Wise men (yes, I say that because I don't remember who they were, so might as well make up for it by making them feel good) often say that we should try to become self-aware. "Be in tune with yourself", "listen to your self", "know thyself", you get the point? That seemed like pretty good advice to me, so I tried to do that - be aware of what went through my head, why I react the way I do to certain things, why something makes me happy or sad. And I can say with confidence that I don't like what I see :)
The more I try to find a reason behind my feelings and actions, the deeper I dwell into my mental maps, the more I find pathways and trails that don't actually exist for the "right" reasons. Sometimes I have thoughts that are not technically the right thoughts to have in that situation - traces of envy, bits of "let me see if I can beat that" and the general set of their relatives and friends. And now am left wondering if I should have maybe left the thought aside, packed my feelings up after the requisite amount of time, instead of prodding them, digging in deeper and figuring out that am not a saint. Know what I mean? Maybe the feeling would have passed, the thought would have faded and I would have carried on blissfully unaware of my imperfections. But, now I have the thought and the feeling in addition to the "knowledge" that I am not perfect.
Yes, I know nobody is. One could argue that this process might make me consciously feel better thoughts, feel the right feelings the next time. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe the next time, I will still feel the same not-justifiable feelings but only with more awareness that am feeling them!
Reminds of something P~ said a while back about having a mean thought and not voicing it. Do we become better people by being civil and not voicing it? We become better by not having such thoughts in the first place. But then the thought has already lodged itself inside our heads now. Does that make us bad people?
I guess I already know that we all are human beings, flaws and all, with selflessness and selfishness co-existing side-by-side but just like everyone else (yeah, yeah, am taking the whole world down with me, that way I can say, “just like everyone else”!), I don’t like finding faults in myself. I like it even less than having my faults told to me by others (heaven forbid! :)...maybe it's ok for me to not be so aware. Maybe it's ok to be ignorant, sometimes!
Reminds me of an article I read recently about how religious tolerance is not that great, especially when it’s superficial. Sometimes, it’s good to get out all your prejudices and faults out in the open. Maybe we do that but we just don’t go overboard doing that?
Qn: Ramya, why do you do this? Impose such heaviness on our light-hearted readers on a Friday?
Ans: Sigh! My apologies. Anyway I don't know if I really mean what I say because am not really self-aware yet! Guess they just will read(?) this and move on. After all TGIF! :)
March 30, 2006
March 29, 2006
The what-if situation.
k tells me that I often get into what-if situations so much that I forget that it's a what-if situation and it's not actually real. Let me explain that better. The conversation starts innocuously:
Me - "What if your mom comes to stay with us and I get up really late on a Saturday, will she be ok with that?"
k - "Sure, why not? We can make her also sleep in late!"
Me (not liking the playful tone to his voice) - "Are you sure?"
k - "Yeah! It's not like we live with my parents in India! Relax"
(Aside - Argg! I hate the words "relax", "cool it", "take it easy" in the middle of an argument err...conversation. It indicates am getting all worked-up and hotheaded about the issue whereas the real issue that's making me hotheaded is the word "relaaaax" followed by a casual shrug!)
Me - "What if we have to go back to India, where will we live?"
k - "Bombay" (The answer comes to him unconsciously, especially since he is busy staring at his NCAA bracket willing his next-to-last position to inch up magically.)
Me - "Bombay?! Will we have to catch the local train to go to work then? Where will we live? Don't tell me we will live next to annoying Mrs.h~ that we met this time!"
(Aside - Mrs.h~ is the one who always talks to me through k, as if I didn't actually exist there. "Does she cook? Can she speak Hindi? She does? You must speak to her in Gujarathi so she will learn soon." - all questions addressed to dear hubby. For a wild moment then, I had an urge to answer similarly, I imagined tossing my hair, turning to k and saying, "Can Mrs.h~ give us the recipe for these yummy gulab jamuns?" and oh yeah, "Can she speak Hindi?")
k - "Ok, Bangalore then." (His bracket is beyond help, he realizes, so he has gone back to browsing his normal stock sites.)
Me - (Am relieved momentarily that we have decided on Bangalore but then I suddenly think of all the articles I have been reading about traffic congestion and infrastructure problems in Bangalore) "Gosh, what if we have to travel an hour to get to work? What if we can't adjust to work-timings there after getting used to the schedule here? What if..."
k - (interrupts me rudely, after all it was a reasonable hypothetical situation, one would think!) "Why should we always discuss these hypothetical situations of yours? What if? What if? And it's not that you answer a what-if and it goes away, it leads to more what-ifs all the more confusing than the first! Women and their what-ifs, bah!"
And so the story goes. My what-ifs remain what-ifs. Maybe I should ask him my what-if questions when his bracket gets better.
Me - "What if your mom comes to stay with us and I get up really late on a Saturday, will she be ok with that?"
k - "Sure, why not? We can make her also sleep in late!"
Me (not liking the playful tone to his voice) - "Are you sure?"
k - "Yeah! It's not like we live with my parents in India! Relax"
(Aside - Argg! I hate the words "relax", "cool it", "take it easy" in the middle of an argument err...conversation. It indicates am getting all worked-up and hotheaded about the issue whereas the real issue that's making me hotheaded is the word "relaaaax" followed by a casual shrug!)
Me - "What if we have to go back to India, where will we live?"
k - "Bombay" (The answer comes to him unconsciously, especially since he is busy staring at his NCAA bracket willing his next-to-last position to inch up magically.)
Me - "Bombay?! Will we have to catch the local train to go to work then? Where will we live? Don't tell me we will live next to annoying Mrs.h~ that we met this time!"
(Aside - Mrs.h~ is the one who always talks to me through k, as if I didn't actually exist there. "Does she cook? Can she speak Hindi? She does? You must speak to her in Gujarathi so she will learn soon." - all questions addressed to dear hubby. For a wild moment then, I had an urge to answer similarly, I imagined tossing my hair, turning to k and saying, "Can Mrs.h~ give us the recipe for these yummy gulab jamuns?" and oh yeah, "Can she speak Hindi?")
k - "Ok, Bangalore then." (His bracket is beyond help, he realizes, so he has gone back to browsing his normal stock sites.)
Me - (Am relieved momentarily that we have decided on Bangalore but then I suddenly think of all the articles I have been reading about traffic congestion and infrastructure problems in Bangalore) "Gosh, what if we have to travel an hour to get to work? What if we can't adjust to work-timings there after getting used to the schedule here? What if..."
k - (interrupts me rudely, after all it was a reasonable hypothetical situation, one would think!) "Why should we always discuss these hypothetical situations of yours? What if? What if? And it's not that you answer a what-if and it goes away, it leads to more what-ifs all the more confusing than the first! Women and their what-ifs, bah!"
And so the story goes. My what-ifs remain what-ifs. Maybe I should ask him my what-if questions when his bracket gets better.
Pictures anyone?
Words, small and big, friendly and not-so-friendly seem to have gone on a short vacation. Until then, here are some of their friends - pictures and images...
Gave googlepages a shot and it's really easy to come up with a simple web-page, so here's my attempt: My Google page. Don't forget to check out "Memories in pixels...", our friends for now :)
Gave googlepages a shot and it's really easy to come up with a simple web-page, so here's my attempt: My Google page. Don't forget to check out "Memories in pixels...", our friends for now :)
March 23, 2006
A bed-time story anyone?
So, what do you do when you have a nice chunk of time in your hands and a restless imagination to match? You write a story, tell a tale, spin a yarn and that's what I did. I was even nice enough to break it into nice little chapters with matching titles :) So, go on, take a break, smell the flowers, make yourself a warm cup of cocoa and snuggle up on the couch...
**break** Sigh...somehow it doesn't sound the same as "snuggle up on the couch with a nice little book...but I'll try my best **break**
...with your nice little laptop, launch internet explorer, point to this page and relax.
Some day I want to be like the grandma in DDLJ surrounded by a bunch of kids, asking her to sing a song for them (she sings "Pyar kiya to darna kya" :), I suppose my grandkids and kids will ask me to tell them a story instead. I hope they do...and then I'll make up fanciful stories with kings and horses and beautiful maidens, scary stories with ghosts and witches, funny stories, sad stories...each day, I'll tell them a story and when they don't do their homework, their parents would tell them, "Hush, finish your homework now or grandma won't tell you a story tonight!"...and I would be sitting on my easy-chair (grandpa sits nearby with his nose buried in a financial magazine - just like now!), my silvery bun rolled high up on my head, fancy silver-framed spectacles perched high up on my nose, a twinkle in my still young eyes as I concoct yet another story to tell them...
**break** Sigh...somehow it doesn't sound the same as "snuggle up on the couch with a nice little book...but I'll try my best **break**
...with your nice little laptop, launch internet explorer, point to this page and relax.
Some day I want to be like the grandma in DDLJ surrounded by a bunch of kids, asking her to sing a song for them (she sings "Pyar kiya to darna kya" :), I suppose my grandkids and kids will ask me to tell them a story instead. I hope they do...and then I'll make up fanciful stories with kings and horses and beautiful maidens, scary stories with ghosts and witches, funny stories, sad stories...each day, I'll tell them a story and when they don't do their homework, their parents would tell them, "Hush, finish your homework now or grandma won't tell you a story tonight!"...and I would be sitting on my easy-chair (grandpa sits nearby with his nose buried in a financial magazine - just like now!), my silvery bun rolled high up on my head, fancy silver-framed spectacles perched high up on my nose, a twinkle in my still young eyes as I concoct yet another story to tell them...
March 19, 2006
Airport Food Mart
Yesterday, a bunch of us decided to check out the new South Indian restaurant that opened on Versailles road. It wasn't much of a restaurant, more of a quaint little enclave within a gas station! We went in with some apprehensions and found it quite likeable actually. The person who ran the restaurant actually spoke Tamil (in a small city like ours, that's a very pleasant coincidence, believe me).
Anyway, what hit me at once was the amount of noise that the little place generated even before we made our considerable contribution towards it, and the thing is all the noise and smoke in that little place created just the right milieu for a bunch of India-starved Indians like us :) Initially, we raised a racket - chairs being dragged to accomodate the eleven of us, people bumping into each other, each scrambling to find chairs as if they would vanish that very instant. After the initial settling down everyone was happy that they had contributed their fair share towards the overall decibel value. We laughed at jokes louder than we would, talked in our respective native languages, even the people who served the food laughed with us and joked with a liberty they probably wouldn't take with Americans. k and some of the guys acted really mature and added drops of the red and green chutneys into each other's water glasses, then proceeded to drink it accompanied by sounds of "eeeeh" and "yuck", then settled back to some juvenile bickering satisfied with the spectacle that they had created :) While I tried to act genteel and lady-like, I realized I was actually enjoying all the confusion and chaos in that little place.
Perhaps, something about that little place created an illusion of a little India for us. Something about the fact that the place was Indian made us drop our inhibitions, shed our acquired traits, traits that helped us blend in, not stand out like an outsider in a strange land. We may deny it but we are a loud people, we like to talk and talk loudly at that and I think the nondescript Airport food mart let us be ourselves, just for a little while...
Anyway, what hit me at once was the amount of noise that the little place generated even before we made our considerable contribution towards it, and the thing is all the noise and smoke in that little place created just the right milieu for a bunch of India-starved Indians like us :) Initially, we raised a racket - chairs being dragged to accomodate the eleven of us, people bumping into each other, each scrambling to find chairs as if they would vanish that very instant. After the initial settling down everyone was happy that they had contributed their fair share towards the overall decibel value. We laughed at jokes louder than we would, talked in our respective native languages, even the people who served the food laughed with us and joked with a liberty they probably wouldn't take with Americans. k and some of the guys acted really mature and added drops of the red and green chutneys into each other's water glasses, then proceeded to drink it accompanied by sounds of "eeeeh" and "yuck", then settled back to some juvenile bickering satisfied with the spectacle that they had created :) While I tried to act genteel and lady-like, I realized I was actually enjoying all the confusion and chaos in that little place.
Perhaps, something about that little place created an illusion of a little India for us. Something about the fact that the place was Indian made us drop our inhibitions, shed our acquired traits, traits that helped us blend in, not stand out like an outsider in a strange land. We may deny it but we are a loud people, we like to talk and talk loudly at that and I think the nondescript Airport food mart let us be ourselves, just for a little while...
March 15, 2006
Karadayan Nombu.
She lit the lamp and two incense sticks in front of the smiling Gods and Goddesses, her lips murmered chants almost unconsciously, prayers taught so long ago, at a different time and world, she does not remember when they became a part of her. Her mother had told her that the auspicious time was until eight-thirty that night. She should finish her prayers by then.
In a world very far away, a world that existed in a different place and time, the willful daughter pleaded with her father, "I have given my heart away father, nothing can change its will now. Even if I should convince myself to marry another man, my nuptial bond would just be a lie; a marriage cannot be built on such weak foundations..."
The father for these few moments forgets that he is a King, King Aswapathi, ruler of Mathra. When a daughter's life is in peril, when his daughter, dearer to him than life is convinced that her life is with another man, Sathyavan, who is destined to die before she completes a year of conjugal bliss, how can he remember that he is a ruler, a King? He is just a helpless father, his daughter's strong will and convincing words bending his resolve until he has no strength left to oppose...Oh Savithri, queen of my soul, I hope you are doing the right thing...
She fills a bowl with water and soaks the karamani, she sets aside carefully measured portions of jaggery and rice flour and starts boiling water in a pan just as her mother had instructed.
The marriage takes place as the daughter demands, she smiles happily, her life on the threshold of happy memories yet to be made. Her father smiles too, a smile very different from the one that lights up his daughter's face, a smile so immersed in a strain of underlying sadness, one wonders if the tears in his eyes are that of happiness or impending sorrow...what had Naradha said? That he would die within a year? Oh Shakthi, Oh Gowri, give my daughter strength, hold her hands when he will no longer be there to hold them in his...
She crushes the jaggery until they are a smooth powder and adds them to the boiling water until they form a smooth paste. She then begins to add the rice flour, stirring continuously.
Each day Savithri prays to Goddess Gowri holding her thirumangalyam in her hands, that they remain strong, hanging from her neck, that the day never come when Sathyavan be taken away from her. The month of Panguni follows Masi and brings with it the God of death, Yama. She senses his presence even before he has touched Sathyavan. Tall, strong and proud, his hands carrying a golden Gaja - his weapon, gold earrings, chains and bracelets contrasting with the dark shade of his skin - they seem out of place, happy and glowing with promise as he walks with firm, confident steps towards Sathyavan to claim his soul.
Who is this woman who dares obstruct his way? He is surprised to see her match his glare with confidence and resolve.
"Woman, you know not who I am, please move aside and let me do my duty!", his voice thunders and a lesser mortal would have been terrified of it but not Savithri. She answers back defiantly, "I know who you are, Lord Yama and I know too that you have come to claim my husband's life. I stand in your way to request, to implore, to ask that you not take away my Sathyavan!"
Along with the rice flour and jaggery paste, she adds the karamani - the day is named after the karamani adai that sumangalis make that day. She sends her husband to get vennai (butter) that is to be offered to God with the adai.
Hours later, the frail woman watches with tears rolling down her eyes, as Yama carries Sathyavan away from this world. She follows him resolutely. "Oh Yama, I beg of you to let go of my husband. Take my life instead, for I have none without my husband. I am born to be united with him!"
And although, Yama walks away with determined steps, her words surround him and make his task more and more difficult. What has this devoted, helpless woman done to deserve widowhood? Why should her husband die leaving her so vulnerable? His steps slow down but he continues to walk away from this world. Savithri follows behind, determined to follow him to hell even, if that is what it takes to get her husband's life back...
He returns back with the butter and she offers the adai and vennai to God with a prayer, "உருகாத வெண்ணையும் ஓர் அடையும் நூத்தேன், ஒரு காலும் என் கணவர் என்னைவிட்டு பிரியாமல் இருக்க வேண்டும்" - the same sentiments that a woman echoed several ages back to claim her husband's life back.
Night turns into day and Savithri follows Yama pleading all the way. Yama pleased with her persistence offers her a boon. Savithri says, "Oh Lord, I pray to thee that I be blessed with a hundred healthy sons...", Yama grants her the boon and turns away when Savithri says, "Oh Lord, how am I to have a hundred sons if my husband lies dead in your arms? To uphold your promise to me, you have to grant me my husband's life!" Lord Yama finally gives in to the will and courage of Sathyavan's devoted wife...Savithri having claimed Sathyavan back from the God of death proceeds to earth to lead a happy life with her beloved.
She ties the sacred yellow thread around her neck and prays to Goddess Gowri that she have the strength that Savithri had, that she remain as devoted and admirable a wife as Savithri had been, that her she and her husband stay together happily and forever. How strange that karadayan nombu falls on their six month anniversary? A coincidence or a sign?
And that is how the two worlds meet - mythology and reality. One directs the other and sometimes I wonder if both worlds are indeed real...
In a world very far away, a world that existed in a different place and time, the willful daughter pleaded with her father, "I have given my heart away father, nothing can change its will now. Even if I should convince myself to marry another man, my nuptial bond would just be a lie; a marriage cannot be built on such weak foundations..."
The father for these few moments forgets that he is a King, King Aswapathi, ruler of Mathra. When a daughter's life is in peril, when his daughter, dearer to him than life is convinced that her life is with another man, Sathyavan, who is destined to die before she completes a year of conjugal bliss, how can he remember that he is a ruler, a King? He is just a helpless father, his daughter's strong will and convincing words bending his resolve until he has no strength left to oppose...Oh Savithri, queen of my soul, I hope you are doing the right thing...
She fills a bowl with water and soaks the karamani, she sets aside carefully measured portions of jaggery and rice flour and starts boiling water in a pan just as her mother had instructed.
The marriage takes place as the daughter demands, she smiles happily, her life on the threshold of happy memories yet to be made. Her father smiles too, a smile very different from the one that lights up his daughter's face, a smile so immersed in a strain of underlying sadness, one wonders if the tears in his eyes are that of happiness or impending sorrow...what had Naradha said? That he would die within a year? Oh Shakthi, Oh Gowri, give my daughter strength, hold her hands when he will no longer be there to hold them in his...
She crushes the jaggery until they are a smooth powder and adds them to the boiling water until they form a smooth paste. She then begins to add the rice flour, stirring continuously.
Each day Savithri prays to Goddess Gowri holding her thirumangalyam in her hands, that they remain strong, hanging from her neck, that the day never come when Sathyavan be taken away from her. The month of Panguni follows Masi and brings with it the God of death, Yama. She senses his presence even before he has touched Sathyavan. Tall, strong and proud, his hands carrying a golden Gaja - his weapon, gold earrings, chains and bracelets contrasting with the dark shade of his skin - they seem out of place, happy and glowing with promise as he walks with firm, confident steps towards Sathyavan to claim his soul.
Who is this woman who dares obstruct his way? He is surprised to see her match his glare with confidence and resolve.
"Woman, you know not who I am, please move aside and let me do my duty!", his voice thunders and a lesser mortal would have been terrified of it but not Savithri. She answers back defiantly, "I know who you are, Lord Yama and I know too that you have come to claim my husband's life. I stand in your way to request, to implore, to ask that you not take away my Sathyavan!"
Along with the rice flour and jaggery paste, she adds the karamani - the day is named after the karamani adai that sumangalis make that day. She sends her husband to get vennai (butter) that is to be offered to God with the adai.
Hours later, the frail woman watches with tears rolling down her eyes, as Yama carries Sathyavan away from this world. She follows him resolutely. "Oh Yama, I beg of you to let go of my husband. Take my life instead, for I have none without my husband. I am born to be united with him!"
And although, Yama walks away with determined steps, her words surround him and make his task more and more difficult. What has this devoted, helpless woman done to deserve widowhood? Why should her husband die leaving her so vulnerable? His steps slow down but he continues to walk away from this world. Savithri follows behind, determined to follow him to hell even, if that is what it takes to get her husband's life back...
He returns back with the butter and she offers the adai and vennai to God with a prayer, "உருகாத வெண்ணையும் ஓர் அடையும் நூத்தேன், ஒரு காலும் என் கணவர் என்னைவிட்டு பிரியாமல் இருக்க வேண்டும்" - the same sentiments that a woman echoed several ages back to claim her husband's life back.
Night turns into day and Savithri follows Yama pleading all the way. Yama pleased with her persistence offers her a boon. Savithri says, "Oh Lord, I pray to thee that I be blessed with a hundred healthy sons...", Yama grants her the boon and turns away when Savithri says, "Oh Lord, how am I to have a hundred sons if my husband lies dead in your arms? To uphold your promise to me, you have to grant me my husband's life!" Lord Yama finally gives in to the will and courage of Sathyavan's devoted wife...Savithri having claimed Sathyavan back from the God of death proceeds to earth to lead a happy life with her beloved.
She ties the sacred yellow thread around her neck and prays to Goddess Gowri that she have the strength that Savithri had, that she remain as devoted and admirable a wife as Savithri had been, that her she and her husband stay together happily and forever. How strange that karadayan nombu falls on their six month anniversary? A coincidence or a sign?
And that is how the two worlds meet - mythology and reality. One directs the other and sometimes I wonder if both worlds are indeed real...
March 09, 2006
It has a name - sexual harassment.
Here's a post that should have appeared a few days back, am a bit late for the Blank Noise Project blogathon but somethings are better off taken off my system - call it a sort of emotional catharsis.
I am shocked by the number of blogs that have been published recently on this topic. While on the one hand, it is good that so many people are taking the initiative to create awareness, it is also depressing that so many of us have been affected by this disease, for lack of a better word.
I guess it's something that we feel awkward discussing, something that we assume will vanish if we sweep it under the carpet and try to forget. But we don't forget, do we? I have extremely protective parents and still have been a victim to these dastardly acts more than once - in a crowded bus in Madras, outside Delhi railway station, even outside my own house - statistics that I can reel off my head! And try as I might, each incident stands etched clearly in my head, perhaps they exist for a reason? Perhaps these are incidents that we ought not to forget, they need to remain so that the agitation and desperate need within us to destroy this horror stays alive within us, churning deep below, ready to ebb to the surface when the situation demands.
I can't even bring myself to give this base, vile, vulgar crime a name. I hide behind "it", "disease", "crime" - let me call it what it is - sexual harassment.
Blank Noise is a small initiative taken in the right step. Maybe the strength and craving within each one of us to fight will help sustain and make this attempt a worthwhile endeavour.
I am shocked by the number of blogs that have been published recently on this topic. While on the one hand, it is good that so many people are taking the initiative to create awareness, it is also depressing that so many of us have been affected by this disease, for lack of a better word.
I guess it's something that we feel awkward discussing, something that we assume will vanish if we sweep it under the carpet and try to forget. But we don't forget, do we? I have extremely protective parents and still have been a victim to these dastardly acts more than once - in a crowded bus in Madras, outside Delhi railway station, even outside my own house - statistics that I can reel off my head! And try as I might, each incident stands etched clearly in my head, perhaps they exist for a reason? Perhaps these are incidents that we ought not to forget, they need to remain so that the agitation and desperate need within us to destroy this horror stays alive within us, churning deep below, ready to ebb to the surface when the situation demands.
I can't even bring myself to give this base, vile, vulgar crime a name. I hide behind "it", "disease", "crime" - let me call it what it is - sexual harassment.
Blank Noise is a small initiative taken in the right step. Maybe the strength and craving within each one of us to fight will help sustain and make this attempt a worthwhile endeavour.
March 07, 2006
Yeh hai Bombay meri jaan...
My dad-in-law sent me a nice little collection of Hindi articles that he had collected over time from newspapers - quotations, anecdotes, words of wisdom and such. I told my bro, L about it and the chat transcript that followed was something like this:
Me: Isn't it cool that he sent me all this stuff? 'Coz I like to read and all, you know?
L: Yeah cool. Looks like he is encouraging "arbit-giri" in Bahus. What you need is a fat book on cooking recipes!
Me: !@#@#$***
Anyway, L also politely commented that my blog is escapist and that I need to focus on serious issues. So, I thought about that for sometime and tried to think of (make up) some serious stuff to write and failed quite miserably. L decided to be more lenient and suggested that I pen down my first impressions about Bombay. So, I decided I'll take a bit of that good advice and write about Bombay and about my experiences as a ahem...young bride in the city! I mention below a few incidents that I found amusing, cute, funny...generally in that genre :)
*^^^*^^^*
I stepped out of Chatrapathi Shivaji airport...sunny, colorful, bustling Bombay, full of welcoming smiles and friendly people...
Yeah, you wish!
I stepped out of the airport and within a few seconds found myself seated in a taxi. I was still in a daze (read - totally apprehensive about the four days that I was to spend with my in-laws) and so only processed bits of information that was given to me.
You know how that is? Like a time gap, a void when you don't know what you did - time just skips and you are doing something else - your mind is totally blank about what happened those few moments.
Anyway, I looked down and saw that I could see the road through rusted bits of taxi-car material! I mean I could literally see the road - the taxi had a hole somewhere around the place where I rested my legs. I turned to k with a quizzical expression, one of many that I would wear upon my face, to question him about the intricacies of this quixotic city!
Me: "Err Kamal, this car has a hole at the bottom"
k: "Welcome to Bombay" (His idea of being a smart alec - Am-in-my-city-and-am-King style dialogue)
Me: (thinking - just wait till you visit Singara Chennai beta)
And along the way k filled me in with important titbits about the city - "Remember Andheri West is cool - that's where I live. Andheri East is not quite so cool!" And I realized I was going to be an expert on Bombay trivia pretty soon.
And that was how Bombay introduced itself to me.
*^^^*^^^*
The next day, we met a few of k's relatives who unanimously asked me the one question that every responsible adult needs to ask the daughter-in-law:
"Yeh Gujarathi bolti he?" (Can she speak Gujarathi?)
As a keen reader, you will of course have noticed that they referred to me in the third person. So cool, I tell you! Wheee! Am invisible and someone else gets to answer all my questions!
k would then of course act out his bit of giving an embarassingly charming smile and would answer "And this is my pretty wife".
Ah! That must be the key! Give an irrelevant answer to an irrelevant question! I must try it next time, assuming am not invisible again!
The language thing is really a big deal I tell you. During our Bombay reception, an aunty in a bright golden saree walked towards us. k leaned towards me and whispered, "Pakao aunty!" (annoying aunty).
You see the key to reception bride-groom talk is brevity. You catch sight of an uncle and aunty ambling towards the stage, you have about five seconds within which to remind your spouse what their names and their kids' names are! Because you know they are going to ask you, "Do you remember me? I saw you when you were so little..." and they would vaguely point to my high heels. I quite enjoy answering these questions...
Anyway, the only info I had about pakao aunty is that she is pakao and based on that information proceeded to answer her first question, "Can the Bahu speak Gujarathi?" - I shot back with the one sentence I learned from Kamal in Gujarathi, "I can speak Gujarathi really well!". Pakao aunty seemed a bit disappointed but anyway flashed one of her winning smiles and walked back quickly.
k's mom stood next to me watching all the Gujarathi related questions and maybe thought she should make me feel more comfortable. The next couple that came to wish us happened to be a South Indian family living next to k's apartment. As soon as they came on stage, k's mom eagerly told me, "They live next door, they are South Indians" and proceeded to anxiously ask them, "Do you speak Tamil?" It so happened they did not. They spoke Malayalam :)
*^^^*^^^*
And then there was the time when k had a really bright idea - "Let's show Ramya what it's like to travel in an A1 bus!" Somehow he managed to convince his parents that he should take me to Crawford market where we would buy curtains to bring back to US. I was all excited about picking the colors and patterns for the curtains. What I did not expect was that I would have travelled by foot, by auto, by car, by bus and by train to go to Crawford market and back - four hours in all!
We walked to the auto stand, caught an auto to the railway station, caught a train (Western Railway - Andheri to Churchgate) to Churchgate, then took a taxi to Crawford market and My God! If there is a place to beat Ranganathan street (Madras), it is this! Literally a sea of human faces!
Anyway, an hour later we left Crawford market and spent fifteen minutes deciding how to go home.
I hear that's a sacred Bombay tradition. To go from point A to point B in Bombay, we need to spend fifteen minutes figuring out when/how/what the best way is to reach the place. If possible, avoid the trip altogether!
After fifteen minutes, they decided the train back was not for someone as nazook (delicate) as me (!). So, we would take a taxi to the bus stand, catch the A1 bus and then catch an auto to go back home. I remember sitting in the A1 bus for what seemed an eternity.
And that was my first experience of travel in Bombay!
*^^^*^^^*
The next major issue that we all dwelled in for the major part of our stay in Bombay was...food! We ate every two hours during day time - awesome food! Anyway, I had to have a problem even with that! And the problem was that I needed a healthy dose of thachi mammam (curd rice) to carry me through the day! And so everywhere that I went (we had several lunch and dinner invitations), k's sis would call in advance and make arrangements for a pot of curd and some rice to be made just for me!
Quite embarrassing!
What was more embarrassing was, once we sat down for dinner, they weren't sure when exactly I needed the curd, so in the middle of my second serving of Pav Bhaji, k's aunt would quitely enquire, "Do you want the curd now by the side?"
Anyway, now that I have set the trend, the next time I go to India, one of these two things is bound to happen - either we don't get dinner invites at all or a huge pot of curd will be put aside as soon as they invite us for dinner!
*^^^*^^^*
The next issue was with my penchant (craving?) for malli poo(jasmine)! The few days that I get to spend in India, I really want to get the most of malli poo.
I kept thinking of the gundu malli sarams that they sell outside Nilgiris. So strange how I missed it more staying in Bombay than being here...
It so happens, Bombay is not a place where you can find jasmine flowers easily (unlike what k had promised me)! Atleast not in street corners and outside every temple! Just when I was about to burst into tears, his cousin saved the day by locating a flower seller just outside the railway station!. God bless him :)
*^^^*^^^*
I can recall several other incidents but will stop here to constrain this post to a decent size! Oh also, looks like someone has a cool new template, is it my imagination or does this template change more than the content of this blog :) ?
Me: Isn't it cool that he sent me all this stuff? 'Coz I like to read and all, you know?
L: Yeah cool. Looks like he is encouraging "arbit-giri" in Bahus. What you need is a fat book on cooking recipes!
Me: !@#@#$***
Anyway, L also politely commented that my blog is escapist and that I need to focus on serious issues. So, I thought about that for sometime and tried to think of (make up) some serious stuff to write and failed quite miserably. L decided to be more lenient and suggested that I pen down my first impressions about Bombay. So, I decided I'll take a bit of that good advice and write about Bombay and about my experiences as a ahem...young bride in the city! I mention below a few incidents that I found amusing, cute, funny...generally in that genre :)
I stepped out of Chatrapathi Shivaji airport...sunny, colorful, bustling Bombay, full of welcoming smiles and friendly people...
Yeah, you wish!
I stepped out of the airport and within a few seconds found myself seated in a taxi. I was still in a daze (read - totally apprehensive about the four days that I was to spend with my in-laws) and so only processed bits of information that was given to me.
You know how that is? Like a time gap, a void when you don't know what you did - time just skips and you are doing something else - your mind is totally blank about what happened those few moments.
Anyway, I looked down and saw that I could see the road through rusted bits of taxi-car material! I mean I could literally see the road - the taxi had a hole somewhere around the place where I rested my legs. I turned to k with a quizzical expression, one of many that I would wear upon my face, to question him about the intricacies of this quixotic city!
Me: "Err Kamal, this car has a hole at the bottom"
k: "Welcome to Bombay" (His idea of being a smart alec - Am-in-my-city-and-am-King style dialogue)
Me: (thinking - just wait till you visit Singara Chennai beta)
And along the way k filled me in with important titbits about the city - "Remember Andheri West is cool - that's where I live. Andheri East is not quite so cool!" And I realized I was going to be an expert on Bombay trivia pretty soon.
And that was how Bombay introduced itself to me.
The next day, we met a few of k's relatives who unanimously asked me the one question that every responsible adult needs to ask the daughter-in-law:
"Yeh Gujarathi bolti he?" (Can she speak Gujarathi?)
As a keen reader, you will of course have noticed that they referred to me in the third person. So cool, I tell you! Wheee! Am invisible and someone else gets to answer all my questions!
k would then of course act out his bit of giving an embarassingly charming smile and would answer "And this is my pretty wife".
Ah! That must be the key! Give an irrelevant answer to an irrelevant question! I must try it next time, assuming am not invisible again!
The language thing is really a big deal I tell you. During our Bombay reception, an aunty in a bright golden saree walked towards us. k leaned towards me and whispered, "Pakao aunty!" (annoying aunty).
You see the key to reception bride-groom talk is brevity. You catch sight of an uncle and aunty ambling towards the stage, you have about five seconds within which to remind your spouse what their names and their kids' names are! Because you know they are going to ask you, "Do you remember me? I saw you when you were so little..." and they would vaguely point to my high heels. I quite enjoy answering these questions...
Anyway, the only info I had about pakao aunty is that she is pakao and based on that information proceeded to answer her first question, "Can the Bahu speak Gujarathi?" - I shot back with the one sentence I learned from Kamal in Gujarathi, "I can speak Gujarathi really well!". Pakao aunty seemed a bit disappointed but anyway flashed one of her winning smiles and walked back quickly.
k's mom stood next to me watching all the Gujarathi related questions and maybe thought she should make me feel more comfortable. The next couple that came to wish us happened to be a South Indian family living next to k's apartment. As soon as they came on stage, k's mom eagerly told me, "They live next door, they are South Indians" and proceeded to anxiously ask them, "Do you speak Tamil?" It so happened they did not. They spoke Malayalam :)
And then there was the time when k had a really bright idea - "Let's show Ramya what it's like to travel in an A1 bus!" Somehow he managed to convince his parents that he should take me to Crawford market where we would buy curtains to bring back to US. I was all excited about picking the colors and patterns for the curtains. What I did not expect was that I would have travelled by foot, by auto, by car, by bus and by train to go to Crawford market and back - four hours in all!
We walked to the auto stand, caught an auto to the railway station, caught a train (Western Railway - Andheri to Churchgate) to Churchgate, then took a taxi to Crawford market and My God! If there is a place to beat Ranganathan street (Madras), it is this! Literally a sea of human faces!
Anyway, an hour later we left Crawford market and spent fifteen minutes deciding how to go home.
I hear that's a sacred Bombay tradition. To go from point A to point B in Bombay, we need to spend fifteen minutes figuring out when/how/what the best way is to reach the place. If possible, avoid the trip altogether!
After fifteen minutes, they decided the train back was not for someone as nazook (delicate) as me (!). So, we would take a taxi to the bus stand, catch the A1 bus and then catch an auto to go back home. I remember sitting in the A1 bus for what seemed an eternity.
And that was my first experience of travel in Bombay!
The next major issue that we all dwelled in for the major part of our stay in Bombay was...food! We ate every two hours during day time - awesome food! Anyway, I had to have a problem even with that! And the problem was that I needed a healthy dose of thachi mammam (curd rice) to carry me through the day! And so everywhere that I went (we had several lunch and dinner invitations), k's sis would call in advance and make arrangements for a pot of curd and some rice to be made just for me!
Quite embarrassing!
What was more embarrassing was, once we sat down for dinner, they weren't sure when exactly I needed the curd, so in the middle of my second serving of Pav Bhaji, k's aunt would quitely enquire, "Do you want the curd now by the side?"
Anyway, now that I have set the trend, the next time I go to India, one of these two things is bound to happen - either we don't get dinner invites at all or a huge pot of curd will be put aside as soon as they invite us for dinner!
The next issue was with my penchant (craving?) for malli poo(jasmine)! The few days that I get to spend in India, I really want to get the most of malli poo.
I kept thinking of the gundu malli sarams that they sell outside Nilgiris. So strange how I missed it more staying in Bombay than being here...
It so happens, Bombay is not a place where you can find jasmine flowers easily (unlike what k had promised me)! Atleast not in street corners and outside every temple! Just when I was about to burst into tears, his cousin saved the day by locating a flower seller just outside the railway station!. God bless him :)
I can recall several other incidents but will stop here to constrain this post to a decent size! Oh also, looks like someone has a cool new template, is it my imagination or does this template change more than the content of this blog :) ?
March 06, 2006
Writing experiment #0 - The Search.
I searched again today.
Yet another futile attempt.
I searched again in spaces big and small, inside my heart and outside, in sounds and in silence, in sight and behind closed eyes. I searched for a glimpse, a shadow, a word, a glance, a breath?
I found none.
Love that was everywhere - the sand that let me leave my mark on it, the breeze that kissed me without asking, the sounds of music that I carried within me, the colors of joy splashed all around me - they all came together to surround me like a warm embrace. I held on tight, knowing and not believing that there will come a time when I have to let go. So, I closed my eyes and slept like a child, dreaming dreams that kept my illusion alive. And then one day, they all left and they took with them my world of love.
It was not him that I searched for. I searched for the world that I created for myself when he was around. I searched for the lightness in my step and in my heart, for the beauty around me and within me, I searched for colors, melody, life and love. I searched for the me that lived only for him, only for those moments shared with him.
Yet another futile attempt.
I searched again in spaces big and small, inside my heart and outside, in sounds and in silence, in sight and behind closed eyes. I searched for a glimpse, a shadow, a word, a glance, a breath?
I found none.
Love that was everywhere - the sand that let me leave my mark on it, the breeze that kissed me without asking, the sounds of music that I carried within me, the colors of joy splashed all around me - they all came together to surround me like a warm embrace. I held on tight, knowing and not believing that there will come a time when I have to let go. So, I closed my eyes and slept like a child, dreaming dreams that kept my illusion alive. And then one day, they all left and they took with them my world of love.
It was not him that I searched for. I searched for the world that I created for myself when he was around. I searched for the lightness in my step and in my heart, for the beauty around me and within me, I searched for colors, melody, life and love. I searched for the me that lived only for him, only for those moments shared with him.
March 02, 2006
The stars told me a story.
Playful words and sweet memories come unbidden to fill this space. I do so love to spin a tale, filled with sparks from within and the light beyond...scenes from my past or mirages of my imagination? You decide!
Something about the way he grinned…I tried to place a finger on what it tried to convey. A hint of amusement, I think. That’s the first thing I noticed. Second thing or set of things that I noticed was that he was tall, fair and bespectacled. It was my turn to be amused. How strange that he fit into my quirky teenage definition of my perfect guy, so snugly! I decided not to read more into it. The stars will tell me if things were meant to be, I decided. And as I stood hesitating, having just set foot into the United States, he smiled widely and held his hand to me, "Welcome to America" and within a few minutes followed by, "Lagta he yeh ladki padne ke liye aayi he" and then, "Lagta he yeh ladki zyada bolega nahi."
Ofcourse "yeh ladki" knew that was not the case but why spoil his delightful little illusion? So, I became the silent maiden that day.
And a few weeks later, as we walked around campus, a playful breeze seemed to touch my cheek and snuggle between us, holding our hands. I stole a glance at him and saw the same amusement in his eyes. I decided I liked him. That night, the sky seemed to sparkle, the stars perhaps did have something in mind?
He called me every evening. I would be tired and excited at the same time, bursting to tell someone, anyone my adventures of the day – I taught Calculus! Imagine a bunch of teenagers (American teenagers at that) listening to me! Each day, I had a new story to tell. Each day, he would call to listen to them. Today one of my students asked me if I was sixteen! Today, my students made such a fuss about the assignments I gave them. Today, my professor and I chatted about India, elephants, rich uncles and student life! And sometimes, I wouldn’t notice the sky changing colors outside my window, the shadows of the night peeping in, the stars come to predict some more.
It was Saturday night and my roommate and some of her friends planned to go bowling. He was going to go too. I waited for him to ask me to come but he didn’t and I fell asleep waiting. The next day, I was silent and he asked if I expected him to call me and he touched my cheek lightly as he said that. And for some strange reason, I found myself shaking my head – no, it’s ok.
And then we had our first quarrel. It would be unfair to call it a quarrel, I guess. It was more of an expression of disappointment. I don’t even remember what I expected him to do and if I was justified in expecting that…I just remember the way he leaned against the table and smiled as I declared in mock-anger that I wouldn’t go out with him because something else was more important to him. He smiled first and then laughed while trying to protest and my resolve to give him a hard time melted in the sounds of our laughter.
Within a month of my moving into the apartment, my roommate decided she had had enough of me. She got additional funding from her department and could not afford to live alone. So, she asked me to leave soon. Just that. She believed in straight talk. So, I turned to him for help and the next day we made more trips than I can remember from one apartment to another, transferring an unending pile of things. It was quite late in the night by the time we transferred everything and we just collapsed on the carpet. My roommate fell asleep immediately right there. I was happy to be in my new home and was excited and tired at the same time – I couldn’t sleep. So, we started talking sitting amidst the legs of a bed frame, suitcases and my roommate. We talked until we heard the sounds of morning, heralding a new beginning? We talked about life, ideas, people and as the sun rose higher in the sky and the stars bid goodbye, he said goodbye too. I watched him walk to his apartment and then I watched the fading stars.
I realized that night that they had just begun to tell me a story...
Something about the way he grinned…I tried to place a finger on what it tried to convey. A hint of amusement, I think. That’s the first thing I noticed. Second thing or set of things that I noticed was that he was tall, fair and bespectacled. It was my turn to be amused. How strange that he fit into my quirky teenage definition of my perfect guy, so snugly! I decided not to read more into it. The stars will tell me if things were meant to be, I decided. And as I stood hesitating, having just set foot into the United States, he smiled widely and held his hand to me, "Welcome to America" and within a few minutes followed by, "Lagta he yeh ladki padne ke liye aayi he" and then, "Lagta he yeh ladki zyada bolega nahi."
Ofcourse "yeh ladki" knew that was not the case but why spoil his delightful little illusion? So, I became the silent maiden that day.
And a few weeks later, as we walked around campus, a playful breeze seemed to touch my cheek and snuggle between us, holding our hands. I stole a glance at him and saw the same amusement in his eyes. I decided I liked him. That night, the sky seemed to sparkle, the stars perhaps did have something in mind?
He called me every evening. I would be tired and excited at the same time, bursting to tell someone, anyone my adventures of the day – I taught Calculus! Imagine a bunch of teenagers (American teenagers at that) listening to me! Each day, I had a new story to tell. Each day, he would call to listen to them. Today one of my students asked me if I was sixteen! Today, my students made such a fuss about the assignments I gave them. Today, my professor and I chatted about India, elephants, rich uncles and student life! And sometimes, I wouldn’t notice the sky changing colors outside my window, the shadows of the night peeping in, the stars come to predict some more.
It was Saturday night and my roommate and some of her friends planned to go bowling. He was going to go too. I waited for him to ask me to come but he didn’t and I fell asleep waiting. The next day, I was silent and he asked if I expected him to call me and he touched my cheek lightly as he said that. And for some strange reason, I found myself shaking my head – no, it’s ok.
And then we had our first quarrel. It would be unfair to call it a quarrel, I guess. It was more of an expression of disappointment. I don’t even remember what I expected him to do and if I was justified in expecting that…I just remember the way he leaned against the table and smiled as I declared in mock-anger that I wouldn’t go out with him because something else was more important to him. He smiled first and then laughed while trying to protest and my resolve to give him a hard time melted in the sounds of our laughter.
Within a month of my moving into the apartment, my roommate decided she had had enough of me. She got additional funding from her department and could not afford to live alone. So, she asked me to leave soon. Just that. She believed in straight talk. So, I turned to him for help and the next day we made more trips than I can remember from one apartment to another, transferring an unending pile of things. It was quite late in the night by the time we transferred everything and we just collapsed on the carpet. My roommate fell asleep immediately right there. I was happy to be in my new home and was excited and tired at the same time – I couldn’t sleep. So, we started talking sitting amidst the legs of a bed frame, suitcases and my roommate. We talked until we heard the sounds of morning, heralding a new beginning? We talked about life, ideas, people and as the sun rose higher in the sky and the stars bid goodbye, he said goodbye too. I watched him walk to his apartment and then I watched the fading stars.
I realized that night that they had just begun to tell me a story...
March 01, 2006
Lets create some good karma!
Lets start with the definition of karma: "The total effect of a person's actions and conduct during the successive phases of the person's existence, regarded as determining the person's destiny." or "A distinctive aura, atmosphere, or feeling".
Let's try to make the definition more practical. We all want to create good karma and stay away from bad karma. So what makes good karma? Being good to people, generally speaking, creates good karma. So, how can we be good to people? Help, empathize, support, encourage - these terms in general seem to be likely candidates to create good karma. And how can I avoid bad karma? Don't hurt, insult, disparage, discourage. That's pretty clear then, you would think.
Not really.
What if I hurt someone unintentionally? What if someone hurts me unintentionally? Does that create bad karma too even when we did not intend to? How can we learn not to do that? As D~ often used to say - put yourself in the other person's shoes and walk a bit in it, get the feel of it before you say something or react to something. So, good. I do that. What if I still feel am in the good karma zone or what if the other person is not wearing my shoes? We have a clash of karmas here.
Yes, I sound like I am eighty years old. I am, I have been fooling you all with a photo taken when I was much younger! Nah...who am I kidding? If I were eighty I would be able to write an essay on karma and stuff, I wouldn't be struggling with a half-baked post on "how not to define karma".
Anyway, that's my ramble-dose inflicted on you guys for no fault of yours. Would that amount to bad karma?!
Let's try to make the definition more practical. We all want to create good karma and stay away from bad karma. So what makes good karma? Being good to people, generally speaking, creates good karma. So, how can we be good to people? Help, empathize, support, encourage - these terms in general seem to be likely candidates to create good karma. And how can I avoid bad karma? Don't hurt, insult, disparage, discourage. That's pretty clear then, you would think.
Not really.
What if I hurt someone unintentionally? What if someone hurts me unintentionally? Does that create bad karma too even when we did not intend to? How can we learn not to do that? As D~ often used to say - put yourself in the other person's shoes and walk a bit in it, get the feel of it before you say something or react to something. So, good. I do that. What if I still feel am in the good karma zone or what if the other person is not wearing my shoes? We have a clash of karmas here.
Yes, I sound like I am eighty years old. I am, I have been fooling you all with a photo taken when I was much younger! Nah...who am I kidding? If I were eighty I would be able to write an essay on karma and stuff, I wouldn't be struggling with a half-baked post on "how not to define karma".
Anyway, that's my ramble-dose inflicted on you guys for no fault of yours. Would that amount to bad karma?!
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