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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.