Over the last 2 years since I last wrote a post, a lot has happened. Let me run you through it quickly. I began having frequent visions. It all started when I began studying bio-chemistry. Bio-chem happened after I had this dream about finding a cure for Parkinson’s disease. Aids was too clichéd you see. So, through the 3 years of college, I battled lethal fumes (not kidding!), pesky allergies, vortex of projects, and the fear of blood.
But just when I was a few tests away from finding a cure, I flung my test tube with deep frustration and it shattered into a million pieces each of which I had to scoop out. (I also had to pay double the lab-breakage fee as it was a deliberate act) As I stared squarely at the face of the dustbin, I saw my broken reflection on shards of glass and it dawned on me that I hated what I was doing. The scientific process was laborious. I do love science. It is a wondrous story I like to listen to. But that drab-lab was like a cataract that obstructed my greater visions. It made me do math. It made me handle pee, poop, other fluids and solids and semi-solids. This was not what I had in mind! I had to bolt. Here bolt means finishing the course with distinction, if I may add.
I leafed through the dream diary in my head for any other dreams that I may have had, but lay forgotten in the recess of my mind which now reeked of phenyl hydrazine (the lethal fume I was talking about) potassium permanganate and agar gel.
The purple haze cleared. And I saw the word communication, in big bold red lettering. The ceiling fan went on an overdrive and blew open the pages of the newspaper lying discarded beside me. Page number 19 gently fluttered onto my lap. ‘Hurry! Applications for M.A communication close on April 19,’—the ad said. This course was at M.O.P Vaishnav.
Having studied in a co-ed system all through my life I was reluctant to step down to a “women’s college.” But, I went there and it was a good move after all. It makes for a great atmosphere to learn communication. If you can make a successful presentation to dozens of girls who are more interested in size-zero than semiotics, you are communication material baby!(A post about that for later)
Somewhere in between all this, like every other Indian student who wants to find the quickest route to make a faster buck, I appeared for CAT. And …well, let’s leave it at that for now, I have bigger things ahead.
I also heard it through the college grapevine that Reuters was recruiting. Gasp! Reuters!! Sweet heaven! Reuters! I somehow HAD TO enroll into placements. The college had rules against impromptu entries into the placement rounds. I sold my story. I had to. You see, Reuters was a big deal. Every time I went to Bangalore, I’ve always stood before the Reuters bureau with goose bumps crowning my brain as I thought about the creative and inquisitive minds inside that temple of journalism. To be working there would be the ultimate dream! Chuck Cat, chuck scientist! Redemption is here!
I moved to Bangalore, and I worked during the nights and slept through the day. I was given small and mid cap oil-service companies to cover. Well, it’s not exactly what I had imagined it to be, but hey! The stocks did move ok! Just because you haven’t heard of them mmbbllllbbbbll……
I was doing New York’s work I would tell people -- sigh, don’t we all want to sound grand. The aim now was to cover the “chindi” ones (Reuters lingo for small companies) for the time being and then find that ‘break’ and move on to bigger things in the company. After 11 months the big break came. It came at the time when I least expected it. It was a huge assignment. The M word was happening!
I humored my folks when they decided to launch themselves into a project—the Mr. Right project. I thought uploading a profile on tamilmatrimony.com would be nothing but a harmless joke; I thought it will give some comic relief to my jobless folks. But I figured the joke was on me, when I found out they were dead serious about it. My amusement park kinda fun went bust! First I laughed, and then I laughed hard. Harder. Then chided. Ultimately I bawled, vowing to never set foot in Chennai if they keep up with their ‘mindless fun!’ I desperately had to unwind so I logged on to facebook. After checking out the usual suspects, my glance fell on the sheet of paper my mom had left by the computer. It had the names of 6 guys. Six guys whom I hadn’t heard of before. Interesting name, I thought to myself, Nithyanand Shankar. My curiosity got the better of me and I wanted to take a sneak-peek into that website and check those boys out.
Never before in the history of tamilmatrimony.com has someone found their match in 6 clicks. I saw the profiles of 6 men. Nithyanand was the 6th. I liked what I saw. His SEO quotient was also pretty cool, as I was digging through his facebook, flicker etc my parents somehow had some ESP about what I was doing and rushed to my room. And without even realizing the words that were tumbling out of my mouth, “I don’t mind this one,” I said somewhat sheepishly.
It was 2:00 am. My folks went berserk with happiness. They never thought they would find the right match for me given the conditions I had laid down. My father immediately took a measuring tape and marked 5’8 on the wall and then marked 6’4 too. 8 inches apart we were -- this Nithyanand person and I. Was not sure how that would be. I’m not used to someone towering over me, in its truest sense. I made a mental note to ask this guy how tall was 6’4 really.
The next day, my mum told me this guy wanted to talk to me.
Over the next following days, I made a lot of notes.I framed my questions using the choicest of words. I was a Reuters journo after all! I was ready for his call. After much waiting, he didn’t call the day he was supposed to (Later apologized about some phone mal-function) disappointed, I left for Bangalore. Sleep came easy, but don’t even ask what I dreamt of! At 7:00 pm, the phone rang. Unknown number. I woke up with a start. Crap! That’s got to be him. Quick where is that paper with all my questions!? I searched frantically! After a few unfruitful seconds, I answered the phone.
Veni,vidi, vici.
May 2nd 2010 we tied the knot among my best friends and family. Sitting on my father’s lap waiting for Nithyanand to tie the knot was perhaps the most emotional moment in my life. Despite fighting hard to control those tears that were threatening to give away, they flowed. I cried unashamedly in front of all. (But yes, I also happily galloped away to Greece immediately after that with my prince charming.)
At the end of it all, now, as I celebrate my first anniversary, let me tell you about this one dream I’ve always had. I was happily married.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Saturday, November 22, 2008
A little while ago...
The word ‘little’ has a very pleasant ring to it. It means good times where I always leapt before I thought. Little did I know it is a joy that cannot be had once you grow. Childhood is now a distant past. But with a slight difference from other pasts. These incidents give form to your personality. They may have egged you on to become a worthy individual. Built relationships. And it may have even given you your very first brush with an ‘understanding of life’. Thankfully, human memories are retrievable and all it needs is a good spin on the merry-go-round of your mind.
Wind whipping through my face… pig tails wildly flying about..glee written all over the face… my best days… my child hood… here we go!! Wheeeee!!!!!!!!!!
I saw me, in a brown uniform that came just above the knee. I was about three feet tall. Black hair cropped short like that of a boy’s. My head was nodding from one side to another as I was performing a recitation of the rhyme “Operation... Operation... just now”
I then saw my brother. He was crying. My hands were in his as he was looking at the blood pouring from the gash in my thumb and was trying desperately to stop the blood oozing out if it. He washed it. And then applied yellow ointment on it. He cursed the blade with which he had accidentally cut my thumb, making me make me laugh through my tears. And he even promised to carry my lunch bag always if I didn’t rat on him to dad.
Dad was sharpening my pencils. He then arranged them according to size in my blue pencil box. I was being dressed. Ribbons were tied. Shoelaces were being done. And finally he put a pottu in my forehead. He chose a different colour of pottu for each day. Today it was yellow!
I was hugging my mother from behind. Walking behind her, with her, all the while with my hands tied around her. I was like an extra appendage she had to bear. I remember only but vividly the sweet, talcum scent she used to wear.
I was jumping off a great big jungle gym. Along with me were my cousins. We were posing for the camera mid air- arms flailing and legs frog like!
It was night. I woke up to go to the bathroom but was terrified by the darkness around me so much that I couldn’t even move. I whimpered in the dark and woke my mother from her deep sleep. She carried me to the bathroom. She stood by the door, guarding it, while I went about my business boldly.
I was laughing...at Some one. A bespectacled fat child was in the center of a circle who was now looking down remorsefully. She could not dash to her bench as we brats had blocked her path and were taunting her.
I was tying a colorful friendship band to my friend. It had pretty pink, blue, and yellow tassels. She tied me an equally pretty one. Then we did a kuch kuch hota hai handshake.
Brother became the School pupil leader. I was gleaming with pride and telling everyone around me that he was MY brother. I would tell my friends that I can introduce them to him. Every time I went to his class,he would become all haughty as he was with his friends and shoo me away with an air of assumed importance.
Father was teaching me difference between perimeter and area. He traced my finger along the square of a tile and said ‘That...is perimeter!’
I was dressed in a red pattu pavadai, with jasmine flowers in my hair and bangles jingled each time I lifted my hand to put the thalam. I was singing ‘Pandurithi kolu’ in the Thyagarja utsavam my pattu maami used to hold each year.
I was in awe of my brother’s friend. I kept stealing glances at him and every time he spoke to me,I answered in the monosyllables.It made my blush wildly. He was my first crush. I grew awfully jealous when my class mate used to talk to him blithely.
I then suddenly heard rapturous applause, and saw my parents were grinning at me from the audience. I was making my way upto them waving a trophy in my hand while they gave me a tight hug and proudly showed me off to other parents, who all seemed happy for me.
I was 13! Teenager! My first email id was created. ramtam13 @rediffmail.com. Ram stood for Ramya, that’s the name my people call me with and tam because I was Tamil.
After 13, things took a whole new turn. Its time to alight from the merry-go –round now… But each time I get off, the “do I have to grow up?” question arises. It is but a rhetoric which needs no answering. Luckily, the process of growing up doesn’t snatch away my merry- go – round ride and I hope it never does…
Wind whipping through my face… pig tails wildly flying about..glee written all over the face… my best days… my child hood… here we go!! Wheeeee!!!!!!!!!!
I saw me, in a brown uniform that came just above the knee. I was about three feet tall. Black hair cropped short like that of a boy’s. My head was nodding from one side to another as I was performing a recitation of the rhyme “Operation... Operation... just now”
I then saw my brother. He was crying. My hands were in his as he was looking at the blood pouring from the gash in my thumb and was trying desperately to stop the blood oozing out if it. He washed it. And then applied yellow ointment on it. He cursed the blade with which he had accidentally cut my thumb, making me make me laugh through my tears. And he even promised to carry my lunch bag always if I didn’t rat on him to dad.
Dad was sharpening my pencils. He then arranged them according to size in my blue pencil box. I was being dressed. Ribbons were tied. Shoelaces were being done. And finally he put a pottu in my forehead. He chose a different colour of pottu for each day. Today it was yellow!
I was hugging my mother from behind. Walking behind her, with her, all the while with my hands tied around her. I was like an extra appendage she had to bear. I remember only but vividly the sweet, talcum scent she used to wear.
I was jumping off a great big jungle gym. Along with me were my cousins. We were posing for the camera mid air- arms flailing and legs frog like!
It was night. I woke up to go to the bathroom but was terrified by the darkness around me so much that I couldn’t even move. I whimpered in the dark and woke my mother from her deep sleep. She carried me to the bathroom. She stood by the door, guarding it, while I went about my business boldly.
I was laughing...at Some one. A bespectacled fat child was in the center of a circle who was now looking down remorsefully. She could not dash to her bench as we brats had blocked her path and were taunting her.
I was tying a colorful friendship band to my friend. It had pretty pink, blue, and yellow tassels. She tied me an equally pretty one. Then we did a kuch kuch hota hai handshake.
Brother became the School pupil leader. I was gleaming with pride and telling everyone around me that he was MY brother. I would tell my friends that I can introduce them to him. Every time I went to his class,he would become all haughty as he was with his friends and shoo me away with an air of assumed importance.
Father was teaching me difference between perimeter and area. He traced my finger along the square of a tile and said ‘That...is perimeter!’
I was dressed in a red pattu pavadai, with jasmine flowers in my hair and bangles jingled each time I lifted my hand to put the thalam. I was singing ‘Pandurithi kolu’ in the Thyagarja utsavam my pattu maami used to hold each year.
I was in awe of my brother’s friend. I kept stealing glances at him and every time he spoke to me,I answered in the monosyllables.It made my blush wildly. He was my first crush. I grew awfully jealous when my class mate used to talk to him blithely.
I then suddenly heard rapturous applause, and saw my parents were grinning at me from the audience. I was making my way upto them waving a trophy in my hand while they gave me a tight hug and proudly showed me off to other parents, who all seemed happy for me.
I was 13! Teenager! My first email id was created. ramtam13 @rediffmail.com. Ram stood for Ramya, that’s the name my people call me with and tam because I was Tamil.
After 13, things took a whole new turn. Its time to alight from the merry-go –round now… But each time I get off, the “do I have to grow up?” question arises. It is but a rhetoric which needs no answering. Luckily, the process of growing up doesn’t snatch away my merry- go – round ride and I hope it never does…
Friday, March 28, 2008
This is going to hurt just a little bit.
They tumbled into my hands, eight of them, four each from the lower and the upper jaw.I gaped at them with my mouth open, and I am sure it looked more open than ever. A hysterical sob escaped my toothless mouth.Almost simultaneously the alarm also let out a hysterical wail, which jolted me into a sitting position. My frantic hand went up to my lips and touched my teeth. They were all there, my pearly assets! I fingered each of them and tapped them gently to ensure they were still rooted to my gum.
Ah! What a relief it was to run the tongue over each tooth and caress it along the crevices and feel the life throbbing in each of them. Only an individual with a history of teeth like mine will feel life even through dentin and enamel.
Mom stepped into the room to see if I was awake and she smiled to herself when she saw me grinning into the mirror not out mirth but inquietude. She came up to me and said “May be if you didn’t spend all of your dad’s fortunes on your teeth, you wouldn’t have these dreams so frequently”
I faced her with fresh vehemence “May be if I didn’t inherit his Stonehenge like teeth, he would still have his fortunes” I retorted with my smelly mouth.
I have profound love for my teeth, thus worry about them quite frequently.
I had beautiful teeth as a child. Small, white grain like teeth arranged evenly in my rosy gums. It resembled an amphitheater with white seats on a pink, velvet carpet. Had I known they were only temporary; I wouldn’t have had elaborate rituals of burying my teeth and dancing around it, waiting for the tooth fairy to bless me and leave me presents.I distinctly remember the cheated memory. Neither did the tooth fairy bless me, nor did I get presents. Too bad my parents didn’t know of the fairy tale.
And thus started my affair with my teeth, which I didn’t know would last forever.
Twenty fell, 28 and some more grew. Each of it carrying with it a vivid memory of its downfall. Whenever the little one shook, I derived extreme pleasure from the biting pain that ensued the wrenching of it, out of the gum. Though small, it never failed to put up a fight,raising the pain of this effort many notches higher.I always emerged victorious (or loser?). I felt like a gladiator with the bloody catch, holding it up for all to see. My face broke into a toothless grin and there was always the taste of warm sweet–sour blood engulfing the place of the teeth.
My first science experiment started with this process of uprooting. I closely examined its morphology, the nerve ends and gummy flesh still dangling from the root and tried to search for a logical explanation for no particular question.
Then came the villains. The permanent teeth, they emerged like samurai warriors, the incisors, the premolars and the canines. They all bore distinct resemblance to the wonders of the world. The Eiffel tower, the leaning tower of Pisa, Mount Rushmore, and even the Taj Mahal,except that they didn’t look too wondrous in my mouth. This was the time when I was spiraling into teen age. The age when everything which was at the oblivion makes a startling appearance into the forefront. I was hardly ready for it. Not with teeth like mine.
Aren’t I glad to be living in the 21st century, where medical advancements can repair faulty inheritances?! My tryst with destiny began as I became a regular at the Dental clinic.
My orthodontist was a brave man. He was my first crush, not only because he was a doctor (I have a predilection for doctors) but he worked his way through a mass of enamel making them into what they should be. Teeth!
He barbed my teeth and I was to be entrenched for two years. I 'braced' myself for the rules which one had to follow during the period of the fortification of my teeth. No chocolates, no chewing gum, no biting with the front teeth and no meddling with the wire.
But the process took much longer as I had no respect for any of the afore said rules. This augmented the anguish for the three of us. One being the dentist uncle, who was now weary of my raw resolve to make life harder for him by breaking the metal things that were stuck to my teeth; my father, who was now lighter in the wallet but heavier with desperation and of course the protagonist who had to face the harsh lights, the drills, the pricks and the ceramic stuffings.All this taking place with the mouth wide open, the sides drying up, saliva threatening to drool and a pair of hands in the mouth. Certainly not a picture of poise and grace.
In between all this were cavity fillings, root canal treatments, some more cavity fillings and refillings. I was now quite a regular and was among the popular patients at the dentist. I was the steel girl.
After what seemed like centuries,the show did come to an end, and to the delight of all I regained the amphitheater, which was now worthy of a good smile. The numerous trips to the dentist went on to do me some real good apart form the sparkling set of teeth now I proudly own.I am a changed person.I brush twice a day, use only fluoride tooth paste, floss regularly and appreciate Ogden Nash.
This long toothy history left an indelible memory which keeps revisiting me in my dreams reminding me of my dark days. But my friend, I am ready for a tooth and nail battle. I fought it once, I can do it again. And this time with wisdom.
If you liked this, read this and amuse yourself further.
http://www.ee.nus.edu.sg/~teokh/dentist.html
Ah! What a relief it was to run the tongue over each tooth and caress it along the crevices and feel the life throbbing in each of them. Only an individual with a history of teeth like mine will feel life even through dentin and enamel.
Mom stepped into the room to see if I was awake and she smiled to herself when she saw me grinning into the mirror not out mirth but inquietude. She came up to me and said “May be if you didn’t spend all of your dad’s fortunes on your teeth, you wouldn’t have these dreams so frequently”
I faced her with fresh vehemence “May be if I didn’t inherit his Stonehenge like teeth, he would still have his fortunes” I retorted with my smelly mouth.
I have profound love for my teeth, thus worry about them quite frequently.
I had beautiful teeth as a child. Small, white grain like teeth arranged evenly in my rosy gums. It resembled an amphitheater with white seats on a pink, velvet carpet. Had I known they were only temporary; I wouldn’t have had elaborate rituals of burying my teeth and dancing around it, waiting for the tooth fairy to bless me and leave me presents.I distinctly remember the cheated memory. Neither did the tooth fairy bless me, nor did I get presents. Too bad my parents didn’t know of the fairy tale.
And thus started my affair with my teeth, which I didn’t know would last forever.
Twenty fell, 28 and some more grew. Each of it carrying with it a vivid memory of its downfall. Whenever the little one shook, I derived extreme pleasure from the biting pain that ensued the wrenching of it, out of the gum. Though small, it never failed to put up a fight,raising the pain of this effort many notches higher.I always emerged victorious (or loser?). I felt like a gladiator with the bloody catch, holding it up for all to see. My face broke into a toothless grin and there was always the taste of warm sweet–sour blood engulfing the place of the teeth.
My first science experiment started with this process of uprooting. I closely examined its morphology, the nerve ends and gummy flesh still dangling from the root and tried to search for a logical explanation for no particular question.
Then came the villains. The permanent teeth, they emerged like samurai warriors, the incisors, the premolars and the canines. They all bore distinct resemblance to the wonders of the world. The Eiffel tower, the leaning tower of Pisa, Mount Rushmore, and even the Taj Mahal,except that they didn’t look too wondrous in my mouth. This was the time when I was spiraling into teen age. The age when everything which was at the oblivion makes a startling appearance into the forefront. I was hardly ready for it. Not with teeth like mine.
Aren’t I glad to be living in the 21st century, where medical advancements can repair faulty inheritances?! My tryst with destiny began as I became a regular at the Dental clinic.
My orthodontist was a brave man. He was my first crush, not only because he was a doctor (I have a predilection for doctors) but he worked his way through a mass of enamel making them into what they should be. Teeth!
He barbed my teeth and I was to be entrenched for two years. I 'braced' myself for the rules which one had to follow during the period of the fortification of my teeth. No chocolates, no chewing gum, no biting with the front teeth and no meddling with the wire.
But the process took much longer as I had no respect for any of the afore said rules. This augmented the anguish for the three of us. One being the dentist uncle, who was now weary of my raw resolve to make life harder for him by breaking the metal things that were stuck to my teeth; my father, who was now lighter in the wallet but heavier with desperation and of course the protagonist who had to face the harsh lights, the drills, the pricks and the ceramic stuffings.All this taking place with the mouth wide open, the sides drying up, saliva threatening to drool and a pair of hands in the mouth. Certainly not a picture of poise and grace.
In between all this were cavity fillings, root canal treatments, some more cavity fillings and refillings. I was now quite a regular and was among the popular patients at the dentist. I was the steel girl.
After what seemed like centuries,the show did come to an end, and to the delight of all I regained the amphitheater, which was now worthy of a good smile. The numerous trips to the dentist went on to do me some real good apart form the sparkling set of teeth now I proudly own.I am a changed person.I brush twice a day, use only fluoride tooth paste, floss regularly and appreciate Ogden Nash.
This long toothy history left an indelible memory which keeps revisiting me in my dreams reminding me of my dark days. But my friend, I am ready for a tooth and nail battle. I fought it once, I can do it again. And this time with wisdom.
If you liked this, read this and amuse yourself further.
http://www.ee.nus.edu.sg/~teokh/dentist.html
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
World of worries
I ve never worried, now that is a lie
- Red hot chili peppers, under the bridge.
I was born out of a worry, the worry of an anxious mother to produce a healthy child.
The child was healthy alright, but it had a problem. Of the 46 chromosomes it acquired, it had an extra chromosome, made of worry genes. The function of these genes was to live up to its name. They utilized all the ATP's and proteins leaving me looking anorexic. It was a monstrous genetic dysfunction.
This 47th chromosome sums up my persona. So now you know that worrying comes naturally to me.
As a child, I worried because I called a teacher a “witch”. My friend with concern welling up informed me as a matter of fact that the teacher heard it! My friend also told me that “witch” was a very very bad word. …Bad words....witch…NO! Amma would be very very cross at me for using bad words like that. My friend added this frightening detail about my teacher, she yanked the plaits of little girls. That terrified me!
This piece of information gave me numerous bed wetting nights, mostly because of the incredible line up of night mares which were gory scenes of horror. I was Gretel, and that teacher was the witch waiting for me to become fat and then eat me.
I shrank behind the wooden benches hoping the numerous black heads worn in black ribbons and heads cropped in funny looking porcupine style would give me cover.
I was almost happy when the bell rang. It was like an answer to my fervent prayers.
Then she stood, unfolding herself into a full size horror as she combed through the class. Suddenly her face lit up in glee as a child’s would on seeing its lost teddy bear.My big eyes and her little eyes met. Fear rolled up inside me into a big ball.
“Arundhati! come here” she said.
The voice inside me rang “take her broom and fly out of the class, she won’t be able to catch you”. As I stood there uncertainly, trying to make up my mind whether to bolt out of the class or to reach for the broom resting innocuously in the corner of the class, She came to my desk and took me by her hand.
I felt a heat wave rising inside me; my forehead was lined with beads of perspiration. I was expecting her to shake me hard and curse me to be a stone.
“Arundhati, you have to sing “we shall over come” on the republic day which is on this Saturday. And do wear that red frock that you wore for your birthday.
“I have to give some more instructions so run along and bring your diary, I‘ll write it. Do show it to your mother dear”
My little mind was confused. All questions springing up and crowding my head.
I gave my diary to her, still expecting her to ask me why I used bad words on a teacher.
She handed over the diary to me with a warm smile.A smile was the last thing I expected out of that face! I then stopped and thought why I called her a witch. May be that was just a new word I had learnt.
"Teacher! is witch a bad word?" I asked putting on an innocent look.
laughing softly she replied "no dear, it just means a bad person..why you know any witch?"
I shook my head furiously, till my ribbon slipped down my hair.
She ruffled my hair and asked me to practice the song.
" We shall over come" I sang aloud not realizing the full meaning of it that day.
I skipped happily to my class, a smile cutting through my face for the first time in that hour. I usually smile a lot.
The worry gene has a codon which ensures that I can become unmindful of my worries twice as fast as I get worried.
- Red hot chili peppers, under the bridge.
I was born out of a worry, the worry of an anxious mother to produce a healthy child.
The child was healthy alright, but it had a problem. Of the 46 chromosomes it acquired, it had an extra chromosome, made of worry genes. The function of these genes was to live up to its name. They utilized all the ATP's and proteins leaving me looking anorexic. It was a monstrous genetic dysfunction.
This 47th chromosome sums up my persona. So now you know that worrying comes naturally to me.
As a child, I worried because I called a teacher a “witch”. My friend with concern welling up informed me as a matter of fact that the teacher heard it! My friend also told me that “witch” was a very very bad word. …Bad words....witch…NO! Amma would be very very cross at me for using bad words like that. My friend added this frightening detail about my teacher, she yanked the plaits of little girls. That terrified me!
This piece of information gave me numerous bed wetting nights, mostly because of the incredible line up of night mares which were gory scenes of horror. I was Gretel, and that teacher was the witch waiting for me to become fat and then eat me.
I shrank behind the wooden benches hoping the numerous black heads worn in black ribbons and heads cropped in funny looking porcupine style would give me cover.
I was almost happy when the bell rang. It was like an answer to my fervent prayers.
Then she stood, unfolding herself into a full size horror as she combed through the class. Suddenly her face lit up in glee as a child’s would on seeing its lost teddy bear.My big eyes and her little eyes met. Fear rolled up inside me into a big ball.
“Arundhati! come here” she said.
The voice inside me rang “take her broom and fly out of the class, she won’t be able to catch you”. As I stood there uncertainly, trying to make up my mind whether to bolt out of the class or to reach for the broom resting innocuously in the corner of the class, She came to my desk and took me by her hand.
I felt a heat wave rising inside me; my forehead was lined with beads of perspiration. I was expecting her to shake me hard and curse me to be a stone.
“Arundhati, you have to sing “we shall over come” on the republic day which is on this Saturday. And do wear that red frock that you wore for your birthday.
“I have to give some more instructions so run along and bring your diary, I‘ll write it. Do show it to your mother dear”
My little mind was confused. All questions springing up and crowding my head.
I gave my diary to her, still expecting her to ask me why I used bad words on a teacher.
She handed over the diary to me with a warm smile.A smile was the last thing I expected out of that face! I then stopped and thought why I called her a witch. May be that was just a new word I had learnt.
"Teacher! is witch a bad word?" I asked putting on an innocent look.
laughing softly she replied "no dear, it just means a bad person..why you know any witch?"
I shook my head furiously, till my ribbon slipped down my hair.
She ruffled my hair and asked me to practice the song.
" We shall over come" I sang aloud not realizing the full meaning of it that day.
I skipped happily to my class, a smile cutting through my face for the first time in that hour. I usually smile a lot.
The worry gene has a codon which ensures that I can become unmindful of my worries twice as fast as I get worried.
Monday, January 14, 2008
PUPPY LOVE
I saw him looking at me, he looked new to the place.
Well, he had to be new.Some one like him wouldn’t have escaped my attention. He had a calculatedly cool attitude that set him apart from his cronies, who always never seemed to have a job at hand and perennially lingered around the tea stall at the street corner.
He didn’t belong among his friends who were nothing less than dirty ragamuffins.
He had an air of sophistication and a cloud of mischief hovering about him. But it was evident that he had no family because he wouldn’t other wise hang around those bunch of gypsies.However,he sure had a high intrigue factor and I love intrigue.
It made me turn around and give him another good look.
The Brown hair was worn messily framing his handsome face which gave him a Lion like majesty.I could see a pair of clear eyes gazing back flirtatiously at me. I was trying hard to make out the eye color since I have a thing for light brown eyed people.
Before I could notice any other detail,to my utter embarrassment, his friends also were reciprocating my admiration.I don' mind a bit of admiration. But,they were quite vociferous about their feelings.They howled in acknowledgment of my attention and that set me off on my heels.
I think I had a humongous crush on him …you know…the typical kolly wood story where girl from decent family falls in love with a vagabond.
The next morning, I was looking out for him like a life guard at sea would, from behind my dad’s scooter which was sputtering and spewed carbon monoxide.Yeah I know..time to switch to a nano!
I didn’t see him. I turned and looked around trying to get a 360 degree view despite being mobile (if you call 30 kmph as mobile!) My dad brought the brakes on suddenly at the unexpected appearance of a figure which sent me almost flying above my dad as I was perched like a duck on that scooter, trying to spot my new amour. I grabbed my dads shoulder to steady myself, who was blasting expletives aimed at not only his sudden “crosser” but at this generation at large which was “useless and irresponsible”
And then I saw him...coolly trotting across the road, turning a deaf ear to my dad’s angry snorts but giving me that cool look.
I hate to admit it…. but heck...I was in love!
All days at school were now crammed with day dreaming and notes filled with doodles.
I noticed him every day, and he returned all my glances with equal earnest,
It was how ever disappointing that he never budged from that tea stall. Now he also became a regular there.
And then, when all my hopes of him trying to make the first move were dashed, I saw him lift himself off his post and follow me.
I was over whelmed with excitement. I walked slowly, lest I become too fast.He didn’t know where I live.
No one was at home; it was a good time for introductions.
I left the door open, entering my home. I put down my bag and sat with my legs crossed and hands folded trying to strike a picture of poise while waiting for him. He came in with such confidence that it seemed to me for an instant that he was the rightful owner of my home.He sauntered in and sat himself right opposite me.
He had light brown green eyes. I’ve never seen such a brilliant pair of eyes before.
It was obvious he was waiting for me to make a start.And I was as obliging as ever.
“Err...Hi…how would you like to be with me?”
As my uncertainty slowly disappeared,I continued
" If that question threw you off, let me tell you, that was the first thought that pushed itself into my head when I saw you.
uh..you look like some one who appreciates honesty.." I ended abruptly.
He grinned, letting out a gurgle like sound.
“That’s a yes isn’t it?”I asked happily.
He nodded his head for my benefit, clarifying my doubt.
“But now the problem is ma and pa...they need to like you too.”
He now looked at me thoughtfully and threw me the glance which said
“Duh! You know your folks! Not me”
He did most of his talking with those gleaming marble eyes of his. I didn’t even care to find if he was not dumb,nothing mattered as long as those eyes did all the talking.
Just then the door bell rang shrilly throwing both him and me into a state of frenzy. Him because he has never heard anything as shrill as my doorbell and, I because Dad was home!
I had to hide him, Pa would slay me if he found him home, HIM especially, the mongrel, the vagabond, the sudden “crosser”.
I pushed him beneath the sofa, thinking I would create a diversion so he could escape.
On entering my father remarked “Enna Ammu did you try cooking… the room smells funny”
I made my favorite disgusted–with-your–joke face at him.
Before I could give a smart repartee, the alarm bell went in my head as my dad bent to investigate the source of the funny smell.
I didn’t know if I should cover my eyes or my ears.I was suddenly afflicted with complete multi organ malfunction.
He crouched in the comfort of the darkness and shelter the sofa offered.
But a huge hairy hand went under the sofa and pulled him out from under the sofa.
I shut my eyes tightly preventing myself to be a spectator of any violence.
When I thought I didn’t hear anything for a time nearly as long as ones lifetime, I opened my eyes only to see him being ruffled by my dad.
I stammered in disbeleif...p...aa??!!
"Oh I like him, why didn’t you tell me about him before." dad said affably.
"Yo...u ..u like him…??" This time I stammered in happiness. I always stammer when I am flooded with emotions.
"Yes" He reminds me so much of Mozart!"
Mozart was dad's best friend.I first hugged dad.
And then I approached him…I ruffled his hair then pulled him into a tight hug.
“Beethoven!!!..... I love you!” I exclaimed.
“Woof woof !!” He barked delightedly ,licking my face.
That was approval enough from him for letting us keep him.
Well, he had to be new.Some one like him wouldn’t have escaped my attention. He had a calculatedly cool attitude that set him apart from his cronies, who always never seemed to have a job at hand and perennially lingered around the tea stall at the street corner.
He didn’t belong among his friends who were nothing less than dirty ragamuffins.
He had an air of sophistication and a cloud of mischief hovering about him. But it was evident that he had no family because he wouldn’t other wise hang around those bunch of gypsies.However,he sure had a high intrigue factor and I love intrigue.
It made me turn around and give him another good look.
The Brown hair was worn messily framing his handsome face which gave him a Lion like majesty.I could see a pair of clear eyes gazing back flirtatiously at me. I was trying hard to make out the eye color since I have a thing for light brown eyed people.
Before I could notice any other detail,to my utter embarrassment, his friends also were reciprocating my admiration.I don' mind a bit of admiration. But,they were quite vociferous about their feelings.They howled in acknowledgment of my attention and that set me off on my heels.
I think I had a humongous crush on him …you know…the typical kolly wood story where girl from decent family falls in love with a vagabond.
The next morning, I was looking out for him like a life guard at sea would, from behind my dad’s scooter which was sputtering and spewed carbon monoxide.Yeah I know..time to switch to a nano!
I didn’t see him. I turned and looked around trying to get a 360 degree view despite being mobile (if you call 30 kmph as mobile!) My dad brought the brakes on suddenly at the unexpected appearance of a figure which sent me almost flying above my dad as I was perched like a duck on that scooter, trying to spot my new amour. I grabbed my dads shoulder to steady myself, who was blasting expletives aimed at not only his sudden “crosser” but at this generation at large which was “useless and irresponsible”
And then I saw him...coolly trotting across the road, turning a deaf ear to my dad’s angry snorts but giving me that cool look.
I hate to admit it…. but heck...I was in love!
All days at school were now crammed with day dreaming and notes filled with doodles.
I noticed him every day, and he returned all my glances with equal earnest,
It was how ever disappointing that he never budged from that tea stall. Now he also became a regular there.
And then, when all my hopes of him trying to make the first move were dashed, I saw him lift himself off his post and follow me.
I was over whelmed with excitement. I walked slowly, lest I become too fast.He didn’t know where I live.
No one was at home; it was a good time for introductions.
I left the door open, entering my home. I put down my bag and sat with my legs crossed and hands folded trying to strike a picture of poise while waiting for him. He came in with such confidence that it seemed to me for an instant that he was the rightful owner of my home.He sauntered in and sat himself right opposite me.
He had light brown green eyes. I’ve never seen such a brilliant pair of eyes before.
It was obvious he was waiting for me to make a start.And I was as obliging as ever.
“Err...Hi…how would you like to be with me?”
As my uncertainty slowly disappeared,I continued
" If that question threw you off, let me tell you, that was the first thought that pushed itself into my head when I saw you.
uh..you look like some one who appreciates honesty.." I ended abruptly.
He grinned, letting out a gurgle like sound.
“That’s a yes isn’t it?”I asked happily.
He nodded his head for my benefit, clarifying my doubt.
“But now the problem is ma and pa...they need to like you too.”
He now looked at me thoughtfully and threw me the glance which said
“Duh! You know your folks! Not me”
He did most of his talking with those gleaming marble eyes of his. I didn’t even care to find if he was not dumb,nothing mattered as long as those eyes did all the talking.
Just then the door bell rang shrilly throwing both him and me into a state of frenzy. Him because he has never heard anything as shrill as my doorbell and, I because Dad was home!
I had to hide him, Pa would slay me if he found him home, HIM especially, the mongrel, the vagabond, the sudden “crosser”.
I pushed him beneath the sofa, thinking I would create a diversion so he could escape.
On entering my father remarked “Enna Ammu did you try cooking… the room smells funny”
I made my favorite disgusted–with-your–joke face at him.
Before I could give a smart repartee, the alarm bell went in my head as my dad bent to investigate the source of the funny smell.
I didn’t know if I should cover my eyes or my ears.I was suddenly afflicted with complete multi organ malfunction.
He crouched in the comfort of the darkness and shelter the sofa offered.
But a huge hairy hand went under the sofa and pulled him out from under the sofa.
I shut my eyes tightly preventing myself to be a spectator of any violence.
When I thought I didn’t hear anything for a time nearly as long as ones lifetime, I opened my eyes only to see him being ruffled by my dad.
I stammered in disbeleif...p...aa??!!
"Oh I like him, why didn’t you tell me about him before." dad said affably.
"Yo...u ..u like him…??" This time I stammered in happiness. I always stammer when I am flooded with emotions.
"Yes" He reminds me so much of Mozart!"
Mozart was dad's best friend.I first hugged dad.
And then I approached him…I ruffled his hair then pulled him into a tight hug.
“Beethoven!!!..... I love you!” I exclaimed.
“Woof woof !!” He barked delightedly ,licking my face.
That was approval enough from him for letting us keep him.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Silver Savannahs
The earth felt flat as the plains stretched endlessly
The moon painted silver shadows on the dark canvas of the solid earth
The clouds shimmered and the stars dazzled
My eyes looking upward at the sparkling celestial abyss, reflected their brilliance
But within they were as empty as the plains.
I casted a long ward glance out of the window of my eye waiting, waiting
as always...
For the soft thud of the silver stallion, riding like the wind, with its silvery mane framing its silhouette with a halo
For the rider of that stallion, with his cloak flying madly behind him
For the rider of the wind, galloping eagerly through the Savannahs
For the rider, whose eyes brim with silver light, and whose teeth gleam in virgin white within the velvet like pink lips.
For the rider, weaving in like a summer bee, through the scant trees strewn over the canvas.
I casted a long ward glance out of the window of my eye waiting, waiting
as always…
For firm hands to whisk me away from the silver earth beneath my silver slippers
For tender hands to mount me on the stallion
For soft, sweet breath over my neck comforting me when the wind slaps me across my face
For those eyes, embedded in silver to gaze at my head and untangle the sliver threads of my emotions
For my heart to race with the steady pace of the stallion.
I casted a long ward glance out of the window of my eye waiting, waiting as always for my rider, who rides in the silver Savannah's of my mind.
The moon painted silver shadows on the dark canvas of the solid earth
The clouds shimmered and the stars dazzled
My eyes looking upward at the sparkling celestial abyss, reflected their brilliance
But within they were as empty as the plains.
I casted a long ward glance out of the window of my eye waiting, waiting
as always...
For the soft thud of the silver stallion, riding like the wind, with its silvery mane framing its silhouette with a halo
For the rider of that stallion, with his cloak flying madly behind him
For the rider of the wind, galloping eagerly through the Savannahs
For the rider, whose eyes brim with silver light, and whose teeth gleam in virgin white within the velvet like pink lips.
For the rider, weaving in like a summer bee, through the scant trees strewn over the canvas.
I casted a long ward glance out of the window of my eye waiting, waiting
as always…
For firm hands to whisk me away from the silver earth beneath my silver slippers
For tender hands to mount me on the stallion
For soft, sweet breath over my neck comforting me when the wind slaps me across my face
For those eyes, embedded in silver to gaze at my head and untangle the sliver threads of my emotions
For my heart to race with the steady pace of the stallion.
I casted a long ward glance out of the window of my eye waiting, waiting as always for my rider, who rides in the silver Savannah's of my mind.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Episode 2: Fiddle -de- dee ride!
Now… now… bus rides can’t be all that bad! It is the life line of the city. And once you become a regular, the conductor becomes your great friend, and as a sign of he bond you share he will stop the bus even if it’s not the stop. This is especially a blessing when you are running behind a bus at a speed that would put Marion Jones to shame (sans doping!).
It used to puzzle me as to why they call this man who issues the tickets a conductor!?I figured that since he conducts people into his bus he is called so!
I find most of these conductors astute possessing a variety of talents. One is his mathematical ability, where he does all the arithmetic in lightning speed that too amidst chaos and confusion and the other talent he is endowed with is his musical abilities. The soprano parts especially enthrall the audience so much so that the bus halts in awe, and the serendipity of it is that the place where it was pulled to a stop is the exact same place you need to alight! Now if you don’t call that your good fortune what else would it be! And he is so kind that he uses his musical talents each time some one needs to dismount! Bless his kind soul!
The sights and sound that you chance upon when traveling in a bus makes it a very worth wile experience. The encouraging part is that, no one really cares if you are eaves dropping! And I shamelessly indulge in it and amuse myself, sometimes stifling a laugh or slapping my head at their stupidity or letting my sinews wrench in their troubles. Half the time I am half tempted to offer advice, but I know better than that, unless I want to be looked as something as dirty as a plumber’s fingernails!
By the way, always be on the look out for the dark corners in bus stops! There will always be a couple, cozily tucked in a corner, often holding hands and looking left to right from time to time in case of curious onlookers. If you notice, the girl’s back will always be turned towards you making you all the more curious! My heart goes out to these couples who can’t be exhibitive about their love!
Now, when the bus is stuck in an awful traffic jam, your only solace can be books or music because a bus is boring when it is static. But the others definitely don’t think so. Just when you are nearing the climax of the book, the neighboring fat aunty already encroaching into half of the seat will want to pick a conversation! And most often it starts off as a mumble about how late she is getting! And for being polite if you nod your head in agreement, she ll take that as a cue and go on! Not even giving you a moment to tell her that a fly went into her mouth!
In my last post I told you why it was of great importance to have a seat in the bus.
But I excluded the reason as to just why it was so (marketing reasons!)
If it’s a crowded bus, and you are standing, you will have your air supply shut off. Or you can be sautéed among the standees whose smells will make your face crease like a bull dog! If its long journey, you can even consider varicose vein a possibility. But most of all, there are some men depraved of sexual activity, who lurk around in crowded buses, targeting the unsuspecting who think “pavam he doesn’t have place...”!
This is where my trusty back pack comes into play! Any time I have to stand my back pack is my armour; any funny stunts…throw a cold stare and make sure the iron rod in your backpack gets him right there!
But there are also the ever so gentle gentlemen, who will relinquish their seat for you! But being the woman I am, I would never accept that offer! Unless I m going to be pregnant,an amputee or an 80 year old.
I can’t understand these women! They want to be treated on par with men, but they want reservation too, they harass the men to get off the seats, and place their derrières comfortably! Gleaming within with a sense of satisfaction! While the poor man who probably is back from work blasting rocks in a quarry willingly makes way for over grown squats! Sorry again boys!
But other wise, bus rides are a really pleasant experience; especially if a dashing (no pun intended) young man giving you enough attention to bring a little pink flush over your tanned cheek. So, if you have no other choice of transport, better learn to like the poor man’s rolls Royce, and indulge in the luxury it offers!...Bon voyage!
It used to puzzle me as to why they call this man who issues the tickets a conductor!?I figured that since he conducts people into his bus he is called so!
I find most of these conductors astute possessing a variety of talents. One is his mathematical ability, where he does all the arithmetic in lightning speed that too amidst chaos and confusion and the other talent he is endowed with is his musical abilities. The soprano parts especially enthrall the audience so much so that the bus halts in awe, and the serendipity of it is that the place where it was pulled to a stop is the exact same place you need to alight! Now if you don’t call that your good fortune what else would it be! And he is so kind that he uses his musical talents each time some one needs to dismount! Bless his kind soul!
The sights and sound that you chance upon when traveling in a bus makes it a very worth wile experience. The encouraging part is that, no one really cares if you are eaves dropping! And I shamelessly indulge in it and amuse myself, sometimes stifling a laugh or slapping my head at their stupidity or letting my sinews wrench in their troubles. Half the time I am half tempted to offer advice, but I know better than that, unless I want to be looked as something as dirty as a plumber’s fingernails!
By the way, always be on the look out for the dark corners in bus stops! There will always be a couple, cozily tucked in a corner, often holding hands and looking left to right from time to time in case of curious onlookers. If you notice, the girl’s back will always be turned towards you making you all the more curious! My heart goes out to these couples who can’t be exhibitive about their love!
Now, when the bus is stuck in an awful traffic jam, your only solace can be books or music because a bus is boring when it is static. But the others definitely don’t think so. Just when you are nearing the climax of the book, the neighboring fat aunty already encroaching into half of the seat will want to pick a conversation! And most often it starts off as a mumble about how late she is getting! And for being polite if you nod your head in agreement, she ll take that as a cue and go on! Not even giving you a moment to tell her that a fly went into her mouth!
In my last post I told you why it was of great importance to have a seat in the bus.
But I excluded the reason as to just why it was so (marketing reasons!)
If it’s a crowded bus, and you are standing, you will have your air supply shut off. Or you can be sautéed among the standees whose smells will make your face crease like a bull dog! If its long journey, you can even consider varicose vein a possibility. But most of all, there are some men depraved of sexual activity, who lurk around in crowded buses, targeting the unsuspecting who think “pavam he doesn’t have place...”!
This is where my trusty back pack comes into play! Any time I have to stand my back pack is my armour; any funny stunts…throw a cold stare and make sure the iron rod in your backpack gets him right there!
But there are also the ever so gentle gentlemen, who will relinquish their seat for you! But being the woman I am, I would never accept that offer! Unless I m going to be pregnant,an amputee or an 80 year old.
I can’t understand these women! They want to be treated on par with men, but they want reservation too, they harass the men to get off the seats, and place their derrières comfortably! Gleaming within with a sense of satisfaction! While the poor man who probably is back from work blasting rocks in a quarry willingly makes way for over grown squats! Sorry again boys!
But other wise, bus rides are a really pleasant experience; especially if a dashing (no pun intended) young man giving you enough attention to bring a little pink flush over your tanned cheek. So, if you have no other choice of transport, better learn to like the poor man’s rolls Royce, and indulge in the luxury it offers!...Bon voyage!
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