April 30, 2005

On Transition.

I write, not with the unconstrained abandon with which I wrote a few days
back; I write in the hope that what little I convey will not be shackled by innuendos, tainted by undercurrents and diverted by overtones. My over-dramatized portrayal of the series of unfortunate events (next on my movie list :)) that kept a part of my silly self disturbingly distracted the past few days, now complete, I proceed to happily don the role of a reader and write!

Freedom and imagination - Two things that I associate with reading a book. As a reader, I am free to explore the hidden places in my world, using the map that the writer provides me. As I absorb the picture painted by the writer, I alter it unconsciously, navigate through the tiny alleyways that the writer gives me the freedom to create, and adjust the moods and expressions of characters almost imperceptibly to suit my taste; in short, I live in the world created by the writer, but change it to the extent the writer allows me, to make it that much more interesting for me to experience it. To reduce the abstruseness of what I convey here, I quote from A Suitable Boy – Vikram Seth, my closest companion the past few days.

She did not know the first thing about cricket – even Pran’s enthusiasm had not affected her at all – but she was drowsily entranced by the sight of Kabir, dressed completely in white, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, capless and with ruffled hair, running in to bowl – or standing at the crease wielding his bat with what seemed like easy skill….The sound of a bat on ball, the rustle of a slight breeze in the bamboo, the twittering of a few sparrows, the calls of a couple of mynas, and above all, the sound of the young men’s easy laughter and indistinct conversation all combined to make her almost oblivious of herself.

If I close my eyes now, I am there in the field and I see Lata, sitting on the bamboo bench, her eyes unwaveringly focused on Kabir. I am enveloped by the sounds around them, I hear the birds chirping, I hear the laughter and the indistinct conversation. I am an invisible onlooker in their world, privy to their most personal thoughts. The freedom I talk about, reveals itself when I also notice a bed of daffodils blooming unnoticed at Lata’s feet, a squirrel thoughtfully nibbling on a blade of grass before chasing another squirrel, the sun casting golden rays that reflect on Lata’s thoughtful visage and the way her hand involuntarily moves to adjust an errant strand of hair from her forehead…these are the images that the writer has given me the freedom to imagine and create, and the combined visual effect is as powerful as reality itself.

Sometimes, when I see a novel made into a movie, I cringe at the disparity between my mental images and the ones I see on the screen, somehow, a bit of the magic that I had built around the original story is lost when I see it in front of my eyes, small details associated with the world that I built while reading the story are now thrown into oblivion…and the original charm is lost somewhere in the transition from words that I read to images that I see. Movies are powerful, but more powerful than them is the cumulative result of a reader’s imagination humming in tune to a writer’s song.

April 29, 2005

Tell me your dreams.

Walking in to the familiar indistinctly painted class room, I was greeted by a chorus of voices. I murmured an almost mute greeting to all of them, as I settled down in the first bench. I read the label on the ruled notebook wrapped in brown paper, “A.J~”. I sighed, “She is not going to let my life get any easier”…I sat down and looked around. A few faces smiled back at me, a few remained deep in conversation with others, gesticulating agitatedly (about last week’s cricket match?) and a few others surveyed me superciliously. I did notice that the tall boy, in the unimpressive pale green striped t-shirt and incongruent spectacles that gave him an undeservedly studious look, caught my eye and held it for a second before nonchalantly diverting his attention to his friend. My heart skipped a beat. I felt someone tugging my sleeve and turned around to see L pointing to a particularly troublesome Math homework question and immediately got distracted. We animatedly discussed equally incorrect solutions to the mind-boggling problem, when the Teacher walked in. The class had just begun when the dismissal bell started ringing, in an incessant and surprisingly low tone…

I rolled over and opened my eyes and all the familiarity of my life, as it is today, rushed towards me and firmly established my context in the now cosmic scheme of things. I pushed the off button on the alarm emphatically, as though telling myself that, that part of my life is past now. A few remnants of the dream did stay in my mind and what is weird about this whole dream is that the actors and cameos in this dream were from different stages of my past, my friends from Bits sat with my School friends and my thoughts were a strange potpourri of my concerns as a shy School girl interspersed with collegiate anxieties and immaturities.

I don’t have Professor Trelawny with me to explain the nuances and subtle indications of my dream, by pondering over tea leaves at the bottom of my tea cup :), so I decided I will not extrapolate my dream to mean things that it hardly meant. My dream was just that, a dream.

April 28, 2005

Posted by Hello

To the charming verses that speak to me,
To the reassuring words that look for the silver lining in my dark
cloud of thoughts,
To the obliging eyes that find sense in my trivialities,
To the gifted hands that respond to my clumsy scribbles,
To the flawless writer that makes me smile,
the writer in me is grateful...

Daydreaming at night.

An attempt to unload excess baggage from my head, in the hope that it clears to make way for bags that are not so heavy to carry, sprinked with yen :)

Sometimes I wish my mind were just blank, a plain white canvas with no hint of a sketch on it. Isn’t a plain white canvas more conducive to creating a painting that evokes life? Isn’t an uncluttered mind a necessity to think lucidly? And yet, my mind won’t let go of superficialities that are scribbled on it unwittingly. Sometimes, I have to imagine a dusty black board and a duster and imagine myself cleaning my dusty mind, each stroke deliberately taken to remove layers of unwanted words, unheeded tears, irreconcilable altercations, unattainable aspirations and irrational fears.

It is easy to criticize, except oneself. I am astonished at my ignorance often, when by strange twists of fate, I find myself involved inextricably in the same actions that I deemed below my condescending scale of what I consider worthy. If only the oblivious critic would peep behind the curtains to see the amount of effort that goes behind each creation, however ordinary it may appear to be, he would not have the heart to criticize! How often have I been this critic until one day, I was the person behind the curtains and not in front of it?

If I had one wish, I would ask that my loved ones never be taken away from me and if I had a wish before that wish, I would ask that I never fear that I may live to see that day.

If I had one adornment to choose for myself, I would ask that I be given a string of jasmine flowers. I know not of a fragrance that endears more, of a hue that conveys more purity, of petals that convey more bashfulness even as they bloom...I know not of a flower more alluring in its beauty.

I want to write, not for a million eyes to read, but for a few hearts to feel. I want to write of a million different things, of dancing raindrops and smiling sunshine, of enchanting places and exotic cuisines, of wistful nostalgia and heart-breaking emotions, of unconstrained tears and amusing smiles, of fleeting moments and enduring pain, of love that hurts and those that I love…I want to write till I tire.

If all my friends lived a holler away, maybe I would spend more time creating pleasant memories everyday rather than just reflecting about those already created.

April 27, 2005


I know not if I am doing injustice in portraying what
captured my heart, as I do now...
I know not if I am inhibiting my creativity by attempting
to translate lines I cannot claim to be my own,
lines that remain etched in my mind,
I just know that I am lost in its profoundness.

Naayagan melirundhu noolinai aatugindraan
Naamellam bommai endru naadagam kaattugindraan
kaaviyam pol oru vaazhkaiyai theetuvaan,
kaaranam edhum indri kaatchiyai maatruvaan..

The heavenly protagonist skillfully swings the thread,
Staging a play with puppets that we are,
Weaving poetry out of every life there is,
Changing scenes, for no apparent reason...

April 26, 2005

Places, with a pinch of color, a touch of sound, a dab of feelings!

Posted by Hello
I doubt this will be much of a travelogue, hardly a meticululously maintained chronicle, call it a potpourri of places, colors, sights, sounds and me in its midst! Some memories fade as time passes, some become clearer as if we find details to associate with it, imagined or otherwise. I do not know which category this reminiscence falls my impulse to capture the pleasantness associated with my trip, I tend to overlook exactness but I try not to sidestep it completely!

Bitsians...we are like honey bees swarming around a hive, while we may wander to fulfil our daily duties, we always return to the hive, Bits will always be our home away from home. A few such Bitsians decided we would get together, spend greater than a grand ( I say it lightly now, was shocked to see my bills) to visit a few places around the United States and give ourselves a well-deserved break from the monotony of our lives and our strained relationships! What follows is an anecdotal description of our visit to the places below.

Tucson, Arizona - B's apartment.
C & I arrived really tired and in a grumpy mood after 3 stops in a red-eye flight. The only highlight of the flight was a bouquet of flowers that I carried with me, a small token of affection from a thoughtful someone, who is happily married now :)

"Hey enna, bouquet ellam kondu vandu kalakkara?", B ventured.
C, my trusty Brutus, piped up "Machan, you wouldn't believe what a KMH I was da!".
KMH, Bitsian slang for Kabab Me Haddi - I think you can take it from here :)
I wearily looked around for a flower vase, found a pretty sad looking one half-filled with questionable brown liquid...
"Umm, thats our water jug but if you really want...", B continued.
Graduate students all over are just the same...I smiled, promptly set my flowers in the jug and settled down to some more banter.

A few days later, after we had exhausted stories that we had to exchange, stories originating from a year's stay in US, (spiced up, Indian style), we set out to Grand Canyon..

Let me share something with you. Grand Canyon may be the most romantic, awe-inspiring, kissed-by-nature-herself place in the world, but its not a place you want to visit in December. I remember staring speechless at the vast expanse of rock formations that greeted me, waiting for it to transport me to another place and time, it did, but I was brought back pretty nastily by a strong ripple of pain shooting through my feet. They were frozen. No amount of wobbling about like a clumsy hen and jogging about in the snow (much to the amusement of the few tourists there, whoever said running would keep you warm?) would make my feet happy. My friends were in no better shape. As a result, we had to take frequent thawing breaks in the car to warm ourselves before stopping at every tourist spot in the canyon. We also managed to skid and hit the car in front of us...on the positive side, I took some pretty good snaps.

DisneyLand, LA equals plethora of children, colors, madisar sarees, shrieks and laughter! Having woken up, exactly as not planned at 11 AM, we were lost when handed a huge map of the place, with about a million must-see theme parks! We managed to cover quite a few and I even let myself be convinced to ride one of those monstrous rides that fell straight down into a pool of water. Not anymore!

Long Beach, near LA - turned out to be really long, in terms of our drive to reach what we finally assumed was Long Beach. We drove on for ages and since C had just learnt to drive the car, every time he would start driving in the left most lane and would somehow switch lanes automatically because he felt safer driving in the right most lane! The problem here was that, as he drove courageously in the right most, slowest lane, he would with equal smugness, take the exit touching the right most lane, every time! We ended up driving along a most circuitous route, taking every exit that was ever there. Once we took an exit like that, our next stop was always the nearest gas station, to decide the shortest way to get on course! We managed to reach a stretch of sand that we called Long Beach.
That was not all there was to it, the better half of the day had been spent by the girls (I stand guilty too) shopping! We decided that we would look "out of place" in jeans and sweater on a beach and firmly concluded that we needed matching pairs of shorts so that we could fit in with the "beach" crowd. Four hours and three pairs of shorts in hefty shopping bags later, we set out to the hotel and another couple of hours and we were all set to drive to Long Beach. We eventually did end up looking "out of place" because Long Beach was very very cold in the night and the people on the beach (who were leaving as we arrived) were in full pants, sweaters and scarves! We sheepishly grinned at the camera, teeth chattering in cold unison and said goodbye to "our" Long Beach.

We proceed to San Diego from LA and I remember being terrified of driving for the first time on a seven lane road in the night! I lasted forty five minutes before settling down comfortably in the role of a navigator. All I remember from San Diego is water and whales! Shamu and his son, playful and friendly killer-whales (its hard to believe they are whales and not dolphins)...I still feel fresh water drenching us (we sat in the first few rows at Sea World as soon as we saw the warning that said we will be splashed by the friendly whales if we sat there).

...the rest of the trip is a blur, talking through the night about Bits, past crushes, movie night outs, oasis (our cultural festival), our lives then and now...happy memories, just below the surface, ready to brim up when I beckon...for me, each memory is a feather holding our attention as it floats lazily in swirling circles downwards before settling down gracefully; come a light breeze and its ready to fly again, taking us with it...

April 25, 2005

Its say-what’s-on-your-mind-day!

For reasons I am still trying to place my finger on, I have changed since I started writing. For that matter, I see the same subtle change in people around me who have begun to write. Maybe it’s just my imagination, maybe not. I mean, I do notice the blue shade of my mood reflected in the blue of the otherwise bright skies and when I am merry, I see merriness reflected even in the most ominous clouds. Anyway, I think people become more, for lack of a better word, open about their feelings, about themselves once they start writing. Maybe it’s easier to put into words what one cannot or does not feel comfortable verbalizing.

Anyway, me thinks it’s a change for the better. While I run the risk of becoming more vulnerable by opening a window to a part of me that normally remains in the dark except in the company of close friends, I kind of enjoy the cathartic effect it has on me. To put it more clearly, it helps me connect. Sometimes, reading in black and white turns out to be much stronger than hearing the same things. Maybe the time to ponder over and react is longer and maybe external elements that can alter the effect of such words is less…I think I can understand a person better based on what they write, maybe see a side to them that I knew not existed.

Anyway, let me stop digressing and say what’s on my mind; for the past few weeks, I have been doing exactly that, saying exactly what is on my mind to people, leading to a series of (amusing) compliments from yours truly with equally amusing reactions from others :) And somehow, as I further indulged this propensity of mine, I realized I had nice things to say to people since I thought nicer thoughts. Why? Probably because, I understood people better as they wrote and as I wrote and the understanding brought to light a lot of positive traits that I had failed to notice earlier, in others and in me. It was all like an inter-connected cycle of connectedness! You are allowed, at this point, to roll your eyes upward exaggeratedly and exclaim "Whatever!"

Anyway, for me, it is say-what’s-on-your-mind-day today and hopefully every other day!

April 24, 2005

Sad, Glad, Food, Mood...

No, I am not trying to come up with rhyming words. For once, I want to write, not about feelings and emotions, but just about my day. I often wonder how people are able to just summarize their typical day and it sounds so much more interesting than my so-called interesting days. Without further analysis about why this may be so, however hard it may be not to introspect and conclude that it is I who makes the day interesting or mundane (I did that again, didn't I?), I proceed to my dear diary style summary of today.

11.15 AM - I woke up a little bit on the wrong side of the bed, I mean how much farther away is the right side anyway?! I groggily walked to brush my teeth and noticed remnants of the previous night, comforters, pillows and an abandoned DVD player sitting in the hall outside my bedroom. I thought of friends and bonhomie, laughter and good times...I smiled. The next second, an image popped up in my head and I was suddenly wide awake. I frowned. Jyothika with her crooked expression, psychotically crazed eyes, her kumkum disturbingly smeared all over her forehead dropped into my mental faculty to say a friendly hi and somehow, I did not feel so good humoured any more.

12.30 PM - B, P, k & I had planned to go to the temple and were all set to leave, when we realized that the temple closes at 2, for an hour! Bad planning. We postponed our trip by an hour and I sat pondering over similies to kill time. Finally, we set out at 2.40 PM and reached the temple at 4 PM. Probably the highlight of the day. We had a nice darshan and reached home by 6.45 PM. OK, this is a ridiculously boring journal entry, nevertheless, I plod on listlessly because I hate to leave things incomplete.

7 PM - P & I agreed that C~ki was a bad choice for a midnight movie, we exchanged similar worries and fears that the movie and Jo in particular had managed to inflict on us and I found a little peace in that conversation. No scarcity of crazy people in this world and am not talking about Jo here. k agreed that the movie was bad but went on to suggest that S~in was no better and I was suitably offended. I did enjoy watching S~in, however mind-numbingly repetitive the boy-loves-girl-who-takes-sweet-time-to-say-yes formula was.

8 PM - As I added salt for probably the fourth time to the unprotesting sambhar, I pondered on my mood for the day. I concluded that I did not feel the best that I could have felt - the happy gathering of the previous night had left a vacuum in the house and Jo made it a point to remind me of that fact and of, lets just say, many other dubious facts that left a bad taste in my mouth. I sighed. Almost every weekend the past month, I was either busy in anticipation of something exciting or just busy with some social gathering or the other and now suddenly, I had nothing to look forward to, I was definitely sad. The now brownish liquid frothing in front of me seemed to reflect my mood.

9 PM - The four of us sat down to eat and started discussing our lives now and how the nuptial knot is going to change it altogether. We discussed a surprisingly wide variety of topics ranging from marriage, frustrations, complaints, parents and children! I found myself laughing and was even more glad to note that I was able to make everyone else laugh with me. We teamed up, as we normally do, girls vs boys, and the debate was suprisingly balanced for some time, before tilting favourably towards us, as is the norm. We laughed some more. I made a small mental note that my mood had changed the past hour, maybe He decided to intervene, maybe I subconsciously did, I dont know. I was just glad to be glad.

11.45 PM - And that completes my entry for today and before I take note of the time and switch from glad to sad with Monday morning blues, I bid adieu.

Playing around with similes...

Similes are often considered, unfairly, to be in a poor man's repertoire of figures of speech, just trying to get more intimate with them and see what they have to offer!

Words are like little strings of jasmine flowers, they look beautiful when tastefully woven together; but an innocent heart, like the delicate maiden that the jasmine adorns, creates the right canvas for the words to complete the painting.

Words are like children, sometimes they are so adorable, you cannot take your eyes off them and at other times they have to be separated from each other because they seem to create a most grating and discordant noise and there are a few still, impish even when left by themselves.

Words are like snowflakes, each having its unique pattern and each having different associations in different minds, for some, it is romantic, for some, wretched, it all depends on how you see it fall, from the window.

Words are like seedlings, when sown the right way, they both look beautiful when they see the light of the day.

Words are like babbling brooks; alliterations, hyperboles, oxymorons, similies…while they may all pleasantly murmer to us, sometimes, they fail to leave anything behind.

Words are like daggers through the heart, words are like soothing balm on enraged emotions, words are like puppets in a puppeteer’s hands, words are like conflicting emotions - love and hate, animosity and appeasement, curiosity and disinterest, words are like magic to me and words are all I have…

April 22, 2005

And if I had one song to pick...

I cant seem to make my hand stop writing! I am glad they do have a name for my syndrome, for those suffering similarly, refer to this article.

I have a song in my heart that I cannot disengage myself from, a song I heard about eight years back...I remember the girlish talks that night, suitably life-altering for an average sixteen-year old teenager, I was sitting with M, in my dorm room at Meera Bhawan, Bits…I remember listening with wide-eyed wonder as M explained each phrase of the Tamil song to me, the effect of which put-together was undeniably greater than its parts and I have been its slave since...

Lightning of my life, why did you appear?
I know not why my eyes hurt, do you?
Are you not the mirage that disappeared in my sky?

You stayed for a few precious moments and yet my palace lies simmering,
Oh lightning, my sky searches for you,
Myriad colors that dissolved when I dare to open my eyes,
I have but a memory of the sweet lifelines in your hands,
As my heart explodes into a million suffering bits, I see but your reflection in each little bit,

…a blazing inferno awaits you in my tears, I am but a delicate flower, blooming in the shadow of your tender feet…

Is there ever parched earth that fails to await the soothing caress of rain drops? Is there ever a divine force that awaits not loving festivities with welcoming arms? Is there ever a passionate poet who yearns not for his union with rhyming words? And as I wait, does my love not become eternal?

…a blazing inferno awaits you in my tears, I am but a delicate flower, blooming in the shadow of your tender feet…

and this is the melody that I carry with me till the end...

April 21, 2005

The little girl and the big mansion.

Posted by Hello
A little girl lived in a charming, little house complete with a chimney peeping from within dreamy ringlets of smoke. She smiled at the happy sun, skipped through the garden and shooed the birds that rested on her red-gold daffodils. She spent every evening leaning on the little gate that led to her little house, smiling at everyone, happy in her little world.

And one day, standing by her gate, she let her gaze wander over to the green hills that her little house overlooked. Standing on top of the first hill stood a magnificent white mansion. She could not take her eyes off the great big mansion. She stood by her gate till dusk, staring in awe at the mansion.

The next day, she rushed out to the gate to get a better look at the mansion and then felt a sudden pang. She looked around to see her little house and realized it was little indeed. She longed to be in the mansion, discovering new rooms everyday, living like a princess in a royal fortress. The more she looked at the mansion, the more she wanted to be the princess and the less she liked her little house.

One day, she resolutely set out to the big mansion. She longed to claim it her own. As dusk fell, her tired feet finally neared her destination, her destiny. She sat down, so weary that she did not look up to see the big mansion. In a few moments, she looked up to cast her eyes on the object of her desire and in front of her stood her little house from the bottom of the hill. She rubbed her eyes and wondered if they were playing tricks on her.

She looked down towards the bottom of the hill and there stood her destiny, her magnificent white mansion.

Sometimes I fear I am this little girl and my life is the trip up the hill…

My little booklet of irrationalities.

Our minds are cluttered with so many irrational thoughts, I suspect the world we live in is just one big lunatic asylum. As I grow older, I find more illogicality to add to my growing repertoire of asinine traits. Anyway, here goes an incomplete list.

When I enter a supermarket, I have this feeling the automatic doors are going to connive to smoothly slide shut on my face and then I would have to live with a flat face similar to the one that Tom has when Jerry somehow manages to run a tractor over his face. While we are on the topic of supermarkets, let me share a secret with you. I never shop alone. I am just not amused enough by my company to shop alone and when I do shop with friends in a supermarket like Walmart, with 2035 aisles to mislead you, I am paranoid that while I am carefully scrutinizing the imponderable variation of shades between ruby red and rusty rose nail colors, my friends would have progressed on to the other 2034 aisles. I spend a few frantic minutes searching for my life line and then heave a sigh of relief when I see a familiar face. Before I sign off on the subject of supermarkets, let me reveal one other touch of insanity in me. I am terrified that after I leave the supermarket, happily jingling the car keys in my pocket, my car would vanish. I anxiously inspect every parking row, convinced that I would never find my car and I would have to live a life of abandonment and disillusionment, in the parking lot, forever. Well, may be a bit too extreme, but passably justified in the name of comical euphemism.

Coming to the subject of conversations, an area I have little merit to claim, let me just say, I am happy to stand by and watch people converse. My inadequacy finds startling new ways to manifest itself, more in a non-desi get-together than a desi one. While, I am not gung-ho about cliches, let me say, the cat literally does get my tongue. I cannot bring myself to enunciate anything more pronounced than an unexpectedly loud sigh. A million conversation-starters race past my mind and then I hear myself saying "uh uh" accompanied by a sheepish grin. I quickly think of amusing one-liners, extremely funny jokes to deal with my awkwardness, practise it in my mind and open my mouth to say it, when I realize that the conversation has taken an entirely new direction, literally and figuratively and I am standing about two feet away from everybody else gaping at nothing in particular, my faithful grin still plastered stupidly on my face.

Yet another vagary - I am merrily discussing trivialities with friends and having a great time, and in time, I realize that I am having a great time and for the next few seconds, I am not having such a great time! I quickly and resourcefully think of two events that could transpire that would spoil the day. I visualize the day ending miserably, thanks to these two non-occurrences. A small chunk of my time is now spent wondering why the day had to be spoilt such as I imagined, when it was not infact spoilt at all and the very act of me thinking as I was thinking, was spoiling it! Talk about confusing thoughts!

While there are several others that I wish to share, I would still like to maintain a semblance of rationality (sanity?) in the readers' eyes. I suspect, the attempt to do that is becoming increasingly difficult as I write more :)

April 20, 2005

Final Flight of Fancy.

I cant seem to quell the urge to take fanciful flights every so often, flights steered by my thoughts, thoughts throttling on moments, moments made eternal by those close to my heart.
Did you notice…

  • The beauty that lies in the glow of a young mother-to-be?

  • The softness hidden in the callused hands that caress a child’s tresses lovingly?

  • The sweet saltiness that you can taste in a beloved one’s tears?

  • The comforting wetness of sweat that sticks to you when you hug your mother?

  • The hint of pride in your mentor’s eyes when you grin from the stage, basking in the glory of your accomplishment?

  • That his heart skipped a beat when you said his name?

  • That your sibling clapped for you fervently, several seconds longer than anybody else did?

  • That he was looking at you from the window, long after you had gone?

  • That he beams, when you get a compliment?

  • That his eyes wandered for a few frantic seconds before settling contentedly on you?

  • That your ship was sinking until you found the anchor in his heart?

  • That you struggle not to drown in the deceptively calm ocean of emotions that his eyes exude?

  • That the grip of your child’s palm around your finger is the one most emotionally gratifying sensation in the world?

...that its moments like these that lend life its wonderous mysticism?
L, I promise, this is the last oh-so-sugary serving from me!

April 19, 2005

Disconnected, as always.

Pondered upon while servers start up, machines hum and bugs are written, in my small, creative harbor - my office space. Two bogeys trailing lazily at the end of the track, all but hidden in the dense smoke coughed up by my train of thoughts. Of selflessness and whimsy, as disconnected as before...

I cannot even begin a sentence without a personal pronoun and paradoxically, I talk about selflessness. Today, a selfless act made me happy. An act, which by its very nature, cannot have a whisper of selfishness associated with it, Adoption. A father of two has adopted a child and that makes me happy. I envy his selflessness and I wish I could be noble enough to emulate. I think the tears blurring Meena's eyes, in Rhythm, when she hears his reasons for adoption, are very meaningful tears, tears that would sanctify the ground they touch, just because the one reason, for which they appeared, is so distinguished. How many of us can find altruism in us, sufficient to lighten the iron hold of manacles made of our own blood? How many of us can find the strength in us to love another as our own, to provide for another's child as our own and to lay our lives down for another's? I bow down to you, for you are like me and yet your thinking is so much higher than mine.

One bogey has chugged along to be replaced by its apparent twin, as different from it, as can be. Call me crazy, call me maudlin, I prefer to name it my Whimsy.

My whimsy, of many forms, many moods and many manifestations - my imagination - delightful at times, irrational most times. When I meet someone and start interacting with them socially, casually, I am suddenly usurped by my imagination, I find myself riding with it and it takes me years ahead of where I stand now. I imagine life, if I were to live it in close proximity of these people, as a friend, sharing stories of "those were the days...", laughing at our ancient crushes, discussing philosophy, complaining about our spouses - or to put it more clearly, I visualize us, sitting on the front porch of my house, laughing at ourselves, sometimes just being comfortable in the silence, watching the now familiar, white strands of his hair reflecting, not only the sunlight of many years but also wisdom that comes only with age. I imagine waiting anxiously just as she is waiting, for our kids to return from their excursion, I see myself discussing family life and inlaws with her. For an all-encompassing moment, I am not me in the present but I am his faithful friend, her confidante of many years and I see life many years from now, enriched by his company, stable in her support...

And then I am brought back to the present, by a quick laugh, by a question posed to me, louder, a second time, by someone gently tapping me on my shoulder and I know I am yet to be this person's closest friend, I am still just the acquaintance and not the soul mate. But, I can't help but wonder, how life would be if I were to be much more to him than just what I am now?

April 18, 2005

On Possessiveness and Writing.

I am going to stop writing like I write now. I am going to change my focus from the genre that I write on to something more tangible. I know I blog for two reasons, to write and to express. Sometimes, I think the scales are so biased towards the former that the presence of the latter in this equation can hardly be justified.

I love to write, however mediocre my presentation. The challenge to present in words, my thought processes and feelings, knowing that words are little equipped to cover the infinite gamut of human emotions and interconnections, stimulates me and makes me want to attempt this futile exercise. While I will come nowhere close to expressing what I exactly feel, if I can just touch the surface of my thoughts and transfer one ripple of sensation through the reader and connect to him, even for an instant, with nothing to my aid but my words, then I know I have indeed written.

I do know too that I need to isolate aspects of my writing from the feedback that I receive. I need to stop thriving on compliments and criticisms of my writing and I need to write with a mind unfettered by the limiting boundaries drawn by unsuspecting readers. Sometimes, I think I have just enough curiosity to exceed what is appropriate for one to write for the sake of writing. I reluctantly acknowledge that I can relate to R's thought process.

Although it may seem so, my aim here is not to confuse, by mixing two subjects that have little in common. My aim is to write as I think and since I tend to have simultaneous yet unrelated or thinly connected thoughts competing for my attention, I attempt to reflect the same here. Possessivness occupies prime time slot below, in reverse order.

Let me say it while I still can say it. I am possessive. If there were a ladder that measured good qualities in a person, I fear I see myself hovering around the lower most rung. I avert my eyes from the ladder and write what I acknowlege about myself. I am possessive about my friends - I have seen quite a few people who are - the last disclaimer to be read in a defensive tone, mine!

Thankfully the strength of the feeling is still not alarming enough to generate concerned looks and tsk, tsks thrown my way, yet...

Anyway, I find it easier to deal with my quirks, outside - for the world to see, rather than buried deep inside me. So, here it is. I feel a pang of whatever-you-may-call-it-because-I-cannot-bring-myself-to-say-it-again, whenever I feel that those special people in my life are closer to someone other than me. There is something in the knowing smile they exchange, the understanding nod that they mirror to each other that makes me want to be the one winking in understanding rather than anybody else. It is a fleeting moment, it is ephemerally worth ignoring and then there are people like me, who hold on to that very transient sensation and force themselves to ride the guilt-trip. While I have not matured enough to laugh at the Quixote in me, I am atleast more aware.

April 16, 2005

Go fly a kite!

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I somehow have this feeling that more than a few pair of eyes are going to read this particular post and that, I hope will not make me alter my narration even subtly, for, I think, every descriptive piece of writing, carries with it its inherent, special charm only as long as its written without a conscious effort to relate events appropriately rather than accurately. My disclaimer ends here and my narrative begins below.

Day 1: Let me introduce myself, I am the sewing machine in the house and I have worked non-stop for three days. I was rented by two young people a few days back and the old lady who owns me did not want to part with me, atleast thats what I thought as she rambled on, telling the young bespectacled lad how to use me. "You keep the bobbin here and you use the lever thus..." and more such mundane details, I don't think the girl on the phone is interested, she is hardly listening. I think she thinks I cannot stitch a kite that can fly or maybe she is not a kite-person...

Day 2: Ah, company. I now also have another lad and a young girl working for me. Specky (thats what I have named the first one) is excited, he wants to make his kite the best kite in Georgetown, the lad and the girl share his excitement. I sense, the girl on the phone still is not convinced...I have been working for 3 hours now and am proud of my product, a red and yellow wannabe kite. It is interesting to listen to them chat about various things under the sun, kite aerodynamics being the topic under scrutiny now.

Day 3: I bid goodbye, a beautiful, pulsating kite is ready now to leave its nest and fly high. I smile because I think I finally see a believer in the girl-on-the-phone.

Since the main event for the first three days was the making of the kite, personifying the sewing machine seemed to be one way to describe the process. Several of us had decided to meet and go to the Georgetown Kite Festival. What follows is a smorgasbord of scenes, moods, sensory perceptions, emotions through the capricious eyes of yours truly...

Cheerful sunlight, friendly voices greeting each other, melody playing at a distance, perfectly complimented by kites adorning the perfect blue shade of the sky - kites in all shapes and colors flew hither thither, sometimes flirting with one another, sometimes giving each other the cold shoulder and sometimes hugging each other like old friends - a scene from fairyland, an old couple's paradise, a child's dream come true.

We ambitiously embarked on our project - making our kite fly. After a few futile attempts to cajole our proud kite to fly, we decided to fly the ones that would fly. Specky's kites found homes in different excited albeit amateurish hands, clumsily attempting to pull their kites up, slowly learning the tricks, maneuvering the string, unaware of the satisfied smile playing on their lips when their kites eventually soared high...there is something about making a kite fly, somewhat akin to setting a bird free, like releasing your mind from the shackes of self-imposed captivities.

Having tired ourselves, we proceeded to eat with relish, the picnic food that we had packed, delicious whiffs of puliyodarai and tomato rice tickled our senses and, needless to say, the food disappeared quickly.

And the story gathers momentum now, after more than half the day had passed. While I enjoyed the first half of the day, the more mentally gratifying experience for me was the result of a board game, Loaded questions. The point of the game is simple, ask a question, each person in the group answers it and one person has to guess who answered what. Yes, it is a game to get to know each other better. But, its also a game that reveals startling facts, insights into the other person's psyche. For me, it is like an opportunity to peek into someone's head for a few moments and wonder at the images that greet me, maybe relate to them and forge new bonds?

Loaded questions started with the requisite amount of fanfare and we were soon drenched in a flood of questions...What would you title your autobiography? What is the most romantic place on earth to meet your true love? What compliment do you receive the most? What have you always wanted to do but could not? - questions attempting to explore a bit more, to walk a few furlongs farther into each person's mental roadmap. Fantasies and visual images competed to be complimented and acknowledged - terrace in the moonlight, a hand gently clasping another, Highlands of Scotland, Venice and Greece, old friends fondly remembered, past romance kindled, subtle hints thrown askance and time stood still...

And if you are wondering about specky's proud kite, he has a beautiful bronze plaque sitting on his shelf that says "First Place, Youth Kite Making Competition". I have, perhaps, observed the whole day through rose tinted glasses and sweet fragrance, but my heart demands that I write such and my pen follows its dictate.

April 15, 2005

Mental exercise!

Its almost like the more I write, the more I think of things to write about and what I create with my pen is my own and that is a wonderful feeling, one that I would never tire of...thats just an aside, coming to the point of this piece of writing - I would describe it as a mental exercise that focuses on two important faculties - introspection and observation. I think it would have the startling effect of making us realize how different we are from what people perceive us to be. The exercise is as follows:

  • Think of five adjectives that would describe you. Feel free to lean towards verbosity if you want or make it terse, use metaphors, similies, feel free to experiment...the point is - capture your essence, yourself in these five words.

  • Now, think of five words that other people would use to describe you. At any point in your life, has anyone characterized you with a single, strong behavioral trait? Did subtle hints slip out unknowingly that revealed to you what this person thought of you? Does it happen all the time? Think of five such defining words.

...and finally notice the difference! Sometimes, the two sets are so distinct from each other, its almost laughable. I wonder what to infer from this exercise, if the two sets are similar, does it mean you are an open book, for everyone to read? And if not, are you a person afraid of opening up or just conveying the wrong impression all the time? Pennies for thought...

I perceive myself as: passionate, romantic, sensitive, diffident, incongruously silly and serious, spiritual, dedicated and tend to be swayed strongly by emotions.

My feeble observations suggest that I am perceived as: a straight talking person to the point of being rude, controlling, slightly haughty, hard working, practical and a person with an imaginary barrier that people are scared to cross, to get close to me.

...and if you have your twin sets of contradictions to add to my list, be my guest!

April 14, 2005

I remember...

Snapshots in my mental eye, glimpses from the past, experiences that define me, relationships that mould me and epiphanies that lend meaning to my life; I am, but a making of these moments...

I remember...

  • when he first planted the seed of the idea in my head, convinced it would be fruitful...I remember being unsure.

  • when my hopes sored as we discussed the possibility of the idea, praying we could make it happen.

  • our first meeting, ideas pouring out, anxious but ambitious plans made, hoping it would not just remain an unfulfilled fantasy.

  • the pleasant sensation that coursed through me as one by one, people started trickling in, each person raising my confidence further that this was not a wishful figment of my imagination, it is happening!

  • being tensed, losing sleep, panicking before our very first big show, will this be the event that strengthens our bond to the community or will it end as a feeble attempt to infuse enthusiasm, where none existed? or did we not channel it wisely?

  • the smell of payasam that stayed in the car a week after the event, I remember feeling euphoric and nothing less, feeling that my heart could not beat any faster, feeling closer than I have ever felt, to myself, to people around and most importantly, feeling genuinely happy.

  • clapping my hands as they finished their dance routine, in perfect synchrony, drenched in sweat, a satisfied smile on their lips, I remember wondering if we could pull off a full fledged debate such as this, on stage, I remember feeling bad, almost guilty that he could not be there.

  • convincing him that we could make the crazy mohan drama happen, I remember picking up my cell phone with trepidation and whispering, in awe "இது மோஹன் Sir a?" and I remember not believing that the voice that answered back was indeed his...I remember him saying, almost incredulously "...we have gained a different level of repectability now, haven't we?"...I remember laughing when Mohan sir said "ரம்யா, இது உன் சமயல்னு நினச்சேன்??"...I remember feeling proud to see the plaque exchange hands...

  • feeling a mix of sadness, like something slipping out of my hands, a strange detachment and anxiety as I knew that this event marked the end of it all...but I knew somehow, that the bond has only been strengthened and that this was only the beginning.

April 12, 2005

Words fail to describe...

Boons that I desire...

A bed by the window
A full-moon day, everyday
Rain, as I wish for it
Flowers by the road corner
Dewdrops in the morning
Melody at night
An unassuming smile
A friendship with no lies
A hundred poems a day
Yet another Bharathi
A friendly shoulder to lean on
A loved one to caress my hair
Sleep on a mother's lap
Greeted by death, as I sleep

A heart that expects none of these...

I read this poem at S's Thinnai Arattai and was moved enough by it to attempt a translation that does little justice to the magic that the original Tamil poem apologies for killing a part of its essence.


Since when did the sweet-sour nature of relationships tilt more towards sour than sweet? Is it just me or does every relationship come with a baggage that initially seems light but at some point or another weighs so heavily on us that we start wondering if the fault is with us? To not sound absolutely ludicrious, let me support my seemingly baseless allegation with a few examples:

  • Firstly there are the obvious examples of unrequited love, the worst of it all, the fear of rejection is validated and magnified by the actual act itself and while one might learn to live with it, the problem is right there! One has to live with it, no other go there.

  • I feel I can write an entire book about expectations...consider a perfectly healthy relationship, where two individuals have the space they need and share an enviable rapport with each other and the world is a beautiful place!
    him (humming a tune): That was an awesome party, wasnt it?
    her: Busily studies her nails
    him (slightly annoyed at the silence that continues to greet him): I thought it was great fun...his voice trails along feebly as he realizes that the silence is intentional and the air around is suddenly pregnant with meaningful pauses...
    her: Now suddenly interested in the contents of her purse
    him: Racking his brain to remember what had gone wrong this time...pretty girl in red dress, the super-expensive golf sticks, great food, light conversations with Mrs. & Mr.A, great food ...shakes his head to clear his thoughts
    her: All subtle hints lost, breaks into tears
    Now, this is a classic example of how evil expectations are. The source of her outburst being what follows below:
    Mrs.A (after the initial over-effusive greetings): "Mrs.B told me that your gulab jamoon came out more like payasam" followed by pretentiously loud laughter.
    him: joins the laughter unwittingly
    ...and there was the problem. While she had expected him to act as a support while her culinery skills were being trampled upon, he had joined the enemy. She admits that her cooking is edible if not palatable at all times, she still expects. And this case is not necessarily only applicable to romantic relationships, am talking parents, siblings, acquaintances, friends, colleagues, the general masses!

  • Then, there are the many devious variations of a subject that I tend to linger upon(?), love. I cannot imagine the trauma that a person has to undergo when he/she finds the right connection, the perfect wavelength-match, the perfect conversationalist, but that almost perfect person is not his/her spouse! Imagine the load that one has to carry on one's head love worth that trouble?

I think I have rambled on sufficiently on this topic. My point here is not to discredit every relationship, my point is probably that people like me who tend to take every relationship seriously (subject of my previous blog), should learn to lighten up! After all, we only live once, so lets live and let live!

April 11, 2005


The storm has passed and the calm did come, but little did I realize that the storm took with it a part of me. Today, I am confused about the shadow of a line that separates attachment from dispassionateness...and to think, I assumed to bond, to be attached was always to feel something nice, definitely not to be confused with dependency or inability - to be attached to someone or something, was for me, until today, a positive trait, beneficial in all respects. And today, I see a different side to the same trait...while the trait itself may still claim its merits, I think I understand today why every major path to realizing the "true self" talks about disassociations, detachments, it just a shield to protect us from ourselves?

I have often argued against the concept of sacrifice in religion or anything else as a way to comprehend goodness and God maybe? But today, I seem to find a tad of reasonableness behind this concept, maybe its not about goodness or God, maybe its about Him making sure we are not lost when the very thing that we are attached to, is taken away from us. I understand that when attachment bleeds into possessiveness, its time we stopped in our tracks and let go...I understand the concept of letting go not only of people but also memories, of the negativity that oversentimentality is often associated with, but when do we stop this list from burgeoning so much so that we start reanalyzing some relationships, that are so important to us, that they should not be ended? How do I know if I have put a fullstop to a sentence that should have ended long back or that I have actually pruned it prematurely and thus left a beautiful poem incomplete?

April 10, 2005

Harmony in disharmony

A musical philosopher, a talented realist, a sensitive thinker, a whimsical romantic and a nonchalant jester - put them in a place together and what do you expect? discord? disharmony? disinterest? or just the right amount of connection, the right amount of variety and the right amount of intelligence to carry on a delightful conversation?

What started off as a possibly lukewarm and polite dinner conversation, led us from Bella Notte to Dennys, from sunsigns to starbucks, from tragedy to romance, from hypothetical situations to philosophical discussions...and from unfamiliarity to familiarity. As we discussed trivialities and tribulations, somewhere along the line, I knew we had connected. Suddenly, I was not so conscious, not trying so hard to say the right thing and not holding back what I really wanted to say. I felt my thoughts escaping my mouth faster than I could wonder if they were appropriate to be revealed.

Chemistry need not necessarily be the intangible force only between a man and a woman, it plays an important part in group dynamics and when we realized we were all trying to excitedly take part in a conversation that the general onlooker would have classified somewhere between boring and passable, I knew there was chemistry, not in the uniformity of thoughts but in the very lack of it.

When the waiter in the restaurant subtly but unmistakably clears his throat and wishes you a good night for the second time and then the lights dim a shade lighter, you know you have overstayed your invitation and you also know that you were lost enough in the conversation to not notice that you and your company are the last to still be sitting in the restaurant, empty plates and bills scattered on the table in front of you. It would have been an incomplete interaction, more like an interesting novel with the last few pages torn off, had the scene ended in the empty restaurant, and so, we proceeded to Dennys. Long after glasses of milk shakes and steaming hot cups of coffee and tea were emptied, the words continued to find their way out, sometimes clashing and sometimes finding their perfect match, before being replaced by more. As brows furrowed in contemplation, lips smiled in recognition, minds wandered in reminiscence, as ideas and images danced back and forth and laughter filled the air, a harmony was born in disharmony...

April 08, 2005

What captures a girl’s fancy?

I do ramble on about girls and women and feelings and such feminine stuff, don’t I? Anyway, for those who still want to indulge me and my idiosyncratic posts, here goes…

For the sake of convenience only, let me (over)use the personal pronoun:

  • Sincere compliments, not the unctuous kind delivered in the most obvious manner, I mean rare and thoughtful, maybe even inconspicuous compliments, those that greet me at a moment, so unexpected, that it throws me off-guard.

  • A minute yet thoughtful gesture in the middle of chaos – an imperceptible nod, a light tap on my head, a small voice asking if I am alright, a concerned look thrown askance on me, for a moment and in the midst of a noisy, fun-filled gathering, the kind that energizes event the most introverted person to sing and dance boisterously – a hint given to me then, that someone is looking out for me….like a caressing breeze that touches your sun-burned cheek, like pleasing rain drops that kiss you unexpectedly on a sultry, summer morning

  • Silly little gifts, offered in an immature but sincere manner – I am not talking about a bouquet of roses, carefully wrapped in silk ribbons and an expensive tag with my name on it, I am talking about mundane, almost boring gifts that are given to me in the most unappealing way, but yet offered so spontaneously and totally unaware of the way it is being presented…now, that gift I cannot refuse!

  • Long walks and lengthy talks, blame me for being an incurable romantic, but I think two people can walk their way into a healthy relationship. A quick clarification here being that my reference here is not to the kind of corny, maudlin proclamations that boys tend to make to girls, its about quick-witted, not necessarily intellectual but intelligent conversations, the kind where each is careful not to overstep the boundaries into each other’s private lives, but still share enough to develop a healthy respect and gain an insight into the other’s psyche.

  • What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet – William Shakespeare
    While this may hold true for certain other situations, not so for me. I like to hear the sound of my name, I am not trying to sound vain here, but I do enjoy hearing people call me by my name, my name is music to my ears – its what I claim to be my own and it’s a part of my identity.

  • A writer, an artist, a musician, a geek - they all make me look up to them, its not because they have achieved a feat that others have failed to achieve and its not their mastery over their specific work or instrument or painting that I admire, its more their passion for what they do; I think the best in a person is brought out when they are doing what they enjoy the most and that captures my fancy!

  • When the eyes do the talking, there is little left to be said...when his eyes meet mine, a second will suffice to exchange something more powerful than words can even dream of conveying. One glance and he has said all that there is to say.

  • ...and finally, when I see a grown up man standing in a suit at the supermarket, making funny faces to stop the toddler in front of him from crying, when he stands clumsily holding a tray of steaming hot tomato soup when I wake up with red eyes and a stuffy nose...a jacket gently wrapped around me on a wintery day, an old woman smiling gratefully, because he said something that made her smile, something she hasn't done in a long time, when he walks in and a smile alights everyone's face...thats when there is magic in the air and I sense it and stand in awe...

April 07, 2005

Extra-ordinary in the Ordinary.

I had decided long back that life would go on much more smoothly if we learnt to not expect much out of people and if we learnt to see the good in them. Since, I have not done anything substantial to implement this decision, I decided to take some time out and pen down a few thoughts, observations if you will, about a few special people that I know, hoping that the act of me putting down in words, the small actions that make these ordinary people in my life, extra-ordinary, would help me notice the goodness in people, more often.

I admire him for his patience and his thoughtfulness. I admire him because he is a rock solid support for his friends and he is there for them, if nothing, just to listen to their ramblings.

If we are a bit more flexible, a bit more accomodative, half the battles that we have fought in life, would not have been fought. I admire him for his ability to adapt to people who think differently and act differently from him and his ability to enjoy the process of mingling with such people and to observe and absorb their positive traits.

I see goodness in him because he smiles unpretentiously when he talks to someone on the phone, not because he has to, not because he is expected to, but in anticipation that the other person has something to say that will make him smile.

I see goodness in a person when he paints a beautiful picture with his words. I admire him for his ability to put his pen to paper and create something so powerful, that it has the ability to make the reader forget his existence and for a few moments feel what the character in the story feels - to cry, laugh and pray with him.

In him, I see enthusiasm and love for his work. Sometimes, when I have given up on my profession, I look at him and know that I want to feel the same thing that he feels. I want to love my job and thanks to him, I end up loving it.

I cant help but be moved by what he has done for people, just for the sake of helping a fellow human being. I can only hope there is enough good in me to do half the good for people, that he is doing in his lifetime.

I see goodness reflected in her trust in people, in her faith in the Divine and in her unqualified love.

and finally

last but not the least ;), I see goodness within myself manifest itself as hard work towards causes that I am passionate about. I see goodness in my sleepless nights and tension bouts, doing things that I do only because I am passionate about them and I care...

Goodness is the only value that seems in this world of appearances to have any claim to be an end in itself. - W. Somerset Maugham

April 06, 2005

A trip down the memory lane....on second thoughts, lets not take the trip!

A little eleven year old girl, sitting at home on a bright Saturday afternoon, eating icecream and watching cartoons, she seems happy...and now lets move into the little girl's head and see what she is thinking - Radha Lakshmi and Kanchana, her best friends since Kindergarten, playing with her, sharing silly stories, her old Tamil school teacher praising her for her beautiful handwriting, her old dance School, Kalakshetra, her dance teacher proudly telling her mom "Your daughter is the youngest in our class, but she is my best student"...and then we see tear drops fall from the little girl's eyes...she wants to go back to Madras, she wants her old life back...

Fifteen years pass and that little girl is me, her thoughts have become more mature, she wants different things in life now, but deep down, she is still the little girl and she still wants to go back to Madras...

I read a blog today that actually inspired me to write this one. Do you know the two words I hate (no, one of them is not "ointment" and I am not Will or Grace) - Reminiscing and Yearning - I realized not too long ago that I am born with an incurable habit - To not live in the present (metaphorically, of course). To reminisce and yearn, to live in the past or to always struggle to be somewhere in the future, believe me, it is an annoying and unsettling feeling that drains you completely and leaves you feeling dis-oriented and dis-satisfied with what you have.

When I was in High School, I dreamed of joining Bits, I obsessed over it day and night, I really wanted to go to this University that was a world of its own - a fortress standing all alone guarding a whole new world inside it, a world of friendships and heartbreaks, freedom and happiness and I would be lost in this make-believe world...

I did get into Bits and yes, it was the world that I had imagined it to be...but, I was too busy to notice it. I was struggling to achieve that magic grade that would enable me to join the elite, Computer Science gang. I thought day and night of the fun Computer Science students have, discussing cryptic codes, tricky viruses, black boxes and white boxes, so much so that I sat in Computer Science classes, in rapt attention, absorbing every word the lecturer said, while two corridors away, the Marketing Professor was busy discussing the importance of the customer (Marketing, being my core course at Bits!)

Anyway, I graduated and had a job offer from Infosys, a software company and you would think, I would be thanking my lucky stars. hah! I was on to my next worry-venture - I came to US to do a Masters in Computer Science - a dream come true. Was I s a t i s f i e d? Nah...I was busy worrying about my next deadline, my next assignment and how happy I was at Bits and thus, two years passed...

I am now with IBM working on what I have always wanted to work on, and now, you ask me, am I happy? Well, I now sit here, wondering why I had not decided to stay back in India - to argue with my parents - daily, to be blissfully unaware of who a racist is, to take Tamil movies and Tamil movie theatres for granted, to eat hot South-Indian parotha and Sathukudi juice at Saravana Bhavan ...oh, there are a million things that I would rather be doing and I bet if am in India now, doing all these things, I would be thinking "Why did I not decide to go to the United States?".
© Ramya Sethuraman, All Rights Reserved.