Parting Shot

This is going to be the last post on this blog.
No, I neither doubt my writing ability nor cry over my lack of inspiration. This is just the end of a chapter in my life.
I started blogging because I loved the freedom it gave me to express my thoughts, hopes, opinions, but now, the feeling is more like despair - I feel I have lost the capacity to be open, free and express what I actually want without worrying who read it, who didn't.
Of course my fiction blog (Two A Day) will remain active as long as an idea or two keeps cropping up.
I am delighted with my decision because I know I am doing the right thing.
I am not deleting this space (although I feel guilty about contributing to the e-waste) simply because of the comment space that connected me to some wonderful bloggers out there.

So, to those few tenacious readers who still take the trouble of visiting this site, I bid adieu - heartfelt thanks for all the affection.

The Dairy Ghost

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…

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.

Parting

The last post from this system, from this location, from this office! Sigh....

As expected, getting out of this organization was in not the usual "will miss you my workstation, laptop, my tea cup, (or ocassionally) a colleague" drama style, but the last few pangs of separation pain are slowly making their presence felt.

A cut above the rest

Have you ever been compared to Shah Rukh Khan? What’s the big deal – you’d think. After all, there is nothing extraordinary about him: looks or otherwise.
Exactly.
But if you were a girl, who is not his sister/relative or, do not have any similarities in any manner, then it is quite unusual.
I had the misfortune of having such dubious distinction recently. Nope, it is not my looks either, excuse me. The blame completely goes to my hairstylist.
Just Imagine, I spend almost a fortune to get a nice, wavy haircut (well, at least that’s what I thought) from a trendy, upmarket salon and come home to flaunt it in front of my aunt. And I get to hear this: ‘Hey, you look just like SRK; he has the same hair cut in Pepsi ad!’
Oh, by the way, if one wants to disagree on the ‘extraordinariness’ (rather, lack of it) and start an argument regarding SRK, we can do it in another post.
But for now, where do I go to get another stylist?

Wicked Magic

Yesterday.
As I lay in bed, I saw the sunlight filtering into the room through wide windows – slowly at first, like a hesitant bride stepping into the house. Their warmth slowly seeped into my body.
How easily they bring out the best out of every soul! Even those million atoms in the air that act coy and stay invisible, cannot resist their attraction; a slow dance ensues.
The beams appear tender and fresh, yet strong enough to cleanse the terror of a nightmare.
They are enthusiastic - only they have the permission from millions of sleepyheads world over to enter the bedroom unceremoniously and wake them up from their sweet slumber.
They bounce off the dull walls and brighten up their lives. Like an excited pup, they wander all over the house, bringing a smile on the face.
I let out a sigh of content.
They reassured me that world at large is still safe and filled me with a fresh bout of optimism to look forward to the day ahead.

Today.
This morning I looked out of the window and found dirty gray clouds. I thought about the missing sunshine and felt all the more lost.

An unusual method

It had always bothered me. The irritant in question is an advertisement on TV about a soap brand called ‘Nature Power’ by some RKN group. It shows two women discussing about the ‘best’ method to buy soap (where one model actually says – ‘by watching advertisements!’) and you see a third one popping up from nowhere, providing unsolicited advice after committing the offense of eavesdropping. The ad in itself is extremely lousy; a half-hearted, amateurish effort. What caught my attention was some ‘TFM factor being more than 76%’ or some such info the models provided; apparently soaps above 76% are supposed to be very good. And this seems to be criterion for recommending this soap to random strangers in the store.

At one point the camera zooms in on the product cover and the inscribed word ‘TFM’ with the percentage is displayed. At no point of time in this entire ad, does anybody bother explaining what this percentage or the acronym means. I expected at least one of the characters to bat her eyelids and ask ‘What is this TFM?’ like they show in many other advertisements – the usual, obvious leading question used to introduce a concept. No such luck here. They even show the fair maidens getting impressed by this mystery jargon they neither have any clue about nor care to get clarified.

I googled out TFM and found the details and it’s evident from the information on net that TFM is a fairly common term used when it comes to quality of soaps. However, I did not know about this and I am sure, there are millions others who wouldn’t know either.

The advertisement, per se, is not worth a glance but it definitely would have made a difference if I was told upfront what this ‘TFM’ was all about.
Or, may be not – only because it gave such an incomplete message, this ad stuck to my mind. And, that is a pretty roundabout way of making people remember a brand isn’t it?

Technology Glitches

I am not so proud of my incapability in understanding technology. But I dont have to worry too much. I guess I am not so unique in this category and that makes me happy. Considering I am working for an IT company, (though my professional background has no connection to IT whatsoever) I should at least pretend to understand the latest gadgets, the facilities that information technology has made feasible. Recently, a friend of mine had a catchy tune in her mobile which I wanted transferred to mine. She asked if I had Bluetooth in my mobile. I don’t claim to be knowledgeable about Bluetooth, but I have at least heard of the name, and the wonders it does to people in transferring pictures and songs from PC to mobile, vice versa and similar other options. I said I didn’t have it in my phone. She gave me that saintly smile which translated to you-dunce-are-you-for-real type. I had a brainwave just then – I asked her:
“Could you transfer it to Potter’s mobile? He sure has Bluetooth”
“Yeah, sure”
“Ok, I will give you his number; send it to him right now”
“Okay… but, where is he?”
“Where else, in his office”
At this point, she looked up and I swear, what I saw was horror in her eyes. She then struggled to keep a straight face, and slowly said “the mobile has to be within a range of a hundred meters to transfer any data”
And all I could do was smile back at her, thinking “a thousand apologies*”


( *a reference to a dialogue by a Punjabi character in the serial ‘Mind Your Language’ whenever he made a stupid mistake; something I had always found quite silly)

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.

Road Trip

Life on a friday morning is quite ordinary. Nothing useful or meaningful happening around. I have four days of leave ahead and am shocked to find out I am not excited about them. I have never been this jaded all my life. Probably I need another road trip. Speaking of which, I have realized travelling by one's own vehicle is so much fun and relaxing.
My trip two weeks ago from Bangalore to Udupi via chikmagalur, kalasa, kudremukh was a bliss.

Chikmagalur Hills Arecanut plantation, chikmagalur
Twilight in Kudremukh

The return journey was equally fun since we travelled via Aagumbe with breathtaking views of Western Ghats, thirthahalli, shimoga, tumkur and then back to B'lore.

Bamboo forest - Thirthahalli Hair pin bend - Aagumbe Sahyadri Range - Agumbe

Sunset Point - Aagumbe

Note: The pictures are quite fuzzy since we were constantly on the move.

Leather connection

What is it with men and leather jackets? While traveling to work in the office bus, I see this guy with a 'passion' for leather jackets - black, brown, fawn, and even red! (What was he thinking?)
I suppose it's about being macho. I mean, it probably gives them the feeling that they are macho men or, may be the belief that they turn into one once they wear such stuff. But for the jacket, most people would not have noticed the guy in question who is well, kind of short, skinny and totally self-conscious enough to look down diligently while moving towards the rear seats. I always wondered how did he know which seats were empty – if he kept his head that low!
Before one jumps into conclusion that I don’t like him or any men of similar stature, let me clarify it was the jacket that had me gagging and not the person.
I guess it is not fair to expect only the rippling muscle men to wear leather jackets and accessories; after all, every one is entitled to their bit of fantasy.

Post gorging session

There were three things to cheer about this Deepavali (or Diwali, as more commonly called nowadays and somehow less appreciated.)
*Great food back home, lovingly prepared by mommie dear
*Having Potter around for few days without having to worry about his and my work
*Gifts to be given and received

As the lights faded and I tumbled back to reality, I realized the monotony of our lives – mechanized by work, a crowded city and general listlessness, is all the more highlighted.
Added to the misery is my new found love for sweets. I can not believe I have grown to like these squishy looking halwas, browned burfies and other seemingly unappetizing eatables. Life has not been easy – hiding all those bulges takes a certain amount of efforts, skill and preparation on my part every time I go out.
But, it is not the time to ponder over such depressing things now.

I have more things to worry about than the President of United States – for example, I have to think and strategize about how to counter the magic spell by all those awful sweets on the already weak muscles and growing adipose reserves.
After five days of holiday bliss, the Monday morning is another major hurdle that I will have tackle now. Thankfully, the blow is less painful since the boss is not around yet – allowing me the pleasure of cribbing online.

The one thing I am happy about these festivals and the breaks that come along with them is that they urge me to demand more out of myself. And a purpose to get out of the usual laziness that surrounds life.

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!)

See-saw

Have you ever noticed those strange periods when songs pull a sly trick on us? The happier the songs sound, the sadder we feel.

Well, it happened to me.

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.

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.

The feel-good factor

Past one week has been peaceful... Parents are around and it feels like heaven. I have been away from home for a long time and now, having them here with me, spending some quiet time (yeah, no chattering away to glory – just plain relaxation and chit chat when required) feels like the right solution to cheer up my otherwise dull life.
I was thinking about why we feel so secure and content when parents are around – is it just their affection towards me since I am their child no matter how grown up I am, or is it that I have never really grown up enough to feel comfortable without that invisible shield they provide against all the woes?
May be it’s a mix of both.

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)

Conversation with a TBC

They are exotic.
They are TBC - true blue consultants.

Me: Hey what happened to your transfer plan? Getting your L1visa?
TBC: Kind of...
Me: Oh Yeah? Cool!...
TBC: No, Will be done soon.
Me: Oh, thats great, when is the interview?
TBC: No, the documents are not yet done.
Me: Oh, so have you applied for it?
TBC: No, will do it now, I have to get approval from the boss.
Me: So, have you spoken to him for the final go?
TBC:No, but will be discussing it in a week or so..

Me: Oh! umm.. that's great!...(totally stumped and searching for a change of topic)

Beginnings...

Lets paint a rainbow..

What say you?

A brand new start,

a blind white curtain,

the canvas unwritten.

With our dreams for tomorrow,

Yes, let's paint a rainbow.