I dream of Curd. Yogurt. Buttermilk. Butter. Milk.
And they can be categorized as dreams (the meaningless, useless ones without any clues to hidden treasures or something equally fanciful) or full-fledged nightmares.
Category I – I see myself getting into this beautiful house, huge and well lit. The lights are bright and has this milky-white, typical dreamlike quality. The furniture is white, the bed – ah, the humongous bed is covered with sparkling white sheet. The pillows appear so full, fluffy and light: just like freshly made butter. I see the house is full of people and I am supposed to cook a large, tasty meal. (Yet another horror story from my repository that gets dealt separately in other dreams) All I can find, in that ridiculously large kitchen, is milk. Bucketfuls. Now how the hell is one supposed to cook delicacies with milk and milk alone?
I panic. I choke. I wake up.
Category II – I am walking towards the ocean. And the ocean is made up of buttermilk. I can see huge blobs of butter floating like giant icebergs. I get a nauseating feeling; I want to run back home. But the waves come crashing. I get flung into the ocean. I didn’t find Lord Vishnu anywhere nearby to save me (the breaker of my sleep – probably somewhere in his own dreamland, snoring)
I panic. I choke. I wake up.
For the past two weeks I have been haunted by the Dairy Ghost, if I can call it that. Just when my eye-lids are drooping with promise of a dreamless, deep sleep and a hopeful fresh beginning, a mad thought creeps in – of having to wake up at hours that I dread. At a time when I am sure even the birds are having dreamless, deep sleep, the milkman gets us milk.
Cow’s, buffalo’s or donkey’s milk - who the hell cares? Can he not come at a saner time and ring the bell only once? The nonexistent fat in the milk is definitely not going to kill me, I know. It is the doorbell that will give me a massive heart attack one of these days. I wonder if it is the Devil himself dressing up as the persistent milkman, making sure I don’t get my share of white clouds, bards and halos.
On second thoughts, I don’t think I need those white clouds. Those light, fluffy white clouds. Reminds me of…
Showing posts with label Ramblings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ramblings. Show all posts
Apr 22, 2008
Mar 25, 2008
Mooning over Millennium city..
Jazzy, isn’t it? This is how the ‘millennium city’ looked on the full moon night from my terrace.I have realized how lonely Rapunzel must have felt in her tower; in my case, the lovely large terrace being the only saving grace. And I can’t even sing.
Not doing absolutely anything is becoming a routine here. I feel my muscles are slowly getting used to this. Warning: If this post sounds a little crummy, you should know – I am just checking if my fingers are working.
Well, I admit I am exaggerating but I am not at fault; Gurgaon is doing this to me. A brand new place: Ideally I should get excited about knowing, seeing and exploring things around. However, the initial vibes I get from this place can be called as, at best, mixed.
I cannot really go out anywhere, without any help. Of course it is not like Potter has stopped me from going anywhere; he would love it if I ventured out – on my own, without hoping and waiting for him to escort me around. Poor fella is stuck in office with neck deep work. For once, I would love to swap places. The season has not yet been the reason to avoid going out – it is still pleasant, thank God.
The real story behind this self imposed imprisonment is quite simple actually - there is no public transportation. No autos, no buses.
Yes, I know for those who have already been here, it’s no big surprise, but come on, I am entitled to be appalled by this. The other day, I had to had to go to the market (there are no shops nearby within the radius of one km, and I don’t live in a jungle) and I had to get into this cycle rickshaw.
One can only imagine how embarrassing it can be when one has to do it the first time. During the entire journey, I felt as if people on the street were staring at me as if I was the spectacle. But if one were to ask Potter, he would chuckle and say no such things occur – there are usually no people walking on the street, either they vroom and zoom in fancy cars or taking cycle rickshaws just like you, which makes them and you equal.
Finally when I reached the destination I sighed in relief, just wanting to jump out of the rickshaw – but the seat is designed by a retired acrobat, and there is a noble intention behind such design. It is to ensure people like me remember their former glory, give them the respect due and not take risks of jumping to end up somewhere near the pedals, all knotted.
How I miss all those small little general stores, the Food World, the dry cleaners! and most importantly, the eateries – all those little Darshini outlets… I don’t want idli dosas no, but something, anything as long as they are nearby? Funny thing is when I was in Bangalore, I did not visit them often; it now feels like they were the heritage sites that I missed out while being on a historical tour.
Oh, I don’t know, I really can’t rant and rave about this place since I have not yet explored it completely. But, yes, the malls – well, they are a different story altogether.
Jan 8, 2008
Hope Floats
Imagine being provoked, tested and pushed almost to the point of tearing my hair out, by a man on New Year’s Eve.
By a man who does not even exist.
I mean by a fictitious character. I was not drunk, no not all. But then, it happened to me for real. I never thought Andy Dufresne was going to get into my thoughts the way he did.
I am talking about the same Andy Dufresne, the unbelievably positive hero of ‘Shawshank Redemption,’ one of the greatest Hollywood movies ever made, according to me. I have seen the movie – twice. It indeed had a great impact on me then and continues to be one of my favourites. But, this is not that Andy Dufresne.
I happened to chance upon Stephen King’s book ‘Different Seasons’ containing four novellas and the first story in the book was ‘Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption.’
I knew the story well, yet, I was curious about the differences that crop up when books are made to movies. There were minor ones I agree. To his credit, the director has maintained a tight grip on the storyline in the movie.
But, the story in print is like a lip smacking dessert. Every sentence was an absolute delight. And the fact that I could hear Morgan Freeman’s voice narrating the entire drama while I read the book stands as a testimony to the effectiveness of the movie in translating to such powerful script and visuals on screen.
In case one is wondering, this is not what bothered me.
I experienced a peculiar sensation while reading this tale. Some kind of inner tumult going on parallelly. I felt as if I was hypnotized. Later, I forgot about it as the vacation drew to an end.
Recently I was caught unawares by changes in the weather and, on one of those nights as I lay in the bed, slightly feverish and unable to sleep, it came back to me again. I can’t really put a finger on what it was, but it could be roughly translated as a provocation – to detach myself from self and stand as an external party observing my own thought process, my hopes, desires, beliefs and my pessimism. To question the path that is developing in my life on its own, to challenge it and dare to chart it out according to my wish. It was as if Andy Dufresne was making fun of me – his silent laughter innocently mocking my feeble attempts at making decisions, all the while worrying about the possibility of falling flat on my face. Of me trying to be safe and not rock the boat.
Of course, I chided myself: I was just getting carried away by the wonderful optimism of a story – something that is not real.
But then, that strange word stuck in my mind: Institutionalized.
I liked the way the word was used. How convenient it was to describe the way the prisoners felt! However, it exactly describes what we have turned out to be – outside a prison, living in a progressive community and free, yet, institutionalized. By the society that chains us with moral obligations, responsibilities and unrealistic expectations. Expectations that have no business to be there in the first place.
But I cannot waste time trying to question and change the way it works; I’d rather change things for me. I still have the freedom of choice between what is expected and what I want to do. It does not matter if the act of choosing is near impossible.
May be I was plain high on the feel-good factor of the fiction or, may be I was delirious; I had not been keeping well. What else would explain such thoughts bouncing off my head at 2 a.m. in the morning?
Still, somewhere in a small corner of my heart, I dared to hope that a small conflict created in the mind today could later snowball to a strong change to become a better me.
After all it took about twenty seven years, according to the book, for Andy Dufresne to dig a tunnel in the prison wall with a rock hammer.
By a man who does not even exist.
I mean by a fictitious character. I was not drunk, no not all. But then, it happened to me for real. I never thought Andy Dufresne was going to get into my thoughts the way he did.
I am talking about the same Andy Dufresne, the unbelievably positive hero of ‘Shawshank Redemption,’ one of the greatest Hollywood movies ever made, according to me. I have seen the movie – twice. It indeed had a great impact on me then and continues to be one of my favourites. But, this is not that Andy Dufresne.
I happened to chance upon Stephen King’s book ‘Different Seasons’ containing four novellas and the first story in the book was ‘Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption.’
I knew the story well, yet, I was curious about the differences that crop up when books are made to movies. There were minor ones I agree. To his credit, the director has maintained a tight grip on the storyline in the movie.
But, the story in print is like a lip smacking dessert. Every sentence was an absolute delight. And the fact that I could hear Morgan Freeman’s voice narrating the entire drama while I read the book stands as a testimony to the effectiveness of the movie in translating to such powerful script and visuals on screen.
In case one is wondering, this is not what bothered me.
I experienced a peculiar sensation while reading this tale. Some kind of inner tumult going on parallelly. I felt as if I was hypnotized. Later, I forgot about it as the vacation drew to an end.
Recently I was caught unawares by changes in the weather and, on one of those nights as I lay in the bed, slightly feverish and unable to sleep, it came back to me again. I can’t really put a finger on what it was, but it could be roughly translated as a provocation – to detach myself from self and stand as an external party observing my own thought process, my hopes, desires, beliefs and my pessimism. To question the path that is developing in my life on its own, to challenge it and dare to chart it out according to my wish. It was as if Andy Dufresne was making fun of me – his silent laughter innocently mocking my feeble attempts at making decisions, all the while worrying about the possibility of falling flat on my face. Of me trying to be safe and not rock the boat.
Of course, I chided myself: I was just getting carried away by the wonderful optimism of a story – something that is not real.
But then, that strange word stuck in my mind: Institutionalized.
I liked the way the word was used. How convenient it was to describe the way the prisoners felt! However, it exactly describes what we have turned out to be – outside a prison, living in a progressive community and free, yet, institutionalized. By the society that chains us with moral obligations, responsibilities and unrealistic expectations. Expectations that have no business to be there in the first place.
But I cannot waste time trying to question and change the way it works; I’d rather change things for me. I still have the freedom of choice between what is expected and what I want to do. It does not matter if the act of choosing is near impossible.
May be I was plain high on the feel-good factor of the fiction or, may be I was delirious; I had not been keeping well. What else would explain such thoughts bouncing off my head at 2 a.m. in the morning?
Still, somewhere in a small corner of my heart, I dared to hope that a small conflict created in the mind today could later snowball to a strong change to become a better me.
After all it took about twenty seven years, according to the book, for Andy Dufresne to dig a tunnel in the prison wall with a rock hammer.
Nov 5, 2007
I, Me(me) and My left little toe
Dreamcatcher has been up to some or the other mischief of late. If not, why else would she think of dragging me into this?
But it works for me! Though for all wrong reasons – it has given me a chance to write something/anything, considering how little I have been visiting my own blog.
Meme – I am quite ignorant when it comes to things like these…
However, I am equally open to try it out and see how it turns out in my hands.
So, from one link to the other and another, I kept reading and reading, trying to understand what exactly I have to do. I would not say I understood it quite clearly, but then, has it ever mattered? Looks like the ‘chosen one’ has to put down her/his thoughts on Writing – probably, on good writing.
Of the lot, DC has given the best clarity to this whole thing. So, I shall follow her steps with glee :-)
Why write?
When nothing can cheer me up about myself, writing does the dark chocolate trick. Instant gratification. The moment I finish what I started, I feel good, reaallllllllll good about everything around me. Yes, the fine-tuning process is painstakingly tedious, but that does not really dampen the spirits. I am amazed by the words that tumble out of nowhere to form a wonderful sentence that has the capacity to make or break my day.
When to write?
Anytime is a good time. Having said that, one is gravely mistaken if one thinks I can write at the drop of a hat. I hate to ponder and wander and not write a word. There are times when I really have to struggle hard; this makes me quit immediately. Then there are days, when I can see bright yellow butterflies perched on my writing, flitting from one line to the other.
What to write?
Anything that I can think of, as long as it makes sense: straight, honest, diabolic, twisted inverted, simple – basically, sense in some form or the other. The fun element dies the moment I need to search for a topic, which is why most of the times I am underground in hiding!
One should write what one feels strongly about; emotions, logic, science, fiction, philosophy, anything. Most importantly one should know what one writes about.
Where to write?
Depending on the type of mood I am in, I go headlong into frenzied typing in the middle of an assignment during office hours or peck on the keyboard for eternity at home (if and when PC is available)
How to write?
Write as it comes. Thoughts are tricky little monsters. They suck the life out of you but they fly away laughing at your useless efforts if you think you can handle them later in leisure. There is just one way to hold them: catch them instantly and pin them up on your writing boards.
Who to write for?
Sometime ago, I used to be under this illusion of writing for that someone special. No such silly notions now.
It’s thankfully I, Me and My left little toe!
Do I tag?
After much deliberation, I have decided that I follow the proverb ‘united we stand…’
Hence, two bloggers are going to ensure we don’t fall divided.
So it is your turn Bees…
Bikerdude (you have no option: you get tagged every time I get tagged hahaaaa!)
Backpakker (Have not seen you doing meme/tags/whatever other names – so one super chance to do and get over with!)
But it works for me! Though for all wrong reasons – it has given me a chance to write something/anything, considering how little I have been visiting my own blog.
Meme – I am quite ignorant when it comes to things like these…
However, I am equally open to try it out and see how it turns out in my hands.
So, from one link to the other and another, I kept reading and reading, trying to understand what exactly I have to do. I would not say I understood it quite clearly, but then, has it ever mattered? Looks like the ‘chosen one’ has to put down her/his thoughts on Writing – probably, on good writing.
Of the lot, DC has given the best clarity to this whole thing. So, I shall follow her steps with glee :-)
Why write?
When nothing can cheer me up about myself, writing does the dark chocolate trick. Instant gratification. The moment I finish what I started, I feel good, reaallllllllll good about everything around me. Yes, the fine-tuning process is painstakingly tedious, but that does not really dampen the spirits. I am amazed by the words that tumble out of nowhere to form a wonderful sentence that has the capacity to make or break my day.
When to write?
Anytime is a good time. Having said that, one is gravely mistaken if one thinks I can write at the drop of a hat. I hate to ponder and wander and not write a word. There are times when I really have to struggle hard; this makes me quit immediately. Then there are days, when I can see bright yellow butterflies perched on my writing, flitting from one line to the other.
What to write?
Anything that I can think of, as long as it makes sense: straight, honest, diabolic, twisted inverted, simple – basically, sense in some form or the other. The fun element dies the moment I need to search for a topic, which is why most of the times I am underground in hiding!
One should write what one feels strongly about; emotions, logic, science, fiction, philosophy, anything. Most importantly one should know what one writes about.
Where to write?
Depending on the type of mood I am in, I go headlong into frenzied typing in the middle of an assignment during office hours or peck on the keyboard for eternity at home (if and when PC is available)
How to write?
Write as it comes. Thoughts are tricky little monsters. They suck the life out of you but they fly away laughing at your useless efforts if you think you can handle them later in leisure. There is just one way to hold them: catch them instantly and pin them up on your writing boards.
Who to write for?
Sometime ago, I used to be under this illusion of writing for that someone special. No such silly notions now.
It’s thankfully I, Me and My left little toe!
Do I tag?
After much deliberation, I have decided that I follow the proverb ‘united we stand…’
Hence, two bloggers are going to ensure we don’t fall divided.
So it is your turn Bees…
Bikerdude (you have no option: you get tagged every time I get tagged hahaaaa!)
Backpakker (Have not seen you doing meme/tags/whatever other names – so one super chance to do and get over with!)
Oct 11, 2007
The best time..
... I have had for sometime now is, reading The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, on the way to office and back home. I have not smiled (some times giggled/laughed out aloud) so much, so openly while reading a book.
Douglas Adams, God bless you in heaven.
Douglas Adams, You are God.
Douglas Adams, God bless you in heaven.
Douglas Adams, You are God.
Sep 26, 2007
The right method to write
Curiosity led me to goolge out quotes on writing. What I found pleased me – so, I wasn’t doing a bad thing by using up my work hours or precious sleep time to scribble thoughts. At least that is what Ms. Steinem seemed to advocate.
“Writing is the only thing that, when I do it, I don't feel I should be doing something else.” – Gloria Steinem
But I didn’t have to wait for long. For every Steinem there is a James Jones.
“The quality which makes man want to write and be read is essentially a desire for self-exposure and masochism. Like one of those guys who has a compulsion to take his thing out and show it on the street.” – James Jones
Sigh.
So, finally I chose to go along with Mr. Farrell. At least I don’t have to worry about the world.
“Neither man nor God is going to tell me what to write.” – James T. Farrell
Thank you Mr. Farrell.
“Writing is the only thing that, when I do it, I don't feel I should be doing something else.” – Gloria Steinem
But I didn’t have to wait for long. For every Steinem there is a James Jones.
“The quality which makes man want to write and be read is essentially a desire for self-exposure and masochism. Like one of those guys who has a compulsion to take his thing out and show it on the street.” – James Jones
Sigh.
So, finally I chose to go along with Mr. Farrell. At least I don’t have to worry about the world.
“Neither man nor God is going to tell me what to write.” – James T. Farrell
Thank you Mr. Farrell.
Sep 10, 2007
Lapse
I have a feeling someone is hacking my memory... Yeah, I am talking about 'my' memory, not of the PC that I stare at day in and day out.
Dont be ridiculous? Of course I am not being one!
What else will explain the sudden forgetfulness of my banking passwords? That too right after I change them for safety reasons? Initially it was icici and now its another! ( I cant go on saying 'and another and another,' cuz I dont have that many)
Dont be ridiculous? Of course I am not being one!
What else will explain the sudden forgetfulness of my banking passwords? That too right after I change them for safety reasons? Initially it was icici and now its another! ( I cant go on saying 'and another and another,' cuz I dont have that many)
Aug 20, 2007
Foe to Friend
25 Factoids - Now what the heck is that? Since BD did not clearly give any definition, I assume it is a mixture of anything that I want to say.
So, here you go.
1. Hated 'Max' all my life – I can never understand why my net pay is a laughable number where as the numerals quoted to me on the paper looked so grand! What kind of relationship do they share? Linear, inverse, exponential, reverse exponential? (Forgive me for inventing my own one) So if you really want to piss me off, introduce me to some 'hot' male friend of yours who is a mathematics major.
2. Could never muster the will to master music - am afraid, my parents would have joined some asylum if they had to tolerate my nakhras to practice the art (told my boyfriend that I could sing! just to impress him - and, he wasn't fooled for long)
3. My topmostest wish is to be able to fly - just flap my arms and take off... whoooshh... just like that.
4. I am blind as a bat - that is, without my spectacles and of late contact lenses
5. Lately, I have developed an addiction to chips (yes, it is RECENT) - My favourite? Bingo - Mad Angles (God bless FabMall in our office right below my floor)
6. I dream EVERYDAY.. Quite elaborate and very rarely in black and white. And I clearly remember the dream I had when I was in the first standard, officially my first dream.
7. I dislike confrontations - be it at home, work or with friends/foes
8. For a long time, I hoped to be the world's most famous writer. I had not yet learnt reading then! :-)
9. I never, ever miss a chance to notice myself in the mirrors (worse, even glass doors would do) only to be reminded how easily my hair obeys the wind while ignoring all my prayers.
10. As a kid, I thought 'native place' was a mispronunciation - the right word according to me was 'negative place' don’t ask why, I have no clue.
11. I travel for five hours every day between my home and office to spend time in blog browsing, sing-along-a-song, and finding innovative ways of killing time and boredom. Project? What it eeez?
12. Water is my least favourite drink. What I mean to say is... as a daily dose, I drink very less of it.
13. I like tall men. I like short men too, but I LIKE tall men - the best thing about them is that they “appear" not only tall, but also intelligent.
14. I like the smell of rubber shoes - whenever I pass by Bata Shoe stores, I flare my nostrils to the fullest extent (no, I don’t look like a dragon - male or female)
15. I HATE it when someone/anyone calls me on my mobile phone during my nap. Yeah, so do ten million others but, this is supposed to be about me no?
18. Learning the hard way: icicidirect.com can be fun when you are learning how to use a demat account for the first time but fatal when you realize you have lost all the money you had. What was I thinking? A game probably, similar to Trade Game (or whatever it is called where you buy and sell cities and ships/planes for fake paper money. It was so much fun.
Forgot to mention, you even get to be a jailbird in that game)
20. Learning the easy way: Inventing excuses that always managed to explain my late appearances in the evening after playing till 9 pm during those 'good-ole-days'
24. I never knew I liked diamonds until, my 'mister' forgot to buy me one.
25. I dislike rains but love pizzas (Did you say what's the connection? Well...some other time)
Surprise surprise, on a rare occasion like this, my nemesis 'Max' ( I have heard even the convent educated gals using it this way) has come to my rescue and I have got all my facts ready - right till the 25th. There!
So, I shall pass this infection to Priya
So, here you go.
1. Hated 'Max' all my life – I can never understand why my net pay is a laughable number where as the numerals quoted to me on the paper looked so grand! What kind of relationship do they share? Linear, inverse, exponential, reverse exponential? (Forgive me for inventing my own one) So if you really want to piss me off, introduce me to some 'hot' male friend of yours who is a mathematics major.
2. Could never muster the will to master music - am afraid, my parents would have joined some asylum if they had to tolerate my nakhras to practice the art (told my boyfriend that I could sing! just to impress him - and, he wasn't fooled for long)
3. My topmostest wish is to be able to fly - just flap my arms and take off... whoooshh... just like that.
4. I am blind as a bat - that is, without my spectacles and of late contact lenses
5. Lately, I have developed an addiction to chips (yes, it is RECENT) - My favourite? Bingo - Mad Angles (God bless FabMall in our office right below my floor)
6. I dream EVERYDAY.. Quite elaborate and very rarely in black and white. And I clearly remember the dream I had when I was in the first standard, officially my first dream.
7. I dislike confrontations - be it at home, work or with friends/foes
8. For a long time, I hoped to be the world's most famous writer. I had not yet learnt reading then! :-)
9. I never, ever miss a chance to notice myself in the mirrors (worse, even glass doors would do) only to be reminded how easily my hair obeys the wind while ignoring all my prayers.
10. As a kid, I thought 'native place' was a mispronunciation - the right word according to me was 'negative place' don’t ask why, I have no clue.
11. I travel for five hours every day between my home and office to spend time in blog browsing, sing-along-a-song, and finding innovative ways of killing time and boredom. Project? What it eeez?
12. Water is my least favourite drink. What I mean to say is... as a daily dose, I drink very less of it.
13. I like tall men. I like short men too, but I LIKE tall men - the best thing about them is that they “appear" not only tall, but also intelligent.
14. I like the smell of rubber shoes - whenever I pass by Bata Shoe stores, I flare my nostrils to the fullest extent (no, I don’t look like a dragon - male or female)
15. I HATE it when someone/anyone calls me on my mobile phone during my nap. Yeah, so do ten million others but, this is supposed to be about me no?
18. Learning the hard way: icicidirect.com can be fun when you are learning how to use a demat account for the first time but fatal when you realize you have lost all the money you had. What was I thinking? A game probably, similar to Trade Game (or whatever it is called where you buy and sell cities and ships/planes for fake paper money. It was so much fun.
Forgot to mention, you even get to be a jailbird in that game)
20. Learning the easy way: Inventing excuses that always managed to explain my late appearances in the evening after playing till 9 pm during those 'good-ole-days'
24. I never knew I liked diamonds until, my 'mister' forgot to buy me one.
25. I dislike rains but love pizzas (Did you say what's the connection? Well...some other time)
Surprise surprise, on a rare occasion like this, my nemesis 'Max' ( I have heard even the convent educated gals using it this way) has come to my rescue and I have got all my facts ready - right till the 25th. There!
So, I shall pass this infection to Priya
Jun 29, 2007
Jun 20, 2007
There she goes...
In the middle of the week, you get a chance to get out of the office at 2 30pm. Without raising any one's eyebrows. And go shopping with your family that is here on vacation.
Peace and overflowing joy.
Peace and overflowing joy.
Jun 1, 2007
Ball on the Wall
If I were God, Ok, not necessarily God, at least an Elf I would devise a lovely scheme for all those wonderful people who can’t seem to keep their saliva trapped shut.
How about this? Who ever, irrespective of age, cast, creed, gender, status, or education spits out on the road, the spit instantly bounces back on their face. “Phucchhak.” Not once or twice but every time.
Sounds disgusting? But I am only reminding you of Newton’s 3rd law - nature is governed by the rule “Every action has an equal and opposite reaction”
The rubber ball hits the wall.
I love physics!
How about this? Who ever, irrespective of age, cast, creed, gender, status, or education spits out on the road, the spit instantly bounces back on their face. “Phucchhak.” Not once or twice but every time.
Sounds disgusting? But I am only reminding you of Newton’s 3rd law - nature is governed by the rule “Every action has an equal and opposite reaction”
The rubber ball hits the wall.
I love physics!
May 15, 2007
Mixed Feelings
Once upon a time, if one played a word association game, Bangalore would invariably linked with nouns/adjectives starting with P - parks, pleasant weather, people.
Even now, the association holds good for the alphabet - pollution, parking problems, and people.
Note: This was an old post in an older blog of mine, which I decided to fold for good. Somehow, the post still felt relevant.
Even now, the association holds good for the alphabet - pollution, parking problems, and people.
Note: This was an old post in an older blog of mine, which I decided to fold for good. Somehow, the post still felt relevant.
May 8, 2007
Blog Speaketh!
A fellow blogger had once suggested that I display a picture of Kiskara Huvu - (Kiskara: the vernacular name for the Ixora flower. huvu: flower) to which I gladly oblige. The picture here is of the wilder speices of Ixora Coccinea. Some how, I don't prefer the domestic or hybrid or what ever it is called (which we see in our/neighbors' gardens). The picture was taken on the way to a temple situated on a hillock.
Since I was unsure of the common name (which usually is in English) I tried googling as usual.
Two things interested me.
That, it is the national flower of Republic of Suriname, one of those chutku countries in South America. (However, there were contradicting pictures citing the same at several websites. So, I am not really sure.)
That, the name Ixora is a Portuguese rendering of the Sanskrit name of the Indian god - synonymous with Iswara. (Source: www.gardenasiamag. com).
Obviously, of the two what surprised me more was the fact (which, I didnt state in my blog) that the website quoted Iswara as the Malabar deity. Now, what/who exactly is Malabar Deity? (I had always associated malabar with kerala - does it mean Iswara is a mallu god?)
Contributions of any info on this issue would be enlightening.
Mar 23, 2007
"Medaam, life is so costly"
Sometimes, one does wonder about the time, situation and the appropriateness for having a "sensible chat". The time and the situation change the condition accordingly – it could be absolutely horrendous or perfectly sensible. Life Insurance taught me that.
Scenario: Me getting hounded by an insurance agent disguised as our photocopier assistant.
The line was growing longer and longer every time I peeked into the admin room.
Reason: one working photocopying machine with an assistant to help out.
Time: Last day to complete the investment proofs for tax purpose.
I, belonging to the greater population that believes in Just In Time concept, gingerly joined the queue. Every time I heard a groan in the line I feared for the life of photocopying machine. Finally after forty minutes of PTIO (productive-time-in the-office) spent on shuffling legs trying to avoid insensitive sods that moved back and forth like fourth standard kids during prayer, I got a glimpse of the machine. And the man.
If you are in a tearing hurry, fearing your monster of a boss to appear out of nowhere, what would you do? - Give the man your document, avoid eye contact and ask him for 2 copies phataaphat. I did EXACTLY that.
Sigh.. I don’t know what part of my sentence provoked him to start a conversation with me. Looked like he had the faculty of divyadrishti to identify the potential bakras.
He: Medaam, ee varshaddu tax papersaa? (Papers for this year's tax?)
Me: (Avoiding his gaze) Umm…
He: Full amount aitha medaam? (Have you invested for the full amount?)
Me: (Highly embarrassed) Umm no…
He: Medaam, our life very important no? Life is so costly (I am sure he meant precious, but I didn’t have the gall to check), we working so hardly for our family...
I was growing confused - have I met a Socrates Reincarnated?
In an instant, it became all too clear.
He: Medaam, insurence madidra? LIC policy thagondbidi (Have you insured yourself? Take an LIC policy)
Me: Sir, I am getting late, can you give my copies?
He: Medaam, thumba easy (very easy)... Jest one form filling medaam..
Other JITians are already getting restless - some whispering curses in a not-so-low tone and some stifling giggles at my condition
Me: (Going red in the face and almost begging) I have to run for a meeting now; I will come back and collect the form ok?
He: (With knotted eyebrows and curled up mouth) Eveningaa medaam? I meeting you here only medaam..
Me: (Almost running) yes yes...
He: Medaam, See you at 5..... I waiting…
I could see scandalous assumptions that the growing group of JITians was making, having heard only the last sentence. I wanted to jump out of the second floor at that instant and end it all, but for the 'Life is Costly' statement.
Ever since, I sneak around with furtive glances scanning the horizon before I leave my unit.
Scenario: Me getting hounded by an insurance agent disguised as our photocopier assistant.
The line was growing longer and longer every time I peeked into the admin room.
Reason: one working photocopying machine with an assistant to help out.
Time: Last day to complete the investment proofs for tax purpose.
I, belonging to the greater population that believes in Just In Time concept, gingerly joined the queue. Every time I heard a groan in the line I feared for the life of photocopying machine. Finally after forty minutes of PTIO (productive-time-in the-office) spent on shuffling legs trying to avoid insensitive sods that moved back and forth like fourth standard kids during prayer, I got a glimpse of the machine. And the man.
If you are in a tearing hurry, fearing your monster of a boss to appear out of nowhere, what would you do? - Give the man your document, avoid eye contact and ask him for 2 copies phataaphat. I did EXACTLY that.
Sigh.. I don’t know what part of my sentence provoked him to start a conversation with me. Looked like he had the faculty of divyadrishti to identify the potential bakras.
He: Medaam, ee varshaddu tax papersaa? (Papers for this year's tax?)
Me: (Avoiding his gaze) Umm…
He: Full amount aitha medaam? (Have you invested for the full amount?)
Me: (Highly embarrassed) Umm no…
He: Medaam, our life very important no? Life is so costly (I am sure he meant precious, but I didn’t have the gall to check), we working so hardly for our family...
I was growing confused - have I met a Socrates Reincarnated?
In an instant, it became all too clear.
He: Medaam, insurence madidra? LIC policy thagondbidi (Have you insured yourself? Take an LIC policy)
Me: Sir, I am getting late, can you give my copies?
He: Medaam, thumba easy (very easy)... Jest one form filling medaam..
Other JITians are already getting restless - some whispering curses in a not-so-low tone and some stifling giggles at my condition
Me: (Going red in the face and almost begging) I have to run for a meeting now; I will come back and collect the form ok?
He: (With knotted eyebrows and curled up mouth) Eveningaa medaam? I meeting you here only medaam..
Me: (Almost running) yes yes...
He: Medaam, See you at 5..... I waiting…
I could see scandalous assumptions that the growing group of JITians was making, having heard only the last sentence. I wanted to jump out of the second floor at that instant and end it all, but for the 'Life is Costly' statement.
Ever since, I sneak around with furtive glances scanning the horizon before I leave my unit.
Mar 14, 2007
Inward Focus
This was forwarded by a colleague of mine…
“Some of us waste our time waiting for people
to live up to our expectations.
We are so concerned about what others are doing
that we don’t do anything ourselves.
It is not so important what others are upto;
compared to what you are doing.
Focus on what you do, your work; Not on others.”
“Some of us waste our time waiting for people
to live up to our expectations.
We are so concerned about what others are doing
that we don’t do anything ourselves.
It is not so important what others are upto;
compared to what you are doing.
Focus on what you do, your work; Not on others.”
Mar 13, 2007
The alternate Identity
The discovery of pet names must be as old as the human civilization. (Of course no googling was done on this! - this can be another heavy duty exercise in itself). No, it is not the name of a pet as one would automatically assume, rather, those sweet somethings that are used on unsuspecting humans who have no way of escaping once the term is carved out of nowhere.
The root cause for converting/shortening names or rechristening of people can be many - affection, or lack of it, ease of use, fad (which has lasted generations!), social obligations (check with Bengalis or Punjabis for this!) or just-for-the-heck of-it. Whatever be the case, I have always been fascinated (partly because I never had one) by those ingenious minds who coin these names. I mean one does have to have a streak of genius/madness to come up with names that sound like some incoherent chatter of monkeys - tibbi, chichi, peekaachoo ... Haa!! what not!
It would be considered a social offense if you do not have a pet name in places inhabited by 'ami tumi's and ' Oye chakkde phatte's (Oh! you don’t have a pet name? - you poor thing, looks like your mommie/daddy doesn’t love you) All those chintu, mintu, boskey, babbloo, lolo, molus of the alternate identity world would be genuinely surprised about the lack of "cute" little words that emphasize the affection hoarded on one's offspring. In South Indian families, I have noticed a relatively lower prevalence of pet names that extend into one’s life to become official names (Pinki, Dabboo or something similar). It could be that I have met quite a small sample of the above mentioned population but that has convinced me to go ahead with the assumption. You are welcome to prove me wrong. :)
Of course, one must not I repeat, not confuse my ramblings as dislike towards these names. On the contrary, they have been a source of inspiration to me – to try creating new words of my own; mind you it’s quite a challenge to get an absolutely meaningless word to sound sweet/romantic/affectionate/disgust – the entire range; just right enough to suit the mood and the occasion.
These small little words have the habit of causing devastating effects – try calling out your six feet tall brother’s pet name “Putta” (meaning small/tiny in Kannada) when he is out playing cricket with his friends and see his reaction; rather, don’t wait for the aftermath action. Or, the time when there is an office conference call scheduled to be taken from home and your mom picks up the phone only to yell “Chinnuuu….phone for you….” to the awaiting phirang world.
On a serious note, I find using customized names to be very very enchanting – as long as they are done in private. Who wouldn’t turn into defenseless blob of butter on hearing his/her sweetheart’s voice cooing the magic word? (Honeybun, sugarplum, sweetie pie – for those with epicurean orientation; contrasting with others such as baby, love, sweetheart, melody, whatever whatever…) The warmth of love overflows when parents call out their sons/daughters (beta, naanna, babu, putti, chinni, chitti, bangaari, muddu, kanna, etc etc – forgive me for relative lack of knowledge in this namology domain of our northern counterparts)
So, I wouldn’t dare say what’s in a name – well, so much of course!
The root cause for converting/shortening names or rechristening of people can be many - affection, or lack of it, ease of use, fad (which has lasted generations!), social obligations (check with Bengalis or Punjabis for this!) or just-for-the-heck of-it. Whatever be the case, I have always been fascinated (partly because I never had one) by those ingenious minds who coin these names. I mean one does have to have a streak of genius/madness to come up with names that sound like some incoherent chatter of monkeys - tibbi, chichi, peekaachoo ... Haa!! what not!
It would be considered a social offense if you do not have a pet name in places inhabited by 'ami tumi's and ' Oye chakkde phatte's (Oh! you don’t have a pet name? - you poor thing, looks like your mommie/daddy doesn’t love you) All those chintu, mintu, boskey, babbloo, lolo, molus of the alternate identity world would be genuinely surprised about the lack of "cute" little words that emphasize the affection hoarded on one's offspring. In South Indian families, I have noticed a relatively lower prevalence of pet names that extend into one’s life to become official names (Pinki, Dabboo or something similar). It could be that I have met quite a small sample of the above mentioned population but that has convinced me to go ahead with the assumption. You are welcome to prove me wrong. :)
Of course, one must not I repeat, not confuse my ramblings as dislike towards these names. On the contrary, they have been a source of inspiration to me – to try creating new words of my own; mind you it’s quite a challenge to get an absolutely meaningless word to sound sweet/romantic/affectionate/disgust – the entire range; just right enough to suit the mood and the occasion.
These small little words have the habit of causing devastating effects – try calling out your six feet tall brother’s pet name “Putta” (meaning small/tiny in Kannada) when he is out playing cricket with his friends and see his reaction; rather, don’t wait for the aftermath action. Or, the time when there is an office conference call scheduled to be taken from home and your mom picks up the phone only to yell “Chinnuuu….phone for you….” to the awaiting phirang world.
On a serious note, I find using customized names to be very very enchanting – as long as they are done in private. Who wouldn’t turn into defenseless blob of butter on hearing his/her sweetheart’s voice cooing the magic word? (Honeybun, sugarplum, sweetie pie – for those with epicurean orientation; contrasting with others such as baby, love, sweetheart, melody, whatever whatever…) The warmth of love overflows when parents call out their sons/daughters (beta, naanna, babu, putti, chinni, chitti, bangaari, muddu, kanna, etc etc – forgive me for relative lack of knowledge in this namology domain of our northern counterparts)
So, I wouldn’t dare say what’s in a name – well, so much of course!
Mar 8, 2007
Women - What say?
Women's Day. Today almost the entire universe would talk, write, debate and sing about the significance of 'celebrating' the day, the progress that has been made, the contribution to humanity etc etc. On similar lines there will be 'deep thoughts' about the real story that is not apparent to the world and male bashing that comes along with the thought process.
End of day, no one knows which thoughts are genuine, arising out of real concern for the development of (the word itself is a disgrace) womenfolk. All in all it is a mixed bag of achievements, over expectations from self and others (read species counterparts), ready suspicion towards anything that appears a wee bit different from general cynicism and a shocking indifference towards the oppressor (at least in some cases).
Would it not make sense to appreciate the society for the support that is being offered but trust ‘Self’ for the supposed 'development'?
End of day, no one knows which thoughts are genuine, arising out of real concern for the development of (the word itself is a disgrace) womenfolk. All in all it is a mixed bag of achievements, over expectations from self and others (read species counterparts), ready suspicion towards anything that appears a wee bit different from general cynicism and a shocking indifference towards the oppressor (at least in some cases).
Would it not make sense to appreciate the society for the support that is being offered but trust ‘Self’ for the supposed 'development'?
Mar 2, 2007
Two sides of a screen
Writing is a curse. A disease that won't go away. A temptation that I cannot resist. An agony that I have to endure. For days, I will be in the vacuum mode where no thoughts can enter the realm of writing, a dazed brain that sturggles every minute to crystallize a simple sentence. This frustrates me to no end, no subject seems fascinating and there is a general feeling of despair. The thought paralysis spreads to other activites and the final stage is self pity.
The other leg of the journey is equally arduous.
The days when the heart seems to sing and brain is high on ink (or key board sound) words seem to tumble out like passengers from the bus to tirupati.They seem to run all around me and all I have to do is catch them and order them around - make them dance for my pleasure or put them on a march.
The other leg of the journey is equally arduous.
The days when the heart seems to sing and brain is high on ink (or key board sound) words seem to tumble out like passengers from the bus to tirupati.They seem to run all around me and all I have to do is catch them and order them around - make them dance for my pleasure or put them on a march.
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