:)

What is the first thing you notice about people?

I have often been asked this question but it continues to bamboozle me to this day. Why did i choose such a random topic to blog aboutr, you might wonder. Yet again, I have no satisfactory answer.

So coming back to the question posed in the beginning of what promises to be a mildly cheesy blog post, the answer most often received by this blogger is 'what they wear' and 'their eyes'. Well duh! That's like stating George Bush is a clown - universal truth.

And that set me thinking, what is it that I notice about people... After much pontification, I relaised the answer had been staring me in the face. Or rather, smiling me in the face.

Yes, the first thing I notice is how easily people smile. Do they smile rightaway when you are introduced to them? Is it an easy smile? Or a forced smile? Does their smile stay on their lips or reach up to their eyes? Dimple, no dimple? Smirky smile? Or do they smile a heave of releif when you are saying goodbye?

Now I cannot claim to have done a doctoral thesis in the 'Interpretation of Smiles' but i sure know my tight-lipped smile from the monkey grin.

And my favourite kind of smile? That would be the kind that spreads from ear to ear and brings a twinkle to the eye. Like the smile of the little boy who was waving at me when I was travelling by local train in Hyderabad.

Of little girls and dirty laundry

Long, long ago there lived a little girl in a not-so-little world. She loved to sing and dance and read and most importantly, write. And write she did, about building castles of sand with little angels, of watching sweaty auntys in synthetic salwar-kurtas jogging in the park, of her first love and her last and of all things sundry.

But somewhere along the way, the little girl was struck with a major bout of a deadly disease. The deadly disease was called indolence. The deadly disease crept into every fiber of her body. It found it's way into every vein and artery and poisoned her blood. She began to write lesser and lesser. Until one day, she ceased to write.

The little girl ridden with the deadly disease named indolence, wept silent tears of agony. She would try to put pen to paper, but the pen refused to move. She would try to type on the computer, but the words refused to appear on the monitor.

Bah! I can't write this anymore.. I am not as little a girl as i once thought i was and neither is the world as rosy as it once seemed to me. And no, I am not talking about the hungry, dying Ethiopian kids, it's my world that is not rosy anymore.

For all those who don't already know, i am no longer in the comfy confines of my house. i have moved to Hyderabad to find my own footing in this world, and to learn to wash my own clothes. (Confession time: I have washed my clothes only once since i moved. I keep going to Sru's place and dumping my dirty laundry in her washing machine.)

Anyhooo...Hyderabad. H for Hyderabad. H for Hot. H for horribly hot. H for how-the-hell-am-i-surviving-here-HOT.

But we digress. We were on why i moved out of Chennai. To do my own laundry. And to learn things the non-rosy way. To travel by public transport. (Haven't stepped on to a bus since i came). To get used to living without amma-appa. (Call them religiously every day and talk to them more than i used to when i was in Chennai). And most importantly, learn to save. (Have never been more broke in my life).

So well ya..If you don't call this entire series of unfortunate events an exercise in futility, then what is?

But but...Hyderabad is not so bad after all. I am getting to spend time with some of my best friends from school. I am getting to eat good food, and for free. And most importantly, i am getting to write. Which brings us back to the story that this post began with about the little girl who was ridden with the deadly disease called indolence. So indolence it was, until she landed a job in a magazine. And this time, instead of editing copies for a living, she got to write them. She got to go out, meet people, taste delicacies, and then write about it all.

So here I am, doing my own bit of a marketing pitch for my magazine. Yes yes... I work for Jade...For the uninitiated, it's a south India-based lifestyle monthly. Pick up the June issue cos according to a dear friend/colleague "I am all over the magazine." Much happiness comes.

And please to keep visiting the blog. I am hoping to update the blog regularly henceforth.

p.s. i just re-read the entire post... It sure is very digressive by nature. Please to accept apologies and continue reading.

I am back

After much persuasion from many dost log who claim to miss reading my blog, I have decided to post. Why was I away this long? Let's say, it was a hectic work schedule with an ample dose of indolence.

The past couple of months have been quite happening. I made two trips - all by myself. Tired of Chennai, I decided to go backpacking across Tamil Nadu. Trip one had 4 destinations - Tanjore, Srirangam, Trichy and Pudukottai.

Apart from the regular tourist attractions, I also saw a lot of goats. Of all shapes, sizes and colours. And a lot of goat-shit too. Literally.

Trip no.2 was to Chidambaram. No, not the person or the stadium but the little temple town in Cudallore district. The temple was so spell-bindingly beautiful that I spent almost 4 hours going round and round it. Unfortunately, I was not allowed to take photographs. But in a way, i wouldn't have taken pics even if i was allowed to. Sometimes, you get so caught up looking at things from behind the lens that you miss seeing the beauty of the actual moment.

At the temple, i was inspired to write. And i did. Sitting there with a notebook and a pink pen, i rambled on and on for five pages. I was subjected to many curious stares. Some people even came and peered into my book.

Travelling alone teaches you a lot of things, one being how important it is to spend time with yourself.

I have already begun planning my next trip. But then again, with the winds of change, you never know where you might be tomorrow.

Till then,
Shilpa

41D, 227F and such-like

Copious amounts of water has flown under the bridge since the last time I wrote something worthwhile on my blog. I have been trying to write for a long while but inspiration seems to be playing hide and seek with me and hide it does, very well.

Anyhow, in a desperate attempt, I decided to take the bus to work today. Maybe something will happen along the way which might be blog worthy, i thought. Well, I was proved grossly wrong. But it was a nice experience nevertheless.

The last time I boarded the bus was in 7 months ago, in May, when I had just joined work. I enjoyed the bus rides though it waiting alone for the bus could get a tad tiring at times.

Then a notorious boys college that is close to home reopened and Appa dearest told me not to take the bus any more. So thus came to an end, all the long waits at the bus stop and in the bus. And also did end, my long sessions of people watching.

Ah, how I miss that game. Its quite simple this game. All you have to do is pick a person who you can look at without that person knowing that you are watching him/her. And then, you begin to write the story of their lives in your head.

There are many stories in my head. There is one of the little girl who was crying because she lost her favourite blue pencil. And of the old man who was crying from inside because he had lost his wife. Of the young newly-married couple who had just returned from their honeymoon to Shillong or of the middle-aged newly married couple who had returned from their honeymoon to Goa. Of the old woman who was going to visit her friend from school in a reunion of sorts.

The entire process would last till the person got off the bus. And then it would be shelved in my memory, forgotten. Until a day like this comes along when I come early to work and not having much to do, decide to write about the bus driver who drove like a maniac because he was rushing to catch the late night show of Shivaji with his mistress...

Tis the season to be jolly. But i am not. Though I am trying very hard. I am listening to happy songs. Talking to happy people. But nothing seems to help...

Observations of a bored mind

I was on my way to office, when this thought struck me. Like the title suggests, its a boring thought. But I decided to indulge my bored mind. And here goes:

The people in my world can be divided into four categories:
a) Those i like talking to in person
b) Those i like talking to over the phone
c) Those i like chatting with online
d) None of the above

There are some who come under two of the a,b,c categories but only one who comes under a,b and c.

The only grouse i have against him is that he doesn't read this blog of mine until i coax, cajole and threaten him in that order.

hmhmhmmh

A friend asked me yesterday what i felt about the weather.

"Dampening," I replied.

It has been raining continuously for almost a week. Cyclone Nisha has been blowing so strong that at home, i can actually hear the wind howl like an angry banshee.

Yesterday was my day off and I had not much to do. Amma has gone to Rajasthan for a wedding and the boys had gone out so there was nobody to entertain me at home. I sat in the balcony for a long while, just looking at the sheets of rain pouring down, drenching all and sundry.

It was then that i got thinking of the weather again. It was so wild, passionate and romantic. Why did i call it dampening then?

Maybe it's because this is the kind of weather you would like to share with someone. And that someone is so far away.

Amma's continuing tryst with the world wide web

It has been quite some time since I last blogged. Over this period, there have been many times that i sat on the computer and typed out random words. But they did not seem to be worthy of my blog. Earlier, any thing would have passed, but now, i have started filtering the stuff that goes into my blog.

Inspiration seemed like a mirage. It was then that i decided to seek inspiration from my own work. But there is only so much you can write about your brother. He might be an interesting character to do a doctoral thesis on but i have completed one too many thesis on that subject. So i decided to move on to the next most interesting character in my family - Amma.

Now, this post could be written in one of two ways. It could take a sentimental mushy tone about mother's love and ya di da or it could mildly poke fun at her, like i always do. I decided to leave the former to Karan Johar and settled for the latter.

But where do i begin? Should i begin at the time she asked me if the heroine in "Love in the time of cholera" dies of cholera? Or should i begin at the time she thought that by burning a CD I meant that I would actually burn the CD?

Instead, i decide to begin with her latest addiction - the internet. Some time ago, her sister in Australia told her that it is time she learnt the ways of the world wide web. So she decided to start at the very beginning - and that was to pester bhai and me to help her create an e-mail id. After much emotional blackmail and threats of running away from home, she got me to help her create an id on yahoo. With childish enthusiasm, she painstakingly typed out her personal details while i supervised her. She mulled for over an hour on the password and finally decided on something that even a fifth grader could crack.

Then began the e-mails. First it was short e-mails to her sister. In SMS lingo. The e-mails were a delight to read. Later began the forwards. The ones that threatened bad luck and death if not forwarded in 2 milliseconds.

On such day, ma looked very upset. I asked her what the problem was and she said "Shilpa, no one is replying to my forwards."

Then she discovered the joys of google search... Every time she read the newspaper or a novel and didn't understand what a particular thing was (and that was quite often), she would google it. Most often, the thing she was searching for would be a hindi word and subsequently, she would land up in random websites that spewed Azerbaijani gibberish. She would hit the desktop thinking that it would in some way set things right. All in vain, while bhai and i looked on from a distance trying to maintain a straight face while she vented out her frustration.

It was around this time that she started 'Project Matrubhasha' - the extensive reading of books of all kinds written in Hindi. And, being the kind of person who loves appreciating/complimenting people, she began corresponding with the writers. What started off as a seemingly-innocuous kind gesture turned into a deadly addiction.

A few days into this correspondence, she realised that she didn't have to depend on snail mail and that she could actually e-mail the authors. Very soon, she was checking her e-mail once every two and a half minutes hoping for a reply from that author in Jhoomritalayya who wrote about the ghost that haunted the peepul tree near her house.

Youtube was discovered in due course of time and she would sit up all night watching videos of how to draw 'kolams' (rangolis).

What was in the beginning fun to watch, soon turned mighty annoying as bhai and i realised we didn't have to fight with just each other for the internet but with another person as well. As this other person had a secret weapon up her sleeve - emotional blackmail.

So now you know the reason why i haven't been blogging so regularly of late. It is because Amma has been doing extensive research on the eating habits of the Bantus via Google.