What the what!?

I know I said this next one would be about pills and such, but I had to put that off until later for this!

I'm coordinating a web development project with a team in India. Apart from the fact that it has been a horrendous nightmare, I can't say it hasn't been entertaining.

So, this is the "dummy" placeholder content they used -

"Dirt tools thar, pot buffalo put jehosephat rent, ya pot promenade. Come pickled far greasy fightin', wirey, it poor yer, drive jig landlord. Rustle is been moonshine whomp hogtied. Stew, wirey stew cold uncle ails. Slap hoosegow road cooked, where gal pot, commencin' country. Weren't dogs backwoods, city-slickers me afford boxcar fat, dumb sittin' sittin' drive rustle slap, tornado. Fuss stinky knickers whomp ain't, city-slickers sherrif darn ignorant tobaccee round-up old buckshot that.


Saw polecat than took bankrupt good hillbilly stew, crazy, fancy and hillbilly heap rodeo, pappy. Thar range saw me him sherrif nothin' shiney dirt, pigs sheep city-slickers everlastin' shotgun driveway. Promenade catfight fart fiddle jiggly gonna tarnation, fence, what quarrel dirty, if. Pot grandma crop kinfolk jezebel diesel coonskin hoosegow wirey fixin' shack good roped in. Reckon stew tax-collectors, grandpa tobaccee hayseed good wash tired caboodle burnin' landlord. Smokin' driveway wrestlin' go darn truck moonshine wirey cow grandpa saw, coonskin bull, java, huntin'.


Stinky yonder pigs in, rustle kinfolk gonna marshal sittin' wagon, grandpa. Ya them firewood buffalo, tobaccee cabin."


Where does one obtain this masterpiece? I've been using the standard 'Lorem ipsum.." latin text in all my designs, but maybe I should reconsider?

Making it Work

What is the point in writing a post stating why I haven't blogged in so long, if I'm just going to let 5 months go by before another one? My credibility is somewhat diminished I realize, but I have had a lot on my mind. Lucky for you, this will be a full blown download of all related and possibly un-related thoughts on the matter!

I had been wrestling with my career path for a while now, and kept putting off making a decision because it is so easy to rest in one's comfort zone, as little effort is required to coast. However, this coasting business was just taking me farther and farther away from the goals I had set for myself this year, and so I decided to take action.

I quit my job, and went freelance. I thought I'd be impoverished in a month, but thankfully it has not been that bad. Sure, there has been a dip in income, and I realize this means no new boots for fall and possibly no new clothes until next year, but that has not stopped the big spending.

Before you judge, let me clarify that all my expenses have been for the good of my business. Starting with a new laptop, for which I was able to wrangle an employee discount from an extremely nice friend of my Mother's, a few online courses to improve my skillz and legal software!

In addition to this extremely responsible behavior, I have also become lame. I bought a really nice dress and returned it because I felt guilty about the indulgence. It sucks being a grown up. It really does. Erm..maybe just being a poor grown-up - there are perks I wouldn't trade.

Anyhoo, I was talking to an acquaintance about said state of affairs, and the response was - "But your husband is earning no?" The nerve. As IF I would choose to justify why I need another dress! Plus, is a woman really supposed to be saying that to another woman? Where is the spirit of sisterhood, and encouraging one's independent spirit and not to mention, gumption!

While in my continuing state of anxiety about whether I can make this new self-employed situation work, I received a sign from heaven fixed under my wiper - the notice to your right. I certainly fit the requirements, and there is a promise of excellent pay! I am tempted to call that number because this all seems very legit and not shady at all. Maybe I should wait? Oh the dilemma!

The other thing that has kept me preoccupied is the appalling language in emails I receive from educated professionals - nationality no bar. Apparently it takes a lot more effort to type don't as opposed to dnt.

While I fully appreciate slang and the ever evolving nature of communication, I am one of those people who cannot bring myself to type l8r in a message and leave it there. I punctuate my text messages and Google chats.

Call me old-fashioned, but there is something wonderful about a beautifully worded email. As a professional courtesy, I think punctuation should be mandatory. Because guess what when you type like this with no separation of thoughts it becomes so hard to tell one thought or instruction from another and I have to read the email five times before it makes any sense and is clear about what this person is expecting me to help them with and i don't appreciate the lack of uppercase letters where appropriate either. Also, it is a waste of time! You are not paying me to read your mind, so use the keys that your fingers seem so determined to avoid - they don't bite.

I saw a glimmer of hope last week - I have been borrowing books from the library for a number of years and recently chanced upon Gyles Brandreth. The novel was a fictional murder mystery involving Oscar Wilde and Arthur Conan Doyle as the detectives. It was an absolute pleasure to read high-quality English, and actually need a dictionary to learn words I had never heard of. I have made it my mission to track down the rest of these books, and buy them if necessary. Gyles' work is an oasis in a desert of poor language.

In other indescribably cute news - my Grandmum has been emailing me twice a month using her Kindle! She is officially cooler than me. Not only has she learned to use a digital reader, taught my other Grandmother how to use one, but is now writing to me like she used to when I was little - sans inland letter. Punctuation in her emails is strictly optional, but I am letting it go because she's inspiring. Reading her letters always puts a smile on my face.

In my next post - To take the pill, or not?

A Smart Decision?

I am somewhat of a technological dinosaur. I have realized this and accepted it. My suspicion of gadgets could put someone's great-aunt from a remote rural village in second place. It's not that I don't appreciate the coolness of say a tablet, or a mobile device such as an iPad (wait, are they tablets too? :S). It's just that I see no real use for them in my life.

I could own an Apple TV which is hooked up to my iPad, iPod, iPhone and iDontknowwhatelse, but what is the POINT? So you can do rubbish things like look for Youtube videos of people doing rubbish things? It's all good fun, but why can I not just do that from my computer, watch TV on my TV and just use my phone to call or text people? Why on earth does it have to all be rolled up into one multi-functional wonder toy? Is there no such thing as job security in the gadget world? My laptop probably lives in fear every day of being refurbished, recycled or replaced by some swanky young thing with a size zero body that can do everything it does, and wax my legs.

The point is, everything has its place, or so I thought until a few weeks ago. I was the proud owner of a flip phone for the last 3 years, holding strong against the many, many recommendations to become one of those cool people that owns a smart phone. I'd take vicarious pleasure in waving my antiquated mobile in peoples faces whenever they brought their flashy touch-screen companions to dinner. I enjoyed the looks of sympathy and occasional disbelief as to why anyone would choose to hang on to such an outdated device.

Turns out, my phone didn't care too much for my support, and just gave up one day. No amount of poking and prodding would make it wake up. Throwing in the towel, I went to the store, since I was due for a phone upgrade anyway. The spouse had been dangling the advantages of a smart phone in my face for the past year, but I had stoutly refused to even consider such a thing! When I got to the store, I went straight to the non-smart section, determined to hold my ground. I was appalled at the crapulence of the devices on display. They looked tacky, poorly made and frankly, somewhat given up. After much ado, I finally caved and said "FINE, I'll get that bloody iPhone, but I'm not going to like it. It's making me spend all this money on a data plan I don't want, I don't plan to use and frankly, I think it will be horribly underutilized in my hands. Wait, why don't you take this iPhone and give me your current flip phone. It sounds like you want a smart phone, so this will solve both our problems, I said to the spouse." To which, pat came the response "I want to wait for the Nexxus II, not really interested in an iPhone." Sigh.

So, it was ordered, it came, protective covers were purchased, phone numbers were entered and I began using it. The first week, I decided not to do anything but make calls and send texts on it, just so it knew I was not going to be held prisoner by its supposed coolness. Then, one day, I texted my stylist asking for an appointment for a hair trim. We agreed on a time. Next thing I know, it's on my calendar, on my phone. Wait, what!? I didn't even do anything. So I texted her back and said, how did you do that? She said, oh I have an iPhone too, this is just one of those cool things you can do with it.

Over the next week, I shamelessly abandoned all reserve and began exploring my phone to discover, that it really was something else. I could click on the date and time in an email, and it would add it to my events, along with contact information and the address in the email. Auto.ma.ti.cally. I could video-call my friends with iPhones. I could text anyone in the world for free through an app! I even had my own personal assistant, and guess what, the Indian accent is NOT an issue. Siri needed some guiding, but she's pretty smart too!

I've finally begun to admit, out loud, that I think this iPhone business is rather awesome. *gulp* However, when my phone rang at work the other day, and 2 of my co-workers said simultaneously - Hey! is that yours? It sounds like a "REAL" phone! , I finally felt my phone angst leave. My ringtone sounds like a rotary-dial phone. :D I guess I'll always be a great-aunt at heart, but why not be an adventurous one?

Shoe! Let me shop in peace.

My childhood was an exercise in my body trying to catch up with my feet – they grew, and grew...and were a constant source of irritation for these reasons –

The school that I went to specified what shoes we needed to wear. I soon outgrew the 'children's' sizes, and shortly after, the adult female ones. After 8^th standard, I was constantly sold guys shoes, since they didn't stock my size in the ladies department. By this logic, the average female Indian foot size in the 80s was probably 4. I was a 10.

Just to illustrate how traumatized I was, here is a true story. When I was in middle school, my parents and I went to a new shoe store in the neighbourhood at the beginning of the school year to purchase white canvas shoes, as dictated. After much ado, the salesman was finally able to dig up the only pair they had in my size from the dark recesses of their store-room in the back. When they took the shoes out of the box so I could try them on, my Mum collapsed into fits of laughter. When she was finally able to stop, I asked her what was so funny. Her response - "The shoes say Cinderella on the inside, and she supposedly had the tiniest feet in her kingdom. Now, isn't that ironic?"

Moving right along....

Everytime I saw a pair of non-school shoes I liked, I would walk away sad. Of course they weren't available in my size! Time after time of being directed to the men's department and being relegated to wearing ugly shoes because they were the only ones that fit, led to my shoe addiction (This is what I choose to believe :P, so say what you will).

Thankfully, my feet stopped growing when they hit the double digits. I continued my quest for stores that would have nice looking shoes in my size. A new store called Lifestyle opened up in Chennai (my hometown) and a group of us from college went there excitedly. My joy knew no bounds when I discovered that they had a whole section of stylish shoes, in sizes 9 and above. Either statistics had shown them that the average had gone up, or there was some kind soul finally understanding of us shoe-starved bigfoots lumbering about the city. I'm convinced the CEO of this store was a woman with large feet. I made my first shoe purchase sans parental input! I went home with the shoes, and my mother was very pleased for me until she found out how much they cost. Little did she know this would only be the first of many such transgressions *insert diabolical smile*.

Over the next few years I amassed quite a collection, and was constantly ribbed by family and friends alike for my insatiable shoe-lust and the fact that my large shoes were making it difficult for other people at home to use the shoe closet. Have I mentioned that my close ones tend towards the dramatic?

In any case, I moved to the US to be with the spouse some years ago, and discovered that here was a country where I was the average! What do you think happened? Let's just say I occupy 90% of the allotted space for footwear in the house.

The other night, the spouse was asking me why I buy so many shoes and how could I possibly hope to use them all. He also raises his eyebrows every time a shoe box comes home, as if to say, "another!?" but usually refrains from commenting other than cautiously offering his opinion when I ask "How do they look?". I spent about 15 minutes trying to defend myself, and then realized that the spouse is a little bit of a foodie. I said - "Look, I think you've spent more on food over this year than I have on shoes. We eat out maybe twice-thrice a week, and I buy shoes once in maybe 4-5 months. At least I get to keep my purchases for over 24 hours!".

I rest my case.

No Fairytale

My story is no fairytale
Suspense, Romance, that's still a mystery....
There is no saying who's coming
Or what the next will be....

I don't want to be no Cinderella
and deal with crazy curfews
I don't care about Prince Charming
Pumpkin chariots or fancy shoes!

I don't want to be no Sleeping/Beauty
Day dreaming about fantasies
Acceptance is all that is needed
For you and me in today's reality

I don't want to be no Snow White
Relatives guiding like the 7 dwarfs alike
Nor be like her.... all fair & lovely
For much of my folk's delight

I don't want to be no Rapunzel
Twirling her tresses so long
Castles built up in the air
Just adds stress that prolongs

I don't want to be no Ariel
Curious of life outside the Sea
I'm happy living in my own shell 
Just leave me to be me!

I'm back, or am I?

Wow! Apparently it's been close to a year since my last post. They don't kid when they say time flies when you're having fun or even otherwise.

Before you decide to rubbish my excuses for not posting (I'm optimistically assuming that there is at least one person who checks this blog for updates), I think you might feel sympathetic when you hear what I've been doing with all that time.

I moved to Austin in 2006, and spent the better part of that year getting used to a new person, a new life and a new job. Needless to say, I didn't have much of a social life. Towards the end of that year, I decided that it was high time to build a social circle for myself, and begin my life in the US in earnest. I'm not one of those people who can make endless small talk, neither am I a fan of large groups.

After much thought I decided the best way to meet new people would be to take a class of some sort. But what? After going through a number of options in my head, I decided to go with something I was familiar with, and so began my effort to learn Bharatanatyam at the ripe age of 26. I have to admit I almost gave up every month, and would probably have thrown in the towel if not for my wonderful teacher, and a lovely Ivorian woman. Many aching limbs later, I began to see some progress and was encouraged to continue. Time went by and the adult class grew in strength. I now knew at least 6 wonderful people that I could call friends. My teacher created multiple opportunities for us to perform what we learned in class, so that we would be motivated to practice and get rid of our self-consciousness. The many practices resulted in all of us becoming a pretty close group.

Cut to 2010, I had fallen in love with art form, and wanted to make faster progress. I am most motivated by goals and so I decided that the only way I would put in the effort to get to a good standard was if I had to train for a performance, and approached my teacher with the idea of doing my Arangetram. She was incredibly supportive and so the end of 2010 and a better part of 2011 were spent training for the recital. (You wondered where I was going with this story, didn't you?). Anyway, I had my Arangetram on the 31^st of July in India, and my teacher was happy, so I'm happy!

In addition to this, I had also signed myself up for a theater production in 2010 where I had to look like this - poster, center. My mother was upset, my grandmothers horrified, and my father amused. This face didn't do great things for my marriage, but one simply cannot have it all. It also didn't do great things for a 5 year old who was petrified when I was on stage. Then, his father came to the conclusion that if he showed his boy that I was a real, normal person under the mask, all would be well. BIG mistake. When he was brought backstage, he erupted into a hysterical bout of crying until I begged his parent to take him away. I think I understand why my marriage was strained for a while there.

So, factor in rehearsals 3 days a week for the production, 5 days a week for my recital, throw in a healthy dose of work, housework and trying to appease the spouse for all the time I wasn't spending with him. Now tell me that I should also have blogged.

Who needs school?

My paternal Grandmum - the same one that downed the glass of Gin (incident featured in this post) has barely had a formal education. She was taken out of school and married off when she was 14. She continued to live with her parents, helping in the home, until my Grandad had completed his Engineering degree and had found a job in Madras.

In addition to raising a family when my grandparents could barely make ends meet, taking care of fussy in-laws and helping a couple of her younger siblings, she taught herself English, Malayalam, some functional Hindi and Telugu. She reads voraciously and occasionally, writes. Her mother was still alive until last month. One of the ways my Grandmum dealt with her grief was to write about her mother.

Last week, she handed me a sheet of paper with what she called "An article on her mother" and asked me to type it out for her and get her some printouts so she could share it with her family. I was happy to oblige. When I read the piece, I could not help sharing it. Here it is..

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Mother was not well. I took her to the doctor, gave her medicines and took it for granted that she would recover. She vanished. I wanted badly to find her. I began searching for her all over the house. Called out loudly – “Amma! Where are you?” There was no response.

I went outside and gazed at the tops of the trees to see if she was hidden between the green leaves. There was a cool breeze blowing, and I thought she might have gone outside to enjoy it. She was not there either. I stretched my arms out, and felt her presence. I lifted my head up to the blue sky, so high above – way beyond my reach. I felt tired and sad. I sat down, dejected. Suddenly, I heard someone whispering in my ear. The words were so clear!

“My dear child, why are you looking for me in places I don’t exist? I am inside you, in your heart. Can’t you feel it? Do not grieve for me because I am not dead. I am within you. I am the soft wind that blows, the sunlight that falls on the garden. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning hush, I am the swift uplifting rush of birds in flight. I am the stars that twinkle softly in the night sky. I want to leave the echoes of my presence down the ways of happy times filled with laughter, on bright, sunny days. I want the tears of those who mourn me to dry before they are shed. I want only to leave happy memories when my life is done.”

I turned around, and there was Amma’s photo on the centre table.

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It makes me wonder. If she had had the opportunity to go to school, and learn as much as she wanted to, how would her life have been?