The Way of Dude-ism

*Its been long since I last blogged. A month to be precise and that's the longest hiatus I've given. I actually do have tonnes of reasons for not being able to blog, read and comment(the complete ritual of a blogger) ,but lets just leave that for some other time. Nevertheless, I'm thrilled you bothered to turn up just the same and read me again. (Actually I'm jumping so high out of glee that I just bumped my head. Wait did I just hear the ceiling crack?) *


Of late I've been relentlessly struggling NOT to suffix or prefix everything I say with the word 'Dude'. No, not food, not doodh...you heard me right, 'dude' ( and to think you always thought that you had weird neighbours).

I admit it does sound stupid, might make me sound like a desperate wannabe from an arbit 1980's American movie. Yeah. Nevertheless, I just can’t seem to fathom why this sudden obsession over the word.
Why dude. Why now.

There was this time in the early 2000's where the semi-hit movie 'Dude, Where's my Car' turned out to be a cult amongst the wannabe-so-cool youth. Dude had then become a word no sentence could do without.

““Dude, where’s my eraser?”
“Ouch, you stepped on my toe, Dude.”
"That is soo cool, dude"

Yeah, we were young and oh-so-hep back then. Then we all grew up .
Well at least some of us did.

And now, its all coming back to me. This time with more feeling.
I’m bitten by the dude-bug all over again and this time, it’s a more of a corporate and matured way of dude-ism.

“Dude, mail the boss and ‘cc’ me.”
“Dude, I’ll be there for the conference call at 7. Count on it”
“Dude, there’s a bug in my tea”
“Dude! Damn!”

Now, with the ‘D’ word being thrown here,there, everywhere, every time, my teammates weren’t particularly comfortable with that, initially.

Ravi was my team's 'dude'(pun intended, maybe) thanks to Yours Truly's fabulous-yet-weird name-keeping skills and of course not to mention, annoying fixation over the word d*de. For quite some time, I saw him rebel relentlessly to do away with the D word.
This innocuous title bestowed upon Ravi stuck on to him over due course of time where he soon became the well acknowledged dude of my team, whether he liked it or not. The ‘ol boy just had to relent.

I mean, initially it was like:

Me (frantically) : Dude!!!!!!! The mainframes are gonna crash…. We'll be hunted down like goats for an explanation and then sacked..and then our families will be stranded in the middle of no where, and it will all be because of this stooped command we issued. We're dead meat dude. We are so dead. Dude!!!!!!! Are you listening??????

Ravi/Dude (Chewing gum): Yeah. Don’t call me Dude.

Me (contorted face): WTF!

And nowadays, its like..

Me(frantically): Dude..!!! Storage says they don't have enough volumes to bring up the system…I’m out of gum…The systems are gonna crash…We'll be hunted down like rabbits (or was it goats?)…Our families will suffer…We'll be devastated and it will all be because of…

Ravi/Dude: Chill dudette. 'Dude' 's got it all under control here. And, did you just say we’re out of gum?

Me(for different reasons): WTF!

So, you see, over a period of time, people have learnt to respond amicably to dude-ism without much of a smirk. Its now a become a way of living. Now who would have thunk eh?

Well, like I always say (well not 'always', but yeah sue me) that’s just how the cookie crumbles. Dude-ism is here to stay and no one in my team could/can stop it. But just to be a bit fair, I’m fighting real hard trying not to start every scrap/mail/chat-session/sentence with dude. But with dudes and dudettes like my teammates who have so warmly welcomed the way of dud-ism into my team (despite Ravi-dude’s relentless efforts), I don’t think I should really try so hard.

Dudes and dudettes are here to stay.

Now isn’t that real groovy?
:D

Phir bhi Tagged.

Tagged.

Yayy for me, again. Ok, Markiv, I was leaving this tag for one of those hopeless ‘I-so-wanna-blog-but-can’t-think-of-anything’ days, but oh what the heck, now will do. This tag is dedicated to the tagger without whom this wouldn’t have been possible *controlling tears of joy*, to all those generous readers who presumably will NOT have the patience to read single word I’ve typed here BUT will certainly try to give their best with generic comments *Lol! I love you guys * and last but not the least,to a special place where I spent a bulk of my life in. Bahrain.

91-93 The Lil kidd
Easily the fattest and chubbiest kid in class; a 'blessed' feature which would invariably win me a seat next to the class teacher in all class photographs. :D Teachers would try (note, try) to carry me in all the pics ‘coz I’m told I was the perfect ball then. Orchestra and sports was all I ever thought off. Not to mention, food too. Yes, those were good times :D

94-95 Switching ‘ovah’
Switched schools from a British school to the InDIan School. I was in trouble now. Being branded as the kid with the ‘fAreen’ accent who didn’t know beyond the 2,3,4,5 and 10 times tables, who had to mug every line of Hindi from Bal Bharati to pass in exams when kids in class could quote lines from 'Hum Aap Ke Hain Kaun' with admirable ease, who didn’t even know where India was on the map, literally- Yes, I was your typical loser then.
I’d cry to my mom every single day saying that I wanted to go back to the British School ‘coz I hated the Indian system of education and that I certainly wouldn’t learn anything from plain mugging. For some reason, I feel that I was much wiser as a kid. ;-P

95-96 Teen-bean
The year of the Spice Girls. Girl Power! They SO rocked and I was totally gaga over them. Wannabe, 2 become one…god! I could sing all of their songs word for word…and I even remember asking my dad to buy me Emma Burton costumes ‘n all. I’m thankful that my dad didn’t disown me after that period of crazy harmones.

96-97 Being Bad
Found a best friend in Anisha. Spreading rumours, being a part of rumours, imitationg teachers, being teased with the weird boy next door, this era totally transformed me from the silent insignificant no-one at school to the notorious kid who bunked Almeida’s math classes for some band-class practice and lived to tell the tale of it by acing her subject.

97-99. Postatem obscuri lateris nescitis - (You do not know the power of the dark side)
Power in the School Band. Anisha and I became Head Corporals of the wood-wind section (read flute) where the former was soon my partner in crime where we did things which totally make me cringe now. Yes we were teenage brats then, with hormones running wild. Bossing over junior flutists, flirting with the drummers, breaking clarinets and hiding it from the band master, bunking math and social-studies classes in the pretext of ‘leading the band’ (like it was training for Kargil war or something), being popular, life was good.

98-99 No looking back
A very special year for me as I’d moved to India. Was one of those do or die moves where all eyes from previous-home country were intently watching and speculating on whether this spoilt kid could survive the most conventional metro in India. I more than just survived it, I became a Chennai-girl from the word go. My school disproved all prejudices in me that Chennai and its people still belonged to the ooga-booga stonage era, and that pop music and ‘cool’ language was totally unheard of. This place was anything but that. There was just no looking back from then on.

Yep. There was just no looking back. :)

Right…that pretty much covers what I have to say about the nineties. There are quite a few things I miss, and even more things I don’t miss. :D
Anyways, this was a fun tag reminiscing ‘n all. For what its worth, I tag everyone who’d like to try this one out.

Take care..and stay out’v trouble!
Ta!

Yaaawn...*stretch*....But mommy, I don't wanna go to work today.

Ah, the good old days when I was paid heed to.
*Sigh!*

The Lament of a Betrayed Heart..

The tooth-fairy ain't real..
Santa ain't real..
Prince Charming ain't real..
God ain't real..
And now, Ram ain't real.

ok...

But Starvation is real...
Poverty is real..
Rape is real...
Nuclear war is real..
Death is real..

The bathos in life we're all subjected to.


How much can this feeble heart take?

Kangana, me...and a lot of thinking

Making reviews just isn't my forte because of which I'll never subject the readers of my blog (however few in number they may be) to a movie-review by me . Well, never again at least. I promise. Now that thats out of the way, I begin my blog...on a movie I just saw recently.
* chuckkles slyly*

Some eight months back when Krati and I were roommates in Trivandrum, I'd asked her what the movie Gangster-A Love Story was all about and why people were raving about that movie 'n why girls were swooning over some new dude called Shiney Ahuja. Krati, the very darling she is, patiently narrated the entire story, scene by scene and by the end, I'd already gotten a feeling of watching the movie already.

But ever since then, I longed to watch the movie. I had to see it for myself... Could human emotions be this complex? Could something this intense be portrayed in celluloid without confusing the viewer and making him/her endure two 'n a half hours of an emotional-fun-fest?

I finally got to watch it yesterday with Rema (the diabolical-cousins doing what we do best. Switching on the telly and shutting- up) and it was just what I'd imagined it to be.

Ahuja is a Greek God. Yes. I wish I were 16 years old so that I could openly drool and swoon over him as it doesn't particularly look appropriate for a girl... sorry, 'woman' of my age to be doing so. *I so hate growing up...sob!*

The movie had very intense and poignant scenes which should have ideally made my tear-glands function with unprecedented efficiency, but I surprisingly found my self thinking through the movie and even more intensely after it.

Kangana Ranaut 's character, however whorish it may have seemed in the movie, portrayed the basic instincts of a woman - in its rudimentary and crude form. That, she wasn't satisfied completely until she was emotionally satisfied. That, no matter how much you gave her, how much you loved her, 'n how much you promised to give her, nothing enticed her as much as the inner feeling of knowing that someone could give her/be the solution to her (otherwise) passionless life.

Kangana's character betrayed the man who loved her more than life itself, while in search of true passion.
Well, you'd think that that's perfectly natural, if not justified, for a women to have behaved the way she did in the movie. I mean, with women always carrying that 'emotional' tag around wherever they go and with bullshit quotes like 'Men think with their brains, women think with their heart ..coz they can't otherwise' floating around, you wouldn't expect 'her' to introspect or think deeply on what she'd be gaining or losing in the bargain of satisfying her inner most needs and desires.

A woman has needs and if it means tearing down the curtains and drinking your way to hell, so be it.

But the actual risk, in the blind pursuit of satiating what one's craving for - lies in not being able to realize or understand what she has in her life already. In the quest for more happiness 'n bliss, she might lose whatever little happiness she has.
People say that those who think with their hearts, are the happiest. Well yes, maybe. You may be awarded with bliss and ecstasy,just like you're lil heart wanted. But you can't count on being successful all the time.

hmm...so what was I trying to insinuate all this time?
That there's always a trade off or compromise in love? That you cant *always* afford to follow your heart and that it may be sensible for one to opt for the most rational of all options -even if one knows that it isn't going to promise her/him whatever she/he had dreamt of all her/his life?

Well like I said, I did a lot of thinking. Plus it was the weekend -I had nothing better to do.
So, *contemplates very deeply* I think I'd be better off thinking with my brains than my heart.
But wait. Did I just say that?
Who am I trying to kid anyway.



P.S- Krati. You've been an inspiration for this post. Please read my blog (from now on at least).

:D

Ta!

To....

...The Adorable-naughty kid..




....The Enchanting-Loverboy






.....The Passionate-Romantic..






.....The ideal friend, philosopher & Guide....




...To my Saviour...



Here's wishing you a Haaaaaaaaaaaapppppppppppppppy Birthday!!!!!!

You're my favourite God and I wish you alllll the luck in the world (and outside it too) in fulfilling all my dreams and wishes. :D

(Hope you don't forget last night's prayer)



Happy Krishna Jayanthi :)

Tagged

I've been tagged.

Yayy.

I was beginning to think that no one cared for li'l Miss. Confounded and was starting to feel left out when everyone had a TAGGED post but me. Ah...I've been rewarded for my patience.
I'd like to thank SPARK for making me feel as special as I thought I was(:P) .....and I'd also like to thank my mom, dad, next-door neighbour, dog...*sniff..*

(psst, is the camera still rolling?)


1. Pick out a scar you have, and explain how you got it.

A nice distinct one on my right-side eyebrow. Got it when I fell down the stairs and came tumbling down when I was 3 years old. I'm told I wailed my guts out and attracted quite a crowd in our flat. The stitches-area is a bit invisible now...but they show when I get my eyebrows done. :'(

2. What does your phone look like?

Like any other damaged, manhandled, impaired, chipped cell crying out loud for love and tender loving care.

3. What is on the walls of your bedroom?

Some lovely glow-in-the-dark thingamajigs I've always had and treasured. Stars, planets and shooting stars... I take pride in aligning them very neatly on my walls and ceiling of my room. They look astonishingly beautiful when I turn out the lights at night.
I once heard my mom tell my friend's mom how she wished that my room were as neat as its walls. And as for my room...*sigh*...well, we've lost quite a few people in the mess I've maintained over the last few years despite the extreme efforts taken by mom...search-party et al.

4. What is your current desktop picture?

A picture of some of my friends 'n me. It makes me happy gazing at us when my comp hangs and displays the desktop-theme for eternity after that.

5. Do you believe in gay marriage?

Of course. All marriages are happy and gay. Its just the life after that thats a bit questionable to me.

(I'm just playing dumb here...I know what the question means. No, really.)

6. What do you want more than anything right now?

To do what I want to do and never regret it at *any* point of time in life.

And, a grand piano. The one with eight octaves and a pedal.

If someones still reading this, please mail me..I'll send you the list. Thank you. Move one.

7 . What time were you born?

A few hours after Indira Gandhi died.

8. Are your parents still together?

Uh....Hell, yeah!


9. Last person who made you cry?

People don't make me cry like they used to. Bollywood and Kollywood movies do...for more reasons than one :P

10. What is your favorite perfume / cologne?

DUNE by Christion Dior.

11. What kind of hair/eye color do you like in the opposite sex?

Not really choosy. Just as long as you don't have F-R-E-A-K written all over you.

12. What are you listening to?

Kadanuvaariki in Thodi by T.N.Seshagopalan.

13. Do you get scared of the dark?

Only when I'm not assured of light.

14. Do you like pain killers?

I don't believe I do. Analgesics don't deal with perpetual pain-in-the-neck/ pain-in-the-wrong-side sort of people because of which I have to resort to my own tactics to escape from the torture I'm subjected to.


15. Are you too shy to ask someone out?

Depends..on the degree of liking. If I really do like the 'ol guy, I'd be extra shy in asking him out.
Heck...either way, I'd be shy to ask him out. I have loser written all over my face when it comes to expressing what I want to.

16. If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?

A big fat piece of creamy, sumptuous chocolat cake.
Having one would make me un-imaginably guilty but having none would make me crave desperately for a chance to indulge in all that chocolatey-goodness. *lip-smacking....hmm*


17. Who was the last person you made you mad?

Sonia Gandhi.
Period.

18. Who was the last person who made you smile?

My mom and dad. In any order. Boooooring...but true. They always make me smile. :)


Thanks for reading this post so far. I really love you for that.
If you didn't, well....I love you just the same for reading 'this' then.
:D

I thus tag thee Kavi, Ash, Athia, Divz, Lavanya, Mridhula,


Toodles!

Life's Lesson #280708

Your mysterious absence at work on a Friday can only mean one thing. And its NOT the flu or a sever cold 'n all that jazz.

Corollary:
Taking off to Blore with a couple of friends for the weekend seems far more plausible in the corporate world than 'unanticipatedly' falling ill just before a long weekend.

Bah!

Scenario: 21:10 hrs, Four of us at the Wooden-Tables beside the salad counter, Canteen.


Shyamala's taken a day off today, she's not feeling well (sure, whatever you say lady )
Renu's no where in the scene..she's perhaps decided to stay back at the cubicle and wait for Damu and Subin to take her place (I absolve thee Miss.Paulose)
Surosa has broken her leg and is at home sending us senti-senti friendhip sms'es. Veena 's on call as usual and Krati..well, I just dont know where Krati is.

So,where does that bring me?
Well, it brings me to the wooden tables opposite the Salad Bar at the canteen, with just 3 gentlemen (out of the 10 members at work)- Damu, Subin and Ravi (my precious teamie )

Now, normally these guys are a pleasure to dine with. We'd have a vibrant discussion on multi-farious topics ranging from the intricacies of Vaishnavaite philosophy to Kurt Cobain.

But today's not like that. There's a Cricket match on (or so I discover, from the abominable silence at the table).
My reaction to cricket-matches these days is '*Yawn* Nice... Can you pass me the salt please?'

I witness 40 minutes of silence at the dinner table while these 3 men have their heads tilted at an angle of 45 degrees gazing intently at the telly placed directly on top of my head.

Dinner time at work is very precious and I/we generally treasure every minute of it.
Not that we're made to work like cattle and are facing a severe time crisis at work or anything(Hell no! I love my boss. Well, when there's an appraisal on its way, why wouldn't I?), its just that its the only common time we have to do some friendly bantering and catch up with the chaos in everyone's team. We really enjoy it and we really do look forward to it. I know I do.

Silence at the dinner table? I mean, thats unheard of ..unless one of us was being paid to shut-up or all of us were feeding on our Canteen's special glue...sorry, halwa. Our team wouldn't know silence even if it bit us in our ear.
Today...well, I could have strangled my self and these guys wouldnt have noticed.

Next time theres a match, I'm heading straight to the Salad bar and dining with some of the married ladies there. I'd rather hear them blah-blah nonsense all day long than not have a a single word at dinner.

Men.
Cricket.
Bah!

Of shrewd mothers, presumptious daughters and two louts in between.

The more I think about it, the more I find it quite funny being uncharacteristically tongue-tied infront of a 9 year old kid and watch her deftly rag us when we ‘attempted’ to do the same.
Ragging will never be the same for me, whether from the ragger’s end or the receiver’s end.
The phrase ‘Putting my foot where my mouth is’ has never ever made more sense than it does now.

My parents wanted to go to Thiruvendipuram for the weekend for some sort of ritual/pilgrimage and I wasn’t particularly thrilled when they forced me to tag along first thing Saturday morning.
Not that I have anything against the hundreds of rituals we Hindus perform on practically any and every day of the year (with due respect to their respective reasons of course), but what triggers the intolerance in me is when they require migration or any activity of that sort on a Saturday morning. Saturday mornings are for hibernation, just for hibernation and nothing BUT hibernation. But then again, who listens to me.
I thus move on.

My cousin Rema had also volunteered to accompany us, thankfully for me. So, that kept me from whining and complaining all along our way to the Aashram. It was a 6 hour journey in our Ambassador. I didn’t compromise on the hibernation-part ..even if it meant leaning and dribbling over my mommy’s shoulder on our way there.

After visiting a few temples nearby and having a sumptuous Iyengar-type dinner in the Aashram with some 30 other people within the community whom we hardly knew yet smiled at for reasons which are still unknown to yours truly, Rema and I sat down on the steps outside and watched all the oldies retire for the day.

It was 8pm and the whole village was asleep. There could be a bomb blast and yet people wouldn’t notice.

All of a sudden a girl comes prancing down the steps, hopping merrily on the road.
This girl reminded me of….well, I’m not ashamed to say it but..me, when I was a kid. She was perhaps the plumpiest kid in the face of the Earth and she was our meat tonight.

“Hey ponnae! Romba Azhaga irikae won dress…. Won paer enna? (Translated to: Hey girl! Your dress is very cute… Whats your name?) “

“Thanks. Solla maataen” (Sollamataen=I won’t tell you)

(Sensing that we were dealing with a smart-alec) “Sollamaten? What a cute name. That’s a nice name you have there Sollamaaten. Is that what they call you at school Sollamaataen ”

(Defensively) “Noooooo..Sollamaataen is not my name.”

“Then what is your name?”

“Sollamaataen!”

“Precisely what we’re calling you, kid”

“ But that’s not my name. And I’m not going to tell you my name. So there.”

On saying this, she comes and sits beside us on the steps.

Now this was beginning to seem like fun. I mean, any other normal kid would have walked just right past us into the Ashram or ignored us all the way. Most of the other kids did just that..but not this one.

It was around 9:30 pm now…it was Saturday night…we had no telly, no music, and most of the lights in the street where out..And just when we’d lost all hope on how we were going to survive the early night, here we had an incredibly chubby, plumpy entertaining, over confident kid who refused to give in.

“This is indeed a very cute dress Sollamaataen. Where did you buy this?”
This was Rema trying to start a conversation.

“Hyderbad”

“Oh”

“I dance.”

“Eh?”

“I dance. I learn dance”

Wow. That was quick.
I mean here we were, trying to break the ice and socialize the cordial way or to be more precise, the ‘corporate’ way, asking her her name, complimenting her on her oversized flashy chumkee-chimkee dress, while Miss. Chubby here was more interested in giving us the bigger details.

“You do eh? How nice! What dance do you learn?”
Us sounding genuinely interested.

“I learn Bharatnatyam” Like every second kid in South India.

“Ok..so how many jathis have you learnt? Have you learnt all the adavus and jathis till Allaripu?”
Ok, This was me, trying to flaunt the very little dance I could remember from my younger days.

“You know dance?” Kid, Incredulously.

“Yes I do” Correction, ‘did’ .

“Don’t lie ok-va? I learn from Lakshmipriya Miss.”

“Who’s Lakshmipriya-miss?"

“My miss” Saying it like she were Queen of England or something.

"Ohhh!!! Lakshmipriya-va? Of course! We remember her....We only taught her dance”
This was uttered in unison by the both of us, Rema and I, the diabolical cousins we are.

“You taught Lakshmipriya Miss?” Voice sounding incredibly surprised.

“ Yes we did. We taught her everything we could. But poor child, she wasn’t a very bright student. That’s why she’s still teaching despite learning dance for sooo many years”. Rema was unstoppable now.

“Lakshmipriya-Miss is 22 years old”. Boy, this kid was shrewd.

‘Only’ 22 years old? See what too much of dialogue can get you into?

“Oh? Well…there have been dancers who have achieved much more at that young age” This was me trying to back Rema up.

“You mean Sheela-miss? ”

“Who’s Sheela-Miss?”

“Sheela-miss is Lakhsmipriya-Miss’s miss”.
And the plot thickens.

“ Oh Sheela-miss a? Ah, I remember her! Yes, she was an extremely bright student. One of a kind. They don’t make ‘em students like her these days”.
I was trying my best to make all this seem plausible to the 8 year old kid.

“You know Sheela-miss?”
Kid’s eyes widened like space-saucers from space.

“ Know her?? She is what she is because of us. We put her up on the map. You go and ask Sheela if she knows ‘Maythini Sridharan’ and she’ll tell you of the sacred relationship we share. Go and ask her tomorrow itself at dance-class, ok-va? ”
Ok, I was trying a bit TOO hard.
And, I was beginning to get the ok-va slang from Miss. Chubby. Kids! Geez!

“ Sheela-miss isn’t in India. She’s in the U.S. running a dance school”
This was said very matter-of-factly by kid.
I was losing all weapons of defence.

Rema to my rescue. “She left without telling us?? Maythini, after all you’ve done for Sheela-miss, just see how she’s absconded without the slightest indication. Dancers these days, cha!”

“ I know, Rema. Cha! I am very upset now.” Trying to fake a hurt-look.

Kid tries to cheer up the not-so-diabolical twins by changing the topic.

“So…Are you running a school anywhere?”
Kid now fishing for more details from the not-so-diabolical cousins.

“Oh yes certainly. “

“Don’t lie, ok-va?”

“We aren’t lying ok-va!” I was sounding a bit desperate now.

Kid waits patiently as one of us makes the story up as we go along.

“We run a school in Australia and Bostwana. We’re doing very well in northern parts of Australia (heavens forbid she opens up a map and discovers a desert all over) and also in Bostwana (clueless of which part of the world the place may be in). The problem with opening up a school in London is that there is a lot of racial-discrimination there and also oflate a lot of political disturbances. You know how these English people are, don’t you? They’re never gonna send their kids for dance lessons once they know that a guy from our country is bombing up their place. So we preferred not to expand towards Europe, and decided to just settle with our success in Australia and Botswana.”

All this to an 8 year old kid with a flashy chumkee-chumkee dress.
Like they say, if you can’t convince them, confuse them.

“ Oh, ok. But Sheela-miss is doing very well ” Kid is still smitten by Sheela-miss.

Hell with your Sheela-miss I felt like saying. But all I could think of is “ I can only be too glad for her. She’ll contact me if she needs to learn some more dance the next time she comes to India”

Just when we were going to switch topics to a much more ‘safer’ one, a woman comes down the stairs calling out for Rajalakshmi.

In a split second, Sollamaten-dearie jumps up and shrieks, “Amma! They know Sheela-miss”.

Ok… firstly, Sollamaten’s name is Rajalakshmi eh? Well, that’s a lot of help.

And secondly… Now, we have your mom in this mess???
What the *@#*$@!

Mommy-dear looks at 2 pretty girls clad in a sari with the most skeptical of looks.
“You know Sheela-miss, do you? Which Sheela-miss?”

We’re both silent like we were caught cheating in an exam.
Rema. Not a sound from her.
Me. “ Well….Sheela-miss..the one who….who…..”
And we both burst out laughing.
And we were laughing and laughing.

Kid pointed her index finger at us and was chirping, “ I knew it all along. I knew it alllll along. I knew you guys were bluffing. I was just waiting for my mom to get here”.

Guess kid wasn’t that dumb after all.

Mommy-dear wasn’t ready to forgive our sinful act. Stern, teacher-amma look all over her face.

“So..where are you girls coming from?”

“Madras” Both of us spoke in unision.

“Ok. My daughter really learns dance” The word ‘really’ stressed with a bit of emphasis.
“ We’re looking for a good teacher now, because our Rajalakshmi is very very talented”.

Sure she is.

I was now trying to cover up the seemingly sinful act of deceiving young Rajalakshmi for which Mommy-dear was still glaring at us.
“Well why don’t put her in a good school? I travelled all the way from Nangannaloor to Kotturpuram (some 20 kilometres) for dance-classes.”
I was now giving my 2-cents worth advice.

Mommy-dear now fires. “You learnt dance?”
History sure does repeat itself.

“Yes, aunty I did”.

“Which school?”

“The Dhananjayans.”

“The Dhananjayans? You learnt from the Dhananjayans?”
She looked as though wouldn’t have believed me even if I said that cows moo and pigs oink.
She gives her child a crafty smile and moves her right hand in a circular motion to indicate that what I was saying was ‘reel’.

“Noooo”. This was me now.
“I really 'did' learn from the Dhananjayans school. Srilatha Vinod is my miss’s name. I was her student. Honest to god ”.

Ok now, I was sounding really desperate.
But this was the truth. And mommy-ji and chubby-ji were reluctant to believe me.

Rema and I tried to indulge in some other polite form of small talk. But aunty-ji didn’t budge. She still had that ‘you-tried-to-fool-my-daughter..MY-DAUGHTER’ look on her face.

We knew that mommy-dear was inconsolable. So we politely said our good-bye as fast as we could and tried to bail out without a trace.


I think about it now..and still wonder what went wrong where. We had everything under control while Rema and I worked with such unity in concocting crap instantly. But still we felt like losers in the end.

Kids these days. And their moms.
Gotta lot to learn.
But its not fun.....being stuck in the middle of one shrewd mom and a presumptious kid.

Calvinized..again.

Had to.

To Sir, with Love..

I hum when I work. Ok, this time I happened to hum a bit louder than usual and people around me tell me I broke off into a (slightly loud) song. Unfortunately, I didn’t really realize that. I never really do, until Aravinthan comes over to my cubicle to tell me to put a sock in it. My boo-boo.

A leader from the neighboring tower stood up and gave me a cold glare and even worse, threatened to escalate if I went any louder. Boy, that’s sure made my day. This will be the first escalation of its type.

Slightly embarrassed and a whole lot furious ,I scream out (after the royal sermon-giver has left the area of course) that I hate this place I work for. I can’t do anything without music against my ears (headphones mind you)….. and unfortunately without a mild hum too. You want people to work dead silently and go ra-ta-tup tup at their key-boards all day without the slightest sound/noise?…well fine, I’ll give you that. But, not without silent curse at you under my breath. (not that that’s really threatening, but I’m told a curse with a clean heart, and plenty of faith will actually work :P)

Its at moments like these, I solemnly swear that I will break free from this crazy claustrophobic work-place given the slightest chance. And, that day, is not too far away from now.
Till then, sir, Fcuk you.
-
Lots of Love.

Some digression with a Point....Somewhere.

Current Status: Helplessly watching my friends triumphantly flash their ‘I-told-you-so’ look at me (and this, I must add, they do quite effortlessly) while they witness me undergo my silent eat-my-words syndrome.

Frankly speaking, I never ever thought it would come to this.

Well, I’ve gotta give it you. You guys were right. I still have a lot to see. And I’m sure glad that (some of) you were a part of my awakening.

Sideline: The above few lines may precariously insinuate that I’ve suddenly attained some TOTALLY out-of-this-world realization of some sort …. Like the concept of Moksha..or Something like roaches being capable of producing almost 3000000 more roaches every year….or Prathibha Patel becoming the President of our Country. (Kidding….I always knew that roaches reproduce like crazy)

What I’ve always known and ALWAYS realized, is that I suck BIG TIME at practicals, vivas and interviews (in any order). 4 years of engineering and a lot of my supportive friends from college are more than just testimony for that.

But (trying to strike a contrast here) what I’ve always known but NEVER EVER realized is that how big and heterogeneous a country I’m a part of. (No, I’m serious and truly not up to any wise-cracks here).

There are some things that are easily a part of an everyday conversation or discussion but never really dawn on you with their exact meaning and significance unless you sit to think about it.
Something like the fact that…the universe is infinite.
Yes, you ‘know’ that and I ‘know’ that… but it would typically take you a while to actually ‘feel’ the gravity of that statement …for the fact to actually sink into you. And when it does, boy, it would leave you marveled and amazed; despite the number of times you’ve thrown that statement here ‘n there in public.

This is something like the point I'm trying (quite earnestly) to drive at.
Terms like ‘multi-cultural’, ‘harmonious integration’, unity-in-diversity’ never really meant anything more than just salient features of a distinctly complicated country, until I got out of my ‘shell’ (READ: Chennai, which is moreorless the only place I’ve known well. Yes, I know I’m ignorant.) and traveled ta Bombay for the first time.

I went..I saw..'n I was conquered. It overwhelms me to think of how a single country can house SO many different states which are SO incredibly different from each other. Its has been a week..and I’m still amazed.

And still haven’t gotten over it.

The more I think about it, the more I’m falling in love with this country….and I promise this has nothing to do with the fact that Aug 15 is round the corner. (skeptical folks, hmph! :D)
I’ve already chartered a virtual plan in my head listing out all the places I’d like to visit in the near future and I’m already soopah excited about it. My ideal travel plan would certainly NOT include those enormously popular planned-tours with horribly boring Volvos which house at least 3 kids wailing their hearts out, or at least 2 people wanting to stop for a pee every 30 minutes. (the chances that your VOLVO will have at least 3 potential cry-babies when your on a holiday, are unfortunately rather high)
Thanks, but no thanks.


My heart is fervently hoping for my next venture to the North…. Something I could handle myself without anyone’s assent/consent. A wild trip with me and just me, my digi-cam, a crazy hat, a jute bag worn diagonally across me, a rainbow-walla chaathi (my unfulfilled dream to own one…*sob!*), and absolutely NO luggage. ;)

I can imagine catching an train to some arbit sub-urb/village, holding on to the pole at the bogee ‘s gate, with the wind hitting against my face while I find it difficult to hold on to my flying chunee. (Ok, I’m imagining a bit too much, but I told you I was really excited) :D


Before I stop…(yes, miracles do happen)

Things I loved about Bombay.

1. The Local trains

How people board the 'Bomaby' local trains and survive to tell the tale of it still remains an enigma to me. I was warned by my friends the moment I landed in Bombay, of the peak-hour traffic within the general compartmnet and that I shouln't go about heralding the fact that I *love* the local trains after one measly trip on a Sunday.

So....in order to prove a point, I travel by the local trains, on a Monday morning, where I imagine half the Bombay-population in plonked into that very same bogee I'm situated in. After the painful ordeal of finding a seat (which is a luxury far from reach for most travellers) I find myself squished between two pan-chewing uncles on either side of me, with their news-papers sprawled across their laps. (sort 'v missed the Hindu here) . Getting out of that mess would easily surpass signing a peace treaty with Bin Laden in terms of impossibility.

But...I still loved it. Every single, sweaty, tormenting second of it.

2. The chaos and the crowd

This was a riot. Want to be scowled and scorned at for fun in Bombay?

Walk fast in some arbit public spot. Stop walking and stand still for 3 seconds. You'll hear (at least) seven people asking you to move your ass off their way. They are busy people... and do not have time to watch a static piece of mass on their way...for 3 whole seconds. (And I always wondered why Bombay was too 'fast' for some people. )

3. The Bombay Rains

Ah...my favourite. I could go on and on 'bout this one.

You havent seen rains till you've experienced Mumbai rains. They pour 5 cats and 6 dogs. (bad joke..but I use it all the time :D). Lord Varuna's in for a party when the Monsoons hit Mumbai. The thing about Mumbai rains is that, they just're amazingly dynamic. I mean, one moment you see them..'n the next second you don't. I remember fidgeting with Tosh's purple umbrella trying to open it and save my head, and by the time I'd gotten it open, the rain had stopped. (I had that 'well-I'll-be-damned look ever since)

4. Pani Puri

Whats so special about the PP (Rathi's way of putting it) in Bombay?

I really REALLY don't know. But all I know is that its absolutely divine. I mean, I'm a sucker for the normal Chennai-canteen walla PP itelsef...so when I had a taste of the PP in Churchgate, I went gaga over it. I would 've ordered indefintely, but I reminded my self of public norms of decency (whatever that means :P)

5. Marine Drive

It was undoubtedly love at first sight. For all you non-Mumbaikars, Marine Drive is just a road with the sea adjacent to it. Like any normal beach actually. But there's something about taking that walk along that stretch of land. While Sahil and Parimal were playing Mr.Tourist-Guide by explaining the worth of property at the other side of the lane, I was busy being mesmerised by the view from the kerb. At one point, it looked pretty much like New York.

6. The rocks at Nariman Points

Trying to walk across those rocks on a rainy evening isn't exaclty the wisest thing to do. But thats exactly what we did. And man, it rocked! (pun unintended)

Actually, It got so complicated as I hopped from one slippery rock to another, that at one point of time, I had to squat on one of the rocks to print a mental strategy on what rocks I had to travese by next, to reach the point were Parimal was standing. And then, it would start to rain. And I'd be squatting on that slippery rock; plonk in the middle of no-where, till the rains subsided. This still makes me laugh.

7. The guilt-less arriving home late during weekends (and every other day presumably)

Lets just say that my mom doesnt know that I had dinner at a restaurant in Mumbai with friends at around 01:00 hours on a Sunday. For me it felt sooper-cool to be doing something I (still) am not allowed to do, but for folks there....it was another normal weekend.

8. People I more than just know ;)

Tosh Raman Sahil Takloo Chacha Rathi Poorva Chirag Nikhil Vishal Prithvi. Your more than just a reason for me to get my ass back down there. Need I say more.

Things I didn’t like about Bombay:

That it wasn’t Chennai.

Ok..do I laugh or..?

Just One Bag

Current status: Packing

YOU: Oh? Then what are you doing 'here' if you're currently packing? And packing?
Where're you going, for Pete's Sake?

ME :Well... I'm off to the Land of Opportunities..the Land of undiluted Glitz and Glamour, the land of the Bold...and not to mention, the extremely Beautiful....the Land that has all the filth and dirt, and also the strength to clean up the same (quite literally)...

YOU (incredulously): Don't tell me..!! Your going to LA.... Holy mother of God..really????

ME (smug smile): Naah.....I'm off ta Mumbai.


(Maaaaaa...Help...some one's after me with a frying pan..!)


Ok. I'll really tell you what I'm up to.
I'm going to Bombay for a 3 day trip. Its all happened so quickly and I'm fluttering with extreme excitement. (excuse me while I do I mini-dance here)

Now Bombay to me is not just any city. For confirmed Madrasis like me who envision themselves to live, breed and die in Madras, Bombay is like Hollywood; the land of glamour and sparkle. Considering my pre-conceived notions about this place, expectations are currently sky high and I'm soooo gonna make a conscious effort not to fall in love with the place that makes news every single day or every other day.

I called up my dad 3 days ago and told him about my impending jaunt for the weekend.
Reason for this impetuous plan ? Simple... no particular reason at all.
Just to meet some dear friends there.
My father doesn't know how to react and I feel sorry for not being able to view his expression at that point of time. Thats OK, cos I know what he looks like when he's majjorly flummoxed.
Oh yeah, 've been there...done that.
But anyways...He's fine with it...not without few words of wisdom of course:

"Child, its a 2 day affair. Please don't pack the way you normally do. Pack light and pack sensibly."

blah-blah-blah.... The way you normally do.. blah-blah-blah ..

I'm in a dilemma as to WHAT to put in quotes from the above statement...is it the 'normally' or the 'you' ? I mean, that line is plain euphemism for 'Dear, you screw up always. This time sweetie.. dont.'

I have my pride (no, really) and hence, I've resolved to carry one bag.

Just one bag.
If I travel alone, I travel in style.

A very neat and simple affair. I mean, how hard can it be? Packing 3 days stuff into 1 bag. Come one...its not rocket-science! To think that I'm even blogging on this.

I pack with a tune in my lips and a smile on my face.
Yea rite..I wish! I'm frantically rummaging through my wardrobe which is presently screaming out loud for its well deserved summer-cleanup.
Oh Lord...I'm desperate...Where's a decent bag when you need one!

After 20 minutes of searching and throwing some forty odd pieces of clothing on the floor... Finally...a 'BAG'!!
Ah-ha! Lets see... Its in one piece..it has a strap with no loose ends..and the best part, a zipper that hasn't yet fallen off....Ah, am I blessed or am I blessed!

NOW current status: Packing

Ok..Everything nicely packed into my small, blue and please note , 'single' bag. I'm all set...quite impressive if I do say so myself.
My bag looks like an overstuffed Turkey for Thanksgiving, but hey, protocol read 'Just one bag'...and am I the protocol-girl or what!

Awritey then..I'm movin outta here to Bombay..See you later.... but wait, whats this lying under my oversized-excuse for a bag?
Crap! Its my pair of JEANS!! Damn, I've forgotten to pack my jeans.
I'm not leaving without my jeans..no way!

(Detecting the skepticle look on your face) Whats that I hear you say...?
Why am I fretting over my *jeans* like it were some master-piece by Prada?

Well...yes I know, its just another pair of jeans. But I have my reasons. Let me explain why I'm not leaving without my jeans. I (and in all probability, you too) have nothing better to do while I'm still stuck here with Miss. Over-Stuffed-Turkey and a lonely pair of jeans...so, hear me out.

Reason 1: Firstly, I'm going to Bombay honey, not Anna University.

Reason2: These jeans are the only saving grace of my otherwise loser-wardrobe which I have not the time to re-vamp...and its these few loyal garments like this pair of jeans that leave me with some scrap of dignity at a social get-together these days .

There!!

So I'm tearing open this 'Turkey' and stuffing a pair of jeans into her whether she likes it or not.
*Grunt...puff...Grunt*
This zipper sure is stubborn. Fine...I've stuffed my jeans in successfu....*Snap*..uh-oh!

Christ....Nooooooooooo! Zip in hand!
My bag is now split wide open to almost a mile..and is now tragically zipper-less. Friggin detached-zipper!!
I have a flight to catch straight away from work... and I'm still looking for a bag with a decent zip.
Could ANYONE even be more helpless? (in Chandler-like tone)


Concluding points of action:

1. Will not panic.
   
2. Pick up phone, dial the 'friendly-neighbours' next door;

"Hello, Aunty? Mayth here...I was wondering if you had a bag......with a zip....."

:D

My Mate..

...would be someone who could sit beside me and listen to Tu-bin-bataye a thousand times... and love it more 'n more with each time .

Life's Lesson #190707

Real Happiness is knowing that you've made some one happy. Really happy.

Corollary: Flowers to friends (with a little help from the internet and my Credit Card) apparently does the trick.

Love Actually...

A little bird from work is awfully chirpy these days and this is getting quite hard to ignore.

Madam Chirpy (MC) 's getting engaged to a bloke she was introduced to exactly 5 weeks back (the quintessential arranged types) and now, she's tragically been reduced to nothing but an uncontrollable blush-pot.

I'm not the only one who's noticed this distinct transformation in MC's behaviour ever since she's been..umm..well, booked (whatever the word may be) and this change is rather striking I tell you.

Now, for all you know, you could storm into the room and ask/ tell/ yell/ scream/ order/ command/ bellow/ beg/ implore her for something rather important but all your gonna get from her is a quaint giggle- giggle topped with a lot of blushing-blushing.

" What?", I exclaim out loud with the most incredulous look on my face.
"Please tell me, what!!!!! Is there something I'm missing here?"

"Ah Mayth dear, you wouldn't understand", says a girl in my cubicle with the most patronizing of looks. "And by the way, you might want to hush down a bit and not invite myriad not-so-attractive glares from cubicles surrounding ours and the ones surrounding theirs"

Ok..... see, that I can do. Hushing down isn't all that difficult for me. There. (Aravinthan would slightly disagree with me though...He thinks that I have 'mics' and 'amplifiers' for lunch everyday. Maybe I should tell him how untrue that is one of these days. Or, maybe I'm just loud, for life. *Shudder*)

But, getting to the serious part...
Really! Now, what wouldn't I understand?

That our damsel 's in love? That the world looks mysteriously brighter to her because of which she looks forward to waking up to the very next day, every day? That I shouldn't blame her for that disappointed look when she receives a message from anyone else but 'him'? That me wanting to have chickoo-milkshake with her at the canteen over a nice, bitchy chat about office no longer gains top priority in her Things-I-love-Doing list?

See, all that I understand, the smart girl I am..but what I don't get is the excessive giggle-giggle, laugh-laugh and the unexplainable mirth with which she says and does things these days. Does a commitment actually make you do all this? Are you a perpetually happy over...everything?

Right, yeah.. Maybe girl-in-the-cubicle was right afterall (she'd thrash me if she found her name here)... maybe I just couldn't understand all this .... till I eventually do.

Sigh! Whatever....I'm really really happy for MC (except for the fact that I have to wait in a queue these days just to talk to her ...grr...the darned-cell phone and the person at the other side of it).

I'm still the confirmed Mills-'n-Boon deprecator and I still squirm at the very thought of overtly-mushy and saccharine romance.
But I just can't help thinking...
If falling in love can make anyone this happy, then I actually find myself looking forward to it.

*Sigh*...(sob)..Oh Crap, where's that can of ice-cream?

Well, I'll be damned!

Appalled.
Thats what I am now.

http://www.ibnlive.com/blogs/sanjeebmukherjea/262/2126/rajini-the-blogbuster.html

For some reason, I not only find this blog repulsive but also sad, in a sense that our country has to put up with a shit-load of racists like this.

Not that I'm a confirmed Rajini fan or a Dravidian-fanatic (except when its Rahul Dravid we're talking about), but its the constant battering of the so called 'Dravidian' race (the dogmatic way of referring to the southies) like they belong to a completely different lineage.

What in heaven's name are these guys trying to do...that too in a public forum???
Friggin Racists!

Life's Lesson #120707

Thou shalt not be proud of thyself for bringing down the Mainframes.


Corollary: Lets just keep ourselves out of trouble, shall we.

Go Figure!

Lets see..

5 Jumbo Jangiris/Jilebees (Courtesy: Surya Sweets, Mylapore)
2 Raj kachoris
2 fat Samosas
1/2 packet of mixture (the other half being devoured by yours truly the previous day itself)
1 big Mango
3 Vaazhapazhams (Bananas for the un-informed in Tamil)
1 packet of Top Ramens Smoodles
1 Packet of Krishna Potato cheeps

...All this in addition to the customary 'Rasam' and Curd rice with vendakkai-poriyal ; A combination I can't do without before hitting the sack.


Well...if you're still here and haven't fainted yet, you could read this too.

Today, most evidently, I had a diet any model would die for (or actually, die with).
What model, most of my friends would crave for this sooper combination of food-items considering that some of them have really transformed into Divine-Goddesses ever since we got out of college...all this while I'm radically turning into a plump-kush-ball.
They all have the will-power. And I don't.
No,actually its the other way round....I have all the will power to gorge in all the food I set my eyes upon ...while tragically, my friends don't.
(slight call for SOS here!)

Off late, I've been forced to confront this insatiable urge of mine that makes me devour anything I can lay my hands on and this activity of eating like theres no tomorrow, is performed by me with such elan you know...absolutely no guilt, no remorse...no prudence over the dire repercussions I have to face once all that I've gorged in, has turned into un-digested (or digested...whatever!) fat which gets deposited in all the unwanted places (not like there are many wanted places...but I'm not getting into all that).

The fact that I'm unable to refrain from thulping in everything I see (well..almost everything, I most conveniently happen to stay away from healthy food. damn!) doesn't really seem disturb me as much as the fact that I am un-perturbed by my over-indulgence.

Too complex a sentence? Lets re-word it.

The very fact that I'm shamelessly un-perturbed by my herculean appetite, perturbs me and I seriously don't know what I ought to do about it. I'm always hungry. Period.

Do scientists have a cure for hunger?
'Well,of course you nitwit....food', you might say.
But isn't that my problem in the first place?
Too much food?
Aren't we back to where we started?

hmm...ok,I don't intend to publicize my problems over the internet (yeah right..thats what this blog was for, anyway). To his own, each problem (That would have sounded much better in Latin.Ignorance..hmph! )

Anyways, I'm working on it.
Well, ok...its not really a nerve-wrecking problem 'n all, when benchmarked with poverty in Somalia, venal Governments, Global Warming, and unmarried girls in my family .... one or two words of wisdom and encouragement will do ;)

Until then, all I can say to myself is..

Goooooooooo Figure!!

Calvinized

Some Trip (..or why you should just walk it all the way)

My office-mates scattered all over India (Delhi, Bombay, Calcutta, Ahemedabad 'n Bangalore to be precise) had decided to meet up in Madras for a nice holiday over the weekend. The itenary involved visiting Thirupathi followed by a trip to Yercaud.
Simple.
Yeah, I wish!

This trip would have been just another trip if we had planned it meticulously for which I sincerely advocate people to plan their holidays in future in such a way that, they are unplanned to the last minute.
Chaos is good fun, I've discovered. :D

Before going about this journey, let me introduce you to some of our key players in this trip.

1. Pradeep - our mystery bus that did everything but move.
2.Mr. Muthu, the Bus owner-Who seriously ought to close down this incompetant bijjiness of his and perhaps join another software company. I’m talking to HR-TCS for a fair opening.
3. Fate (without which this trip would have been just another trip)
4. Us crazy juntha-Need I say more.


12:30am Thursday : Night out at Anchal’s.

Bombay, Guj, Calcutta ‘n Delhi guys turn up at Anchu s place…Takloo (who was not yet takloo), his friend Sudheep, Sahil, Tosh, Chacha, Raman, Paro, Bhaumik, Yudee, Chirag, Nikhil, Chirag Patel,Anchal Surosa Shyamala ‘n me..
boy, seeing everyone under the same roof would never feel the same. After doing some exuberant screaming, shouting and catching up we head to the nearby TCS office for tea at some ungodly hour 4am. The bus is expected to arrive at 5am. We re all ready leave.

Thrusday, 7am
Its 7am We’re STILL ready for the bus to arrive. Calling the bus-driver seems tougher that talking George Bush into joining Indian politics.
But oh well, we have our cameras and ourselves to have some fun.

Some one ‘n half hours, 21 phone calls and ten photos later, the bus finally arrives.
And following that, is the grand entry of Saaaaaaaaaaaai ;) (Applause, applause!)



Friday 10AM, Pradeep
We re on our way to Thirupathi…. It feels nice not to be cramped up in a bus like we used to in Trivandrum. Lots of space….lots of talking..and a bit of sleeping. (Sahil also caught up on a bit of sleep if I do remember ;) )


Friday, 12:00 pm Thirupathi
Blore guys arrive…PayDay, Naveen, Jimmy and Veena (PD’s friend) are welcomed with much excitement. We move to the local bus-stand in Thirupathi to board another bus which will take us to the hill-top (the temple being on a hill). Topic of discussion during our ascent up the hill was Jimmy’s new sexy cell phone-one in black with one of those tooth-pick types you can poke the screen with.
Some good fun there.

(flanked by Naveen, Raman, Bhaumik 'n Tosh)





3pm Thirumala, hill top
It isn’t too cold, neither is it too hot. We walk to a public hall where we can keep our stuff in lockers and freshen up. We’re all set to head to the temple after that.
But not without some lunch at a nearby restaurant. Sahil-saab very dutifully took our orders and we were all now really ready for the temple J

Friday 5pm, on our way to temple
2 official takloos originate at this hour.
Takloo and Parimal (like one talkoo was not enough in our gang :P)
Chacha, I presume will now be the style icon in Mumbai ;)



The queue is long.

Very long.

Free-dharshan has a notorious reputation for making people wait forever to see the lord. What follows the long queue is a room which houses something like 200 hundred people and makes us wait for another for 5 odd hours.
But trust me, waiting has never really been this much fun.
Imagine 20 people cramped up along the steps which can customarily seat 12 people. Absolutely no space to even lift your hand and scratch your head.
Activities during this wait, involve fervently discussing Tosh’s romantic engagement [;)], Chirag’s 4 day wedding, Sahil’s childhood love stories, and hitting Jimmy’s face every 3 mintues. (ask chacha)

Friday 8pm, inside waiting room
Paro faints.
She feels bad about it later….sweet girl
I seriously don’t know why she feels guilty.
I’m sure all of us would have dropped in that claustrophobic ambience in some time anyway.

Friday 9pm, inside waiting-room
We’re tired of waiting but we still have to. So,now we all plan to sing. I sing Lukka Chuppi which sparks up some laughter for some unknown reason. Unknow then, known now (reasons please contact chacha and Takloo)
We’re still waiting for darshan.

Saturday,12:30 am, Temple
Darshan time.
We scramble in the stampede to get darshan. Its just some 9 seconds of viewing the magnificent lord in his chamber, but the darshan was worth all the waiting. Defintiely.
We move out of the temple and have dinner at a place that’s ready to kick us out in any moment. I don’t blame them. It is really late.

Saturday, 2am, bus-stand
We move to the bus stand there and do what we do best.
Wait.
This time, we re really bugged as its night, its dark, we’re tired and we have no roof above our heads…waiting isn’t exactly what we like doing now though we’ve gained enough expertise in it.
Some try to sleep..some continue playing an exciting word game (I like word games J )while some just stare into space…wondering if there is a bus that’s going to pick us up after all.

This was taken that night when no one even bothered to look at the cam :)




3:30 am, in bus-stand
That’s it. No more waiting. Some action here please…so Sahil/Chacha/someone goes to a nearby public hall so that we can rest in it while we wait. We all rest and almost sleep.

3:40am
Pradeep arrives. Talk about perfect timing.
On our way to Salem, then on to Yercaud….yaahoooo!!!!!!!

Satuday, 9am, in Pradeep
We’ve left Andhra and are at some place in Tamil Nadu I’ve never even heard of before. (Yes I’m a Tamilian, not further questions )

I wake up to see a load of people still sleeping in the bus. Chacha apparently hasn’t had a wink of sleep all night.
Poor fellow…. This guy ‘s an organizer all the way. Peedee,Veena ‘n I promptly leave to the wash-rooms in the bus-stand nearby and later realize, that was a futile waste. I cant brush my teeth there and that fact disturbs me to a great extent.

The bus moves from there VERY VERY slowly…and soon breaks down.
Fine, no problem.. happens to buses, so no problem. We get down, and wait for the driver to be back.
I discover that the place we’re in is called Thirupathoor.
We call Krati (whos in Yercaud now) and tell her we’re on our way and we ‘ll be there in another 3 hours max.


Saturday, 1 pm broken down bus
After an hour of waiting the driver takes the bus and we’re off. But this time, we move MUCH slower. Sooner than later, he bus breaks down. Again.

This time we’re really pissed off. The driver begs for one more hour. JUST one more hour and he promises the bus will be ready. We comply and decide to have our lunch.

Saturday, 3:00 pm, back from lunch
We return 2 hours later..the bus is still not ready. Driver begs for 3 more hours.
Anchu ‘n I frantically call up the owner, Mr.Muthu and ask him what the hell is going on.
Krathi calls up and we tell her we’re on our way to Yercaud. :D This game really was a lot of fun.

3:30pm, near the broken-down bus
We decide to send the entire lot in a TATA Sumo to Yercaud while the 5 of us (Anchu, chacha, Takloo, Sahil ‘n I) wait beside the bus and settle things out with the driver. We’re proud for having sent the rest of the lot “safely” on their way to Yercaud.
Krathi is impatient…but we tell her its just another one or 2 hours.

After some talking, yelling, thinking and agreeing…the 5 of us decide to send the bus back to Chennai and settle the money matter once we get back to Chennai.
We get into an Ambassador which we pay a fat lump of money to take us to Yercaud.

Finally, every one s going to Yercaud.
Or, that’s what we think.

Saturday 5pm, White Ambassador
Doing some major time pass in the white Ambassador, discussing quite a few thing. Good fun.

But the climax is getting a call from the Sumo guys…saying that their gaadi just broke down and even better, their gaadi has crappy brakes.

We (the white Ambassador juntha) laugh our gutts out thinking of their fate, while we merrily move on towards Yercaud.

Saturday 8pm, WhiteAmbassador
We reach Salem ,some 1750 metres below Yercaud (which is at the hill top )
The driver stops.
And tells us we can get down.

Ambassador Juntha: ummm….why have we stopped by the way?

Ambassador Driver: Because we’ve reached the end of our journey.

Ambassador Juntha: Umm….. Mr.Driver, hello!! We paid you for Yercaud didn’t we?

Ambassador Driver: You paid me for Yercaud ‘Road’. This is Yercaud Road.
So please get down.

Ambassador Juntha: What the @#$%#%^!

After some yelling and shouting and tonnes of laughing (I think I broke a few bones laughing there) we pay that stupid driver and looked for other means to getting to Yercaud. I think I lost hope of reaching here.
Krati calls up..this time genuinely asking us if we’recoming to Yercaud. We tell her we’re on our way.




Saturday 8:30 pm, bus-stand in Salem
Finally a bus.
A bus.. that moves, a bus that wont break down, a bus that has brakes and most importantly a bus that’s taking us to Yercaud. Aaaaaa…we’re a happy lot. Meanwhile the Sumo people are luckily on their way despite their brake-less gaadi.


Saturday 11 pm, Yercaud, hill-top
All of us meet at Yercaud. Sumo guys, Ambassador guys and Krathi. (Krathi along with Dhari and Shreyans)

Aaaah….finally!!!!
Hooooorrraaaay!!!
Everybody has something to say about the journey. Krati is thrilled. She’s waited the most. (14 hours to be precise).
We have a camp fire.
It rocks. Biggggg time!!! One of Sahil's rare appearances ;)





Next day.

Sunday, 9 am, Yercaud
We leave the cottage and have breakfast. The mini-van we’ve arranged for is such a darling. It takes us to places all over Yercaud without absolutely any trouble.
It doesn’t break down, it didn’t demand for extra money, it doesnt crash.
We have a mind-blowing time in Yercaud.
Trekking was just A-W-E-Some!!!!
Krathi leaves with her friend. The rest of us carry on.

I’m not gonna say much about the trekking part as I feel the photographs will do more justice J
(but just one thing though…a big thank you for those guys who helped me all the way up to the farthest point in the trek. It felt magical for having made it that far..Naveen,Raman,Chirag,Shreyans and the rest…couldn’t have done it without you guys!)


(At the top. No we arent lying down :D)



Sunday 6pm, Salem
We’re done with Yercaud and we’ve all made it to Salem in one piece.
The journey downwards exposed the Yo! side of Nikhil Ravi.

His Eminim-style rap ‘Dono maja karengae’ rocked….. though I had to get all that translated by Tosh later ;)


We have to bid the Blore guys good-bye. That’s is the tough part. But the tougher part is yet to come.
Arranging for transportation to Chennai was not going to be easy at the eleventh hour.
Running around here n there..to the Railway station n stuff deprived me of a chance of saying a proper good-bye to the Blore folks.
All of you…u guys rocked yar…serisously!!
PayDay…sweetie, you’re a chocolate!

8:30 pm
Sahil, Anchu n I run frantically to the railway-station to book tickets…found them, paid for them… done! We’re gonna go ta Chennai, confirmed…hooooray!!!!!!!

Monday morning, we bid some of the Bombay guys farwell…I was incapable of being too senti then because of the tension for finding a decent means of transportation to Anchu s flat.
Love you guys!!


I stop here.
(I hear a sigh of relief but let me just pretend like I didnt hear that.. ;))
This was indeed a very long mail and I really appreciate it if you read it this far.
If you didn’t, no problem, I still love you guys no less ;)

I look back at the last 96 hours and I wonder in bedazzlement at the dynamic-factor in life and the enormity of unpredictability it has in store for anyone who is willing to accept it as it comes.

What I learnt or rather inferred, was that there are some things in life we have absolutely no control over what so ever, and in such cases we just have to patiently watch the turn of events – you’ll be amazed at the way things turn out when left to themselves.

It just goes to show that good times are not about what you do, when you do or how you do it; but just the people you share your moments with.

And now as I type this on my lappy listening to Roobaroo from Rang de basanthi with a smile on my face, I have a feeling of content and deep satisfaction that I have quite a bank of memories to dwell upon for some time to come and that I have some fabulous people to share them with.





Love you guys.
More than ever
Mayth!!

Life's Lesson #70623.....

Happy bosses maketh happy juntha

(Though the converse is very seldom true)

Shivaji - I rest my case

I've never actually been a Rajini fan. Never really liked him all that much.
But I’ve seen it for myself now.

There is no denying in it anymore and now I'm forced to eat my own words.

Rajini-kanth…Tamil-Nadu’s sooobar-star. You can love him or you can hate him…but you certainly CERTAINLY can’t ignore him.


The Tamil-movie industry has an uncanny way of reminding its faithful patronizers who the 'boss’ still is (pun unintended) and now the prejudiced-section of the audience (a part of which I was, till a while back) can no longer sit at home and twiddle their thumbs while the entire nation (and I read, the whole world too) gazes in bedazzlement at this high-budget phenomenon from Asia.

I know. Rajini has grown old and is now rather squidgy around the edges.
I’d be lying if I said that I found him to be sinfully sexy with/without that magical make-up and fluffy wig of his.
Yep, he no longer can do those eye-catchy dance steps with sooper jhatkas & matkas because of which his dance steps are tragically limited to the ‘bulb-dance’ sequence (college’s ragging routine which involves hand-movements analogous to the activity of screwing/unscrewing a bulb)

But all those cons just seem to vanish out of sight when he delivers those lines of his with unmeasurable attitude and class knowing that the audience is going to lap it up for whatever ludicrous content it may bear.

I perceive Shivaji- to be a beautiful movie for more reasons than one.

a) Shankar. Need I say more.

b) A not too-serious-yet-rather-striking theme based on giving your mother-land your
very best ; even when shit happens (Which is quite a lot these days).

c) Money money everywhere in every frame of the movie. Lets you get in touch with the surreal part of reality.

d) Raghuvaran. An small yet honest role that reminded the Tamil audience of what this fine actor was and is capable of doing. Every movement and line had a genuine feel to it. He definitely deserved this. And much more.

e) The wardrobe.
Man! Mind boggling stuff there...couldnt take my eyes of Shriya's attire. Manish Malhotra has delivered to this movie more than he ever would and could to Bollywood itself. Shriya is here to stay and she's climbing up up wayyyyyy up.

f) Cute humour... Enna vicha Commedy onnum pannaliyae, Kids paakardidu Pogo; Shivaji kitta vechikkadae gogo :P Vivek, your my man!

g) Music. A.R. Rahman. I'd be wasting my time if I wrote anything here.

h) Songs.
For their resplendence and overtly ostentatious choreography. You’ve to see it to believe it. Karan Johar’s got some records to beat here.

i) Rajinikanth (well of course...who did you expect here..Paris Hilton?)


I thoroughly enjoyed this movie despite detesting logically-depraved movies.

This one is exclusively for Tamil folks...and they simply love it.
Typically entertaining, typically Rajini.
And thats all that matters.


Amen.