Archana

“Archana”

“Achna”

“Ar-cha-na”

“A-chna”

“Archanaaa….”

“Achnaaa…”

After the third failed attempt at getting Archana to say her name right, I gave up. I smiled at the imp and turned to continue feeding Sonali. Just as I was putting the spoon to Sonali’s mouth, I felt a tug at my sleeve. It was the imp. “Ar-cha-na,” she said as she turned and ran.

It was impossible not to like Archana. Her button-like eyes, her curls, her cute little smile – it usually is love at first sight. I still remember the day I met her for the first time. It was my first day as a volunteer. Now, the ward I worked in had two sections. The one I volunteered at had severely handicapped children while the other had mildly handicapped. So on my first day, I spent the earlier half of the morning cleaning and feeding the kids in my section. At 10, we had a tea break. I was just opening the cupboard to take my backpack out when I felt someone tugging at my kurta. I turned, and there was this lovely little girl with big button-like eyes and lovely Goldilocks-like curls. And like I said, it was love at first sight. Turns out, Archana had wet herself and wanted me to change her clothes.

Soon, we forged a bond. Ok, who am I kidding. We didn’t forge much of a bond. Every other day, she would run into me, or I would run to her, and we would play with each other for a little while. But Archana was the easily distracted kinds so within seven minutes, something or someone else would have caught her fancy and she would be gone.

And one day, she was gone. The sister told us that they had put her in the toddlers section. This section was in another building – for children without or with very few handicaps. Archana had slightly deformed hands and feet. And the sisters thought she would become better if she was in the company of healthy kids.

Now, I volunteered in the toddlers section as well. So when in the afternoon I was changing into my apron to enter my section, I was feverishly hoping for two things – that Archana be in my section, and that she recognize me. I walked into the section and hesitantly looked inside. Wonder of wonders, there was the button-eyed, curly-haired imp. Only she was not smiling. “Archanaaa…” I shouted. She looked up. And smiled. A sweet simple smile that made me not just happy, but proud. Proud that I had been recognized.

All in a day's work

Airline refill ink. Dirty pink CD cover. 500ml Slice bottle with Bourbon free. Off-white handkerchief with blue border and dirt stains. Bouquet of dead flowers. Buddha painting. Fluroscent green bandana. Nine rolls of white chart paper. M-seal. Purple cotton candy. Comic Sans. Red thread. Tinkerbell. Johnny Depp. Sexy stubble. Red and black spectacles frame. Dull gray mobile cover.

A deep breath

She was drinking a glass of water when he walked past. She knew his routine by now. He would go up to his terminal, blow kisses to the Monroe poster behind his monitor, turn on his system and head to the water cooler. She blushed at the prospect of a possible interaction. Hurriedly finishing her glass of water, she dialed Customer Care on her mobile phone and acted like she were on an important call. He came, filled a plastic cup with a mix of cold and hot water and drank from it. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and wondered what perfume he was wearing. And he, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and cursed himself for forgetting to wear perfume.

Animal Farm

Not so long ago, on a hot summer afternoon, we embarked on a journey. It was a journey like never before. A journey into the hinterland of Tamil Nadu. A journey into a land where bulls were not beasts but reincarnations of Bheema, a land where pigeons were not messengers of love but veteran racers, a land where roosters didn’t just announce the dawn of a new day and rams didn’t just produce three bags of wool. It was a strange and wondrous land. It was a land worth falling in love with.

So there we were, my guide and I, riding through Theni’s backyard on a black motorbike, making scheduled halts to talk to the sportsmen and unscheduled halts to prevent dehydration.

First stop: Pannaipuram. Home of the well-known Illayaraja and the little-known Rekla racers. While we admit that we love the music of the former, we were more interested in the tales the latter had to tell. Pannai Kumar, the local DMK District Youth Secretary took charge and held an impromptu workshop on the dynamics of the Rekla race. On the face of it, a Rekla race looks chaotic – the bulls, the men on the carts, all rushing madly to the finish. But when Kumar told us about the hours of sweat and blood that goes into the process, we were truly bowled over.

At Markainkottai, Sellapandi told us how he feeds his rooster badam and boiled eggs to make it stronger. Vellaivi, his current favourite rooster was duly displayed. All of a sudden, the big fat rooster (weighing a good three kilos) was thrust into our hand. While we buckled under the weight and the fear of holding a fighting rooster, we must admit that it was an adrenaline high.

We then set off in search of the Jallikattu bulls. Unfortunately they had gone grazing. So Ranjith of Kottur showed us some photographs instead, and even the yellow-green t-shirt that the bull chasers must wear. We looked at the fierce bulls in the photographs, thanked our lucky stars that they were not around, and got going.

On the last leg of our whirlwind tour, we met MS Mariappan of Upvaapatti. A walking Wikipedia, Mariappan seemed to know something about everything. The weight of a Rekla cart, the politicization of Jallikattu, the unique characteristics of Kombai dogs, the exercise regime of a racing pigeon, and the diet of a fighting ram – he knew it all.

After a long and fruitful conversation, we left Upvaapatti and headed to the bus stop at Periyakulam. On the rickety bus ride back home, I looked out of the window at the full moon and imagined those animals, each looking up to the same moon from their sheds. Would they too be wondering what tomorrow held for them?

Road trip

You know you are driving in Tamil Nadu when you see a signboard that says “Toll Booth” in Tamil, Hindi and English and you notice that the Hindi bit is neatly blackened out. Ah well! Nice start to a road trip, I say sarcastically. And immediately I am accused of not being a true Tamizhan by my fellow passengers. Thankfully, it was all just friendly banter.

And that was how the trip began. It was a typical ecoLogin trip – until the last moment I didn’t know the destination. Nor did I know when we would be starting off. So I had my bags packed and ready, just in case. And like I had anticipated, the call came at the eleventh hour asking me to get going. So at an ungodly hour in the morning, we set off for Kolli Hills and Salem. Below is a list of random musings from the trip:

Chandru, our CFO, is a deeply devout man. It was quite apparent from the fact that we stopped at more than one temple to break coconuts for the Gods. And it worked; our trip was largely accident-free and incident-full.

Though I am from Kerala, I realized over this trip that I prefer Tamil Nadu’s landscape. It is so much more varied. There are so many more hues of greens, blues and browns.

Hairpin bends and I don’t get along well. I am always chanting the Hanuman Chalisa on any trip to the hills. The 70 hairpin bends at Kolli Hills, however, were more exhilarating than scary.

Eating fresh pineapples on the hill-top is definitely one thing I wanted to do before I died. I just crossed that off my list. J

Dancing in the rain at a farm is another one on my “Things to do before you die” list. I crossed it off after my rain dance during a storm at a farm in Tiruchengode.

Ditto for cooking up for a big bunch. I hate cooking, but strangely, loved every moment of the cooking I did with Balaji’s mother at Tiruchengode. I made chapattis for the entire team. And they came out in pretty good shape.

Team meetings at twelve in the night. Nothing new. Except that instead of a boardroom, we were sitting on the floor of well-wisher and activist Piyush’s house in Salem

Riding on the back of Piyush’s jeep was definitely THE highlight of the trip. We stood on the back and waved at the villagers, saluting at little children along the way. Full on Rang De Basanti feelings,

A walk in the stream, buttermilk and green mangoes can be a heady combination. Especially after a short trek on a sweaty April morning.
Kambu koozhu (Jawar porridge) is an acquired taste. And I am yet to acquire it.

Team meetings at two in the afternoon are even more usual. Except this time, it was in the middle of a forest, with a stream flowing by. The temptation to jump into the stream was hard to resist.

So yeah, now I know better – always expect the unexpected on an ecoLogin trip.

Small mercies

The only good thing about yesterday's world cup win was the fireworks.

A story of a boy and a girl

This is the story of a boy and a girl. They were strangers at first, then friends. Later, they became family. And this is a story about when and how it all happened.

They both had curly locks, belonged to God's Own Country and worked for the media. But the similarities ended there. Where he was aggressive, she was passive. Where he was the angry young man, she was the charming quiet lady. Where he loved cycling and the outdoors, she loved curling up with a book indoors. While she lived with her family in Chennai, he lived alone, away from his family that was in Kochi.

One Diwali, when he was to visit home, she decided to accompany him. It was a last-minute plan, the tickets were for the general class. And like most Indian trains, theirs too decided to make them wait. So they waited on the platform where she lay on his lap while he brushed away the bugs that were trying to suck blood out of her. Finally the train arrived and with the influence of their press card and their combined charm, they managed to get seats in the AC compartment.

The journey was long, but one of discovery. They discovered tidbits about each other and about Kerala too. They clicked photographs at stations where the train made unscheduled stops. And they talked – about life, love and everything in between.

They reached Kochi the next evening. It was her first time. And he was the proud yet patient guide. Being the natural explorer that he was, he knew every lane of his city and almost every street corner held special memories for him. Memories he hadn't shared with many. Memories he was sharing with her now.

After a 40-minute auto ride, they reached his house. And what a welcome it was. His mother welcomed her with a warm hug and a kiss. And his father, with a sweet smile and a handshake. Within no time they were sitting happily around the dinner table, feasting on the choicest of Kerala delicacies.

The next day, they got onto his bike and went to visit his friends. But before that, they made a pitstop at his college. He told her stories of the pranks he would play, and introduced her to his old teachers. Later, while he caught up with his buddies, she ventured into Broadway, one of Kochi's oldest shopping areas. Some stores she peeked into, some she entered and some she stared at with open awe. It all seemed so quaint to her. By the time her Broadway adventure ended, evening had set in. So they decided to go on a boat ride into the bay. The boat ride was beautiful and funny at the same time. Beautiful because it was a boat ride in the Arabian Sea. Funny because of the people (read typical tourists) that they had for company. Between bites of Shawarma that he had magically procured for her, they admired the Kochi skyline and giggled at the gaffes of the tourists.

On their way back home, he decided to give her a taste of the famous ferry rides. And though it lasted all of five minutes with vehicles and people jostling for space on the cramped ferry, it was one helluva ride.

On their way home, he had a brainwave. It was Diwali and she was away from home. So he took her to his friend's house where four little kids were celebrating the return of Rama with some crackers. And they joined in on the fun. When you are around children who are enjoying themselves, you become a child yourself. And that rainy Diwali night, the two twenty-somethings looked more like two eight-year-olds.

The next day was spent lazing around at home. And in the evening, they went for a bike ride. To describe it in words would be doing it injustice. It was on a long road running along Fort Kochi. And it was delightful. They passed many churches along the way. At some, they stopped and prayed. She for him, he for her. It was a largely quiet ride though. They didn't talk much. But if you were with them on the bike, you would agree that silence indeed speaks.

On Sunday, they went for a walk to the park nearby. And there she walked barefoot in the grass, watching him wrestle with his brother at a distance. Later in the afternoon, she did some regular sight-seeing. He had people to meet so he sent her a replacement guide to show her around Jew Town, the synagogue and the famous Chinese nets. She did the regular touristy things. She clicked pictures, smiled at persistent shopkeepers (“Please come inside madam. No charges for seeing”), visited art halleries and sipped on ordinary tea in fancy cafes.

Soon it was the last day in Kochi. They decided on doing a farewell tour of his haunts. And on this tour, he opened his heart out to her. Throughout the trip he had regaled her with happy stories of his childhood. But now, he chose to tell her about the agony of leaving a place as beautiful as Kochi. And though she had been in Kochi for only 4 days, she had seen it through his eyes and she had fallen in love with the city.

Along the way, she also realised that blood might be thicker than water, but sometimes, water is more essential for life than blood. And when water meets blood, it becomes red too. It was at that Eureka moment that she realised something else. that in him, she had found a brother – a brother for life.

Vibrant shades of dacoraason

M*********. That was the first word I heard when I stepped out of the Jaipur airport. Surprisingly, instead of cringing I smiled. Maybe it was because the insult was not directed at me. Or maybe it was because it reminded me of a certain North Indian friend who would often say that North Indians swore a lot more than South Indians.

Jaipur. How I had dreamt of visiting this city. From when I was three and a half, pink has been my favourite colour. Why three-and-a-half? The story behind that is too long and too silly to be printed here. Anyhow, I still remember the day I learnt about Jaipur being the pink city. First standard. GK class. And since then, I have wanted to visit this wondrous land of pink. So when I peered out of the window of the plane, I was disappointed with the colour scheme of the city. Where did all the pink disappear?

But once I got around to exploring the city, I only fell more and more in love with it. After much running around for a hotel (it was the season of the Jaipur Litt Fest and most hotels were full), we finally checked into one. There were two categories of rooms – one with dacoraason and one without dacoraason. What was this dacoraason we wondered and asked for the room without it. Out of curiosity, I asked the bellboy to show me the room with dacoraason. When I entered the room, the bellboy pointed out to the Rajasthani carvings and paintings on the bed stand and said, “Madam, woh dekho Rs 150 extra only.” I smiled and said, ok. After all, Rs 150 is a small price to pay for some authentic Rajasthani decoration eh. Oops! I meant dacoraason.

Then began the touristy things. But instead of doing what most tourists do (read going on guided tours where the guide rattles of the historical significance of the at the speed of a rattle snake), we decided to do things our way. After much poring over maps, googling, making lists, tearing up lists and tearing up t-shirts, we came up with THE LIST. Since we were on a not-so-tight budget, we decided to opt for an autorickshaw as our mode of transport. After a fairly longish screening process, we short-listed two autos. Both were charging us the same price so it was a tough choice to make. Finally, I picked the one that had more dacoraason. For me, that was what Jaipur was all about.

Finally, we set out on our Jaipur darshan. But not before making a few pit stops to satiate the rats growling in our tummies. Ok, the rats were growling only in my tummy. Anyhow, the rats were fed dal baati churma (a Rajasthani speciality and an acquired taste) and the journey was resumed.

First stop was the famed Hawa Mahal. I had envisioned a beautiful entrance to the palace lined with trees and maybe a few fountains thrown in as well. So when the rickshawallah stopped in the middle of a busy market place and asked us to get off, I was taken aback. But the surprise was not to last too long for once you enter the street leading to the palace, the sense of calm transports you to another world. And the palace, well, you have to see it to believe it. Beautiful would be an understatement.

It was at Hawa Mahal that I began to fall in love with the people of Jaipur. First was the old woman sitting under the sun on the verandah of the palace. Though I am not much of a shutterbug, she looked almost picture perfect. When I went up to show her the picture, she broke into an innocent smile. And then there was the man at the exit. While we were clicking photographs near the exquisitely carved door, he stood grumpily by the side, but the moment I asked him if he could take a picture of his, a smile broke out on his lips. After fussing over his turban for five minutes, he finally posed for the camera with a somber look on his face.

Jantar Mantar was next up on THE LIST. While my friend was excited, I wasn’t too keen on it. For one, I was a poor student of physics and despised any reminders to the fact that I had once flunked the subject in school. Also, the place was under renovation. But at my annoying friend’s insistence, we spent a good half-an-hour looking at the various sun dials on display. “Why do we need those when you have a watch?” I asked only to be rudely asked to shut up.

Now I was suitably tired after all the walking around so we changed the sequence of places-to-see on THE LIST and headed for Kanak Vrindavan garden. Within minutes, I was bored of lounging around in the garden and so I started counting the number of lovebirds doing the peek-a-boo. And the number? Let’s suffice to say I ran out of fingers and toes to count on.

Day 2 was spent largely at Jaigarh fort and City Palace. While the view from the Jaigarh Fort was spectacular, the stories that I heard in the City Palace were even better. Here’s what happened. There were a bunch of us tourists clicking away in a large verandah-like area in the City Palace when we heard strange noises of a woman having a good time (if you know what I mean). While some tourists opined that it was the spirit of a Queen who had many lovers, others were seen trying to trace the origin of the noise. In the end it turned to be a couple of naughty pigeons.

The next night, we decided to catch a movie in the famous Rajmandir theatre. A serpentine queues and several squabbles later, we thought ourselves lucky to get seats in row A. As it turned out, A was the row nearest to the screen. So not only did that idiotic (yes, I am making a miserable pun on 3 idiots) movie give me a headache but proved to be a pain in the neck as well (pardon the second pun).

But day 4 was the best. For a large part of the day, we lazed around, ate heavily, watched television and finally at night we went to Choki Dhani – a village resort. Though I suffered from pre-conceived notions that I would be killing the authentic experience by going to a “created Rajasthani village”, the man singing Kesariya Balama at the entrance put my fears to rest. The song was quite special to me. And his renidition, accompanied with the strings of the ektara, made me want to fall in love again. And I did. With Jaipur.

Random conversation (Day 2)

I can't believe this is happening. I make a resolution on Monday and on Tuesday, I break it. I had thought I would last longer.

So to make up for it, I am going to write a compensatory post as punishment for my utter indolence.

How about a random conversation. Here's what happened.

The other day I was at my aunt's place. On the dinner table were my aunt, uncle and cousin. I was sitting on a sofa by the side. We were talking about going to the movies.

Aunt: How about going for that movie Love, Sex Aur Dhoka?

Uncle (looking at us): Oh, so there are movies like that as well...

Then my uncle turns to my aunt and says "Now only Dhoka remains."

To new beginnings (DAY 1)

Writing a blog after a period of xx months can be a painstaking task. I have been wanting to write one for quite some time now but haven’t. Simply because I couldn’t think of anything earth-shattering enough to write on.

Often on my bus journey to office and back home (and yes, it is quite a journey, not just a ride), I would mutter to myself, “You must write today.” But it would remain just that — a random muttering.

So today, when dear Diana and I were talking about resolutions, I said out loud, “I am going to read and write every day.” Now, words once said out loud cannot be taken back. So here I am, sitting in the office at 8.36 pm, typing out the post that is to become one of many. One of many. Yes, I plan to write regularly. Wait, why don’t I write a post a day.

So let me raise a toast to new beginnings. And hopefully no quick, abrupt endings. Will those three mystery followers of this blog please raise your steel tumblers to this.

I promise to write something more coherent in my next post. Until then.

Priceless

Tickets to the Chennai Open: Rs 150

Popcorn: Rs 20

Hearing a 4-year-old shout "Come on da Moya, CONCENTRATE": Priceless

There are many things in life money can buy. For the rest, all you need is a a young heart and an innocent mind.

Miss Banana Chips

It has been over 6 months since I last blogged and much water has flown under the bridge. I have changed jobs and moved back to Chennai, made new friends and forgotten a few old ones.

But this post is not going to be about any of this. Well, wait, it is. It is going to be about one of the new friends I have made. She goes by the name Ammu Zachariah but with much love, I call her Emmu darling. If there is anyone who laughs with all their heart, it has got to be her. I was always a big sucker for beautiful smiles until I heard Emmu laugh. To see a grown-up laugh like the carefree laughter of a kid is truly amazing and rare in this mad world of today. But then again, Emmu is one of a kind.

Like our boss says, Ammu is like a jack-in-the-box. You can just stuff her into a
box and gift her to anybody who is feeling down and out. Ammu is sure to get their spirits soaring again.

Ammu and I have shared many a happy coffee moments. The moment we step out for coffee, out come the stories we haven't shared with anyone else. I tell her stuff I wouldn't dream of telling friends I am closer to. Maybe it's the fact that she is so non-judgemental that helps. And then of course come the men. We seem to share a similar taste in this arena and it is much fun when you have company to discuss these things.

So Banana Chips, this Xmas I raise a toast to you and your golden laugh...

Much love,
Your partner in crime...

:)

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.

He Haw

His ringtone is "Washing powder Nirma"
He eats rice with sugar
He used to drink milk from the feeding bottle even when he was 10
He wears my strawberry slippers
He even tries on my chandelier earrings sometimes
He sniffs food before he eats it
He wears baby pink t-shirts
No prizes for guessing who he is...