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?

Darkness descends

Usually, it's my friend (the other author on this blog) who writes all the poetry. I found probably the only one I have ever written in my email drafts today. It is actually an attempt at translating a tamil poem by another friend. The translation is nowhere near exact, and I've taken quite a bit of creative liberty in the conversion,  but here it is. Comments are welcome, as always :)


Waiting... in threats he lays
denial gives him no solace
can't see, can't touch nor smell his trace

he hides, watches, waits..

You say - should I a figment believe

persuade me, if you can - quickly!

no coward am I, can't you see? Begone!

Mother, take your threats and leave

Wait! watch...look into the gloom
the silence grows loud, you're cold as a tomb
as the dark creeps into the light
he enters with his friend - the night.

Kissed, tucked in..you're finally alone
the twilight hour sweetly beckons
you drift into slumber, surrender to sleep
but not for long..

Into your mind the bogeyman creeps
unleashing fears, with no reprieve
wait! watch...look into the gloom
believer and non, we're all doomed.

Flying, crying and sighing..

Maybe it was a bad idea to publish my 'Circle of Pressure' post - the number of people asking about when I plan to get myself pregnant has increased alarmingly. There's some sort of formula I'm sure. With every year that you say "I'll pass" on Motherhood, the curiosity, criticism and general concern increases exponentially.

Friends and family that entered the holy portal of marriage before and after me have since done the responsible thing and started a family, or are getting there really quick, or are talking about taking positive action in that direction. I was always told that when one is with child, people cannot give you enough attention. I wonder how many married (I am Indian after all) and non-pregnant women were questioned before such grossly erroneous conclusions were reached. I think all the attention is on those of us who aren't.

It's probably because I'm at the age where my peers are pushing tiny-tots out by the bushel around me..but I certainly pay more attention to kids now. Especially on flights. Maybe the universe has decided to teach me a lesson for my insubordination - every, and I mean every single flight I have taken in the past year has been miserable for me. There is always at least one, if not multiple angry, ear-splittingly loud little people complaining without compunction about the Lord knows what. The sheer lung power of these things is amazing. I've seen kids that start at the airport in the US, and cry incessantly - give or take a few minutes, all the way to India. We're talking 25+ hours for the most part. Incredible. I would drop from exhaustion if I cried and screamed like that in an hour! I wait with desperation for the transit airport so I can go hide in a bathroom..only to realize someone needs a diaper change or a poopy break. There's no respite I tell you.

My personal favourites are the ones that discover the kick-seat-in-front game. For some reason, this seems to be a very entertaining and amusing activity for a child. Once they know it's driving you nuts, they do it and then laugh. I'm sure I could think of a few counter "games" that would make me laugh a heck of a lot too.

My most recent experience involved a little boy of maybe 3, extremely pissed off with his parent for trying to contain his movement for 2 hours. You know, I saw him and his Mum at the gate and I prayed for them to not be next to me. God was pointing and laughing :(. The boy's methods of protest involved kicking (me), spitting up milk (on me and 3 other people - the spray was fascinating to watch), and screaming at the top of his lungs like there's no tomorrow. I understand children are uncomfortable on flights - air pressure, the constrained atmosphere and all that jazz. But what about the discomfort of other people? I mean, are we to be punished simply because we're adults and forbidden from speaking a word against badly behaved brats? I am extremely motion sick and irritable on an aircraft. I'm tempted to try protesting in the same manner about my discomfort. I doubt that would fly. And that sanctimonious flight attendant who recently divested a parent of her child for daring to try and discipline it. I mean, who is she to intervene? People like that should be thrown in a room full of the world's worst behaved hellions and left there for a day. Let's see how kindly she feels after 24 hours of that.

I had one awesome flight attendant on an international flight where I was stuck next to a kid that hit me, undid my shoelaces, tried to pull my blanket off, and alternately laughed and cried equally loudly through the duration of my flight. The FA gave me chocolate, and said to me as I was stepping off the flight - "Makes you love birth control, dunnit love?" I could have kissed that woman.

As I watch the disapproving looks and mounting irritation in the seats around me, all I can think about is the plight of the poor parents on these trips. People are so quick to say that bad kids has to mean bad parenting. Maybe you just had shitty luck of the draw in the baby department, or are a first time parent who is still learning the ropes, or are just tired of dealing with this on an everyday basis and simply cannot muster up the energy. I don't believe I ever want to be the woman that the whole plane hates and wishes was never let on the flight because I'm having a bad child day.

I wonder why there cannot be an infants and children section on flights, with toys and other things to keep these kids occupied..like a mile-high play date with lots of other kids, oh and soundproof that section of the cabin while you're at it, will you?

A Distant Relationship

A wooden puppet in her master's hand

Emotions of his, she can't understand

Caught between the strings all tangled

Hanging in mid air, her feelings mangled

A mound of clay on the potter's wheel

Molded, shaped and adjusting to his ideals

Her thoughts stretched to extremes,

From happy, sad, now all just a dream!

A snake trapped in a charmer's basket of jute

Hypnotized, she danced to tunes of his gourd flute

Tongue-tied, harmless, she swayed to his many moods

An abrupt pause... the melody now concludes

A red gas balloon on a hawker's stand

Now just a toy in a child's hands

Bobbing and swaying, light as air

The glint of a pin, and she is no longer there

A forgotten treasure chest

On an ocean bed, she was laid to rest

What lies beneath is still a mystery

Yet unsolved, hopeful for discovery

eat, love BUT PRAY!

...that I never come across a more complete man than him
"Hi I m SK* and i m living in toronto canada.I saw ur profile in the tamilmatrimony well I m interested in ur profile If u feel the same pls contact to me at xyz@yahoo.ca u are so beautiful Is there any fastening that can shut in love? Tears of the affectionate will publish the love that is within.And is there bar that can even love restrain?The tiny tear shall make the lover's secret plain.If possible,be certain that you'll do a thing before you promise to do it.Be true to your word,always When out walking,be aware that the energy of the universe is manifested in your body.the more conscious you become of that energy,the more inexhaustible your supply of it will be." Eat light foods more frequently than heavy ones.Drink at least two quarts of liquid a day. The lighter your food,the lighter also will be your consciousness."be willing,when occasion permits,to give others the last word." I would like talk to u lot but u are not mine yet If u don't like me pls before speaking,weigh your words but not too heavily." atleast we could be good friends shall we be friends ahtakecare bye miss SK*"


*For my sanity and security reasons the name has been modified and I've reported him as SPAM.

Unsettled

image credit - http://foresting.tumblr.com/

It's been days since I heard your voice
Lost and disconnected I feel not by choice
You take your time much like the tortoise
I am the hare in this race, not all that wise?

I jump to conclusions rather quick
Often, to analyze and over think
Conversations stagnate as time tick ticks
Distances apart, toughens us to click

Calm and composed, qualities, unlike you I lack
Emotions you keep in check as I keep looking back
I proceed with caution not to fumble
Don't want no repeats so as to stumble

Too closed, I find you holding back
Not sure what you think or how you react
Stubborn and indecisive about your life choices
I try to weed my mind of those many voices

Confrontations I know you dislike,
I hate to be the one to go on this strike
Being direct is a part of what makes me, ME
I can't help it, it's the only way I know to be

It hurts me more that you don't yet know
I much rather you called it quits, and said, "No!"
I am at the cross roads of Uncertainty and False Hope
Confused and wondering if there is any scope

I like you only too well to let go
It's been months too long to say no
Patient and tolerant, the being I am
It ain't fair, cos I do care a damn!
............................................................
Funny these feelings, now of the past
To think back..what made me steadfast?
One more down and a few more to go...
So long, farewell, until then I stay solo!

 

The Circle of Pressure

I've been thinking..and I've made what I'd like to assume is a stunning discovery, prompted in part by a discussion I had with a good friend recently.

From the moment one shows some signs of comprehension as an infant, one starts being persuaded. The English language brilliantly separates this phenomenon as coaxing, cajoling, pushing, forcing etc..depending on the intensity of persuasion. I'd like to simply think of it classified as - barely there, ok I can feel it, that sort of hurts and OMG stop!

It all begins when you utter your first sound. The second that happens, people are coaxing you to learn words. And when you learn them they are cajoling you to show off in front of other people. Then comes the formal alphabet, followed by numbers, nursery rhymes, a new language, the whole host of subjects in the school syllabus, an art form (martial or otherwise), a sport if possible - should be easy right? And before you forget, nothing less than being the best at everything will suffice.

How many marks did you get? What rank are you in class? Did you win a prize? Were you selected to participate in the school day function? This is only until middle school, mind you. If you grew up in India, the pressure to be good enough to study Science in high school and other related "professional" subjects in your undergraduate degree begins once you hit 10th standard. God forbid if you can't do (23458 x 456.25) / 22.57 in your head or postulate a new Law of Motion. Are you really going to study Economics?..why that's almost as bad as Fine Arts! You can't be serious...you'll come to your senses eventually and B.E. something useful.

Of course, the average child tackles all this with the ease of a veteran, having had tons of practice with deflecting pressure by this point. Collapsed, panting in your college classroom, hoping that this will take you out of the rat race for a bit, you couldn't be more mistaken. We're still in India, and if you're female, the cloud of marriage looms dark on the horizon. This will only be postponed if you have the sense to pursue a post graduate degree, or like most kids, leave to go to school in another country where phone calls can easily be avoided if you so wish. If you're one of those good children that can't possibly ignore the parents, you can always cry student poverty and avoid returning for fear of being met at the airport with a suitable match.

Armed with a formidable list of accomplishments - academic and non, with a steady job in hand, and a partner in tow a few years later, you're heaving a sigh of relief, not accounting for competition at work and the need to outperform everyone else on your team in order to have somewhat of a steady career graph. Just to make things challenging - What about children? You mean you haven't thought about that? That's not acceptable..the only thing in question is the number, we think two is perfect.

Out come the offspring sooner or later, and when they display the first sign of comprehension, it begins again. I think Tim Rice sums it up perfectly - 

"From the day we arrive on the planet, And blinking, step into the sun 

There's more to see than can ever be seen, more to do than can ever be done.

There's far too much to take in here, more to find than can ever be found."

- The Circle of Life, Lion King

It fits, it fits, it fits!!

My skirt is done, it fits and it doesn't look like rubbish! HALLELUJAH!!! I should have probably ironed it before I took a picture, but can you blame me for getting carried away??

To celebrate this coup, I am off on a trip to Seattle and Vancouver, and I couldn't be leaving with a lighter heart! The last month has been rather wearing, and hopefully tasks ending smoothly will be the trend from now on. :)

Sharpening My Needle

You know how there's that one thing you will always muck up, no matter how much practice you've had? No? Well, I have that one thing, and that thing is threading a needle. I've done all kinds of other things that are much more complicated..like Yoga-Asanas, learning how to cook, repairing broken furniture (you get the general idea..). You'd think threading a needle should be a breeze. It's not. And to all those of you who can sew, I don't care for your eye-rolls, and I certainly don't care to acknowledge the fact that you find this thing simple. I will ignore you for the rest of this post. (But don't stop reading!!!)

Way back in middle school (circa 1994) we'd have this slot every week called 'Work Experience'. Looking back, I don't think people would've been lining up to give us jobs on the strength of this. All of us would eagerly look forward to these classes because it meant being able to put away the boring textbooks, and basically faff as much as you could possibly manage for two whole hours.

That is, everyone except me. Because you see, while there were such cool things as gardening, textile dyeing and baking, I got drafted into needlework! WTF!? I mean seriously..I blame my genes for this. I've always been told I look like a "good girl", so I guess I just seemed like one of those girls that would take well towards domestication and such harmless, housewifely activities as sewing a button and darning a hole in my future husbands Lungis.

In any case, I accepted my lot, and channeled my resentment into dreams of being the 'Mistress of Seams'. I only managed 'Mistress of Screams' from nearly sewing my fingers into the damn cloth, time and time again. And this was only after I managed to thread the needle - which meant I "sewed" for about 10 minutes total every class.

Considerably injured, and insulted relentlessly by the teacher, who had rubbished me in every way from my femininity to my general human worth, I reached a point where I wanted to learn how to sew just so I could seal that mouth shut.

Thanks to some of my talented peers, we were all compulsorily enrolled into an embroidery contest at the end of the term, and I was given a handkerchief with a pre-drawn design of flowers. I had helped my Mum do one of those cross-stitch art things, and I was a little less intimidated about this contest than my classes. I finished before time, and took my work to the teacher, who was wide-eyed with surprise as she told me I'd done a brilliant job.

Then it all went to shit. She turned the hankie over and her expression changed to one of utter disgust while she showed the whole class what I had done. The sight of the massive multi-coloured bunch of knotted threads haunts me to this day. No one told me the back mattered.

I managed to whine and beg my mother to do my class assignments for me, and I scraped through with a non-fail grade. I vowed then that I would never, ever pick up a needle again.

Cut to 2010. I'm tired of explaining my designs to tailors, and I am fed up of them botching my grand plans consistently. In light of these distressing developments, I decided to suck up the residual self pity and enrolled myself in a sewing class. Shockingly, I have not been thrown out, and I will admit under extreme blackmail to actually enjoying it. *GULP* They say admission is the first step to recovery..so hopefully my classes will continue to be injury less, and while I still struggle with the needle threading part..it sure feels good to plan my comeback - which will involve shoving a wonderfully finished garment in the face of my middle school teacher.

A gift from God

I've always loved flowers, and would constantly engage in debates with my Grandfather who was partial to the fragrant ones, that looks counted for something too. He was immovable on his stance that inner beauty is far more valuable than just visual appeal, and the same held good for the blossoms in his big, beautiful, lush garden. I will forever remember the days when I hitched up my frock as a little child to help him water the garden. He would pretend to merely support the bucket while I was swelling with pride at being able to heft a heavy pail of water over his beautiful roses and feign annoyance while he scolded me for watering myself with the hose. Stumbling out into the garden, rubbing my sleepy eyes on dewy December mornings in Bangalore, I'd help him pick flowers for his daily Puja. He would make me feel so special - talking to me about the flowers, and teaching me how to pluck them without any damage to the plant or the blossom. We would sit on a stone bench in the late evenings taking in the scent of 'The Lady of the Night' while he told me stories of Kalidasa, Tenali Raman, Birbal and his own childhood exploits and fed me my dinner.

While my favourite has always been the Sampige or Sampangi flower, he was partial to Jasmine. This weekend, I had a very special experience that brought back powerful memories of my grandfather, and this small, unassuming blossom that is so prized in India for both religious and ornamental purposes.

I made a trip to my hometown and had a lovely time meeting friends and family. I was also able to re-establish contact with one of my oldest friends - Muniamma, who worked at my home for as long as I can remember. She is a very special person with great strength of character and a very positive outlook towards life. She has probably had one of the most difficult lives of anyone I have had the opportunity to know, and yet, there have been very few moments without a smile on her face. Always cheerful, she is a caring and protective person who still loves me just as much, even though I have not been able to meet her for over 4 years.

When she saw me, she scolded me for having lost weight and dressing like a gypsy, and asked the spouse why I was being allowed to run around without any jewelry. :) We talked for a while, and she said -"Nee poovellam thalaiyila vekkamaatennu yenakku theriyum..aana naa malli vaangi thanda, konja neramaavadu vecchipiya? Yennala unakku vera yedhuvum kudukka mudiyaadhu." Meaning, "I know you're not that fond of wearing flowers in your hair, but if I buy you a strand of Jasmine, will you keep it on for at least a little while? I don't have anything else I can give you." What could I do, but say yes? She pinned the flowers into my hair herself, and told me how happy she was to see me, and thanked me for remembering her. I was so touched by her gesture that for many hours after I left her company, I could not stop thinking about the smile on her face, and felt elated that I had contributed a little to her happiness. Taking in the powerful, sweet scent, I was taken back to those precious moments I spent with my Grandfather.

P.S. I googled 'Jasmine' and was pleasantly surprised to find that it means "Gift from God". How appropriate that it is a sign of Muniamma's friendship, and Ajja's favourite.

All clear!

India visits always involve more lunch and dinner invitations from friends and family than my poor stomach can handle. Though I'd like to pretend that it's a chore to go eat all that good food, the truth is, I gladly suffer the indigestion in exchange for goodies I will never make or eat in the US.

On one such occasion, we were all over at my uncle & aunt's for lunch, and had finished packing in an ungodly spread. Post lunch - pre coma conversation was ongoing when my Grandmum announced that it was the worst Bangalore summer yet, and that she needed a drink of water.

So off she went to the table near the refrigerator where all the bottles had been placed. If it were me, I'd have just glugged from the bottle, but she did the decent thing and poured herself a glass, and remarked disappointedly that it wasn't cold since it had been out for a while. We all resumed talking, and a second later, there was an agonized squeaking, and we all turned around to see my grandmother shove the house-help away from the sink and spit a whole mouthful of water out.

Once that was done, she sagged against the counter and said..."AIYO! My mouth and throat are on fire!! What was that!?". Turned out, she'd just downed half a glass of Gin, neat.

Her first reaction when she realized what she'd done was to say.."UGH! You people drink this by choice? Mad."

Now, any time she says anything remotely conservative sounding, we let her know that she's joined the ranks of us degenerate alcoholics, so this kind of hypocritical attitude isn't going to fly. She's such a sport though..she laughs harder than the rest of us put together. :)

India's Favourite Sport

India is a cricket-crazy nation, and my family is most definitely high up there on the scale of craziness where the sport is concerned. I however am not. In fact, in the span of my life in India, I may have watched at most 2 complete games if you cobbled together the bits of the ones I caught on TV while on my way to the fridge,  stepping out the front door, or if I happened to be sitting in the living room when my sister ran in throwing a blue fit about how dare the channel be on something else other than a game that was in progress, and didn't I have a book to read or something?

Now that you have a fair idea of my deep involvement with the game, I want to share that I went to watch my first live cricket match at Chinnaswamy Stadium in Bangalore where the Royal Challengers, Bangalore gave the Kolkata Knight Riders a fair trouncing. I shall also admit that this is 4 years after my move to the States. Better late than never, what?

My sister, seated next to me ruptured my left ear drum during the course of this outing with her incessant shrieking, so if I don't respond when you talk to me, move to my right and repeat. Also, I narrowly escaped with both eyes despite some frenzied flag waving by this very large, not young man in the row in front of us.

That I was also people watching rather than being riveted to the game is a cause of disappointment to my sister, but I have no such regrets. In fact, the guy who was dancing as though possessed - rapidly jerking his head with his tongue hanging out, which in turn caused his considerable belly to also rapidly jerk (imagine a walrus having a seizure) - more than made up for a wide ball. I had no idea that a Bollywood song could inspire such reactions.

The spouse, having had no exposure to cricket since his childhood was spent doing little league and soccer, and who this outing was really in aid of, had his first taste of India's favourite sport. He rather enjoyed it, contrary to his pre-conceived notions about the speed of the game, and the possibility of being able to pack for a trip between runs.

In any case, good times were had, much thirst was experienced (since they don't allow any bottles with liquids into the stadium, and if anyone has a strategy to get to the iced tea vendor before he is mobbed and robbed of his meagre supply, let me know) and I finally bonded with my family over that game.

Shoe Karma

The whole of last month was spent building up to my trip to the motherland, and here I am 2 weeks in, having worked remotely, started yoga classes, taken a trip and combated some crappy food poisoning. I am on the mend now, and well enough to blog. :P

My entire family is obsessed with Indian classical music, and we make it a point to go to as many live performances as possible. On one such recent occasion, the whole shebang had made its way to a concert in the city, in a relatively new auditorium within a temple complex. By shebang I mean mum, dad, 1 grandfather, 2 grandmums and a great-grandmum! My poor parents probably feel like they're kindergarten teachers taking stubborn children on an excursion, complete with bathroom visits, the inability to sit still for more than 10 minutes at a stretch, and the insane amount of resistance to anything that might make their lives (and that of my folks) a little easier. They weren't kidding when they coined the term 'second childhood'.

Anyway, the concert was great, and it was time to leave, not to mention that it was pretty late in the evening. Out they walked, only to find that the men had absconded someplace with no warning. So the rest waited for about 15 minutes near the car outside, and finally spotted my dad and grandfather striding towards the car, the latter visibly upset about something. On closer observation, we noticed that my grandad was barefoot, brandishing a lone slipper in one hand, and a cup of 'prasadam' in the other. When he reached the gaggle of ladies, he began offering them the prasadam while dangerously swinging his slipper close to their faces with some wild gesticulations of his other arm. My mother, quite baffled by this point, asked him why he was holding his slipper, to which he responded - "Yaaro shaniyan yennoda oru seruppa thirudita!" meaning "Some worthless individual has made off with one of my slippers!". My mother then asked him what use one slipper was going to be. My grandad in his innate naivete, said "Will they not give me a matching one at the shop?" Everyone around him asked if he was mad, and then he said.."I don't care..I'm going to hang on to this one in case the other turns up someplace". Humouring this completely ridiculous notion, everyone got in the car and went home.

My grandmothers were having their usual morning tete-a-tete, and one says - "I cannot imagine who could have taken your husband's single slipper. Would they have had no clue that they are wearing 2 completely different things on either foot?" The response was.."I don't know, maybe it is possible to not realize such a thing at all..it is pretty stupid though." And she proceeded to go upstairs to her flat. When she stepped in the door, she saw that miraculously, both my grandad's slippers were there! She ran to ask if he had gone back to look for it, and was met with a 'Are you nuts!?' look. My grandfather then realized the import of what she was asking, and was overjoyed to discover his move of keeping the other slipper had reaped such heavy rewards. My grandmother, still very confused about what could have happened, decided to step out to get some groceries, and realized that one of her slippers was missing.

Of course, this could only mean one thing. The culprit and thief of the lone slipper had been her all along! In her haste to get my great-grandmother into the car the previous night, she had put on one slipper of hers and one of my grandfathers and had merrily returned home. My mother when told of this sudden and startling development, asked between convulsions of laughter how she could possibly not have realized this, to which she said..I was walking all awkward, but I thought it was my spondilitis acting up.

A contract for life?

With a good amount of luck,
A freelance project I'd land
To make a few bucks
Concepts I created for a new brand

"Oh! This is not what I had in mind."
said the client for the contract he signed!
"Can you work on a few more,
Only now five for the price of four?"

A few weeks later, a bit discontent,
Designed what he tweaked to a great extent
Months passed by, and all was normal
Until one fine day, he pinged acting all formal.

From topic to topic, it changed direction
Finally he asked about my ancestral connection
Oh, No! What's with all the weird questions?
Politely I logged off, as it seemed only unprofessional.

Almost a year and a few months passed by
A random email I received from the same guy
This time with very little to do with his company update
And more in line with - " How about we go on a date?"

Why oh! Why, will this never end?
It's a new sitcom for all my dear friends!
Who will it be, among these strange men?
Cos I am no Barbie to find her own Ken!