pensive....

One's life is not made by the number of breaths you take, but the number of moments that take your breath away. :) i strongly believe so. The little moments like tiny drops add up to an ocean of happiness in ones life. there are so many such cherished moments....
And then there are those moments for which you wait all your life and finally it turns out some other way. You are standing there staring at the reality , helpless and speechless ; thats when life teaches you are just a player and nothing more in this game. Its a very humbling experience for one but also a saddening one...
There were a million times i would have imagined it, replayed it and corrected even the minute detail to perfection .... and then in a fraction of a second someone snatches that special moment and shatters the magic. One second you are the king of the world and the next you crash land in the mess around you. :)
At moments like this...i am reminded of one of my favourite poem from my favourite poet ...super senior bachchan. copying the same below....

Jeevan mein ek sitara tha
Maana woh behad pyara tha
Woh doob gaya to doob gaya
Ambar ke aanan ko dekho
Kitne iske tare toote
Kitne iske pyare choote
Par bolo toote taron par
Kab ambar shok manata hai
Jo beet gayi so baat gayi ....

Jeewan mein tha who ek kusum
The us pe nitya nyochawar tum
Wo sookh gaya to sookh gaya
Madhuwan ki chaati ko dekho
Sookhi kitni iski kaliyan
Jo murjhai phir kahan khili
Par bolo sookhe phoolon pe
Kab madhuvan shok manata hai ?
Jo beet gayi so baat gayi...

Jeewan mein madhu ka pyala tha
Tumne tan man de daala tha
Woh toot gaya to toot gaya
Madiralay ka aangan dekho
Kitne pyaale hil jaate hain
Gir mitti mein mil jate hain
Jo girte hain kab uthte hain
Par bolo toote pyalon mein kab madiralay pachtata hai
Jo beet gayi so baat gayi....

Mridu mitti ke hain bane huye
Madhu ghat phoota hi kartein hain
Laghu jeewan leke aaye hain
Pyale toota hi karte hain
Phir bhi madiralay ke andar
Madhu ke ghat madhu ke pyale hain
Jo madakta ke mare hain
Wo madhu loota hi karte hain
Wo kachcha peene wala hai
Jiski mamta ghat pyalon par
Jo sachche madhu se jala hua
Kab rota hai chillata hai?
Jo beet gayi so baat gayi ......

--HARIVANSH RAI BACHCHAN

wet wet wet....

“saagar se utha badal bankar

Badal se gira jal ho kar ke

Phir nehar bana …nadiyan gahari

Tere bhinna prakar…tu ek hi hein”

I woke up today to amma’s call reminding me that it was nearly seven ; had to struggle and dragg me out of the warmth of my blanket. Why can’t every day be a Saturday?

In another forty minutes I was stepped out of the gate for my morning walk to the bus stop in Domlur – on my way to work!

I was welcomed by a cold breeze and a tiny drop that fell from the leaves of the huge Gulmohar tree which covered most of the street. It landed on the tip of my nose, rested a couple of seconds before flowing down to my cheeks! I looked up at the huge tree. We have now celebrated three summers, monsoon and winter together. It looked as gigantic and beautiful as ever. In the full bloom at spring-summer time, I was welcomed daily with a red carpet of its flowers on the road. And now the lady looked equally stunning with the tiny crystals of water dropping down from every leaf, every branch. The slight drizzle had now turned into a small shower.

“It’s a beautiful day” – I sang to myself. The usually dusty and smoke filled air felt clean, fresh. I had to go to a corporate jungle which expected me to be neatly dressed and not dripping wet when I walk in or I would never have taken out my umbrella. Making sure that the speeding cars and bikes don’t soak me wet with the dirty puddle water I walked down the narrow lane which connects my house to the old airport road. The street is usually buzzing busy when I walk past it – but today I could just see people who had taken shelter on small shops on either sides of the road. The government school playground was empty. The kids were playing on the verandah instead. The vegetable sellers daughter was wise enough not to draw a kolam today or may be it had already got washed away. The flower lady had taken leave so I missed the smell of jasmine. Two kids late for school came running. They were enjoying the rain , singing, running barefoot ,without the protection of the umbrella – unlike a sophisticated software engineer. Before I realized it one kid jumped right into the middle of a puddle splashing the water around. The street vendor who stood on the pavement yelled as he rubbed the brown stain from his white dhoti. I smiled to myself and appreciated my common sense to wear brown today!

It’s a photographers delight and a writers motivation – a rainy day.

I love rains. My mallu roots should explain that. The sound of tiny drops of water landing on the trees around and on the roof tile has a rhythm and music of its own. The sight of a moss filled brick wall; to sit on the bay window of my house and watch people walking around holding to their brand new black “poppy kuda”; sipping a hot cup of tea- reading a book–aah I miss Kerala like hell. The rains there are not the small showers that we see here. Once it starts raining it pours and pours for days together nonstop. The first showers fill up the road in front of Thampanur railway station and the dirty knee deep water welcomes anyone who hops off @ Trivandrum central! :D

Its even more enticing to watch the rain pouring down onto the backwaters which are mostly lined with coconut trees on either sides. If you are lucky enough as I am you would have an ancestral house of your mom or dad in a village. J

As much as I love rains, I love greenery too. the villages are greener and cleaner than the main cities. On a typical rainy day there would be a few old fellas discussing “kaalavarsham and idavappathi” in the local tea shop. There would be one or two workers on the paddy fields trying to divert the water from flooding the fields. The only sounds you would hear when you walk down the untarred roads would be of your own footsteps ,crickets and the rain! The rubber estates would add to the darkness created by an already cloudy sky. The cattle would all be inside the thatched shelter and not running around through the estate. It’s all lovely memories , scenes that I have seen in my numerous trips to odanavattom ( my dads home town ) and adoor ( which is moms home town).

My bus arrived 10 minutes late to office, but I felt like just sitting inside and humming a familiar sonu nigam song to the “mungaru male” watching the rainy scenes flow by…..

PS: the poem in the beginning is from my KV diary. I forgot the name of the poem and the poet but he is describing that everything is god’s creation and he resides in all.

Of course! God only can create something so magical and beautiful as the rains!

2 states

thats chetan bhagats latest book. i think his first work has been the best till now. second and third were forgettable. this one might also seem so to many but i liked it. mebbe cause i could relate a lot to the book myself. my own wedding is a knot between the two states fighting over mullaperiyar and a lot of other things :D :D

depressed

I guess its something about the climate that everything looks really dull and irritatingly boring or am I stressed out?

Non committed / Uncommitted

The dictionary meaning says it’s the opposite of “committed” ; i.e. one who is not faithful , is disloyal, casual, uninterested, indifferent, unattached etc ...
Am I any of this? Have been pondering over it for a while now. There may be times when I seem to be unattached or indifferent to others, but am definitely not the rest.

I believe that words have the power to make and break relations, trust; make peace and war. It needs to be carefully used. Sometimes words that slip from the tongue cut through the others heart and create deep injuries. The person who uttered the nonsense would forget it in seconds but the person who receives it will carry it with them for a long long time.

As for me, I am very talkative with friends and relations whom I can talk freely. I am a person with few words when I am with a large crowd, and I am completely silent when there is an argument going on because I try to see both sides. I have my opinion on things, but I hate to push it on others. I understand that they would have their own too and I have no right to question their beliefs and thoughts. It can be discussed but cannot be questioned! Some people might see this as stubbornness – but that’s okay too. J

I have been most dutiful and loyal to all my friends, family…so when a direct accusation of being unfaithful comes that too in a very large audience it creates a distaste and injury that lives long, creates a gap or strain in the elations shared and it takes a while to overcome the shaken trust. I have always made sure I go the extra mile in all my relations; there might have been fights, misunderstandings and a few sad moments, but definitely I am not the one who goes and makes a statement or does things which I know will hurt others. I am very sensitive and respectful towards the emotions of others. I don’t play with it. At the same time, its not welcome that someone questions my identity , my being and walks away with a smile…

Laugh at me, poke fun
I don’t care of none
Call me an idiot
Call me silent
I won’t shake a bit…
But my friend,
The last thing on earth
In all my births
Would be to be –NON COMMITTED!

some sorrows never die

Touched down the Indian soil some three days back. We had to attend a cousins wedding at Chennai. The five hour drive was enough for all the Singapore stories to be shared with parents. When the discussions moved to general gossips and arguments of classical music vs English and how A R Rehman won an Oscar because of his muslim conversion….my mind drifted away – as usual. Suddenly there was an ambulance that overtook us somewhere on the highway. Our car was right behind the ambulance for some time, following it...

It felt like dejavu and I felt uncomfortable. It was bringing back memories that were buried deep inside… kind of opening a Pandora’s box. The sound of the ambulance siren ringing through my ears……..

Everyone has some things in life that they want to forget , some things they wish they had a chance to correct. I have two such things; thoughts about which brings me to tears every time I think about it. It’s not a new thing to admit that I am very emotionally attached to people who are part of my life. And I have some very strong bonding with my cousins , friends ,relatives and of course parents. Two of such very close relations were from my maternal side. One my mom’s eldest sisters husband, another my mom’s youngest sisters husband – my valliachan and chittappan respectively. Both were poles apart in their characters but common points – their love and affection for all and their names. Both were called Gopi in their respective families.

As a child I used to be scared of both; they were both huge, dark, wore glasses, little on the fatter side.

Whenever I think of Gopi valliachan , the picture that comes into my mind is he relaxing on a wooden easy chair at the family home - a “nalukettu “ - surrounded by books, an old radio playing some old Malayalam songs, lot of old photos hanging on the walls around him. The wooden table next to his chair would have a mud jug with water and occasionally he would call out – Omane….vellam eduthu tharu ( asking his wife to get him water). He was the head of my maternal side. He is the one who suggested names for me and Bhagya and our house in TVM. Summer vacations were partly spent collecting ripe juicy ripe mangoes from the estate behind the house, slicing them for him while listening to his stories- mostly his own life experiences. He would ask how we are doing in studies, make us press his legs to ease the pain. He was severely diabetic from the time I remember. So a lot of time was spent in hospitals during his post 60 lifespan. From his fat and tall authoritative figure he had crumbled into a thin skinny figure.

I remember I visited him after my wedding was fixed. The minute I met him he was like so u finally found your guy. “ Is he a tamilian? Good. At least your kids will be intelligent – pattaril pottanmar illa ennanu (means there are no fools among Brahmins) ” . I smiled. He continued - “ but remember to learn to make a good sambar to keep him happy – learn from your mother or valliamma “!! Both of us laughed.

Near to my wedding dates I learned that he was very sick, but was adamant to attend the wedding. In the whole mess of the wedding preparations and the elaborative ceremonies I was totally lost. I don’t even remember whom I met and whom I dint on the day of the wedding. There were just so many people. Shortly after the wedding we flew to Mauritius for our honeymoon and one of the four days there I dreamt about him. I woke and thought it was weird. Why would I dream about him anyways!! That too on my honeymoon.

Only after I reached back Bangalore after a good relaxation at Mauritius did I learn that my beloved valliachan had passed away the day I dreamt about him. I was shocked and couldn’t digest the news. My mom later informed me that he had made it to my wedding. But could not walk and climb up the mandap stairs. So he was there , outside the mandap, waiting in the car to bless me. Since the functions were elaborate and went through the day , after three four hours he had left. I don’t remember anyone telling me he was waiting outside. Maybe I missed hearing it in the state I was in. But to this day I haven’t been able to forgive myself. My poor valliachan travelled 3 hours in his deteriorating health, came to Tvm, waited outside for me to come out so he could see his new son in law – maybe share a few jokes about me….

If only I had one chance to go back and change it….if only I could just see him once more… but I can’t. I will take this regret to my grave…carry this burden on my shoulders for till I too join him one day.

Rewinding a few years back….I was in college.….

Gopi chittappan has only one son- Deepu chetan. So he is very fond of girls children in the family. He absolutely adored both me and Bhagya to the core. The fact that he was working from Tvm and used to stay at my place just brought all of us much more closer. I consider Deepu chetan as my own brother and chittappa as my own father. . I would sometimes listen to him, but not my own dad. Such was the emotional attachment.

Chittappan had a genetic disorder of copper content increasing in his blood regularly and had to be checked once in a while. It ran in his family. He had already lost 2 of his elder brothers to this disease. But from what I know of him, he was a fighter. A gentleman. Even with so many sorrows in life, he was one hell of a jovial person. I remember the first year of my college , after the fresher’s day , some useless senior from mechanical came and proposed to me. I was enacting all this in front of chittappa and daddy over the weekend. Daddy and chittappa were laughing their lungs out. So obviously it was depressing to see him getting admitted to hospital suddenly. He was building a house that time- his huge dream house. He wanted it to be really special and unique and chose each and everything required with passion. He had given me the responsibility of landscape designing. He had a brilliant plan in mind - there would be a small pool in a corner of the garden with a mock waterfall . This water would flow under the glass steps at the entrance of the house and so many things more. We had almost finalized on a draft plan when he was admitted to the hospital. The house warming ceremony was fixed in 2 weeks, so we were hoping he would get discharged soon.

One day evening there was a call from mom, her voice shaky and broken. She just managed to say – he passed away. I was numb. I dint know how to react. Bhagya had started weeping already. I was worried about Deepu chetan and kunjamma – they were my first thoughts. How are they going to handle. My heart felt heavy but I dint cry.

Dad n mom reached home in ten minutes to take us to hospital. Dad just walked into the bedroom and began sobbing uncontrollably. mom was consoling him. It was the second time I saw my dad in tears – the first time was when he lost his own father. Tears started rolling down my cheeks. Slowly emotions started to pour out. His body was being taken to Adoor to be cremated at his dream home – a day before the house warming!! What an irony! We were following the ambulance all the way in our car. The sound of the ambulance siren ringing……

“Dhanya – are u asleep?” – Rajiv was asking in the car and I time travelled back to present. We had almost reached the vellore… I smiled n replied saying I was ok.

I don’t think I have overcome the loss of chittappa. To this day , whenever I go to that house and see his photo hanging on the wall, I feel a lump inside my throat. My eyes fill up with tears. There is no pool and waterfall – just some weeds where it was all planned. I try to tell him that I miss him badly and wish he was around.

He just smiles back at me.

mysore pak(pav) tragedy

I love to cook. That’s cause I love food! :P

So on a lazy Sunday afternoon I decided I should try making some sweets for Diwali. Esp because for Rajiv it was a biggg thing to miss all the sweets of festivals! I remembered I had brought along a recipe book which I bought from Bangalore flower show exhibition. Usually I do my research of recipes on the net, hunt in some two three sites and make sure it’s the right procedure and then go ahead. This time I relied totally completely on the book. It surprised me that all the sweets were just a mixture of some dough, a lot of ghee, stirring and sugar or jiggery mix! It all looked so easy and simple! So I chose one of my favorite sweets – the Mysore Pav / Mysore pak. I bullied Rajiv into buying all the necessary stuff for making it.

So as he settles down on the couch to take rest after the shopping, I start off. I have still not figured out if Besan flour is same as Bengal gram floor. I felt it was confusing to have multiple names for the same thing! There are just so many grams! It looks same to me and my searches on internet gives me same impression. What Rajiv has brought is Besan flour and the recipe book says Bengal gram powder. So I decided to start anyways. It was written to mix some amount of sugar in some amount of water taking care of some ratio. I did that. Stir well till sugar mixture turns into thin continuous thread when poured. This target also was achieved after around 10 minutes. My hands are already starting to ache due to the constant stirring. It was time to add some amount of Besan into this mixture. I religiously studied the ratios, multiplied divided and poured it into the pan. Mixed almost 200gms of ghee into it. Its now turned into some thick yellow paste. The book says to stir till the paste till the ghee starts coming out from the mixture. I stir and stir and stir in simmer. The thick yellow pulp starts to melt. It looks like molten lava that erupts from the volcanoes now. I add a little more ghee, just to ensure the end result is soft and not hard like a stone. Tiny bubbles pop out and burst. I am looking at it wondering when all the ghee will come oozing out, but nothing seems to be happening. By this time the entire flat is filled with the strong smell of ghee.

Rajiv wakes up to this and asks me what I am up to. When Rajiv doesn’t approve something or like it or feels something is wrong, then he has this expression on his face- blank no reaction types. He will just keep saying “Ok Ok”. So when he stood there with that typical reaction of his, starring at the molten yellow pulp that I made, I am sure he thought (enna kodumai Saravanan ithu- meaning YYYY MEEE)!! J

By now I have been stirring this pulp for almost half and hour. So I decided its enough of cooking it. Mebbe I missed seeing the ghee oozing out. So I take it off from the flame and spread it out on a plate. It was written that when the this paste thickens slightly u have to cut it into slices. So I even kept a knife ready to cut it and went and sat down on the couch to rest for sometime. Ten minutes pass, fifteen minutes pass- but the molten lava refuses to solidify. It looks like thick besan halwa to me now. After five hours and no thickening, my intelligent hubby suggests that we put it in fridge so it cools and thickens fast. I agree instantly and put it into the refrigerator. After 2 hours its slightly thickened but not done. It still looks like halwa only.

When I took out to examine, our roomie walks in and he too stares at the plate of semi solidified yellow besan paste and then asks me “kya hein ye?”. He is a marathi, and I could have easily fooled him saying some south Indian dish and asked him to eat it :P . but I stayed honest. Rajiv requested him to be silent and not add to my disappointment. I tasted a small piece and it really tasted like halwa! I should have just left it so and remained quiet but intelligent brain of mine tossed another idea…

I felt I should give one last try to separate the ghee out – so I decided to put into the microwave. That was like a postmortem on an already semi baked – cooled besan-sugar pulp! Ten minutes in microwave I felt that the ghee is finally oozing out. I took it out and it looked almost done. But I felt I could smell some burning smell and could not figure out why. Now the pulp looked like how soya looks once it is cooked. A thick yellow spongy thing. As soon as I sliced the sponge into pieces , I knew y I was getting the burnt smell. Only the top was yellow in color, below it as all burnt. I sat down on the chair to digest what I was looking at and burst into laughing. Rajiv and our roomie came and stared again into the “dish”. There it was lying – a semi spongy half baked half roasted Mysore Pak.

The last comment by our roomie “ tumhein yeh books padhna nahin chahiye..ye recipe shows and recipe books dekhna hi nahin chahiye”. At the other corner , Rajiv was still trying to find if something edible was there in the “mysore pak”.

I called up my mother in law to narrate the incident and share a laugh! :P J

singapore tales....

I feel it was only yesterday that I was struggling to get this trip done and now time has flown by so fast that it is just two weeks more here. And this time unlike all my previous trips, I would be glad if I can come back here to spend more time J I am so much in love with this small island. It’s a better shaped and organized India. So Rajiv asks me the other day, do you love it more than Bangalore – I say Yes. He is surprised by the reply because this comes from a girl who has the royal KV blood flowing through every cell in the body. I think he asked me the wrong question. J Bangalore inspite of being my second home , in spite of being such a lovely place to live , I feel it lacks any kind of engagements or activities for a culturally inclined person like me! There are no beaches in Bangalore, there are no middle class entertainment stuff which I am used to and feel part of. If he had asked me do you love Singapore more than Chennai or TVM for that matter…the answer would definitely be NO. J J

So the last few weekends were great. On one of those weekends we went to Indonesia. My colleagues here suddenly planned it on Friday evening and booked the tickets. One Indian friend from there also joined us. Totally “funny” (read as irritating and absolutely nonsense person whom I stay away from normally) guy he is. I hate it when Indian guys who are not so cool try to pretend being cool and think high of themselves. He is one such character! Like Karna having the kavacha and kundala stuck to him this fellow has a Ipod and two earphones !!! To add to our itch, he gives a silly smile and grooves and sings “its gonnaa bee a gooddddd nighhhttt” in his croaky feminish voice looking at each of us. DISGUSTING AND ATROCIOUS! I was contemplating at one point if we all should just throw him into the sea! If in spite of such a torture being around for a whole day I had a nice time, then you should imagine how good it was that it compensated for the torture! J

Indonesia consists of 17500 islands and is on the pacific “ line of fire” region. Normally there is an earthquake every other week. Followed by it is the tsunami warning! We were a little skeptical since there was a major earthquake just one week before our trip. Google is god- so we searched on it for any warnings of tsunami or earthquake aftershocks in the region we went to. There were none. So being brave we decided to leave at 6 am on Saturday, catch a ferry to an island called Bintan which is part of the Rheu group of islands of Indonesia. It is famous for watersports and golfing. The 55 minute ferry ride was beautiful. I was on the lookout for dolphins, but dint find any at all. Indonesia is running on an all time inflation. One Singapore dollar is almost 7500 Indonesian rupiah. And I also learned that corruption out in the open is something not limited to India. Indonesia is one step ahead of us…. At the immigration counter at Bintan, we were “offered” a easy hassle less entry without standing in the queue by the officer if we paid a tip of 2 dollars (14000 IDR) per person.

I also learned, arguing and fixing a deal with taxi drivers are also not limited to India. After some thorough negotiation we got a interesting cab driver who knows amitabh bachan, shah rukh khan. He even turned on the radio for some Tamil songs!

We reached the bintan lagoon resort which was a beautiful and huge luxury resort by the sea. We registered as day users and headed for the beach. I am invited by a breathtaking view of light blue-ish, greenish beautiful waters stretching up to meet a slightly cloudy sky. We were a little disappointed that it was going to run and a little tensed too to think of a sea storm or something coming this way. Rajiv desperately wished for a tiny tsunami to come so we could stand in front of it to take some snaps and run away! K

Since the tides were a little high, the water sports section was closed till 2. So we spent time playing in the water ,running around, playing beach volleyball, eating and blah blah… it was relaxing. There was a slight drizzle and it just enhanced the view of the beach. Once the clouds had vanished off and the sun came out scorching above us, we decided to have some “real fun”. We met two Indian ladies who came sightseeing too. Shivangi and Garima are students in Singapore and were on a weekend trip to Bintan. The bachelors in our group were obviously happy to include them into our gang. All of us decided to take the first ride which was –the Banana Boat. It is like a big yellow balloon boat which is shaped like a banana. It has a rope tied to a speed boat. So basically the banana boat would follow the speed boat into the sea speeding through the waves. Five of us got ready for the first batch. Sudheer, Rajiv , me and another couple – Nidhi and Pramod. Nidhi and Me were being encouraged and consoled by our respective hubbies that all will be fine, be brave, no tension, nothing will happen blah blah. Sudheer too joined them and said “yea girls..just take a long breath when you fall into sea and life jacket will bring you up in seconds”. Nidhi and I looked at each other jaws down and screamed….WHATTTT??? “we will fall into the sea????”. From that moment I froze. And so had Nidhi too I guess. My senses had stopped working, but there was no going back since we already paid. So while I was being strapped up with the life jacket I consoled myself -A lot of people must have already done so there is no risk involved. I prayed to god that there should not be any defects in the life jacket and it should bring me up! I cursed the person who created all these funny scary rides. I don’t understand the logic behind paying 40 dollars to get a feeling of drowning in the sea! I don’t know what all crazy thoughts came into my mind that time. But it was interrupted. I was asked to get on to the banana boat. I chose the safest place right behind Rajiv in the middle of the boat. I was clinging on to the string of my seat like a leech sticking on to the body refusing to go. I was worried that if I held on to it so strong, mebbe it will get cut. Sudheer being the first on the boat was asked to signal the speed boat driver with a thumbs up/down to increase or decrease the speed. The guys lined up for the second batch are waiting on shore watching us. Am sure they were thinking “ab inka kya hoga…watching them il decide if I should go or not”! But they were cheering “bye guys…hve fun””!!! Interrupt….silence….

Engines of speed boat start and whrooomm we go. Nidhi and I scream at the top of our voice.

Rajiv: vavu…are u ok? See its so much fun.

Me: Yes.

Pramod: ya…lets scream….

All of us: Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Nidhi: God …I love u

Me: Yaa…I agree…

Nidhi: lets sing

Both of us: some crappy old hindi tragedy song I think. We both don’t remember. What…

The boat turns….

Someone: heyyyyy…..

Me: what?

Blank blank blank…

Its all blue around me. Blank….blank….And im going down…bubbles around…blank..blank…y am I not going up?....blank…drank a few mouthful of Indian ocean….and I surface….pheww…Im alive…open my eyes and look around….where’s Rajiv? I find him in front of me.

Rajiv: vavu…u ok? Don’t get tensed. Its all fine. You just have to get back into the boat.

I can see that pramod is also comforting Nidhi. Both of us look white…scared till each nerve. Like kittens in water! Eyes popping out.

It was just a matter of seconds. One moment I was screaming out and realized the boat was tilting and the next I am in the deep blue ocean –literally drowning! Even though being born in the water bearer sun sign – Aquarius –I have no control over my body when I’m in water- more so when I lose balance. So there I am floating on my back one moment…trying to swim and then I get turned around ..now floating on my tummy…struggling to keep my head above water. Rajiv is asking me to stay floating on my back. But I seem to have to control on it at all. He hands me a rope to hold. Nidhi n I grab it with all our strength. Sudheer by now is back on the boat. Pramod and Rajiv also hop on. Nidhi and I too managed to hop on, still not out of the shock. I can feel my heart inside the ears, mouth ..whatever. So I tell the driver, not to topple the boat again. To just take us to safety. The boys want more. So the driver obliges to them and we get tossed into the sea once again. Same episode a second time.

After drinking almost two glasses of the salty Indian ocean water and donating my hair band to the sea ( it disappeared somewhere during the fall and struggle to hop back on the boat), I am back on shore wishing luck to the next batch. Infact I don’t think I said anything at all… I just came to the shore and just lied down. Half in the water, half on the sand. Slowly my senses come back to normalcy. My hands and knees are still a little shaky but I was alive, and that felt great. I succumbed to the fact that I am a person who likes my feet touching ground- literally. I am not comfortable either high up in the sky, nor down under the water. I am comfortable when my feet are stable n steady touching the ground!

There was a snorkeling round as well which we all went for, but I decided to stay on the boat. The banana ride was enough adventure for one day! Rest of the evening was merely playing on the lovely beach…drenched head to toe…having a nice bath and having some good pizza. Managed to have a quick look at the indonesian wooden crafts and instruments before we left. We reached back Singapore at night around 10pm ; all of us were exhausted totally, with a nice tan. I especially have a very sensitive skin, so for about a week after the Indonesian trip I looked like a roasted tandoori chicken!

To be continued ….

In the next edition you will get to know about the mysore pak tragedy!!!! J

cracks in the mind....

The other day I was conversing with a girl, somewhere outside ; the general who are you, where are you from kind of talks. When she asked me about my origin – i replied back.

“Trivandrum”. I got a blank stare back from which I understood she was trying to figure out where in india it was. To make things easier I smiled and said “in kerala”. Now she comes up with the bouncer. “Oh…kerala is in Trivandrum is it?” (with a smile that she finally understood). It was my turn to stare back and wonder what namuna! God- did she know which country she belonged to? I was so prompted to ask how many colors are there in Indian national flag! When I explained Trivandrum was capital city of kerala she asked –“ what about munnar! Its so down in Indian map...dont you use coconut oil??? yuck it stinks.”

Now….grrrrrrr….HOW DARE SHE! groundnut and mustard oil stink too honey!

India is such a small country. And we have the vindhya’s dividing it first – into something called north india and south india. Both sects run as separate country. Northies look at southies as the “coloured mustache sporting country creatures” from the south. And the southies look at northies as some external forces invading their kingdom- making hindi the national language. The divide doesn’t end here. South india comprises of 4 states- Andhra , TN , Karnataka n kerala. Each state has its own language, culture , religions and much more divisions. They live fighting with each other about the superiority over each other’s language, culture and people. I can’t comment on the northern side as much cause I haven’t stayed / lived in any cities beyond the vindhyas – but am sure as being an Indian they also must be excercising their right to find fault and divide – based on caste and creed , color, sex and god knows what else.

We learn to hate right from the beginning- Home is the first school; we hear our parents , relatives, neighbours talking disrespectfully about others religion, culture etc. Then at school we work on our own in building these skills- forming friends groups based of these biases, notions …we just keep adding the negatives – forget to even take a second look at the positives. Finally when we all become grown up to live a life of hate, disrespect and a clogged mind. At some point in life through all this we stop seeing any good at all, stop getting associated with goodness and good people – only flaws, the negatives that we see shroud the real picture. After all evil connects with evil. :) We can not think clear even if we want to because of the blocks created.We learn to point fingers on all others...except ourselves.

I wonder why we become so hyper when some foreigner calls our country dirty / under developed. We live on these biases daily.Cleasing of our own minds is required first i guess. We can abuse 100 cultures , millions of people of whom we know nothing about, but no... how dare they talk about our country like that. Agitation, violence, hatred again.

PS: i am normally a neutral human being, but over the years i have been taught, and i have built a hatred for Pak - mostly due to undying love for my country. Now to stand by my own words, i dont know a single pakistani myself, i dont know what they think / live. every pakistani might not do my country any harm...so god help me clear my mind. :) May my thoughts be clear. May I not be led through prejudice and small talk.

I am reminded of 2 poems here….both my favourites and 2 contexts. One from a poet a nation loves…Tagore (no one uses the words of wisdom he has written about though). Another from my own personal collection of poems and my favourite. Copied below.... :)

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"Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action--
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake."

- by rabindranath tagore.

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The mountain and the squirrel

Had a quarrel,

And the former called the latter

“Little prig.”

Bun replied,

“You are doubtless very big;

But all sorts of things and weather

Must be taken in together

To make up a year

And a sphere.

And I think it no disgrace

To occupy my place.

If I'm not so large as you,

You are not so small as I,

And not half so spry:

I'll not deny you make

A very pretty squirrel track.

Talents differ; all is well and wisely put;

If I cannot carry forests on my back,

Neither can you crack a nut."

- ralph waldo emerson
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beauty!!!!!

I have never seen them single. They always stand in groups…as I n hundreds or thousands. Dressed in a striking yellow and brown attire they stand under blazing hot sun ;bright and vibrant. And when they sway with grace to the sudden rush of the wind when my car passes by, they bring a smile to my face too. even when the scorching rays of the sun dig through their gentle skin and eventually dry them up, they stand with their head dropped –together. Sunflowers -In my opinion it’s one of gods most beautiful creations. To me they show the beauty of standing united. What a sight it is when you see the group with dark green leaves, light green stems and bright yellow flowers with a dark brown pollens…!

lymphosarcoma of the brain!!!!

It was the typical morning rush. The usual chaos at manipal hospital signal was at its peak. People who are rushing to work, cab drivers honking to glory even though the signal is “RED”, people crossing the road squeezing through the vehicles instead of the zebra crossing a few inches away for the fear of losing the pedestrian signal. I was standing there looking for a rick after by driving class. There were none to be seen. There is beediwala who is happy with his sales till then sitting under the tree looking amused that I am waiting at infy bus stop for the infy bus 2 hours late. “someday il complaint in some online forum about him- selling cigarettes in public place that too right in front of a famous hospital, making me a passive smoker!! Huh…” – I thought. Suddenly, I see an auto coming from far, its far behind in the chain of cars and buses at the signal and it looked empty. I started waving my hand to catch his attention and tried all my auto catching skills; he dint seem to bother- Y!!! as the signal changed and auto came closer I see that alas..its not empty – there is a cute looking girl there. L phew…I stood there looking out for other autos and then my eyes caught this cute looking girl staring at me ( errr???) , smiling ( did she really smile?) , waving her hand…(is that me she is waving at?? ). Chain of thoughts…..Have I seen her somewhere? She looks familiar…lemme smile back and I shoot one of my most charming smile. She shouts…where are you going? I shouted back…koramangala… U ?? ( as if I know whom I was speaking to!)She : I am going only to EGL but I think u can get in, I’l drop u.My mind is still racing against time to find out how on earth do I know her. Almost paralelly the auto driver also said…”banni madam..hum apko drop karenge”. In a fraction of second, I decided to get in. Ok…ive got in… god she looks so familiar. I KNOW her. DAMN- my memory! She smiled and instantly asked in Malayalam …u stay here? I was like…”yeahhh I do”. Hmmm she is a mallu. So all those searches in the north Indian database end. How do I know…is she from my school? Naa…college? Nooo… infy – now that’s huge DB and its hard to find. She says: Dhanya , ur still wid infy right? U got married? GOODNESS she even knows my name! DHANYA –WHAT IS WRONG WID U!!! am I suffering falling prey to amnesia? God, im forgetting so many simple things these days…this is how mohanlal lost memory in thanmathra... short term memory loss – ghajini…OOPS>>>> NAME NAME… I should be thinking of her name…!! shucks, this is someone I knew even before I got married. Who?? How?? Me: Yea..im still wid infy, and yea im married. Where are you working now? ( I keep flashing my teeth now and then eagerly to assure her that YES I recognize u as much as u recognized me!!)She: IBM, I switched in 2006 Is she my direct friend? Or friends friend? School friends friend? College friends friend? Acquaintances? Have I gone to lunch with her? Race… Arathi…is she Arathi’s friend? OH YES…she is…but what on earth is her name? heaven sake!! I atleast remember how I know her! Thank u god. But please help me remember her name. for the next 10 seconds the only name on my mind was ARATHI…trying to match all letters …arathi’s friend ..name starting with A,B,C… Meanwhile our conversation is still on, about marriage, her work,kid etc etc…. Is it Jeena….no…that doesn’t suit her. This girl even brought a proposal for one of my roommates. She is a Christian. J…her name starts with J….Joy, jeena, jessy, jane, jincy, jisha….AHHHHHH YESSS Finally…JISHA. J I flashed a million dollar smile, eyes twinkling, and a bigg sighh of relief…I asked : Jisha, naatil okke pokarundo? J J J

the so called uncultured keepers of culture!!!

A lot of incidents over the last few weeks have kept me thinking, questioning, reasoning and not just in peace with myself, my existence. I was born into this world with an XX chromosome. That being so, I was categorized as a direct descendant of eve. My creators were considerably liberal in bringing me up and I became more liberal once I was out of home after 21 years of grooming at home. I think what made me what I am today ( strictly w.r.t my views n thoughts n character J ) is my schooling, my days at college , incidents in my life during the grooming years. Six years back when I left my hometown and settled here I tasted the sweetness of new status of “independent” - ofcourse sweetness is followed by bitterness too. An independent girl, settled in a strange city, attracts a lot of talk and attention from neighbours, family friends and generally everyone. I had my good times and bad times. But I was at peace. I felt that it was slowly going to be a woman’s world, that India was finally opening its eyes, that people were learning there is more to a woman than being a daughter,wife, mother, housewife n blah blah… That she had the right to follow her dreams and ambitions. But dear god!!…i was so wrong!!! I might be terribly wrong, or mebbe I am in a total feminist mood today, but I find majority of the Indian population (educated and non educated) with the “superior” XY chromosome find the incidents in mangalore so absolutely right. Damn, I open the times of India daily to read more than a dozen of molestation, rape and assault cases on women. Not even children less than 2 years or old ladies spared from this mental and physical agony. Where are the ram sevaks? Why, don’t they think that abusing a woman is not as per the Indian culture? Or does our culture give license for everyone of the “family name carriers” a license to pass a comment, give a “passing touch” on the roads and lots more… I am fed up of signing women’s petitions – online and otherwise…I’m fed up of burning within, I’m fed up of feeling guilty that because of that one Y chromosome im a lesser gender, the gender who is taught and expected to be meek and soft. A gender whom everyone teaches morality. A gender whose freedom is restricted to kitchen. I am both amused and shocked that a fellow Infoscion thinks of a housewife as a hippo who cooks, cleans and washes the dishes. I mean how much more do we take?I am not a sita who will live by the line – “bhoomiyolam kshemikkuka”. I have crossed the limits of my patience. I look around at all the male species around me with doubt. Do they think of me in the same way? Am I seen as a cleaner? Cooker? A dish washer? A HIPPO – come’on ive lost considerable weight ….Aaargh! I read that the vanar sena is now threatening not to celebrate the day of love. There can’t be any love and peace. No, they want agitation and violence. That is against culture. I mean how am I to take that people in love dint meet when this day was not so popular? What is it that irritates them? I wonder…and can never understand mebbe. It looks to me like, if I don’t have any fun in my life, then u have no right to have any fun in yours too. aren’t they interested in building a nation? Spreading brotherhood? Don’t they want their wives, daughters and sisters to be able to walk free on the roads without having to worry about what form of attack would it be? Can we not live without safety pins , pepper sprays and the line “tumhare ghar pe maa behen nahin hein kya? Unse kaho”??? The sena and every one of d other lot needs to realize and accept that todays woman is much more than what he was taught and what he would ideally want it to be. She is as good , if not better than him in most things. Dear god, please bless me with a daughter only when the world is ready for her. I don’t want her to go through the same emotions and helplessness that I feel. PS to my male friends: no direct offense meant to anyone. J

tis been a long silent break from this arena and i too will blame it on the most regularly used line " arrey yaar...was busy!! work was hectic...blah blah". plus the motivation to start this off is at pardes now! :( gone for a month
but then smeone made my day today giving me a surprise - i mean who doesnt love surprises...i DO!!! a totally unexpected international call from a good friend. thank graham bell. :)

rest everythings d same. there is a travellogue pending - my new year trip to coorg. but i havent been able to get myself to write off late. hope il do it soon. signing off...