What a Year It's Been!

I've somehow never been able to look back at years gone by, and elicit anything more than a shrug. OK - so time passes by, we do stuff, and life goes on.

Once a moment has gone, the only thing that lives on is the memory of the moment. And that memory is malleable. You can trim it and shape it to suit your needs. In fact, I read somewhere (I think it was the Economic Times) that what we remember are in fact just stray bits and pieces, and the rest we actually reconstruct. It's like we tear up a shirt and store just the collar and cufflinks, and the rest we fill in!

There's also a noticeable difference between what I remember and what DH remembers. I tend to remember how I felt - I hated the place or loved the music. DH is a veritable sponge for facts. For example, we were flipping channels, and came across this guy Peyton Manning, who I think is currently the Indianapolis Colts quarterback. Now DH has a terrible memory when it comes to names, faces, dates, etc. Imagine to my surprise, when he remembered Manning from the time we stayed at Nashville, TN - which was a good 9 years ago - and he isn't even a football fan!

But I digress here. Not that it really matters, because I think I will remember this year more for li'l D than anyone else. The way she's blossomed out from a quiet, underweight infant when we brought her home, to a naughty, smart, and talkative toddler. Our happiness every time the doctor commented that she was a lovely baby and we had done a great job! I think that's the single dominating fact that will linger on.

No - make that two dominating facts. This year I began blogging. I first blogged at Sulekha, and then moved to blogspot. I've learnt so much, and I've enjoyed myself quite thoroughly. I've read fantastic stuff, made some incredible friends, met some wonderful bloggers....something I would never, ever have dreamt of!

Some unpleasant memories will linger - the year was not so good for some people close to me, and I do hope it clears up for them soon. The tsunami wrought such a heart-breaking end to the year - I can only hope and pray for the survivors.

Life, however, is resilient. And I have this ability to somehow fade-out all the bad memories. I live life nowadays like a person placidly sailing down a river in those tyre-tubes. I admire the scenery as I pass by it, and leave every past moment behind.

So, New Year - here I come. Where will you take me?

Wishing everyone a Very Happy New Year!

Don't feel like writing much. I haven't been watching TV or reading the newspaper much coz the articles and pics just tear me apart. Anything said or done seems awfully trite. Blogging about it seems even more so.

The Dress and The Iron

It's really a long time since I wrote some nonsense rhyme, so here goes - The Dress and The Iron

Friendly Forecast

Did I miss out on the weekly forecast which stated that I would meet a great many friends?

My oldest, "bestest" friend had come visiting today after a really long time. It was so lovely catching up, and realizing that nothing has changed between us. I have very, very few good friends really, and she is the first among equals.

What struck me is that all those whom I consider my best friends, share very similar tastes, interests, and views with me.

Now consider the popular view that opposites attract. I wonder how many people have deep friendships with folks who are diametrically opposite in nature to them. Which is more natural - I'm not sure that's even a question that can be asked! Can the two be compared at all? Perhaps not.

A friend is a friend. Let's leave it at that.

Some Weird Things

I'm not a Ripley-Believe-It-Or-Not kinda person - I don't pull a 10 ton truck with my teeth, or spend a night with scorpions.

The only close-to-weird things I can do are:

1. Touch my tongue to my nose

2. Make a real loud noise by releasing my tongue after pressing it to the roof of my mouth - it's just like you would do the clip-clop of a horse, only much, much louder!

3. Mirrored running writing - that is, writing which you need to reflect off a mirror to read it straight, much like the ambulance sign painted on an ambulance.

Today I discovered a weird sound - my heartbeat sounding all squishy. If you want to hear what it sounds like, here's what you need to do:

Lie down on your stomach, with your head sideways, ear pressed to a pillow. Make sure the earlobe is folded across the ear. Lie quiet and you can hear your heartbeat squelching out of your ear.

I didn't do this on purpose - it just happened. I thought it sounded weird.

Care For A Ride?

This happened ages ago - it seems so amusing in retrospect, but at the time, it was hardly that!

It was my maiden trip to the US of A. Not a big deal, I thought, considering that my first overseas trip was to Zurich, where I had to struggle with Swiss-German everywhere. Conveniently forgetting the fact that my co-travellers were seasoned globe-trotters, who knew the sign language like their own mother tongue!

The journey itself was long, tedious, and uneventful, barring the hordes of Telugu speaking populace who took the plane hostage, apparently enroute to a World Telugu conference. I had fervently hoped that my co-passenger would be my hero in disguise, but to my utter disappointment, it turned out to be a sleepy old, chewing-cud, businessman. The only conversation we had went something like this:

He: So what are you going to America for?
Me: It’s work-related.
He: Oh! So what do you do?
Me: I’m into software.
He: Oh! Leather or textiles?
Me: No, no – computers.
He: Oh! Computers! (and goes back to sleep)

I had been warned sufficiently of the JFK labyrinth to ensure that I hooked up to my connecting flight on time. I needed to make a call to the overseas manager, but the phone booths baffled me, and other travellers professed their ignorance too about how the darned things worked. I didn’t really believe them, but I didn’t have much choice either.

Befriended by an American on the unbelievably small aircraft, who offloaded a basket of mangoes to me since he had extra baggage, I had panic attacks imagining being stopped for smuggling hidden drugs. Perhaps it was just as well that I had got warmed up for what was to follow!

The arrival terminal at my destination was more or less deserted within a few minutes of our plane landing. The manager who was supposed to pick me up was nowhere in sight. I had all the time in the world to figure out how the public phone worked, and finally placed a call to his home. Horror of horrors! It was his answering machine doing the honours!!

I slowly put the phone down, wondering what to do. Well, I did have the name and address of the hotel I was to stay at. How hard would it be to get a taxi? I’m not sure exactly how long or how far I wandered around there, but I couldn’t see any signs that pointed to taxis or any other forms of public transport. Little did I realize I was entering into a world where private transport reigned supreme! As I stepped into the elevator for perhaps the fourth time, I became aware of this rather large African American, in full uniform, just outside the door.

“Care for a limousine, ma’am?” His deep voice carried after me.

I mutely shook my head and heaved a sigh of relief as the elevator doors closed.

I went down and looked around yet again. No luck with any signs. Answering machine still at the end of the line. Hmm…what do I do now?

Suddenly, a scene flashed before my eyes.

My manager (at Bangalore) and I were discussing something, when we were interrupted by another employee, settling down, as is wont, over the cubicle wall.

“So, you’re all set to go?” My manager asked.

“Yes, everything’s confirmed. Only one thing, has the client arranged for the transport from the airport?”

“No, but you can just take a limo, right? Take a bill, and we can bill them later”.

My manager’s response was like a revelation. Take a limo! Why yes! Here was a guy offering a limo! I’ll take it!

Up I went, feeling mighty pleased with myself, just hoping no one else had beaten me to him. My fears were totally unfounded, because you see, no one else was there!

I approached the uniformed chauffeur, and felt greatly relieved when he picked up my luggage and we proceeded outside the terminal! Finally!

I entered the car rather gingerly. It seemed to stretch on forever. The chauffeur’s voice was very distant, and I had to ask him to repeat his question thrice before I realized he was asking me if I was comfortable! I settled down, a trifle unhappy that my first experience in a limousine was going to be a mundane taxi ride, instead of something more exotic!

And then, he drove. And drove. And drove. It was dark outside. It was silent inside. I felt trapped. Panic waves began washing over me. I could see headlines – Unknown Indian girl found dead. Maybe they would find me after weeks or months. Maybe they would never find me. Oh dear!! I grew terribly fearful at the great impending doom that my mind etched before me! I began praying to the entire pantheon of Gods I had ever come across in my life.

And he still kept driving. Of course, I had no idea that such distances were not at all uncommon. I was more used to the 20 minute airport drive back home! The only thing I could see was the back of his head and his cap.

Just when I had decided that there wasn’t much I could anyway, and I should probably just sit back and wait for the worst, city lights began to emerge out of the blackness. Finally, he swung into a hotel driveway, and stopped. I wasn’t sure if this indeed was the correct hotel. I decided that if he hadn’t harmed me so far, I could take a chance with him.

I got out of the car, my legs trembling. I requested him to wait while I confirmed my hotel booking. He was willing to do that. A sense of relief finally swept over me when the reception folks confirmed that my room was indeed available. I took my meagre baggage out of the limousine, handsomely tipped the chauffeur, and escaped to the safe haven of my room.

It was only much, much later that I discovered that when my manager said limo, he meant a regular taxicab aka limo, and not a limousine!!

What makes the world go round?

Was listening to this song yesterday over the radio from the movie Dhan Daulat..

Jeena kya aji pyaar bina
Jeevan ke yahi chaar dina
Dhan daulat bina chale magar
Zindagi na chale yaar bina

Loosely translated, it means you can live life without money, but not without love. This is a subject that's doubtless been flogged to death, but methinks there's more to money than meets the eye.

Everyone pities the person who has his pockets full, but an empty heart. But in many ways, doesn't the urban phenomenon reflect the reverse? People make sure their pockets are full, before setting out to fill the void of their hearts. And if they aren't successful in the latter, it doesn't really mean their lives are worthless. Many people are all alone and are quite happy being alone. Money actually helps you to live alone - it gives you all, or at least most, of the independence you need.

Then again, typically dhan daulat means wealth. So does the song actually mean we can live without "wealth" as against we can live without money? Sheesh! I'm really wasting my time, aren't I?? :)))

Kempanna

Kempanna was the village idiot. Everyone knew him and everyone ignored him. He was like the sole electricity bulb that hung naked outside headman Ramappa’s house. The first time it lit up, the whole village celebrated. The first time it died down, the whole village mourned. Now, it flickered to life sporadically, and no one even noticed.

The commotion under the peepul tree awoke Ramappa from his afternoon nap.

Read full story here.

Blame It on Rio?

I'm terrible at keeping promises made to myself! I had sworn off movies, and look what I did ....

Saw Amelie - honestly, this wasn't my fault - the library folks called me up and said it's available and you gotta come right now and pick it up..opportunity knocks and can I say no?? Loved the movie - such a common story told so uncommonly well - it left me wondering what would have happened if Amelie had not found the love of her life, or if it hadn't worked out all that well - but that's the cynic in me - the romantic was all blubbering and teary-eyed...

And then, there was Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. We bought this DVD, so come on, don't we have to watch it? I was well prepared to be disappointed, but it was ok. I mean, there's only so much a movie can do as compared to a book. I've long stopped expecting a movie to do justice to a book. I just wonder how the next two books will work out - and I can't even imagine how Mira Nair is going to treat Order of the Phoenix - I'm already prepared for it to be a superflop! :))

When I went to return Amelie, I chanced upon Sunset Boulevard. A B&W 1950 movie, I thought it was extremely well made. I particularly liked the narration - kind of dry...

And then I caught up on the great and grand and famous Main Hoon Na on Star Plus. Gosh! It reminded me of Lou Bega's Mambo No 5!! A li'l bit of this and li'l bit of that.... spotted influence of Matrix, Jackie Chan, Ally McBeal, Sholay, Chopra (much talked about in interviews), and God knows, what else? It was total bubble-gum - I swear the dialogues equalled the songs - as superficial as can be! One thing that did strike me was that Shah Rukh played the step-son here (progeny of an affair), and in K3G, played an adopted son. Hmm...quite a variation there from the standard stuff...

Today, I came across on Chocolat on ZMZ, as the new Zee MGM is known. I loved the book, and the movie was comparably soothing. The taste of chocolate in my mouth...yummmm...incidentally, we have quite a pile waiting to be devoured!!

Now listening to Tapestry Revisited - A tribute to Carole King.

You can't talk to a man, with a shotgun in his hand!!

The Bus Stop

Lalitha knew she was already late because the news was over and film songs had started over the radio. She deftly pleated her pale pink cotton sari (which she knew was a bad choice, considering that she was so late), stabbed a giant safety pin into the pleats and her matching petticoat, and snapped it shut. Tucking the loose ends of her sari so that it sat taut, smoothing the stubborn pleats one last time, she plucked a bindi off the bindi pock-marked mirror, and slapped it onto her forehead. A last dab of her favourite sandalwood powder wrapped up her two-minute session in front of the mirror, and she grabbed her bag while slipping on her worn black slippers.

“Amma, I’m going!”
Her mother came out of the kitchen, and thrust the steel lunchbox wrapped in plastic into her hands.

Read full story here.

A Friendly Visit

Today I met a friend, after a gap of almost six months. We live a stone’s throw away from each other’s house, so it’s kind of funny that we don’t get together more often. But when we do, we just resume chatting as if we never left off!

I came to know her through a friend of a friend. I heard that she had started an NGO for people with disabilities –primary visually impaired, and was looking for volunteers.

When we met at a coffee shop for the first time, we really hit it off. The similarities between us were quite eerie. We both had come back to India for good from the US around the same time, we both were living in the same area, and we were both going to shift to our own houses around the same time, and to the same area again! Our thoughts, our sentiments, our values….we could almost complete each other’s sentences. Sometimes, I felt I was looking at a new, improved version of myself!

For me, the volunteering opportunity was as perfect as it could get. For some reason, I had always felt a special affinity to the visually impaired. I had always wanted to get involved in some sort of voluntary work. The kind of work she outlined fitted in perfectly with my skills and my interests – it was teaching computer basics to the visually impaired – I loved teaching and computers were anyway my field of work.

It all fell into place beautifully – just like so many other things in my life.

She began lending me teach-the-teacher kind of material, and I read up a lot on the world of the visually impaired, and every time, it struck me forcefully as to how much we rely on our vision to get by in our lives. Teaching was not straight-forward – you couldn’t just say point and click on this – you had to spend a great deal of time painting a picture for the students, before they could actually start working. There were tools, techniques, tips and tricks to be mastered. You had to exercise your creativity in giving examples from the real world which they could map onto easily. Exercises had to be devised which would test out what all they learnt, simulating a real-world environment, since the main emphasis was on practical training.

Added to this, it was also a very mixed class – few with complete loss of vision, few with low vision, few with some computer awareness, few who didn’t know English to begin with. Many commuted from quite far off, and sometimes simply didn’t show up, which made it harder to keep the class in sync. Fitting the classes into my schedule and preparing for them took up a decent chunk of time. There were the fast learners you had to devise more challenging exercises for, and the slow learners who needed simpler, repetitive exercises. It was an intense learning journey for me – communicating intelligently with the students and moving the class along at a sensible pace, yet always having to be prepared for the unexpected.

Needless to say, I loved every minute of it, and the thrill of seeing them actually accomplishing simple tasks effortlessly was simply priceless and hugely satisfying!

After D. came along however, I had to prune down my activities, and one of the casualities, unfortunately, was my volunteering. I still remained in touch sporadically with my friend, and it was simply amazing that we would be going through almost exactly similar experiences whenever we spoke. In fact, it almost always happened that she would be thinking of calling me if I called her, and vice versa.

When I went back today, I met one of my students who now works at the NGO. She was a shy and diffident person when I was teaching her – now, apparently, she has developed a voracious appetite for learning, and devours anything within her reach! It was fun to be back there again, and I’m just waiting for D. to go to pre-school so that I can resume teaching again.

I’ll be posting more about my friend and her NGO sometime in the near future – so watch this space.

Open Sesame!

Anne Goscinny, daughter of the French author and cartoonist Rene Goscinny (of Asterix fame), moved house four years ago, and in the process discovered 80 previously unpublished stories about le petit Nicolas, a little schoolboy character created in the 1950s. The 600-page volume made out of these stories has sold 250K copies since its publication in October.

Well, I can’t claim to have unearthed something as spectacular as this, but it does bring to mind an evening, quite long ago…

Mom and I were the only ones at home, the rest having taken off to see a movie. I was perhaps 7 or 8 years old, restless and bored.

Mom, being the resourceful person that she is, decided it was time to clean out one of the many trunks that infested our house in all the nooks, corners, crannies and attics.

We pulled out this ancient looking trunk, complete with evenly spaced metal knobs on strips of metal welded together to form a formidable chest. It was covered with a layer of dust, and it took a more than just a few swipes of a wet cloth to clean it up.

We swung open the heavy lid and rested it against the cots. My excitement was beginning to grow. This was like one of the those Enid Blyton stories – I would probably find all sorts of mystery things inside! The musty smell that hit me just made it all the more alluring.

Right on top were some garments – a checked waistcoat which I promptly donned and thought I looked quite fetching. A pair of old socks, darned quite neatly at several places. A long, multi-coloured, knitted scarf which I thought was quite atrocious.

Then came a nice surprise. A really pretty beige silk blouse, with gold edging and small gold dots throughout. I tried it on – it was quite large for me, but would be perfect for my princess/queen role playing!

Then came a small tin box, the kinds they used to store powder and puff in. I opened it with some difficulty – the lid was rather tight and rusty. Imagine my delight when out rolled many coloured pieces of chalk! There was purple, light green, dark green, blue, yellow, pale yellow, a sort of red…I was thrilled to bits!

Then came a small crotchet bag with strings to tie the mouth. I pulled at the strings, opened the bag, and shook out the contents. Several shells covered with intricate beadwork, and small bead chairs and tables! Wow! This was great!

“It’s all your father’s mother’s stuff”, my mom told me. “She was very skilful, very neat and extremely careful. She always used to re-use things. Her darning was so fine that you could never tell it was an old, worn-out garment. And the way she used to fold clothes – it was as if they were ironed!”

I was impressed. I remember long after that, I used to smoothen out clothes I had to fold, so that they too would look ironed!

Several hankies (nice embroidery), a mosquito net (neatly darned again in several places), a silk border apparently cut out from a silk saree, a thick overcoat…we had almost come to the bottom of the trunk.

There was a woolly kind of cloth all rolled up, tucked into the corner.

“What’s this?” I asked my mom, holding it out.

“Ummm.. I think this is what she used to wrap her legs..her calves with, when they used to ache”.

I rolled it open – it was a long dark strip. And when the last twist rolled out, I saw it.

“Mom, mom, come and see this!” I shouted excitedly.

“What?” My mom came over, and stopped short in utter astonishment.

Nestled within the folds of the cloth, were five crisp tenners and four one rupee notes!

Signs

Signs that D. is growing up fast...

1. Her head has overshot the top bar of the lower half of our balcony doors. (that's my informal height marker!)

2. Her dresses have become shorter and tighter - nothing to do with the prevailing fashions and styles :)))

3. She says intelligent things like "peenish" (that's finish - what were you thinking? :D) when something gets over.

4. She actually asked for her favourite food two nights ago - "potato pleej". I was forced to hurriedly whip up something - how can you have the heart to say no when she asks you so sweetly?

5. She enacts rhymes, matching verse to action, as in "teddy bear teddy bear t-un-ar-nd", executing a near-perfect ballerina twirl.

6. She asks for her puzzles by name, as in "aminal pujjle"! (animal puzzle), and she's able to do her ducky jigsaw puzzle in 40 seconds flat.

7. She wriggles her bottom while dancing - a *huge* step up from stamping her feet and waving her arms!

8. She speaks on the phone to her grandma - "ajjjiiiiiiiii - helloo - bye"

9. She removes her shoes all by herself and puts them in the shoe cupboard, and then pulls me along to see what she's accomplished, and pats herself on the back with "googurrrrl"! (good girl)

10. She identifies "bad anty" in Snow White and "phish" in Finding Nemo, all by herself!

Tirupathi

Finally! We made it to Tirupathi!

Both DH and I are not exactly the religious sort - we hardly follow any of the rituals or do any of the poojas. How the Tirupathi thing happened is a bit of a mystery - it kind of just grew on us, I guess, till it became imperative we visit the place.

Anyway, after many annulled plans, we got going. My mom and dad came along too, and D. - well, what can I say? D. was an absolute gem - so co-operative and unfussy (is that a word??)

Everything went off so smoothly - just the opposite of all the nightmares we had, after listening to stories and stories about vehicles breaking down, accidents, 4 hour waits for the darshan...phew! it was a breeze compared to what we expected! (If you're interested, mail me, and I can send you all the details of the arrangements.) Of course, it helped that we chose mid-week and the off-season for our trip.

D.'s first trip, I think, was memorable, and very, very enjoyable!

MS

It’s eerie.

Mom was looking for “Kurai Ondrum Illai” for a long time. I only had the CDs of MS Live at Carnegie Hall, which didn’t feature this Raagamaalika.

We went to Tirupati this week. I peeked into the hotel gift shop to buy the famous Suprabhatham, when the shop-owner showed me this lovely Immortal Legends collection featuring MS. I bought it without a second thought when I saw “Kurai Ondrum Illai” part of this album.

We’ve spent the past few days basking in the gentle warmth of her melodious music.



And now, she’s passed away. May her soul rest in peace.

It does makes me a little wary, though, about buying Immortal Legend collections of living legends.

Time Out

Am off for the next couple of days - will be quite interesting to see how li'l D's first trip turns out! :))

I think I'm off movies for some time - had a really tiring weekend watching:

City of Gods (5 stars) - bleak and troubling
Matchstick Men (4 stars) - nice flick, kinda predictable at times, had my fav Nicholas Cage!
Joggers' Park (2.5 stars) - sheesh! can't they make it more crisp? the editing was driving me nuts!
Irreversible - can't even begin to rate it - tried hard to appreciate it, but kinda put me off, seamlessly going backwards was perhaps the one thing i really liked....

They were giving out fat-free icecream free, yes FREE, in our complex!! Had 2 cups :)) Blood donation was just an excuse to indulge myself!

Am excited about a bunch of books that are in my shopping cart and ready to be confirmed, after my trip, of course.

So that's life, eh? Books and movies and eats...work and play and bringing up D...when you've got your life exactly the way you wanted, something restless still stirs inside, hopping around like a perky li'l bunny, and you wonder...

OK, I shall stop wondering and thinking and get back to life as I know it.

Real Illusions

”You’re strong”.

“What?” I must have mis-heard.

“You’re quite strong”.

This is definitely a mistake.

“Are you sure? This is the first time anyone’s ever called me strong! Why do you say that?”

”Most ladies can’t even lift the bar – you were able to pull it all the way!”

I don’t know what to say – I am rendered speechless.

It’s like living in a fun-fair world of mirrors. I move a bit - I see myself as tall and thin and stretched. Tense and stressed. Mournful and gloomy. I shift around - I see myself as fat and round. Laughing and jolly. I have to agree with Walt Whitman – indeed, I contain multitudes.

It’s just that when you’ve made yourself comfortable with all the mirrors in the room, and have had fun standing in front of each them, and think you know it all, the authorities that be decide to install a new mirror. So what if it’s just for a day, or even a minute? And suddenly you see a whole new image, a whole new you. Your instant reaction is to reject it outright. What nonsense – I can’t be like this! But it stays with you, that momentary reflection, that instant of light meeting glass, and you wonder…is that my truth - the real me? Have I’ve been living with illusions all along?

“You’re in software, and you work from home?”

“Umm…yeah”.

“Wow! You must have excellent PR!”

I mumble sheepishly, but I’d love to have that mirror stay on – suddenly, I wish it were true.

Yesterday, I rearranged a little mirror myself.

”First time you are donating blood?”

”Yes”

A few minutes later, I’m incredulous.

“That’s it? 350 ml so quickly?”

Yes, a mirror that had once shown me as anaemic, now shows me full-blooded.

Can you makeover your soul? Can you strip the makeup and the costumes, expose your nakedness, and rearrange the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle to make a new picture? I wonder, as I look upon my reflections mocking my innermost thoughts. And I remember a verse…

nainam chindanti shastrani
nainam dahati pavakah
na cainam kledayanty apo
na sosayati marutah

Is “Who am I?” the same as “What am I?”

(Verse Translation: The soul can never be cut to pieces by any weapon, nor burned by fire, nor moistened by water, nor withered by the wind.)