"To what a ludicrous state we are brought!
If a Bhangi comes to anybody as a Bhangi, he would be shunned as the plague;
but no sooner does he get a cup full of water poured upon his head with some mutterings of prayer by a Padri, and get a coat on his back, no matter how thread-bare, and come into the room of the most orthodox Hindu-I dont see the Man who then dare refuse him a chair and a hearty shake of the hands!!
Irony can go no farther.
And come and see what they, the Padris, are doing here in the South. They are convering the lower classes by lakhs; and in Travancore, the most priest-ridden country in India-where every bit of land is owned by the Brahmins-Nearly one-fourth has become Christians!
And I cannot blame them; what part have they in David and what in Jesse?
When, when O'Lord, shall Man be brother to Man?"

-Swami Vivekananda,
The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda

Gimme some more heat,da

"Anna (not Scott, Yairpot, -malai, University, teakadai, barber-shaap, -aachi moar kudunnga)"
"Black Ambassador"
"Home"
"Mylapore"
"Amma-Appa"
"In-laws"
"Relatives"
"Kosu" (mosquito)
"Love"
"Too much lovvu"
"Jetlag"
"How is the Jetlag" (like it were the weather or something)
"Aavin paal"
"Kaapi"
"Digaakshun"
"Patti"
"Bhakshanam"
"Thatha"
"AashirvAdam (with specific things in mind)
"Veyil" (heat)
"Yebba"
"Record-breaking veyil (like every single year of the century)
"The (H)indu" paeper
"Anti-Hindu paper"
"AC"
"Cooling"
"More cooling"
"Dei, antha AC high-la podu pa" (Turn the AC on high)
"Sniff"
"Sniff-sniff"
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaachooo"
"Flu"
"Kashaayam."
"Vandi" ( vehicle/first love)
"Broken Helmet" (broken heart)
"Keep Left"
"Saavu kraaki" (For the Tamil-illeterate, go and ask your literate friends)
"Elections"
"Vote"
"Middle finger"
"Sonia Gandhi"
"Kalignar"
"Amma" (the bigger one)
"Bussu"
"21G"
"Aaato"
"Recession"
"Nooru-ruba potu kudunga Saaar" (Please give us a hundred-rupees more because we are coldblooded rowdies and like to bully the public, and also...its recession time)
"LTTE"
"Prabhakaran"
"Innum saagala" (Not yet dead)
"Sathyam"
"City Centre"
"Spencers"
"Beach"
"Masala kadalai"
"Cirikett"
"IPL"
"Dhoni"
Sooopar da"
"Poda"
"Pattu podavai" (Silk-sarees)
"Paatu" (Moosic)
"Kucheri"
"Kovil" (Temple..how I hate translating into Tamil when almost everyone I know speaks Tamil)
"Mylapore"
"(haiyo) Narayana"

Welcome to Chennai, m'dear Lady...

The city has indeed missed you.
:D

Trust me, its not because I'm busy.

The Devil wears Skis

I had never been SO excited about doing anything in my life. Not even sneaking out of Analog Communication class to watch Manmadhan ( I had officially bunked class to watch a lousy Tamil movie ..but oh what the heck)

I was going to to ski...!! Really ski..!! I mean on real snow!

God, this was a tough one to pass. I mean, think about it...could I even think about doing this in Madras? Even in Winter? Please, the place is so hot that ice melts even inside the refrigerator (but I love the place, so beat it!)

So NOW I knew why God wanted me here despite all my squirming. He wanted me to ..ski!

The Gods wanted me..to skiiiii!

Well, the Husband and I had a few concerns on whether we'd be able to do it, ski that is, considering this was our first attempt. So what was the big deal anyways? I mean, we'd have a an instructor who'd brief us on how to NOT break our vital parts, plus we'd be given helmets to protect our heads. Besides, I knew how to ice-skate decently as I'd done a considerable amount of it in 8th grade (courtesy Girl Scouts) so...it was just the Husband who had to balance on ice for the first time, technically.

Man, this was gonna be cool.

So, a couple of friends decide to come along with us on our skiing escapade on this bright Saturday morning. Hema and Vish (names not changed to protect identity 'cos they really don't care) were as excited as were were and what was skiing if you didn't do it with company?

So we reached Hunter Mountain which is in Upstate New York, filled up the forms and rented the skis and helmets. We looked like super Heroes on a roll. Or dorks, depending on who you were looking at.

On our way out to the snow-mountains, we were divided into groups where the Husband was put into the group that headed out first while I was put in another with the rest of our clan. No biggy, just that we started off almost an hour later.

The first group had a Chinese instructor who (later I'm told) apparently 'forgot' to teach his group how to 'stop' their skis from crashing into a wall while rushing down a hill uncontrollably. I thought these lessons were ALL about knowing how to stop the goddamn skis. Bah!

We, however, had problems of our own. An enormously fat lady as our instructor who made it difficult for us to concentrate while we were busy making cartoony pictures with our heads of her rolling off her ski's and into a wall, was a challenge on its own. But we were soon to discover that excepting for us 3 doofuses (thats a word 'cos this is my blog), the rest of the group comprised of skillful 'pros' who were born naturals from the moment they put their skis on. Actually they were all just kids half my age but deep down, I was willing to bet that they had skied to glory in their previous lives as well. It didn't take too long before it was evident that we stood out quite distinctly from the group, for all the wrong reasons.

As our fat lady started to sing instruct, the 3 of us tried to pay very special attention to what was our skiing lesson. I'd however take an extra minute longer in translating the American-accented instructions to the Indian ones in my brain 'cos I'm from the villages and I think white skin is so cool.

From what was being our first instruction that required me to put my skis on, I was the group's clumsy goofball. I'd feel as though I was falling off a hill, all this on a flat surface! As the instructions began to pour in one by one, I'd find myself accelerating uncontrollably down a slope each time I tried to follow the new instruction or a new move. It was crazy I tell you! I mean, all I'd intend to do is ski down a ramp for about 8 feet and then make a slight 'turn' towards the right or the left in order to stop the motion down hill ...but oh no, my skis would be on a jolly trip to the walls some 100 feet away and I'd have no other choice BUT to forcefully 'make' myself fall (if I were that lucky) as that would be the only way to impede a crash into the gated-walls. Charming, I tell you.

An hour later, our Instructor decides to free the class, a good 30 minutes before schedule. Why this early? To quote the fat lady 'This group barring a very few (which meant just me..grr) doesn't need any help..you are all born naturals'. Hema had given-up a good forty-five minutes before, and Vish...well, I don't know what happened to him...I couldn't even find him. So I was out there on my own, trying to have my skis on and not go tumbling down the mountain at the same time. Fun eh?

For those of you who may implicate that I didn't 'try' or put any effort to sustain on that battlefield, in my defence let me just say that I must have spent at least 50 minutes trying to master the 'wedge' (Plus I'd given up trying to locate the Husband and clan)

I should have packed my skis while I had the chance, but I'd decide to give another whack at it. And, try I did! The wedge, might I add, is an up-side down 'V' shape you form with your legs in a desperate attempt to stop moving at 500 miles/hr. Its supposed to work like a charm, and stop your skiis instantly however fast you may be skiing down. This trick, however didn't work with me (why aren't we surprised). Infact it would do quite the opposite in effect and I'd end up accelerating my way down a 100 feet slope in some 800 miles/hr on my way to Crashsville. All that snow. Christ, were was the sun when you needed it.

If you're still thinking why I didn't stop and give-up, well sorry to burst your bubble, but I quite did.

At around 4 pm I decided to call it a day and broadcast the fact that I proposed to officially quit my long and successful stint in skiing. The Husband, quite apparently had a jolly good time skiing his butt off and refused to come out till the authorities switched the lights off.

I on the other hand, had a couple of things I could use from this escapade...a ton of loony photos which me look like ludicrous astronaut, a couple of broken bones around my neck (from the thousands of times I came tumbling down, who'd think?), and a twisted tale to inspire fellow ambitious Desis.

Goooooooooooooooooooooooo ski ! :D

The Year of the Firsts or Happy New Year Folks

Every time the new year comes by, I think to myself however stupendously refreshing the following year may be, it can never outdo the previous one... in the good way or the bad way. See, I don't handle change very well so much so that I have this ridiculous inertia to write the year's number correctly for like the first 4 months of the new year!!
So, like every year, I warn myself of change that is inevitable and also assuage myself that it wouldn't be as bad (or as good) as the previous one. So its always best to start off with zilch expectation, you'll see how far that takes you. Having said, one other thing every new year brings me, is its innumerable Firsts, be it nice-firsts or horrible-firsts. Its always worth remembering my Firsts and I'm sure its the case with you too.

'08 gave me my
My first tryst with Snow...
My first 9-gajam saree...
My first online fraternity (whom all I love a tad too much)
My first Hindustani concert in the 8th row of Music Academy..
My first Embedded systems job (that didnt last for more than 4 months)..
My first wedding (and the last one mind you..) ...
My first long stay away from my parents..
My first scooty accident which wasn't my fault..
My first concert...
My first Tam-Bram thaligai..
My first kamalAmba navAvarnam...
My first fight over Gmail..
My first Amma/Appa-I-miss-you mail..
My first sip of Margareta (read sip. And let that be the last one thank you very much)..
My first Album..
My first parasailing..
My first Chinese food (Yuck.Period.)
My first sister-in-law...
My first flu..
My first Elizabeth Arden..
My first Deepavali with a new family..

Try this too, in your head if you want, what your Firsts were. I'm sure you'll have some you could talk about. Its fun and worthwhile.

Wishing you all a fabulous year ahead,
Confounded-Lady :)

The Great Indian NRI

More than just its indigenous people, whats kept me intrigued all these years over America, is the Indians there.
*Disclaimer : At bottom of post
I've grown up all my life watching fellow Indian families yearning to become Americans like it were the sole purpose of their existence on Earth . No matter how frightful a disposition it were, this always made me wonder what it was about the Wild-West that was so bewitching.
I mean, there certainly were better places to live in. This I always knew and was sure of.
I thus commence without further evading my obligation as the babblefest queen of this blog.
The 80's and the early 90's ** were times of opportunity where opportunity meant just one thing -America.

If you were a dreamer, it meant that you dreamed of settling down in America. If you were smart, that meant you got to study in America . If you were ambitious, you were trying to get a job in any company as long as it was in America. If you were opportunistic, you were venturing out new arenas in America. If you were successful, that meant you had a house, a wife(who miraculously transformed from that shabby runny-nosed tramp near Sharada Vidhyalaya to a high society woman who drank 'occasionally' during all social occasions), kids with American accents (I mean what are kids without American accents, huh?) and of course not to mention, the most coveted of all, that Green colour card.

If you were just plain lucky, you somehow did finally manage to bring that ass of yours to America however undeserving you were, but then again you were having the last laugh.
The pressures of the 80's, as my Appa always says, is something we'll never understand.

The Gulf (excepting for Saudi which was/is, with no due respect, a concentration camp in its own right) was a happy place those days ** - albeit the wars 'n all- and was a prospective place for Indians dying to settle anywhere else other than India. I mean, eat this: you had to pay zilch tax, the Dinar was always stronger than the Dollar, fuel was cheap (these guys made oil...who're we trying to kid?), the roads were clean, no one spat on the roads, Local Sheikhs were fat, cute friendly people who couldn't tell a stock market from a flee market.

The Indian thrived here (more so the Mallu but I'm not going there) and couldnt have asked for more.

The Appa-of-the-Family however, wouldn't be satisfied with his job until he had a better one he could flaunt in front of his Indian relatives. This could only mean one place- even if it meant accepting a job profile he didn't quite fancy.

So, the Appa-of-the-Family would constantly apply day in and day out to companies all over America until he got the letter asking him to join as soon as possible, and if he didn't bag the prize, the consolation prize (Canada) would suit him very well, and one fine morning his kids would stop coming to school and their houses would be bolted, and before you could say OsamaBinLaden, he'd have migrated to Canada with his family and a secret wish never ever to return.

This was the most frequent scenario in the Gulf, more so in our compound. We'd always have new kids coming to play with us beside the pool, and after a short while had passed, they'd mysteriously just not turn up. When we'd go over to their place to check if they were alright, all we would see are white sheets over furniture and some boxes of clothes that looked familiar.

This was almost a routine for quite sometime, you know, not having constant friends because their Appas were 'ambitious'. I was ok with it I mean, as long as there was a constant flow of kids in the compound to play with. However, when I turned 11, my best friend Aditi was to leave to the US and thats when I was shattered. I hated her parents for having to leave such a beautiful community we were all a part of and I just couldn't forgive them. I swore to write to her everyday but I didn't have an address I could write to, not until they settled down in this unknown land where everyone I knew was headed to.

All this reinforced the fact that everyone, absolutely everyone wanted to move to America for some reason I and most certainly ,the Appa-of-my-Family didn't understand.

(To be Contd...

or do you really care?)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Disclaimer from top of post:The Blogger is blogging after a long, very long time and this is a long post (2 clauses have absolutely no relation what so ever but hear her out) If you're expecting a short and crisp post, shoo away.

**At the risk of sounding ancient

Well, it doesn't exactly feel like Diwali right now. I'd blame it on my whereabouts you see. I've not been taking too kindly with the way Indians celebrate Diwali in the US, but I could crib and complain all my way to Jersey Downtown and no one would bother.
Thats life you see. Sigh.

I'm kidding, I'm not really as miserable as I sound. This place is..n-n-n-ice.
(Fine I admit it!)

But for what its worth, Happy Deepavali O Confounded-Souls! Burst them all and...drink lots of water.

Love.

Lessons my Elders (didn't) teach me

Flushed with the success of conducting a grand TamBram wedding (if I may), all my parents have to now do is sit back and watch discerningly as to how their li'l girl survives her new life.

No, I don't really mean to make it sound like boarding school or rehabilitation, but marriage (or post-marriage to be more specific) is indeed a big deal for any Indian parent and an even bigger deal for any Indian parent's child. So, I am work in progress, every single minute of the day.
The thing with marriage *I go on to say in wisdomous tone, lowering spectacles so that it rests firmly on nose to give intellectual look* is that there are very many loopholes and..I'm afraid that there are somethings only experience can teach you.


For instance, they say that you ought to shed your ego, every ounce of it, when you're starting off a new relationship with your spouse. Heck every relationship can do well with little or no ego, but I'm restricting my insightful thoughts to marriage as for now, cos...everything now is about what I think about marriage isn't it?

Yes it is. That was just a rhetorical question.


So.
As I was saying, amongst all the precious pieces of advice the Elders from back home had given me, like smile, be nice, be friendly, be neat, be less finicky, don't frown, don't use chilly powder as weapon, don't be yourself, shop at Debenhams (just kidding), yada-yada-yada blah-blah, the most common words of wisdom I'd received was to shed my ego ( I travel with excess baggage, that's sometimes so not very nice) and be truthful if I didn't know something.

That is sane advice, yes I know. So before I leave to my husband's place, I resolutely practice my lines in front of the mirror, "Sorry, I don't know how to do that", "Sorry, I'm new at this, can you teach me?" or "No I've never made tea all my life..can you make your own tea for the first 10 years of our married life?"
See, that wasn't so difficult. Everything just needs a little practice. Even the non-ego part like the Elders said, can be conquered with just a little determination. Yay for me.
Or so I'd think.

But its not as easy as I thought it would be you know, this no-ego thing.

You see, humans have this inherent tendency to say 'I do' without even the slightest hesitation (if you're Ross Gellar, you're a pro and I'm not even talking about you).
Its not just the weddings, its everything else in normal life..in dealing with people, things, situations, especially when they're new... I've learnt that it takes a lot of courage and strong-will to say 'Nope, sorry, I really don't know how to'.

So the other day when V asked me if I know how to iron shirts, I say 'yes' so matter-of-factly like I was asked if I knew how to eat thayir-sadum.
I surprise me.
I mean, how good was I at ironing anyway?
Lets see..All my life my mom ironed my school-uniforms.
I'd ironed my Salwars to college, but that was just because I loved ironing over large flat surfaces, it made me feel nice. I never really cared how it looked even if it looked far more wrinklier after I was done with the iron-box.
Then there was always the ironing my clothes before packing, so that they'd fit perfectly into my suitcase. It was clearly another case of ironing out of desperation, so it didn't really matter whether they looked nice or not..as long as they fit neatly in a row.
Wait, there must be more.
Oh yes, I remember ironing my Appa's shirts before he'd leave for work.
I am now beginning to realise that he wore the shirts which I ironed to work without much of a grumble JUST to not hurt my feelings. No wonder he never removed his suit at work.... he'd get sacked if anyone saw how an Investment Banker dressed to work at this Bank!

So! Not even bothering to consider my promising past with the iron-box, I daintily trot to the iron-stand and pick up one of V's shirts that need ironing on my way.

I JUST then realise that I don't know where to start. I iron over the flat surfaces (and enjoy the good feeling like the 'ol salwar days), and stop at the sleeves. I really don't know where the crease ought to be. I mean, in a proper shirt where you go to work not expecting to get sacked the very next day for looking like rubbish.
Same with his trousers, where is the goddamn crease??? At the sides or at the front?

After ironing all the flat parts (something I can do as professionally now), I go up to V and tell him that my father was a good man for wearing what I ironed for him all these years.
V gets the picture, he's a fast learner.
I give my sheepish grin (another thing I can do quite professionally).
V irons his clothes to work for now..and makes his tea (for now). I love his tea.
I take care of the cooking, and the fire-alarms that go off during the process.

I'm yet to go up to him and ask him where the crease falls.

The After-math, the Cook-book and Me

Retrospection on a profound level leads me to the conclusion that I was never really a home-girl.
I've always deplored the word house-wife, even the very way the term was coined 'h-o-u-s-e' 'w-i-f-e'. I mean, lets face it...what in heavens name did you wish you convey by the word house-wife? That you were a wife at home? Weren't you his wife outside the house? Eew.

Yeneways, kutti digress there.
As a kid who was perpetually hyper and restless (excepting for the times when I was asleep where I'd look like a mad- driver-woman on Prozac). I always had something to do solely because the very thought of being bored scared me out of my wits as I always associated 'boredom' to 'loneliness'. So, despite being the only kid to my parents which always saddened me..(still does to a certain extent which is why I resolve to get busy in the near future in order to prevent history from repeating itself :D) I made sure that I never banked on my house or my parents for solace...I'd explore the neighbouring streets on my bicycle, go out on walks on my own, make friends with the watchmen and gardeners in our locality.. whatever it took to get me out of the house, even if it meant knocking on random people's doors and asking them, ingratiatingly, if I could play with their kids if they had any.
It was sad you know, that parents sent their 6 year olds to Hindi tuition. I think I learned more Hindi chatting with the watchmen and gardeners.

With such a manipulated state of mind that made me believe that one had a life only if it were outside the house, I grew up sympathizing all women who were house-wives, including my very dear granny and Mom. I'd ask my Mom time and again in the kitchen how they did it... How could one not go out, know places, meet people, get paid, get bankrupt, get into fights, get out of fights (the last two clauses were offered in copious amounts in our house..living with me is no joke mind you) how could you just be busy at home?'
I mean...with with due respect to what all the woman folk go through to keep a family running hale and healthy, how could you work, at home?? Wouldn't these 4 walls drive you plain mad?'

My Mom would just smile and ask me to switch on the exhaust fan on my way out.

A home-maker's job is no joke, I'm told, although I never try to understand the gravity of that statement more so because I know that the home-maker is never really..'me'.
I cant disagree with the fact that all of us are here, healthy and successful (to a certain extent at least) only because some woman/women in the house chose to care and see if we had food on the table and in our boxes everyday.

So as I pack my suitcases to a whole new world at the other side of the globe with a chunk of my stuff comprising of shiny non-stick vessels and brand new cook-books (the cook-book saga..ah! This surely deserves a post dedicated to itself), I still wonder to myself if I can map a vessel to its utility or turn the pages of Tarla Dalal's Continental Food Book without falling asleep looking at the picture on the front cover itself.

My colleagues from work will surely have fun reading this. They know.

:)

Two weeks notice

I've never actually been 2 weeks away from my wedding because...well, I've never really been married before. No one always gets to be 2 weeks away from one's wedding until he's actually... two weeks away from his wedding, so it isnt a very common feeling, this two weeks notice thing.
Cha, this isnt exactly the dream start for this post, but just to show you how I blog when I'm not very high on editing. I promise I'm going somewhere with this one though.*

The amount of activity that takes place during the last 2 weeks before a wedding makes me wonder if there WERE any weeks before the 2 weeks before the wedding. You know in an Indian Wedding its like, the whole world earnestly works towards making the wedding a grand success like they were producing a movie, but its just during these last 2 weeks that all of the action takes place.
I have a feeling I havent made an iota of sense till now but hear me out when I say that I am simply amazed at the speed at which things unravel during this period...its like all the work that had to be done gradually before a wedding, suddenly gets done in such an unimaginable pace during this period.

Picture this.
All my saree-blouses suddenly get stitched and come back home from the tailors who had them for like...forever, just because I say there are only 'two weeks left'.
My house maid has been working like an ox (I dont know if that simile conveyed what it had to...I never trust my self-made similies) cos its apparently crucial time now. Heck, she's started coming regularly...thats a miracle by itself.
Our Iyengar samayakaar-maami (cook) feeds me like a baby with all the possible greens, yellows, oranges, pinks (didnt think I'd list colours without a pink did you?) in the world 'cos I'll be leaving home soon.
My neighbors *actually* smile at me when they spot me in the elevator. (Wow)
Appa is extra jovial. (Now that I'm not particularly comfortable with. The folks are already relieved I'm leaving.. And I havent even left yet. hmph!_max)
Everyone on the never-ending list's finally been invited and I'm mentally tired of revising the list to make sure I haven't left anyone out. I sent out the last batch of invitations today. Amen to that. And I thought this day would never come.
The most common words uttered by every random woman who enters my house is 'Rendu vaaram thaan iriku baaki la? :O ' (For the uninitiated in Tamil, "Just two weeks left no 'Colon-wo'?" )

I'm very evidently getting psyched now. You can tell from the sense I've made so far (or the lack of it). Actually, I dont think you'd know the difference if you know me by now.

But do you blame me?
I'm getting married....in two weeks!
:O

*Or then again maybe not.

A for Ahemedabad

B for Bangalore

C for China?!


See, thats why I wish Chennai were just Madras. Would buy us some time no?

To us

I don't know how many of you are aware of the fact that Randy Pausch died.
Actually, I'm not really sure how many of you are aware of Dr.Randy Pausch in the first place 'cos I wasn't, till last night.

I really didn't care that some arbit person passed away miles and miles away from where I am sitting, but its surprising how much I do, now. It really is.

Watch this now, you will too.You'll thank me...just like I thank the person who sent me the link.
Watch it, watch it WATCH IT... please watch it if you haven't.

The 'Headfake learning', the 'Brickwall' lesson.... these are lessons that will stay with you forever. Send me your comments if you did watch it.

Be happy.
Always.

Mic please..

So I've tried and tried AND tried to put something up here for quite a while but in vain and all I can boast of, as for now, is a big fat drafts-section in which I can proudly proclaim that I've probably exhausted all the possible 'n+23' ways to start a fresh post. Its taken me THIS long to come back here and I don't quite intend on making this an I've-Not-Been-Blogging-oflate-Because.. post , considering that disappearing and re-disappearing is so much a part of Confounded-Lady's life.
Syaad I know.

Yenihoo, I finally post. Not that its post-worthy material, its a post.

So now that we're convinced that this IS a post and I can assume that you'd accept whatever I write here, I don't think I have to bother with the minute details of the various frivolities of life.

Like say, you wouldn't be interested in Confounded-Lady's daily confrontation with a 60 year old driving instructor who screams for his dear life when she crosses 25km/hr...would you?

Or perhaps...the humour she's s attempted to locate in sharing a house with a 16 year-old teenage NRI kid who's fashion sense would give Paris Hilton a run for her money (or another run to jail :P ) or even better, make Confounded-'ol-Lady look like an archaic work of art from the Medieval ages.
(I love you Divya/Dipsu-kutti anyways)...

.....Or how about being terrified of the newly hired servant-maid who constantly yells at CL for changing the place of the broomstick from behind the kitchen to..well, somewhere behind the kitchen where Maidy-dear couldn't bother to look till Confounded Lady saves the day...

I still think that watching 16 year old Dipsu-kutti get her hair coloured dark-red at Maha's is worth a separate post, 'cos I'm yet to get over the fact that my family heirloom does comprise of some twisted fashion-sense-DNAs after all and not just the traditional 9-gajam way of thinking. Goooooo Dipsu!

Ok..yayy, you've got me all excited. :D
So where do I start?

Hi

:D

Who will cry when you cry

Have you ever thought and thought over something so much, that it hurt?
So much so ,that it leaves you staring at the ceiling wondering if you're on the verge of going insane.

Sometimes all you see is all pervading madness around you, even though its ironically just
confined to the realms of your head. You've tried looking at things with an open-mind so much so that you feel that your head's almost falling apart from all that open-ness.

You feel like you're losing it and are dying for some perspective.
Any perspective, as long as its not yours b'cos you've had too much of that and it kills you.
You start to act all clandestine hoping that someone picks up signals and listens to what you're not saying.
Sometimes that doesn't really work, so you try to reach out to you're friends and talk to them, ask them if you are losing it after all, without having them be all judgmental and think that you're on a one way trip to banana-land.

But it isn't all that easy finding a listener, is it?
Who do you confide in? Not all you're million friends are listeners. The difference between the both hits you like a bus on the road now. Problems in life aren't rare, so everyone may not be particularly generous in sympathizing with you. You don't blame them though- after all, to each his problem. You therefore start convincing yourself into not making a big deal out of this and just wait patiently till your head stops spinning. Which it doesn't.
So you just wait, for nothing actually.

Yet amidst all this, someone finds you- a friend, a not-so friend, a random guy who sat beside you on the white bench at the park, someone on your friend's list you haven't struck a conversation with, someone you don't know. Someone you have absolutely no pretensions with, someone who makes you just split wide open, someone you can just talk to- without the slightest iota fear or shame, someone who breaks the dam, someone who thinks and puts your perspective in place. Someone who's like a ray of light in that tunnel. Someone who listens.

Things that scared you all this while now start to make some sense, if not all, with a lil bit of help from someone. Any someone.
The clarity you missed all this while brings a smile to your face. You feel like its rained on your garden after years. You know that it is possible to share some things with some people and not end up feeling like a fool at the end of it.

And suddenly life doesn't seem all that bad. Life isnt really all that bad come to think of it.
Its all about finding someone though.

I am not facing a Writer's Block.

I am not.
I am not.
I am not.

Friggin Insomnia.
Cha.

Mom, don't click that.

I've always been weary of my mom knowing her way around the Internet. Not that I had any problems with her snooping around my desktop or my folders which are an in-house for all those love-letters I got during my school and college days*, its just that I've always thought that the Internet was a pretty un-safe place for the likes of my mom who is perpetually intrigued by its nuances and hops from one site to another on a continual basis.

We've come a long way, my mom's love for the Internet and I. She was a fast learner right from the beginning, as in right from the day I taught her how to hold the mouse and convinced her that she wasn't going to get anywhere useful unless she looked at the monitor and not at her right hand on the mouse. Did I mention fast learner? Funny.
But yes she's evolved enormously. She now chats with my chithis and perimas using smileys 'n all with such enviable ease :O (albeit the typos *straight-face*)
Now that's my mom! You go gurl!! :D

However, whats irked me of late is a new friendship request she accepted, unintentionally. His name is Aneesh Gopee and I haven't the faintest idea how he chanced upon my Mom's Yahoo! ID that too when herYahoo! ID is predominantly known to maamis only, with an average age 56.5 (there you go, clean stats). I don't think I can fetch the right words to describe her contacts amongst the maami circle. The popular joke at home is 'Are you maami? Mylapore a?? Srinivasar Kovil a? Besh..Thats nice. What did you say your email ID was ?' :P

So coming back to the anonymous franseep request, considering that Aneesh is not maami and neither is he 55, I was starting to get really disturbed to see his ID in my mom's friend's list. When I asked my mom what on earth she was thinking when she accepted his request, I get a classic 'Therila di.....I was trying to close the window and get it done with, so I kept clicking on finish'.
Classic reply indeed :P

He's apparently seen my mom online today and asked her her age and whether she was a doctor or something. Talk about class pickup lines :P I was there with my mom when that message popped up.I don't remember the conversation following that cos I was extremely busy rolling over the floor laughing, but my mom happened to very neatly convince him that she was a doctor. She stopped typing after he started asking questions of course, but I've had my laughter quotient for today.
For this week actually.

I cant wait till she goes online tomorrow...or I could perhaps fill in for her?
Now there's a thought.

I don't know...Life's been the least bit boring of late.

* Last I heard that my mom visits this blog regularly. I was just kidding about the love-letters ma, you didn't have to faint for that. Please get up now... you still have to teach me how to make malai-kofta *colon-pipe*

Days of our Lives

Much against popular assumption of the masses that yours truly is no where to be seen in the eyes of the public because she is insanely busy shopping her guts out for the 'impending Big event*' (iBE) , I would like to strongly refute by saying that shopping is least of the things I'm doing in this godforsaken fAreen country.

Well.. Ok, if you do take into account the tonnes of Twix bars I've devoured, some 9 tops, cargos, and that $40 pair of jeans I've bought from Debenhams , yes I have been doing a some amount of justice to the feminine side of me, but thats nothing in the eyes of my friends and relatives in India who think that I've come to this country 'wonly' to shop for the 'iBE*', when the truthful purpose behind my visit here is to just spend time with my dad and mom. It doesn't make a difference where I am you know, I'll shop till I drop where ever I am. Hmph.

So what exactly am doing if I'm not robbing all ye shops of your riches :O?
See we're just an Aapee family spending all the time we can get indoors watching SunTv and AsiaNet while I twiddle my thumbs and wait for my most favouritest show on SunTV and AsiaNet(where there is incidentally no such thing) to be telecast. In other words, I have no purpose sitting in front of the Telly too, so it all comes down to just sitting in the living room and watching crap on TV, but enjoying it just the same 'cos we're all watching it 'together', which is a rarety in the very thought. See, that why I love this trip despite the all pervading nothingness. I think.
This joy of sitting in a full house, however, is shortlived as I fear that my Visa expires in a few weeks time and I'll have to go back to an incomplete home. I'll try not to forget to blog on my sorrow then. You just try not to forget to read it. :D

*Sigh*...I missed this space, the yellowness, the orange-ness, the whiteness, the confounded-ness.

Oh well, life is a lot more peaceful at the moment and that sadly gives me less reason to crib and even more sadly, lesser reason to blog. Peace.
Reminds me of a quote from the Holy Bhagavad Githa...

'Always be grateful for your cookies for tomorrow the cookie monster
might take 'em away'

Ok I think I overdid the Bhagavad Githa bit trying to sound all maha intellectual 'n all, so sue me. Nevertheless, I SO think the above line would have sound groovy in Latin or in Sanskrit. What do you think?

*iBE: Think of the biggest event in an Indian family's life. Now double it. Yes, thats the impending Big Event