lights

a collaboration with a poet friend. for the passengers of the still missing MH370, victims of MH17 and QZ8501, and all their families.

where do we go now?

I’ve realised that I end up taking stock only at the end of the year when it hits me that I need to change the dates on letters and posts yet again. Just when one gets used to writing 2014, it changes to 15. And so on.

2014 was maddening for me. In good ways and in some very, very bad ways. The beginning of the year was not too great and it went on to become horrific for my family and I when we lost my cousin and his wife on Malaysia Airlines jet MH370. I worked on auto-pilot that month till I was packed off by my mother to Beijing to help with my cousin’s two little boys.

Last night a missing aircraft was found in the Java Sea, which brought back memories of MH370 all over again. I’ve had to accept now that we will never know what happened to my two family members on the flight, along with 237 others. It wasn’t so much the incident itself that pushed me over the edge. It was humanity itself. People, their reactions, their inability to leave it alone instead of pondering the million things which could have happened, it all got to me. And while many people (including ones who barely knew me) were surprisingly thoughtful, many were also surprisingly callous.

The world seems to have moved on, but I don’t think my family ever will. Each time we look at my nephews or hear about their nightmares, their fears or them missing their parents, we will be reminded about what happened, or in this case what could have happened.

While the first half of the year seems to have been dominated by this, the second half brought more changes. The shift to a new city, a new part of the country, was something inevitable that I’d been putting off for a couple of years. The capital always seemed a daunting place, especially to someone from a relatively placid south Indian city.

Delhi has so far been everything that people warned me about, but other things as well. Yes, it’s aggressive and loud, it’s callous, ruthless, does everything it can to make you stronger. But it also has options like no other city. It’s hard to be lazy in Delhi. I’d planned a long break, but somehow, even without really pushing myself to find work, I’d got three job offers within three weeks of moving. And all in a new field (after I’d decided the media didn’t do it for me anymore).

The city always has something going on, and for everyone. For someone who doesn’t like noise and big crowds, even Chennai didn’t have too many options sometimes. But the capital is full of old buildings, beautiful monuments, large green parks, and I’ve found book stores to roam in when I’m bored. Dance performances, rock shows, talks and lectures, you name it and Delhi has it. If I feel like going out, I know I can. And yes, you have the large groups of teenagers and couples everywhere, but it’s not unusual to see some lone rangers doing things on their own. For every action here, there *is* an equal and opposite reaction.

It may not be home yet, it may not have a beach or endless options for a cup of good filter coffee, but I’ve noticed a few things not relating to just the aggressive gun-toting Haryanvis and Punjabis here. While Chennai was placid and laid-back, I’ve realised people there are too inert sometimes. If a boy had arbitrarily reached out for a girl from behind and grabbed her at a party in Delhi, it would not go easily dismissed. Whereas I’ve seen the very same thing happen in Chennai in front of a large group (everyone pretended it didn’t happen, including her male best friend and even me). Peoples’ sense of their own rights is very acute here in Delhi. Women’s safety is a big issue, and hence made a hue and cry about. I find changes in my own behaviour in less than two months here. Even jokes made about women are not as easy to forget as before. In a country full of culture, rich in history, people seem to have forgotten about equality and respect. Not just for the opposite gender, but for humans in general. In that sense Delhi is a lot more accepting of different types of people than Chennai.

If I am likely to stand up for myself or another woman in my hometown, no doubt I will now be classified as a pushy Delhi-ite. But in the capital, I would just be normal. And while I was part of a small group in the ‘unmarried girl in late 20s’ section in my hometown, here I’m just a girl, or a woman, depending on who’s looking. The tendency to colour outside of the lines is much more common in this city, which is something I can definitely get used to.

The year has also taught me a little more about myself. Like all other years, I suppose. It has brought me some surprising friendships and bonds, and has allowed me to let go of some surprisingly unhappy friendships too.

I can’t say I have any regrets. Maybe I could have been more patient with a few people, but I’ve become more attentive to time – whom I give it to, and why.

For the first time perhaps, I have no idea where the next year will take me. Physically, I will be in the same city. But emotionally and mentally, I’m completely unprepared for what’s coming. I’ve seen many people come and go, but only this year did I realise just how everything can change in an instant. With a single phone call or text, lives and paths can be altered forever.

I know I’m tough enough to handle whatever is coming. I just hope I’m accepting enough to manage the joys as well, without asking too many questions or wondering how it could turn to ashes in the future.

past forward

It is time once again for those narcissistic reflections of the time that has passed – to say “oh, how time flies!” and such. But it hasn’t really flown this year.

It’s been an introspective year, with many, many changes. Not the hop-from-one-job-back-into-another or hop-from-one-department-into-another sort of changes that my life has been centred around the last few years.

I’m now in a new country, which is why I haven’t posted anything decent in a long time. Then again, I’m not sure any of this was decent. And for a change I don’t mean this in a self-deprecating way.

If I had to pick a word to describe 2011, it might be “discomfort”. Not in the gastric or throbbing head sort of way. But for a person who isn’t comfortable moving away from stability and comfort, I’ve done a lot of changing this year. Much arguing with the voices in my head, tussles with logic against emotion, reasoning things out, trying to be patient with others and myself, and I must admit, a lot of fucking growth.

The first few months of the year were boring, normal and I thought it was all going well. Then I did something horrific, which made a very good friend’s life hell for a while. He was nice enough to forgive me, and sometimes I still am unforgiving towards myself (but what’s new) but at least I know not to get too cocky now.

Many rules have been broken. A year or two ago, if I’d broken one of my commandments, well, *gasp*, *shock* and all that. I’ve been amused to step outside myself and watch in moments. Some changes haven’t gone down well with the people I love most either, which has been very hard. Hence the tussles with the voices in my head and whatnot. I can’t say all is well, but I know I’ll figure it out at some point.

Uncomfortable, yes. And a year of extremes – extreme lows because I have been disappointed in myself a couple of times, or in people whom I value the most because I’ve seen new colours in them, but also A NEW COUNTRY. For God’s sake. It’s hellishly cold, but I’ve been told I’m handling it decently for someone in the tropics, one who is used to antibiotics at that.

A friend gifted me a diary this year, one which asks you a different question each day, for the whole year. The supremely exciting part is that it leaves space for five different years so maybe I can actually see the growth next year, or some memories at least. I’ve made some very happy memories this year, maybe because it feels like I fought for them.

One question I found a couple of days back was “when was the last time you were truly happy” and my first thought was, ‘whoa, not for ages’. I thought again and I realised I’m happy everytime I walk on a bridge near my house. No matter how rushed I am or how grey the clouds are, or how different from home, it makes me happy. A person who has negativity flowing through her blood.

It’s been a strange year. I don’t know what to make of it. I’ve had some miserable moments – pining for warm sambar/rasam, idli, my dog’s fur, a friend’s hug, the mother’s TLC when I was ill – but I’m actually very happy as well.

Strangely, I am more myself here than I was at home before I left. There was some turmoil and disapproval, many complicated things running around in my head for a while before I left, while I was trying to keep a dozen people happy and answer all their questions. Though I was happy through that too. (I know, you’re thinking “curiouser and curiouser”.) Eccentric, wonderful friends, independence, doing things for myself on my own much to my mother’s joy I’m sure... if I had a couple of the age-old friends over, the dog and the mother, and plenty of south Indian food, I’d be set forever. Oh yes, and my car. Though walking around here can be lovely when the wind is not blowing a hole in your brain or freezing your nose and digits off.

I’m not sure what I want from 2012. Answers. Many of them. Sometimes I dread returning because I know I have to handle things like a job, a cranky boss, wondering what to do about a boy, handling a mother who misses me, and such mundane things.

I suppose I could do without idli-sambar/Labrador/mother for a while more if it means not having any responsibilities beyond looking after myself. If it were only that easy.

Then again, ease didn’t make great artists I suppose. So no wonder being so uncomfortable and in such alien territory (in more ways than you can imagine) is leading to many growth spurts. And me surprising myself time and time again. In a good way.

Hopefully 2012 will not herald the end of the world as we know it. Sure there’ll be death, there always is – of some habits, some relationships, some people – but that happens all the time. I just hope no more polar bears die (no, seriously, that’s awful). Sometimes I wish I could tell the people I love, listen, there are polar bears dying, relax about the INR dropping or you not getting enough sex or having a bad boss, at least we won’t starve to death or have to eat a furry cute cub. Uhm. I assume that would not go down well. Especially with the mother.

Anyhow, here’s to a good year – I use a shadowy word on purpose because I’m not even sure of what exactly I want because I don’t know which voice in my head to trust sometimes. I wonder when they will come to a compromise. If there is discomfort for any of us, let there be plenty of alcohol and sex all around, but less babies. We’re emitting enough carbon as it is. *chinks glass of mulled wine*. Happy 2012 and end of the world, everyone! Don’t worry, I’m sure the Mayans just ran out of leaves or stones to draw calendars on.

gargoyles in my head

I have never been unable to write before.

bluepapercranes suggested I write, pour all my guilt and fear into one of those morbid pieces I usually concoct. At the time, I was still in shock and didn't even consider it. Now, two days later, when the guilt is still gnawing at me every minute that I'm awake [it's possible I dream about it too] I think about something I could write. But it always comes back to the same thing - screeching tyres, the smelt of burnt rubber, a lot of tears and so on.

People are saying "it happens", "everyone messes up", "what is the point of beating yourself up about it"... it's all true maybe. But I find myself thinking things like, "what if I had killed someone", "if I had let him drive, this wouldn't have happened", "what if my grandparents and uncle could have seen me", "what if there was another car in front of me"... I'm grateful that it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Grateful for my friends and family trying to be supportive, not leaving me alone with myself for very long.

I never intended this blog to be a place for personal rants or whiney posts. It's just that I seem to have writer's block for one of the first times in my life. And somehow, I'm okay with that. If I wrote a marvellous something right now, I'd feel better about myself. I wouldn't hate myself as much as I do now, I wouldn't be as disgusted and angry with me.

And I don't think it's time I felt better just yet.

25 going on 26

this note was on Facebook and I had completely forgotten about it. to my mortification, my boss found it. fortunately for me, she isn't crazy and judgemental, but I'm taking it off and putting it here anyway.

ps: more fiction coming soon!

I was tagged in notes by Nrithya Randhir, Shibi RaviChandran, Sagarika Sundaram so on and so forth. So now I'm contributing my own list in return.

This is how it works: Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person / people who tagged you. If you’re tagged, it's because the person who tagged you wants to know more about you.

1. I loathe forwards but I’m bored now and am hoping that writing this will inspire me to write some more later.

2. I’m mad about my dog. I think I’ll go crazy if I have to live away from her.

3. My job seems “cool” to a lot of people but I’m wondering if it’s right for me. Some day I want to quit, go and do a really “cool” course in creative writing, become a writer and learn some more Odissi.

4. Though I will be travelling during elections I’m going to do my best to go to Chennai on voting day and cast my vote. This will be the first time I’m voting. I can’t wait.

5. I miss my days in school (Rishi Valley) and college (Stella Maris) sometimes. I had pretty eccentric friends. We’re still all friends, but many are far away.

6. In college, I began noting down random mad stuff my friends would say in the middle of conversations.
Eg. Madhu: I think your skirt is staring back at me.
Sharada Banu (SMC lecturer): the tiger is going to make food for everybody.
One day I’d like to make a play featuring all these sentences. I stopped writing down stuff after I left college because I had no more mad friends around me :(

7. No, I don’t hate men. I’m just cynical about them. And no I’m not an ice queen. I know my friends are waiting for the day when I finally start dating and fall in love with someone. It’ll happen. I just don’t know when.

8. I love dogs and other animals. I feel awful when I see starved bulls pulling carts in pouring rain and blazing heat or horses pulling carriages. I feel worse when I see dogs which have just had puppies, scrounging around for a morsel to eat so they can in turn feed their pups. I feel worst when I see puppies hunting for food because their mother has disappeared or been run over by a car.

9. I’m trying to smile more and become more outgoing after seeing how surly I look on camera and during my live chats. It’s not easy… And because I wear no makeup either I look worse!

10. I love black ink, especially in fountain pens. I’ve lost countless Parker pens though so I’m sticking to cheap black ballpoints or micro-tips now.

11. I’m a Gemini. So is my sister. If you’ve met us you’ll never believe we’re related but we’re the perfect example of how extremely opposite Geminis can be.

12. I’ve seen many women in my field flirt (or do other things) with men to get their way at work. I don’t think I can ever do that. I don’t know how to. I think my current boss hates me because I only sms him when necessary and try to avoid calling him.

13. I think A R Rahman is a genius. Also because he’s still so humble and would rather talk about awards for disabled children than the BAFTAs.

14. I also think great poets are geniuses. Poetry confounds me. I can only write rhyming crap. No, not even the Roger McGough, Roald Dahl type. Sigh.

15. I wish my maternal grandparents had lived longer. I think our lives would be completely different if they were around.

16. The person who first helped me discover I could write is a poet himself. He was my class teacher in Rishi Valley and my first mentor. He wrote a beautiful poem for our class called The Moon is Down. After a play we performed of the same name.

17. I have extremely curly hair and though I dream of having straight hair I will never straighten it. It’s extremely difficult to look after but it’s who I am. Messy and unmanageable

18. I lived in Bangalore for a while and apart from Noon Wines I don’t see what’s so great about the city. Okay and maybe the weather too.

19. I can’t wear heels. They look nice on feet but it hurts too much and I can’t walk in them.

20. I invent words. And to say I love it is an understatement. If you know me well enough you’ll know what I’m talking about :)

21. I want to dedicate my first book to my mother. Even if it’s a joint work with someone else I hope my writing partner allows me to do so.

22. I want to join a writer’s forum in the city. There are none though. None I’ve heard of which function like some other creative groups I know.

23. I do not smoke and hate the smell of cigarettes. Unfortunately many of my friends smoke so I end up reeking of the stuff when I meet them.

24. I can hold a grudge forever. It’s one of the worst things about me.

25. I don’t know how to end this so maybe I’ll put a longer list up on my blog. If you want the link please ask. I'd love any feedback on other stuff too.

the end

it's the end of another year and I find I haven't learn a lot of new things. especially with regard to human beings. they baffle me. truly. especially boys. I'm pretty sure they can't wrap their brain cells around us women either, but hell, why create heterosexuals then?!? I honestly think life would be so much simpler if I could just marry/hook up with one of my female best friends. meh.

but. bright side of the coin. I just returned from holiday, a good holiday despite the strange behaviour of the opposite sex [well, not all of them, poor things.. just the one] and hope I'm ready to tackle a new year. there's so much to be done, I was afraid just listing them out while I was on holiday. but I have to do it all, no compromises. well, maybe a few compromises on what *other* people want me to do.

hopefully, next year this time, I will be freezing my rear end off in a far colder place where I will be studying. the good thing in those places [no, not hot firang men] is CENTRAL HEATING. a concept which is alien even in our country's capital maybe. but yes, central heating coupled with a delicious firang men would not be bad either. though I'm not crossing my fingers or holding my breath given my history with men till date. confounding, they are.

this year has been ordinary and boring only because I made it that way. I should have written more. in every way. creatively, at work, to people, for people, for myself more than anything else. maybe I should resolve to write more this coming year. 2011. the year of the pen. or keyboard in most cases. and hopefully, not the year of the wedding. although it certainly already looks that way. four of my friends are getting married by the time I turn a resounding 24 [ouch].

here's to me writing more, being a little less confounded by some men [boys, really], for my family to be happy [considering the emotional tsunamis there seem to have been in the last year or so], and for my friends and I to figure out what we're looking for, and to try and find it as well.

oh yes. that was another discovery I made while travelling. I don't know if I want to be a journalist anymore. thanks Niira Radia and co for disillusioning me even further. I also met a very inspiring man this year. the fact that I considered a profession in saving the environment has nothing to do with the fact that he's hot [he's not, really] but just that he's so damn inspiring and hell bent on saving it that he puts people to shame. and by people, I mean the rest of humanity, aside from the Jane Goodall sort.

so if journalism is out and writing and the environment is in, how the hell do I go about it?

wow. who cares about confounding men now! :D

could really use a wish right now

I feel like my life is never going to end. I feel like it is going to end tomorrow. I feel like maybe it has already ended.. or it never began?

This is what happens when I am not swamped with work, sitting in the beautiful industrial area my office is located at, without people around me. And when I hear things about people, things I never expected to heard about people I genuinely like. Things that shock me, make me think, make me re-evaluate every damn thing about myself and the person I've discovered something about.

I don't like finding out I'm wrong. I really don't. Not this way, especially. Not through someone else.

And I'm beginning to loathe the opposite sex. In school I would have probably been voted "most likely to verbally or physically castrate a boy", had it been the sort of school which voted or gave titles to people. But the truth was, I was young [I still am, people say, but I don't feel it] and though I had issues, I had some hope, somewhere. That men [and women] were worth getting to know and fighting for.

Hope. Snigger. Whassat?

Now I think hope is a very distant sentiment. Women are bitchy, insecure and terribly complicated. Men are... I don't know what. Stupid? Uncaring? Insensitive? I've learnt to handle the Complicated, ignore the Bitchy and help the Insecure. I can't do anything about Stupid, Uncaring and Insensitive.

I look at the title of my post. It is a song stuck in my head, which was playing on the radio while I drove to work. And I wonder.. if I *did* have that one wish.. what the hell would I wish for?

I'm tempted to say "indifference".

on moving on

I'm terrible.

Death is a fact of life. Oui? And everyone must get used to it. Somehow, when people around me have to handle things when people die... I find I am not sympathetic, so much as resigned. I sympathise, yes. In some sort of strange way. I found myself telling a friend today, "Time helps. It's the only thing that does." Erm. Gee, thanks. That's really a mood-booster.

The poor soul sent me a smiley and said thanks.

This is an improved version of me. It used to be, hmm yes, so people die. Deal with it, man. And I would think to myself, life is short, the longer you cry over the inevitable, the less time you'll actually have to live it.

And that cliched thing about the one who has passed on wanting zin** family to stop grieving and get on with their lives.. that is also true. To an extent. It's probably also good that one cries as much as possible for a while so that a) you just get it all out and move towards moving ahead, and b) maybe so that the one who has gone can feel glad [in a weird, narcissistic way] that people won't forget zin** forever.

I can say all this because I've seen several people close to me die, during my childhood and formative years. It affected me, I admit. And still, when/if someone close to me passes away today, I'm sure I would not be able to behave with such rationality.

One can try though. One can certainly try.

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**zin: a word made up by author; a gender-neutral pronoun to use instead of him/her.

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Note to imagined person reading this: I unofficially vowed never to get into too many personal rant-y/opinion pieces a la a lot of other blogs. Not because I disrespect that, but because I simply dislike talking too much about myself or my own views... but I thought it better to write something [even if personal and insignificant to the existence of most, if not all, people] rather than not write anything at all. Sigh. Some fiction/non-fiction will come soon. I vow!!

let's not talk

I have learnt it’s always better to keep things to yourself. Never mind if it weighs you down, never mind that you cry alone, never mind that you see people proclaiming their bowel movements on the internet and in office but you keep mum about most of your life. It’s the simplest, and best, thing to do. And these days with the effing internet, you never know when someone is going to put something up in a secret entry on a blog, or make a vague reference on a status message or god knows what.

I like keeping my secrets well, secret. No, I don’t have issues. It doesn’t mean I don’t love my friends and family, or that I don’t trust them, or that I’m weighed down by my private thoughts etc. It just means I like sorting out stuff on my own. It’s easier. When I want opinions, I ask. That itself, sadly, finds me in not very pleasant situations, albeit only sometimes.

I need my friends and family. I love them to pieces. So like I said, when I'm in supremely dire straits, I will seek help. I'm always afraid though, that if I do, people will be too busy with their life to give me a hand. And may go crazy helping me and supplying me with constant pearls of wisdom -- and may ask me to break down all my walls in their enthusiasm to help. My walls are a part of who I am. There’s a reason they’re there. It’s warped logic, but it *is* logic. I don’t think I’ll ever meet that one fictitious person supposed to break down all of a person’s walls with one look or kiss. If I do, I’ll probably laugh my ass of instead of doing any tiring labour work.

I like putting up a brave exterior even when I feel like a dark cloud about to spew thunder and endless water on an unsuspecting planet. And I like writing about it, or sweating it out at dance/on a treadmill, crying my eyes over it behind a firmly locked door much to my Labrador’s consternation, and annoying people by not telling them what’s going on. I like trying to work it out on my own. I think I’m fairly intelligent and logical, and when I’m not feeling so, I may ask for a second opinion, one that is rational. But it’s difficult to explain, and too close to my heart to be analysed by ones that do not know all the workings of my mind and thus my life. And really, I can handle it. I always have and have been through the very worst on my own.

So really, make what you want of me. If you think I’m a certain way because of you, sorry to disappoint, but that’s not true. It’s because of my own past and the way I've constructed myself. If I get drunk and cry, I’m sorry, it doesn't mean I'm weak or dying to talk; it's the alcohol. If I don’t say much when you’re pouring your heart out, I’m sorry. But I do listen well and damn, I analyse well. I’m sorry I annoy you with “I don’t wanna talk about it”; I really don't.

Sorry for it all, but I doubt it’s going to change, so let's try and deal with it.

tainted love

“Those who hate most fervently must have once loved deeply; those who want to deny the world must have once embraced what they now set on fire.”
–Kurt Tucholsky

Thank you, Mr Tucholsky. My ability to swing from pure love to icy anger sometimes amazes even me. Some people blame it on the duplicitous nature of my sun sign but that could be a load of pigeon poo. Of course, I will say I have valid reasons and my shifts are based on unblemished (or sometimes slightly adulterated) logic. In my defense I am more logical than most of the other women I know. In bits and sometimes by leaps and bounds. But still. Human emotions are complicated. I will never completely understand them. Sometimes I spend hours analysing my own idiotic overreactions and once I figure out a practical approach to a problem, I botch it up again. Out of pride or hurt or a combination of the two. I’ve given up on analysing others’ behaviour. Because one never knows where it could stem from. They have their reasons, warped or not. Even if you know a person really well, you never, ever know them completely. We’re all tainted, complicated creatures.

time after time

We are approaching the end of a cataclysmic decade. And i have a feeling the next one will leave us as dazed as this one did. Perhaps. Weirdly, this decade seems to have everything except a name. What should I call it… The 2Ks? You could look at it like a series of catastrophes – terror attacks, tsunamis, our democracy beginning to run under a Mario Puzo-esqe family. But there’s also been good stuff, though it doesn’t come to mind immediately! And so stuff from the ages gone by have gotten old and wrinkled and are becoming quaint. Take Friends for instance. Or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I remember drooling over Angel, watching him creep about in the darkness on Star World. And now it’s Twilight. Bye bye MJ, hello Jay-Z; so long Princess Di, greetings Mrs Bruni-Sarkozy?

We are in an age when things pretty much fly past us without us even realising. Then we wake up and we’re 25 or 35 or 50 or 70 and think, Christopher Columbus, where the hell did all the years go? (yes, there are people who say Christopher Columbus; come home and meet my witty grandaunt.) But even if it whizzed by, the first decade of the millennium will be one my generation will remember.

9/11, the exodus to countries like America and Australia, and now the exodus from those countries back to the “Far East”, iPods, ahem George Bush, Harry Potter, swine flu and SARS, Facebook and Twitter and Blackberry… the list is endless. I remember saying a quick thank you as we counted down the last few seconds of the previous millennium. I haven’t the faintest idea what I thanked the powers-that-be for but I foggily remember Nancy Drew making the list. This time, it has to be for all the lessons I’ve learnt in the past decade; for growing up and not turning into the crazy-ass kid who is a drug abuser and skids smoothly out of jail every few months because his daddy owns an MNC or runs a political party. I turned out fairly normal, even though the world around me was pretty insane. And it is insane for everybody now, regardless of their backgrounds.

Happy 2Kteens, everybody (clinks beer mug) and see you soon, hopefully!

young and restless

Adventure. Hmm. It seems that my life seriously lacks any adventure at the moment. But someone very close to me is embarking on what is possibly life’s biggest adventure – marriage.

Yup, my sister is getting married this month. Which is why I’ve decided not to indulge in any Nanowrimo or anything of the sort, because it’s quite possible she might disown me if I pay my writing more attention than her wedding. Fair enough. People get married only once. Erm. Well, most people. And I’m hoping my sister is one among the ‘most’. I’m sure the lovely couple will run into enough hurdles [they already have!] but well, nobody ever said marriage was easy. Hence I say… adventure.

As for why my life lacks any adventure… I’m not quite sure. I’m working myself to the bone but for some reason it’s no enough. And it’s not even “work” per say. I “work” only three days a week. The rest of the week has gone in attending Odissi class or reading [I’m reading a lot of late] or shopping for the wedding, or something of the sort. But for the past few months, something has been missing. I’m in cynical overdrive and there are a few moments of light, but otherwise I’m just plain bored or pondering over extremely philosophical things.

I need change. I know it won’t happen soon. A couple of years perhaps. But I need a different city, a change in lifestyle… something or the other. A change of friends maybe? I really don’t know. I love Chennai. The culture, the beaches, the people [well, most of them at least], the food, my friends, my home and whatnot. But I’m getting seriously restless, and I don’t know why. I need some adventure. Ahem some non-opposite sex-related adventure. A new phone, new dog or new job will just not do. I was thinking I’d save up and go do that masters in Creative Writing that I’ve been dreaming of for a while now. That would also take another couple of years though. Maybe I’ll just have to wait. After all, it’s not like adventure will drop into my lap. I’m going to have to find it on my own. But, in Chennai?! Where?!

For now it’ll have to be my sister’s wedding and the giant lot of relatives and friends my mother and I will be meeting after many, many moons. Family reunions can be fun, right? I hear snorts. It was a rhetorical question; please try to be a tad supportive. Sigh.

five week plan

My plan was to write. Have I written? A big, resounding NO. But I had also planned to catch up with life, give myself some space, do a little introspecting and have some fun. It was a good month, June 18 to July 18. I did everything but write. The hell with introspection too. We tend to analyse too much anyway. I did give myself space though. From things which normally occupy huge spaces in my head. Maybe that’s how I had fun over the last month.

Alas the time for action and introspection has arrived yet again.

Now I have some new plans. Of course it involves a lot of writing. It also involves meeting new people and discovering new things, perhaps placing myself in situations I’ve never been in before.

Five year plans? Nah. I may die in the next five weeks, forget five years. Which means… I’d better finish my discovering soon!

to you

Second post in a night. The five incomplete scripts on my desktop can wait. I’ve been thinking about the people in my life.. they come and go, but many have left marks on me. Smiles, hickeys, scars.. whatever marks you’d like to think of. Call me sentimental or unforgiving but I’ll never forget the marks. Whether they were left in love or war doesn’t make a difference. And I’d like to thank them. Here goes.

1&2. My mother and sister. My world revolves around them and vice versa. Enough said.

3. The Mallu lifesaver. Yes, you helped me pass all my French exams. And many other exams too. You also made me a better person. Less negative. Maybe more positive, even. Wink. We don’t speak so often now, but you’re always there on my mind. I hope you find what you’re looking for.

4. The poet in the valley. The man who first told me and showed me that I could write. The first person (and to date, the only person) who wrote me a poem. And not just me.. he wrote 40 of us a poem. We all love you to pieces and wish we could see you and cry on your shoulder more often. You are sturdier than Cave Rock itself. They valley would not be the same without you.

5. My Mallu wife. Grin. Seas may separate us but 10 paise Hutch to Hutch calls or not, the bond remains. We fight. We make up. We fight again because she’s not called me in ages. We make up again. So on and so forth. She lends me her beautiful books and sometimes designs for me. Think ‘fridge space’. I would need a damn good reason to divorce her.

6. The friend that was. Thank you for everything. For showing me life is never as we see it. For teaching me to be smarter about my friends. For hurting me and teaching me many lessons. You may have gone after college ended but I think of you still. And I will never forget. I hope you are happy now, and smarter. I wish you all the goodness that you never wished for me.

7. For the whiney whiffer. At one time the first person to message me in the morning and the last person to message me at night. I’m so happy you’ve found sturdy ground and found your niche. I’m happy you never let him get to you. I’m happy you never let your family destroy you. Thank you for being my friend.

8. For niyo. You know who you are. You changed my life and will continue to change it every day I know you. Thank you for all the joy. And thank you for all the scars. You have made me stronger as well as weaker. I hope the bond remains forever.

9. Ru fru. The one who has had a million obstacles to overcome and yet she remains positive. I wish I could learn from you and not resent your family for how they treat you. I will miss you when you leave.

10. The Stella gang. One word : madness. A madness which I still miss terribly on occasion. Another word : randomness. Sitting under trees, bunking classes to discuss philosophical issues arising out of our text anyway. Our profs could have learnt something from us. I miss you mad hatters and hope you’re all happy.

11. The Bong ball. I can’t remember if I had the crutches during the ISC or if you had the crutches… or maybe we both had crutches. Somehow we’re extreme opposites but almost identical. How? You’re lucky we don’t live in the same city or I’d have nagged your ear off about your smoking and weight issues by now. Hehe.

12. The skinny one. I’m glad someone is skinnier than me. Or was. You got me through some very bad times. Yes I know we’re estranged now but that doesn’t matter. Thank you for putting up with me when you did.

13. The laughing Buddha. I’m beginning to talk like you now, donkey. But you’ve showed me such joy though I’ve only known you such a short while. You bring a smile to everybody’s face and for that reason we all love you to bits. Go finish your blushing session now.

14. Almost Buddha. I’ve been speaking to you only of late but I already think that I will end up talking to you as long as you live. May you live a very long time and may you dispense all your therapeutic recipes to people during that time.

15. The gameboy. The time we had was short and we didn’t get to do much, but you showed me how to be happy again. And how to live for myself. Bless you and your no nonsense attitude.

The list is very far from done. But I think I’m not doing it justice. More to come when

I’m in a more eloquent mood.

mercury rising

It’s April and it’s already four degrees above the normal temperature where I live. In more ways than one. The world is truly coming to an end… we’re going to melt or drown very soon. So is our so-called democracy. I’m not going to preach or grumble about the media or democracy or elections or politicians… I’m going to sit back, eat some really juicy mangoes, and watch the fun unfold like I’m watching a really bad episode of Heroes. What can I say… I’m hooked to the news now. Unfortunately. And the news here is very bad. In fact it’s inspiring a lot of satirical writing from my end. In between juggling mangoes, the television remote and my laptop though I will also find time to go out and cast my first ever vote, in the coming parliamentary elections. Yes, maybe it’ll be a debacle. Maybe it already is a complete farce and debacle. Okay, it IS. Who am I kidding. But I will vote anyway. As a citizen of this godforsaken democracy. If I don’t care why should the politicians or media care. Damn.. Sorry. And I said I wouldn’t preach.

It’s just that my job involves reporting aforementioned debacles. A job which has taken over my life. That’s nothing new. My work in newspapers itself made me disappear from people’s lives for weeks. Television however is a totally different ballgame. A violent and extreme one at that. Call me a typical print journalist, but I haven’t been able to stomach television media. In my country at least. It’s not only bought all my time, it’s bought my entire life. My friends don’t know I’m alive… let me re-phrase… I have no friends who aren’t reporters now. And my mother actually asked me to quit so she could see me once in a way and put some fat on my bones. Which I’m glad to say I’ve done. [gasp again]. Which brings me to what am I going to do next? I don’t know [bigger gasp?]

Just because I’ve not posted anything on my blog in nearly [gasp!] a month, it does not mean I’m not writing. I have been. So joy to the world! It’s made me very happy, as well as sad. I’m now left wondering how on earth to make a profession out of this when I know nothing whatsoever about how to write or who to sell my writing to. Ahem, if anyone wants it that is. Currently on my plate are [wait, I’m counting] five, yes five, pieces of writing I need to complete asap. Not bad for someone who hadn’t touched pen and paper in almost two years. I have a miles to go before I sleep, though. Literally. And since I’m still working my notice period I have to juggle a 24/7 job and five incomplete scripts. Sigh. It’s April and it’s already four degrees above the normal temperature. I hope I can take the heat.

sleepless in Chennai

I feel myself counting down the days every week.. Today is Tuesday. This time I’m counting down to the scriptwriting workshop I’m attending over the weekend. But why am I counting down.. is my normal day-to-day life so painful? No, maybe not; maybe I’m just entrenched in the horror that has become the Indian media today. Hyping up stories which have no relevance just because people love watching crap, running behind mundane incidents because they could be linked to something more important.. so on and so forth. The life of a journalist definitely isn’t as glamorous as it appears.

Yesterday while waiting outside the Chief Minister’s house while a crucial meeting was on inside, I found myself thinking about my writing exercise for the scriptwriting workshop. And I realised, I may never be happy till I can write for a living.. This whole faff of working in the media will eventually get to me (erm, you may say it already has) and then what? With elections around the corner, I’ve not had time to write in the last two weeks. Not even my weekly Sunday Scribbling post. (gasp. Yes, I know. The horror of it.) And that’s only going to get worse over the next 11 weeks or so. I guess I’ll just have to manage my time a little better or stop whining entirely. (catch me doing that :D)

Moving on.. I was reading some Pablo Neruda and e e cummings poems a few days back. And I wish I could write like that. I'm sure most girls would love to have a lover write to them like that. This is one of the poems I came across last week..

somewhere i have never travelled – e e cummings

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond

any experience,your eyes have their silence:

in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,

or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me

though i have closed myself as fingers,

you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens

(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and

my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,

as when the heart of this flower imagines

the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals

the power of your intense fragility:whose texture

compels me with the color of its countries,

rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes

and opens;only something in me understands

the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)

nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

On that note I shall sigh and return to chasing stories. Happy March, all.

the end of a chapter

Sparky Kumaramangalam aka Selwor Star of India (as named by his kennel) was born on a bright, sunny but chilly day in Sydney. He entered the world on May 15th 1994 along with his five siblings. Blue blood ran in their veins and the pedigree puppies were very much in demand. Soon all of them were sent to different parts of the world. Sparky (as named by his future owners) was sent to Madras, India.

Fox terriers are supposed to be temperamental dogs. Sparky proved this to be true. Hyper-sensitive and temperamental, he soon took first place for most dramatic person in the Kumaramangalam household. He was also obnoxious. And very, very clever. But like all dogs in that house, he was loved very much.

Sparky reached his new home after a long flight, cooped up in a cage with his future brother, a boxer-brindle named Strike. His other brother, a beagle named Sport, shared his cage with a dim-witted golden retriever. These three dogs would remain together for the next dozen or so years and live in well, comparative harmony.

Sparky spent his first night next to his human mother, displacing her from her comfortable pillow. He managed to do this despite the fact that he was probably 1/15^th her size. He grew quickly, dominating the slightly dumb but extremely loyal Strike. Sport was a different matter. They were close but the beagle always remained his own master. Sparky shot to fame amongst Madras’ kennel clubs. Driven by some dim-witted humans and his own arrogance, he ruled at the city’s dog shows and soon became a champion. Doe-eyed female fox terriers came to visit him, one by one, and he produced gorgeous pedigree progeny. He was the only one of the three brothers who became a father. That too three times over. And I mean he fathered three litters, not three puppies. Though he outlived them all…

Fox terrier-like royalty apart, Sparky was a first class Madras mutt at times. His hobbies included eating from the bin, fighting with his brothers and trying to eat their food, peeing inside the house if he felt like marking his space… the list is endless. His family nicknamed him the ‘kitchen supervisor’ because he spent most of his time in the kitchen. It was only once his brothers died that he began dogging his owners’ heels.

Sparky was almost entirely black, with a white under-belly and white legs. Little patches of tan were scattered across his sharp nose and front legs. He never grew any white hair, though the patches went white. His eyes clouded over with cataract and his back legs finally grew stiff in his last few months, but he was always extremely healthy and active.

His brothers left him within a span of four weeks. Sport developed epilepsy and passed away exactly 12 years after the three first entered the Kumaramangalam home as boisterous pups. Strike died four weeks later due to an internal growth. Sparky (and his owners of course) was devastated. The once sharp, independent and domineering terrier seemed lost. The sharpness remained though and the family did not know if he would accept a puppy or try to kill it. They got a pup finally… to cheer him and themselves up. The blonde, brown-eyed Labrador called Tammy arrived about a month after Strike’s heart stop beating less than two feet away from where Sparky was lying.

Sparky’s life changed entirely after that. He now had a reason to do many things with renewed vigour. The Labrador was tiny when she first came, and initially kept away from the terrier. But they soon became thick friends. She grew bigger than him but he was always the master in that relationship. Not as sharp as the terrier, she was often torn between obeying her human masters and obeying Sparky. They would play till he grew tired (he was 12 and half years old after all) after which he would sleep blissfully. His masters never knew if he missed his brothers.

Though he was happy, age crept up on him. His senses of smell, hearing and sight soon began to fade, though he remained as intelligent as ever. Tammy realised this and became quite protective of him. His life revolved around his meals, short walks and eating from the bin. When he was 14, the family moved house, leaving behind the place they had lived in for 25 years. Though Sparky adjusted, his human mother would always wonder if she had made the wrong decision in moving him when he was so old. He became even more obnoxious, though. Peeing more often inside the house, climbing onto all the furniture and rubbing his dirty mug on it… the list of course, was endless.

Old age and and health finally snatched him away from the Kumaramangalams. The last of the S trio to leave, his departure left the family sighing at the end of a very long and very happy chapter in their lives. And it left Tammy very, very lonely. Sparky was 14 and a half years old when he died on January 4^th, 2009. He will be remembered always… for his temperament and many, many others things. And he will be missed.

--

My dogs have always been a part of my family. I wanted to write something more creative for Sparky but the melancholy which hit after his death seems to have dimmed my imagination. I wanted to write a happy poem for him but could not put 14 years of memories into a few couplets. I hope his last few days were not too painful for him. And I hope the S trio are galloping across some Elysian fields, together again, young again. I miss them. Everyday.

Remembering him

Remember?

When you climbed a tree

Pulled my mother’s pigtails.

When your mother defended

Your every misdeed.

When you made my mother cry,

When you bullied her.

Remember when you were happy.

Remember when you grew up.

Your father died, you took over.

Your first time with your wife.

Your first child, first pet.

Were you happy then?

Were you happy while

You sat in the seat of power?

I remember.

I remember your smile, your voice.

Your big hands and great, big laugh.

The way you taught me to pinch people.

I remember you rolling on the floor

With our dog.

He’s also gone now.

I remember you sharing chicken liver,

Laughing with Ma.

I hope you were happy then.

I remember the last time

I saw you alive.

No.

You on a ventilator does not count.

You weren’t well.

Smoked too much.

Was it because you were unhappy?

Ma was scared.

So was I.

When my father died,

We did not cry.

When you died,

I could not stop.

Leaders wept.

Colour faded from the world

When you left it.

I’m sorry for our mistakes.

Mistakes you can see

From wherever you are.

But cannot mend.

The wind is blowing outside,

I hope it takes some

Of my words to you.

I hope you are happy now.

With my dog and yours,

And with your parents.

We miss you.

Remember II

Sudden death.

It’s not a game.

White coats,

Shoes clicking on

Cold, polished floors.

Your face was dark.

Dark with death.

Yellow with disease.

You did not see us.

You were already gone.

Visitors coming and going.

Your wife’s fits,

And her tears.

Your dog’s howling.

Our country’s tears.

Seven days and eight nights.

Then you were gone. Officially.

On a slab of ice.

Flies buzzing around it.

I could not see it.

Its face was covered.

But I know.

It was not you anymore.

counting down

10 things I hate about you- (author's note: this is random, names have been withheld, and no offense meant. really.)

1. your inability to admit when you’re wrong or full of crap

2. excuses, excuses, excuses

3. your smoking. get a room already

4. your excessive questions and not-so-subtle prying

5. your excessive syrup and fakeness

6. lying by omission

7. how you excel at everything you do (kudos to you though)

8. your vanishing act

9. the distance after you got a boyfriend (yes, yes, I am happy for you)

10. how you’re just like my father

9 things I would like to believe

1. not all men lie

2. I will find my niche

3. she doesn’t hate me

4. no, my grandparents aren’t watching me from heaven

5. people can’t see through me

6. I’m an ok daughter (as opposed to bad, black sheep)

7. I don’t have worms, just a really good metabolism

8. I’m not that selfish

9. my work makes a difference. to some people

8 things about me

1. sarcasm

2. my mom, dogs & other animals

3. lately… odissi

4. nonchalance (I try)

5. writing

6. ze curls

7. Madras (no, not Chennai)

8. the zen

7 things I want to do before I die

1. right the wrongs and find out if she really hates me

2. write a novel (maybe several)

3. travel all over India

4. adopt a child

5. find out what ‘true love’ means

6. find a man who doesn’t lie to me and loves me

7. make my mother proud

6 things I’ve thought about today

1. I want to do more cover stories

2. why’s he suddenly being nice? hmm

3. I want six weeks to pass queeeeckly

4. it’s not poetry, it’s just pseudo prose

5. I want to go back to sleep

6. I have to buy gifts

5 things I love

1. odissi!!!!!!! even waking up at 5 am for it

2. my dog waking me up

3. being transported to another world by a good movie / book

4. being able to drive myself around

5. Bengali food

4 things I consciously avoid doing

1. saying ‘hee’

2. telling people I don’t like or barely know stuff about myself

3. using smileys. ugh

4. talking like the people I sms too much

3 things I splurge on

1. books

2. beer

3. er… does filling fuel count?

2 things that make me sad

1. my dogs’ deaths

2. never having enough time with Dadu and never having met my grandfather

1 thing I need more of

1. self control