Catharasis of Research Scholar

Animals are beautiful people- Meerkats

2012-01-16T19:25:00.000-08:00

The cutest resident of Mysore zoo. Of all the zoos we have been to, Mysore turned out to be the best in terms of maintenance, cleanliness and health of animals. We also discovered a couple of animals we had never encountered before or maybe had only seen in animation movies. For those of you who have not seen a Meerkat before remember Timon and Pumbaa from Lion King ? They look even cuter than their animated self in real.

The Allegory of the broiler chicken

2012-01-08T06:11:00.000-08:00

I visited a neighbour few months ago.They are gadget buffs and take great pride in showing people the projector which gives them ultimate satisfaction in watching the world cup, the 50 inch LCD monitor that occasionally gave the same pleasure at a lower level and the iphone and ipad ( I am technically challenged to 'wooow' at such stuff) that has become a status symbol of the privileged recently.

The day I visited them the lady of the house took pride in showing off how her daughter who was mastering these gadgets wrecking her little brain. My neighbour was bent on proving her 1 year old's intelligence as the kid deftly unlocked the secret code of iphone, played angry birds on ipad2, danced to Sheila ki Jawani on LCD and clapped when Sachin scored a sixer on the projector.

I felt amused initially but the researcher in me , the ardent Piagetian , found this boring soon.It took me micromilli seconds to understand that all this kid did was observational learning she mimicked what her parents did. She was not a hacker to have broken password ( henceforth not a profound genius) she just repeated something she saw and hence it was nothing worth for a world record. Amazing though this could seem to a parent who dotes and marvels at their child's first words and first antics as if this was the first time a child ever did it, this show off seemed quite comical to me.

A cut off, of power supply made me realise what this kid really was.She felt paralysed and baffled. She had nothing to show off and hence felt betrayed and the toys around her never sufficed the void the gadgets filled in. Her mother admitted she could not handle the kid without these gadgets and attend her work at home and she thought these gadgets were a blessing and not to forget she is already showing signs of her Einstenian future.

I paused and wondered if Einstein would be himself if exposed to all these gadgets. He was not dumb enough to look and be pleased at stimulation he would definitely have opened up these gadgets frightening his parents.Lord save poor Enistein whom we quote unneccasrily to show off our kid's intelligence,All I could see in this kid was an over weight, chubby baby who took no pleasure in physical activity, and to whom reading and writing was no pleasure either. And that's exactly what we do to our modern age gadget babies, dumb them, mesmerise them with gadgets.

Dewey believes true education is experience and true experience is any learning that draws our interest to learn further. And dulling senses is not an experience though it stimulates a part of our brain and keeps us engaged. I wonder if these are the modern theorists on parenthood who believe gadgets . I might be old school to stick to books and colouring books but I cant share pride in any child mimicking actions of opening an iphone code.

" She cant read alphabets and numbers but she can open codes her mother chided".

I can imagine the same mother fretting if her daughter does not read or write in a couple of years. The aversion and impatience to read and low levels of reading in the post google era is not a new phenomenon. But such luxurious dumbing down of the child by occupying them so that you could rest for a while seems sad to me.

I see kids from slums come to school daily. I see them invent their version of golf, play cricket with wooden planks. They are bigger decision makers than Ambani's. They need to decide where they would sleep tonight with their mother and her new husband or father and his new wife. They understand the pluralities of life they have fathers and mothers. They dont need to be kept occupied , they find occupations as cleaners, domestic help, pseudo parents to younger ones. They learn to read from newspaper wrappers they wrap the veggies they sell. They know what fidelity is, they dont know what boredom and depression is. They know a pencil broken means two can share. I wonder why they yet dont make it big with so much street smartness? But they definitely thrive. Survival is piece of cake to them.

Our gadget dependent kids are prisoners of modern jails who never long for fresh air and the feel of hot sand. I represent this situation with an allegory of the broiler chicken' plump and raised indoor. Dumb and dimwitted. We create them to land in KFC buckets and thats all they need to know to be plump and dumb.
Whereas you see the country side chicken running up trees and taking you for a ride, living a healthy life till it end in your pot. A broiler even if let out would stare at you and the new found freedom and would not run away while the country side chicken has tasted the soil and fresh air and his master.

Their worlds never meet the broiler and the country side, they live on two planets.

Next time you hit KFC you'll remember my allegory and your kids :)

Before Santosh Pandit, After Santosh Pandit and being Santosh Pandit

2012-01-04T19:23:00.000-08:00

No other name in the recent time has ruffled the conscience of the movie loving malayali populace (mallus) as has Santosh Pandit. A name, not even a mallu sounding one (he says there’s a UP touch to it), has taken the print, television and radio waves by storm and for better or for worse has made everyone to sit up and take notice. If we go the way of the World Wide Web, his name has created such an audience that commoners like SRK and AB would beg and steal to be in his shoes. Let alone SRK, any person who wants to be famous on the internet, be it on FB or on TT, would wish his/her name was Santosh Pandit. So much so that at one time he stood second only to FB in the most searched keyword on Google, after his videos went viral on YouTube, owing to the curiosity that it generated among mallus; more so from in our homelands - UAE, Qatar and Kuwait.

So what did Santosh Pandit do to gain such a fan following or infamy, if I may call it that? Actually he did many things and now stands on the verge of making it into the Guinness Book, if you think Limca Book is too native. In the beginning there was a video, on you tube, this one - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=udHd86T1Tas&feature=player_detailpage. Spend a minute here, if you have not done it already. So we have had seen music videos in the past, but what got the goat of netizens was not his two size larger and grandfather style suits, nor his dance, which at best was aerobics and at worst a march-past, or the worst lip syncing ever, because his lips were busy covering his buck tooth, and if at all we could ignore the grisly voice. But what irked people the most was his audacity to grasp around a girl the age of his elder sister’s daughter and croon about what his wedding night will be like. But people didn’t start hitting on the above link because they were angry, rather they wanted to see who this fellow was, who had the misled self-confidence (or if I may use the mallu word for it - ‘touli katti’, translated as ‘thick skinned’), to bring on himself this kind of infamy in front onf the whole world.

But all of this would only make sense if we look at it in the right perspective; the perspective of a mallu man or being a mallu man (for once I am sure the ladies will be happy). Like how our state is tucked at the southernmost tip, the mallu man is a back bencher, if not a recluse. He doesn’t like, or hates to be the ‘center of attention’ and would run for cover if there is a slight chance of that happening. Compare that to a panju man and you will see someone who would steal at the opportunity to dance at a complete stranger’s wedding, often wish the newbies or sometimes even shares a toast with the bride’s father. I am not talking about chutzpa here, or the lack of it but about a thought process which grabs your balls and doesn’t let you make any moves if there is a an ounce of a chance that you might get in the eyes of people and lose your image. His IMAGE is like his second self, and he is proud of it, as if it being gilt edged, whom he cares like a new born and caries it around cautiously, never letting anybody touch it, lest it gets sullied, but makes every effort to feed it and make it grow. He is very careful that his IMAGE stands the test of his friends too, especially those from the same southernmost tip, because they all have their own babies to take care of. But his group of friends would never lose an opportunity to make other’s babies’ cry. He is also very careful around his colleagues, relatives and neighbours for the same reason and every action or word that one does or speaks is weighed and cautiously put across. Now that we know the psyche of the mallu being, it would not be hard to understand that Santosh Pandit did a complete somersault of the mallu persona and this is what drove millions of mallus to youtube to get glimpse of what their antithesis would look like. And once they liked what the saw there was no stopping. At least this explains why Santosh Pandit got the kind of eyeballs that the Lalettans and Mammukas never got. This still doesn’t explain why Santosh Pandit, who used to rent out suits for a living, one fine day decided to wear one and act out in front of the camera

After the song went viral there was the news that it was actually part of a movie and the fact was that Santosh Pandit had done everything in the movie from acting to being director, script-writer, editor, music director, lyric writer, editor and playback singer, leaving only the cameraman to see and record all his buffoonery. Then came the promo - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l1bhNeTjHKA and the hype just got quadrupled. Those who were living by bread alone (read: Raatri Subha Raatri song) now started dreaming of a three course meal, with dialogues and fights. The movie - Krishnanum Radhayum – had the grandfathered script of inter faith marriage, with the only consolation that the lady love gets killed before the end. But then who gives a dime about the script if you can laugh your lungs out on songs and fights. When the movie released it brought out people in hordes - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-QvCpfRHpBo&feature=related, especially students and youngsters, who got an opportunity to let out pent up frustration, in form of abuses and cuss words, which was simmering within for weeks through comments on youtube, when the first video had appeared. Such was the scene inside theatres that much of what was happening was on the screen was subdued by the cacophony that the audience created. The movie ran houseful for the first day, though it was screened in only three theatres in Kerala, and with many who could not get their hands on a ticket. Mainstream Malayalam film industry shouted sour grapes though acclaimed director like Lal Jose very rightly said that the hit of Krishnanum Radhayum shows Malayali's taste for sarcastic pleasure. Santosh Pandit hit back saying when mainstream producers are not even able to recover their cost nowadays, he made a movie for a lowly five lakhs and generated a good profit too. Once the tide settled, Santosh Pandit started appearing on various talk shows and discussions on television and it was hard to understand if Santosh Pandit was enjoying all the attention or if he had just moved his character from the movie to small screen and was continuing with his antics- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mTHcx3a96fU. Even now Santosh Pandit appears on sundry shows and is rumored that he charges a hefty fees for it. After all is said and done, Santosh Pandit is an riddle for us mallus, because even after the audience vilified his first movie he has started shooting for his next film, -‘Jithu Bhai Enna Chocolate Bhai aka Superstar Santosh Pandit’. He makes our skin itch but we do not want to squash him like a fly rather just scratch the surface and let him be, because he is who we would never want to be and it’s good to have somebody to point to if somebody did ask us that. The most dim-witted comment of his was, “From here on malayalam cinema would be split into two eras, one ‘before Santosh Pandit’ and the other as ‘after Santosh Pandit’”.

But I disagree, before Santosh Pandit it was Silsila hai Silsila - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kpKOp7yuXWo and this too - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S0pAEme5dfg , after Santosh Pandit it will be http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ti2D9259N6U&feature=related and being Santosh Pandit is still an enigma, who we love to loathe.

P.S. The new ‘alien’ star hit Bangalore too but I missed it. But then, there is always you tube.

An ode to the boobs from the West

2011-12-16T07:03:00.000-08:00

It all began ten minutes ago, the haunting memories, the compulsion to write it down and the exhiliration of releasing those pent up emotions. And it was all because of her, the beauty from the West who was enjoying her dinner with her friends. I kept stealing glances. No... I do not feel anything for women.. I am straight like a pole, neither do I fancy her in anyways but she has been the central character of the 'play' of my life , she had affected my life in many ways she could never fathom and she never would. And as I ruminated over this my eyes slid down from her face to her boobs. I felt repulsive. I never could imagine severing relationships over boobs and 'her boobs'? and she does not even know about it.

It all began few months ago. I was irritated with a series of mishaps over the week with a conked laptop, being fooled by a laptop dealer, missing my hubby and delayed work. I badly wanted to talk to someone sensible and thats something I seldom found at this place I was.

I was trying hard to avoid advices, and apathetic anecdotes when suddenly my friend called me to her and said in a very serious tone ' Don't you think 'V' s boobs have flattened.

I was not a friend of 'V', and boobs were not my favourite topic of discussion. I grew up in a culture where boobs were always the cause of world's misery. I was constantly hauled, taunted and denied access to many dresses I fancied and I had thought of cosmetic surgeries a trillion times in life. I was also contemplating on countering these stances by learning to stand up and be grateful for what I have. I was even contemplating on writing an aesthetic primer on boobs and this female was criticising someobody's boobs to me.

" Since when are you interested in this ,I asked". I knew she would never broach this topic on her own and neither would she discuss it casually over breakfast with anyone else. Oh I heard the guys discuss this when they saw her at tea last eve she said.

I knew the guys and that this was always their favourite hobby. They considered themselves connoisseurs of female anatomy and freely awarded grades to contours. Though it did irritate me often I never brought this up in our conversation. But I was irritated how somebody's boobs was making way into our discussion. My friend looked upto me for an answer as if we were oncologists discussing over "lymphosarcoma of the intestine" and my nod was of grave significance.

I left her and pondered would they be analysing me too. But then they told me I was insignificant. Now did that irk me? I called the guys for tea. And as I walked to the cafe I casually asked them why they considered it necessary to include my friend to discuss a fellow female's anatomy. I asked them why this was necessary at all and if they were any different from any pervert out there.

I tried making them understand it felt horrible to survive a world of gropers and gawkers and the new category of aesthetic lovers was no different. I degraded their art to voyeurism and the guys froze. One turned to me and asked me to proceed for tea without him. I stared at him for a while. I thought I was making my stance clear and this was after all a conversation. He looked at me like an insulted critic- labelled- sleazy- porn- writer. He stared for a while and I even considered apologizing. I paused and pondered and saw he was walking away.

As his steps farthered I measured the distance between us. I did some calculations. 4 years of friendship never deserved a retreat over somebody's boobs. Was it so easy? Perhaps it was. It was always principles versus relationships for me, so I walked forward too. I had my first tea in 4 years all alone and I continued it for days there after. And I dont regret. Life never came to a standstill which was my worst fear.And we all survived happily ever after.

So my beauty from the West do you know those boobs of you'rs liberated me from relationships that were fragile enough to break away because of you ? And though I lunch and dine in solitude, thanks to you I spoke my heart out and sleep peacefully.I wish I could tell you some day that your boobs created waves in my history. You made me a freedom fighter lady of the West. And no matter what any critics think, your boobs are fine and so are you :)

P.S- To perverts who read through searching sleazy words... you should have quit reading after the first two lines.

Catharasis of a research scholar part 5- A note from a humble T.A

2011-12-01T07:57:00.000-08:00

Invigilating exams is part of a T.A’s life. Its an exhilarating as well as an excruciating experience. Five years of overdose of invigilations has forced me to write this up on the catharasis section in this blog. It is my attempt to explain what invigilations have taught me in general. It also my subjective take on the topic and it is in no way a representation of the experiences of the entire T.A community.

What has invigilations taught me in these five years?

It has taught me I am the oppressor who gets up late than the students writing the exam and yet I end up getting a vada and coffee for doing nothing but walking up aisles and handing over papers.

It has taught me that I transform into a werewolf the moment I step into a classroom because if I don’t, I can be sacked for being lenient and cool.

It has taught me that even if students fart or hiccup it sounds like ‘ma’am’ and off I rush to answer their query.

It has taught me that management should install clocks or give students wrist watches instead of laptops else you are bound to run up and down the aisle every time someone asks ‘what’s the time’? (60 students asking the time every one minute makes me walk up and down for an hour announcing the time)

It has also taught me that invigilation is one exercise fit for bossy people who feel happy enough screaming ‘ I can confiscate your phone’, ‘ I can cancel your paper’, ‘ No talking you blue t shirt’ , ‘ Who the hell do you think you are fooling’.

It has taught me after 4 years students forget their names and end up being roll numbers and they tend to sign their names with roll numbers.

It has taught me that boys have a weak bladder than girls and even weaker bladder than older men. Because I dont remember going to the washroom in any exam duty in the past 5 years. Neither have I seen a male T.A or a prof do the same. But our male students like the primary school kids constantly asks for a break, unlike their female counterparts. I wonder if the male washrooms are inspiring comfy zones luring students out of exam halls. I hope to check that place out before I leave the institute.

Invigilations has taught me that even a final year student gets the shock of his life hearing ‘NEGATIVE MARKING’ and ‘ TIME UP’ ( which reminds me how effectively the system has perpetuated fear)
It has taught me that a room freshner is the invigilators best friend. After all its better than chloroform as you need to stay awake for 3 hrs. in a class where people like conserving water and seldom bathe.

It has taught me how not to dress lest you would want walking up the aisle to answer stupid questions like ‘ what is the course code’ , ‘ can I sharpen my pencil’ ‘ could your borrow me an eraser’, ‘can I drink water’. I discovered very late into y life here that male T.A’s seldom received such queries.

My experiences have also taught me that students dont 'copy' they 'help' each other and these are two distinct terms in their dictionary though for the T.A's both constitute 'malpractices'. Hence my favouite line these days is ' Exam is not a social service'. I still see the puzzled looks on their face when they earnestly try explaining ' ma'am I was not copying, I was just helping my friend'.

Invigilating exams have taught me to deal with crisis, mistakes in papers, malpractices and man handling, threats and tears . sleepy heads and clowns. It has taught me patience, tenacity rather arrogance and impatience. It has amused me as to how students evolve and so do us T.A’s from students to scholars to invigilators to gladiators.

And yet people ask me what's so much to observe while invigilating......... is it not a mindless activity?

Well I disagree... there is a lot more to it.

Goodnight and God bless

2011-11-01T21:24:00.000-07:00

Dear Anita,

I want to start by asking, if you ever had or have a plan to start a book store or may be a Cafe, which has a book store too, for the patrons to indulge in both kinds of cravings. If the idea had ever crossed your mind then I think you and my wife, let’s call her T, have a lot in common, not limiting to the love for books and food.

It was by chance that I got hold off your book – ‘Goodnight and God bless’ or may be my wife had a role in it too. She packed a bunch of books for me to carry from her hostel in Chennai to our home in Bangalore. Generally, I would just pick the bundle and pack it in the bag. But this time, while I was arranging each book in my bag, she asked what I was having for the journey and I said Agatha Christie. She took your book from the bundle and said this might be a good read, its small and you’ll finish it in the journey itself. I liked the cover of the book, and I too do that very often, how you have mentioned in the book that some random books with good covers do end up as good reads.

By the time Lalbagh Express reached Bangarapet station I had this balmy feeling inside me, as if I was holding a kangir inside the a/c coach. I gave her a call and asked why she gave me this book. She asked if I liked it. I said I did. She went on to draw out the commonalities between our lives, meaning you and us, and many other things. Then through the remaining forty five minutes I traced back again our lives and came about to write this letter to you.

‘This is a woman who has just put to bed her book-buying day’. My woman still goes weak in the knee seeing a bookstore and once she’s inside, one can only imagine her excitement. T asks for books on her birthday, over diamonds or platinum, and I am sure not complaining either. Now that her Birthday is nearing I’ll have to put on my thinking cap and choose one for her. But I am sure I can always fall back on your list of books for help.

We try reading a lot of books, not as a definite number but as compared to our contemporaries, who are busy on twitter and FB. And more often we feel good about the story and the characters but rarely we feel the connection with the author or his/her life. The first thing T mentioned about was the amount of references you of have given in the book, which we have not found in any book we read have so far, but understand the need for it because as a PhD scholar she strives for references. And while I was reading your book I made a mental note of picking up a few books mentioned in it and then realize my joy when in the end I saw the ‘recommended reading’ page. I am sure we would add a lot of them to our collection.

'Of a woman sitting on a bench in a tucked-away corner of the garden reading a book. Behind her is a sun-washed old brick wall on which creepers in bloom trail……’. I can imagine T here in perfect bliss. There are two pieces of cup cakes next to her and on the other side is our dachshund resting, with her snout hanging from the edge, over her front paws and in peace with the world. Looking into the horizon T reflects on the three things she always held dear to her heart: books, cakes and dogs.

If we move away from books the next thing that catches my attention is food, as a commonality between you and T. ‘Rather like the miscellaneous bookshelf in the study, our interests are diverse. But nothing fosters our togetherness as much as food’. Aptly said. T creates, experiments, re-creates, enjoys and sulks with food. Her association with food started at an early age, when as the elder daughter, she was assigned the reign of the kitchen as a chore. So if it’s not a book in her hand then it’s a spatula, which brings her most joy. So much so that she now has a blog on her cooking escapades - http://ooonuready.blogspot.com/. And what would come naturally is to serve it up to guests, as you fittingly said, ‘Of throwing open the double doors of my home with a flourish. Welcome, welcome, I would say to my guests as they troop into my formal and elaborate sit-down dinner’.

‘Fathers admitting to failing courage were a definite no-no. Fathers wanting to lean on adult daughters were not in my scheme of things either’. I experienced this myself recently, though not as a daughter. Actually we don’t have a daughter in our family and we contemplate how things would have been different if we had one. My parents relocated to our ancestral place in Kerala recently and I heard it from my father, “I am too old for all the paper work, all the packing, the bookings etc. It’s too much for me”. The image, of him being a martinet, came crashing down with this admission of his and our Noah, who in his age would have carried the weight of the entire planet, was looking for help. Fathers are resolute creatures and would never admit that they need a helping hand until they really need it and I wonder how they arrive at that decision. You very aptly shared Oscar Wild’s thought - ‘Children begin by loving their parents; after a time they judge them; rarely, if ever they forgive them…..’ And as you said, ‘When it comes to our parents, especially fathers, I think even the most free-spirited amongst us turn into arch conservatives’. I think I can only reflect on this statement and I can’t agree with you more.

'And I would tell myself I am so lucky to have a mother with a sense of fun. She taught me all that she knew and then left me alone to make my own discoveries. I owe her so much, I tell myself. She didn’t blinker my mind or veil my thoughts. But after the first twenty four hours, we are at each other’s throats’. I would not be able to add much to this from a son’s perspective but I am sure T would agree to your thoughts. Mine was a testosterone laden family and only after my marriage to T I could see the dynamics of a mother and daughter relationship. And when T narrates the stories of the past I get reminded what you wrote, ‘human mothers rarely allow their daughters to escape without complaint. I look back and identify this period as one of intense divergence. Temperamental incompatibilities and mutual resentment were now almost palpable.’ ‘A daughter’s struggle with her mother is what shapes her journey through childhood and makes her a woman’. Then I read this line and think that T would agree to it too, ‘My mother-in-law and I never had to share a home. I wonder how the poor soul would have tolerated it if like daughters everywhere, I too had mouthed the refrain – This is how we did it at my mother’s house. How would she have coped with the existence of this phantom woman - my mother – who dictated where to place the dustbin and how to set the table. It would have irritated even someone as gentle as my mother-in-law. And yet I would only have been unknowingly echoing my mother’s thoughts, feelings and beliefs. And demonstrating the truth of Oscar Wilde’s observation: All women become their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That is his.’

There is more that I can quote from your book and lot more that I and T can relate too. It was like looking into the mirror and see our lives reflect back, when we read your book. Unlike the constant struggle that we all go through to make our life seem as unique as possible, I am sure that there is certain warmth in finding lives that intertwined and the comfort in sharing the same events and thoughts in life. In which ever books we read we try to live the lives of the characters and relate to the story that it tells. But through yours we were able to live and relate to a certain part of ourselves and our own lives itself. ‘How well I recognize that feeling. Like they say in the movies, I know, I was there’.

Goodnight and God bless

My Illusionist from Florence

2011-10-28T09:32:00.000-07:00

This is a sight from a pavement in Florence. I don't know what this form of art is called.All I saw was the artist filling in dyes into his sketch and it was magic unfolding before my eyes. I was amazed at the precision and his pace. He never stopped and never corrected himself, in fact he made no mistakes. He seemed too busy to explain his procedure. Besides, that was not why he was doing it.But, his dexterity was mesmerizing and drew a large crowd. People paid him generously and I could see that he deserved it. He was earning rather than begging for a living. He was what I would call an artist of the street. To him each day was a painting- an imagery he painted, etching memories in minds of his audience.

Thankfully, this city respected art and no wonder it does, it is obviously the city of Renaissance. I saw a very appreciative crowd cheering , supporting and waiting for the artist to unfold the picture. And truly it was a feast to the senses to stand there and watch him paint.There are few days your senses need a royal treatment and to me this was one such day that my senses were gratified.

I asked him what he did once he was done with the picture. He smiled and showed me a brush nearby which I assumed meant he swept the road and cleared the painting. I felt gloomy hearing this because for me all that effort to just sweep it up later seemed so futile.But, then again maybe for him its not an art anymore and just a means of sustenance or perhaps both that he does not bother sweeping it up.Maybe he loves the challenge of doing this daily as a performance, entertaining his audience.But somewhere within I felt a lot of respect for this man who did not beg ( I met a lot of beggars in Florence unlike any other cities in Italy I had been to)

After a point of time I even doubted if he was an illusionist and what if he was mesmerising us with a performance? But then I look at my pics and say nah........ he actually did draw these :)

On stamps- that stamped my life

2011-10-15T02:46:00.000-07:00

I remember starting off with a stamp collection in 5th grade. Something in me moved, seeing all those pictures and colours and history captured in a small frame and I guess my love for history too began with my stamp collection. I must admit my father was my staunch supporter, and supplied me with stamps from different Arab countries ( thankfully we got letters posted those days with no internet around). But its my mom and her friends at work from different parts of the world who build up my humble collection. Back then getting stamps from letters sent from India was a lovely experience. Those were also times as chidlren we were all asked to take up a hobby. Many stuck to stamp albums and soon we began trading for stamps. Since we all got the stamps of same kinds mostly ( from Arab countires, Indian subcontinent or Africa) these collections ended very soon. My sister and brother were enthusiastic to support me initially but as we grew they got their own hobbies and I was left back with my albums.

I have spend endless hours looking at them, learning from them, categorizing them. The very process of wetting theenvelopes to extracting the stamps ensuring I dont tear the edges to drying and putting them up in albums has been such an aesthetic experience to me. Till date if I find a stamp on a lost cover on a desk , I cant resist begging to the owner to give me the stamp. And to me this is no unscholarly activity. If I remember few countries todays its thanks to my stamps :)

At this point in time being a research scholar I often feel kiddish begging for stamps but I request any friend going abroad to post me a post card with a stamp so that I can extract the stamps from them.

I got acquainted to the art of philately very late in life and it amazed me then and still does that there are individuals who study stamps even without collecting one even once in life. And they are equipped with stamp tongs and magnifying glass to study the rarity of stamps and the processes associated with their making and collecting. I am still a novice in this area and am happy collecting and enjoying them.

My Life with stamps took a swirl 2 years back when my friend from Germany gave me his collection of stamps. We never spoke of our interest for stamps all the while Thomas was at my institute and then during my stay in Padova we spoke about this passion. Maybe he was done with collecting or was overjoyed with my interest and he told me he would share his collection. But I would prefer the term ' inheriting the collection' to 'sharing'. Because one fine afternoon , there arrived a heavy DHL parcel at my instittue office in Chennai and to the surprise of all who urged me to open this covetous parcel from Germany, there came out nearly 12 large stamp albums with stamps more than the albums could hold.

The photos of stamps in this post are some of those precious ones from Thomas's collection. And this post is dedicated to you Thomas. Two years down the line I have still not sorted the stamps satisfactorily. I guess Thomas got tired or busy at some point of time collecting because I got so many envelopes with stamps on which I finished extracting recently. And it has been a pleasure adopting them into my small family of 4 albums. Dear Thomas you made my life with your collection.

And I wonder how an individual could trust me with his entire collection and make me feel so proud. This is perhaps the best gift of my life and they will always be close to my heart. Thanks Thomas for these.

Help for a patient suffering from Cancer

2011-10-10T09:21:00.000-07:00

This is the first time I am using this blog to pledge for a cause. Please go through the message below and contribute in anyway you can. Every penny counts please support this patient in every way you can.

A Request For Financial Assistance To Support Chemotherapy

For A Young Man

At Regional Cancer Centre Trivandrum India

Name of the patient: Milton

Age: 30

Category: BPL POOR

C R No: 094110 Date of admission 2\5\2009

Address: Milton , Kalathi Veethil, Kattiparampu, Kannamali, Kochi Ekm District

Diagnosis: ACUTE LYMPHOBLASTIC LEAKEMIA

Doctor: Dr Sreejith Nair Oncologist RCC

Family : A Young Wife With 2 children Stephyia 5 ,Sanjana 4, invalid father [fisherman] and mother.

Milton bread winner of the family; carpenter – repairing wooden fishing boats.

Latin Catholic from Fort Kochi .

Treatment: 2/5/2009 to July 2010, active chemotherapy supported by CAREPLUS Rs.75000/-.

Sponsorship of the education of children Rs.6000/- annually was by Mr.Jison John, ACIS, Technopark, Trivandrum .

Hard times in the family CAREPLUS found a kind hearted sponsor Mr.M.G.Oommen who contributes Rs.5000/- every month to run the home and pay the rent.

Remission – 1 year up to June 2011 – recouped but unable to walk.

Milton came back to R.C.C with a relapse July 2011.

Treatment: Aggressive treatment with high dose chemo was suggested. The family started losing hope because it would cost around 2 lakhs. Dr.Sreejith discussed his condition with CAREPLUS and encouraged us to raise funds for the treatment. Being young the patient had better chance of withstanding the treatment. The next step the doctor suggested is a Bone Marrow Transplant. The whooping expense is Rs.2 Lakhs for Aggressive Chemo and Rs.10 Lakhs for Bone Marrow Transplant. Donation received is Rs.85000/- for aggressive chemo and the patient is admitted at M.O.ward R.C.C from 11-Sept-2011 and is undergoing treatment. Immediate need is to raise Rs.1 lakh to complete this stage for treatment followed by the Bone Marrow Transplant.

A Plea – Well-wishers and donors can contribute liberally to support the treatment. Money transfer can be made to CAREPLUS A/c No. 67011561820 at State Bank of Travancore, Medical College branch, Trivandrum , India . Money transfer should be done only from nationalised banks in India . Please send the complete address of each donor to our email id so that we can issue the receipt and thank you letter.

Email Id: careplus03@gmail.com

A word about CAREPLUS :

CAREPLUS is an NGO extending a helping hand to the poor cancer patients identified by the doctors, who come for treatment at Regional Cancer Center(R.C.C.) . And fully supports the palliative care patients who reach the hospital and conducts medical homecare service for the palliative patients in Trivandrum district. Two medical teams conduct this service in two different areas in Trivandrum district, extending medical care to bed ridden patients entrusted by R.C.C.. CAREPLUS has been rendering services to RCC for the past 8 years. It is an organisation that runs fully on donations received from individuals and institutions.

Animals are beautiful people

2011-10-09T06:26:00.000-07:00

Animals are beautiful people and beautiful are the people who take care of them

Given a choice between helping old age people, entertaining children or being with animals, I think I would go with the last. There were lots of other options in the CTW 2011 (Community Team Work), organized by my company, but I had made my choice last year itself, that next time it will definitely be something to do with animals. And Wola! I got a seat to go to the Wildlife Rescue and Rehabilitation Centre (WRRC) this year.

The WRRC, a Sister concern of CUPA (Compassion Unlimited Plus Action) in collaboration with the State Wildlife Department of Karnataka has constructed the Bannerghatta Rehabilitation Centre (BRC) for the rescue of small wild mammals, birds and reptiles from the Bangalore city. Located at the northernmost tip of the famous Bannerghatta National Park, the seven acre facility houses and treats displaced injured and orphaned urban wildlife. The BRC has modest but adequate housing for veterinarians and other staff, a small clinic and surgery room, post-operative care enclosures, and outdoor accommodation for birds, primates and reptiles.

Despite it being a week day, we didn’t face the dreaded Bangalore traffic and reached the center at around 9am. Our activity for the day was to white wash the staff and clinic rooms and also the kitchen and surgery theatre. After a quick round of introductions over tea, we got the introductory tour of the centre. From here on I will let the pictures speak for themselves and more.

We were a contingent of 13 people, from different departments, with a few people already involved with some sort of animal rescue or rehabilitation. I could sense a reason for happiness in everyone from being there or maybe if the reason was because of a day away from work, I am not debating.

Our tools of the trade was already set right before we arrived and took charge. Buckets of paints and brushes and specially for us - the Corporate types - masks, latex gloves and aprons.

We got to the business without any delay and even though most of us has never got our hands dirty this way, the enthusiasm made us move from wall to wall and from room to room. There was nothing special for me there to do, dip spread and then dip spread. All the while my mind was somewhere else- with the animals.

The largest number of animals or birds that get rescued is the Kite. Bangalore city has a large population of these birds and they seem to be found everywhere. Coincidentally we have a few that come to roost in our apartment building in the night and they make a weird noise similar but not same as the pigeons.

The animals are provided a healthy dose of fruits, vegetables and beef to the lucky ones - the kites. These plantains looked very inviting but I asked the animal in me to behave.

Despite the centre having a few acres of land, so can save a lot by not buying fruits, they detest from planting fruit tress because the elephants come calling after.

I think the most exotic of the animals in there is the Barn owl. People might say otherwise but for me period. I like owls because we share a lot in common - lonely, reclusive, brooder, procrastinator etc. I am sure they are great thinkers and planners. Magnificent creatures.

Found this hanging in the surgery room. I was just hoping that this guy left that room to fly many few feet up in the sky and not a few feet below the ground.

we also met the vet who was kind enough to let us disturb her with our questions when she was bandaging a pigeon or nursing a Kite. She displayed this special warmth towards animals which usually comes from a mother towards her child.

He was the old hand at the centre, the wise one , who had seen many a kites and crows take to the sky and many a snakes pass by.

And as luck would have it, there came a small van filled with rescued animals from the city. Let me take the roll call - one monkey, a green barbet, two crows and many a kites.

Majority of the kites had injured their wings and come to the centre in a flightless condition. The vet then examines them for superficial injures, fractures etc. and provides them with first aid. In other cases of serious injuries shes operates on them or applies casts.

A jab of glucose does good to birds as well.

Iwas the one who you saw flying high; Now you look , standing close by.

I was the one who rode the mighty air; the same wind now only tickles my feather.

I am at this place and getting fine; until my talons grip and my wings shine.

So this then I suppose is - Goodbye; See you soon from the sky!

Once the Kites get healed and shows signs of flight they are moved to a big cage. On that day there were around 25-30 kites recuperating from there injuries. Once the kites recover fully, say about after a month of observation, they are released into the wild. To our surprise, we found out that day there were four kites to be released.

I can only guess who was more joyed. I was over joyed!!!!

Obsessed compulsive hoarders

2011-10-03T22:59:00.000-07:00

I grew up in a family of hoarders. Hoarding stuff that meant useless to the world was a hobby at my home. My dad collected miniature liquor bottles and DVD’s, Audio cassettes and Electronic items. My mom collected plastic covers, bottles and cardboard boxes. Dad’s collection cost us a lot but mom’s was a harmless hobby. My sister collected stickers like Barbie and other cartoons. She also had a fetish for cute stuff like small fancy pins and hairclips and bindis and you know- the cute- stuff. My brother was so frustrated to collect something to join the mad family tradition; he kept oscillating between WWF cards and stickers. I inherited my dad’s stamp collection, mom’s coin collection and a fervent fetish for perfume bottles. And till date I beg, borrow and even steal for stamps.

I for once never realized how odd it was to live in a family of hoarders as one. We kept teasing and screaming at each other belittling each others collections while the fact was that we all found some sanity in hoarding. This sudden realization dawned to me last Sunday when I used a plastic cover as a garbage bag. I had a wail a shrieking one from the bed. It was my hubby mumbling some bunkum to a plastic cover. “I will rescue you, you are so pretty “, he said first. “ How could you do this to my precious cover?”, he asked me. I have seen him have such bouts of fits before so I never found it amusing these days. But he was dead serious and upset at me for using a beautiful, sturdy, long lasting ( all words used by him) plastic cover as a garbage bag. He was upset at my demoting a fancy cover to the rank of a garbage cover.

My hatred for plastics and cardboard boxes culminated after our marriage when I saw my husband’s collection of polythene bags treasured since years. I was appalled when he asked the packers to pack the covers carefully. The men gave me a sneer and I realized we had a new member to our family of hoarders.

I still have numerous cardboard boxes tucked into the lofts waiting to be let out but my hubby believes they will be of some use some day. Such is his passion for plastic covers he has segregated them in different locations hiding the coveted ones from me. He even contemplates exchanging them with my mom the queen of hoarders at Cochin. My mom often justifies herself saying the plastics are reused and she does not buy new ones from shops. She packs her veggies and innumerable other hoarded stuff in these bags and mind it no one who ever asked her for a polythene cover went empty handed. My mom often called us and boasted about how she made 100 bucks selling plastics. And my husband would swell with pride and congratulate mom all the while giving me a “ you –never- appreciate- this- sort of – things ,look.

Such predicaments show their true love for plastics. A love I cannot fathom, a love that irritates my aunts who burn up all my mom’s hoarded stuff at the best opportunity.

But then I wonder how would I feel if I was accused for being married to my stamp collection? or books for that matter. But even in the midst of all the chaotic packing and unpacking, We have, you would be elated to watch these two individuals ( my mom and my hubby) silently, nonchalantly, unhesitantly folding the plastics into three or two folds.And I ask myself what pleasure does one get by sorting plastics? And I can see them talking to the polythene bags already. Thank god mom finally got her friend and fellow hobbyist to hoard and black market polythenes and plastics.

I secretly pray that these genes don’t carry their hoarding segments to the next generation.

Animals are beautiful people

2011-10-01T23:55:00.000-07:00

We went to a seminary today to get our car blessed. After the official business, Fr Jojy took us around their huge place. Tucked in the corner there was a rabbit hutch and look at what we found. There were lots of adult rabbits and as many small and cute cotton balls.

We are now debating on whether we should bring one home or be happy with visiting them once in a while.

On turning 28

2011-09-24T09:19:00.000-07:00

As this day ends I feel drained. I feel old suddenly and judging by the fact my greys count more than my years on this earth I feel ancient. I am surprised at the gifts that poured from all over. I got more than I can expect and I dont think I need to shop for clothes this year though it's considered an understatement by many. I am just happy reading my mom's bday card msg. It amazes me that cards do express what people want to say.

" Your birthday reminds us of a girl who used to run around us, asking for some favours...
That girl has grown into a young woman, who is still 'running' not around anybody but running the house...... We feel proud of you, we feel so proud of our girl, shouldering her responsibilities so well"

I felt so much at peace reading those unexpected words today.

Just made some fish fillet in white sauce with sauted veggies. I hate fish but my dear ones do. It was worth those smiles on their faces. That's all that life means to me at 28 some smiles on some faces.

Thanks guys for all the wishes and the gifts.

In the land of gropers, gawkers and lechers part 1

2011-09-22T06:00:00.000-07:00

Scandalous or lewd as the title might be, this is definitely a voyeuristic post. I think there's something pleasurable in reading about the abuses of another. I have often seen people relentlessly and unstintingly reading and discussing on every sex scandal and rape in paper. Same goes with every hyped scandal. There is something mystifying about the word 'expose' that makes half of us want to associate the word 'skin' to it.These series of candid confessions bear similar overtones. It is about my experiences, experiences of others I know and will definitely provide unnerving pleasure to exhibitionists. They are not tales of woes, they are tales many fail to accept, understand and empathise. But they are tales worth sharing or exploring through the medium of language. Very often I fail to express what those moments of agony or embarassment meant to me.And very often I have seen people greedily ask me to narrate them over and leave their seats saying " was that all".

I have been always conscious of my body. Though my grandmother claims her prodigies have been blessed in abundance with contours others would die for, I have found it disturbing. This makes me very perceptive toward gropers, lechers and gawkers. I am not sure in what order I hate them. I am not confident enough to say I am the best so please go ahead scan me with your eyes but I have friends who say so. But what I hate most is the fact that I could never slap a guy who hurt me through his offensive comments or looks.

Some weeks ago I was on a grocery shopping trip all alone. I could see that people were watching me on the streets and at the bus stop. At first I thought it was my clothes. I wore a Tshirt and Jeans. These people are workers and maybe they still can't digest a woman without a piece of cloth around her chest I said to myself. I got onto the bus and then it all began. I just had to get down a stop ahead so I did not bother standing next to the foot hold. My hand rested on a pole. And I realised someone was cupping my palm. I tried releasing my hand and moved it further down. But he cupped my palm again. I still wanted to beleive its a mistake so I continued shifting my hands as if it was an experiment testing the validity and reliability. He continued thinking it was a game. And then in a flash came out these words for the first time in my life " Kya kar raha hai madherchod" ( what are you doing , mother fucker). I felt elated , because the guy left my hand immediately. But the expression of amusement on his face changed to that of disgust. I looked around hoping someone would smile or nod as an approval of what I had just accomplished. But all I could see was people staring at me for having broken some unwritten code ' I used profane words' how unfeminine? I often wonder why women don't stand up for their own lot.

Sometime ago, I guess 4 years ago, I got into a bus for my field trip and the journey was a long one and I required to stop and change buses at different places. In one of those buses I had to share my seat with two men. One of them constantly spoke about some film distrubtion and production and the profit he had made recently with the newly released movie. I found his chattering amusing but the fact that he traveled in an ordinary bus made me confused if he was kidding. I dozed off and woke up after an hour. One of the men had left and the distributor sat next to me , he maintained a distance though. I started enjoying the scenery outside the bus when I well my seat shaking. As I turned to look around I saw this man next to me masturbating in broad day light sharing the same seat with me. He did not touch me , but grinned throughout and it then hit me it gave him great pleasure showing off in front of a woman. My heart ached when I thought of how aroused he would have been all the while watching me while I dozed off casually. I could not scream and as we were nearing the bus stand the bus hardly had few passenger. I called the conductor but he was dozing off ahead. I could not muster courage to ask this man what he was doing. I was scared he would state the obvious that he was having a 'gala time' and besides he had not laid a finger on me. I suddenly realized how violated I felt without him laying a finger on me.

This guy followed me grinning at me till I boarded my third bus.His face still is etched in my mind. My friends often ask me why these incidents happen to me alone, but these days I hear a lot more stories from my friends at the department which makes me believe it is not me alone. I don't know what this means, if women should not use public transportation anymore or what special scuba diving suits need to be made for our safety. I am sure some would label this a feminist post.

But then again " Tell me something I don't know".

I miss you Becky

2011-09-18T06:22:00.000-07:00

When I decided to name our first dog ' Rebecca' all our animal hater friends asked me why was I naming a dog after such an elegant name. I remember saying its the title of my favourite book ' Rebecca' by Daphne du Maurier. I saw this book lying around my bed for few days and decided it was time it was shelved especially after my hubby declaring it uninteresting to him. I mused for a while at its cover page and my love for the name. I often joked with my friends that had I not named 'becky' I would definitely name my daughter 'Rebecca'.

I assumed Becky would live forever. I assumed she could take care of herself being the oldest of our three dogs back home. But, she proved me wrong and left us all today morning. It surprises me that I cry for her. I always loved our dog 'Rachel' and my partiality was candid even among my family members. Becky ceased to exist to me since Rachu arrived. I often felt like a step mom to Becky even as I fed her, bathe her I felt guilty of loving Rachu more.

But I loved Becky for her responsible and mature nature and cool temperament which Rachu never acquired and never would. I could write on and on about my dogs and though I stay away from home I feel close to them than I have to many human relations.

It could sound crazy writing an euology for a dog but sometimes animals teach you to reflect on human emotions. Beck suffered from sores for more than 6 years and there are times you felt she would scratch to her death. There are times my mom wanted to kill Becky because she could not stand her suffer. But in all those moments when we spoke to Becky in her eyes I saw love for us. Despite the fact we caged her , despite the fact we seldom touched her because of her sores, she wagged her tail with all her vigour. She loved her baths and suffered patiently through her illness.

She is our second loss following our dad and her absence shall always hurt. Like every death of a known one does to me I for once wish if I could talk to Becky and touch her once again and I believe her death has taught me to make most of everything, every relationship today for once you shut your eyes tonight you never know if you wake again to mend the fences or greet the world.

Thanks for awakening my soul .

“Until one has loved an animal a part of one's soul remains unawakened.”- Anatole France

I wait....

2011-09-13T09:52:00.001-07:00

I wait ....

like the last strand to grey

I know it's inevitable

but I am not allowed before my turn

and so I wait.....

I wait...

like the last grain scooped in a palm

I know it's inevitable

but I am not allowed before my turn

and so I wait...

I wait...

like the last seed to splutter

I know it's inevitable

but I am not allowed before my turn

and so I wait...

I wait...

like the last breath to leave my side

I know it's inevitable

but I am not allowed before my turn

and so I wait..

and so I wait like them all to be the last

for once in life and to cherish all the ones till the lasts

as long as they last.....

Catharsis of a research scholar Part 4

2011-09-11T20:49:00.000-07:00

Like Murphy's laws in research when you are all geared up you fail and when you head unprepared you sort of win the game. All these years I wrote up reports over a week and had sleepless nights before my reviews. This time I had no time and energy to fret.So I wrote a report in 3 hours and forgot all about the meeting. I repaired my cycle, did all my errands even an hour before the review. I never read the power point or report once and just went and did a last minute show. And it clicked !! And now when I think of it, it could be because I am immersed in work and gaining a lot of insights from field , presenting them seemed so simple. And secondly I am not scared of anything anymore. I am prepared to leave anyday and that's the worst that could happen. I start my day with those thoughts and everything around looks simple to me.

Apart from all this what's changing my life is 'fun'. I am unguarded these days and have done away with the self perpetuating torturous life. Over the past 2 weeks I did a lot of stuff I havent in my four years here. I was a dog sitter for a week. And pets are great stress busters. I went on a road trip to Pondicherry and had lots of fun. I cooked and partied, painted and read, slept and gossiped and started dressing up like college days. At the departement we rocked organising a flower carpet and onam sadhya and I felt young again. To end it I attended a meeting of few friends from Nagaland and felt a distinguished guest amongst another community. I also visited a professor's house for a gathering for which my friends and I spent half a day making a gift.

And now guess what........... The insti has a funny way of instigating guilt when you have fun, noone tells you anything but as I had written in a previous posts there are quite a few 'dementors' here and there to suck away your happiness and now I feel low and I have declared " Mission Underground"- I need to get back to the old form and I am in exile now. My comrades of course know my hideout but for the world ( read department), I am gone. But that was some fun for few days that has given me memories so fond to cherish from research days.

Animals are beautiful people

2011-09-06T22:02:00.000-07:00

I have never had the opportunity to watch a chameleon this close and this guy seemed so friendly that he did not show his true colours or run away. Found him at Dakshichitra. Maybe the art and ambience has made him a relaxed soul. But then we humans aren't so after the harrasment by few kids who threw bottles at the chameleon, he resorted to climbing a tree for his meditation. I wonder what animals think of us humans.

Musings on Dementors

2011-08-24T03:43:00.001-07:00

I am happy I found an interesting word today. I am indebted to my friend Shweta for pressing me to read Harry Potter. And today while reading the part 3- Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban I stumbled upon the word 'Dementor' it was interesting because we also recently discussed about individuals who made us unhappy. There is a secret chamber in our department where we recently felt our memories and soul being sucked out like a vaccum cleaner does. And the fun part is these individuals have no hoods and a mouth above their hoods to kiss us to death.

I belittled fantasy all the while but I guess a little connect to our realistic world through fantasy was all that I missed. I bet many don't connect it that way and just revel in the mystery of magic but down there somewhere I find in these magical stories revelation of the mundane 'muggle' ( human) world.

And now that I know these souls sucking creatures are called dementors and I can use a Patronus charm every time I feel my emotions being devoured it makes me feel safe. All I need to do is imagine the best moment I ever had or dream to have in future and I am sure the dementors will vanish with the help of my patronus. And then when I feel drained off all these efforts I could hit the cafe coffee day and order a 'devil's own' ( mind it no other potion) and feel myself regaining strength.

No wonder we had patron saints to pray to as children, mine as of now seem to be St. Sunoj, St. Shweta and St. Momma.

Happy Independence to me

2011-08-15T02:12:00.000-07:00

My sis asked me to suggest a movie which dealt on independence so that they could screen it at college. She asked me to spare anything historical as their peers could not patiently sit through anything patriotic. I tried suggesting her movies and she kept dismissing them saying this wont click. I sat pondering what Independence meant to her peers. I would have harped on Indian national movements 12 years ago, I would watch all patriotic movies, especially on soldiers at border and sings patriotic songs today. I did listen to some songs today ( old habits seldom die). But with the improvised academic readings I do get caught in the dilemma of the politics of nation state. So today I dont marvel on ' independence of India'

I am grateful my country is free and I have rights many perhaps don't.

But today I wonder what Independence means to me?

I realise a lot of things I do unhindered, unhampered means independence to me.

The fact that I married the man I love and did not end up dead in the name of honour makes me feel independent. I know many who struggle to make that decision

The fact that I can study as much as I want and don't worry about being chained within the walls of my house makes me feel independent. Had I been born in a family or culture where my parents forced me to marry at 15 or even 18 I don't know what my life would have been.

I realise the fact I can read, think and write all that I want and not end up in jail or be questioned by my hubby or family means I am independent I am free to express my thoughts. I know women who live in constant fear of being misinterpreted lest the express their mind.

I realise a lot of mistakes I made in life and still would , don't let me down like man other because I have the freedom to decide my decisions which many don't.

I realise I could cook what I wanted when half the world wonders where their next meal would be from.

I realise I wont hang under a fan or burn in my kitchen for speaking out loud or correcting m hubby or expressing myself to my in laws and that's independence. I realize many women are not alive to read this for thinking aloud like me in the wrong places.

Have you ever thought what being independent meant to you? Could be different from its for me, its could be your purchasing power or career choices or choice to choose your partner. We often criticize our country for a lot of things from corruption to reservations and casteism to poverty. But I am so happy I wont be shot the next moment for writing this and that's true independence to me. There are a hundred reasons to feel ostracised but you just need that one point to feel you 'belong' to feel 'independent'.

Happy Friendship day

2011-08-07T05:57:00.000-07:00

Friendship is fluid a term to me. I have had many friends who have saved my life when I sunk. I have had many who let me sink . I have forgotten many , cut off from the rest, saved a few of them and I dont interact with the remaining. I have not warmed to the idea of subscribing to friends forever and when there are clashes I flee. I have never understood why I do it and never had any remorse over the fact either. But I savour the nostalgic moments of those lost friendships and I love them that way. The memories faded over a time feels sweeter than reviving those friendships again. As WHO says I live in the past and so all my friendships are memorial stones I pay homage to.

I dedicate this day to all those souls who blessed my life, understood me, left me when I wanted to be freed, miss me and whom I miss at times. I hope to be a better friend who would not flee .

I aspire for a friendship like Calvin and Hobbes so I would end this message on a quote from them. Hilarious and thought provoking

“Why isn’t my life like a situation comedy? Why don’t I have a bunch of friends with nothing better to do but drop by and instigate wacky adventures? Why aren’t my conversations peppered with spontaneous witticisms? Why don’t my friends demonstrate heartfelt concern for my well being when I have problems? …I gotta get my life some writers.”

I guess that's what I need.

Happy friendship day :)

How To - Get to your Bananas

2011-08-06T07:26:00.000-07:00

The other day I shared some pineapple pieces with folks in office and said that they were from home. I was surprised to know that a few of them had not seen how pineapples grow or how its plant looks like. Not that I was really alarmed because yours truly didn't knew the same about Avocados an year back.

So we decided, similar to our Incredible India! label, today we will start a new label - God's Own Country. No marks to guess which place that is. Now that Don's shifted to Kerala, there will be ample opportunities to travel to the land of rubber (I wanted to say coconut) and backwaters, we will try to bring as many mundane and surprising elements, so as to enlighten and entertain the masses about little things in Kerala, as seen by our own eyes and captured by our own devices.

How To - Get to your Bananas

It would be silly of me to guess that there are people out there who don't know where Bananas grow. I am sure all of us would have seen those big bunches at tea shops or plantain shops but there are still others who would have only seen them by a dozen. But not clouding our judgement with prior experiences, we bring you how these bunch of yellow (the one in the clip is red) plantains are gathered from the tree (if we can call it that).

1. So first, the owner of the bunch, who had been eyeing it from many days, decides that it has ripened enough to be brought down from its hanging place. He is also conscious of the fact that other people in the village are also eyeing it from many days and there are suggestions galore about getting it down. So before all the eyeing spoils the fruit and to get rid of too many suggestions which have become a pain in his ears, he decides to cash in on the spoil. This one was brought down on a Sunday, for you can listen to the mass in the background. So much to keep the Sabbath holy!
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2. You definitely need a man or two to get this thing down. So you can call in your neighbours, some of the people who just came by to your house that morning can be asked to lend a hand and one of the guys you had been eyeing the fruit, so that the news can be spread that the plantain has been brought down and there is no need to talk about it anymore or visit the said persons house. But what joy is it if you don't have at least five people, even to pick a pin, in Kerala. The only downside to getting so many helping hands is that they come with as many mouths and so as many suggestions or 'how to do' steps. Even if this is not rocket science, we need to be mindful of the fact that there's not many opportunities to send something up into the sky in Kerala but many ways to bring something down. So if the owner is tactful he'll take a decision on it else the villagers will have a go at it, whether you like it or not.

3. I am sure one would have understood by now that one banana plant only yields one bunch of fruit. Lets remember that! First the dried and withered leaves are cleared off from the plant. Then the tilt of the tree is observed and it is pulled down to let the person with the chopping job to get a good view of the stem of the fruit bunch. Usually its the owner who gets to chop and others will do the secondary job, similar to how to let a celebrity cut the ribbon. Oh what joy it is to chop! A good portion of the stem of the fruit bunch is retained, one to give it a good hold to carry around and second to give it a grand appearance. The other people will gather around and give support and hold on to the fruit bunch so that it doesn't fall off when chopped. Then with a few smooth cuts the chopper will do the job and wola! what was so high a few minutes earlier is just about your mouth now. Peel it and enjoy.

The remains of the plant will be dug out and a new sampling will be planted. And then in eight to ten months time it will again be time for some eyeing, talking and chopping and the cycle continues.

God bless its country!!!!!!

On the wall

2011-08-01T19:18:00.000-07:00

We saw this funny notice at the middle on M.G. Road, at the junction of Brigade Road. Not that we would be considerate enough to think that this is one of the bussiest intersections in Bangalore, to open the fly and let loose, we see such notices all across the city, or to say, the country, for we the people can't really control our bladder.

What caught our eye with this one was that, and we found it funny too, the writing on the right side, to be a counter argument to the left one.

We read it as - Don't fine 100Rs, Urine here.

In the city of lakes was born a Prince

2011-07-28T08:12:00.000-07:00

Long time ago in the city of lakes was born a Prince under the sign of the Lion. The king and queen were so pleased to see the baby boy with curly hair and the killer smile.The king invited all the fairies in his kingdom to come bless the baby.

12 fairies came up to meet the baby boy. Fairies granted him a wish each.

"May he have crooked teeth with a killer smile that will sweep the hearts of many", said the first fairy.

"He'll be great with words and meet his destiny through words" said the second fairy.

"He has a heart of gold and noone can ever fight him", said the third fairy.

"His love for weapons will keep him amused and resourceful",said the fourth fairy.

"He will fare well at any job he chooses and will be lucky with numbers", said the fifth fairy.

"He will weep for his loved ones and win their hearts with his softness", said the sixth fairy.

"He will get all that he desires and have a blessed life", said the sixth fairy.

" He will travel on path less travelled and cross the seas", said the seventh fairy.

" He will have many friends who will quote him as a role model in life", said the eight fairy.

" He will have a great appetite and a healthy body to enjoy life to the fullest", said the ninth fairy.

" He will plan like noone has and amaze his loved ones with his meticulous nature", said the tenth fairy.

" He will be obsessed with cleanliness and order which will be an asset in his later years"said the eleventh fairy.

The baby boy smiled and cooed in his bassinet. Before the twelfth fairy could bless the baby boy there came in a witch whom the King had forgotten to invite. In her seething anger she cursed the baby

" You cannot be too perfect to enjoy these blessings, I will create an imperfection with which you wont enjoy all that was bestowed over you". She then shrunk the baby boy;s left palm and flew away.

The queen and king were shocked to see their baby boy was no more perfect. "He will survive", said the queen. " But with such pain?" asked the king.

The twelfth fairy had not yet blessed the prince and came forward and said " It can't be undone but I can help. He will conquer the world despite the curse and fall in love incurably with the chosen one who'll meet him in a red and white cloak 29 years from now"." He will also kill the witch and open his world with a sword on the night of his 31st year, for the sword is his treasure that will lead to his destiny".

The king and queen were too dazed to believe all that happened. The prince grew up into a handsome young man with the curls and killer smile. He got good at words and numbers. His heart of gold won him many friends but he never met his lady love.

And years later through his world of words he met his lady love and when she met him in real she was dressed in red and white.

But he still has not found the sword to open the oyster and kill the witch.He has been patiently waiting for the night of his 31st year, the night he gets his sword and his destiny changes forever. He hopes he lives with his lady love fighting over and over forever and then they perhaps can live happily ever after. But the sword and that night awaits him...............

Happy birthday my prince from the city of lake. Your sword awaits you and so does your destiny

Life is good when unexpected

2011-07-26T08:23:00.001-07:00

Life never works the way we expect it to be not atleast for me. Life teaches you these lessons through serendipitous incidents. A lot that we shove away as trivial and silly in our daily life could be miracles around the corner which changes our life or at least our staunch perspectives. My encounters with strangers in life has been like this. We are taught not to mingle or interact with strangers. Though as kids we had to be indoctrinated this way to keep us safe,as we grow this tends to mould us into paranoid freaks. Hence people remain islands. But I have often beleived we can connect to the world outside without really knowing anything about it in real. So here are some thoughts on how strangers have changed me, moulded me and even challenged me to reconsider my stance on life.

This blog for instance is one such example. None of my friends actually read what I wrote and even if they did, they never told me how they felt, nooone I knew commented or encouraged me rather they asked why did I have to do this. Judging by this behaviour of theirs I should be rethinking on what 'friendhsips' mean but then again I rather put more time into writing. So most of the followers here are strangers and in my life strangers have appreciated and understood me more than my near ones.

I remember crying at a church in Dharwad weeks after my dad passed away. Once a Mangalorean woman asked me in Konkani why I was crying. I hardly knew her language but I simply poured out my sorrow to her. She sat there silently, held my hand throughout and kept comforting me. I know it sounds like a scene from a movie but I never felt so comforted. There are times I walked around this campus looking a for a soul like this woman. She did not seem to be very educated but she definitely knew how to support someone in crisis. Kindness from a stranger surprises me. I am sure she would not remember me today , I can't remember her face either but she remains a memory afresh- a soul who touched my life when I had noone to turn to.

I was travelling unexpectedly for home with no reservations on a train at an uearthly hour. I had heard of general compartments and the struggle in there. I was considering if I should take this train at 3 am with no women in my vicinity when a guy asked me " first time?" . " Yeah", I said. We soon discovered we had the same destination in common. " Pretend to be a near one of mine", he said. I had no option so I agreed. I was scared if he would drug me so I tried to be awake. The moment I got into the compartment, I could feel him as a shield, protecting me from the thrusting men around. He made way for me, settled me and spoke to me with authority to confirm others speculations of we being a couple. I suddenly saw the others took no interest in me. We sat in silence for the next 6 hours reading our books. And finally when we reached our destination we parted ways with a smile he even showed me the the snap of his fiancee. I don't know why he did it or why I chose to trust him . But a stranger saved my life again.

I don't mean to say all strangers are nice, but neither are all the people we have known in life. After all the line between strange and familiar is so thin. It stops at a hi, a lending hand, or perhaps a click on the follower button of an arbit blog :)

I like to cut....

2011-07-17T19:44:00.000-07:00

By using a title like this I am sure it’ll be difficult for me to put things in perspective and redeem myself. But let me give it a try. I like to cut, but not in a psychopathic way, and certainly not myself in a sado-masochistic way, or masochistic even. I am sure it has nothing to do with flesh, well sometimes, and in no way related to blood. So the least I can assure you so far is that my liking to do it is not directed on humans and it doesn’t cause pain either. Even then I sometimes think that there would just be a thin line separating; or a world’s difference, depending on which side of the debate you are, my penchant for it from that of a psychopath’s. Because, unlike them, I like to exercise by predilection in inanimate objects or after it is made inanimate.

The earliest memories I have of getting mesmerized by a sharp object was the razor blade, the 7’O clock or the Wilkinson types, used in the saloons even now. Dad used a conventional razor and I used to look out for blades, when he was done using one. Even though it would have lost the shine and glint, it was potent enough to cut through papers, plastics, vegetables and anything else which used to catch my fancy. What fascinated me was the fineness with which the blade used to cut through things and even though it was not the strongest of the lot, it had a sharpness which is difficult to rival even now. On special occasions, say if I would have got hold of a styrofoam piece, I would snitch a new blade from dad’s inventory and running that sharp blade through the things would give me unparallel delight, not to mention the smoothness with which the blade would guide through the Styrofoam, smooth like a baby’s bottom. But my joy would be short lived if I get caught in the act of cutting things, and in a very tight spot to explain how I got hold of a brand new razor blade.

And when I had thought nothing would beat the razor blade, in came the surgical blade, courtesy mom, and swept me off my feet. Not that mom gave it to me saying, “young man, how about graduating from a razor blade”. I had to struggle hard to lay my hand on one, because as compared to a razor blade its surgical cousin was kept tucked in high unreachable places, away from the unpredictable sons lingering around in the house, and one would not find a used one either. But what a work of art it was, many folds sharper than a razor blade and many times stronger. It had overcome the flaws of the razor blade, which when used on a styrofoam sheet or block was difficult to maneuver, and unlike a razor blade it had the shape and size to fit perfectly between ones fingers. But it was many years later that I realized its true utility - to cut through skin and flesh. This is where things get a little gory and I would expect small children and expectant mothers to skip to the next paragraph. It was the time I had mastered the catapult and I say ‘mastered’ because I was regularly gunning down small targets like the humming bird or twitchy ones like squirrels (these escapades will be detailed on some other posts later). Somewhere it dawned on me to skin the squirrel and display them as trophies in the house, similar to tigers and leopards. This is when the surgical blade unfailingly did justice to its vocation. Though it was a task the first few times but later on the blade and I were working seamlessly as one. With two potent weapons – the catapult and the surgical blade, I let loose a hunting spree which led to a great migration of squirrels from our colony and it only slackened when the desktop computers arrived on the horizon.

The next time a sharp thing caught my attention was when I was in Kerala and the guy who had come to pluck coconuts showed me his means of livelihood. It is called a ‘Kathal’ or ‘Vettukathi’ at our side of Kerala and the first time I saw it I was transfixed, as if I was looking at a 1911 9mm Desert Eagle. The guy had kept it in mint condition and felt like a collector’s piece. But only when he got about his business that I truly understood its potential. When one is hanging fifty feet above the ground, on a straight and branchless wonder like a coconut tree, one needs tools which will do the job quick, real quick. Not that I was not amazed to see how bunches of coconuts startled falling even before the Kathal kissed them, but when Dad asked the man to trim down an old tree that my eyes truly popped out. Just with two strokes he would chop down mighty branches and what clean cuts it made. Oh! It was magical. Like a hot knife through butter. Later on I pestered dad to buy one for our household use, but we didn’t find one of the same make and size. Apparently it was custom made. On a later date, when I was at mom’s house in Kerala, in no apparent fit of rage or anger, I picked up a Kathal and chopped down many grown up trees, which looked unwanted. Maybe the coconut man’s spirit took hold off my body and worked through me. It was only after copious thrashing and whipping that I regained my senses and was told that the plants were let there to grow into trees and to be sold as timber. After that incident I am very careful in chopping, trees or plants, to be sure no one’s around, lest be caught and thrashed.

I don’t remember if anybody ever asked me what I want to be when I grow up, but I am sure at least once I would have said – I want to be a logger. Now as a city dweller, my passion survives on occasional slicing up of onions, aubergines and potatoes. My favourites are mushrooms. Oh! What joy they give. I hate onions because they do funny things to your eyes and won’t let you do it in peace and it’s usually Bhujji who finishes it for me. As far as the tools are concerned, we have a small collection of shiny knives, big and small. They are not as sharp as the razor or surgical blade and for obvious reasons that things might get out of control in a kitchen and should it fall in the wrong hands - wife’, the husband may be left nursing a cut or stab. I recently got a good meat knife through a friend’s brother in Kuwait, as Bhujji had said they used to get good ones there. This one holds good and feels sharp, though we have not yet used it. I think we both have matured in our relationship and can handle sharp things around us.

P.S. – Yours truly is celebrating his birthday later this month and is open to the idea of receiving sharp and shining objects (stainless steel is preferred, brand not conscious) as gifts. And assures everybody, in writing, that it will be used for cooking purposes only.

My kiddo's at school

2011-07-15T12:30:00.000-07:00

I have started my field work again with a new bunch of kids. Kids I meet these days amaze me in many ways. I wish we as adults had half their excitement, contentment and determination. It's very easy to explain stuff to kids, they understand when you put words in the right sense. I know my friends with kids would tell me to remember these lines for those later days when I have my own kids. But that's again a significant question as to why we lose patience with our own kids. No amount of field trips can perhaps prepare one for parenthood and as a parent your job does not end by 4pm at school. However should it make us irritated and impatient to understand these little adults? Recently a kiddo asked me why I had no babies if I was married. Before I could answer the other kiddo told the first one, that it happens to many married women- they don't have babies. And they both put up a sad face and told me I would be fine. I was amazed at how they did not require an answer from me. That's kids.

Recently I realised how much we could learn by observing and listening to kids which half of us never do in life. We really don't have the time for kids and elders and what we do to them has happened and happens to us- something I label as the boomerang effect.But closely observe the kids and you might benefit from insightful learnings.

We were discussing on love and relationships at 4th grade and suddenly a girl got up and emphatically told me she was against love. on further discussion she revealed people who ran away and married never got fridge, TV and bed and so she does not want to miss out on those comforts for love. Her parents dont have any of these till date because they had a love marriage. Suddenly the group went silent as if they were all ruminating on their friend's points . As I left school that evening I could not stop wondering if our conditioning as girls were contributing to dowry deaths in a way. We expect from parents and demand from our kids don't we? Behind hushed doors of educated families and open alleys on the uneducated aren't we all the same? And if school is a microcosm of the world out there wasn't the 4th graders views a reflection of ours?

I really don't know and I really don't believe these are fanciful passing thoughts.Hope some of you reflect and share your views on this.

Catharsis of a research scholar Part 3

2011-07-04T19:40:00.000-07:00

If Facebook and Orkut never came my way I would have missed out on all my school friends from Kuwait. But now that I got to see them and What they do I am amazed at how things changed over the years. When I left after 10th we had no email ids but maybe those left behind studied together for 2 more years and could share email ids and stay in touch. I was all eager to get in touch with my school buddies but some even asked me " Teena Who?" and the others sounded bored to listen to what I was doing. And the remaining who did meet me got mauled in my pseudo intellectual wars. Sreeja remains but she's always been akin to me and I think we haven't grown beyond 10th std and all our experiences have grounded us to be who we are.

I woke up today and felt old ( few grays can do that to anyone) but then on facebook I saw pics of my buddies. And I began to wonder what is it that's giving me wrinkles and greys and the structure of a 60 year old. Am I going to die young? Maybe it's Chennai that's making me this or is it because I am not a doctor or engineer? Should I go for a massage or therapy?

And then I laugh at myself. "If not for research we would all look much saner, healthier and younger said my Senior from the next cubicle". And I wonder if it's true. When was the last time I watched a movie? read a comic? took more than 10 minutes to eat or shower? ironed my clothes or dressed up sweet? And why wasn't I doing it? And then it dawned that my senior was right.

If I went back to my school buddies I could pass for a tramp with what I am wearing today. That's what research does to last year scholars, makes you want to hide from school buddies :)
But lethargy has enveloped me so warmly that I would not change anything for anyone, anymore. And I know why I ended here today, coz I was meant to be here.

Sreeja, thanks for living next door at Blore and what a beautiful coincidence you are ;)

Note: These are random reflections please dont get back to me asking if I have a load of complexes buried in. I dont even edit or re-read what I write. And I atleast am honest to put up the honest thoughts I have rather than put on a mask and act cool.

Life in Pixels

2011-07-01T06:32:00.000-07:00

I don't remember which was the first picture I took, as I see a lot of people showing me the first picture they took and it did hold promise for them, and I don't remember the latest one either. Just like the way I often write (Bhujji would say I rarely do nowadays) I try to do a little bit of pictures as well, not sure if it comes out as well. Can't say I know the science of it, but then a point and shoot camera doesn't demand much.

So here is a series on pictures; not detailing the cameras that were used, a series on life around us; not on the lens specification and just about anything that fancies our eyes and certainly not about shutter speed and contrast ratio. Just plain point and shoot!!!!!!

A view from the backseat

Miss you tons

Catharsis of a research scholar part 2

2011-06-30T08:57:00.000-07:00

Sometimes research can be frustrating.We crib, we cry, we have our blues but we still can't quit this relationship with research. it's abusive at time addictive too. It still gets unbearable especially when people ask you " what the hell are you reading? ", " How will your research change the world ? " " Aren't you a bunch of losers? " Did you not end up here coz you got no job?"

Now I could say no we are super intelligent and uber cool, lets have a competition but then I am sure they don't remember half their concepts, they don't read anything new, or have done anything worthwhile recently. But then they might flash a couple of plastic cards and say look at this, this and this and this........

( A friend of mine eagerly showed a gold card the bank gave her) My eyes would pop out if it were Saramago's 'Cain' , I know it's crazy but it matters more than a gold card to me.

So to answer all those honest questions in my IIT Madras dialect I would say " I don't know ya" or rather " I don't care ya " , its not as if you are carrying the world's burden by working at a place and why can't research be a job? It is self fulfilling in many ways though I can't get a gold card :), if I think of all the new things I get to read. Yeah, I don't get paid as much I would if I work but I would not experience a lot of things if I worked.

I sleep when I like, I can survive on 4 pairs of clothes, I don't worry about my nails, my hair, my weight my appearance. I don't need spa's to relax. I work 7 days a week sometimes with no fruiful results and no idea where I am heading and when I would finish, and I guess that's a tough challenge. I don't worry about bonuses, I don't feel the pressure to buy what my colleague just bought ( My colleague just bought a 4 gb pen drive just now), I still ride a bicycle at 28 and Life's just great until............. someone bumps with these questions. And human that I am I fret for some time , ahem.... some days too and count my greys but resilience gets me back to myself ( and if that doesn't work some book works the wonder). After all this is the only thing that makes me feel I am unique, something that makes me passionate and my research is my own baby.

The fact is I am happy doing this though I know people out there think its weird reading Saramago or Camus or Kafka for leisure. Kafka who? some ask and why read such suicidal books some say. Frankly its not a pseudo intellectual halo I chose to wear- I don't claim I understand these authors but I am humble enough to attempt and admit defeat. Now that's something research taught me " Humility". To accept there is a lot I don't know, to accept the blunders others tell me too ( for even they don't know what they do at times). At least I don't buy thick fat books to decorate my living room they are there to tell me how many times I attempted and fail and I still try.

I have my perspective on everything I read and see though I am labelled a haughty, arrogant, impractical, feminist , good for nothing, Non- career oriented, stupid woman.I have my take on these people who put forth these dumb questions but I will reserve it for a later post.

I believe Life and research has two points in common " No short cuts and No compromise". We always do that in life, in our jobs . Some claim they do it in research but then its no research but just an act of puppetry.

And I don't mind putting things on hold, being humble and patient.

So next time someone asks me " what I am doing here"..................

I'll smile and listen to them because I don't need anything they have achieved to feel contented. I am happy the way I am.

Read first part of this series at

http://catharasisofaresearchscholar.blogspot.com/2011/03/catharsis-of-research-scholar.html

Incredible India through my eyes- Lac bangles

2011-06-27T07:48:00.001-07:00

I had a wonderful weekend with a group of friends at Dakshinchitra. 'Dakshinchitra' means a picture of the south. It is a cultural center which tries to showcase and preserve the traditional art forms , architecture and performing arts of the four Southern states ( Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh, Tamil Nadu and Kerala). I have been there twice throughout my stay in Chennai so far but this time it was a beautiful experience. It was because I had lovely company who were in no hurry to rush through the beautiful artifacts in front of them. We paused to admire the musuems, the art forms and even interact with the artisans. I could write a lot more on Dakshinchitra but I wont and would save them for the later posts.

Something that captivates my attention everytime I land there is the lac bangles. I first saw them at IIT for Sarang the cultural festival where this lady put up her stall and mesmerised the womenfolk with her magical bangles. A little bit research on bangles revealed to me that this ornament worn on the hand originated from South Asia precisely India and was worn by Hindu women. Different states in India have different kinds and colours of bangles worn by women at different phases and occasions in life. Be it the green bangles of Maharashtra or the white bangle of West Bengal or the red bangles with stones studded all denote the symbol of being married. Many customs even requires a woman to break her glass bangles as a symbol of widowhood. Bangles of copper, silver, gold, glass, metal, plastic, rubber and lac are all worn in different parts of the country even today.

Lac bangles are made of Lac a resin collected from insects. It is a specialty of Hyderabad which is the city of bangles. But the stall I visited claimed lac bangles to be of Rajasthani origin. But it's a delight to watch your bangle being custom made in the shades you want. And the knot tied to join the ends of the bangle rather stick the ends gives it a personal touch. I have 4 of them since years and the look still the same with no chipped ends or faded looks. They are brittle and can break if you drop them which is why they are special to me and taken well care of. Here are some pics on how lac bangles are made.

The lac is at first heat on the coal and whatever colour is on it with soon change with the application of the dyes.

These are the dyes the colourful cakes attached to wooden rods. I am not sure what they are made of.

Once the lac is heated the dye is applied on to it in such an manner that when the lac is twisted later design like swirl would appear.

The lac is then flattened onto a board

It is cut into strips

Rolled to get the spiral effect

The edges are now joined and the the round shape is achieved using the rod onto which she moulds it according to the size of our hands

The bangles is then dropped into the water for cooling as it was heated before joining the edges. The knots as you can see in the picture gives it a beautiful touch. They can also be made without knots. I found it a beautiful experience watching my custom made bangles moulded for me that too for Rs 20 isn't that a delight. Incredible India through my eyes ......

Marriage matters strikes back - Part 1

2011-06-24T08:57:00.000-07:00

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

Ramblings on Sunday

2011-06-19T06:29:00.000-07:00

Sunday evenings upset me and it's been worse over the past two years. This weekend was no different. I guess it's because I slogged the whole week expecting a treat to myself on the weekend. I was in for a surprise when I discovered despite paying 2800 bucks the adapter and OS of my laptop doesn't do what it's supposed to. I have no net access in my room and all that thoughts I had to pour out froze. And on further discovery I realised it doesn't have a sound card so if I had to watch a movie I hard to resort to Charlie Chaplin days.

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.

Crabs in the rain

2011-06-16T21:07:00.000-07:00

I know a thing or two about crabs. Firstly crabs can’t see well in murky waters. So if you fill up a crab hole with cow dung they are sure to come out of their holes. Secondly, it’s not the cheliped which is the juiciest part of a crab, as one sees in all the travel and cookery shows, but it’s the body which is a taste apart. I think I know one more thing about crabs; I know how to catch them.

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.

Sad Periods

2011-06-16T10:01:00.000-07:00

I feel low today not because of periods but because a friend's sister commited suicide more than a month ago and I got to know 4 days ago. Her family could not find out any reasons except for that she was constantly disturbed and depressed during her menstrual days and the doctors said her reports confirmed that her hormones were high during her death. I find it disturbing because I got to know about it the very next day of the "happy periods" post. I told it to a couple of my friends the girls just said an "oh" while some guys atleast discussed it with me. Perhaps every time this girl went through this crisis many said an "oh" and never bothered taking it further. Our tolerance and negligence topped with ignorance is at the peak.

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.

Happy periods

2011-06-13T21:13:00.000-07:00

I was dumbstruck, rather appalled at what I was hearing. Listening was not my best of skills but I managed it quite well these days. My friend was telling me how liberated she felt at our institute far from home. I thought this was because she could meet guys or eat stuff not permitted back home or even booze. But none of these was what made her feel liberated. It was the fact that she could sleep on her bed during periods. Well, if this seems silly to you, you definitely are a man and you never felt you were a leaking tap for four days, else you are a crazy female with no empathy in your glossary.

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.

This is a topic that people don't discuss openly, atleast in families. I was surprised when my hubby and my sis and I discussed it on our dinner table recently. It means a lot to me ( the discussion) because I couldn't do it with my dad around. Does this alone make me liberated? I don't know but it's as important a topic as movies and books and cooking to me. And after vagina monologues

http://catharasisofaresearchscholar.blogspot.com/2010/09/vagina-monologues-review.html I guess this is a milder post on my views about " my blue days"

I understand my friend back at the institute and I am happy she left the old ways because I cannot fathom the stupidity of these customs. Mom tells me even childbirth was considered impure and women were not allowed to go to church for 40 days though it was rationalized that women needed rest and they got it as a relaxation in the name of impurity. I really don't understand why something that biologically happens can be impure. How would a menstruating girl make anyone sick by sharing a meal with them?

This whole mystery of a woman's body has been an enemy to me, to the extent that every time I had my periods post marriage I would tell my hubby " I am sorry you missed the opportunity to be a dad". That's exactly what it is to me - a missed opportunity, not that I intend to reproduce prolifically but it does take away the unclean and impure connotations associated from my mind.

I refuse to be ashamed of discussing this, of buying sanitary napkins not wrapped in newspapers , disclosing my periods to male friends and weeping emotionally when my hormones take a toll. I don't understand why this has to be hushed on one side and made so obvious with such customs on the other side. I definitely can't understand half the population ( men) in this world who asks what's the big deal, why fret on dates and aches?

But what I can't tolerate most is hanging around with a leaking bloody tap and being segregated and told I am impure. Menstruation was a topic of interest to me since I first realized the mechanisms of a woman's body. I hate the word menstruation it sounds so mechanical and I often confused it with mensuration from geometry. Periods too reminds me of period movie, periods in classes, periodic table. And chams reminds me of cham cham the sweet and chamma chamma of Urmila Matondkar. I always used " mood swings" or "blue days" coz that's how its always been to me.

I used to watch my dad squirm watching ads of sanitary napkins in front of us and to me they looked like pampers onto which models poured some blue liquid. And over the years I saw the ads change for "yeh un dinon ke liye" to " Happy periods". This was quite a transition, from the old hushed tone ads, to scientific ones proving anti-leak channels and wings to mini pads that fit into bags and were perfumed. The world was definitely changing in terms of selection and production. But still today I see women waiting at chemists shops ensuring men have disappeared and then asking for 'SF' (stay free). What an irony for a title like that. naturally you need to stay free of stains but what about the shame associated with this natural process? What irks me is that chemists wrap it in newspapers as if women were taking porn magazines home.

I once told my brother to remind me to buy bread at the store, I thought he was too young to understand what sanitary napkins were and this was our code in college. Seeing me pick up a napkin and returning home without a bread he told me " Next time you need a stayfree don't call it bread simply coz next time I cant eat a bread visualizing a pad". I had a laugh of my life but realized how relaxed we were to discuss such stuff and what a hypocrite I was to feel ashamed to tell my own brother what I wanted.

Some guys at college asked us about menstruation and were surprised how they missed all these stuff living under a roof with women in their family. Which reminds me why my uncle once got my aunt ten packets of stayfree in their initials days after marriage when she asked him for napkins. He thought women bled to death and she in fact got a stock for a year bcoz of his purchase.

Every time there's a coffee stain or my hubby kills a mosquito, leaving a blood stain on the bedsheets my mom and sis shrieks thinking I have displayed my carefree attitude and I realize a drop of blood on a sheet will cost me a lot, whether it's mine or not, till my menopause. My sis freaked out when I told her I was going to write this, WHO contemplated for weeks. But I still don't understand what's so ugly about it. And I am sure no one would comment on this.

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.

Hi folks

2011-06-08T02:35:00.000-07:00

Hi folks

I know its been a long time since we blogged. WHO is lazy to blog or rather too busy at work that he cant take his mind off from work even on weekends. Besides this has been the longest hoilday I had and first time WHO and I stayed together. So after five months I am back to my institute to finish my PhD. I sort of blog a lot when I am there. Maybe its coz I dont have any other hobbies there. These days I was so engrossed with my food blog www.ooonuready.blogspot.com , though I thought I would manage both the blogs well I admit I could not. I was nurturing the new blog like a new born baby and WHO didn't take care of my first born blog :(

Well when I get back I can't cook so I would rely on my stocked pics and recipes which means I am gonna be more active here. Now does this sound like a justification for neglecting my first born ;)

I guess I lived my life to the fullest in the last 5 months. I cooked like mad, mostly to blog them. We had lots of guests home( naturally I needed guinea pigs for testing the treats before I blogged them) The good news is that they are all fine and alive so my recipes can be trusted.

I learned pottery and it boosted my confidence. Each time I learn something successfully I tell myself I am still intelligent to learn new stuff. Or rather I try testing my intelligence by experimenting new stuff. And clay opened a new world to me. I also did a painting and tried my hand at photography.

What I didn't do well was blogging caught up in myriad of events. But then this blog is a catharsis remember? I need stress to ventilate. So I guess it was meant to be done here.

I also began groom hunting for my sis and Marriage matters part will strike again with the sequel. I wish we travelled a bit but then I was on a holiday WHO wasn't.

In short we have a lot of posts lined up and I hope you guys will forgive the long silence.

Hey all foodlovers please check out my food blog and comment generously.

Love

Bhuji

The trapeze act

2011-05-09T23:42:00.000-07:00

It was dark in there, even the corridors. I hate dingy corridors but I was not there to love the place. " You can wait here", said the grumpy lady. Does she ever smile, I wondered. This felt like the longest journey of my life. This annual visit every year made me feel so nauseated. I dreaded the journey to this place. I feared reaching my destination and wished the journey never ended. I have felt so, long time back when I was in love, but that was not a fearful feeling, then I wanted to be with my love so I wished the journey never ended. This was not a similar feeling. Some feelings turn indescribable after an age and experience. Earlier there was an urge to label it all but now even that has come to a standstill.

The wallpaper looked tired and dull as if it did not wish to stay there forever. I wondered why non living things had no will , for that matter did we living things have will to execute?Yes we claim, but are we all not just puppets, situational creatures? Mom always told us that everything was written from above in the big guy's book. Then why did she scold us when something she resented happened? How could we measley beings mess with the big guy up there? Was all that not destined? Weren't all those unaccountable orgasms, filthy desires, untimely deaths and uninvited diseases and accidents written in the big guy's book? or did he lose his books and all these are mis entered? what about serendipity? I don't know, mom would never tell and now she never can for she has left us.

My mind and its questions are like peeling an onion.They go deep into layers till you feel saturated, yet there still will be another question waiting for you at the end.My days are filled with this game of peeling my mind. They say I am silent but I am in a game and they don't see it.So waiting for him I continue my game.

I hate the iron bars which I don't miss in between my game.His screaming years ago haunts me.There he stood behind these bars. Could I have saved him? No... the big guy must have decided this for him too. His destiny ended him there, or so I want to beleive. That's what all the dear ones beleive for we all need to pay a cost for being a part of a sane and cultured society don't we.

I wish we could all be unemotional too but the big guy divided emotions generously to some than the other. So here I am an impractical, moron wasting my health and sanity looking at those same bars year after year.

I open the pack I have, 2 out of 3 hershey bars were eaten by me out of my anxiety for this trip. But the peanut butter and tuna tins were still intact. Birthday gifts were turning mediocre and tasteless as years advance. What could you gift a 58 year old anyways?

The iron gate opens and he walks slowly. He walks slow with a hump. Happy birthday boy, I say. So you turned 58. Which means I am61, i say. He does not look at me. That's because I don;t look at him. He accepts the package and mumbles something which I think was thanks.

Should I ask him how he feels but then I have been asking it all these years. Would he want to go out on a parole? I don't know for I can't frame sentences anymore they just play in my head whole day. He never remembers that' s his blessing and I always do that's my curse. I tried recollecting his favourite song not that I could sing it anymore. But when I raised my head he was no where. He left 15 minutes ago said the grumpy lady. And suddenly I wanted to hug him, tell him how much I loved him.

I wonder why I come here year after year and then it dawns me after 25 years - maybe I am grateful I am out and not in like him. But then I laugh out loud for what mistake does it make. For who can say who is sane the world inside the bars or we outside? For are we not counterparts both ways? Who defines who is right? I continue my game of questions and wait for my bus.

I dread the journey back, because I hate my destination too and that's how life is sometimes just a journey with destinations you hate but are inevitable birth the starting and death the ending. The hanging in between both is the most unbearable. And that's exactly what I did - The act of trapeze

Animals are beautiful people

2011-05-08T20:15:00.000-07:00

Recently, we were in for a pleasent surprise when we visited the 'Guindy National Park', next door to IIT. Surprised, because we never expected that there was such a beautiful place just next door, full of animals and the care takers there were really very warm and accomodating in letting the visitors come close to the animls.

Here we share with you our winged friends.

Claystation

2011-05-02T05:42:00.000-07:00

My latest passion these days is pottery. Pottery has always fascinated me especially when I

saw handmade artifacts at shops and WHO refused to shop them ;)

My supervisor once showed me pics of pottery artifacts made by his supervisor, it struck a chord with me instantly. I was waiting for a chance to venture into this art. And 3 years down the lane I got it.

Claystation is a beautiful experience for people who are highly tactile, for those who rely on their hands as much as they do on their eyes. As a child I was highly tactile ( read as destructive) and mom lost a lot of her glass ware and household appliances because of this habit of mine. So my mom put me on works that could keep my hands occupied. So I picked up everything arty that came my way and the clumsiness soon disappeared only to be replaced with stained t- shirts and floors in my house :).

Clay classes but, were different. Firstly, because I let myself enrol for classes which I usually never did. I guess I am retarded when it comes to following instructions and secondly, because I never learned anything unless I felt confident enough to take it up and carry on, on my own. But here for the first time in life I wanted to learn something from someone without my mind telling me " oh you can do this". And frankly it is difficult certainly after school years :)

Everytime we don't get something right, our instructors tell us its ok, after all its handmade. Not that errors gets consoled by this but it sort of brings back the pride of having mastered an artifact. We are often reminded to close our eyes and feel our work with our hands and to mould it till we feel we have achieved the perfect shape. And it is then I realised how one could see with eyes shut this definitely is not easy for one with sight but perhaps is a skill we all need to master for life. And after all these years on earth I learnt it here.

Art of any kind is a liberating experience. The very fact that I create something with my own hands is so exhilirating to me. This however does not pamper my bruised heart when I see cracks and imperfections. But these days I realise its the remedy for my obsession with perfection.After all the labour when you fear of losing your work yet decide to go beyond the limits to explore it, thats a worthwhile journey. When you overcome your worst fears, break and tamper stuff you cherished, you are prepared for some real discoveries. For fear has left you rather liberated you to enjoy the process of creation.You also discover 100 ways of what not to do ( courtesy to Einstein ;) )

I wont tell you about wedging, merging,centring or pinching clay no I wont. I cant run a tutorial on a blog and even if i could I would not do the injustice of stealing an experience from you. So for all of you out there- Exxxxxperience!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Note-The third and last pic are not works of mine its a pic from claystation while all the others are by me.

A new food blog

2011-04-27T19:24:00.000-07:00

Hi folks, I have started a food blog at http://ooonuready.blogspot.com/ .
This has been a dream for long. This does not mean I wont write about food on 'catharasis' but if you are a food lover you can visit the new site for recipes.

Have a nice day.

Bhuji

Pregnant with thoughts

2011-04-25T09:44:00.000-07:00

I was with a friend at a hospital in Bangalore recently. She is pregnant and was on her regular check up. She was alone and wanted me to accompany her. I am phobic towards hospital yet I decided to be with her that day.

It always surprises me that I should be phobic because I spent half my life in and around a hospital where my mother was a nurse.Gynaecs and their departments yet, scares the hell out of me. I would rather kiss an iguana than meet a gynaec but thats one place I visit a lot these days. I can't stand women with big tummies around and this particular day I tried pacifying myself that I would not get a full view of my own tummy when I become pregnant. I often fear that pregnant women would fall flat on their tummy and die and I would die in a similar fashion some day, its one of my worst nightmares. Such is the level of my phobia that I chatter non stop in a gynaec clinic.

Nature has been cruel enough to me having given me regular ovulatory dysfunction and I have been in and out of a gynaec clinic all my life. In fact I had done more HCG, pregnancy and ultrasound tests than my pregnant friend. Yet this visit was painful to me. My friend seemed excited and kept chattering about her new health tips and recipes for pregnant women. She was all charged up with doubts and a long list of questions for the doctor which started of with if waxing was safe in pregnancy to how long could she drive to work. Some of her questions did startle me and I felt we were in two different leagues suddenly. A new part of womanhood was being unfolded to me. It was definitely attractive.

At the entrance my friend told me the hospital had a warmth and she felt cool and less intimidated. I silently anticipated the moment I would step into the midst of all those pregnant women in few seconds. To add to my worry as soon as we stepped out of the elevator we saw posters on pregnant women eating strawberries and many more poses which I deciphered was to relax women and show them this was a nine month vacation. I paced around listening to excited women planning about future baby shoot. I soon realised I was the only idiot who had no clue of these facilities. Portfolios of new borns was part of luxurious packages hospitals offered these days. I called up WHO to ask him if he would let me have one and he said no as if he was refusing me a kitkat.

The doctor called us for the appointment after 1 hr of waiting. She told us we were the last patient and she had to leave. She asked my friend to report to her after two weeks and shooed of all her anxieties by asking her to stay cool. She focused more on me who was just there to support my friend. But the doc focussed on my weight, my plans for baby ( luring for the next customer I beleived). I took the name of her rival hospital, told her I was consulting a doc there and she backed off( this strategy works best with banks, insurance agents, mobile phone sales persons and doctors). We must have spoken to her for 5 minutes but the fees was 300 bucks.

My friend proceeded for her scan and I was asked to wait out. The door to the scan room had a wonderfully captivating sticker which read " Killing a girl child is wrong- we do not reveal the sex of the foetus". Before I could feel impressed I saw a certificate beautifully framed on the opposite wall which read " This hospital has been certified to perform medical termination of pregnancy". Paradoxical it seemed at the moment where one wall indicated blooming of life and the other the fact that it could be legally slaughtered.

We left soon after the scan and I felt a lot better outside the intimidating building. I could not stop thinking about a day I would be there soon. Perhaps I need a visit to the pediatric ward the next time to believe my efforts would bring forth sweet returns, and this could help me cope my gynaec phobia.

Animals are beautiful people

2011-04-20T06:58:00.000-07:00

Here we welcome our first animal friend in the family - 'Pappy'. He gets his name from daddy dear- Pappachayan Augustine. We are still confused if its a he or she and if it's a Common Musk or Yellow Bellied turtle.

Till now he has not responded to our call to sit, stand, roll or walk. In the water or outside, he just sits comfortably inside his shell, with eyes shut. We are planning to introduce some ice-breakers very soon. Will keep you posted here on the progress.

The gum story

2011-04-16T08:08:00.000-07:00

Fevers make me nostalgic. I was recently down with fever. All I could do lying down all the time was read, sleep and regurgitate my childhood days. Poor 'Who' did get bored with my repetitions and finally I decided to write it down here. This is another snippet from my childhood memoirs.

My mom never permitted us to taste chewing gums and her theory was that children who chewed chewing gums often swallowed them and she had seen many kids at hospital who needed surgery to remove the chewing gum that got stuck to their intestine. Nevertheless the urge to taste this forbidden fruit grew stronger in me and as I grew I became more skeptical towards mom's story.

Finally I managed to get hold of a wrigley's gum at home. I guess dad left it, he often chewed them after smoking. It never occurred to me that dad always chewed gum and it never got stuck to his intestine. Well adults were superheroes and miraculously escaped every danger ( how foolish we were try this trick with kids these days and .... :) )

That sultry afternoon with the posession of a chewing gum I felt like a queen. I avoided my siblings who kept pestering me to join them for a game. I had a Cheshire cat's smile on my face which made my sister realize that I had a secret. I resisted all her charms and lucrative offers to guard my secret. I was scared of losing the gum in a tussle with her. She could go to any length to get the gum from me..... even call up mom at work and get me me warned.

My siblings soon lost interest in watching me smile and left for their game. I opened the wrapper underneath my blanket. I came out of the blanket like a turtle from the shell. I wanted to savour every moment, so I licked the gum, it was sweet and had a mint flavour. Mint was something new to me then. I began chewing th gum slowly first a little apprehensively and as time progressed like a pro. I felt so confident after a while, i remember picking up a book and slowing drifting into sleep.

As I woke some time in the evening , I felt the lingering taste of mint in my mouth. After a while I realized that the gum was no more in my mouth. I wanted to believe I had spit it in my sleep so I frantically searched my bed. I realized I had swallowed it but wanted to deny it because I had no idea what the consequences were. I was scared, overwhelmed with guilt. I wanted to talk to mom, apologize for what I had done. I even worried if I would be alive when mom returned. I watched my siblings play , I regretted not having joined them. I would soon leave them all forever. I could not imagine myself in a hospital, undergoing a surgery and dying. I decided to sleep again. Maybe death in sleep was painless or so I assumed.

I must have slept for quite some time because when I woke I heard mom's voice in the kitchen. I walked to her with amazement of being alive. She was her usual self that day so she ignored me for a while and when she did see me she scolded me for oversleeping. I told her my secret adventure with the chewing gum and my miraculous escape. Mom was silent for some time. She did not scold me as I expected but made me promise I would never chew a gum again.

I left the kitchen still confused about my survival, skeptical about mom's logic about chewing gums when mom said " Did you know that maggi caused cancer?" - " You kids should not have them ever".

Till date I hate maggi .

Chronicles of cooking- Part 3

2011-04-01T21:18:00.003-07:00

The morning has an air of excitement because we would have been struggling with the heat and parched landscape of Andhra Pradesh the previous day and now, the sight of abundant tress and rivulets revitalizes the spirit; not to miss the never ending sight of Bharatapuzha running parallel to the train endlessly. After one had soaked in the sights and smells like a hungry bear, because we would travel to Kerala only once in two or three years, the next best thing we would wait for, with aching eyes and tongue, is Pazham Pori. The sight of vendors carrying three pieces of them in a thin cellophane cover on the railway stations would make us go weak in the knees. So from very early in the day one would start cajoling the parents to buy us a pack or two and only after having consumed a handful that we feel that the vacations have truly started.

Even today this humble snack brings back the same age old memory every time and makes the tongue tickle with excitement. I have not come across a single malu, age no bar, whose eyes will not twinkle at the mention of Pazham Pori. The wider world has started to experiment with the taste of Banana Fritters and has started going gaga for it but for a malu, like me, it’s like manna from God’s own country.

For those out there who wants to experiment this recipe at home –

Ingredients

Nenthrapazham/ Ethakka/ - a bunch ( these are the same bananas used for making banana chips and sharkara varatti) For non mallus , there are different varieties of bananas but we make pazham poris using ethakkas alone. I don’t know if any other banana can substitute this.

Maida/ All purpose flour - 1 cup

Water

Salt

Oil

Sugar- if bananas are not too ripe sugar can be added
Food colour- yellow or turmeric powder if you like the fritters deep yellow.

Procedure

Slit the bananas into halves or quarters. Prepare a batter with maida and water with medium consistency. Add a pinch of salt and sugar to this batter. Add colour as per preference. Heat oil in a pan. Fry the bananas dipped in batter till they turn golden brown. Pazham poris are tea time snacks so goes well with tea or coffee.

Note: The more ripe the bananas are more oil they absorb so for health conscious people out there, always choose medium ripe bananas.

Catharsis of a research scholar part 1

2011-03-29T06:46:00.000-07:00

Many of you would have ended up on this blog for tips on research and that is exactly what I have been refraining from writing. Though this blog came out as an effort to ventilate my thoughts I never wanted to write about research. Firstly because I could not be blatant about how I felt about it while pursuing my programme at an institute and secondly I held a lot of reverence to the academic world.

Every research has a tale of woes and relentless struggle attached to it. If anyone believes its an ideal world out there, the first thing research teaches you is disappointment. The sooner you learn to adjust to them , better a researcher you become. Something else I have learned from research is to associate everything I read and live to my research, I don't know how it can be done in sciences but in social sciences and humanities there are plethora of opportunities for unfolding this possibility.

I was reading few tips on ethnographic fieldwork and there came up a point " chose contrasting settings for rewarding lessons". o maybe from a hospital or prison I can get insights about school life. I pondered over this for hours. And I admit the reflexivity you gain as a researcher is your best asset in life.

As I ponder over these lines,I can't stop myself from comparing a good research to a good marriage. They are contrasting environments yet so similar to me.

A guide and your husband can be thesis and antithesis in your life. Sometimes supportive sometimes not it all depends on your fortune and how you make the best out of it.Research problems sometimes disappoint you just like problems in your married life. There will always be an urge to quit but you always get stopped thinking is it worth it? And more the years you invest more hesitant you feel to quit. The brave and foolish or the Coward and wise ( in the same combination) choose to quit or stay back despite differences.

With years of experience one stops expecting from research or from life. It becomes a part of you.

Infidelity hurts, be it from a partner or a promising research. Yet every day you rise repeating the Royal Stag tagline -" I will make it large". Now it depends on your perspective if you are fooling yourself or giving it a new beginning. Sometimes you enter this relationships looking for specific gains, sometimes you don't know why you chose this. Disappointments or unexpected rewards could be your results such is a marriage or a research again. Sometimes love in in initial years diminishes slowly. Passion and love, dedication and patience are the keywords to both these worlds.

Papers and books are borne with labour pains as child, they are aborted or miscarried or risked both to be brought forth . All throughout your partner's or guide's role is minimal and supportive or non supportive but you realise the onus is on you. After all as Gilbert said " having a kid is like getting a tattoo it stays forever". A thesis is no different, the thoughts and words you put in stays forever even if its on your shelf :) and does not cry and require investments. A lot of the efforts defines your future.

Finally, you end up contentedly satisfied by your pangs years later or of the failure of not accomplishing. But if you succeed you have a thesis adorning your book shelf or a husband in your household and if you fail you have a void which you alone can decide what to fill with.

I am thankful for being married because it has helped me draw these parallels. This makes it an adventurous ethnography in itself :) as for the pains, let them be buried in the silences interspersed in these lines.

Animals are beautiful people

2011-03-28T21:11:00.001-07:00

Moni aunty's convent is our jungle in Bangalore. We often visit her to watch her garden and animals. This time we were delighted to see the piglets- 3 months old. They were 7 initially but 3 died due to some illness. The spotty was a new sight to us it's like a dalmatian pig. The little fellas were hungry all the time . WHO was superexcited and even lifted one foregoing the filth around. Animals indeed are beautiful people :)

Tale of two cities

2011-03-27T22:13:00.001-07:00

She was not a virgin to me when I first went to her. I already knew her, more from what my friends had told me about her. “She is like a dream”, they used to say. The first time it was a quicky, a day, or two at the most. I was anxious and she was full of activity, as always. It was for a test and I was not expecting to pass with flying colours. Even then she captivated me, though I was not able to pinpoint at the very essence of what was so different about her.

I kept going to her once in a while before I decided to make her mine. It was big decision, but I solaced myself thinking that others have also done it before me. Now, after spending more than two years with her, I am with someone else. Though I am not sure if this is going to be lifelong I am making efforts to make it unending. But recently, people who know me, have started asking me who is the better of the two, the previous one or the one now. Tough one that is, same as the first time I tried to figure out the difference in her. But I think I have an answer for it now, which some might agree and others differ. There are traits in both which some like and others hate, some exalt and some disparage. And so if you ask me, it’s difficult to pick one over the other completely. But when people look at you with expectations of giving them a clear winner, I say I am only happy to have spent time in Bombay (I like it this way) and not at all sad to be in Bangalore (this one too) today. Finally I thought that there needs to be a little more reason to decide how these cities would be different, not better or worse than the other.

Bombay has the old woman’s charm, who has seen it all, and she gives you her wisdom, accumulated over decades. You sit with her, for a cup of tea, with the sunset in front of you and the sand beneath and she will engage you with stories of past and present, of millionaires and paupers, of sweet dreams and of bitter realities. By the time you sip the last drop you believe you have seen it all. But she just smiles inward, on your naivety, because her stories are endless and her experiences, countless. You always feel that she has given a part of her to you, to cherish and treasure. But in reality she has added you to her stories.

Bangalore is like the girl who has just got married and is coming to terms with her womanhood. She’s excited because she’s getting out of old habits and stepping into a new world. She anxious at the same time because all this excitement is new and unknown to her. There might be rules to follow and conventions to adjust to. There is lot of attention on the new bride and people want to judge her: on her looks and on her temperament and she tries hard to put her best foot forward. She gives you a courteous smile and you think you are special; but she’s just polite, to all and sundry because it’s her wedding. You have a lot of other things to look forward to: friends, music, entertainment and food, after all you are invited to this party.

I am sure people would have liked me to mull more over the traffic snarls in Bangalore and the overflowing trains in Bombay, the night life in Bombay and the club scene in Bangalore, the cool weather in Bangalore vs. the sultry days in Bombay, the steep rent in Bombay compared to the ‘we are almost there’ rates in Bangalore, the vada paav vs. egg puff, the safe night outs in Bombay vs. get mugged nights in Bangalore, and last but not the least the ‘marathi manoos’ and ‘navu kannadiga’ fight against the outsiders. There are more to add to this list but I my objective here is not to complain or commend but accept these as things which give character to a place and nothing more. Bombay, in her hay days, was the dream city; and in many ways is what Bangalore is now. Then it was the hot bed for doing conventional business as Bangalore is for IT now. Throngs of people now reach Bangalore everyday as how it would have been to Bombay two decades earlier. I was not surprised when mom said the other day that nowadays everybody’s someone from Bhopal is in Bangalore. Surprisingly or not I have a few Bhopalis in my office too. Though I am sure that compared for every one person from Bhopal in Bangalore, there would be ten in Bombay today.

Almost a decade earlier when I was thinking to give Bangalore a chance I had only heard of it as a retirement paradise and an air force or army base. We never used to hear of it that often nor would anyone visit and share stories. A lot has changed since then, with better means of travel, communication and livelihood, no city today remains untouched. Say a city like Jaipur today, with the palaces, forts and fairs, might be tomorrow’s Bangalore. But when all is said and done about a city, what really matters are the friends and family in the city, a good and satisfying job, the food culture of the place and a nice place to stay and travel. I have had all these and more at both Bombay and Bangalore and maybe that’s why it’s difficult to compare.

In the end, I like her here today and about tomorrow I am not sure. Some other city or who knows if it’s some town. I am always ready to embrace her, for even I am not a virgin anymore.

Chronicles of cooking- Part 2

2011-03-24T10:34:00.000-07:00

One of my fondest memories from my childhood is waiting for mom to come back from work on every morning shift she did. This was because she got a lunch pack from her hospital. Each nurse was entitled to get one pack but mom always managed to get three for me and my siblings. This lunch pack was a treasure of tidbits. It always had a packet of juice, sndwich, pastry and a fruit. Some days we had lunch waiting for mom to come back but that never stopped us from relishing the lunch pack( No wonder we all gained those extra pounds).

I don't remember my mom ever eating anything from these lunch packs especially when we had three of them. She just loved to watch us beam with joy , taste these stuff, perhaps barter with each other what we didnt want and fight for goodies.

One of the sandwiches that often visited us home in these lunch packs was the brinjal-potato sandwich. We never loved brinjals back home but this sandwich happened to be one of my favourite. I don't remember mom making it at home, neither had I tried it in my kitchen ever until nostalgia made me brave to try it last week. So I rummaged my brain and scooped up this recipe.

Ingredients

Bread slices- as required

Potato- 1 thinly sliced

Brinjal/Aubergines- 1 thinly sliced

Mayonnaise- 2 spoons

Mustard sauce- 1 spoon

oil- for frying

salt

Procedure

Slice the brinjals and potatoes

and sprinkle salt and keep them aside for 15 minutes. Now fry these in a pan. Now mix mayonnaise and mustard sauce in a bowl. Apply this sauce to bread slices. Fill the bread with the fried brinjals and potatoes and grill the sandwich.

Watch out for the posts in future got some interesting pickles coming up.

Animals are beautiful people

2011-03-17T20:32:00.000-07:00

Bangalore has been a bird watcher's paradise for me, except for the fact that the bird I watch around is the mighty Eagle. We have eagles next to our apartment who rest in our balconies often. We sleep soundly familiar to their cries and late night discussions. This pic is from a tree next to clay station. I was always fascinated by the eagles soaring high near BTM and HSR layout and it was a wonderful surprise to watch one on the tree next to clay station. So here's an eagle in the animal pics section.

Womens' Day- Happy ????

2011-03-07T22:45:00.000-08:00

Some years ago, to be precise when I was 20 years old I got hold of Pinki Virani's 'Aruna's Story'.I would not recommend it as a classic and it isn't for that matter. But I know I could not sleep for nights after I read about it. I was aware of women being raped and I was also aware that men did rape for vengeance, what I found unacceptable was the fact that there was a woman paralysed for 30 years just because she did her job. And the man who did this offence served for seven years in jails and was free.

It irked me when I thought this could be me if I dared to object or ascertain myself, which reminded me why menfolk in my family beleived women needed to be protected and had no right to decide their life.

For those of you who have not read about Aruna, she was a nurse who worked in K.E.M hospital , Mumbai 38 years ago. On Novemeber 27,1973 she was attacked by wardboy Sohanlal asphyxiated with a dog chain and sodomized. Sohanlal was later arrested and sentenced on charges of robbery and assault and not rape and unnatural sexual offence which could have earned him a longer sentence.

My mom was in Mumbai during this incident and she told me the nurses had gone on a strike appealing for safety measures. Such was the power an incident like this had on commoners who were oblivous to the word 'rape' otherwise. Pain cannot be compared or I beleive it should not be rather. Someone once asked me " so many women get raped then why does Aruna Shaunbag gets the limelight ? " It is a sensible question to reflect upon. I cant compare the brutalities inflicted by rapists on different women neither am I willing to pacify myself grading thse occurrences on parameters like age, stigma, and victim's life aftermath.

Aruna's case has caught our attention recently due to Pinki Virani's petition to the Supreme Court pleading to administer Euthanasia for Aruna. Though her care takers and doctors feel this is unethical and Aruna seems to respond emotionally at times especially to her favourite food, her vegetative state for last 38 years makes it difficult to reach a decision.

And to think of why she is in such a state today makes me feel helpless being a woman. The world never came to a standstill in the past 38 years though for Aruna it in non existential. Her family and loved ones moved ahead in life leaving her at the hands of merciful caretakers who managed to keep her sore free and alive for 38 years.

What would I do if I were her? This question has been haunting me for 8 years though I hardy know this woman. What beats me is the apathy with which my neighbour cooked today while I was narrating this story to her.

Maybe it's true the moment an incident happens it ceases its vitality and starts being a story. Aruna is a story today for many ............ but I cant understand a society which believes every rape is a similar story.

Happy women's day- I don't understand what this day means except for few discounts of jewellery and cosmetics and puppies and candies, what does this day actually mean?

Can I wish women like Aruna a happy women's day?

p.S- Supreme court has rejected Aruna's plea for euthanasia however it has marked a new dawn for euthanasia in India- by allowing passive euthanasia with stipulated guidelines.

Animals are beautiful people

2011-02-21T19:28:00.000-08:00

We had been seeing a lot of his land cousin for years now and so when we saw this little guy sticking to our room door in Kamshet, we knew instantly that this was a tree frog, only seen on Discovery and Animal Planet so far. His long fingers and slender body helps climb trees. Though we have seen a few tree snakes and now we know why the snakes make it to the trees. He stuck to this pose until we had a heartul of pics.

Two cups of tea with me

2011-02-17T20:17:00.000-08:00

Confusing the title would be, but this was what I did yesterday. Was it boredom, loneliness, saddism or narcissism I don't know. But I just felt like making two cups of tea. I placed them on the table facing each other and set my scrabble board. I played for both sides though I drank one cup at a time. Heightened maddness my alter ego screamed. But maybe I made truce with being alone.

I have been watching MTV Roadies lately and there is a question that frequently comes up in every personal interviews- "what is your biggest fear" ? Mostly people talk about heights, rejections, lies and many other stuff.For me its loneliness. And on this semester break of mine that is exactly what I am suffering rather trying to avoid.

When you are in a race it does not matter if you fall, win or lose as long as you run . But when you are unable to run and step aside and watch others , your inability at first pricks you, then mocks you and later remains like a bandaged wound. A break is the same. No more excuses to tell people for being busy. Suddenly you are reminded that you are jobless and free to relax. Though a part of me says " Why should I bother about others" ?

How would a fish feel if it sat ashore watching other fishes swim? It would die eventually, I feel the same despite immersing into all my hobbies. By the end of the day he creeps under my blanket and laughs at all my ploys that day to avoid him. He reminds me that I cant camouflage him by acting busy and he is my friend- Loneliness.

He tells me making ladoos and playing scrabble or pretending to have a cup of tea with my guardian angel wont help - he would still be with me.

When you drive with your loved ones at a high speed in life ,stop at a speed breaker and others continue oblivious to the fact you are left behind it is disheartening. But when someone tells you, you had the luxury to brake at the speed breaker while they still had to go ahead in the race it hits you hard. And it takes a lot of cognitive processing to explain to yourself that you are not supposed to get hurt at the allegations of your loved ones.For once I wish I could somehow uncomplicate my life by being apathetic or atleast be retarded to shield myself from being hurt.

I chose the speed breaker to the hairpin turns- perhaps a luxury some would say.But then would I be here with this scrabble board and two cups of tea?

Michaelangelo's David

2011-02-16T04:46:00.001-08:00

Italy taught me to appreciate three things - sculptures, fountains and gealato and in the same order. I was in love with sculptures at every piazza from Padova to Rome throughout my stay. I would love to write about them in these series but I wanted to start with Michaelangelo's David - my favourite. This post evolved out of a recent experience. We bought and LCD TV and some guys came home for installation. While installing the TV they were looking at the artefacts displayed on the shelf above and I saw a guy freeze seeing the miniature statue of David. Obviously he thought one of us was a maverick or exhibitionist.

'Who' and I have had big arguments over displaying David at home. He seemed disappointed that I insisted to display it ( I tell him he is jealous of David) and he had no option but agree. He gets irritated when I start expressing my love for this perfect piece of art and says its just a mannequin chipped out of a piece of marble.

What many people might not know is that David is actually King David from the old testament of bible. And this sculpture depicts his preparation for a fight when he was a boy with the giant Goliath whom noone could defeat. Bible describes David to have defeated Goliath with his sling shot hence on his left shoulder you see the sling. Michaleangelo sculpted this figure between 1501-1504. The statue was installed at Palazzo Vecchio next to Donatello's statue of Judith another heroic character from the old testament. Michaleangello was just 26 years when he sculpted this master piece.

When I visited Galleria Dell Academia at Florence I was turned off by the long queue for this small gallery which was famous for this statue alone. My friends were uninterested is standing in such a long queue and said they would rather prefer seeing the replica of David at Palazzo Veccchio. The original one which was installed in 1500's was transferred to this gallery and a replica was made for public. Hence photography of the original is prohibited though I managed to have pics of both.

What fascinates me and many others would agree is the collosal size of the sculpture. David's face has a tense look , his eyes stern and confident. Some argue this pose is after the combat and a pose of victory while some others argue its his pose before the fight and hence the tense look.
When I first learned about David and Goliath as a kid from my mom who often read to us from the picture bible I had a picture of a young boy who was slim and weak. But the muscular structure of David chiseled by Michaleangelo depicts an adolescent.

Though nude a fact which many would argue is vulgar I find David a very appealing sculpture. His eyes attract me more than elsewhere. Nude statues are very common all over the world from Khajuraho to Renaissance works in Europe. But David does not strike me vulgar.

Its a depiction of elation, of pride and victory and to watch him is an experience. Maybe I am crazy and so would you be if you were there with me.

P.S - This is our 200th post and we would love to thank all our readers for their suggestions and support.

Animals are beautiful people

2011-02-09T21:19:00.000-08:00

A white black buck spotted at IIT Madras. Black buck is an endangered species and there are around 20 of them in IIT. Mostly brown in colour with leaf like imprinted ears and curved antlers galloping gracefully evading passerbys and photographers, Black bucks are the pride of IIT's wild life. I have been trying to capture this rare one for the past 2 years. This one must be a product of some catastrpohic mutation like the white crow .WHO managed to get a few good shots recently for me. So here is the white black buck. How metaphoric!!!!

Why I am a Feminist -Part1

2011-01-24T02:53:00.000-08:00

Phew the title frightens me when I aniticpate the anonymous comments I am gonna receive from people I know. But I have been contemplating on this for quite some time. Not because I am gonna lash out people out there and enjoy sadistically. Just because recently I had few experiences which required a catharsis, I thought it was worth putting into words.

Whenever I spoke about women or issues related to women I have been asked emphatically if I were a Feminist? The tone often varied from being sarcastic to condemned , surprised, irritated, confused and baffled. To people who know me well this was nothing bad but to those unknown I transcended to a monster who hated men, spoke ill about them and lived to concoct plans to exterminate them something very close to Nazism.

The very fact I am married is sufficient a reason to deny all the above claims but then people get curious if I am torturing my hubby or has he managed to train his dragon (that's me).

On this juncture I would like to share my views on feminism. I was called so for the first time in my ninth standard and I had no clue what the term meant. I would stick to my definition of those days. A feminist to me is a woman who celebrates womanhood and does not tolerate any shit coz she is a woman.

This was my response to people who stopped me from doing thing because I was a girl overtly or covertly. And since I came from a supportive family and had a very strong mother I was never subdued. It took me to surprise that this was not the case in other homes. Girls were raised very differently from boys and told it was for their good as they were the weaker sex.

I was recently told by a guy that he loved Mumbai. When I asked why so he replied the girls were babes. I added they were bold too. He replied saying women can never be bold and this irritated me a lot. This is one problem I have experienced for 27 years of my life. Women had to be beautiful to entertain men and that's what our media has succeeded in doing so far. Not many stories or movies portraying women in lead roles succeed. In fact the more dumb the women portray themselves it fails to appeal to men who disapprove and women who feel scandalised( definitely they are never indoctrinated to revolt).

I am often reminded women should not think aloud I don't understand why though. A friend of mine , a very dear one in fact told me " You are not the prototype for the kind of wife I would be looking out in future". We were a group of close friends and this comment upset me a lot. I asked him why and he said it was unfeminine to argue, debate and not obey. I wonder what they think of WHO today.

I dont hate men infact all my good friends are men, sensible men who have accepted me as I am and support the thoughts I share with them.

And Why am I a Feminist? Precisely because I cant tolerate any shit against me because I am a woman.

P.S- I expect a lot of anonymous blunders and I promise they will be published here.

Our First Anniversary

2011-01-10T23:51:00.000-08:00

When I prepared to sleep on Jan 9th I rewinded all the events of the same day, the previous year. I told myself I would never be able to pull through it again and in fifteen minutes I would be celebrating my first anniversary with WHO. He lay next to me busily reading Erich Segal's 'Acts of Faith'. I looked at his face, he looked calm and serene the same guy I have been in love with over a year. I have been fretting over my aged looks recently but he kept assuring me I was the same. We had already made plans for the anniversary. WHO never could keep secrets with me sniffing them so I knew where we would dine, what we would wear and how our anniversary was going to be.

I woke up late hearing my pots and pans waging wars with each other in the process of finding their place in the cupboards. This is something WHO did religiously every day morning before I woke up. He saw all the utensils dryed overnight went into the cupboards and I woke up with a cup of tea next to me. I started wondering how would I feel one day when it stopped. If I died or he died , I thought it was cruel to behave saddistically on one's first anniversary. That's when I noticed posteds on the bedroom door, then the refriegerator and walls nearby. I soon discovered two shining boxes.

I admit I am pathetic , I was gifted with a pair of diamond ear rings and a nosering and instead of jumping up and down I began mentally calculating the weight and the cost ( cant help it, comes with the genes with dad's jewellery business). I was sad that all I could manage for him was an Excalibur shirt of size 39 ( WHO wears 38). But with WHO you cant fret for long.

We had a rejuvenation session in the afternoon. We hoped to look like how we did a year ago. I think its a dream every couple has and I dragged WHO into this nonsense but I thought he deserved some relaxation more than me. And it was worth it,my hero looked dashing after the process.

We had reservations to EBONY in MG road at the rooftop on 13th floor. We had read reviews before choosing this place. I was looking forward to the authentic parsi dishes and WHO was looking forward to a romantic evening. We were so famished by the time we reached there that I think we forgot the romantic part. The rooftop made me feel cold with my sleeveless dress. I looked under or over dressed compared to the women around me. I survived the ogling and the temperature coz we paid some money for the dress and it deserved dignity.
WHO looked charming in his suit with the size 39 excalibur shirt.

The dhansak was tasteless and I look forward to some authentic parsi dishes in the future. The mixed grill was awesome. The wine was fine except WHO felt drunk and I had to finish his glass too. Alcohol doesnt suit WHO and its funny I pass as a drunkard in his eyes.

We had a cake cutting ceremony which did remind me of our wedding cake which got stolen after we cut it so we were the only two who had our wedding cake. And voila history repeats we are the only ones who had it this time. I packed and got the remaining cake lest someone steals them again.

I know this doesnt sound very romantic. But we are very romantic people you know but we are just lazy to write it here.

But the best part is We are together and it's been a year. And now when I contemplate I realise marriages dont work on diamonds and dinners, dresses and demands. It works coz you know you would still be with each other despite all odds. It works coz you want to make it work. I know this wont please women who still expect diamonds and dinners and the fact is I got them both and No I am not gonna give them to you just coz I said I dont beleive in them.

Its been a great , big, mad year. I hope so is next year and the next and the next and the next...........

Marriage FAQs - Part 2

2011-01-04T21:05:00.000-08:00

So here we are again, bringing to light a few more of the compelling and intriguing questions that couples like us get to hear and answer.

Q.8: Are medical tests important before marriage?
A: if you are not very very sure that you don’t have AIDS then do get yourself tested. Don’t do high treason with your partner. If you are sure that you have headaches, then open-up and start medicines. Headaches cause lots of issues in married life. If you are very sure that you have syphilis, then own up to it, before the doctor makes a donkey of you, in front of your partner.

Q.9: Should I let my wife work?
A: If you are not Prince Alwaleed of Saudi Arabia, then you better want your better half to work. It is always advisable that she spend more time in front of the computer than in front of the idiot box. Moreover it gives the lady the means to buy you some surprise gifts and for you to borrow money, interest free, when your friends act pricey.

Q.10: Is it an issue if my wife earns more than me?
A: Research says that more of anything leads to problems. But you can solve this by making a pact that whatever extra one partner earns will be spend only on the other partner, who earns less. The fear of spending more can always be a motivation to earn less. But recent research also warn that more than salary, you should be worried about who you report to at your workplace. You don’t want to have the same boss, both at home and office!

Q.11: We always have fights deciding whose parents we should spend the holidays with?
A: If your parents are good with you spending the holidays with their counterparts then you really have adorable parents. Else drop the ball in their court by asking both the parents to come and stay with you. Usually the in-laws back out of such a proposition because they don’t want to share space and rights with their adversaries. But if they call your bluff and agree to play ball, you will have tough time juggling balls of thorns.

Q.12: My wife is very beautiful and I am uncomfortable. What to do?
A: Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder, but you don’t go scratching those eyes if it belongs to your neighbour. You got mesmerized by her and that's why you had said yes in the first place. Ideally your chest should swell up with pride when you see the guy next door eyeing the wifey. But sooner than later he will end up at your door step looking for spanner, sugar or paper. It is then important that you should have the six packs beneath your chest to take care of the bumble bees.

Happy New Year

2011-01-02T06:05:00.000-08:00

I had a lousy start for New Year. I was down with flu. Though I was down for few days I chose
Jan 1 for seeing a doctor. Being sick makes us all pessimists. At the moment I hate the Institute, the insti hospital, the mess food and my department. The reasons are specific and unspecific but I love the hating part. I broke a lovely sandal of mine on the 1st of Jan in the middle of the road and walked barefoot. Since I was dressed in black and modestly I might have been mistaken for an Ayyapa devotee. Oh regarding young women not allowed at Sabarimala I have quite a few grey hairs and my face looked too aged with the fever I could have passed for a 60 yr old easily. The best part of New year was that I met my friend Lakshmi and her new born. And ofcourse I had WHO with me for New year though I was sad we could not celebrate New Year with me being sick.

For New Year resolutions I got quite a lot this time to start with I would want to take care of all my health issues and exercise my body a lot and not my mind. I am on a serious-track- my books -down mission.I am at the moment surrounded by a lot of neagatives and am gonna stay in my I hate this....... phase.

Hope you all have a fabulous New Year , I somehow am pessimistic about mine.

അങ്ങനെ ഒരു യാത്ര

2010-12-29T22:44:00.001-08:00

കേരളത്തെ ഗോഡ്സ് ഓവന്‍ കണ്‍ട്രി എന്ന് വിശേഷിപിച്ചു അഭിമാനിക്കുന്നവരോട് എനിക്ക് പുച്ഛം ഒന്നുമില്ലേലും ഞാന്‍ എന്റെ നാടിനെ പറ്റി ആരോടും ഒന്നും തന്നെ പറയാറില്ല . കപ്പേം മീനും ചമ്മണ്ടിം കഞ്ഞിയും, പരാടയും , ടോഖ്ല്ലയും ഒരുപോലെ കഴിക്കുന്ന എനിക്ക് ഇഷ്ട ഭക്ഷണം ഇന്നും കേരളിയ വിഭവങ്ങള്‍ തന്നെ. ഫ്രൌദ് മല്ലു എന്ന് സ്വയം വിശേസിപിക്കുന നാടില്‍ ജനിച്ച പല മിടുക്കന്മാരേം മിടുകികലെകാല്‍ എന്റെ ഭാഷയേം, സംസ്കരതെം ഞാന്‍ വളരെ മനസിലാകിയിരുന്നു , ആദരിച്ചിരുന്നു . പക്ഷെ ഞാന്‍ ഇത് ഒരികലും ആരോടും പറഞ്ഞിട്ടില്ല. ബഷീരിനേം, മുകുണ്ട്നേം നെഞ്ചോടു ചേര്‍ത്ത് കഴിയുമ്പോളും ഞാന്‍ എന്റെ നാടിന്‍റെ സാഹിത്യതെം, ചലച്ചിത്രങ്ങളുടെ ഇന്ടെല്ലെക്ടുഅല് സ്ട്രീകിനെ കുറിച്ച് ആരോടും ഒന്നും പറഞ്ഞിട്ടില്ല. മറ്റു നാടുകളുടെ നല്ലതിനെ ഞാന്‍ എന്നും മാനിച്ചിരുന്നു .

അങ്ങനെ ഉള്ള പാവം ഞാന്‍ രണ്ടു ദിവസം റോമ നഗരം കാണാന്‍ രണ്ടു സുഹൃത്തുകളുടെ കൂടെ ഇറങ്ങഗി തിരിച്ചു . ഒരുത്തന്‍ ഒറിയാ മറ്റൊരുത്തന്‍ ബെന്ഗാളി . ട്രെയിനില്‍ കയറിയ നിമിഷം മുതല്‍ 'ദി ബെസ്റ്റ് ഇന്‍ ഇന്ത്യ ' പറ്റി വിടല്സ് തുടങ്ങി . രസഗുല്ല സംസ്ഥാന മധുര പലഹാരതിനുള്ള ബഹുമതി നേടിയതും അതൊരു അര്‍ഹിക്കുന്ന സമ്മാനം ആണെന് ആദ്യം പറഞ്ഞു . അതെ സമയം ദോശ ദേശിയ ഭക്ഷണമായി ഏറ്റവും കൂടുതല്‍ വോട്ട് നേടിയത് ദക്ഷിണ ഇന്ത്യകാര്‍ വോട്ട് ചെയ്തെടു കൊണ്ടാനെനും സൌത്ത് ഇന്ത്യന്‍ ഫുഡ്‌ ഈസ്‌ ബാദ് എന്നും പറഞ്ഞു നയം വ്യക്തമാക്കി , പായസം ഒരിസ്സയില്‍ നിന്ന് ഭാരതം മുഴുവന്‍ സഞ്ചരിച്ചതും , ഒരിസ്സയിലെ ഭക്ഷണം ലോകത്തിലെ തന്നെ ഏറ്റവും മികച്ച ഭക്ഷണം ആണ് എന്ന് കേട്ട് എന്റെ കണ്ണ് നിറഞ്ഞു. എത്ര കൊടുങ്കാറ്റു വീഷിയാലും തെങ്ങുകള്‍ വീഴാത്ത ഒരിസായും, പരിപ് കറിയില്‍ വറുത്ത മീന്‍ തല ഇട്ടു വയ്കുന്ന ബെന്ഗാളി വിഭവവും , അവിടെ നിന് ഉത്പാദിപിക്കുന്ന നോബല്‍ ശാസ്ട്രനജന്മാരും ,ജന ഗാന മന എഴുതിയവന്‍ ബെങ്ങളി അന്നെനും എല്ലാം കേട്ട് ഞാന്‍ ഒന്നും ഉരിയാടതിരുന്നു . മഹാന്മാരുടെ നാട്ടില്‍ നിന്നും വന്ന ഈ ബുദ്ധിരാക്ഷസന്മാര്‍ റോമ നഗരത്തിലെ ഒരു വഴി കണ്ടു പിടിക്കാന്‍ പെട്ട പാട്‌ കാണേണ്ടത് തന്നെ ആയിരുന്നു . എന്നിട്ട് മാപ്പ് നോക്കി വഴി കണ്ടു പിടിച്ച എന്നോട് നാടോടികാടില്ലേ ഒരു മാതിരി ദാസ , വിജയ കോമഡി പറഞ്ഞു വലിയ ഉപദേശങ്ങള്‍ ഓതി നടന്നു.

ഒരു മതവിശ്വാസി ആയെന്നോട് ക്രിസ്തു ഫ്രൌദ് അന്നെനും പളികലെലം റബ്ബിഷ് അന്നെനും 'Michaelangelo യുടെ പ്രതിമകള്‍ 'സാഡിസ്റ്റ്' അന്നെനും നല്ല സ്ഥലങ്ങള്‍ നിങ്ങളുടെ മാര്‍പാപ്പ 'Basillica' ആകി മുടിച്ചു എന്നും ആരോപിച്ചു

കൊഞ്ഞന്ന്നം കാട്ടുന കുട്ടിയെ സഹിക്കുന്ന പോലെ ഞാന്‍ അതും സഹിച്ചു .

കേരള ഗവണ്മെന്റ് മൂരാച്ചി അന്നെനും കമ്മ്യൂണിസം ഇടിഞ്ഞു പൊളിയുമെന്നും എന്നും ബ്ജ്പ് കി ജയ് എന്നും മണ്ടന്മാര്‍ എന്നോട് പറഞ്ഞു.

ആഗോഷകരമായ എന്റെ റോമ യാത്ര ഇങ്ങനത്തെ രസകരമായ പുതിയ കാഴ്ചകളും അവയോടൊത്തുള്ള പുതിയ അറിവുകളുമായി പുരോഗമിച്ചു.

ഒടുവില്‍ ചൈനീസ് കാരുടെ ഭക്ഷണം കഴികന്നം എന്ന് പറഞ്ഞു മൂന്ന് കിലോമ മീറെര്‍ എന്നെ നടത്തി അറിയാത്ത സാധനം എല്ലാം ഓര്‍ഡര്‍ ചെയ്തു വാരിവലിച്ചു തിന്നിട്, അവര്ക് അരി വയ്കാന്‍ അര്രിയില്ല എന്നും കുറ്റം പറഞ്ഞു .

എന്നിട് അവര്‍ എന്നോട് ചോദിച്ചു നിങ്ങളുടെ സംസ്ഥാനതുള്ളവര്‍ എങ്ങനെ എല്ലാ ഇടതും എതിപെടുന്നു.

മന്ദഹസിചോണ്ട് ഞാന്‍ പറഞ്ഞു "ഞങ്ങള്‍ ആരേം ചരിത്രം പടിപികാറില്ല , പിന്നെ പടിപിച്ചേ തീരുനുല്ലവനിട്ടു പണി കൊടുകാതെ പിന്വങ്ങരില്ല
പായസം ഒറിയ കാരന്റെ ആയാലും ഞങ്ങള്കത്തു വിട്ടു കാശ് ആകിയാല്‍ മതി , കൊടുങ്കാറ്റില്‍ തെങ്ങ് പോയാല്‍ ഞങ്ങള്ക് പുല്ലാ ഗള്‍ഫ്‌ തെങ്ങും , എണ്ണയും മോനേ ഇന്ഗോഴുകികൊലും . പിന്നെ വഴി നോകാനും ജീവിച്ചുപോകാനും ഞങ്ങള്‍ കുഞ്ഞില്ലേ പടികുനത് കൊണ്ട് എല്ലായിടത്തും എത്തി പെടുന്നു എന്ന് പറഞ്ഞു ഞാന്‍ എന്റെ എളിയ സംഭാഷണം നിര്‍ത്തി

അത്രേം പറയേണ്ടടിലയിരുന്നു എന്ന് പിന്നിട് തോന്നി പക്ഷെ രണ്ടു കൊടുകന്നം എന്നുള്ള എന്റെ ആഗ്രഹത്തെ ഇറ്റലി ജീവിതം മരവിപിച്ചതിനാല്‍ രണ്ടെണ്ണം അടിച്ചിട്ട് തെറി പറയാനാകാതെ വിതുമ്പി ഞാന്‍ റോമ നഗരത്തോട് വിട പറഞ്ഞു കൂടെ ഉള്ള കഴുതകള്‍ രണ്ടായി പിരിഞ്ഞതിനാല്‍ തിരച്ചു വരവില്‍ ഒറിയ ചരിത്രം മാത്രം പഠിച്ചു . I pod , പുസ്തകം , ഉറകം എന്നീ മരുന്നുകള്‍ എല്കതായ്പോള്‍ അടുത്തുള്ള Mexico യുവാവിനോട് സംസരികമെന്നു വെച്ച് അപ്പോള്‍ ഒരിയകാരന്‍ അവനോടു ഇന്ത്യ ചരിത്രം പറയാന്‍ തുടങ്ങി.

അവന്റെ സംഭാഷണം ഇന്നും എന്റെ കാതുകളില്‍ മുഴങ്ങുന്നു

'ആദിയില്‍ ഒറിയ ഉണ്ടായി , പിന്നെ അത് ഭരതമായി . ഭാരതം ഒറിയ കാരന്റെ ലോകം ആണ് എന്നോകെ എന്തൊകെയോ മണ്ടത്തരം പുലമ്പി കൊണ്ടിരുന്നു . പാവം Mexico കാരന്റെ മുഖം നിസഹായമായി എന്നെ നോക്കി .

എനീകു തന്നെ മനസിലാകുന്നു സുഹൃത്തേ ധൃവങ്ങല്‍ക അപ്പുറം നമ്മുടെ ലോകങ്ങള്‍ എങ്കിലും ഇങ്ങനത്തെ ചില സാഹചര്യങ്ങളില്‍ ' We are victims of ethnocentrism ' ആരോടും മിണ്ടാതെ കിട്ടിയ സമയം ഞാന്‍ ഉറങ്ങുനതായി നടിച്ചു .

ഒരികളും രസഗുല്ല ഇഷ്ടമല്ലാത്ത എനിക്ക് ഇന്നി അതിനെ വെറുക്കാന്‍ വേറെ ഒരു കാരണം കൂടി .

Chronicles of cooking- Part 1

2010-12-28T04:57:00.000-08:00

I suddenly realised amidst my cooking that I have never shared anything about this passion of mine on this blog. I turned off my gas stove and here I am ready to share my innermost passion. To think of how I wrote more than 160 posts without touching this topic amazes me but then we all fall short of words when we want to express something we are very passionate of. Hence except for the slide show on the blog which shows food pics you would not come across any posts on food.

I fell in love with cooking at the age of 3. My mom and dad always supplied me with kitchen playthings and I would imitate mom. Dolls never fascinated me infact I would dismantle the dolls and use their legs and arms to make my make-believe chicken and Lamb dishes. So after a point mom quit buying me dolls. I would powder thermocol sheets and make rice out of them and break brown bangles to use them as garnished onions. Yellow lego blocks were fish fried to me and I was so obsessed with my small kitchen.

I still remember making coffee for dad in my pink cup and saucer and each time I insisted dad taste my empty cups he would remark " No sugar , Not strong enough" . I was always amused by mom's kitchen and many of you would agree with me that Indian kitchens are very colorful.

The first task mom gave me in her kitchen was to peel garlic and onions. I was 9 years old and delighted at the privilege. Very soon I realised it was a boring task and demanded to be promoted to higher tasks. But I always made it a point to make my sister who was younger to me to peel garlic as an initiation to cooking though her initiation lasted for a couple of years.

When girls of my age played hopscotch I learned to cook. And from day 1 I fell in love with the process. My dreams and make believe games were not a reality. The kitchen was my chemistry laboratory, my botanical garden. When at school I learned of vitamins and their sources I never remembered understanding them the way I did with mom.

Many of my friends thought I was mad some other thought mom made me do all the house work and I lied I enjoyed it. Many others told me I was missing a lot an average teenager should be doing. However I enjoyed mastering a skill and a hobby that was to remain with me forever.

I have friends who tell me they cant cook and everything they do ends up as a blunder. But I find cooking therapeutic , a cathartic activity. Many advise cooking as a stress buster. I agree.

I could go on and on about this passion of mine but I got more posts in future for that. For now here is a little recipe for ardent chefs.

Fenugreek seeds curry

Fenugreek seeds- 100 gm
Onion- 1
Tomato- 2
Green Chillies- 4
Coconut scraped- 1
Turmeric powder- 1 tsp
Chilli powder- 1 tsp
Salt
Oil

Soak the fenugreek seeds for a day and throw the water away ( if you are diabetic drink the water) Leave the fenugreek seeds for a day and they will sprout. Now add the chopped onions and green chillies to heated oil in a pan. When they are brown add turmeric and chilli powder followed by chopped tomatoes and salt. Add little water and make a thick gravy. Into this add the sprouted fenugreek seeds. When its cooked add the scraped coconut.

This is a very healthy dish especially for those suffering from diabetes or prone to diabetes.

I have always loved the smell of fengreek seeds hope you do too.

Merry Christmas

2010-12-24T06:43:00.001-08:00

MERRY CHRISTMAS

This is our first Christmas and we are thankful to Lord for it. We wish all our family, friends, near (we miss all who are not with us this day) and very dear ones a very beautiful Christmas.

P.S. That's our first Christmas tree as well and there are loads of gifts under it too. We wanted to put a pic of that too but we have a non-disclosure clause with Santa. Once we open them we would put them. We are waiting anxiously for Rudolph and the Big guy.

Animals are beautiful people

2010-12-16T19:31:00.000-08:00

I have been trying to write this post for so long that if I would have waited any longer I would have become as old as I was young when I first saw this thing. To say the least, it’s a cocoon. And I was really surprised at the detailing that went into creating this little thing. It was usually found clinging to shrubs, made of dried stems of the same shrub, I guess, and glued together with a high tensile gossamer like substance. I used to like the dexterity with which the thing was made: neat piles of dried small stems, of equal length, held together in a cylindrical fashion, with space for life inside. The cocoon was not stationary but kept moving from branch to branch. I used to wonder if this thing was made on the ground, using the dried branches fallen on the ground, and then carried upwards or was it made on the shrub itself, but then it would be difficult to pluck dried branches and glue them in mid air. Whatever be the method, the execution was perfect.

More often in the struggle to prize this thing open I used to squash the insect or caterpillar inside. Many of these were sacrificed at the altar of my curiosity though I was never able to see the whole life cycle of the insect: how it got there, how it made this cocoon and who flew out of it eventually.

So when I found it again at Moni’s convent recently I was filled with joy, similar to finding a childhood toy in the attic. I went through the whole exercise of opening it but found nothing inside. So this lucky one took wings before it could meet me or its end. I took a few pics to share it here. So if any of you have any idea of what this thing is then please let me know.

Bridget's Candid Confessions - Part 1

2010-12-14T01:50:00.000-08:00

Hey,

I am Bridget. I am called so because I am cute and chubby and confused. I speak aloud and upset a lot of people. I got no track of people moving in and out of my life. I cant differentiate between my friends and enemies. That's also because my friends are all jerks well .... like me. We all love food and I end up fretting over the gained calories. I hate men especially when they eyes pop out when they look at my ##%@* .

My best friend is a guy and the stupid has been lying to me for the past 7 years about his birthday being on the Nov 1st when it's actually the 2nd. He ended up lying to impress a female who asked him if his birthday wasn't on the 1st of Nov like hers. The sad part of the story is hers was on Nov 7th and she was lying like him. Compulsive sick liars I must say. lets call this guy ' compulsive liar'

I hate my looks. I got grey hairs way too early in life and my hair is wavy black. I love my glasses they are 'red' and I am a communist. I love to read and talk (I talk to myself all the time).
I suddenly realise all my good friends are men and they are weird.
I love this friend of mine who is a 'compulsive abuser 'always labelled the 'womaniser'. He talks shit and that's his mask. Girls hate him ( well he says I ain't a girl). He is twice my size and yet calls me a fatso. I get fed up having coffees with him and watch him gawking girls.

I love my boy friend yeah I got one. He is a 'compulsive loner'. He can read and watch movies whole day long and I guess he was a sloth bear in his last life. He hates being among crowds. He loves eating alone, sleeping alone, playing alone to the extent I feel invisible. But I don't need him to respond I could just ventilate for hours the only reason why we get along well.

You would not want to hear about my girl friends coz they are not super cool as you would expect. There's the 'compulsive eater' and 'compulsive lover'. Compulsive eater has just one aim in life GAIN WEIGHT. I wish I could lend few pounds to her. She eats butter and drinks ghee yet remains as thin as a stick. when she does not eat she watches movies. She has renounced the world and is mostly dormant.

Compulsive lover has the same old problem. She is either smitten , or infactuated,or haunted or bored with love. Her temprament varies from day to day. In one moment she is the staunch feminist and in another a devoted lover. At one moment she is The career woman and the very next moment a docile wifey type. She is as confused as me and messy. I often find stuff I lost months ago after a year or two when she cleans her room. Never have I seen anyone dwell in mess like her but she is hilarious.

I love my life with these three guy friends and 2 girl friends and 5 cats and three dogs and their stories which becomes my own.

Asha the great

2010-12-10T02:21:00.000-08:00

Asha my sister is a bundle of wits . Even today you could be taken for a free ride if you talk to her. She has made our childhood eventful with umpteen blunders which she thought was fun and has pained my mom like anything. She also was very imaginative like any child for her age and have irritated me and amused people with her wonderful stories. Every time she wanted something and you denied her she would cook up stories of having received an oracle from Mother Mary in her dream and the person who denies her would be severely punished. She often managed to get her things done through Mother Mary and her oracles. The fact that she really beleived that others beleived her made me angry because I could outrightly see that people just had fun out of her. But ignorance is bliss and Asha never realised she was taken for a ride maybe that was the most beautiful part of her.

One such afternoon as we were having lunch Asha began giggling at the table. Mom who sense d something wrong to happen asked Asha to shut up. She was not easy to be shut up so she giggled even more making my aunt ( dad's brother's wife) ask what it was that made her giggle. To this she replied it was something connected to the aunt. Mom sensing the danger asked her to finish her food. But the aunt persisted that Asha tell all of us what about the aunt made her giggle. She then turned around and looked at all of us and asked with all her gesticulations as if she had reached the climax of a movie " Shall I tell you all?" There was no stopping her so I was silent and I am sure mom might have made a silent prayer that she speak something sensible. Asha still continued like a skillful storyteller " Do you all want to know why I giggled?" "Yes", said the aunt. "I visualised you like someone so I giggled", she said. The suspense was building up and now my uncle who loved my sister more than me , coaxed her and said " No more suspenses, whom does your aunt resemble?"
She burst out like popcorn from an AK-47 rifle and said " You look like a Gorilla haaaahhaaaahiihiii".
My aunt froze, so did my uncle. Mom got away by asking us all to finish our lunch and clear the table. I looked at my aunt, I could not decipher how she felt. I never understood what embarrassment could mean at that age but I am sure she must have felt something like that. As for Asha she cleared the table with the satisfaction of a standup comedian.

N.B- She does not joke any more but can slaughter you with her janshatabdi speed in conversations

Random thoughts

2010-12-08T19:45:00.000-08:00

Now this is what I call 'suicide'. You got tonnes of work and you keep procastinating and for no reason out of the blue , you blog. Well no wonder this blog was named catharasis :P But to be frank I have never ventilated in the true sense ( and yet people tell me I am too candid)
Well Its a beautiful morning in Chennai after the rains, clogged toliets and worms around. Finally clothes dry and that is a respite for us hostellers.
The food is horrible and I am having my secret potion which makes me eat less ( No I wont share the secret even if you kill me) and I hope to lose weight ( No wonder Sony calls me Bridget , I look like her these days).
My hubby the humble 'Who' is buried under the weight of his commitment to his office ( obviously they pay well) and his pretential commitment to me ( I don't pay him sadly)

We haven't concocted ( that is a favourite word of mine) anything worth for our friends to read but we hope to do it soon.
I am well ..... you know...... propounding grandiose theories.... seriously that's what we do in the IIT :) well some day I''ll share my theories to you all . I seriously am in a writers block phase not on the blog but on the research front. My mom tells me to just get it onto paper. I got no heart to tell the poor woman its no story writing I do here.

But I love my life, I get loads of time to stop and reflect and ponder about what I am doing. I still have not joined the academic race. A part of me hates myself for it but then again if my sanity is preserved by this decision be so it.

I really should be pretending to work . Till we get some meaningful post ciao !!!!!

Two orange cups

2010-11-22T03:49:00.000-08:00

I enter home with a frown, unsettled from the latest catastrophe in my life. I banged a shopping bag on the baggage counter and broke a bottle of soya sauce in it, which got my favourite capri stained. I then drag it all the way to my apartment, staining the floor and the lift. I pick up a newspaper, lying aimlessly between my apartment and my neighbours' (the paper wala is trying to lure one of us to subscribe by dropping the newspaper on no man's land but both of us try not to succumb to pressure). I decide the dates of the newspapers are old enough to dump the leaking bag. I open my home and see the floor cushions stacked rather untidily, arranged so different from how I had left it. I get the scare of my life seeing papers on the dashboard and so neatly pile them up.

I try suppressing my mania for orderliness and rush to the second bedroom to look for a cloth to wipe stains at the door step. I see clothes left on the clothesline since a week. He told me he had washed them a week ago. I tell myself and grunt wondering how long does it take to fold clothes and why has he not. I don't find a cloth but do encounter a cockroach and try exterminating him/her out of my home.

I suddenly realise the door is open and rush back with a cloth lying in front of the wash basin.
It looks dusty but soya sauce is going to make it dirtier so I compromise and wipe the stained floor.

I hate the way the apartment looks and move things here and there to make my presence felt. I suddenly feel like a stranger and uninvited. Tears stream down my cheeks and I start looking into the refrigerator for a chocolate (great antidepressant) but then go for salted gooseberries (helps when you got low BP). I start tracing for my presence around. I see my pics on the dashboard but I have gifted him those so that seems a thumbs down. I see no clothes of mine lying around and that's a thumbs down again.

I finally decide to cook and switch on the lights in the kitchen and there in the corner of the granite table I see two orange cups. The cups we have tea in. He had left mine next to his I felt an unexplainable pleasure surge to my head and make me delirious. He thinks of me every day in this kitchen when he makes tea and cooks, I said to myself with pride. I began humming and cooked dinner.

He came home and we were merrier than ever. He loved the food and joined me to wash the plates. He looked at the cups and said "You know I think of keeping one back inside the cupboard and then get lazy, it's a pain to take it out each time you come". The humming in my head stops and I realise that's just the way he is.

Not that he loves me any less ;)

Animals are beautiful people

2010-11-16T03:40:00.000-08:00

Mary had a little lamb.....little lamb....a little lamb.. It's fleece was white as snow. Well I could not find a lamb so here is a kid ( That's how a young one of a goat is called .. remember we learned it at school :P )

Well I was christened Mary and my dad never got me a little lamb so when I found one on the streets of chor bazar mumbai I thought I would pose for a pic. Every antique seller had a goat or two outside well fed and fattened for sale to slaughter houses. I love playing with young ones of animals like I do with human babies too( we are animals too!!). They are so cute!!!!! So here's Mary with someone's goats.

Pen Fights and other games

2010-11-11T01:35:00.000-08:00

These days I am reading a lot on how children think and I came across the Piaget Primer for beginners. Piaget's contribution to developmental psychology and cognitive psychology is tremendous but that is not what I want to discuss here. I won't bore anyone with theoretical inputs but for those interested in research concerning children or interested in children, this is 'The book'.

I have already discussed about play patterns of children in an older post "Lets' play". Children learn a lot by playing (though as adults we concoct plans to steal this pleasure from them). Play to child is as inevitable as gossip to adults. In the right sense both can be enriching. Beginning with imitative play where children derive pleasure from imitating our actions to make believe play where children pretend to live the outer world through games , children progress sequentially through developmental stages through games. It culminates to a stage where a child invents his/her own games and decides rules for them too. Big or small, logical or non sensical these games are dear and mean business to a child.We all have fond memories of such games we played in childhood or observed others play.

These are excerpts of some games, some heard some seen and some experienced.

Piaget described a game played by shepherd boys of Valais using 'Y' shaped sticks as pretended cows. The 'V' part of stick was taken as the horns of the cows and the lower part of 'Y' became the body of the cow. The game involved pushing and throwing of one cow by the end of the game.

I studied in the middle east and we had no pleasures of climbing trees , date palms were not ideal climbing material, or playing in the wild. Every game I played was within the concrete walls of my house or the pathways surrounding my building. I remember boys in my school playing pen fights. I never understood what the game was like but reading about the Valais reminded me of this game.

Students played this in teams of two. Each had a pen and the kind of pen added to the prestige. Some used ball point pens because if they fell they caused lesser harm than ink pens. Some used ink pens confidently, sure they would not drop them. The arena was the desk and the player like rodeos sat at two ends of the table. They pushed pens with their fingers and the whole game was more like the Valais cow fight. Pens flew off table, fell over a pen overthrowing it and boys cheered around as if in a Colosseum. I never saw girls playing this and never did a girl kiss a pen saying it was her lucky 'pen fight' pen but the boys obviously practiced these traditions with rigour. To me it was just waste of ink and pens. Now that I look back it explains to me the nurturing instincts in men towards games that involved power, authority and violence, maybe their pens represented themselves, their pride and even in silly games these emotions and ideals manifested.

The silliest game then was called 'gold spot'. There was basically a catcher and all the players huddled together with the 'den' and on the utterance of the word Gold spot all ran as far as they could and froze . Now the den in seven steps was supposed to capture one of the person and he became the new catcher or den. We even had people breaking their bones in attempt to jump high and capture their preys in less than 7 steps. I got no clue why the game was named Gold spot and who invented it. This was a mixed game with both boys and girls but you never found boys above the age of 10 playing it. I don't know why girls enjoy hopping and why boys hated it.

The craziest of all was 'crocodile, crocodile can we cross the golden river'. Too long a name for a game I would say. Here the game had a crocodile who would prevent people from going to the golden river unless they provided an object with a colour he/she asks for. The squealing and screaming as we neared to the crocodile frightened the life out of me though I knew it was a just a game. Girls went hysteric, more than boys, worrying over shades of colours while for guys silver and grey meant all the same. More than the crocodile the girls ended up fighting over whose shade was the perfect one. Maybe this was a forerunner for the shopping mania women were to enter in future.

I personally feel we carry over these games with us into our adult life and release them once in a while. Do you? Share your child hood games and how you relate to them today. It could be fun.

Moooooonica.....Oooooh my darling!

2010-11-02T20:57:00.000-07:00

Monica a.k.a Moni a.k.a the younger nun, all are names of this humble personality who gave us abode when we were transiting from Mumbai to Bangalore. A cheerful being, who breaks the stereotype of a nun being stoic and ascetic. I am sure you need a great a heart to serve the lord.

Bhuji was sure I would like her convent, with its birds, trees, animals and farms, because of yours truly being a 'country' fellow. And to say without doubt, I did like it. Her convent at Carmelaram, en route to Sarjapur, away from the Bangalore crowd and madness, sky rises and dingy lanes, was a welcome change. To some extent we found the place as alluring as Kamshet.

We spent three days at the convent, with prayer and tranquility and got the much needed sanity to start our new journeys. Though the convent is a place for prayer and worship, and we would not want to project it as a Home stay, we were kept is great comfort and care by the sisters there and we feel indebted for it. Here we give you a sense of the place, with Bhuji adding the much needed charm and perspective.

A beautiful morning

A pond full of water lillies

The calm & docile Bianca ('White' in Italian) , a hound, was rescued by the convent.

Blacky, was not that approchable

A scary looking any hill

Lemon tree

The Chikku girl

Butter-fruit

pomagranate

A variety of bean I saw for the first time.

Gooserberry upclose

Gooseberry, long angle

Never seen a Jack kissing the ground

And where you could pluck a coconut standing on the ground.

Same goes for the Ram-phul

Ram-Phul in macro

Cutie pie

And here we give you Sr. Monica and as we said before, she's a darling.

P.S: I trying to help the convent to get a regular source of food for the pigs, which would basically be the leftovers from the cafeterias and canteens of companys or hotels, in and around Sarjapur. The convent is ready to come and pick it up from the company or hotel. If anyone of you would be able to speak to the admin guys in your company or spread the word around, as an act of charity, or can suggest any other option, would be a great help.

Animals are beautiful people

2010-10-28T23:25:00.001-07:00

I love butterflies though its painful catching them to pose for you. Here's some I got recently in Chennai and Lonavla.

Marriage matters - journey to the altar part 8

2010-10-21T04:03:00.000-07:00

I was tensed. For one I could not face 'WHO'. After all a wedding with the groom and his brother alone was not my dream but what went through his mind hurt me more. 'WHO' had cancelled his parents' tickets to Kerala, fearing last minute tampering by them in our new plans. Parents are intuitive they must have sensed it some how because a day after his parents told him they are with him and to let them atleast attend the wedding. This wedding was getting to be the wedding of the millenium. People were already gossiping about the change of venues and that for second, tensed me more (Looking back now though I feel stupid for worrying what people thought) .

But people could not understand why a guy's family would agree for both ceremonies at girl's place; something sure was fishy. I started fretting over my relationship with my future in-laws . 'WHO' was nervous but assured me things would be fine and we both realised we shared the same temprament when it came to tackling crises. We realised there was no turning back and blaming each other for now this life was ours and everything that came along was part of this package called " Journey to the altar".

My sister kept me busy with beauty tips and visits to beautician. Finally we made it to the Wedding day after a lousy engagement where the groom's and bride's people sat apart with no interaction. From the dais it looked like a war to us and disturbed us in between our photo sessions. I did not wear my glasses but could sense the cold war from where we sat. We really enjoyed the pre marital course thereafter partially because we were happy looking at our rings and flaunting around to other couples who were not engaged yet. But maybe getting to talk to each other during the little intervals, without chaperones, made us very excited.

I don't remember much details about the wedding or my engagement. I am sure people who have been here and done this will agree. The mix of anxiety, excitement, pressure and with hundreds of people staring at you and add to that the solemnity of a malu wedding makes it an occassion which you just want to get done with. People told us the food was awesome but we could not eat to our heart's content posing for pics in between lunch. Not that we could have eaten otherwise because our hearts were in our mouths all the time. That's one thing I hate about weddings one never gets to enjoy food from one's own wedding (we are waiting to attend some wedding and enjoy the food).

My dad in law did have a tussle in front of the staging area asking us to pack up and stop photo sessions as he had to reach home at an auspicious time. This did panick my people and all the rituals were performed in fast forward motion.

But highlights of the day were that the people who dressed me forgot to tuck the starting tip of my saree and i kept stumbling on it. My mom saved me from being a laughing stock, standing there saree-less in front of the whole gathering.

But what I would never forget is vommitting in front of an Orthodox church where we were sent to light candles before entering my groom's place. ' WHO' promised to clean the mess which he didn't and next morning we saw someone had cleaned it by throwing some mud over it. They must have taken it for a drunkard rather a catholic travel sick bride and if they knew the truth lord save the next crusade.

And that's how we got married, it began with a mail and ended in vomit. Makes no sense huh? maybe you should read all the parts :)

Animals are beautiful people

2010-10-21T03:51:00.000-07:00

Every worm that wriggles by... tells a fascinating news for those who dare to hope....

WHO is going crazy over animal pics . He captured this beautiful shot at Lonavla.

Happy Cockroach hunting

2010-10-05T00:14:00.000-07:00

The ads on cockroach hunting for science project and Americas' funniest home video of a child swallowing a cockroach, brought back some memories from my childhood. My sis Asha was a show stealer. She always spoke or did stuff that drew mom's and everyone else's attention to her. I must at this point admit I was never too happy about it. I neglected her in every way possible and remained silent when I could warn her or mom from some danger Asha was in.

One beautiful day, for me, as I was lazing around figuring out what to play (I was 2 yrs old) Asha was crawling around trying to look cute so I would let her join me in play. I never fell for her charms so I kept ignoring her babbling, which sounded like 'chechi' (big sis). She fell silent after some time and I was mature enough a kid to know she had founded something new to amuse herself. I heard noises of her falling on and off and was happy to hear about her self harm games. But to cure my curiosity I decided to check on her, after all I could walk and the poor little soul crawled (Mom says I thought I walked from birth and considered Asha a dumbo for crawling). There I saw her crawling with the speed of a cheetah pouncing towards it prey. She had spotted a cockroach quite big for her and was chasing it like any kid of her age did seeing crawling bugs and beetles.

My database told me that mom forbid cockroaches and scared us that we would die if we put them in the mouth. Asha's courage irritated me but her foolishness made me happy. If she chose her death by a measly looking creature what could I do? But I never bothered calling mom. I erased that part of my mommy advice chips conveniently.

Asha looked like a puppy, scared of the cockroach yet trying to trap it with her dress when it moved and finally she caught it with her baby palms and pressed it tight .

I was having fun when mom came in, moms always have bad timing and nice intuitions, found us quiet and was curious to know what was happening. Now kids and dogs have something in common when they do something forbidden; they act reflexively in front of their masters. Asha perhaps knew mom would confiscate the cockroach so the moment Mom screamed looking at her she popped the cockroach into her mouth. I didn't know Chopin then but something similar must have played in my head in delight while I watched mom screaming NOOOOOOOOOOOO.

The next part of the tussle was mom trying to make Asha open her mouth, to spit the thing out and she stubbornly shutting it tight. But I felt cheated seeing her alive partially because I believed mom's story and never touched a cockroach and partly jealous at Asha's courage, even though out of ignorance, which meant she was ALIVE. Mom finally made Asha spit it out but the essence had reached her tummy.

Well years down I have killed as many cockroaches I could on my dissection table and rehearsed it many times at home to irritate Asha. Asha till date is aversive to cockroaches and I am still alive. As far as cockroaches are concerned, they have outlived the dinosaurs, hopefully will do humans too.

Animals are beautiful people

2010-10-01T20:14:00.000-07:00

You would have only heard about mall rats but here we give you a mall cat. Ain't he cute, felt like calling him Tabby, from Thomas Gray's poem "On a Favourite Cat, Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes"
He keeps a watchful eye on the mall rats and is not perturbed by the big bills you draw up.

Look into those wise eyes and you know that it has seen the world. And the only one who ate generous servings of multi grain cracker biscuits from Bhuji.

Rejection

2010-09-29T19:55:00.000-07:00

I created a record of sorts this morning. I flagged down almost sixteen rickshaws and none of them would ferry me to my office, which is a good three to four kilometer away from home and should ideally fetch the guy a good bauni i.e. the first income of the day. My office is in a commercial hub and it’s not like these guys would end up stranded without their next passenger. Maybe there was an outbreak of swine flu in the area and these guys got wind of it. But that was the least of my troubles. Because my office was close by, by Mumbai standards, I never thought of keeping a ‘buffer time’ in a situation of getting late. Considering this I started walking towards my office and I met all these sixteen aforesaid good Samaritans on the way. But it was not long before I reached the half way mark and realized that I didn’t had enough energy left in me to do the remaining half and now with even lesser distance left to travel I was afraid to ask a rick driver lest getting ridiculed by one. So the only option left for me was to trek the remaining distance. And when the boss asked why I am showing up late I said there was a rick strike (is this not a strike or what?) and I had to come walking all the way. Look at all the brownie points I stand to collect as a model employee whose commitment and sincerity made him walk the length of the Great Wall of China to reach office. But this post is neither about how often I have to walk to office nor about how arrogant and ill-mannered the rickshaws drivers are (my brother would love if I could throw some mean words on this spineless tribe). Let’s isolate the rick drivers from the scene and focus on the one other thing that happened very prominently this morning, which is something I am sure you would have experienced in your life as well. Being “rejected”- does the word or feeling sound familiar? Yes sir, it does.

In the evening, after I reached home and yes I got a rick this time because surprisingly they had called off the strike, I thought that this was not the first time I got rejected or for that matter ‘we’, but yes in my case I did set a record of sixteen rejection in an hour and maybe that’s why I was so pissed off. There are other negative feelings that we often encounter: failure, deceit, hatred, disappointment, frustration, enemity, jealousy. So is the feeling of rejection grave enough to be put up on the wall of shame? The answer is both Yes and No. ‘YES’ because though rejection by itself is an effortless process the person who gets rejected stands motivated to do great harm to the others. And ‘NO’ because ‘No’ is the basic expression or tool to convey the decision of rejection. Sometimes this simple ‘No’ is accompanied with such contempt and disregard from the other person that one feels humiliated and is provoked to do harm. Like some of the rickshawallas who looked at me with disdain and reacted as if I was asking them to hand over the map of Eldorado.

If you look back in time you‘ll see a lot of instances of rejection in life, some outright funny and others painful. You wanted to go play with the kids in the colony but mom thinks you are better off sulking at home; rejected. You fancy a toy in the shop but dad won’t let it come any nearer than that; rejected. You want to take a piss but your teacher thinks your bladder can hold it right there until her class is over; rejected. You want to watch an English movie but your friends think you are a prude and you end up watching a Tamil one; rejected. You propose to a girl, she likes your courage but not you, rejected. The foreign university you applied to saw through the lies in your ‘statement of purpose’; rejected. You apply for jobs but none of the companies can spare a desk or even a chair for you; rejected. Your manager thinks you can’t get your own work done leave alone others, there goes the team lead position; rejected. The bank decides that you don’t earn enough to use their credit card to make merry and so is the case with the personal loan, rejected. The consulate is not convinced that you are going to return back from your so called ‘training assignment” in the US and stamps your passport as – REJECTED.

So why does it hurts to get rejected? As human beings we would be contented if we could get all things done by ourselves and in the way that suits our liking. But however healthy, strong and intelligent one might be it’s impossible to get all your needs fulfilled just by yourselves. Else we would have all created our own operating system and Bill Gates would be just another guy staring out of the windows. And this is the basic premise of living in a society. We are dependent on others to do certain things for us. This dependency creates a sense of insecurity because we are not sure if the other person can really understand our needs and whether he would be able to deliver it on time and according to our specification. This sense of diffidence is very strong and coupled with the fact that the other party has the freedom to say no to your request results in a very anxious and disturbed individual. And when the counterparty does say ‘No’, it’s the sense of shame, failure and deceit which makes the experience a bitter pill to swallow. But there is more to it. It also greatly depends on what value do you assign to the outcome or the proposition. For example getting an admission in a foreign university would mean more to you than being allowed by your teacher to go take a piss. A lot of times we unconsciously start dreaming and relishing the fruits that lie at the other side of the bargaining even before the coin has been tossed. We become so foolishly arrogant and naively overconfident in our daydreaming, forgetting that there are always two sides of a coin, and when fates calls our bluff our ego takes a fall into the gulf separating the real world and the dream.

So what should we do to not get rejected? Same as what you would do to not get killed today. Death is another form of rejection, from the powers above that you are not allowed to go about doing things in this world. First of all, and this is the most important one, stay away from places where there is certain rejection and no two way to it. So if there is something that is surely beyond your reach and a certainty that it would remain so then don’t stretch your hands for it. Just like you would stay away from a gun battle, provided you have got nothing to do with it, for not getting killed. The enlightened ones among us would say that this suggestion is a pessimistic one. One should always reach for the stars and beyond. That brings me to the second most important point, however easy an event might look or however well prepared you are to enter the contest, where the power to say Yes or No or to influence the final outcome rests with another individual there is always a possibility that after all is said and done you might have to settle for a No or a rejection. So go reach for the stars, maybe beyond, go for Krypton but then don’t think you are Superman. Always give due thought to the possibility of rejection and not the certainty of success. So you have realized that you are not Superman and that there is an equal probability that things might go wrong, what else can you do? Increase the number of mutually exclusive events. You apply to ten universities for admission rather than just one. If your father is not ready to buy you the toy then ask mom, if not her then there is granny. If you can’t become a Team Lead in this company go look for another job, another company. If this bank doesn’t issue you a credit card try it with another bank. If you can’t go to US try UK. As the chicken would say it - don’t put all my eggs in one basket.

Now some of you might say that you can do things or not do things to not get killed but what about a freak accident or getting run over, where you have little say in the proceeding. So it’s like somebody might reject you even before you could do something about it or to influence the judgment. Let’s face it then, if you are born then you have to die. So as much as you do, you will get rejected once in a while. So it might happen that tomorrow the very first rickshaw I ask will agree to ferry me to office, will save me the pain of walking and the humiliation of getting rejected, but once in office it might happen that my manager would tell me that he does not require my services anymore and yours truly gets laid-off. There is no escaping rejection. That’s why I am putting it up on the wall of shame. Sayonara.

Animals are beautiful people

2010-09-26T08:07:00.000-07:00

The only guy who was kind enough to give us a dekho at Bychulla zoo. So we thought of paying back in kind by posting him here.

Incredible India through my eyes- Art of Kulfi making

2010-09-20T23:05:00.000-07:00

Before Baskin Robbins arrived with their thirty one flavours and before Naturals started serving tender coconut and sitaphl, there was for sure the humble Indian ice-cream. This edition of Incredible India salutes the very nature of Indian Anthropology called "Jugaad" and serves to you, from the labyrinths of Chor Bazaar, Mumbai, the long forgotten technique of making ice-creams. Lest we go biased with words, we thought of telling this story through pictures.

Animals are beautiful people

2010-09-20T22:55:00.000-07:00

We were really in for a surprise when we saw this guy at a family friends house. He has been with the family for nine years now and given their life expectancy I suggest many more decades to go. Bhuji and I are planning to get one ourselves. Long live the beautiful people and the people who love them!