What re flop?

I realised, my language sucks donkey's balls.
Do you know of any place I can buy hearing nanny monitor for the daughter?
She is picking up strange strange words and phrases.
When asked aisa kyun kar rahi ho tum? she says, and very seriously, kyunki saas bhi kabhi bahu thi.
hmpf.
only i am allowed to have foul language in house.

i love the metro

Just love it.
Metro has made delhi accessible to me.
I pledge my undying love for the Delhi Metro.
Chalte raho!

mamma blogs

here:
http://realbeauty.yahoo.com/uma-iyer

apart from that, i am reading this book called the bad dog's diary by martin howard (thank you gaya tree). it is howlarious.

no wonder i love dogs.
okbye

gully seher mein re maaro ghaghro re ghumiyo

prabha and her husband atul are visiting us. completely awesome time we are having. especially prabha and me. we love ourselves some gossiping sessions sans husbands and baccha. also, i am discovering delhi with them. went to chandni chowk and bought a fancy soorma daani. the dukaanwala insisted i put the soorma on then and there. for a couple of very scary seconds, i thought the guy was trying to scoop my eyes out, but he managed to lagao soorma, and it didn't look half as bad. so full points to the man and full money also because i bought the whole schmoodle.

from there we went to the paranthewali gully. i am very glad i am used to eating in seedy looking joints. i am also gladder that i had had no breakfast and it was almost lunch time, so i didnt get second thoughts. the place is stuffy, filthy and full on crowded. BUT. BUT, those guys sure know what they are about. we chose to eat paneer parantha, aloo parantha, dal parantha and pudina parantha. prabha ordered the rabri parantha. i thought she was being extremely brave. only later we realised she had, for some reason, thought rabri = ragda. luckily for her, the parantha turned out to be amazingly yummy. only, it does not qualify as a main meal, it is a dessert. the choice of paranthas was a mile long ranging from the regular to the absurd (khurchan parantha anyone? or maybe you'd want a sample of bhindi parantha? or nimbu?). the lassi deserves a song written on it... "aye mere pyari lassi, tujh mein meri jaan fasi" types.

then we went to the red fort ... which was closed for honest tax paying citizens of India because some vvip was due to arrive on a visit. so sweet. after all, we are here to oblige and visit again at their convenience. atul was especially very sweet about the whole thing since he had had a similar experience at the Taj the previous day. he would have loved to meet the vvip and tell him exactly how cool he found them.

then we went to dilli haat in an auto. that had a meter. and the driver WANTED to go by meter. in delhi. will wonders never cease?

there is a metro line right upto dilli haat. super freaking awesome. considering how much i love the place.

now i am tired. and i have sent the visiting couple to see akshardham. later in the evening we plan to do some more ghooming.

happy days are here again.
and my comfort salwar kameez has suddenly gone tight on me.
the price you pay for all that happiness.

tchya men ...

so we went to goa. again. it is such a lovely place. i plan to retire there you know, like some 40 million others... buy a small plot of land near the sea, open a shack, not do much, eat a lot, go for walks and hang out with the locals. i love the goans. love them, almost as much as goa itself. i love the way they smile, i love the way they talk and i absolutely love their quirky names. met a boy named beauty and a girl named august. so sweet and unassuming both of them. like their names. and then, there is the sea. ssssssighness...

i want to retire tomorrow.

maaya maya yo, maaya maaya yo, maaya maya yo ...

Delhi in Mumbai mode

After cribbing about the lack of rain here in Delhi, I have been forced to swallow my words with a few hundred litres of water.

What baarish man.

Love it.

Though, there is a baadh like situation. And I should be feeling bad and all.

Stupid excesses.

Now I cannot even freely announce I love the rain.

Big OUCH and one tight slap

The husband and I were riding through the NH 24 last evening. As Sri was trying to avoid riding alongside a UP transport bus (spitting, puking passengers + mad crazy drivers = stay away), we noticed a couple of teenagers flying kites alongside the highway.
I saw sri waving his hand across his face and the next instant something sharp cut across my face.
It was the string or maanja from the kites.

It hurt big time, but we couldn't stop to see how bad it was / to squash the idiotic brainless morons who were responsible for it. It burned like hell (God knows what they put in maanja these days, I know glass used to be one ingredient earlier). Got home and cleaned it with dettol then went and got a tetanus shot.

So here I am today, with a slash across the jaw line starting from mid chin to an inch past my left ear. Bloody ugly mean looking thing.

Mugs asked if it looks like grilled chicken, I told her it looks like someone took a dagger to me.
She thinks that sounds glamorous.
I think the look goes with the new fancy dress I picked yesterday.
Bold and the beautiful wot?

On the side note, if I ever catch sight of anyone flying a kite anywhere near a busy road, the person is going to be roadkill.

Poetry in motion?

I am not a football fan. Inspite of coming from a sports crazy (which essentially means cricket and football) family. My father, brother and sister in law follow their respective teams obsessively.
Me? The only two footballers whose name I remember is Pele and Maradona. One because I was asked a GK question (Black pearl = who?) and the other because my brother went on and on and on about the "hand of God".

Zizou ... Beckham ... Rooney ... Ronaldo ... huh?

I have a vague recollection of rooting for Cameroon, sometime way back. Don't ask me why. I cannot remember.

Now though, I think I want Holland to win. Ekdum dil se, dil se want to win.

Because when they are on the field, they remind of Nagpur ka Santra Barfi.
Anything THAT orange, gets my vote.

One drip, one drop

... and we are done .

I don't think we should even dignify it by calling it the monsoon season.
And to think i bought a perfectly lovely umbrella for ita.

She uses it while she showers. Smart kid, learns fast.

Bloody nonsense.

somethings, are meant to be forever

like the teeth in all our pictures. they have to show, they have to be the most commented about.
like the food mania that descends on us each time we walk down Ram Maruti road, Thane.
like the inner bitch who surfaces to crib, claw and disintegrate every issue and person when we are together.
like how time flies when we are gossiping.
like the look that passes between you that only you get and she gets and so does she.
like the pain you feel is reflected in the panic in her face.
like the smile you have thinking about juvenile cracks.
like the joy of saying fulao, fafad and laftof.
like being in one place at one time.
like dragging a scooter and a bike and planning devastation for the ones who dared to puncture our tyre.
like spending a lot of time cutting, pasting, painting stuff and finding immense peace in it.

true. somethings are meant to be. somethings, are just home.

Catch 22

Alzheimer's has made us do many, many things. All of them, painful and degrading to the sufferer. It has made us feel helpless. It has made us feel sick.

Yesterday, its mayhem reached a pinnacle.

It made us feel like losers.

We have decided to let go. We have decided to let nature take its course rather than cutting appa open and inserting more tubes in him. We have chosen not to try and extend his time on earth by means of artificial support.

We have chosen. And it hurts like hell. To give up the fight.
But it had to be done, for him, who suffers every day.
For her, who lives in vain to see him get up and be normal.
For us, who watch him die one little bit everyday.
Damn you, you horrible blasted disease. DAMN YOU to the deepest corner of hell.

blog block

its been one of those months... where you have a lot to say, but cannot be bothered with typing them down.
there really ought to be something like kiwi drainex to unblock this block.

Beautiful lines

♫ These were the status message of someone in my chat list. The words are so, so simple and yet, so, very beautiful.

The dead can hide beneath the ground and the birds can always fly, But the rest of us do what we must in constant compromise... So I have become the Middleman. The gray areas are mine. The in-between, the absentee - Is a beautiful disguise. The gray areas are fine. The "I don't know," the "maybe so" - Is the only real reply.

Coolest, ever

The other day, my brother in law had come over. He used to be with the Indian Army. He observed ita for sometime and said, "she is excellant commando material."

curious.
fearless.
free-spirited.

:-)

Needless to say, I treasure that line more than any other compliment my baby has received till date.

junk food in delhi is depressing

only aloo aloo every where
not a sandwich to see

pav bhaji is murdered

ragda pattice is tikki
no concept of the teekha chutney
the pav, is sweet
dhoklas are a soggy mess
and dosas have stuffings of paneer
no sabudana wadas
and no chikkis
only fruit chaats and momos
and some fruit beer.

Face of India

an idea, waiting to happen.
think big, aim small
try hard, or not at all
future bright, future sharp
a vision clear, straight from the heart
a photo, an opinion, a word, a blog
Thats what Face of India is all about.

and so i thought

that once ita goes to school, there would be a little peace.
only now i get it.
it takes more time to get her to go to school and me to work than it ever did before.
and she insists on reading her books. which is quite hilarious actually. sri has recorded it. i am hoping he would remember to upload it before her graduation.

One moment is all it takes

There are a lot of things that are not going right. Apart from Murphy working overtime and PMS just dying to do its bit, life has been pretty miserable.
Until this morning...
When I received an SMS from someone I consider worthwhile with news that is more than worthwhile and then a little later, as I sat on the 17th floor of an otherwise boring building, a parrot came flying by and sat @ the window sill.

Life doesn't seem so bad at all.
In fact, it suddenly feels beautiful.

One moment
in time
Where the sadness
fades
And sunshine
breaks through
Life smiles
for me and for you.

This one, is for hope

The New Year began with a fart. Literally… and then continued to its logical end, in the potty.
For someone like me who believes in the significance of beginnings, the year 2010 looks like a load of shit.

My father in law has lost bladder control and Alzheimer’s has further stolen his ability to contain the refuse from his intestines. It means a lot of washing and cleaning and mopping. It means a lot of aggression and violence and shouting. It means a lot of heartbreak and tears and frustration. It means a lot of patience.

Sri and I have the luxury of (somewhat) peaceful nights by virtue of having a room on another floor but my sister in law has survived last year on almost no sleep. She has morphed from being the eldest daughter, the apple of his eye … to the primary caretaker, a mother to her much loved father.

It has been a tough journey for all of us, more so for her. But she is holding up. There are occasional slips but she manages to bounce right back. She is not someone who would joke and smile and talk shop. She does not even try and find a humorous angle to the whole thing. She just is and I am proud of her. Because with people like that around, beginnings don’t matter, nothing does… love survives all odds and if its not triumph we achieve, we would have at least tried our hardest.

Not a Goddess
Not a saint
Just an ordinary girl
A symbol of hope
Her name means peace
And that’s what she is.

its the season to be merry eh?

so i can't concentrate on work, coz hello! Its Christmas time. Have you any idea how gorgeous Bandra, Hill road would be just about now?
They would have stalls upon stalls full of christmas decorations and trees ...
Stars and Angels and Shiny disco balls :)

They would have plum cake and marzipans and those milky chocolate thingies...

There would be people shopping and laughing and having fun ...

And then, when your feet beg for mercy, you could halt by that udupi joint there and have garma-garam pav bhaji or walk down to band-stand and have chana jor garam.

And listen to the sea.

sigh*

Its the season to be merry...
so have bought myself a tree
and some fancy decorations
a length of tassels
a bit of candy
some friends
with the promise of wine
have hired a cook
for some chole puri
Its the season to be merry
and so, i am going to be.

aatiiiishooo.

tip toe
past the door
they had some cases
1...2...3..4...

hush hush
don't say it loud
it is catching
you'll join the crowd

clean clean
cover your face
wash your hand
don't breathe in my space

paranoia
like diarrhoea
is a stupid thing.

swine flu giving me the whine flu.

Advantages of being a mumbaikar - 1

most mumbaikars know about a lot of festivals, whom it is celebrated by and more often then not, they participate in them all.

it must because of the bhel-puri that exists there...

but being the capital and all, shouldnt they celebrate or atleast understand them? most people here don't get gudi-padwa or an easter or pongal or pateti ... kya flop people hai I tell you.

Time flies

ankita will be 2 tomorrow.
she can talk (oh man, can she talk), she can sulk (for hours) and she knows what clothes she wants to wear.
How did my little baby morph into a teen so quickly?

her first joke

was giving ita a bath this morning and she points to these tiny mural-like things in the bathroom tiles and asks me, "amma, yeh kya hai?"
i say, "pots."

she looks at the pots for a while and smiles and says, "pots ... pots ... potty pots..." and laughs out loud.

what joy it is to know your child is going to have same to same nonsense sense of humour as you.

Confusion

There is this thing that has been bothering me for a while now. I just can't seem to come to a logical conclusion, therefore, if there is anyone out there who understands these kinds of things, do explain.

Hindus believe in rebirth, right? So what is this having shraadhs for the departed souls (years and years after they have departed?)
I have heard that when a soul leaves the body, it moves on to higher spheres based on the karma it has managed to accrue. This journey takes a long long time. But does this long long time mean it takes decades before a soul is brought up for judgment before Chandragupta? Does that then mean that a soul is in a state of limbo where it cannot come back and it cannot go up either?

Also, what happens to the theory that the soul is actually a body of energy?
If several thousands of souls are in the waiting line, how can new births happen? Because as we know (or at least have by-hearted in school) that energy can neither be created nor destroyed ... and that it can only come back in another form?

the questions may sound absurd, stupid even ... but they are there and i really wish someone could help me understand them.

you know it is time when

... you write in your head
and then every single thought vanishes the minute you sit down to type it down.

you know it is time then,
to retire and ask someone nice to give you pension.

Terrible twos

the dreaded tantrum phase is here.
and i am ready to tear my hair out.

i have always been proud of the way ita has been 2 steps ahead of schedule ... just hadn't bargained at the terrible twos starting 4 months early.

Jai Hind

just that.

i do not know why i love india so much.
i just do.
probably more than anything in this world.

must be some past life thing.
must have been major kraantikaari types.
who knows.

cheerio~

i am my mother

the other day was this lakshmi pooja at home. the vaadyaar came early and generally harried us till we sat down for the pooja.
post pooja, amma asked if i wanted to go and visit this old granny types and take ashirwaad.
i said yes and left with amma, amma's friend and ankita.

it was when i got there and removed my slippers that i realised that i had worn my ghar ka chappals.

all my life i have never understood madrasi maamis wearing lovely silk sarees, beautiful bangles with gajra in their hair wearing hawai chappals.
and there i was, in ditto ditto position.

verdict schmerdict...

i don't watch tv, usually. this evening i had the misfortune of having both time and remote at hand.
was generally surfing through the news channel and mentally patting myself on the back for avoiding nonsense serials and even worse news reports when i stopped to hear one report. this one was about a young girl who was raped in the home she was staying in. this girl is mentally challenged. apparently, the courts have deemed that she be allowed to keep the baby conceived during the rape.
some people were hailing this as the specially-abled people's right to motherhood.

how nice. take punch.

1. does the girl even understand the enormity of the responsibility?
2. is it right to put her through the pain and trials of pregnancy and child birth?
3. does a mentally challenged girl have the ability to take care of a child?
4. if the child is to be put up for adoption... then does only giving birth mean motherhood?

i do not support abortion. in most cases.
i believe that -
if you have been stupid enough to forget protection, you deserve to be stuck with quadruplets.
if the protection fails, then you take a decision and i hope to god it is to let the baby live.

but if you are raped ... i don't see how a woman would like to keep seeing a reminder of the gruesome event for the rest of her life, not in the mirror, not in her eyes ... but in her child.

and to let a girl who possibly cannot think for herself through it is freaking atrocious.
if you really wish to fight for something, go find the guy responsible and castrate him. sick creep.

maybe i didnt hear all of the news and have not got all of the background right. but it irritated me so i had to type this down. it was that or take the shotgun to some innocent's head = the husband, my most likely/handy victim.

ok goodnight.

cirlce of life.

as i was washing ankita's clothes, i realised my mom still washes mine, whenever i go to mumbai.
amma, you are cool, but i hope ita doesn't harbour any hopes regarding me picking after her 20 years hence.

i got a new keyboard, one of those that make thak-thak-thak noises as you type. love them. totally love them. my first keyboard at rediff was like this one.

rahul razdan sent me an ibibo card that said "gaavaat naveen pakhru aalela distay" (literal translation with neelu phule twang = in the village new bird has arrived).
meera and mugdha and i used to maaro this line super lechorously if we happened to see any new girl/guy/generally long long ago.

it rained 2 days ago. my baby and i had a lot of fun getting drenched and dancing on the terrace. we used to do that sometimes in mumbai. i hope ita remembers to have fun.

Not quite but thanks anyway

my friends think i am stressed after reading the last post. i am not. well, maybe i am, but can't do much about it now can i? like sheetal says, if we talk like turtles, we ought to be shelled.

thanks for worrying though. it makes you want to fight back to know there are people who are backing you all the way.

meanwhile, ita says tars pretty confidently. that is stars for you. but i quite like the way she points out authoritatively and says, "amma, tars."

Because he is not ours anymore.

Why can’t they leave me alone? Why don’t they just take their fancy stuff and smart mouths and get the hell out of here? Why do they have to plague me thus? What have I done to deserve this? Save me … help me … someone, please …

Ravi, you hold his hands, Shyam… legs. His nails are too sharp, they need to go.

Ganging up on me are you? You think because you are three you will get away with anything? Come on you sons of bitches, let me show you what I am made of. I might go down, but I will go down fighting.

Oh man, that hurt! Hold his hand tightly will you. God, the fellow has a mean kick. Where did he learn to fight like that? Ravi, stay away from his head … he will head butt you all the way to Chennai and back. Steady now.

Take that… and that. Ha! Bet that one hurt. Hey, wait a minute, why are you covering my eyes? I can’t see. Why are you pulling at my clothes? Stop it. STOP IT. Help.

Quick, hand me the scrub. Look at all this filth. There must be layers and layers of it. Ugh. Pass me the water. Yeah, get me the towel. Steady now, I am not going to hurt you… relax, relax, re …OWW! I see stars! Pretty blue ones.

What is the world coming to? Why are you cutting me up? I have never ever hurt you guys … I have never even seen you before. Why are you helping that woman undress me? Oh the shame … oh the shame … fie on you people. A pox on you. May you burn in hell …

I have never heard such foul language from him before. By struggling so much he is only hurting himself. Why can he not understand that?

Because he can’t understand us Maya …

Damn it man … he is my father… he acts like he doesn’t know me anymore

That’s because he doesn’t. He is in his own little world now where none of us exist

Thank you so much Alzheimer’s … thank you so bloody much.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
First hand experience has taught me to be scared of this dreaded disease. Mortally completely scared.
Often, sri and i discuss about what would we do, if we found ourselves forgetting ourselves. And most often than not, we end with a pledge, which might not be the right one, but for us, it sounds fine.
The pledge to end it before the disease ends everything else.
I have never had a stand as far as mercy killing has been concerned. Now, I do.

Absolutely nothing

... makes me feel better than a cousin dropping by, who just happens to love food and books.

got gift = one graphic novel = yay.

ate food = at chocolat AND big chill = wow.

thank you god for the three best things on earth. blueberry cheese cakes, books and matching wavelengths.

why am i doing this?

wallowing
self pity
probably two words that i detest most in this world. i am not a kind person and i seldom mince words, not a trait i am particularly proud of, but that is what i am. so why am i expected to live amidst people who do exactly that and why the hell am i killing myself by being polite?

damned if i know.

polite.
it IS the word i hate.

someday soon the dam is going to burst and there is going to be a very bitter exchange of words. i can feel the pressure building. i just know it is going to be the beginning of the end. and i dread it. dread it because i know me. i know when i constrain and strive and struggle against my most basic instinct, i end up spewing venom. and it is driving me mad.

did i mention i hate polite? and kind. and good. oh boy, do i detest good or what. screw it. there is no point in this mindless ramble.

Checked Chaddis and Unchecked Elastics

Ok, i am writing this post in lieu of my friend, lets call her Jugs (to protect her identity and all), as she cannot write about it as she is a very nice human being who does not laugh at other people's misfortune.
It is all essentially bull crap because the witch would laugh at her own flesh and blood given an opportunity. But still.

Jugs is very maako types, you know, the kinds that would rather climb mountains and kick ass than play dress up. So our Jugs is into this Jujitsu stuff where she gets to jump, punch and generally make people quiver. So the other day, one of her fellow students, who just happens to be a fortyish man, has some issues with his track pants. The firt time they slip, the instructor asks him very kindly to stop flashing his ahem, half moons to the class. So half moon man pulls his pants and everything goes back to normal. They learn new techniques to bash people. They have to practice these new moves. Jugs is looking for a sparring partner and thats when she noticed that the track pants had played truant again. She caught sight of some yellow and red checked chaddis* before she quickly turned and choked on her own laughter.

She called up to get it out of her system. I thought I would help by posting it here, to exorcise it completely. I am so considerate.
Now I hope one of her fellow students read this.

* colours changed to protect identity as well.

simply the best

you are light and nice
just spiced right
with a little bit of pickle
you are the best diet
dear curd rice, dear curd rice ...

on hot summer days
i crave for you
on stomach upset days
i'd kill for you
dear curd rice, dear curd rice ...

some say its boring
some say its typical
but the need for you
is very very physical
dear curd rice, dear curd rice ...

little kids to toothless aunts
thayir saadam fans, them all
no pizza, no pasta, no samosa pavs
gimme gimme, the only thing i wants
dear curd rice, my lovely curd rice...

- tambrahm girl.
ps: preferred pickle = vadumaangai.
ok bye.

aanan paanan aanan paanan

meera and i have this habit of absorbing retaining the most ridiculous of songs. and the songs have the annoying habit of taking over my head ever so often.
the one doing the rounds for the past couple of hours is:
"lekar tujhko jaaonga dulhan
aanan paanan aanan paanan
chand katola laaonga dulhan
aanan paanan aanan paanan..."

i have only met one other person who knows the songs we do, that would be tithir, gayatree's friend.
does anyone out there have this nonsense habit as well?

Very foul

a. pms
b. bad cold
c. horrid cough
d. tooth ache

so, if you have a death wish, disagree with me today.

Not so long ago

i used to be mortally scared of ghosts and such. ask mugs or prabha, they'd tell you what a fulltoo fattoo being i was. i would rather not drink water at night for the fear of having to getting up to pee in the night. i never ventured into dark corners, avoided places that to my mind, looked haunted, shat bricks after watching *****all serials like shh koi hai ...

but that was before. now i can do all of the above and not die of palpitations. because of ita. it has nothing to do with maternal urges or anything, just the thought that she is gonna pick on my nervousness and i am loathe to letting her grow up like that.

last evening, sri's driver was attacked by 4 armed hooligans. they hit him on head several times with the butt of a country made rifle and took off with his mobile, watch and wallet. the entire loss can be summed up to roughly 1,000 Rs.

the incident occured not 5 minutes walking distance from our house, in a crowded residential area at 9.15 P.M.

i am back to being scared.

why i love holi

I love holi. Absolutely, completely, totally, love it. Here is why:
Colours
Bura na maano holi hai attitude
Jalaoing Holika
All that water
Dancing to the tunes of the dhol
Bawdy songs, bawdier jokes
Everybody looks the same under all that goop
Warm bath after a round of thorough dunking is heavenly
Warm food is even better
A nap feels just right
Gujjias

and such good photo ops.
superk.
Happy Holi children.

i don't know what to say

... but baby, sometimes love just ain't enough.

... and sometimes long distance support ain't enough either.

Unwound.

i didn't climb a mountain
i didn't climb a tree
but i feel a lot better
i feel free

we didn't talk of troubles
we didn't go on a spree
but i feel lighter
i feel free

bring on the worries
bring on the woes
i am ready for the battle today
3 months down the lane, who knows ...

sometimes taking time out for doing nothing but eating junk, reading junk, venting and watching a tv serial for hours together with kindred souls can be more therapeutic than a week's vacation in an expensive place.

this one's for me.

after a long, long time ... i am going to do something utterly completely totally selfish.
i am going to take time off and do what i want.
money be damned.
for two days, i am going to be uma. just uma. no wife. no mother. no responsible adult.

yay.

Jai Mata Di

Went to Vaishno Devi and have just one word to say : OUCH.

Tagged... by Soo

I’ve been tagged by Soo to do the sixth picture meme, so here goes:



This picture was clicked on Bandstand, Bandra, Mumbai sometime in March'04.

Meera. Mugdha and I were meeting up after Mugdha's shaadi. She was visiting us from Hyderabad. And she had a new digi-cam. And all three of us wanted to be in the picture at the same time. We were drunk on the joy of being together, the sea, silliness.
The episode resulted in a whole series of absolutely mad pictures. This is the one where I have been almost completely elbowed out by Meera (in green and red).

I tag:
Mugs
Maddie
Sri
Austere
Andy
Gaya Tree

This is what you have to do:

1. pick the 6th picture from your 6th photo folder.
2. tell the story around it.
3. pass it onto 6 other people you like.

A huge blackboard

"its like your brain is a blackboard with lots of things chalked down on it ... and then, this giant hand with a giant duster just rubs it all out ..."

thats Alzheimer's for you.

bastard disease.

Ankita Puraan - 3

All my life (well almost all my life), one of the biggest issues I have had is with my hair.
I have grown them, I have had them trimmed, cut, coloured, massaged, streaked and so on and so forth ... but I have never ever been truly happy with them. They have always been too thick, too unruly, too nonsensical to be of any use to mankind. Ok, womankind. Oh alright, me.

It must be karma of some kind.
Ita has all of 7.5 hair on her head and she is almost 7 months old.

Now what do I do with all the cute clips I have bought?

Ankita Puraan -2

Dharam sankat situation has happened. We have 3 names and we like them all.
Meghna
Krita
Ankita

Both the grandmothers like Meghna. So does Kannan, the uncle-in-law.
Krita is different and both sri and I kind of like it.
Ankita is preferred by all three aunts and the maama. And us, of course.

We thought we still had days to decide as we sauntered into the lawyers office.

The adoption deed had to go in with the name.

And so, we had a grand total of 30 seconds to decide what she was going to be called.
Yes, the lawyer was very scary looking. Like Amrish Puri in Damini, minus the oily hair... and the bad guy part. So it was that we went to file our papers with our lawyer and came back with our daughter's name. Ankita.

I just hope she doesn't hate us for not calling her Krita or Meghna. Because now, after 3 months, I kind of like Meghna better than Ankita. Go figure.

All ours.

Today is a good day. Actually, a very, very good day. Special day. Nice day. You get the picture right?

The daughter is finally all ours. The court has granted us custody.

Till the time the lawyer's assistant came up and told us to collect the final deed, I hadn't realised that there was a vague nagging fear, a fear that ita would be taken away from us... didn't realise that at a sub-conscious level, I was scared to death. But thats all over now.

Ankita Sriram Iyer. My baby ... the bane of my existance, the love of my life is mine. All mine.
Ok, "ours" as sri would insist on me saying :))

Ankita puraan

I started keeping a diary (the old-fashioned kind) during my initiation period as a mother. This is one of the first write-ups…

7th April 2008

ANKITA – Empress, one with auspicious marks.
Our daughter… our hearts, as they say are forever destined to walk out of our bodies.

We brought her home on the 10th of March 2008 from Missionaries of Charity, Delhi. Today, she is already the apple of everyone’s eyes; the grandparents, the aunts, the assorted neighbours. Ankita or ‘ita’ as we call her, is an absolute joy, except when she is sleepy and doesn’t know how to go to sleep; then she is a cranky, pain in the backside.

As I write this, she lies here next to me in an outrageously big fluorescent green shirt, dreaming. I always wondered why parents dress their kids in such awful clothes … now I know.
It could either be because the child is being so squirmy/crabby/ touchy that the parent picks the first set that is within reach OR the child, very considerately throws up/does su-su/potty at the exact moment the parent has finished dressing it up and hence are forced to do a: A ill-fated fashion disaster or b: Resort to point 1 which is to grab the first thing available to sight. There is one other reason, probably the biggest one. Gifts.

The minute people hear about so and so having had a baby, there is an influx of clothes in said person’s place. Now there are a few sensible souls who send the parents thoughtful gifts, like vitamin tablets but the others … baby sets, booties, jackets, socks and so on … in colours they think are cute (or stereotyped by the cruel marketing focused fashion police) – pink for girls, blue for boys.

Do you have any clue how a pile of pink looks to someone who last slept Lord knows when, has a howling infant waiting for her bottle and the flask has played deserter again? YES … like a strip of digene.

So the parent does what anyone with frayed nerves would do. Forage for anything that is not in pink (or blue) – clips, shoes, bibs, nappies – and put them over the antacid representing apparel.

From now on, when you see babies dressed like they are from Saturn … do not blame the parents. Give them a smile, maybe even a pat on their back. Beget some good karma. When you have a kid of your own; you will need all of it.

I thought we were smart. The day before Ankita was to come home, we went and got her a bunch of clothes in blue. So, now when we take her out, she is either dressed like Britney Spears with dark hair or gets mistaken for a boy.

such a pig..

MCP: so that woman, have you seen her boobs? i mean you cannot miss them. haha. i forgot her first name. but... who cares about that right? wow. she must have been a size ...uhm ... arre! i forgot i was talking to a woman

Me: fuming*. yes. you forget i know her.

MCP: wahi toh! you woman toh would know what size just by looking, why am i wasting my energy by trying to guess....

Me: very amazed at how idiotic the people of the opposite gender could get.

Mooch part 2, with photos

and so was chronicled our hairy brunch :)

cheers~
ps: bloody mooch tickled nose bad, wonder how people have it for ever and ever?

mooch nahi toh kooch nahi

we were supposed to meet over brunch this sunday ... and i forgot, so did sri.
we had all of 10 odd minutes to announce our departure, put ita to sleep, leave instructions for when she would wake up, get out of pyjamas, wear clean clothes (damn the bath, damn the bath... it was sunday!) and leave.

minutes before our destination and in the middle of the zillionth signal, we noticed an auto driver trying to commit suicide under a water tanker. on closer observation we realised that the guy had wedged the auto (almost) underneath the tanker so he could clean his windsheild with the water dripping from the leaking tap behing the tanker. we almost missed the bearded salesman during our enthusiastic photographing of this cleansing ritual. almost but not quite.

the false beard and moustache set we bought for Rs.15/- turned out to be a riot at the brunch meeting. fulltoo paisa vasool. all of us tried it on, with variations of course - with moustache, without moustache, the beard on the head (a few drinks later) ... and got ourselves photographed.

it was one of the most amazing meals i have had. we laughed more than we ate, which if you know us, would really tell you how much fun we were having.
if only i could find the picture of mugdha and me posing as sardars now.

No matter what.

upset or sad
yell or shout
hungry or in pain
for a hug, for a cuddle
mums are the best.

i didn't quite get it.
until now.

no matter how much i yell and keep her from doing fun things (eating the chappals, toppling dustbins, putting fingers inside sockets) ... she holds up her little hands and wants her mother to comfort her ...

i am going to miss it when she grows up.
wonder if my mum does too.

willpower

must ...

lose ...

weight ...

uhm... is that a blueberry cheesecake? i'd like 2 slices please.

i hate sequels.

thanks to the delhi book fair, i have loads of books to read. and then, there was the landmark sale. so you understand just how many options i have, right? wrong. you know why? coz, i read the part 3 of christopher paolini's eragon series: 'Brisingr'... and the thought of having to wait for another 2 years for the concluding part to arrive is driving me batty. so batty, that i cannot concentrate on any other book.

bleddy nonsense.

superb third book btw. go pick. atleast just so we can all discuss and crib about the waiting period.

Monk-ita

Apparently, ankita looks like a buddhist monk.
Only we know that she ain't no peaceful meditating kind.

So, between all of us we have agreed to call her Monkita ... half monkey, half monk, full timepass :)

Sea Saw

The husband had to travel to Chennai on business and the 'lukkha-aatma' that I am these days, ankita and I tagged along.

I had so forgotten how beautiful the sea is. And how wonderful the breeze feels.
We are lucky that the sister in law has a house that faces the sea. And thanks to the crazy schedule the daughter keeps, am up at all hours ... staring at the sea. I have seen so many shades, so many moods, so much loveliness.

And, I have been eating kaccha aam and sundal and boiled channa and bhutta ... no wonder sri ka standard joke these days is ... what did the baby elephant say when he saw toinks? Mommmmmyyyy :D:D:D

Ok bye.

my mobile phone

is not letting me download the pictures i took with it.
and i am too lazy to re-charge the battery of my camera.

stupid mobile phone.

inglis is my 18th language and i spik it well

i was reading the Zoya factor by Anuja Chauhan (nice, nice) and i actually noticed that most people around me speak just like the characters in the book. very very desi english. it is is so much easier to communicate when you have a masala mix bag of several languages and you can pluck and choose and plug in words from all of them to form one gloriously riotous language that reflects your deepest thoughts in the most effeiceint manner, unlike this long sentence.

for example, if you had a brilliant idea, you can't just say hey, i have a brilliant idea ... it is wayyy better if you say something like, abbe sun, i have this super tohdu idea. i mean .. do you see the difference?

and then we have some drastic classic examples. like the names caterers give their "special" concoctions.
like stay fried vegetables
like paneer saslick
like hukka nudles

so cool neh? they make for so much entertainment.
chalo abhi katlo.

go... went ... gone

after the initial flush, this sudden window that enables freedom is beginning to look daunting.
tomorrow is my last day at work.
i
am
so
freaked
out.

we went out for a nice lunch today. just soo, nigel, nishtha and me. and i realised, i am not going to have anybody around to maaro my stupid pjs on.
nobody is going to understand sarcasm.
nobody is going to sit with me and crib about the nonsense deadline.
nobody. nothing.
and worst of all ... no pay cheque at the end of every month.

how am i going to pay my phone bills?
and my credit card bills?

penury ... here i come.

older and poorer, thats what my tomorrow looks like. and lonelier.

mumma :(

i am obsessed

with dragons, elves, dwarves, fairies, magic and such.

now i cannot read anything else.

please tell me it is just a phase.

to chronicle or not to chronicle

i want to write about every little thing she does...
the way she looks
the way she smiles
about how she loves curds like a good tam-brahm kid
about how she babbles all the time
the way her eyes shine on spotting a newspaper
the way she tries to put everything in her mouth
...

i don't know how or when i morphed into a wannabe mommy blogger
and i always thought i would never ever go on and on about ita.

...
and all ye parents, i do not want to hear your "we told you sos".
go and smirk some place else.
buggers.

The bald baby

there is this baby i know,
who used to touch her bottom when the nappy was off ... just to make sure her bum was still there.

the other day, her parents went and got her head shaved ...
and now she alternates between assuring her head is on and her bum is still there.

very very funny.

to know more about this baby, check her papa's blog.

For the first time

.. in over 9 years, I am not going to have a job.
i have no plans
and i am loath to take up other offers.

the prospect is daunting.
and strangely liberating.

now would be a good time to catch up on all the housework.
and to go to the gym.

and maybe ... just maybe, it is time to revive an old dream.
pruthvi - a fistful of earth.

dreams and schemes
crown and glory
one more chance
one more time...

peter peter, pumpkin eater

alright, it is supposed to be something like:
ita, ita, potato eta (eater)... but the pumpkin version sounds better.

sri, ita and i went out for brunch last morning.
and she managed to destroy a toast and polish off a wedge of boiled potato ... toothless as she is.



now we know she is our kid.
never say no to potatoes. in any form. any time. tooth or no tooth.

am gonna miss you amigo

was flipping through 'The Roald Dahl Treasury' this morning and was relishing the beautiful illustrations and thinking to myself ... Soo would love these ... when it came to me, she would not be around at office anymore... to discuss a design, admire a cover, talk about animation movies or share books with... and i am gonna miss it, lots.

have not known her for long, and i know we will be in touch ... but i would like to thank her now before i forget to be properly grateful ... for letting me inside her world of colours and teaching me to observe the beauty of lines drawn just so.

thank you, and i now know why you insisted on calling them graphic novels and not comic books :)

rock on, become insanely famous, write many-many books, make pots of money ... and share it with us poor folks. okbye, happy sailing ~

Thought bubbles

sometimes i think of those people, who touched my life briefly and vanished
when a current life incident triggers a buried memory
when a word, a song brings forth a face to my mind
when i am traveling and have nothing to read

i think of them
and wonder about where they are today
and why we fell out of touch.

i don't miss them
not like i would miss some others
but i would still like to say hello sometime.
just for old time's sake.

underneath the mango tree
there was a girl
waiting, waiting, waiting ...

All you people in Bangalore..

please tell me you all are safe...
Can't get through to most of you.

you bloody asswipes who planted those bombs ... may your liver be eaten away by red ants.

Have you ever

... confused a person for someone else and had a long conversation with him?
I did.
Today. Over the messenger.
Not my mistake actually. He shares his first name with another good friend. And his second name. But still.
Mighty silly.

letter in earnest

To,
The husband
Please come home. And take over midnight-baby feeding-changing routine.

Yours lovingly
Dog tired wife.

2 weeks have never seemed so ridiculously long. sigh*

how do i say i am sorry ...

... when i have never met the person who has passed away
... when i have never experienced a similar pain
... when i know the words are going to sound superficial
... when i cannot look her in the eye
... when i have a frozen tongue

how do i tell her ... that life will go on after her father's death?
i know it will, painful as the times would be ... but how does one go and offer condolence?
condolence ... such an ugly word. a poor representation of the anguish one feels for a friend going through a terrible phase.

i can only hope and pray for the soul
hers and the departed one's ... and mine
peace unto you.

a cat lives in my throat

and is trying her damndest to get out.

itchy scratchy cough-scarred throat.

bring on the sympathy and some hot water. and also strepsils. forgot those at home.

okbye.

I have noticed

that there are two kinds of people in my industry.
one who can write
the others who think they can.

Poetry from inside a cement pipe

I pinged prabha late last evening and asked her to take a dekho at my brand new blog header. I was super proud of it plus I needed to know if she was ok with being pictorially associated with my blog.

She was. Said she would have probably killed me if I hadn't put her snap.
Ok, its prabha we are talking about. She is so mild, she would probably just have gone all silent on me. And that would have killed anyway. So coming back to the long drawn point, she was quite ok with it. She ought to be. We share history. We wrote poems together. Whilst sitting inside an abandoned cement pipe. In the middle of a ground. Next to a gutter.

And she has got amazing memory. She actually remembered a couple of them. The following is the product of two kids with too much time at hand, a book and a pen.

I met a girl from fairyland,
She had in her hand a magical wand.
She looked at me with a friendly glance
And invited me for a little dance.

But I couldn’t dance as I was in a trance.
And so I missed my only chance to dance with a girl from fairyland.
And that is the dream I had had and so I am sad because I missed my only chance to dance with a girl from fairyland!!

Now if I can only find the book so I can treat you all to some more classic pieces of work.

My head needs to go for a walk

I know I ought to share, but it kills me to let anyone else bask in her smile.
But I know I am being bad, so I force myself to leave her with them.
And then hang around just beyond the door, watching, hoping... she'd miss me.

I know I ought to move on, but it hurts to know that my reputation is dog shit.
But I know I have a point to prove, and hang in there.
And pray everyday that they would give me a reason to say good-bye.

I know I need to confront her, but it scares me to think of not having her around anymore.
But I know I am being a coward, and I pick the phone up to call her.
And tell her about how it rained heavily today.

Mugs used to say that I carry a lot of baggage.
She must have been speaking the truth.
Suddenly the weight is overwhelming.
And I am not even talking about it in Kgs.

Let it up,
Let it go,
Heavy heart
Feather light.

sometimes

the sun shines
and it rains, hard

clouds converge
and the wind blows

happiness happens
and sadness seeps in

in and out
out and in

over and over again
cycle of life.

this and that

The only thing I seem to talk about these days is about the daughter.
I really ought to write about my life.
Now, wait a single minute ... what life am I talking about?
Mera jeevan ek susu potty nappy dudu routine ban ke reh gaya ...

Arrrgghh ...
Ok. Am so not letting the boredom demon seep in.
But it is difficult.
To suddenly be house bound. Not meet friends. Not have brain storming sessions. No deadlines. No lunch time gossips...

Am I a bad mother then? Because I cannot seem to find complete joy in just looking after my child?
I love the kid. I would hate to miss a second of her life. But somehow, the heart seems to crave for more. Not like I have the energy for more though.

Oh well, the silver lining is the number of books I have been able to read. Buddha the graphic novel, the entire artemis fowl series plus everything else that eoin colfer has written, the avalon series, a couple of daniel steels and ...uhm, a few mills and boons...

Oh and, the daughter has managed to crawl ... in reverse gear. Doesnt seem to get why the toy she was crawling towards suddenly seems so far.
Total nutcase.

Cheers~

The Golden Period

... ah, that would be a time when I get 8 hours of sleep, but thats not what I started to write about.

Since the time I hit 25, my monthly cycle has been a pain, I have often wondered how anyone could call it "chums"... admittedly some of my so called friends are bigger pains, but firbhi. Nausea, backaches, drowsiness, cramps, headaches ... its a wonder I have not plunged a knife and removed the bloody uterus myself yet.
So, when the other day the periods arrived, I was overjoyed. No trouble at all. This motherhood thing must work. Man ... I can stand them sleepless nights. Fair exchange I say.

And then, just like when the brat lets out an almighty yowl when we are sneaking out of the room after a 45 minute marathon session to put her to sleep, the tank dries up.

WTF? False alarm and all that.

No golden periods for you sweetie. Howdy womanhood.

Joys of Motherhood ...

and nope, am not talking about the book by Buchi Emacheta.

Our daughter Ankita is currently the source of Joy. Well ok, most times. Except when she wakes up at 2.30 A.M and for no reason. I mean, if a kid wants food or needs to be changed ... I get that. But if a kid gets up just for kicks ... I SO DO NOT GET IT.

Anybody who knows me understands that sleep is next to Godliness in my book. Does this 1 foot nothing tyke get that? No sir, not her. No respect for elders. Whats this generation coming to... tch tch tch.

Ok bye. The Empress is upset that I would rather stare at the computer than look at her making bubbles. Nonsense.

And the award goes to ...

I had borrowed the 'sisterhood of the travelling pants' from Soo.
Loved it so much I insisted she pick up the other parts for me (Lucky woman lives closer to the Landmark store than I do).
Read them all and felt strange. Like someone had placed a camera inside our lives. Mugs, Meera and I.

I knew Mugs had to read the book. So, with permission from Soo, I couriered it to her.
She loved the book and as usual, tried to whack it. Dire warnings about lost front teeth and bad curse for stealing third person's book had her couriering it back.

Got the courier today, and Soo ... just like that, gave the book away to me... because, it would complete my set. So cool! And, her note inside the book says:
Lifetime Reading Award :)
Of course, afterwards she keeps chuckling about how my lifetime is over at 30.

But wot the heck. I have the full set. Yipee!!

fearless warrior

and to doom i walk

all alone all alone

solitary soldier

braveheart girl
... half wise woman

on the way to work, i bit into a piece of roti ... and a part of my wisdom tooth just fell off.
now, it does not hurt or anything
i am not scared of the dentist or anything
but forces beyond my power (read very painful colleagues + husband) are insisting i go get martyred at the decay doctor's rickety chair.

so good bye and fare thee well beloved world.

he told me so :)

she: hey... beautiful sari!
he: uh huh... beautiful wife :)

ultra super.

No hang ups, no worry

Can I be like you?
You, who has lived and never learnt,
To feel the bitterness
That life has to offer…

Can I be like you, little girl
The one who has been cheated
But still bears no grouse
And is willing to give it one more try?

Can I be like you?
You …
The one “Maya” doesn’t seem to have a hold on?
Can I?
Please?

You might not know it, but you kick ass. Thank you Meera.

C ycle of life

I remember the days I used to come home from the playground to find my grandmom (my mother's mom) and my dad arguing loudly. She called him a cheat. He would respond in kind. They would glower at each other and walk their separate ways.

The fight was always about a game of carrom. Granny had her own set of rules. Dad was a pro. Both of them, bull headed. My poor mother, tired after a long day at work would be besieged with complaints from both the parties. I am sure most days she would have gladly rammed the carrom board down their collective throats.

One would think after an evening of bitter fighting grandma and dad would let up on their evening ritual. But no. The carrom board was a shrine they visited regularly. The ensuing argument, their homage.

Fast forward 2 decades... and I walk in on my mother and husband playing carrom. And they were accusing each other of cheating. When my presence was detected, complaints poured in.

Fulltoo deja vu happened :-)

Jai Mata Di

Ever since I have come to Delhi, I have always, every single time, tried to prove that Mumbai was way better than this *insert hugely popular bad word* place.
Mumbai locals blah blah
Public transport blah blah
Safety for women blah blah
People in general blah blah
Better food blah blah
The sea and the rocks blah blah
Closer to the mountains blah blah
Decent autowallahs blah blah....

The Delhiites hate it. Hate me. Tell me to go back to where I belong. And all that. Sometimes I grudgingly accept that the roads are way better and the Himalayas are worth the pain... and the forts and monuments and history is worth another round of paneer parathas ...
But today, when my ma got off the train, my hand reached for her bag and positively grabbed the bottle of water I knew she always carries with her when she is travelling and took one long swig out of it.

Ma gave me a smile and said "Bombay ka paani? :)"

Sigh *

HNY 2008

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=joidNeA5Q-Q

Starring:
Kiran as the God
Sriram as the God's 2nd pair of hands
Meera as celestial dancer part 1
Uma as celestial dancer part 2

That was what I was doing. Well, part of the time anyways. If the good Lord above made this year half as much fun as the last 8 days then I would so so so achieve Nirvana :-)

Rock n Roll...
Happy New Year.

Was gonna write about this and that but ...

I have just got to write about this beautiful conversation that Mugs and I were having:
Actually, I need to copy paste it.

19:19 me: :D

sun

i have an idea of sorts

a business idea

wanted to discuss with you and laloo

Mugs: *choke

another one?

:D

me: yes

:D

19:20 asshole

Mugs: lol. i loved doing that.

go on shoot

me: bloody constipated chicken's intestine

Mugs: lol

me: nice eh?

19:21 graphic enough for you

Mugs: yeah.

me: :D

bcci

lol

lol

lol

lol

Mugs: lol

me: takes a bow

19:23 am copy pasting this onto my blog.

Brilliant eh? I tell you, I can make a living out of inventing new new gaalis.

must write must write

must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write must write .....
oho deep in my heart,
i do believe that,
i have gotta write someday.

Raindrops keep falling on my head ...

Plenty has happened. Plenty to go. We are at the crux where the road can take us anyway. To the top. To the pits. Across. Within. No place. Every place.

There are so many thoughts in my head that the words are all rushing in causing a jam at the fingertips.

One thing that escaped the chaotic neurons was the immensely beautiful trip to Mukteshwar.
The weather, the food, the company, the locals and of course, the Himalayas.

Temple temple burning bright :)


Himalayas... gorgeous


The mad gang


For more pics, check out my flickr account ya?

we won we won we won...

yay
we won
we are the champions
we won
we are the amazings
we won
we won
we bloody won
the world damned cup
we won
we SO SO SO won

though,
i was not allowed to watch the match
that was on at work
because
my husband called and informed my colleagues
that i was a jinx
bull c r a p.

grrr.
but anyways. what the heck. i can live with that.
we won.
oh joy.

ringa ding ding ding

Ask no questions, get no lies
Hear no sound, hear no cries
Sympathy, Empathy… wasted words
Hello no more, no more byes

Sluggish rivers, blackened skies
No more hows, no more whys
Stalled connections, crossed swords
Bleeding ulcers, heartfelt sighs.

Ps: No idea how this came about. Generally only. Am not even depressed. Nonsense.

Not all relations have names...

Stumbled upon this group on Orkut sometime ago and it made so much sense that I joined up pronto. The introduction to the group goes thus:

Not everybody is someone's brother, or sister...
Or someone's father or mother...
Or boyfriend or girlfriend...
Or lover or friend...
Or......
Some relations go beyond the human confine of words...
Some relations which define you...
But you can't define them, no matter how hard you try...

There are indeed so many such relations that we come across through our lives. So many people we cannot call brother or friend or relative. So many faces that are dear to the heart, but have no labels attached to their names. So many acts of spontaneity that have moved and touched you ...

I want to say this to you folks whom I cannot for the lack of vocabulary (mine) categorize under a bracket:
You are the dew drops of my life. Rock on.

Hallelujah, Its raining books :)

13th Delhi Books and Stationary Fair
Pragati Maidan

Joy. Joy. Joy.

Gaya and I made a killing
Sri... is the best husband ever :)

tra la lee

i was gonna watch ratatoille (spelling is galat, i the know)
got together a bunch of friends
got husband to agree
got cousin to agree
and then got stuck in a meeting that went on.
and on.

the friends left for the theater
husband and cousin reached the theater

while i sat in a meeting ...

the point being, i missed the movie
but i did make it to the mall... where i waited for the people-who-got-to-see-the-rat-that-cooked

i waited in a bookstore
and i ended up buying 11 books and placing an order for 4 more

the day was not all that bad now was it?

The sign

Show me a sign that you exist, I pleaded.
God said, you think of me.

Realization...

I do not love him anymore
Probably never did ...

sigh*
Growing up simply kills all your youthful fantasies …

And to think I moped around for almost 14 years over it.

Bloody hell.

Good, bad and a happy friendship day

Monsoon has become a crazy time. Sometimes I pray with all my heart for a few stray showers and sometimes I keep my fingers tightly crossed, wishing the clouds away. The emotion is directly controlled by the day, traffic and road conditions.

Friday was a bad day. A few hours of rain and Delhi was flooded. Roads caved in, traffic signals failed, chaos ensued... and it took me a long, long time to get to work. Despite it all, not once did the thought of turning back occur to me... all those years in Mumbai have me well trained. The times we waded through knee deep water and other flotsam are memories I cherish now (though I wished to throttle the municipality back then)... and for a moment, when I reached office, I felt this rush of cheer... a feeling of achievement... rubbish I know but what the heck.

Little did I know that it was indeed going to be a long day. By the time we were done for the day, the car broke down on us. If it hadn’t been for the non-poetry appreciating caveman I would have been royally jacked. Didn’t expect to find help, don’t usually accept help… but cars and such are so not my forte.

Then I hear of a friend’s father being grievously hurt.

A few hours later, I hear of another friend’s mother being critically ill.

And all I could do was pray. And worry. And pray some more.

Time has this strange way of becoming sluggish when mental trauma is at its peak. The minutes ticked by like they were tied to enormously heavy metal balls. The wait to hear the all well sign played havoc on my nerves and once again I realized what I wanted most out of life … proximity to my friends… to people I could talk with …

It was then that I turned to my ever present buddies. Books. Marley & Me by John Grogon is an amazing tale of the relationship between a dog and the family that adopts him.

Just the right book to read on Friendship day.

Hope you guys had a great one…

So, who am i?

i speak in english, i think in english
i speak hindi, sometimes i think in hindi
i speak in marathi, seldom think in marathi
i speak in tamil, i concentrate to be able to speak in tamil

i listen to songs
english, hindi, marathi, tamil
i love them all...

english and hindi are just languages to me. a way to communicate... and i always felt closer to marathi than tamil despite being a tamilian.

the other day i listened to carnatic music and abhangs back to back.
both managed to touch me... deeply.

and suddenly, today i dont know where i belong anymore.
it would be so much easier to say i am an indian and go on with life.