Thursday, June 30, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
Friday, June 24, 2011
And we thought we were done with it but then it has begun all over again. No no, neither am I divorcing WHO, nor are we marrying each other again. But it is an indefeasible feat this time. It's a journey- of my sister to the Altar. What's funny is that this time we have no story, no groom, no motive to marry or the bride-to-be is confused if she does want to marry. Nevertheless she wants us to write about her. I kept avoiding this because we have no clue who’s gonna storm into her life and would that guy like this idea of being the hero of this series, like WHO did.
But my sis lured me saying that there were people out there waiting to read this. Hmmm, now now, if she's telling me this is the wedding of the millenium I beg to differ. It wasn't Kate's and Willie's either. It was Minnnnnnnnnnnnneeeeeeee. But, you know this series of ours is very powerful, it can make people's life, and it could bring in true love. Ok, this is no advt for my sis. It's just a stupid post like any other. But all of a sudden I feel like god. I feel like predicting, forecasting events that would lead my sis and the mystery man to the altar. I hope no mishaps happen this time but the blogger in me wishes twists and turns, that could line up posts after posts for our blog .
And then it so happened- my sis was convinced or rather was forced by WHO to accept marriage as a vocation. She listed some lame, dumb excuses of waiting for the sky to open and the right guy to fall down. But WHO, like the wise oracle, told her "when the time's right you will go weak in your knees".
We resorted to our old Bharat matrimony site and threw in the bait. We are now waiting for the catch.
Some words about the bride-to-be. I don't think I can write all that I know about her. We are sisters and mostly at war with each other. We have totally different ideologies and philosophies. What we have in common is that we talk a lot and WHO says my sister talks more than me. She is elegant, while I am the tramp. She loves to cook just like me, but limits herself to baking, which I would say is a daring feat. She reads but has not ventured beyond mystery novels and romantic stuff. She is in no hurry to prove herself and is in no mood to compete with anyone. But she has her opinion and is an ardent feminist, maybe a degree higher than me............
People say she is the shrew who needs to be tamed. But will she find her Petruchhio? I wish she does. Wait for the next part on the candidate no.1
Sunday, June 19, 2011
On weekends our hostel is like an open ground with loud speakers. People just ventilate watching movies and listening to music whole day while they clean their rooms, eat, iron, gossip or even sleep. I felt lonely though I did not tell it to anyone after all I had to be uber cool and show I was ok without any entertainment.
Firstly, noone would understand why it would make me lonely, noone seriously has time for all that. Secondly, when you have something and you take it for granted how would you understand the other? so I was silent the whole day. I was in rage and wanted to go down to ritchie street and abuse that bastard who cheated me but I was more upset with the fact that my friend who got my laptop repaired was away for 2 days and left all my calls unanswered. I could not go to the shop and fight without him and now when he's back our week at insti begins. I silently read ladies coupe by Anita Nair. An abandoned book in the department came my way and all the feminist thoughts chortled me even further.
I thought of telling 'Who' how I felt, but he was busy buying tomatoes to cook channa masala. I don't have such pleasures in hostel anymore and perhaps the semester break and luxurious pampering back home is getting to me. I need to restrain myself from getting used to good food, books and movies and accept "Arbeit macht frei"- that work alone will set me free , free from this place , free from depressing thoughts. Maybe I should not be around to experience this alienation and should run to Blore every weekend.
Have you ever tried explaining yourself all the while realizing noone who listened cared while putting up the understanding gesture? I thought of going to Marina beach not for the sea but for the books at Triplicane but once I am moody , I am lazy as well so I tried sleeping but could not.Life is making me a moron or something ghoulish than a moron. What was it about this place that made me like this? All work and no fun makes Bhuji a madwoman !!!!
It's father's day and I miss my dad or maybe I want to miss him to feel even more miserable.And I sit and ponder.... why do some people have it all the easy way? why don't their laptops crash? lightning strike their systems? their father's die ? their siblings suffer? depression haunt them?
And why dont they ever read all these ramblings?????atleast to increase the readership :)
I know its an incosequential,lengthy and confused post - but that's exactly what rambling means.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
I think it’s almost a decade now since I caught a crab or to have touched a live one. Back then fishing was our main activity but now and then we used to do the crab thing as well. As soon as the monsoons arrived we felt the tickle starting in our hands. But we used to hold on to it until we have seen a few good showers or even a month into the monsoon. And then when there was a let out in the rains we had to answer the call of nature. There was no method or process to decide upon whether we would go fishing or do the crabs. Maybe somebody would have seen a crab or two in the garden or one near a puddle or pond and we would get going for some fun. We didn’t need any special gears for this act and this was blessing as we would not raise any suspicion when we were slipping out of the house. It would be usually in the evening, when we would be allowed to go out and play and we would go looking out for little ponds or water bodies around the road side. Bhopal, unlike Bangalore, was blessed with a lot of open spaces and un-encroached land and we would find plenty of sites to look for the little creatures. But what would be difficult to find was cow dung; the means to our end. Usually the sight of cow dung would be ubiquitous but during monsoons, with the cows and buffalos confined in their sheds, it was difficult to find these miraculous excreta. So our first task was to look for and find at least a plastic full of cow dung before we started the procedure because if we were found wanting for it then there was no other substitute.
We would then start looking for a pond, which would not be very deep and would have just started accumulating water from the recent rains rather than being a permanent fixture. We would carefully approach the site and observe for sudden flurry of activity on the corners of the pond. Crabs are very shy creatures and the moment they see movement around them they would run for cover. They would make a dash for the holes usually filled with water and we would carefully mark those holes knowing that we have targets inside them. The other reason was to be sure that there is really a crab in that hole and nothing else, like a snake. Each person would then pick his share of cow dung and position against a hole depending on how big a crab one saw running into it and how big the hole is. It would be ideal if the hole is not fully submerged under water because then when we start pumping cow dung into the hole it would start floating out into the water and around rather than staying in the hole. It’s better if the hole is filled with water till the top but not fully under water. We would slowly start putting the cow dung inside the hole and mixing it with the water inside. The idea was to make the dung reach deep inside the hole close to where the crab is holed up. So we would often use a stick to push the dung deeper and deeper. Once we are sure that enough material has gone inside and the water has turned amply murky we would stop.
From there on it was a waiting game. We took a hunched position over the hole, keeping really still and looking for movements or bubbles inside the hole. It would be a really long wait because the crabs would have got terrified because of all the pumping in the hole and would take a lot of time to come out, suffocated by being in the dung mixture. We would stand there, not even speaking to each other, with just sign languages and keenly observing any sign of them. We can go around for a walk and come back but then as soon as we approach the crabs would run inside the hole, to the deepest corner. The idea was to not really see the crab coming out of the hole but to look for movements which would indicate that the crab is somewhere near the mouth of the hole and with one shove of hand into the hole we should be able to catch him. While mixing the dung into the hole we would have gauged the twists and turns in the hole and would be ready to push out hands into the hole in the same way. This was the moment we cherished the most. The moment when the hand dashes into the hole, touches the body of a crab and just pulls it out. Often we miss by a whisker in just touching it and not being able to get a good grab, or to come out with a leg or two or to get the fingers pinched by the chelipeds. But the holes being so small it doesn’t allow space for a free fight and a little bending and twisting mostly does the job. The best sight in the whole affair is one crying out that one has caught a crab and the sight of the hand coming out of hole with a crab dangling at the end. Sometimes there would be enough drama around one hole, with the guy shouting that he has a monster crab biting at his hand and then all and sundry will rush by to give suggestions on how to extract the tough guy. In case if what get pulled out turns out a petite little thing then the guy is hooted to shame and ridiculed until he redeems himself with a big one. If in case we catch a crab which is big and shows off a lot of zest for biting and running then a quick throw on to the ground renders him motionless.
We would continue catching crabs until we got our carry bags filled or if the sun went down or if we had being away from the playground long enough to raise suspicion at home. Initially mom used to get adamant when we used to get the catch back home. She used to be scared as to from where we got it and how we caught it. We used to make stories that they were all found alongside the road. Revealing to her our methods would have surely led to an escalation to the higher authority. So we used to cook the crabs at the neighbours. But subsequently mom relented and we had crabs cooked the malu way, once or twice. Now when I see all the crabs in the super markets I don’t feel the urge to buy them and cook, maybe because for us the act of catching was the high part and not seeing it served on a plate. But I am sure Bhujji would post a recipe of it on our food blog - http://ooonuready.blogspot.com/ someday.
Recently when I was discussing this post with a friend I was told few other ways of catching a crab and also reminded that the monsoon has arrived. I am sensing the same tickle in my hand. I think this post will have a sequel.
P.S. - The image below is for representation purpose only. It should in no way be used to assume the size/shape/appearance of crabs that the author has described in the post above.
I even expect some people to say I made this whole story up or its my feminist fancy.
I wish it was so because I just can't forget her face as I try to sleep. I know there is a lot more to worry about but I had to write this here though it would never make up a decent eulogy to a lovely girl I once knew, whose secrets lie safe with her deep down in that lonely grave.
Life never fails to amaze me every moment. The grim and Kafkaesque side appeals to me though. My dear friend calls Life a dark comedy and today suddenly the meaning dawns to me.
Monday, June 13, 2011
My dear friend then told me that it was a custom at her home to sleep on a mat on the floor on the days of one's periods. She was also served food in a different plate and had to be in her room and not appear in front of elders. The fact that she was unclean on these days was no secret because of this separation from the rest of her family. And here now at the institute she could sleep on her bed, eat from any plate she got in the canteen and such was her elation that she avoided going home to avoid these old practices.
But I had to write something that impacts fifteen days of my month with pre and post pains :) after all quite a number of my posts were a product of my frustration in those days.