Here and Elsewhere...

:)

2010-11-10T10:36:00.000-08:00

What can I say...more happening elsewhere :)

I still love you blog :)

Now.

2009-08-08T10:11:00.000-07:00

'Motivated' is not an adjective I'd ascribe to myself.

I remember this PTA meeting years ago, when a teacher gushed to my parents, "What a motivated child you have!" Mum, Dad, and I muffled the synchronised snort of sarcasm. 'Motivated' is an adjective they wouldn't ascribe to me either.

And yet half the human population that knows me thinks it's seeing an enthusiastic 'bubbly' girl (God how I hate that adjective!!! Bubbly. Bloody hell) who swears by Professor Keating's carpe diem and is always busy doing something new.

The big 'BUT WHY??' question got me wondering though. I mean, the other half of my homo sapien acquaintances knows me too well to see I'm always busy doing nothing! Par exemple. The stack of unread books in my room skyscrapers over the pile of read ones. The 'how-could-you-have-not-heard-this-band??!!' playlists remain unheard. The beautiful paper in my three sketchpads wait for a shape, a line, a Van Gogh-esque dash even. All the places I want to see (forget the ones from the World's Great Wonders lists, I haven't been to all the parks in my own city yet) are still just words on one of my many, many lists. Lists of things to do, of things that might never get done...

Maybe that's it. People think I'm motivated because I'm always planning the grand things I'll do. And every time I gaze in admiration and envy at truly motivated people (who can somehow derive so much from the smallest slivers of inspiration life has to offer) and vow that tomorrow will be a brighter, more creative day, someone or something nudges me back to that comfort zone, with a whisper of 'There's always time, and your whole life ahead'.

Well, I don't think so any more. 21 suddenly seems too many years to be wasted.

Carpe Diem. There are millions of things to do. And I'm going to do them.

The silence of the lamb

2009-07-05T13:11:00.000-07:00

All around me, people are fighting for their causes. Pro-feminist, anti-Michael Jackson, pro-LTTE, anti-establishment, anti-Federer, pro-Hindi, anti-Tamil. Some of these could be just exaggerated personal opinions, but they're still those things that the person firmly believes in, stands up for, blogs/tweets about, and spends most of his/her time building elaborate arguments around.

And here I am, the quiet one.

When the college-seats-reservation issue blew up a few years ago, I silently watched the pro- and anti- protests on TV; and while my friends discussed their takes on the debacle, I wondered if I was the only one who seemed to have no opinion/reaction to the whole thing. And last year, when most of the college took to the streets to protest the Sri Lankan government's 'atrocities', I stayed back, watching, as always, from the sidelines...

I've often wondered - with some amount of guilt - if this is cowardice, apathy, a lack of good reason and judgement, a 'weakness' of some sort, or simply stupidity. There's always someone around to remind me that having no cause to fight for in life means I can't cast aspersions on popular debate issues, or voice my 'balanced' opinions on them. I say 'balanced' because 90% of the time, I don't take sides: somehow the presence of two distinct voices on either side of these blurry lines has convinced me that both can have the tiniest hints of truth and the tiniest slivers of falsity in equal measure. I mean...who's to decide??

And therein lies my weakness/apathy/lack of opinion. But wait, I should rephrase that. I do have strong opinions on some things (as some of this blog's readers will vouch for), but even those tend to sway at the slightest provocation. Hey, I'm a Libran, so I can't be blamed (my excuse for everything from mood swings to character flaws...see how this entire post itself is tottering to and fro?) :)

But alas. Who really cares about my opinions on anything other than politics, sport, and world peace? Sigh. I have no idea where to start fixing this 'problem'. Someone suggest a cause then, and I shall become its guerilla fighter. Don't ask me about the white flag that I might suddenly spring on you though. I'm a Libran, remember? :)

The Big Indian Wedding Reception

2009-06-25T09:20:00.000-07:00

I knew, as soon as we passed the girls with the rose-water at the entrance, who looked like Kingfisher air-hostesses (the ones who all seem to have come out of the same mold, complete with matching shade of blush and more-plastic-than-Barbie smiles), that it was going to be another hilarious wedding reception.

And here's the thing about all the receptions I've been to: at the end of each one, I seriously wonder how otherwise-perfectly-sane people go crazy when it comes to informing the world of their union in holy matrimony. Or maybe they're just putting up with Ma and Pa's wish for a splashy show. Either way, it's the poor attendee who bears the gruesome memories of it. So please, I beg you to sympathize with me.

And here I take a let-me-slap-hand-against-forehead moment's rest, because if there's one tragedy that has befallen the Indian wedding scene, it is the transition from good ol' 'Go onstage, cut cake, receive gifts, eat biryani, live happily-ever-after' to toasts, introductions, bride and groom praising each other sessions, dance floors (dear God!!!), gourmet cuisine, and wedding favours evolving from thenga-and-fruits to monogrammed return gifts with the couple's pictures on it (I kid you not).

Now now, a clarification: of course I'm not against any of the latter...me who hopes to be a wedding planner someday, me who watches romantic movies primarily for the wedding scenes, me, who (as is already evident) has strong opinions on weddings and how they shape up. I'm all for modern, personalized, memorable twists to weddings and receptions. But all I have to say is, all this might work in the You Ess Of A. If you can't pull it off here, however, please don't.

For example. At the reception I began describing, a 'welcome-drink' (exotic fruit punch, no less) greeted us even before we could seat our behinds on the grand chairs in the grand interiors of the grand reception hall in one of Chennai's grand hotels (which, suggestively, is named GRT GRAND). We had arrived just as the bride's brother, self-proclaimed yem-cee of the event, had begun introducing the couple.

And now would be a good time to mention that everyone in this family (by which I mean bridal and groom party combined), and everyone attached to the family in some way (by which I mean the priest who solemnized the occasion) had one comic trait in common: an American accent. So while the hapless audience attempted to decipher what was being said during the toast, the introductions of the bride and groom, and the prayer, the hosts continued in what they considered perfectly intelligible English. The interjections of a badly set up mic did nothing to help the proceedings. And all the while, we had to tolerate a slideshow of kiddie pics of the bride and groom. 'Isn't that a cute idea??!', my mother whispered. Don't even think about it, the look on my face said.

The only two things that were retained from 'Ye Olde Receptions of Years Past' then followed:

1) The instrumental music CD (which I think is secretly passed around among ALL the families of South India), featuring beautiful old songs like Raaja Raaja Cholan, Kanne Kalaimaane and Nee Paadhi Naan Paadhi Kanne mercilessly massacred through terrible violin and piano riffs(in times like this you wish they'd actually hired The Chennai Police Brass Band instead)...

2) ...And the gift-giving session, to which they thankfully did not add any American updates. It featured the usual queue, with people who peeped over our shoulders to check if their gift was bigger and better wrapped than ours, the usual mother-of-the-bride who pointed at me and exclaimed loudly, 'I remember you when you were theeees small!!!', and the usual big-smiles-in-a-row group photo.

(Well thank God for the things that never change!!)

Anyway, back to modern sophistication. I was sure the dinner would be an affair to remember, and of course, wasn't disappointed. The entrance to the 'banquet hall' flaunted a huge statue of Le Statue de Liberte (going with the American theme, in case it wasn't all that clear) carved from some ivory coloured waxy substance. After being reluctantly pulled away from it by concerned parents (I wanted to check if it was edible!! sigh), we approached the dinner table.

And this is where I draw the line. Yes, there was chicken biryani, mutton curry, vegetarian-food-I-don't-even-care-to-mention for the vegetarians, trifle for dessert, etc etc...Alleluia for all that. But cold pasta and russian salad????????? At a wedding reception??!!!! I mean, WHY??

Sigh Sigh Sigh. Things fall apart. I have no idea what the world is coming to. Readers of this post...please organize a wedding reception I will enjoy. Don't invite me otherwise :)

[In retrospect...I think all this is actually displaced anger for not having received a piece of the

wedding cake :) ]

Drops of salty water

2009-06-13T00:01:00.000-07:00

Why have I always underrated crying?

For years I had this strong-girls-don't-cry trend going, forcing myself to believe that the sight of tears on Poshgit's face would somehow reduce her standing in the eyes of the beholders around her. That if people saw me cry, it would be the last barrier breached, the one that confidently proclaimed to the world that she, like everyone other normal human being, also cried.

Of course, it's not like I never did. I just didn't very often. And I hated -oh, well, still hate- to let people see or know when my lachrymal glands are in overdrive. Who doesn't, I know I know. But for a long time, crying to me was just something silly, ugly, annoying, and a waste of time.

That was before the headaches.

The headaches that arrive from trying soo hard to control your tears that they collect in your vitreous chambers and brain cavities and come really close to causing hydrocephaly. The headaches that kept yelling in shrill siren voices: you need to cry, you need to cry. The headaches that make you realise that those Miss Worlds and Oscar winners actually have a point.

And so, I started crying.

First, not that regularly. Then, with a regularity that was, surprisingly, not-so-alarming. And I've been crying ever since. And here's why I strongly recommend it. And this is in many ways an attempt to re-convince myself on the benefits of a good sob :)

Crying is good. Because sometimes everything doesn't have to make sense all the time, and you'd rather just let the floodgates open rather than think too much. Because thinking too much can also make you cry sometimes, and well, that's not too bad a thing either. Because it really is a kind of release, in a very literal sense. Because quite simply, crying isn't always a bad thing. I mean, apart from those marathon ones that drag themselves out over anything from 24 hours to a whole week, I'm actually oddly glad that the tiny tears can come just as easily. The ones during movies, listening to a song, or twisting a muscle. These days, I don't give a $%^$. Just cry you stupid woman, I tell myself. And I do. And it helps.

And it's good to finally, finally actually admit it :)

P.S. Those marathon ones? They don't make you feel the greatest, and the consequences are especially annoying, since the whole world wants to know -with concern on the furrowed brow- 'Why did you cry??!'

And in such times, hey, what could possibly be better than to cry more!!! Viva la rasgones :)

BLUE

2009-05-25T03:40:00.000-07:00

At precisely 5:16 for the last six or seven mornings, my eyes have been glued wide open to the view from the bedroom window.

The sky, so blue.

The bluest of blues.

I couldn't stop looking, amazed. A blue so blue it threatened to engulf everything. A pulsing, brighter-than-the-curve-of-a-peacock's-neck blue. Drowning the branches and leaves silhouetted against it. Overpowering that brightest of bright colours, the red clumps of Gulmohar flowers. A blue that seeped through the gaps between the twigs as I watched, filling in the spaces that form spindly faces and maps. A throbbing blue, swallowing the tree whole.

Such a beautiful BLUE.

P.S. The blue of those stockings was the closest thing the World Wide Web has to offer as a means of illustrating my post. But you'd have to see the real blue to believe it :)

2009-05-11T15:27:00.000-07:00

I thought I knew a lot of things. But with every passing day I realize just how little I do know.

And that, feels good to know.

Sigh. Sigh. Beautiful-ness.

2009-05-08T07:43:00.000-07:00

Watercolour travel sketchbooks from Canadian artist Prashant Miranda. Makes me want to get off my lazy butt and just write, write, write...and draw, draw, draw. Sigh. More here.

And these watercolour illustrations from Sara Singh have left me gaping. Look at those ribbons!! And that curl of smoke!!! Sigh, such absolute brilliance. More here.

Yours truly is well and truly inspired...hopefully her blog will someday turn into an art blog too :) And while we are on the awesome art wave, also check out Masala Chai!!!

Now I'm off to create :)

Right Now.

2009-04-12T13:36:00.000-07:00

There's this feeling.

When all your big assignments are done...when all that remains to your post-graduation life is only the hug-giving, trying-to-shed-tears involving convocation ceremony...when you're home for one of those rare whole-family-happiness weekends...when you know a job at one of the best newspapers in town is waiting for you in June, even when people who've been in the same job all their lives are getting laid-off...

It's this feeling you get somewhere near your diaphragm. The bottom of your heart and the top of your stomach. Complete satisfaction. Staring at the ceiling, happy, content to be doing nothing. Absolutely nothing. You sigh,and then sigh again. Sigh. I have nothing to do, life is good, and the days to come offer more hope and more satisfaction.

I don't know if I should start calling it luck,the fact that I'm blessed with good things in life. Or maybe it's just the sometimes silly, sometimes very useful characteristic of being born with a pair of rose-tinted glasses affixed to my eyes :)

There is always, always something around to keep that bledy smug I'm-sooo-loving-life smile on my face...It's songs I obsessed over in school and have found again on the radio. Food, glorious food, thank God for its abundance in the world. It's a gorgeous sketchbook that's urging me to resurrect my love for drawing. Receiving a message from a friend I thought I'd never hear from again. It's also, quite embarrassing as it may be, the glow of pride on my parents' faces when they tell every guest who comes a-calling, 'She's going to be working at The Hindu!!' -red face, 'Ma puhleese stop saying that!!' look on my mug-

God. What a good feeling to know all is right in my world. Sigh. Why the hell can't it last everyday? :(

Aside:

A lucky 13 days to my blog's second birthday. Remorselessly considering challenging the competition for the most-neglected-blog award (head hangs in shame) But to the fruit-of-my-labour's credit...every time I see that white 'B' on the orange logo, it makes me want to write more, and to be a better writer. Thank you for that, Slob's Blog my love :)

(I'm too lazy to even think of a title for this post) :)

2009-02-20T07:09:00.000-08:00

Here it is, the result of my all-time laziness high...the first post of the New Year is plagiarized from FB for lack of better things to write about (even though, of course, there is SO much to blog about!) But yes, this be the Slob's Blog (wow, that sounded nice!) and you'll just have to deal with that... :)

Rules:
Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. (Good God, what were the people who started this thinking!!! 25 things????)

Sigh...deep breath...here goes...

1. I WISH I could wish for food and make it appear immediately. Desperately wanting fried chicken at two in the night in the hostel, and going out and eating it later the next day, are definitely not the same things... :(

2. I love cracking my knuckles...I just did it three times in the last half hour :)

3. I think Coldplay is God.

4. One of the most annoying things in the world is the itchy feeling in my nose just before I sneeze... &$&^$*&%(&

5. I wish I was a dancer. A good one.

6. There's something too bloody beautiful about roses. Especially white ones :)

7. I'm scared of waxing. And the upper lip thingy too. OUCH.

8. I wonder why people have great expectations of me. (Like 25 things to list!!! Yeesh...)

9. But anyway...I LOVE making lists :)

10. I like it when guys smell nice :)

11. I'm afraid of lizards. Those sickly brown disgusting house ballees...(shuddering at the the thought of those things!)

12. I love it when the first pair of jeans I try on in a shop fits :)

13. One of the nicest feelings in the world is when you pee after holding it up for a really loooong time... :)

14. My Mum's chicken soup is the BEST in the world. No arguments.

15. I love making hand-made gifts for people. And I wish I'd receive more of them too ;)

16. I am OBSESSED with my hair looking perfect all the time :)

17. I hate people looking at the screen when I type -hint to certain peeping Toms- :)

18. I hate people waking me up in the morning. Or at any time of the day, for that matter. Let sleeping doggies lie please.

19. I don't understand matters of business, tax, stock markets, etc. I can't.

20. But I won my first game of scrabble with words like 'equity' and 'debt'!!! Yay :)

21. I like to think...believe...that dreams come true :)

22. I LOVE TO LAUGH.

23. I consider my teddy bear Theo a real person. Don't laugh...He is!!! :)

24. I hate it when people talk loudly.

25. One of my favourite activities is trying to figure out what the other person is thinking... which is what I'm doing right now, thinking of all the people who will read this :)

Well......

2008-12-21T11:59:00.000-08:00

It's been three long months and a whole lot of life that's gone by since that last post...well...I just realized that one of the nicest feelings in the world (after 'peeing after holding it up for a REALLY long time' and 'the warmth of hot soup flowing down your throat on a cold day') is seeing a 'New Post' window on Blogger at the familiar time of one in the night :) It's good to be blogging again! And while I get myself to write 'I shall update my blog more regularly' a 100 times, here are more realizations/thoughts/random nonsense crammed inside supposedly-overworked brain...

I've realized...

that no matter how much fun you have with friends, and how much you fight with your parents, home is truly where the heart is.
that it's ok to not be nice to everyone all the time...and to not care too much about what people say or think about you. Really.
that 'group work' really means 'screw you, I'll do my part and not care about the 'teamwork' until it's time for me to give testimony against the slackers.' :)
that no matter how hard you try to think of recounting your 'happening' life in an 'interesting' new blog post, it most often turns out to be a crappy self-reflection piece (like this one I'm writin now.)
that you should never say no to ice cream. Ever.
that some things are so beautiful that 'beautiful' seems like the most insufficient and unsuitable word to describe them.
that it's not too late to study everything I've ever wanted to...and wishing that we didn't need jobs in life, and that someone would just pay us to read, travel, dance, eat, and laugh till we die :)

Growing up

2008-09-30T00:43:00.000-07:00

Moving Forward

The deep parts of my life pour onward,
as if the river shores were opening out.
It seems that things are more like me now,
That I can see farther into paintings.
I feel closer to what language can't reach.
With my senses, as with birds, I climb
into the windy heaven, out of the oak,
in the ponds broken off from the sky
my falling sinks, as if standing on fishes.

Rainer Maria Rilke

I turned 21 four days ago. A friend, veering away from the traditional way of enquiring about one’s age, asked, ‘How young are you today?’ I was stumped. So it’s not really about growing older, is it? Here I am, contemplating on the emotional baggage that comes with the ‘now you are an adult’ tag, but I’ve started to think that at the end of every birthday, we are all still ‘young’. Isn’t 21 just a number after all, a mere indication of how long I’ve physically existed on this planet? My mental age probably fluctuates between six, 14 and 28, depending on the life experiences I’ve had so far. In which case, does maturity have anything to do with age?

I sometimes remember things that I’ve done in the past with more embarrassment than nostalgia: a word spoken in anger, a reply given in haste, a gesture made without thought. Do people remember my stupidity, my insensitivity with as much regret as I do? And it’s not as if I’ve stopped committing these mistakes either- ‘learning from mistakes’ and ‘moving on’ might be nice phrases, but I’ve realized they can’t be true. I keep blundering along this path to ‘maturity’, making the same mistakes, doing the same things I swore I would never do again. It’s almost like I’m stuck in this idea of being young, not really dwelling in its ‘innocent happiness’ aspects, but rather deciding to remain in a cocoon of ignorance and foolishness, convincing myself that there is more to see, to know, to learn, to experience.

Then again, of course there is! ‘Miles to go before I sleep’…Why should I be in such a rush to ‘grow up’ anyway? I wonder. Even when I’m 60, I’ll be my parents’ ‘little girl’. And so I will still be, when I die. Aren’t we all babies when we die? Having come here to do so much, and go back doing so little. We make grand plans to accomplish during our lifetime: some of us nearly get there, but most of us are content to revel in the dreams of those plans, half-drawn blueprints in the maps of our futures. When I turned 18, I asked myself what I had achieved in the past. ‘Not much’ was the answer. And the answer still remains the same, three years later. Who knows it fit will be unchanged, 10 years from now.

Maybe not, I reassure myself- in 10 years, you’ll be famous, successful, satisfied with life, and so on. Then again, that might be enough to convince me of my ‘achievements’, but not the rest of the world. Someone else would have done a little bit more, had a little more fun, seen a few more places than I have. And at the end of the day, I’ll still be me, just born, facing the world like I’m the first human being on it.

I glance down and smile at the card my parents have sent me this year. ‘Happy Birthday to our baby girl’. Thank god for some things that never change :)

Origin of Species Part 2: Caninus ursus, or the 'Doggie-Bear'

2008-09-12T06:05:00.000-07:00

Renowned animal-analysts Poshgit and Splitgit are proud to announce to the world the discovery of a new 'breed' of dog: (drum roll please) the 'Doggie-Bear' (Caninus ursus, but Constantus dozingus or Lostin lalaland-us are also being considered)

Specimen under observation: Tindu/Limca, black and white mongrel formerly resident to the scientists' hostel habitat.

Dr.Splitgit was kind enough to introduce this specimen to me on the day of my arrival. All our subsequent experiments on him, however, had to be conducted on the basis of speculation, because Tindu (he was rechristened Limca by the scientists in order to estimate whether he responded to other names) refused to budge from his spot under the TV table in the outside reception. Soon we realized that Tindu/Limca answers to no one. No, it is not a case of canine attitude or a disgust for mankind: it is merely that he is asleep. Always. 23 hours a day. And the one waking hour of the average Tindu/Limca (oh alright, 'Tinda' to cut the long story short!) day consists of all the minutes spent in opening his eyes, getting up, stretching, turning around, and settling down to sleep again.

These periods of chronic hibernation have led us to conclude that this might be the result of a bear having entered Tinda's family tree at some point of time in his sleeping history. Further reinforcement of this fact comes from Tinda's stubborn bearish streak, reflected in his refusal to budge from the state of dormancy even when water, newspapers, plastic balls, tree twigs and whole human beings collide with his horizontal body. Tinda has also displayed a certain lack of I.Q., as noted from his frequent bouts of suddenly waking up and barking wildly at the air above his head, and from his constant attempts to fit into spaces that clearly do not accomodate him (eg: under the car, etc.,.)

Poshgit and Splitgit, havin submitted these findings to the Institute for the Discovery of New 'Specimens', currently find themselves in a situtaion that prevents further observation of the specimen, Tinda having left his hostel abode to seek out newer pastures that might offer themselves as ideal beds for his next sleeping season...

If found, kindly return to the Skip Van Winkle Centre for Doggie-Sleep Studies. Or merely stand and stare at this marvel of nature. :)

Origin of Species, Survival of the Fittest

2008-09-09T06:30:00.000-07:00

Uncle Darwin didn't have to go the Galapagos Islands to figure that out. On a particular historically famous street in the city, in a small three-storeyed building crammed between everything else like Stuart little house, he would have found enough 'specimens' to formulate groundbreaking theories that would last several more lifetimes. And in this Blogger-banned, the terrace-is-the-limit (for everything from lunch breaks to the 'high'ness of smoking) environment, an intrepid to-be-journalist follows in her Evolution Guru's footsteps to gather enough information for her future Pulitzer-winner, 'Survival 101: How to co-exist with new species of Homo sapiens that one might encounter on campus' (book your copies now!!!)

While categorizing might seem like the obvious way to describe these 'types', I hesitate to breach the rules of political-correctness and objectivity that one is 'supposed' to possess and nurture as a journalist, if one hopes to be employed in at least the 'Daily Engagements' section of a news organization in the near future. Therefore, though Rita Skeeter's quill beckons temptingly, I shall stick to illustrations of quirky incidences that these new species have been protagonists in...

So...maths conundrum #1: there are 3 guys and 1 girl, to be fit into 1 standard Govt. of India issue auto rickshaw, as they embark to cover a story. How does one accomplish this without violating the local near-Victorian standards of propriety? (note: offering to seat the lady with very high notions of boy-girl decorum on one of the available laps is NOT an option) Solution: the lady delicately (maybe a tad too precariously as well, but hey, she's 'intrepid'!) props herself on the safety bar, much to the chagrin of her male companions, who for one fleeting moment of chivalry could not come up with the idea of sitting on each other's laps. Yes, yes...before you gender-theorists start, it was my idea anyway :) but one expected a little something called presence of mind...tsk tsk...sigh...so much for the hurting butt on a 30 minute journey :(

Conundrum #2: this one's not mathematical, simply common-sensical. One has come to note that is a plethora of those who belong to the 'we-ignore-hints-no-matter-how-explicit-they-are' species who populate this campus. Pounding away at the computer keys, staring ardently at the zombie state-inducing screen, repeatedly saying 'hmm' to show a lack of interest...these time-tested methods to drive away pests seem to have no effect on members of this group. One begins to think that a 'get lost' has to be resorted to in the future...sigh again...so much for propriety and states of mental calm...

The self, as is evident, has to thus adjust and adapt itself to this brave new world where normal rules of society and sanity fail to apply. But as far away from the maddening crowd as one hopes to run, somewhere along the way I stop and decide- ah, might as well join the insane party! So, encompassing everything from being thrown out of offices for the lack of 'permission letters', to being faced with cold stares when asking for a sound-byte or quote from one of the greater beings of society, to a general dazed sense of 'I'm out of ideas for the next story' that pervades the air, Darwin's disciple has realized that surviving this year is going to be one helluva ride (no reference to afore-mentioned auto adventure!)

Did I hear someone say 'Who dares, wins'?? Nah...here in reality, 'who gives a damn about anything, wins' :)

Dot, Line, Form, Colour

2008-08-18T06:22:00.000-07:00

'How rich art is; if one can only remember what one has seen, one is never without food for thought or truly lonely, never alone.' - Vincent Van Gogh

My love of art was recently rekindled when I watched a BBC documentary on the life of the brilliant Vincent Van Gogh, part of Simon Schama's 'Power of Art' series. One of the most powerful scenes shows Vincent (played by the Andy Serkis-who I also think was the absolutely perfect choice for 'Gollum'!) reflecting upon the consequences of his 'madness', and then suddenly devouring a tube of blazing Chrome Yellow oil paint in a manic moment that scares the living tubelights out of you. This is when you realize the extent to which this true genius of an artist let himself be consumed and overwhelmed by his work...to literally 'drown' in his landscapes and portraits.

Van Gogh's mind-blowing technique was something that captivated me nearly eight years ago, when I bought the first four books of a famous series called 'The Lives of the Artists' (I'd recommend these be added to the art syllabus of every school, they're fascinating!) And though I've been drawing, painting, and scribbling on every blank space for ages (ever since my kiddie art books taught me to 'colour inside the lines'), the works of Van Gogh, John Constable, Claude Monet and Pierre-Auguste Renoir introduced me to the glorious world of seriously good art that literally transports you to another plane and transcends all conventional definition...

Over the past few years, I've come to build a collection of favourites that just leave me gaping in awe everytime I see them. Art, I believe, is the most intriguing form of self-expression, because to see the world through the artist's eyes is a perspective we should be privileged to enjoy. From Monet's Waterlilies that creates an ethereal halo of colours, to Van Gogh's Starry Night Over the Rhone that collates thick blobs of paint to recreate a beautiful night sky, every painting I love makes me momentarily wish I was actually inside it, to be where the artist was, to feel what he or she felt when each brush stroke flowed across the canvas...

Sigh...guess I'll never know :)

My list of favourites - can't remember all though! Marvel at them here:

The Hay Wain -John Constable
Irises, Sunflowers, Starry Night series, The Night Cafe -Vincent Van Gogh
Waterlilies, Poppies, The Bridge at Argenteuil, Lady with Parasol -Claude Monet
The Luncheon of the Boating Party, Dance in the City, The Seine at Asnieres, La Loge
The Kiss, Donna con Ventaglio, Water Serpents -Gustav Klimt
The Scream -Edvard Munch
Georgia O' Keefe's series of Flowers
Anything by Frida Kahlo
Anything by Alphonse Mucha
Ophelia -John Everett Millais
The Lamentation over the Dead Christ -Andrea Mantegna
Butterflies -Andy Warhol
Rose Meditative -Dali
The Great Wave at Kanagawa -Katsushika Hokusai
Edgar Degas' Ballet Dancers series
Bullfight III -Pablo Picasso
Sierra Nevada in California -Albert Bierstadt
Girl with a Pearl Earring -Jan Vermeer
The Death of Marat -Jacques-Louis David

Babel

2008-08-04T03:13:00.000-07:00

It's probably a tangential sub-divison of Murphy's Law, that inevitable Law of Laws that defines all else in the world: when a question is asked and a simple answer is expected, you will launch into an elaborate explanation with words you hand-picked out of the thesaurus just that morning, only to be confronted with a look of complete bewilderment or annoyance from whoever the hapless interviewer is. The inverse is a more common occurence- a complex, from-the-mind-of-Einstein answer will be expected, and yours truly will instead end up making a complete ass of self by uttering monosyllabic guttural sounds, or worse, the highly-dreaded yes or no. A sampling of both the inevitable situtaions in which I've found myself embroiled in the past:

Worst case self-embarrassment scenario One:

Q: Wouldn't you agree that Shakespeare used the best similes?

A: See, essentially he intended to convey a sense of his imagery and symbolism through motifs that, though recurrent in most of his plays, would imply to a certain context a certain set of semantic possibilities, blah blah tra la la la... (when all that the already-harassed professor required was 'Yes I do' or 'No I don't')

Worst case self-embarrassment scenario Two:

Q: So what did you think of my poem??!!

A: Coooool dudette! (when the eager Bambi-eyed friend was evidently waiting for a discourse on the poetic worth of her creation)

So how does one extricate oneself from this conundrum of figuring out what answer a particular query requires?? (Here I go complicating things again...Ahem...this question also translates into 'what do you say when?'...some people never learn!) I guess we shall never know...might as well wear geeky glasses and nod intelligently when a professor is speaking in ancient tongues, or ask the multitude of your classmates to sit next to you wearing 'I'm with Stupid' Tees. What better than to get the facts straight?! :)

The Yellow Brick Road

2008-07-09T15:24:00.000-07:00

GAH!! Has my funny bone disappeared for reconstructive surgery??! A quick survey of my latest posts has alarmingly revealed that I have officially drained all the humour out of the self...hey, in my defense, what can you expect when all you do is spend close to 20 hours of the average summer-holiday day in a horizontal position, automatically dropping into an almost drug-induced stupor when faced with the sheer dullness of life all around?! But Yikes! This is no excuse to turn into a drippy, nostalgic, sentimental blogger (ah, sob sob, it was fun while it lasted!) So before I am bombarded with queries reminiscent of the 'Woodward's Gripe Water ad' (for the uninitiated, 'Enna Aachu?! Kozhanthe azhuvuthu!!', etc etc.,.) I shall make up for the absence of a laugh by contributing an incident that is hopefully laugh-worthy enough for the masses...and even if it's not (as my sense of humour can not necessarily be called 'conventional') jus go ahead and laugh, what the heck, the more the merrier, make me happy!!

Ahem, so anyway, getting down to it...there we were, beloved Father-Daughter duo, two determined souls hell-bent on finding 'decent' accomodation for yours truly's new journalistic ventures in the city. Armed with detailed directions from trusted Git-mate Split-Git (whose vital instructions such as 'spot the potti kadai/tea stall at the start of the street and turn left', etc would do well in the best of the Lonely Planet guides) who recommended her own abode for moi, we set out to find the hallowed portals of Ze Hostel. After jerking over the initial speedbreakers such as ''Oh it's spelled 'Sait' Colony, not 'Seth'!!" and arguments over traffic rules ('So what if there's no "free left" Pa?!! This is Chennai!! You own the road!!!') we somehow managed to find the afore-mentioned potti kadai and the right colony.

Of course, the city-planners knew we were coming years ago, and decided to add to the fun by placing the '2nd street' before the '1st street'!! Sensing that Dad dearest was beginning to lose the rare 'No worries, I'm cool' attitude and revert to the customary road-rage, I took swift action and yelled out to a group of Auto-kaarans for help. 'Keep turning left, you'll find a Maa maram...there's a hostel there...I think...um...no wait, Gulmohar maram...no no, Maa maram only'. Er, thank you, oh wise blessings to Chennai transportation services, but how do I find a tree???!!! But they insisted there was only ONE Maa maram in the whole colony (yes, the city planners thought of that too) and so, though I suggested I'd be fine with spreading the mattress and pillow on the pavement, we persisted.

Finally, Desperate Dad suggested we get out of the valient steed and scout the area on foot. Good idea it seemed, except everyone had starkly different opinions as to where the place actually was! Passing everything from groups of adowable pre-schoolers coming out of a nearby school to a boy carrying an equally adowable pug (I could've sworn it was the Vodafone doggie himself!!), we were nearing critical point as there seemed to be no women's hostel on the near horizon. And then, there was light. Sunlight, literally, which hapened to stream through a break in the clouds and land miraculously on the building in front of us. Confirming the house number only added to the joy, as Dad and Daughter broke into a celebratory run right into ze future abode, much to the amusement of the warden awaiting our arrival.

'What took you so long?" she asked, the golden question to which we could only reply with smiles of complete serenity. 'I don't care what the place is like, how much the rent costs, or how the food tastes', Dad muttered, 'just TAKE it!' No arguments there, my man. Truer words could never have been spoken...just glad to be alive and kicking :)

New Leaves and Doors...

2008-07-09T13:50:00.000-07:00

A recent visit to the good ol' campus drove the point home for me. It was taking a while to settle in, firmly post-it itself in my psyche, drill its sharp edge into my brain (which was on holiday all summer) but now, two days away from turning a new leaf in life's book of experience, I'm beginning to realise the dawn of another big phase, another super fun adventure waiting to happen.

For someone who still acts and thinks like a seven-year-old (as my parents or friends would vouch for it) I'm dazed every time I think of how old I am, how much I've experienced, and how I actually completed undergrad life. I did!! I did?! Wow...what an awesome twenty years its been!! And now, something altogether different- more independence, more responsibiltiy, more apprehensions, more dreams than ever before. A different college, a challenging course, new people, new friends, new places...My only hope is that I'll be able to handle it well, have the time of my life -as always! :)- and come out smiling at the end with the happiness and satisfaction of a year well-spent.

The plans are big...more books to read, more music to discover, more art to create, more roads to travel, more blog posts to write :) I'm usually one of those peole who paints a visual future in her mind, but right now, I can't imagine what I'll be doing next year, working or studying more (though I actually want to do both!) Ah well...here's to my new life ahead, and it's outcome, whatever that may be...whew, ok...here I come!! :)

The Music Memoirs...

2008-06-19T08:32:00.000-07:00

You realise that music is quite a significant part of your life when you're casually recalling memories, and songs from the past keep floating back to you, attachments to those particular memories and moments in your life, some special, some ordinary. It works the other way as well, when I listen to certain songs and forgotten images keep popping up. And sometimes it's not even whole songs, just bits and pieces of some guitar riff, or a particular drum beat, that will some story to tell...I guess this is what 'setting your life to music' feels like :)

For example, some of the happiest moments of my tween life were spent in mad dances around the room to anything Spice Girls. They seemed to me then the perfect embodiment of 'Girl Power!' (yeah, you'd need real 'girl power' to carry off their wacky pop outfits and those humongous platform heels!!) And 'Wannabe' was one song that was- and sometimes still is :) -stuck in my head whenever I think of friendship, sleep-overs and all those lollipop-coloured moments of life...heck, who cares if girl-bands are passe, I still find them cute!! :)

Then came the 'you've got to be crazy to listen to pop, rock is real music' phase, as influenced by my brother, who, like all big brothers, deemed it his life's mission to educate the little sister in the art of 'real music listening'. Anyway, I'm grateful for the education, without which I wouldn't have discovered a genius known as Bryan Adams. He was the first real guitarist I fell in love with, and sometimes I feel the long list of ones who succeed him don't really match up :) 'Everything I Do' was a prolonged obsession because of it's 'Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves' connection (see, I looooveeedd Christian Slater then!), and the MTV Unplugged version of '18 til I die' made me drool over violins even more than I already was. And when I discovered 'I'm Ready' in my early college days, nothing gave me more joy than rainy evenings spent in the solitary gloom of my hostel room with the song looping a hundred times over on the Ipod :)

Looks like this is turning into a musical history of my 'wonder years'! Oh well, while I'm at it, might as well not leave out the important players. What part of my happy reminisces is untouched by Coldplay, I do not know. While 'Yellow' instantly fills my mind with images of stars and lights in a rock concert, 'The Scientist' helps me remember times of 'Git Bonding', when yelling the song at the tops of our voices in class was the trend of the season :) And the piano tunes of 'Clocks' are what my fingers play when I'm imagining myself a famous piano player (someday...sigh!)

Speaking of bonding in under-grad life, I can't possibly forget INXS' 'Afterglow'...I doubt if there is any place in Chennai where I haven't listened to the song, from Spencers to the beach to the MRTS rides to Tambaram- Gitler, if you will remember :) And I believe the only song that comes closest to that record is 'New York Nagaram'...days on end saw me paying tribute to that genius of the musical world, Mr.Rahman (thalaivaaaaa!!!) Others, like The Eagles' 'Takin' it easy' (which is what loops in the brain's playlist on long bus rides) and Timbaland's 'The Way I are' (which takes me back to the yelling crowds of college culturals) have their own memory baggage in tow...

I guess it's one of the best feelings in the world: to get absorbed into a song, cancel the world around you, and just lie back in the pool of memories that drown you in image after wonderful image :)

Haunted

2008-06-17T14:24:00.001-07:00

I've always thought the idea of 'life being a series of obsessions and human beings just constantly moving from one obsession to another' made a lot of sense. I mean, come to think of it, at every stage of life, we're preoccupied with something or someone in particular for insanely long periods of time- growing taller, getting rid of pimples, learning to cook, following a movie star's every movement, copying hairstyles, accents, attitudes- you get the idea.

I've realised how obsessive I can get about certain things in life over the days that have gone by in wasteful laziness. As ironic as that might sound, the self was quite 'actively' involved in things that were accomplished in moments of sheer unadulterated sloth. Like perfecting my British accent while watching side-splittingly funny Brit comedies and reading Wodehouse. Or conducting extensive Google, Wiki, and Youtube researches on my eternal obsession, Coldplay (whose 'Viva La Vida' is firmly stuck in Yours Truly's head!!) Or having to dig up a week's worth of newspapers just to intellectually prepare oneself for 'in-depth news analysis' in the journalistic days to come. Or slurping up mounds of peanut butter whenever pangs of hunger strike (though, of course, to quote concerned mothers, there is plenty of other 'nutritious' food in stock) Or worrying how bad I look in glasses...ah well...

I'd say there's a bit of the ol' OCD in all of us, eh?? :)

Freeze Frame

2008-05-31T13:56:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I sat from a safe distance (terrified of the lizzies a.k.a dear lil lizards that might have sprung attacks on me from the never-opened-in-months cupboard) and watched my poor father haul the photo albums out; the enthu that comes with 'fun' activities like opening an unexpected gift or discovering that people still read your blog (yes, that is indeed a joyous discovery!) began showing signs of filling yours truly's face with a happy glow that surprised my parents...which is understandable considering all I've been exhibiting in the past few weeks are yawns and sleepy faces. Photo albums excite me as much as the sight of new books...and I believe there's nothing better than laughing over old photographs with your mum- because your mum does know more about the when, where and why of a picture, along with being able to offer valuable insights into your screams of 'omigod what the hell was I wearing back then???!!!'

I started at the beginning, as I always do, awwwwing at my own cute-babyness (ahem, the pride tends to overflow a bit during these sessions) and moving through my crazy childhood filled with varying evolutionary stages of photo smiles, (ranging from the thin-lipped grimace to the Colgate-worthy flashy grin) horrible fashion and hair style phases, and a plethora of expressions and emotions, discovered just how much I've changed over the years. Reading your own face closely in a photograph takes you back to 'a long time ago' in an instant...and it's amazing how many random little details you can forget..and remember!!

Arriving at the present, the nostalgia tends to wane...after all, the last days of college were only just a few months away. But I guess years from now, I'll pull out the cds once more (yes, I regret to realize that the beloved photo albums have become obsolete!) and start going 'omigod look at my hair!!!!!' all over again :) Viva la photography....!!!!

Rainer Maria Rilke

2008-05-05T14:51:00.000-07:00

*Autumn

The leaves are falling, falling as if from far up,
as if orchards were dying high in space.
Each leaf falls as if it were motioning "no."

And tonight the heavy earth is falling
away from all other stars in the loneliness.

We're all falling. This hand here is falling.
And look at the other one. It's in them all.

And yet there is Someone, whose hands
infinitely calm, holding up all this falling.

And then there was light...

2008-05-05T11:49:00.000-07:00

Stubborn Yours Truly: 'I will not!!!!!'
Hapless Parents: 'But you have to!!!'
SYT, nearing desperation: 'But...but...I'll look like every other nerdy teenager I know!!!'
HP, playing trump card: 'Um...all your friends who wear glasses should hear that...wait till we tell them...Muhahaha!!'

And so I had to concede. Might as well join the 'nerds' if I had to laugh along with them, I figured (I beg forgiveness from my fellow honorary members of the bespectacled-society) I mean, it couldn't be ALL that bad now, could it?? As I realised, of course, it could.

Instead of being able to properly 'eye' the doc (who happened to be fairly decent eye-candy, at least in a dude-starved town like Veyil-oor) there I was blinking with dilated pupils -like a fish out of water- at the chart on the wall. Considering I couldn't read anything more than the second line, the following ten minutes included a lecture from Doc Oc (oh I'm notorious with puns, I assure you) about the dangers of having only 50% vision in one eye (Damn!), advice against wearing contact lenses in my dust-bowl town (Double-Damn!!) and the benefits of 'green leafy veggies' (-screams and runs in the opposite direction-)

The next moment found me with Dad (the god-sent ridiculer of innocent spectacles-first-timers) looking at a variety of 'second-eyes'. While Yours Truly would've preferred something more Priety-Zinta-ish, she had to settle for Daddy dearest's choice- a simple, almost invisible pair, which according to the parent makes his little girl look 'cute, sophisticated, and professional'...heck, you gotta love well-meaning parents :) Suppressing giggles at my predicament, we walked out of the hospital...only to be hit square in the face (or eyes) by the world- WHAM! and the trees seemed greener, the sky bluer, the birds larger...you get the drift. Now here was a true case of 'the blind leadeth the blind' as we set out on the drive back home...one set of dilated and disillusioned pupils trying to help the other pair navigate the manic mid-day road rash and read traffic lights (Was that red?? Gee, I could've sworn it was green!!!)

Well, here I sit, five days and several certifications of geekiness later, gaping at a psychedelic treble-clarified technicolour world through a pair of lenses...for all my cribbing, it's amazing how well I can see now!! Thank god for corrective spectacles...and for friends who readily welcome you into the exclusive geek/nerd/belb clubs with outstretched arms and a big laugh at you :)

Now this is a beautiful woman... :)

2008-04-30T03:03:00.000-07:00

Truth, Beauty, and all that jazz...

2008-04-24T04:38:00.000-07:00

The few attempts I've made at poetry...enjoy!!

* untitled

As the spiral of defacement begins,
spraying you with bitter, stinging, oily essence,
bright carrot hue reveals the fragility of spongy white.
Clinging to each part with the strength of a molded mask to a face.
Underneath the lacy network,
a glimpse of the many faces,
each the same, but different.
Isolate the first, peer into the crowd of juicy teardrops
through the translucent veil,
thin white lines marking its road trips.
Sweet flood of glacial cold,
taste energy, laughter, clowns, sunrises, you.
Discover each segment, every pregnant pod of flavour and aroma.
Watch it fall apart, come undone.
And while the hillock of seeds grows in the valley of your palm,
see and savour that the orange is you.

* The sound of butterflies

Can you hear it?
The sound of the butterflies.
As you stand enveloped in colour.
Shreds of black, orange, red, blue swirl around you
In a short-lived burst of wind.
Do you listen to their voices?
Their water-droplet whispers, their feng shui tinkles.
As they sing of life as they know it, only for a day.
The grand, subtle opera of here and now.

* Insomnia

Two a.m. feels like peace.
The noise of thought echoes in the silence of reality.
Only you hear its clangs and jingles, making its way around
the still room of your mind.
You, awake to the music.
Hoot, creak and distant siren.
Invading your private recording room,
interrupting your symphony of ideas.
Listening to the dreams of your neighbour
as they float through the walls to you.
The music of sleep is rock, pop, hard metal, gospel.
Blaring all around you.
Are you listening?

* Remembrance

She faces the sea
and remembers.
The breeze teases her hair
throwing each strand out into a frenzy.
It traces the waves
the crests and falls
the highs and lows.
It dries the salt water drops
flicks them away.
She remembers the desert
the sand and the fossil
the thorn and the snake.
The wind stings
At the wrinkled edge of her eye.
She breathes in the years
the faces and the voices
the sound and the light
so new, so ancient.
The horizon curves before her
a shimmering blue arc.
Strands of bright white hair
whip around the stained cheek.
The wind whispers in her ear
the stories of the past
of lonely lands.
familiar silhouettes,
a known time.
It scribbles its patterns
ribbons and squiggles
on the shifting canvas.
The wind spells out the tale
And she remembers.

* Memoirs of a nose

She arrives when I least expect it.
In the middle of the day, thoughts in suspended flight
as the world swirls around.
A handkerchief flicked across my nose, and she is here with me.
I hear her laugh at my jokes.
See her holding my hand through the window of the train.
Taste the grain of rice she wiped off the corner of my mouth.
Feel the warm comfort of her skin against mine.
Create her being through every other sense, and seat her next to me.
Mama is remembered, is missed, is here.
Smell. The most potent.
Handkerchiefs carry the fragrance of memory.

* Queue

Turn and look at it wind into the horizon behind you.
Second in line.
Heart glowing with smug satisfaction.
Throw smirk at the last one, silent laugh at his misfortune.
Triumph of patience, punctuality, perseverance.
Oaths muttered under breath.
‘Next’. Inch closer in anticipation,
palms sweating, smile widening, loud sigh.
Then, a bell, a yell. ‘Lunch break!’
Handwritten cardboard snaps with finality
at the slot in the murky glass.
‘Closed for lunch’.
The orchestra of groans begins.
You are the conductor at its head, lead on.

* Requiem for a life

The sun glares up at me
from the granite glass of the tombstone.
White sky reflected
blinding.
In the movies
it rains on days like these.
I see the flowers stained
with the cement
from the fresh grave beside his.
I stand now in black
when it should have been white lace.
Hold jasmine strings
when it should have been roses.
It was supposed to be me
not him.
I should have stood still
should have stayed silent.
I screamed too soon
he moved too early.
An orange speck
flutters around my head.
They say butterflies
bring good luck.
What brings hope?
I look down at a life
that would have been half of mine.
At a dead heart
that would have beaten with mine
till death do us part.
No festive crowd
mills around us.
The absent music begins
in the distance
and stops.
To live
after the death of love
is silence.

* Hope

I look up at the sky,
night laughing down with starry freckles and bright yellow clown’s nose,
see my days stretched out before me,
a vast deep ocean,
the grand aquarium of hopes and dreams,
promise fills me and sends me soaring to the skies.
Ten years from now,
I will look up again and see this same night,
reminding me of my old, hopeful self.
Would I believe how far I’ve come?

Er...Um...I've been Tagged???

2008-04-24T03:05:00.000-07:00

Well well well...so I have!! Thanks Jan, Atomic, Rini and whoever else got me on the circuit, haven't been keeping track :) Lots of people have told me I keep surprising them with who I am, though I've always thought my life's quite an open book...oh well, let me actually get down to thinking about any 'quirky' things about the self... :)

First, the rules:
- Post the rules on your blog.
- Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.
- Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.
- Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.

Here goes...

I don't eat eggs...ever since I found a piece of egg-shell in my food when I was two.
I love spending time lining colour pencils or crayons up in their boxes according to the colour spectrum order...and will deliberately mix them up in order to do this...
As much as I rant about hating my big ears...I actually love them immensely :)
I don't like to cry...yeah I know, who does?...but I avoid it as much as possible...can count the number of times I've cried in the past few years, and they're very few... :)
I live in mortal fear of waxing.
I love to dance. Not many people know that... :)

Whew...yay!!! Did anyone mention that tagging gets you thinking about yourself?? Hmmm...... :)

P.s. All the people I've wanted to tag have been tagged already, so...!

The Lack of Lacrimation...and its consequences

2008-04-02T22:52:00.000-07:00

The end of college life, and the only question on everyone's lips...'have you cried yet?' Aarrrgghh!!!! Why does a farewell have to mean tears? Yes, I do agree that the sight of a thousand outgoing Stella Marian faces illuminated by candlelight is a 'sight to behold', but why cry and snuff the candles out into dark oblivion?? Doesn't feeling like you have an iron box weighing down your stomach qualify as sadness? Isn't it enough to roam around college with out-of-focus eyes, gazing at the hitherto-hated resident cat with a sudden nostalgia-fuelled fondness? I can still remember my twelfth standard farewell programme: fifty odd seventeen-year-olds sobbing in unison like some 'tear chorus', in (of all the places!) the school bus on the last ride home...and of course, the fifty odd also included one tear-challenged 'yours truly' who was met with stares that said 'Aren't you feeling sad at all??' Well, in my defense, all I can say is that I hate saying goodbye as much as the next 'senti-Mustafa-Mustafa singing candle-waver', but does it really matter if I don't show it by crying??

This, however, would be a good time to serve the clincher. I did nearly cry this time...just yesterday in fact. Mind you, not 'cried', but 'nearly cried', as in 'the welling up but not spilling over' of tears from ze eyes (ha, you sadists who almost began rejoicing...I did not cry! nya nya nya...) And where, you may ask, did this almost earth-shattering event take place? In an auto. To be precise, in one of the most enjoyable auto rides I've been in, returning to hostel from 'Le Git Farewell Party', the auto being driven by this auto-kaaran who for some reason insisted on executing perfect zig-zags on a perfectly straight road. And who slowed down after glancing in the rear-view mirror and seeing a pair of eyes brimming with tears :)

So much for nostalgia.......sigh... :)

The monsters under your bed...

2008-01-21T03:51:00.000-08:00

...come in all shapes and sizes, as I found out at three in the morning one test-week night. I woke to the sound of something brushing against the wire-mesh of my window (which, at first sight, evokes images of a maximum security prison) and then thumping against the steel edge of the bed (which, at first sight, evokes images of a morbid hospital) The only thing that flashed through my mind was: snake (a possibility, considering the gaping holes in the mesh, though none of them are big enough to let a snake through...but hey, when you hear something animal-esque moving around your room at night, the imagination tends to take off on a marathon!) After the preliminaries of exorcising myself, the mattress,the pillow and the walls with several crosses and numerous novenas, a careful straining of the ears revealed that the monster made walking noises, thereby causing a momentary wave of relief as I recalled never having studied about any 'walking snakes' in school. Finally, realising that I could not spend the rest of the night creating horror movie plots around 'the thing' that stalked the room like it owned the place, I mustered up the remnants of my courage to open my eyes (note that all this time the eyes were closed in mortal fear!) and apprehend the villain...Several acrobatic stunts later (read: having to balance on the edge of the bed and switch the light on for fear of placing feet on ground and stepping on the evil marauder...heh yes, I'm a pathetic coward if you haven't figured it out already) I peered through squinted eyes at the white mass in the corner, preparing myself for 'apocalypse now'.

A cat.

More precisely, Elizabeth Arden Rossetti, 'Resident Evil' of the SMC campus, a fat fur ball whose primary occupation involves scavenging scraps of mess food after dinner. As much as I adore members of the feline species, at that precise moment, bleary-eyed from the lack of sleep and the preceding gruesome hallucinations, all I wanted to do was transform into Cruella De Vil of the '101 Cats' and turn this pestilence into a fur coat (just kidding, don't kill me PETA!) 'CatWoman', however, had no ill feelings whatsoever, and even executed a perfect Bambi-eyed 'I'm an innocent kitty-cat' look at me after she was ejected into the hallway outside my door. Appearences, my friends, are deceptive...I warn you...

Though I still spend sleepless nights wondering how she got into my room in the first place, one thing is certain: monsters under my bed be warned, the self is henceforth a force to be reckoned with!!!! Muhahahahaha.....(evil laugh) Do not mess with moi!!

P.S. I can almost swear E.A.R. shoots me evil looks everytime we cross paths... :O

Carpe Diem

2008-01-09T01:44:00.000-08:00

An editorial I wrote for the college's online newspaper...

You wake up one morning and realise that the last slice of cake has vanished, the tinsel has been taken down, the last notes of 'Auld Lang Syne' have faded, and that 365 days have just passed you by in a hazy flash. And things don't get better when you find it hard to come to terms with the fact that this is your final year in Stella Maris! For the third years, the last three months in college see old photos are being unearthed and laughed over, local hangouts being revisited for the memories, and uncertain futures being discussed. Never mind that the 'countdown to our escape from the confines of college' is on everyone's lips...the pangs of leaving an environment you've made a second home in definitely beats every adventurous dream of rushing out into the big bad world!

Half a year from now, most of us will have the dreaded 'ex' before 'Stella Marian'...though some of us might choose to remain in our Alma Mater, the rest will sigh as they fill in post-graduate and job applications with 'institution last studied in: Stella Maris, Chennai'. All I can say, my fellow graduates-in-waiting, is that when you write the name of your college, do it with pride; when you tell someone where you studied, say it with the conviction of having enjoyed your three years here. Because the best gift you can give back to your college is to be grateful for it. Of course, you might belong to that famous and well-populated league of students who hate everything about the institution they're in, and for whom every college other than Stella 'rocks'. But the truth is, like you remember all your school teachers telling you, that 'later' is when you will realise how big a part of your life Stella was.

That said (or rather, that 'lecture' given!), it's time to jump right back into the routine of CA's and assignment deadlines...what better than to enjoy the madness while it lasts!

Stars and Scars...

2007-12-17T23:26:00.000-08:00

Another 'only co-ed intercollegiate cultural event in the whole city' has come and gone. And while the con'stella'tion of Aquilae fades away into hibernation until next year, the mere mortals behind the scenes who toiled to pull it off (read 'emaciated Union members') stand back and review their battle scars and trophies. Apart from the few 'Please let us in, we are good boys!' from desperadoes at the entrance, lack of food and drink for 48 hours, new records set in 'running in saris marathons', and having to deal with accidental abscondings of 'celebrities', the two days of madness and fun can be declared to have been quite 'peachy' :) That said, here's to the next band of warriors who will take over from us in the new year- we recommend equipping the self with large quantities of food as the best means of preparing for 'Aquilae 2008' ;) As they say, reach for the stars, you might just hit a tree if you're lucky!

Train To Tambaram...and other misadventures...

2007-12-06T03:52:00.000-08:00

Things that can go wrong on a suburban train trip to participate in the intercollegiate culturals of 'an institution deep in the woods':

Depositing train tickets with a quiz team-mate who's on the train that left before yours, resulting in sheepish apologies to ticket collector, 'image damage' and 'SMC maanam killing' on crowded Chennai Metro transport system.
Realising that one has been holding on to the ceiling railing of the train with a gaping hole in one's under-arm region of kurta.
Having to find one's way through five security guards, a frustrating turn-stile gate and a two-inch layer of muddy slush to the registration desk at the 'institution's' entrance.

Things that actually went wrong on a suburban train trip to participate in the intercollegiate culturals of 'an institution deep in the woods':

All of the above.

And things that went well to compensate for all the things that actually went wrong on a suburban train trip to participate in the intercollegiate culturals of 'an institution deep in the woods':

Winning 2000 bucks from generous 'institution' in the woods.
Enjoying the train ride back home in relative peace.
Serendipity of finding a safety pin on the floor of quiz venue to close the above-mentioned 'gaping hole in kurta'.

Ah, life.... :)

Those litle things called 'Words'...

2007-11-26T03:30:00.000-08:00

This past week has been all about them. From marveling at how Rukmini Bhaya Nair uses them with such adroitness, to thinking about and struggling for the right words to say. Sometimes you wish a thesaurus was built into your brain. And the whole concept of language: like in Sujata Bhatt's poem 'Search for My Tongue', or in the lyrics of a Black Eyed Peas song that combines many languages. The alphabet is such a powerful thing; words create the world...and yet we use them everyday like disposable tissues. When will we learn to treasure them more and to make use of them in a progressive way? That's why there's poetry, i guess :)

What now...the 'Blank Screen Syndrome'???

2007-11-16T11:47:00.000-08:00

Warning: Momentary lapse of the sanity of the blogger follows...

Well, I've heard of writer's block hitting someone faced with the daunting prospect of a blank page, but a blank screen? Here I am, looking at one...spotless,crystal-clear,clean,Colgate-white (which is a metaphor that leaves a lot to doubt considering I've seen no improvement in the 'cream' shades of my teeth!) But teeth can wait for another day-today I'm thinking about 'bloggers-block'. Then again,who am I kidding...I'm neither a writer nor a blogger, as is quite evident!! But self-delusions are acceptable to the vain self, last time i checked, so, ahem, to get on with it. Where was I? Ah yes,the blank screen. (I can't believe how well I've perfected the art of digression. I mean, just look at how many times I've rambled on into something else in the previous sentences! Oh whoops,here I go again...what can I say,I'm incorrigible) Since the whole point of this post is to fill the screen up with words, I'm actually succeeding in my mission, aren't I??

...cough...cough...OKAY...stretching arms out, sitting up in seat, rubbing out boredom from bleary eyes and getting down to writing about Blank Screen Syndrome. Right.

See what I mean???

Thank you for wasting your time...didn't want to be the only one doing it ;)

The Bard and Me...

2007-09-02T02:46:00.000-07:00

Shakespeare. The sound of this very same name a year ago would have sent tremors through my already muddled brain. Now, after half a semester of Othello and King Henry IV, Part I ( As You Like It looms on the near horizon), and a very passionate course teacher to boot, the above-mentioned muddled brain turns to the self and screams in surprise: "You and Shakespeare???". Yes, me and Shakespeare. I can't believe that I once thought his plays to be nothing but gibberish gobbledygook! The realisation now dawns that the gobbledygook resides only in the minds of ignorant fools like 'yours truly' who refuse to put some effort into unravelling the beauty of Shakespeare's plays. At the end of every class, I can't help but be floored by his wit, his awesome multi-faceted characters, and the colour and brilliance of his verse. Picture a group of bard-struck Lit-Gits gaping at me, the new Shakespeare follower in class...that's how hard I've fallen! Here's to a lasting relationship between us, my dear Will...Thou art wise as thou art beautiful... ;)

All That Mush... ;-)

2007-08-23T01:50:00.001-07:00

Admit it. You've seen atleast one, haven't you? Haven't you succumbed to the 'awww' factor at the end of it? Haven't you walked away with a smile on your face, thinking 'how dumb!', and yet, 'how cute!'? Admit it, I say. I hereby pledge my solidarity in upholding the cause of romantic comedies, those so-called 'chick-flicks' that have been so overdone you can almost begin your own career in scripting them. Love 'em or hate 'em, you can't hide from 'em (heck, that actually sounded like a dialogue from one these movies...I've caught the love-bug, yikes!!)

The reason I've suddenly sprung into action to protect mush movies from slander and extinction is because, well, they're just so darn cute! Perfect handsome dude and perfect pretty girl have a 'meet cute', perfect series of unfortunate (and hilarious) events follow, perfect serendipity, perfect roses, perfect lighting, perfect music, perfect kiss...and TA DA!! There's your mush movie!! Of course, there are several moments at which you wish you had more foreheads to slap in exasperation and more butter popcorn to overcome the on-screen 'cornyness', but who cares? They're supposed to be that way! I mean, romantic comedies are the perfect way to escape reality...two hours of believing in 'true love and destiny' is a good dose for any healthy Homo sapien, wouldn't you say? Besides, with some pretty decent comic relief, almost always gorgeous actors (actors I say, who cares bout the heroines??) and beautiful locales (usually Central Park or somewhere in Europe), some romantic comedies are actually pretty good movie experiences!

Yeah right, you say. Oh just go and watch one, you damn cynic!!

P.S. My LIST: The Holiday,Sweet Home Alabama, You've Got Mail, The Wedding Planner, Music and Lyrics, Shall We Dance, Kate and Leopold, One Fine Day, In Her Shoes, Just Like Heaven, Shallow Hal, Just My Luck, Win a Date With Tad Hamilton!, The Princess Diaries, Serendipity, Sleepless in Seattle, Never Been Kissed, While You Were Sleeping... wow, big list eh ;)

Seeing Double...

2007-08-14T04:38:00.001-07:00

Why are we all hypocrites? Why do we have two sides? Why does everything have two sides? Why confuse the world with black and white, shades of grey even? Why be different with different people? How do we all possess the immense potential to pretend, and yet only identify it in everyone else? How can I ask myself 'Who am I' when I'm not sure myself? What is 'I'?

H.A.P.P.Y.

2007-07-21T13:23:00.000-07:00

A while ago Ames went around pestering everyone to tell her what their idea of happiness was. The answer I gave the poor persisting soul at that time was something on the lines of 'being alone on a cliff overlooking the sea, with my favourite books and music'. Although I wouldn't change my answer now, I've been thinking about it. About happiness, that is. If it were something that easy to realise and define I wouldn't need to be writing this post. 'Life, the universe and everything' wouldn't have to exist to make me happy. Coldplay could stop singing. Hans Zimmer could stop composing. I wouldn't need my family. I wouldn't need soiltude. Chicken wouldn't have to end up fried on my plate. Hills and rain could stop being if they wanted to. There could be a complete absence of colour, music, love, time and words, and I wouldn't care. Because I'd be happy. The question here, though, is how I got to be being 'happy' without any of the above. Damn, if I knew the answer to that..............

Sloth...

2007-07-08T03:45:00.000-07:00

Laziness...aimlessly wandering around...being just plain BLAH...the reasons for my absence in the blog-world ;(

View from the top...

2007-06-05T12:24:00.000-07:00

Terraces are God's gift to all seekers of perspective. To sit in the silent company of friends watching a technicolour sunset is my new-found joy ;-)

Ho ho ho, and a bottle of rum!!

2007-06-05T11:45:00.000-07:00

There's something about the words 'Black Pearl', 'pirate', 'treasure', 'curse', 'Davy Jones', and 'rum' that excites the mind. To present the one precise synonym, Captain Jack Sparrow! I discovered new limits to which I could stretch the yelling capacity of my lungs during my first ever first-day-first-show movie(that's a lot of firsts!)- nothing less than 'Pirates of the Caribbean:At World's End'!! What better way to start the new month than with a hearty four-hour dose of Depp and Bloom...and one is pleased to note that contrary to all the trashy reveiws one has read, one thinks it a fine end to the awesome trilogy ;-) I also broke my own record for popcorn snorting via hysterical laughing, particularly at the fight scenes and the hilarious marriage-during-the-maelstrom bit...oh, suffice to say that there were just too many loony things happening in successive frames to keep the laughter coming! Not to forget the guys who went 'Aye!' at the end of Keira's bollywoody speech ;-)

All in all, methinks am ready to keep the 'patthu rubas' ready for encore shows...of course, the after-credits scene we missed is an added incentive to get 'hooked' all over again!! Here we go again Captain Sparrow...Bring me that horizon ;-)

Endings...

2007-05-29T22:35:00.000-07:00

As Ms. Furtado rightly declares, all good things must come to an end...as must this roller-coaster ride of an internship ;-) I've learnt so much in the span of this one month, about people and places and just life in general. Not to mention the reaping of keen journalism skills and a sense of Chennai bus routes in the process!! I guess it's made me more confident and ready to face challenges, as I should be in the year ahead-but that's another story, would rather think about it when I'm in a real mood for responsibility ;-) And here's to my worthy compatriots Bentley and Ames, who braved the travails of this noble month-long news quest with me, and who comprised a formidable support system when yours truly was in need of laughter or encouragement...dank yous my dahlings ;-) That goes for Mother Goose too, who guided us(in single file, no less!) through the jungles of Anna Nagar ;-) Of course, no true Oscarish thank-you speech(as this is turning out to be...) would be complete without mention of the silent warrior in absence, our dear Gunther...we missed you git, and we shall avenge thy great spirit by plotting a good revenge on Seven Hills, never fear!!! And now, before they start booing me off the stage, farewell from the Indian express...loved every moment of it!!! ;-)

My first by-line!!!

2007-05-26T03:50:00.000-07:00

Am now an officially published writer!!! Take a peek at my first article on comfort versus fashion in the Indian Express...Cheers!!

Grin and Wear It...

Have you ever had to endure the torture of a painful balancing act on high
heels for an entire day, just to make an impression at a college event? Or
are you one of those people who insists on rummaging through the bargains in
Pondy Bazaar to find yourself a simple yet cheap and comfortable T-shirt
for college wear? The war between comfort and fashion in varsity attire has
been raging since the day someone came to campus dressed in `uncool'
clothes. Heated debates and mini battles in classrooms and canteens have
revolved around the topic of who's wearing what and whether they keep up
with the latest trends. While most students would argue that comfort
clothing is a priority, a sizeable section of the college crowd also
believes that a good fashion sense is a necessity to make a good impression.
As Vaishnavi Prathap, an economics student puts it,"Comfort is definitely
important, but so is fashion to a certain extent...it's important to try and
strike a sensible balance betweeen the two."

Picture a typical day in college: the eye-catchers are a brightly coloured
group, dressed in the latest designer labels and perfectly fitted jeans; the
nondescript bunch are in their casual best of old T-shirts and week-old
jeans; and the ones who manage to strike that elusive balance are, well, a
rare species who are hard to detect. But with all the pressure on looking
good and staying off the fashion blunder radar, how does a student cope with
this dilemma? Ashwini Poovaiah, a literature student, says,"Wearing clothes
that you are comfortable in gives you the confidence to carry them off, and
that's what really matters." Bhargavi Narayanan supports this view,
saying,"Comfortable clothes help me be myself...I've stopped judging people
by their attire because it doesn't always reflect one's personality."

So does comfort suffice in the confusing field of dressing well for
college? Not really. Sajna Anand, an engineering student, believes that
clothes have to be as trendy as they are comfortable, because no one would
enjoy getting laughed at on campus for `shabby' dressing. Natesh, also an
engineering student, insists,"Comfort is the key-word for me, but at the
same time, I wouldn't want to end up on campus in bell-bottoms." With so
much emphasis on being well dressed, one can only spare a thought of
sympathy for the unsuspecting teenagers caught in the middle of this amusing
conundrum!

Be it the criticism you've given another hapless soul on campus about
their `wardrobe malfunctions', or if you've been a victim of the fashion
police yourself, the battle lines between comfort and fashion will continue
to get drawn-all you can do is prepare to fight!

P.S. So love this illustration ;-)

Webslingers and journalists...

2007-05-26T03:35:00.000-07:00

Now that's a bad combination. Even if Peter Parker(now a cool-walking, jazz dancing, bad hairdo cry-baby) is a photojournalist for the Daily Bugle. Consider the plight of four unsuspecting interns sitting in the first row of hard-bottomed seats in Sathyam(ow my bum hurts...what do you expect for patthu ruba?) for a screening of the spectacle called 'Spiderman 3', trying hard not to spew the rest of the poor crowd with popcorn and Pepsi in their efforts to contain serious bursts of laughter! Don't get me wrong, I'm as die-hard a Spidey fan as anybody else, but when our 'silanthi-manithan' starts clanging metal rods and cathedral bells to ward off alien substances, you really begin to wonder if you should try your hand at script-writing! Am almost ready to think K3G required less drying of the eyes...and that's saying a lot! Ah well, there were rays of sunshine like James Franco, who managed to sustain us with a mere smile(lovelorn sighs again...) and eventually fell prey to the crappy script himself by dying!!! Anyway, the ten rupee incentive makes sad experiences like this worthwhile, if only for the laughs ;-) Godspeed Spiderman!

Of massages, fainting fits and Mother Gooses...

2007-05-21T05:29:00.000-07:00

Well, suffice to say that it's been a week of 'happenings'...it was discovered that Bentley, hitherto trustworthy member of the Dustland warriors, has loaned her precious name to a woman apprehended in a 'massage parlour' raid,a noteworthy happening that the interns were sent on the trail of-need I say that we were all shocked and deemed it our duty to embarrass her for the rest of the week with repetive narrations of this incident ;-) Of course, Ames has also had her fair share of excitement by nearly catapulting out of a bus while executing a sway in the process of a faint-though she will insist that she did NOT faint ;-) Ah well, lucky for her,her loyal fellows were around to escort the daint mademoiselle under a parasol...we await a reward madame!!! Meanwhile, the warriors have also had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of a certain sweet child named 'Mother Goose', another intern trapped in the dusty portals of the Express, who has been a source of entertainment and company through the above-mentioned occurences...thanks for all the good times 'Pied Piper'(Mama Goose's other avatar)!!

Yours truly has, in the midst of all this, been loving life ;-) She has enjoyed the fruits of bein an out-n-about reporter in this hallowed city of Chennai by havin one of her articles on the recalibration of meters in autos and the enforcing of seatbelt wearing in cars published, a piece of news she scooped up as an exclusive...how's that for 'breaking news'? Of course, Pyne's parents were thrilled with the daughter's small achievement(aaawwww...), albeit minor disappointment on the side of the father regarding the seatbelt news, he bein the 'man around whom no seatbelt can stretch',he he he...sorry Pa ;-) Pyne has also fallen hard and deep for the hunk named James Franco (lovelorn sighs all around...)...yes I know, her eye candy preferences change by the week ;-) As you can see, life's good...now onto attacking the Features department...unleash the creativity fellow Gits!!!! Cheerio...

A week of sorts...

2007-05-14T00:07:00.000-07:00

Well,the fact that my post is a week late should inform the world of the current state of affairs in the lives of these demented interns. Let's just say that I've never had such a packed week before,the word to note here being 'packed' ;-) Bus surfin has gained a whole new world of meaning with Pyne(yours truly), Ames and Bentley gettin a taste of how sardines feel stuffed in their cans...not to mention the chennai city tours that we've gained as a bonus from being completely clueless reporters! One needs to find a map pronto,methinks ;-)

Of course, there were the rays of sunshine...like enjoyin gourmet treats such as cinnamon toast, cinnamon coffee n bhel puri(super combo,eh?) in Prince Hunk's domain...or desperately fishing for eye candy in the deserted plains of dear Ambattur,and eventually findin it closer to home,here in sunday mass(yes i know,I'm a shameless sinner,I'll go confess now!)...oh,and how can I forget that insanely handsome bloke named Jude law,who the three of us absolutely drooled over during re-runs of 'The Holiday' ;-) credit also goes to Mr.Law for sustaining us through the week with the lovely 'Gumption', and providing us with endless hours of swapping love stories,real and hopeful ones,much to the amusement of fellow bus surfers ;-)

And now,let us take a solemn moment to salute the three knighties in trembling armour, those heroines who bravely part ways every morning and step out into the chennai veyyil with looks of utter bewilderment uopn their pretty faces, furiously urging their brain cells to help them navigate their ways across the labyrinthine paths of this hallowed city...here's to us,my fellow interns in confusion...may we emerge from our travails victorious,albeit with a nice tan and fatigue to boot ;-) Cheers!!!

Four interns and a dust bowl called Ambattur...

2007-05-04T23:56:00.000-07:00

It all begins with a bus...and ends with one as well. In between is the veyyil of chennai( which requires no description), the 'scenic' landscape of a lost world called Ambattur(the very same 'dust bowl' as above) and four very clueless, extremely harrassed, fresh of the second year paavam Lit-Gits...it doesn't get quite better than this! The first three days of our internship at the Indian Express( or rather, two days of work and a day off!!) have been nothing less than pure adventure and fun ;-) From figuring out which bus to take to our beloved destination, to practising the highly acclaimed art of 'bus surfing' within the valiant steeds that transport us there, we're loving every minute of it...not to mention foraging for the smallest trace of a delicious morsel in the slightly empty canteen!! Ah well, only 27 days more of this...who wouldn't be excited?? ;-) Watch this space for more updates from the Interns from the Indie Express...for now,it's off to the next big scoop**!!!

**Lunch, that is ;-)

New journeys...

2007-04-26T13:58:00.000-07:00

Well, here's to another blog...may it live longer than my other beloved blog-babies which now enjoy eternal rest in blog-heaven...er,didn't mean to be so macabre, babies n death n all... ;-P well what the hell, you get the idea!!! Cheers...WILL BE REGULAR THIS TIME***!!!!

*** conditions apply ;-)