to make sure the passengers do not miss their train. A young man waiting for his lady friend to join him for a movie had to leave the theatre disappointed that she could not make it in time for the movie, his tickets going into the nearest bin. And these are just what I know about.

Does normal activity in Bangalore have to come to a standstill so that an important person can make her speech and leave? She was here for hardly a day and most parts of Bangalore paid for it. There is a small report about the chaos in the Times of India, but somehow it does not do any justice to what people here faced. Probably thousands were spent on all the posters that were put up in her honor, the bulk of them in Kannada. Does she even know how to read the language? Does she need to look at her picture and that of other Congress leaders, both dead and alive, to keep her in the party or to keep her image alive.....though I am very tempted to bring in her ego here now.....? Is this vanity? Couldn't that money be put to better use elsewhere? Thats a whole load of tax payers' money that has probably flown with the breeze today, most of those posters may have already been torn apart or brought down by now.

My husband keeps telling me that this is India, its time to get used to it coz things will never change, cynic that he is. And there are times when I do believe him, but I guess I'm being optimistic, hoping that the leaders themselves are people.....can't they think????

The Sweet Kiss

2006-09-01T16:40:00.000+05:30

As a student in the first year of my masters program I discovered a book in the university library that was probably the only interesting book there. The Female of the Species described the life strategies of females of various species, starting from insects to mammals. Thats where I first came across a paragraph that described how some females need "food gifts" from the males so that the latter may copulate in peace and not have to worry about being devoured at the end of what just might be his last act of love-making. That, of course, got me thinking about how kissing would have started. When this bright idea entered my head I was in a train and there was noone around with whom I could discuss this.....and when I did, I was told that people like Desmond Morris had already thought of the theory, amongst others.

Why do I write about it after 5 years? Well, I was watching pelicans feed their young on television this afternoon and the narrator mentioned something about the theories of kissing. And memoried flowed back. Its true that kissing may have originated while males fed their females to avoid being devoured themselves and evolution has not eliminated it completely even though there is no need for human females to be "fed" while the male copulates. Can't even think of any primate that might require "food gifts". Lips/mouths locked to exchange the food and that got passed on as a sign of love and affection.

The other theory that was mentioned on television is that while feeding young ones, most species partially digest the food for the young in their gullets and feeds the young after regurgitating the food. The regurgitating is stimulated when the young puts its mouth into the mouth of the parent. A theory behind kissing mentions that human ancestors would have to chew the food to feed the babies. Though I do see why the baby's mouth had to be placed next to the mother's to be fed (we were after all blessed with arms and opposable thumbs), the theory says that this act of feeding led to an act of affection.

But a sentence that seems bizzare and completely out there was something I read in an article by Kirwin Watson in the Student Operated Press - "Some have even conjectured that kissing developed as signs of communication between early humans and early primate “cousins” during, yeah...gross." :) but does sound interesting!

Of course, the number of nerves in the lips and the tongue is tremendous, so I guess it is very easy to stimulate it and the sensations are definitely wonderful, so there doesn't seem any need to evolutionarily eliminate the act of kissing. And considering there are a number of guidelines laid down to improve on the pucker, the experience becomes all the more enjoyable, I presume. The bottomline, irrespective of how kissing evolved, we enjoy it and continue to enjoy it.....be it as a sign of affection or of love, be it a symbol or be it passion, the kiss will always remain an essential part of our everyday life......to me, a very important part of my everyday life!

I also came across an interesting write-up on kissing....simple and interesting here.

Mangalore Masala

2006-08-24T19:25:00.000+05:30

I'm at a loss for words to describe this trip....something that does not happen to me too often. It was fun. Its nice to go traveling with friends, something I'm not very used to doing considering most of my outings have been for work or with parents. This was something different.

There were beaches....lots of rain, sand and laughter. Lots of food and lots of drink. Some very wonderful people and a lot of togetherness.

A wonderful trip and somehow its got me wanting more trips like these.....my need to travel hasn't diminished, and to be able to do it with friends is even more wonderful.

http://picasaweb.google.com/ssarkar.goyal/MangaloreTrip

Mangalore Masala - The TT Wedding

2006-08-24T18:25:00.000+05:30

I had never witnessed a Malayali wedding before, so when Abhinav and I were invited to Abhilash's (Abhinav's college friend) wedding in Mangalore, I was pretty excited. Not only was it my chance to experience something different, it was a great opportunity to see another place I had never before visited.

Of what I knew of Mal weddings, which was pretty much nothing, it was to get over real soon. So I was real curious to see what happened that made the wedding ceremony finish in a giffy.

It was rainy, humid and slushy, but dressed as best as the weather would allow, we (the college gang from VREC) headed off to the wedding, trying real hard to keep a Pashmina wool bedsheet and matching pillow cases as dry as would be possible.

We met Teddy (the groom) before his wedding, at 7 in the morning when he was waiting for us to arriev in autos at the corner where we were to stay the night. He, of course, was to head to the nearest barber shop, but the chance to spend some time with his friends seemed a better option then.

At the wedding, Teddy dressed in a sherwani and almost drenched in sweat looked thrilled to be getting married. His new bride, Thanuja, look lovely in her silk sari and flowers and jewels. It all started with pheras around the wedding things all set up the way it should, but they walked around with relatives, not with each other. Then came the exchange of garlands, followed by what to me seemed to be the Kanya daan presided over by Thanuja's father. After that started the rest of the ceremony.

I was armed with my new camera, my birthday gift from Abhinav. And I went click-happy.....tried to take as many pictures as best as I could. It was the first time I was using the camera on my own and my timing was bad. There were the other cameramen to compete with, and that included my own dear husband. Everytime I had a clear view of the couple and could get a great shot, someone would get in the way. But I managed to get some....and then even before the ceremony was done, I was out of battery power.

But that wasn't the fault of my camera. I think we were both prepared for a short wedding not more that 10 minutes maybe. But to my amazement, the ceremony pretty much was in par with my wedding ceremony (inclusive of 2 ceremonies)! There were a lot of pheras and a lot of chanting and the only other Malayali I knew had no idea why the ceremony was taking so long. Sudeep tried to explain what was happening, but after some time he too was lost, his sister's wedding was over in a shot!

But I must say, long or shot, the whole set up was beautiful. Simple. There was no mandap as such. There didn't seem to be any need for it.

Then there was the food. There was breakfast for all of us, good idlis and vadas....and there was lunch. Of course, I must confess we all took off to get some "refreshments" before lunch, to beat the heat!!

The best part of the whole thing was meeting Teddy's family. Abhinav had visited them earlier, to attend Teddy's sister's engagement. He came back with stories about how wonderful they were and took care of him as though he was part of the family. It was all perfectly true and more. It is no joke organizing breakfast for 9 hungry youngsters at home right after a wedding ceremony. But it was all done. We all ate at their home, and it felt great. A 2 bedroom apartment was organized for us. There a couple of sheets for us when we arrived, with buckets, mugs, towels, soap and toothpaste waiting for us when we arrived. Through the day, 3 mats were delivered so we could sleep. But apparently Teddy was still worried about us. So at about 1 in the morning he sends his father with more mats so that his friends might get some sleep and be comfortable. How many grooms would leave their new bride at home the day after their wedding to help friends find a car so they can travel in comfort? In the rain, that too.....refusing to stay under an umbrella! Teddy, you're one hell of a guy! And thank you for everything that you have done for us. We had a wonderful time.

Teddy and Thanuja, here's wishing the 2 of you the very best for a wonderful, happy and fun-filled life together. You guys make a great couple.

http://picasaweb.google.com/ssarkar.goyal/TheTTWedding

Travelogues of a Honeymooner

2006-08-16T14:18:00.000+05:30

No juicy stories here, and no pictures of happy newly-weds.....this was no honeymoon, as a "honeymoon" is supposed to be.......well, actually I don't even know what a honeymoon is supposed to be for the lack of proir experience, but this sure was no romantic getaway where my husband and I could cuddle beneath a tree or watch the sunset on a beach or look at sights in ancient lands. This was an outing like no other.....an outing with emotion, beauty and love, an outing of untouched lands and simple people, of strange languages and culture and food, of mountains and remote hamlets, and an outing on the "long and winding road"!

We decided to go to Himachal for our honeymoon. A land of uncomparable beauty and we chose to tread the unbeaten path, a trip along NH22, the Indo-Tibetan Highway.

Sarahan, where the Bhimkali temple dominates the village and the Srikhand Mahadev peak dominates the skyline.....where the mountains make u feel small and miniscule, insignificant maybe? Where the immenseness of the mountains will keep ur jaw hanging open in awe.

Kalpa, where the Kinner Kailash beckons, where the mountains make you feel as though one can embrace them and be one with them. Where the little village calls to the wary traveler to sample the simplicity of the Pahari people. Where innocence is not only within the children, but in the hearts of every man and woman. Where the apples look just as tempting unripe as ripe, where the old meet the young and wrinkles compete with fresh pink cheeks and glittering eyes.

Nako, where fear is overcome by peace and tranquility, where a small lake can become the lifeline of long and lonely road, where clear, sparkling streams seem to be the most beautiful body of water one may have seen.

Narkhanda, where pine forests call to take long walks within, where the slugs and pitcher plants are aplenty.

Sangla Valley, where farming makes beautiful sights. And Rakhcham, a little village out in the middle of nowhere would seem to be the perfect idyll for my dream home.

There was sunshine and blue skies, there were beautiful people and grand vistas, there were temples and stories, apples, apricots and walnuts, miniature wheatfields and snakes. The Sutlej traveling along beside, and the tributaries adding to his load. A land where religions meet half way. Bad, treacherous roads and groaning brakes.....all a part of what was an amazing trip taken with the best traveling partner a girl would want to travel with.

The pictures of the mountain country at
http://picasaweb.google.com/babla13/HoneymoonPics?pli=1

Weddings and Marriage

2006-07-19T18:35:00.000+05:30

About a month before we were to be married, Abhinav and I decided to stay at my parents place as the apartment would be empty for 6 months. As newly weds, that seemed to be an ideal situation in many ways. A couple of days before the wedding, my brother (cousin,a ctually) asked me what I would do if Abhinav and I ever had a fight. The usual thing to say would be "mein mayike ja rahi hoon!" (I'm going to my mother's home). His contention was that I could not say that as I was anyway going to live in my "mother's home". My dear granduncle, Ashit Dadu, immediately took up for me saying that that was not the only home she had in town, I could always go to him.

This was the feeling of togetherness that I felt at the time of the wedding. Almost everyone I knew in the family (and a very large one at that) and did'nt know was there or sent their wishes. People I never expected to see were present for the celebrations, young and old alike....no matter how far they had to travel. There could not have been a better gathering than that.

The wedding ceremony(s) itself was an experience by itself. Being carried by 7 boys/men was no joyride. A scary ride, but without it, I guess, there would not have been color at the start of solemn sessions. From what I hear, the entire occasion was fun and beautiful. I was told that I would not register much and most of it would be a blur, but on the contrary, I remember most of what transpired that evening, the one evening in my life that was so special to me. I remember the Brahmo Upasana and the Arya Samaj ceremony, I remember the nerves and the palpitations, the angle at which I was carried around Abhinav 7 times, the mess with the zipper of my lehenga blouse and most importantly, my lack of appetite at the end of it all. Pity I could not enjoy the food at my own wedding. But thats the thing, everyone enjoys weddings, except the bride and the groom, especially the food.

It has now been a month since we were married and it still does not feel that way. I still don't see any change in my life from before. It still feels as though we're courting each other, enjoying each other as before. When I asked Abhinav how he felt, he said it was as though only a couple of days had gone by.....what my mom-in-law calls the "honeymoon phase". And its true, we're still newly weds on our honeymoon, long after the honeymoon was over. If this is what marriage is then I have no idea why they break. And all I want is for my entire life to pass as if I were still on my honeymoon.....

My wedding pictures at http://www.flickr.com/photos/58715343@N00/ and at http://www.flickr.com/photos/75581032@N00/

The Long Journey Home

2006-06-12T16:25:00.000+05:30

I have finally come full circle. Its been a very long journey spanning almost the entire length of the country, but I have finally made it back 'home'.

In the last six and a half years there were many places I called "home", so much so that when it came to filling out official documents/forms which required addresses for various purposes I was in a fix as to which one would be most appropriate. I had choices, there were addresses in Jaipur, Bangalore and Pondicherry. But after leading a nomadic life for the most part of the 6 years and shuttling between relatives, I have made it back to the one place/address that I called "home" for a very long time. My parents house in Bangalore.

The last few years have seen me spent a lot of time with my granduncle, Ashit Sarkar, in Bangalore. Thank you, Dadu, for giving me a home when I didn't have one in my own hometown! I sure do owe you big time :)

So between Pondicherry, Cochin, Secunderabad, Mumbai and Jaipur, I spent some of my most memorable years....time where I learnt more about life and its riddles than I had in the first 22 years of my life. This journey saw me struggle with professional doubts, personal growth, family emergencies, hospital duties, home chores, a doctorate program, new friends, a marriage proposal, a beautiful engagement ceremony, a new and wonderful family, an extraordinary support system and the most amazing new chapter of my life to look forward to.

To all and sundry, to everyone who has seen me through these 6 years, thank you.

A Peaceful Exhibition

2006-02-23T13:16:00.000+05:30

Looking for some peace and quiet after a long day at work, after a frustrating time at home/office? Then this is for the likes of me.

Aditi sent me this link while I was having trouble fighting frustration the whole of what was to be a bright and sunny morning. When I saw the photographs here, peace finally set in.

Gregory Colbert's works are nothing but genius, an attempt to bring harmony between humans and animals.

Ashes and Snow is a must see and a wonderful experience. Take a look and judge for yourself.

Identity Crisis

2006-02-20T14:44:00.000+05:30

In a previous post on my blog, the confusion of my roots was evident. I am yet to discover what my "permanent" postal address will be, or any address for that matter. Elsewhere Atul, a fellow blogger, wrote this. I am certain that every one of us has been asked the question "your native?".

I was in a place called Nemmara in Kerala about a week ago. It was a meeting with the Divisional Forest Officer (DFO) regarding my permits to work in the Nelliampathy Hills. While he looked at my permit letter, he asked "Which state?". It took me a couple of seconds to register what the man was asking me, and when it did I wanted to smugly reply that I currently feel that I exist in the gaseous state, considering I had a tiring, hot and dusty journey, with a very full urinary bladder. I felt far from being solid. But prompt came my reply "Calcutta".

DFO: So you come from Bengal?

Me: Not exactly, I grew up in Bangalore.

DFO: You studying in which place?

Me: Pondicherry

DFO: What is your father?

Me: (though I failed to see the relevance of the question) He's with MICO

DFO: In Bengal?

Me: No, in Jaipur.

At the end of the interview, I doubt if the DFO registered anything. Somehow I get the feeling I may have confused the poor man, while he was only trying to make conversation. Many times I have battled with the thought of replying that I am human and an Indian, but always thought that I would sound rude and unnecessarily get under someone else's skin. Is there a solution to this problem? How do I handle times like this, and I face them too often in my work. I am mistaken for an American, and I passed myself off once as a Norwegian and once being from Belize.....thats how tired I was tackling such questions.

Pre-marriage Ceremonies?

2006-02-20T14:21:00.000+05:30

I returned from Kerala this morning. Work beckoned. But while I was at it, I decided to visit my aunt, uncle and cousins in Kochi. Now that the word is out that my wedding date has been fixed, most of my relatives want me to visit them. The reason....well......there is a pre-marriage ceremony that the bengalis call "Ai-burobhaath" (I have no idea how to spell that in English so its what I think is phonetic). It is apparently the last meal the girl (I think even the boy goes through this) has with in her home as an unmarried girl along with her other unmarried sisters and friends. The significance of this? Beats me.

This ceremony is to be held in the mother's house the day before the wedding and the elders of the family feed the girl and bless her and bestow some gifts on her (bridal shower?). But what I realized was that not only will this ceremony take place the day before my wedding at my parent's place, but will be kindly and willingly given by most of my aunts, related or not, in the time that I have left inbetween. So began my pre-wedding travels.

My aunt in Kochi (my mother's younger sister or my Mashi) had no idea what she was supposed to do. So things turned out just the way I would love every rite and ritual to go......informally. On being asked what I wanted for a gift, I drew a blank. I'm not one for wearing saris, so I asked for a pair jeans, which were promptly bought and I am wearing as I write this. As for the "meal"....I was taken to a fancy place and had baked crab for dinner (this is supposed to be a lunchtime ceremony, if I know correctly) and since my unmarried sisters and friends are to partake of this meal, I got my cousin, whose younger than me...and unmarried....to help herself from my plate.

Next stop, Secunderabad. Where my mother's youngest sister awaits my arrival. But I hesitate. I am told that she will go through with the ceremony by the book. Then there's Mumbai, where my father's sister will do the same for me.

I am now wondering what I should ask for as gifts. I want a new mobile phone, there's a pair a shoes I have my eye on.....as long as I am not loaded down with jewellery and saris! Ah, the advantage of getting married, you are pampered to no end and you get gifts :)

Why Women Can't Find Eligible Men

2006-02-06T15:09:00.000+05:30

The second time that I met Abhinav (my fiance) we got to discussing why its so hard for women to find good, stable, eligible men these days. He said he had a theory for that and explained it. The gist of it then came to me via email and this is what he had to say....

Saw this interesting page on Ryze where the page owner seems to be wondering where/how to find "Single, Smart, Good Looking, Emotionally-stable, Financially-secure and Intelligent Men looking for a Long-term commitment".

The topic has come up for discussion in the last few days with several of my female friends. I suppose its got to do with the age. They are all in that age bracket where a good Indian girl is supposed to get married and breed kids. I tell them - forget it. Here's the decision tree that I draw out for their benefit:

1. All potent men are dickheads - The Lingam drives their thinking.

2. When speaking of intelligent men, you are actually talking of men who are able to use their brains in addition to their phallus. This has eliminated a significant part of the male population.

3. In addition to being dickheads, men never outgrow their breast fixation. Its instinctive - when they are born, they learn that breasts provide them with food and the fixation just continues beyond infancy. (Actually, the bongchic with whom we started this post has a post on this on her blog here). Men who can't overcome this, like the rambler in bongchic's post, become emotionally unstable. This further reduces the chances of finding such men, even for well-endowed women.

4. Most people who can stop obsessing about breasts for short periods of time do so because they are in the rat race and have to go to work, where their fetishes are interrupted by bouts of worrying about how to pay the next month's EMI or how to save for a rainy day and all that.

5. Men who work because they want to, where they want to and when they want to (in short, smart men) have a lot of time on their hands to read stuff and this becomes a problem. They read up on a lot of stuff including Freud, Carl Jung, et al and also that really interesting story about how the cuckoo lays its eggs in the crow's nest and the crows take care of hatching the eggs while the cuckoo is busy hatching eggs elsewhere. Reading all these stories gives them ideas about how to live their own lives - if they are smart, they generally are able to execute these ideas very well, which makes them avoid commitments and long-term relationships till they grow old or bored or lonely or impotent or catch HIV or some other disease or die in testesterone-driven accidents (driving fast, or skiing on the Alps or some such thing), at which point, if they are still alive, they decide that its time for them to marry.

6. Women who, eventually, do get married to such men realize that they are not fun at all and end up having affairs with other "Single, Smart, Good Looking, Emotionally-stable, Financially-secure and Intelligent Men (not) looking for a long-term commitment - in short, men described in point 5 above.

I thought of telling all this to the girl at Ryze (and Blogger) but her guestbook is not open to entries. Does it surprise you that she can't find her Perfect Man? ;)

A Simple Twist in Life

2006-02-06T11:23:00.000+05:30

This is where I (who calls herself Altu-Faltu) write about that part of my universe that is very dear to me. Its work, but I feel like an explorer, a traveler and an adventurer. Every day that I am working out in the field reveals new and exciting things to me. I sometimes wonder how many people can truthfully and honestly claim that they love each and every work day? I, very proudly, can.

On the 18th of Oct. 2004 I joined the Ph.D. program at Pondicherry University with the hope that a doctorate degree would help my career. More than a year later, though I still believe the degree to be a good thing, something tells me that an additional two alphabets before my name is just to inflate my already tremendous ego. And as someone once told me, you don't have to hold a doctorate degree to be an expert in your field. The Ph.D. degree is no longer important to me.

So after investing so much time, effort and money into this program I have decided to quit. Most people on campus who heard from my supervisor that I was getting married, predicted that I would leave sooner or later. A clever prediction, but for all the wrong reasons. For reasons that are more complicated than marriage, I choose to forgo the opportunity to earn an additional degree.

Before I officially revoke my admission, I go off into the jungles again for work one last time. Altu-Faltu will have more to blog about yet. But how much more? This is a short trip. My decision saddens me, but a simple twist of fate can change that. Another day and I hope to be working on the same project that my doctorate thesis was based on. If not, then another project may take me to another part of the Indian jungles. Who knows? For now I look forward to my field visit and returning to some good news.

To me and to those who are trying to make a profession out of researching the "natural world", wish us good luck!

The Evolution of Homosexuality

2006-02-06T10:15:00.000+05:30

This was written a couple of days ago, but before it was published the electricity went and the UPS was drained out. So re-wrote the whole thing again.

Got thinking about homosexuality while reading Sex and the City one night. Not in terms of me embracing lesbianism, but on the lines of its evolution. Goats do it, apparently so do giraffes, birds and dolphins, too. I have seen female star-shelled tortoises mount each other and there are plenty of reports of the phenomenon occuring in primates. Bonobo chimpanzees perform homosexual acts, but it seems that it cements social bonds. Does this mean that it may apply to human society also?

It has been claimed that evolution could not explain homosexuality. For a trait (behavioral or genetic) to set into a population it has to be beneficial to the individual (or in some cases, the group), what ecologists call "individual fitness". In simple terms, unless the trait enhances reproductive success, it has no place in evolution. But homosexuals do not reproduce, they may have children, but reproduction ...... not always!

As far as I knew homosexuality was a behavior, but it does seem to have some genetic connection. Apparently, some scientists have been able to identify the region for sexual orientation on the X chromosome in homosexual men, but the particular gene has not been isolated. In an article published in a 2004 issue of the journal Biological Processes, a group claims that "homosexuality in men enhances fertility in women". Ok, so we know that it might be possible for sexual orientation to be passed on genetically, but then we know of cases where the children of homosexuals are heterosexual. A case of the perfect chiasma formation? Mixing of the genes, genetic variation? Hm!

Most men get turned on by images of two women "going at it", gentlemen, do correct me if I am wrong. But the thought of two men seems to be too dry. Threesomes are acceptable (so who said three is a crowd?) but somehow that is not really classified as homosexuality. They seem to fit into a category of their own called fantasy.

There is a popular belief, though quite far-fetched, that homosexuality is nature's way of controlling the human population. Sex and the City mentions it and so does Imre Loefler in his article. Sounds good to me, but then in the animal kingdom there are other measures that control the population, so this explanation seems to fit only human society.

Why am I writing about this? Frankly I have no idea. I just cannot understand the attention the concept of homosexuality gets. Conservative Christian fanatics say that homosexuality is against nature. But with the phenomenon being so popular through the natural world, where does it go against nature? What is the problem if an individual chooses to follow a particular sexual preference by being gay or lesbian? And what is so wrong with same-sex marriages?

Am I confused regardign the ongoing debate? Perhaps. Probably because I see nothing wrong with choosing one's sexual orientation, call it freedom if you will. Why look for reasons in religious writings and impose those rules on people who choose to not follow that? Why bring it into the legal system at all? Seems to me that everyone deems themselves culturally superior and as someone mentioned to me, that people seem to want to impose that "superior culture" on the rest. See the connection with politics and religion?

http://spl.haxial.net/weblog/?p=94

http://www.lrainc.com/swtaboo/stalkers/em_homosexuality.html

Fuck for Forest

2006-02-02T14:38:00.000+05:30

There is a Norwegian environmental group called Fuck for Forest, or FFF for short.

How unique can some people be, especially for such a good cause as saving our rainforests. A band called the Cumshots performed at a concert that raised money for the cause and as the picture shows, there was a couple having sex on stage. Unfortunate for the rainforests, the money was not accepted, coming from very dubious sources.

When sex sells, then why is it so wrong to use it to save our forests too? It's used to sell everything from food, movies, music, clothes, etc. Then why not use it for a good cause too? What is so wrong with that? We complain that there is hardly any money to use to save the world's problems. Here there is a group that is willing to do so through pornography. That's easy money! Take it and use it, I say.

Apparently the UN and Bill Gates is going to get together and collect some trillions of dollars and use that to eradicate the world's problems. Will they take the money offered by FFF (if it was offered)? And with the lack of cooperation at all quarters, how exactly does the UN plan to get rid of all problems? And they plan to start with eradiction of diseases.

Sex is a natural phenomenon and porn is popular, when there's money being given freely and people are having fun in the bargain, take it, use it and save our forests.

Want to read more?

http://www.fuckforforest.com/

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?file=/g/a/2005/04/13/gree.DTL&type=printable

Thought for the Day

2006-02-01T16:21:00.000+05:30

Needing someone is like needing a parachute. If he isn't there the first time you need him, chances are you won't be needing him again.

Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former.
- Albert Einstein (1879-1955)

Women might be able to fake orgasms. But men can fake a whole relationship.
- Sharon Stone

House-hunting Blues

2006-01-31T13:17:00.000+05:30

A little more than 6 year ago before my parents moved to Jaipur from Bangalore, my mother would complain about the houses they were shown by the broker. She would tell me about houses that had doors leading to the outside from every room. There were houses that had the kitchen in a corner but the dining area was through a bedroom, of houses that had very strange architectural designs. The conclusion? Rajasthanis have no aesthetic sense and do not know how to build houses.

Through the month of January 2006, it was my turn to complain. Abhinav and I were house-hunting. His new job and Bangalore traffic demanded that he move closer to his office. So our hunt began the first weekend in January. There were nice houses and there were dark houses, there were granite floors and cupboards with no shelves. There was no cross-ventilation and there were cubicles. There were also conditions set down by the owners. And there were the brokers....a breed of their own! Abhinav's experience and his expectations were thankfully similar to mine.

But how do people make houses like the ones we saw? It might be just an investment for some of them, but why do not they think of the people that would occupy the house and (hopefully) look after the house as their own? Who needed granite floors when the rest of the house was lousy, pathetic and just uggh! Or am I just a pampered brat? Or too fussy and choosy? But wouldn't anyone want to live comfortably?

And why are brokers so damn daft?

For those of you who read this, please do tell me if its just me or there have been others who have experienced the house-hunting blues?

But after 3 weeks, we found a place that we both agreed upon for various reasons. Its not perfect, but works fine as a stop-gap arrangement. The experience was an eye-opener for me, something I would like to avoid in the future, but know full well that I'll be part of the hunt again. Till then, I only hope than there is someone out there in the vicinity of Banashankari IInd stage, Bangalore, who decides to make a house that is not just beautiful, but comfortable and pleasing and aesthetic, with natural light and cross-ventilation, with shelves in the kitchen cabinets and granite floors are not necessary.

Homeward Bound - Part II (The Jaipur Chronicles)

2006-01-10T11:42:00.000+05:30

The train was about 5 hours late, it was a cold winter morning and I needed my parents to give me a jacket as soon as I got off the train. Home seemed the same to me, though the furniture had changed color and additions were made. There was roast meat waiting for me and hot rotis with peas that are sweet to taste. And laal gaajar (red carrots). Even the smell of the rice cooking gave me a high. It had been too long since I had tasted my mother's cooking.

Trip to the ophthalmologist. Regular check-up, new spectacles and new contact lenses. And the highlight of every trip, dinner at my favourite restaurant.

Shopping, shopping, and more shopping. All I had to do on one occasion was to pick out my wedding sari and another one so that my wedding shopping would come to a close. I have never been a good shopper, I cannot for the life of me understand how some people do it. To pick out a couple of saris, how difficult could that be? I never realized that sari shopping could be so tiring, especially since we were at one shop only. Then there was an invitation to tea. I adore Geeta, she's like a big sister to me. My dad's boss had invited us over for tea, and Geeta, his wife, had baked German cookies for me. That was followed by a Chinese dinner at a neighbor's place. The soup was being served and Baba wanted to go home for a bit, and considering it was my dad, its very easy to assume that he had a bowel emergency. But apparently not. He had gone to pick-up his would-be son-in-law at the bus stand. Suprise! Suprise! Abhinav was to arrive during the wee hours of 25th Dec. We had planned to suprise my mother, who kept cribbing that she never had time to spend with her SIL. And there he was, 2 days early, suprising not only my mother, but me too! How I loved the look on my mother's face, and how she loved the look on mine!

It was Abhinav's turn to shop. His wedding clothes had to be bought. We picked out his sherwani for the reception and the wedding dhoti/pyjama and kurta. He looked so good in the sherwani that 6 months seems too far away to see him in it again.

A lunch party was organized by my parents on Christmas. With Abhinav there and some people bringing gifts, it was almost like a pre-wedding party for us. Then there was Anindo's wedding. The one person that I have to thank for getting Abhinav to come to Jaipur. Thank you, Andy, for getting married in Jaipur. If it weren't for you my sweetheart would never have come.

Time flies when you're having a good time, Abhinav left the day after Andy'd wedding and I left the day after that. Sad thing was that it was Ma's birthday, the consolation was that I could at least spend most of the day with her.

From what people told me during my short trip home, and from the look on my parents' faces, I cannot help but smile. I have not seen them look so excited and so happy in a long time. Never has my father been interested in shopping, but got mighty invloved when it came to picking out his son-in-law's wedding clothes. My mother has never let me not participate in household chores, this time I hardly entered the kitchen or made my bed. This trip home has been the best ever, I returned the proverbial spoilt brat!

Thomas Hardy, the Bible and Strangers

2006-01-10T11:13:00.000+05:30

The book was large, heavy and covered in dark green leather with gold words. I had never read any of Thomas Hardy's works and decided to give it a try, especially since its right there staring out at me, saying "pick me up and smell me....i smell like old paper, and musty....just the way you like books to smell"! I had a long journey ahead of me and I needed my entertainment, so I borrowed the book from the library. And I was hooked. It was a collection of three stories, 'Tess of the D'Ubervilles', 'The Mayor of Casterbridge' and 'Far from the Madding Crowd'.

I was early to the railway station. Had almost two and a half hours to kill. What better to do than read a good book. So out came Thomas Hardy. There I was standing near a pillar at Chennai Central with a thick green book in my hands and attracting a lot of attention. Apparently people haven't seen other people read thick, heavy books before! Anyway, I had a rendezvous with someone that evening at the station, someone I knew from Blogosphere, someone I was to meet for the first time. When my phone rang, and I was asked how best I was to be identified......well.....what better than to say that I was probably the only one standing in the middle of a constantly moving crowd, holding a thick, heavy book. I was promptly found. That first (and for now the only meeting) with this person seems to have sparked off a friendship that now goes beyond faceless comments on the Blogosphere.

"Ma'am, are you reading the Bible?" Spoken by an anesthesist in the army, a co-passenger on the train I was traveling in. 'Bible'? Do I look like someone who would read the Bible on a train? Well, I've read passages from the Bible, but I do not consider it to be ideal entertainment for long train journeys. Yet again, the thick and heavy Thomas Hardy book caught someone's attention. Paperbacks are common, but who reads classics these days? That was the look I saw in the faces of the people who enquired. For the next couple of hours I met strangers who were completely taken by the fact that I enjoy reading classics and that I had chosen a profession that few even know exist.

Thomas Hardy or the Bible. Though the sample size is small, seems to me that its a great way to get a conversation with strangers started and make friends along the way. What intrigues me now is what would the reation of the anesthesist have been if I said that I was actually reading the Bible?

Homeward Bound - Part I

2005-12-19T16:36:00.000+05:30

The excitement mounts. Tomorrow I leave for home.

"Home"? I sometimes call myself a confused Indian. I was born in Kolkata, lived in Bangalore (Bengaluru a year from now) from the age of 3 months and then moved to Pondicherry for post-grad studies and am back here after a gap of 3 years. Parents moved to Jaipur and been there for almost 6 years now. So where is home? Where the heart is? In that case, Bangalore is where I belong, for that is where my heart is.

This time "homeward bound" takes me to what might prove to be my last trip to the Pink City. I already seem to have a hole in my heart. For all the complaints that I have about the place, I liked it for all its rusticity, color and history....and good roads, of course. I shall miss them all. The food, the smells, the noise and the weather. Probably my last north Indian winter in a long time. Probably my last chance to enjoy it all, to take it all in.

But the temptation now lies in home cooked food, pampering and shopping. And suprises to be sprung on people.

The Puddle

2005-12-13T09:26:00.000+05:30

I hear encouraging words
I feel the steadying grasp.
You took my hand and led me in
"It's only a puddle", you laughed.
With your strength
I waded in
Step by step to the heart
There you let go and I floundered.
Still waters, they say, run deep
And I don't know how to swim.

Old Friends

2005-12-13T09:20:00.000+05:30

Every night, as I lie in bed
Trying to put my tired mind to sleep,
I see visions of days past
And nights that were of mystery.
Of friends of old so dear to me
Some lost forever.
Of Pain and Joy,
Hope and Courage,
Of Disillusionment and Dissatisfaction...
Of Fear and Failure
And a life spent in the company of Confusion.

Benzene

2005-12-11T15:07:00.000+05:30

I came across this poem by chance and cannot resist not sharing it. The poet is a gentleman called Paul Board....and his author's note says "With sincere apologies to William Blake".

Benzene! Benzene! Burning bright
Belching engines day and night
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame Kekulé's symmetry?

Who'd have thought your Carbon Six
Could have produced such toxic tricks
Or provide the building blocks
For a plastic world (and cure the pox)?

Aesthetic, perfect aromatic
Substitutes produce chromatic
Dyes that brighten every day.
Thank you Mr. Faraday.

Clothe our backs and cure our ills
Blow or dull our brains with pills
Ironic that your homologues
Pollute our land and stock our smogs.

Benzene - your hydroxyl daughters
Need locking up, they pollute our waters
Adding chlorine provides persistence
(Target organs keep your distance).

Doubt Kekulé ever dreamt
Of such riches (or torment).
Oh benzene whether bound or free
Did He who made the Lamb make Thee?

Benzene! Benzene! Burning bright
Belching engines day and night
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame Kekulé's symmetry.

Thought for the Day

2005-12-11T11:05:00.000+05:30

Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea.

Feigned Importance

2005-12-09T14:15:00.001+05:30

There were things to plan, itineraries to be made and a load of excitement to look forward to. And the plans were made even before the preliminaries could have been completed and confirmed. It was all laid out neatly in my head.

But not everything goes according to plan. Other engagements came up and I had to rethink everything. Some items from my itinerary had to be deleted, and they duly done, with a new program made ready. But that left me feeling sad, empty and angry. The change that was made was important to me, the one thing that I most looked forward to this Christmas break. It is not to be, accept it and move on, says my head; I cannot, says my heart.

My schedule involved two people and without consultation with the other, the entire course was marked out by me. With the coming of the new developments, each of us wanted to make the best of it. But then how can that be when different people lay importance to different things? I cannot have my cake and eat it too, a fact that I have accepted in my head and yet cannot in my heart. What is important to me is not for the other, and vice versa. And this difference hurts more when the person is a loved one, when he/she is more important than the plan itself.

I'm not a philosopher, nor can I reason out things very well. To me my reasonings are my own and they do not seem common with some others. I stay satisfied with that, but with other points of view that make more sense than mine, I admit defeat, even though I know I need to stand up for my own principles.

If you understand, things are just as they are; If you do not understand, things are just as they are!

Rickshaws

2005-12-09T10:05:00.000+05:30

In a country where the forms of public transport are numerous, ranging from the hand-pulled rickshaws (still existent in some parts of Kolkata) to buses and taxis, the auto-rickshaw is the worst of the entire lot. A menace on our already bad Indian roads. But this is not about the motorized three-wheeled monsters that most of can't do without, its the other set of rickshaws.....or about the people that call it a 'trade'.

The cycle rickshaws are to be found in almost every city in India. For the foreign tourists, they are quite a novelty, one can see them enjoying a ride in cities like Jaipur and Pondicherry. I sometimes watch elderly Bengali women in Pondicherry hail a cycle rickshaw to aid in their shopping sprees.

As a child, a trip to Kolkata meant that my mother would let me ride in a rickshaw after all our trips to New Market. This was more than 20 years ago when hand-pulled rickshaws were very common. I always got onto one with a lot of excitement, but no sooner than we would start to move, a lump would form in my throat and my eyes would sting with the tears that were ready to flow any minute. I distinctly remember watching the rickshaw-wallah's muscles tense with the effort and Kolkata's heat was no comfort either. That night I would cry myself to sleep as though I had personally suffered the man's pain. My young mind probably fathomed the physical pain he would go through, but I'm not sure if I cried for his pain or for his suffering and anguish. I probably never understood the pain that proverty brought with it.

It has been years since I treated myself to a rickshaw ride. But a couple of months ago, due to the sultry heat of Pondicherry, I did hail one to traverse a distance that I would normally walk. As we began to move, I smelt the stale smell of alcohol on the man. It brought back memories of when I would pay the rickshaw-wallah my pocket money, with the belief that it would help him. Was it redeeming myself from the guilt of having made a man suffer so that I could enjoy a ride, while he toiled to provide it? I remember not.

The vicious cycle that poverty brings. This is my belief, nobody else need subscribe to it. Alcohol takes away the pain that poverty brings with it. What the man earns, instead of being saved or feeding his family, gets squandered away on getting inebriated to take away the wretchedness of the past day. There are vices aplenty, reasons of indulgence even more, justifications and explanations abound. But let noone tell me otherwise, let noone take away what I believe, it will leave a large part of my world shattered. It will take away what little faith I have left in humanity and in human kind.

Memories in the Rain

2005-12-04T12:32:00.000+05:30

Memories – I believe they are meant to be cherished. It doesn’t take too strong a stimulus to prompt flashbacks, the mind lets the reruns play, some sad while others that bring a smile.

The story of how Abhinav and I got together has been told, and like he said, within this story are little ones – of blueberry cheesecakes and scenes of crucifixion on a hillside. But there are also others, tiny moments in time that make up my memory bank. Every now and then something triggers off a flow of images from our “oh, so short” courtship.

The weather in Pondicherry has been quite dismal for over a month now. The heavy, grey clouds barely let Aurora show her beautiful, shining face. Melancholy slowly seeps in, then how best to put me to bed than to conjure up images that leave a smile on my face while I sleep.

It was raining that day, too, in Bangalore. But that did not stop us from getting out if the house. Abhinav and I drove around in circles a couple of times trying to find a parking space. The second time round, I think, we were lucky – we found one under a tree at the corner of a very familiar side street. We had umbrellas, but neither was keen on stepping out into the downpour. It just seemed more comfortable in the car, and I don’t think it had anything to do with being dry, but probably because it was just the two of there, the rest of the world shut out. I don’t remember much of what transpired verbally between us. All I remember was that the little girl in me wanted to come out and play. So there I was, inside the car with my feet up in the air, more or less upside-down! My head lay on the seat of the chair, while my legs were against the back-rest, my (tiny, tiny) feet almost swishing against the upholstery of the roof of the car. Again memory fails me as to what we said to each other, but I do remember the look on Abhinav’s face. At first, there was utter confusion written all over him, which gradually changed to something between “how am I to handle this situation?” and “it’s alright, honey, I’ll be the grown-up and take care of you”. I loved the expression and it seemed to me that he too was enjoying the moment my quirkiness had thrown him into.

The rain had eased off and it was time to get out of the car. I refused to budge! Refused to even shift a little from the position I was in…..not till I got a kiss. Like a little child asking with outstretched arms to be hugged, I beckoned….he relented, and I got a peck. “Good enough”, I thought. We then made our way to get our fingers measured for our wedding rings. It was the day Abhinav bought my engagement ring.

The downpour continues outside my window in Pondicherry, but I shall sleep well tonight, the look on Abhinav’s face that rainy day in Bangalore, not too long ago, is what makes this weather far from depressing.

Romancing the Vineyards

2005-12-01T11:59:00.000+05:30

I'm a complete romantic at heart. I don't need flowers and candy all the time, but I need images in my head to keep the notion of romance alive. Like the idyll that I would love to live in. As far back as I can remember it has always been a small, cozy cottage in the countryside, with vines on the walls, a tiny garden and the entire property nestled among green, grassy hills. Then there has been another. One that I kept hidden in the recesses of my imagination. The cottage in the hill is what I call a "reality dream", its plausible. The other, well, it involves vineyards.

For a few years, the idyllic setting of the country cottage has changed to a stone-facade house in a vineyard. I have imagined myself walking amongs the vines, looking after the property and maybe in a few years, making my own wine. Where this fascination come from? Beats me! But I know nothing about growing grapes or looking after the vines or making wine for that matter. And yet the strong urge to own one was there. Reality told me that it was probably beyond my means, so a dream remained a dream, and one that I wasn't comfortable sharing.

Recently, my fiance asked me where I saw our lives take us 5 years hence in my perfect world. Where, indeed! And so I told him.....a house in a vineyard. He did say in my 'perfect world'. I expected "come on, sweetheart, lets be a little more realistic than that", but the reaction I got pleasantly suprised me. I was in no way patronized, on the contrary, I was encouraged to dream on. Somehow, my romantic notion of living in a vineyard seemed a wee bit more like a "reality dream".

I spent most of my morning searching the web on how to start a vineyard and how to grow and look after grapes, and the like. Not much help there, but the fire has been kindled. I'm back to dreaming and planning my home in a vineyard, this time with more zest than I ever did. Who knows, we may make this dream a reality. For now, I'm enjoying the romance.