my people

When nostalgia sneaks up and threatens to choke you

You reach out and grab a fistful of the virtual
And curse every God in every reality

For writing different destinies

Then, they come in bits and bytes

Talking, sharing, saying silly things

And you thank every God in every reality

For writing them in your destiny.

Simon, go back, really

If all you want to do
every day
every minute
is to crib and moan
about a country
and its people
while not moving a finger
to do anything about
the sorry mess
I guess it would be wonderful
all around
if you got your sorry ass
out of the said country
no?

a bird in hand

She wondered often
how it would be
to be loved with a passion
so furious and all encompassing
that it burnt like an inferno

She wondered often
and overlooked
the steady calm flow
of a river of love.

Be a jewel bird

There are these tiny birds that fly around busily where I live. They are really small, the size of my thumb with a beak that looks super sharp. These little birds come in several gorgeous colours; emerald green, bright blue, glossy black and a few shades in between. I don’t know what they are officially called, in my head they are the jewel birds. I love watching them as they furiously go about collecting food, looking for bits of string or such to build their nest. They go about their business separately, but occasionally get together and chatter awhile before getting back to work. In the evening, they all get back home to a common tree. Chaos ensues before calm falls.

These birds remind me of women, not because they are all female, but because of how different each of them looks and yet, like us, they share something deeper, something so unique. As women, our strength, our fear, our love, our angst are all woven together to make such a remarkable entity.

It was then that a thought occurred, if the women got together, stuck together and stopped being each other’s worst nightmare, who would dare to stand up and do them harm? Who would dare speak against a woman when her fellow females stood rock solid by her?

I would go to war with the women I call my friends by my side. They are my pillars; they are women who have immense inner strength and a beauty of being. They are rough and soft and sweet and sour and catty and humorous and frivolous and deep… they are a glorious multifaceted lot who can make and break the very fabric of this society.

This women’s day, could we all hold up our hands and say we would stand by each other, through thick and thin, better or worse? Could we respect the amazing spirit each one of us has been bestowed with and give a friendly boost to others whose light is flickering? Could we be like those little birds, each individual jewels, who together, are a minefield of beauty and joy?

Let us choose freedom over the petty and stand by each other, for together, we are a truly formidable bunch.

Happy Days, Women.

 

Being happy is a choice

I have often wondered, why people have to find fault with every little thing.

During a brilliant rendition of the folk dances of India where the music and dancers weaved magic, a set of people wanted to know why the ladies were wearing backless blouses.

While gobbling down a particularly delicious plate of dahi-wada in a cookery contest, a bunch of tasters dissed the chefs for not serving it just so.


Post an event put together by a set of volunteers with no prior experience at putting together something like it, some of the audience grumbled at having to sit for 15 minutes more than was scheduled.

One wonders why one does that... why does one overlook the happiness and beauty in a particular moment? Why would one rather look at a tiny fault when the whole is a magnificent amalgamation of life and joy?


Being petty is so easy, but it only leads to a disgruntled existence.
Be happy people. It is a conscious choice one makes.

From the human hovercraft. Not

Post by Uma Iyer.

laugh to live

Don’t laugh out loud

What’s that weird face?

Are you being sarcastic?

What is that you are wearing?

Farts and burps are not funny

Stop it, people are looking

Did you just snort?

There are many things in this world I am grateful for

But most of all, on the absolute top of my list

Are my people,

Who have the common sense

To see humour in little things

So the big things become simpler

Lighten up, light up

Watch the chip on your shoulder melt away
Religion, status, inclinations, borders exit
Where humour exists

#Humouristheonlyway

One little change

I assume
You presume
and thus ends a beautiful relationship

I judge
You react
and thus ends a wonderful friendship

I argue
You defend
and thus ends a brilliant idea

The end would never be
If only
I heard
and you listened
I spoke
and you reasoned
without prejudice
without preconception
without bitterness

Stay open, stay happy.

Wiring change required

A friend posted a random video and as per form, I clicked on the link and watched it.
Another friend commented on it saying the video came across as vaguely weird to her, she was unable to express her thoughts in words and we had a discussion.

The video portrayed a woman walking down a busy lane post sunset. A bunch of well dressed, beer guzzling romeos follow her, eve teasing happens in full swing till she turns to one of the guys and freezes. The future molester/ rapist freezes and in a shocked tone of voice asks the other guys to stop and desist ... because she is his sister.

So the question is, does one stop eve teasing only because one has a mother or a sister or a wife at home?
Or does one stop eve teasing because it is just plain disrespectful to another human being?

A woman should be respected for being. Not for being someone's someone.

Major re-wiring of mentality is what we need.

Carrom Stories

I come from a large family. A family that believes in getting together at the drop of the hat and food, food invariably plays a large part in all our gatherings. But this, is not about eating, it is about that other very important ritual that unfortunately has ceased being as important.

Carrom was not just an indoor game for the Amoors. When we visited our grandparent’s home (which was every other weekend), it used to become a battle ground. Tactics were made, teams were decided and the air burnt blue with curses and victory cries. Pride was taken in polishing and cleaning the ‘Olympic sized board’. Lights were adjusted and fixed so there was adequate lighting but no shadows. Fans were placed at a strategic distance so the players did not get uncomfortable under the hot asbestos roof whilst making sure that the flow of wind did not play havoc with their aim. Food and water was supplied at regular intervals. Coin-boys and girls were chosen (the little ones who would pick any coin that fell on the floor, would help with powdering the board with the ‘finest quality boric powder’ and generally play fetch).

My youngest uncle was a much sought partner, because when he got hold of the striker, the opposition might as well go out for a stroll. He cleaned the board with finesse and cleared shots that looked near impossible. My other uncles, brother and appa were pretty good too. All in all, it is safe to say that we littlies never had a chance in hell in playing a full game when the elders were at it. Though just watching them play was an adrenaline rush. And sometimes, when we got lucky, we were taught tricks of the trade.

My appa had invested in a similarly large Carrom board at home. Every evening, a bunch of my brother’s friends would come in and play the game. It was a riotous affair. Sometimes appa and I would team up against my brother and amma and play for hours. Some of my happiest memories stem from those hours of Carrom.

Then one day, it all stopped. I have no clue why. We still have large noisy family gatherings, we still have my brother’s friends dropping by… but somehow, Carrom is not part of our lives anymore… and it makes me melancholic.

When we went for our annual vacation last month, Ankita got hooked to Carrom again. Sriram and Ankita and I played some games. It all just came back in a rush. The moods, the arguments, the sheer joy of playing a beloved game so long forgotten… and I know I want it for my girl and her cousins and friends. I want her to understand the intense joy of playing together as a family, as part of a team.

Do not think at me like that

I have come across so many men, good well educated men who would go out of their way to help a woman in need, who take good care of their girl friends, sisters, mother.... and yet, yet they do not think twice about discussing a woman's anatomy in the basest of ways, just because she is a celebrity or a complete stranger who "is dressed provocatively" or voices her thoughts or is "aggressive"...

Is it wrong to appreciate beauty? Absolutely not. 

But is it wrong to objectify it? You better believe it. And it is not appreciated. At all.

Dear men,

When you look at me

And discuss my anatomy

With friends, with yourself

I hurt.

It makes me want to cringe and cover

and shy away.

You may say you are educated

and respect women

But really, think

Be honest with yourself first

Weren't you the one

Who laughed at the juicy ball joke?

Did I ask for it?

Like a violator would justify it by saying

Maybe I deserved it because I wore a tight t-shirt

Maybe I deserve it all.

It is time to wake up

And understand

I am not just an object

I am a person just like you

Yes I have a beautiful body

But I have a mind too

Don't look at me

and see flesh.

Look at me

and see me.

bricks and stones

Call me a racist

Because I have a religious symbol for a tattoo

Call me cruel

Because I will not bring the stray home

Call me stubborn

Because I do not want to look at things your way

Call me any name

Because it is not going to matter

As I am, what I am              

And my reasons are my own

My heart has bled

My back has bent

My eyes have dried out

So dear friendly advisor

Owner of saccharine tongue

Time for you to go

Because I am, what I am

And my reasons are my own

writing for one person. me.

the problem with having a hobby that is also your profession is that somewhere down the lane, you stop thinking of it as a hobby and it becomes work.

words used to be my best friends
now they are colleagues.
temperamental and moody
sometimes stuffy
sometimes nice
sometimes good for a gossip
sometimes ready for a joke
always there for the client
but never just there
for me
and i feel abandoned.

wise mouth, shut up please

it is nice sometimes
to not hear a voice
that says wise things

it is nicer still
if the voice is yours
and it perennially got you in trouble
because of its apparent lack of connect
with the working part of your brain

it is even nicer
because you really do not like how your feet taste.

i liking this bucket baba business very very

http://bucketbabas.blogspot.in/2013/08/3-hours-with-6-year-old-be-scared-be.html

have fun.
toinks.

The what ifs

Life is full of yes-es and no-es
and a few what-ifs

The yes-es have their own stories
The no-es, their own endings
But the what-ifs,
they are like undigested food
stuck to the craw
arising occasionally
as acid burps.

here we are again, doing what we do best - talking to oneself

when there is absolutely diddly to do
the mind works in strange ways

there are dialogues being exchanged
that are waiting to be made into stories
there are memories flashing by
waiting to be spoken about
there are conversations happening
between people who need to be in touch

when there is absolutely diddly to do
the mind works...
but the lazy body,
the lazy body finds a comfortable couch
and browses through mindless thrash
avoiding the to-dos
and the really should have already been dones
while wallowing in the fugue
created by having diddly to do.

Split wide open

For the first 16 years of my life, my mother put in a lot of effort (albeit with a lot of moaning and swearing) in braiding my hair into two neat long plaits. Every single morning she would appear magically by my side with the paraphernalia for war against curls, knots and stubborn daughter. The ruckus that followed would usually send my dad to dive behind his newspaper and the brother to spout caustic comments. The disinterest in the plaits was a front, because hey, I had the longest pigtails in town and I was very proud of them.

Then, I grew up and college beckoned. It was time to wave goodbye to pigtails and there was only one way around the problem … the hair had to go. So, one bright summer day, I gathered my savings and went and got a solid length of my hair chopped off. This did not mean I went and got a mushroom cut or anything because:

a.      I lacked the guts (proprietary mothers are VERY scary creatures)

b.      As mentioned earlier, I was secretly quite fond of my plait

Through early morning camps and mad college schedules, my hair maintained its health and never gave me much trouble. This was primarily because I never ventured beyond the staid yet sturdy plait, but was also because my lifestyle then, was pretty much all about 3 very important things – me, me and me. I was reasonably religious about my hair care routine – massages, washes and the occasional trim. My hair grew at a respectable rate and most days, we had a happy ending.

Then came the era of what I like to call temporary insanity.

The colouring, the moving cities and the total lack of ‘me’ time lead to major hair loss. Long plaits were a thing of the past. I thought I would end up going bald. Was even contemplating tattoo designs for my bald pate when Dove saved people who know me from a fate scarierthan bald witch meets Godzilla.
 

So now that the hair fall had stopped, I was beginning to have dreams of regaining my rightful title of the local healthy plait contest winner, when horror struck. I had split ends. Horrible, ugly curse that made the ends of my hair look like a much abused broom.

Not. Happening. At. All.

Thankfully, there is a Keratin God and I suspect she goes by the name Dove.

The new Dove Split End Rescue System with 1/4^th moisturising milk claims to bring the split ends together and give up to 4x less split-ends.

Directions to use the Dove Split End Rescue Shampoo:

• Apply to wet hair, lather and rinse. In case of contact with eyes, rinse thoroughly.

• And be logical and follow it with New Dove Split End Rescue Conditioner (apply to wet hair, rinse thoroughly)

I have been using it for over 2 weeks now and I am slowly beginning to see the revival of my hair. It makes me feel all warm and nice to think I would soon be able to go back to what suits me best – a long, healthy plait…(uhm, just don’t tell my mother I said this though)

Go on and get yourself the new DoveSplit End Rescue System, long hair or short… healthy hair matters. 

kiwi drainex unclogging my brain

Someone asked me the other day if I believed in God

And I automatically went into the one Supreme Being spiel

Someone asked me the other day if I believed in God 

And the question remained with me

So, what is God to me?

Good music that gets me to sway automatically

Food that makes me go mmmm

A beautiful face that catches my attention

Laughter that is uninhibited

A river, a mountain, a rambling ruin

Birds that fly for the joy of flying

That puppy whose entire body vibrates when I give him a belly rub

Anything and everything that even for a moment makes me forget me

That is God to me.

when you got to write, you got to write

i cannot dance
i cannot sing
i lead a quite
existence

a brilliant blue
nor an orange hue
will ever announce
my presence

when i leave
no drums will roll
nor curtains fall
to mark the occurrence

i leave no mark
i leave no sign
i come and go
as i please

i may be a shadow
i may be a sign
i may also be
your release.

there. there. i knew today was lets write some stupid poem day. why do these words even come in my head when i don't get them myself is beyond my understanding.
but i had to get them out. or they would just go round and round in my head making me irritable and dizzy.

it is like a disease. this mad rush of words that cause a traffic jam in my brain.