There is something so magical about the new year... as if you've been given a fresh new page to write your history. And everything you do during the year will be about the choices that you made, both conscious and otherwise. It literally feels like turning over a new leaf!
This year, for once I have made a couple of resolutions. For starters, I have decided to take time out for myself for things that I like to do and ought to do! Also, I have resolved to work harder ( the most difficult one to keep, I'm a lazy ass). And surprisingly, now that I've joined the gym and have started going for music classes, even though 24 hours is still 24 hours, it seems like I'm packing a lot in one punch. I'm liking the fact that parts of my brain (and body) that I haven't used in years are now creaking to life! And even though it's only been a week, I feel a renewed sense of energy, maybe because I'm doing what I love. If only I found time to write as well...
As I settle in for an hour's music class everyday, I'm starting with the very basics, the ABCs of Carnatic music, which I'd learnt 15 years ago. And its so thrilling to exercise those vocal chords and hear yourself sounding a bit rusted and in need of tuning, but good nonetheless. What was once the bane of my existence back in school I'm willing to redo all over again as a woman... ironical, isn't it?
I see that I'm growing up one step at a time, and funnily it doesn't freak me out as much as it used to before. And at some level, New Years help you keep track of where you are and where you'd like to be. Especially this one.. 2012. In the sense, what if this were the last year for humanity? Then wouldn't you like to live this year like a rockstar? Doing things you've never done before... exploring places unseen... exotic tastes on the palette... and lots and lots of shopping! :)
Me
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Bangalored!
There is something about Bangalore that hits you as soon as you walk out of the airport. As you walk out and the sun envelopes you, while the wind plays with your hair and the Bangalore atmosphere engulfs you, you suddenly feel as if you have been away too long. There are so many things about the city that makes my heart grow fonder. Bangalore seems to take all that is nice in the other metros and put it all in its midst; live-and-let-live-ness of Bombay, the urban-ness of Delhi, the warmth-of-people of Chennai, without the hang-ups associated with all these cities.
As I cabbed it down from the airport, I couldn’t help sticking my head out of the window, the weather was glorious and I hadn’t hit the traffic jams yet. It was good to see so much green in the city, and every time I passed some personal landmark, I’d get excited, much to the cabbie’s amusement. As I passed through M.G Road, it was reassuring to see smartly dressed ‘Chinkies’ for the lack of a better word (they ‘layer’ like they were born with it). When I was going through 100 feet road in an auto (which went by the meter!!), I thankfully managed to squeeze in a massage which was just divine. Passing by J P Nagar brought back memories of college and the care-free days when we would have no money but all the time to do everything. As I hung out in the CCD which we favored back then, I called my college friends and reminisced about the good times spent there. And then, at night, met a bunch of best friends, totally dressed up and partied like there was no tomorrow. Bangalore does that to you. Despite the fact that the bureaucracy deems that you party only till 12 PM, there is something about the ambience of the place… the freedom in the people that makes you want to make an ass of yourself, simply because no one really cares! It is liberating to dress up in clothes that make you look chic, without having 100 eyes mentally undressing you. Men do give you a look-over in Bangalore, but it isn’t in a way to make you uncomfortable. The lifestyle may be expensive, but the night’s priceless.
Even though I had a pitiable 2 days to experience all of Bangalore, I missed a lot of things on my agenda; living it up in HRC, working the hangover at Koshy’s, enjoying jazz at Take 5, pigging my heart out at Nandini’s, the list is endless…
But Bangalore isn’t just about the big things; it’s as much about the small things. It’s about the fact that you can get an auto at most times of the night, and quite safely at that. It’s about enjoying a hot cup of tea at Chai Patti, sitting cozily under their awning, watching the rain and thinking about how you miss the city. It is about the perfect Maggi that you get, topped with Bhajis and momos and curbing the urge to go across to the UCB store. It is about seeing so much good fashion on the streets, from tubes to jumpsuits to shrugs to accessories. It’s about getting up in the morning and convincing yourself that you need another 5 minutes of sleep, simply because the weather outside is so amazing.
Bangalore may be given grief about being such a confusion of cultures, but I think that’s exactly what it is about the city that makes it work. Because, it takes all the good things of these cultures and makes it a wholly new one, making the city a pleasure to live in. As I chug out of Majestic, I vow to be back, hopefully sooner than later…
As I cabbed it down from the airport, I couldn’t help sticking my head out of the window, the weather was glorious and I hadn’t hit the traffic jams yet. It was good to see so much green in the city, and every time I passed some personal landmark, I’d get excited, much to the cabbie’s amusement. As I passed through M.G Road, it was reassuring to see smartly dressed ‘Chinkies’ for the lack of a better word (they ‘layer’ like they were born with it). When I was going through 100 feet road in an auto (which went by the meter!!), I thankfully managed to squeeze in a massage which was just divine. Passing by J P Nagar brought back memories of college and the care-free days when we would have no money but all the time to do everything. As I hung out in the CCD which we favored back then, I called my college friends and reminisced about the good times spent there. And then, at night, met a bunch of best friends, totally dressed up and partied like there was no tomorrow. Bangalore does that to you. Despite the fact that the bureaucracy deems that you party only till 12 PM, there is something about the ambience of the place… the freedom in the people that makes you want to make an ass of yourself, simply because no one really cares! It is liberating to dress up in clothes that make you look chic, without having 100 eyes mentally undressing you. Men do give you a look-over in Bangalore, but it isn’t in a way to make you uncomfortable. The lifestyle may be expensive, but the night’s priceless.
Even though I had a pitiable 2 days to experience all of Bangalore, I missed a lot of things on my agenda; living it up in HRC, working the hangover at Koshy’s, enjoying jazz at Take 5, pigging my heart out at Nandini’s, the list is endless…
But Bangalore isn’t just about the big things; it’s as much about the small things. It’s about the fact that you can get an auto at most times of the night, and quite safely at that. It’s about enjoying a hot cup of tea at Chai Patti, sitting cozily under their awning, watching the rain and thinking about how you miss the city. It is about the perfect Maggi that you get, topped with Bhajis and momos and curbing the urge to go across to the UCB store. It is about seeing so much good fashion on the streets, from tubes to jumpsuits to shrugs to accessories. It’s about getting up in the morning and convincing yourself that you need another 5 minutes of sleep, simply because the weather outside is so amazing.
Bangalore may be given grief about being such a confusion of cultures, but I think that’s exactly what it is about the city that makes it work. Because, it takes all the good things of these cultures and makes it a wholly new one, making the city a pleasure to live in. As I chug out of Majestic, I vow to be back, hopefully sooner than later…
Friday, April 8, 2011
I’m afraid, it’s the spleen!!!!!
From a non- doctor’s perspective, what doctors do awe most of us. In one sense, doctors do have that aura of superheroes, minus the underwear! Well, as a matter of fact, if you do start wearing your underwear outside your scrubs, maybe you wouldn’t look so intimidating to the rest of us. That and possibly the handwriting.
What is it with the handwriting? Is it part of the induction process? I can well imagine seniors in rounds telling the hapless junior “This is way too legible, this way, your patient will know whats wrong with him and will never come to you again. Here, this is how it’s done.” and scrawling away with a flourish! There isn’t a single doctor who I have gone to who has a readable font! Thankfully, chemists are so used to it, they have no issues in giving us the right medication (or so I’d like to believe)!
Coming back to the super-hero angle, if I were a doctor, I would definitely let it get to my head. I’m sure most doctors say that it is terrifying to have someone’s lives in your hands, but on the flip-side, doesn’t it give you a terrific high to play god?! Go on, admit it! Hell, when I fix the errant pipe in the wash area, I have a Moses-like moment and I’m eager for the trumpets to start. I can well imagine when you fix a person! Such a TADAAA moment! So if I were ever to wake up one day to find that I’ve suddenly transformed into a doctor (lets hope a good one at that.. gulp), I would first examine my hands. They will definitely look a lot more intellectual than they do now. And my face will have lines of maturity, of seeing days that could’ve been better. But me being me, would be more pompous than ever before, entering the big hospital where everyone is saluting me, having my own cabin where I hardly sit, giving a cursory glance to a chart and terming it as hypo-gleucemic-whatnotthatis! While the little nothings around me look up at me with an expression akin to discovering the disease! I have glasses perched on my head which I use to think more than to just see! And during rounds, throwing around instructions like arrows which hit the minions as they scurry to impart my words of wisdom! Aaaahhhh! What a life! I could get used to this!
My favourite doctor was one who treated me as a kid, who literally saw me grow from a fat little kid to a pudgy young woman! And every time, he would urge me to lose weight, all the while asking me what my favourite food item was! But that was what was amazing about him, he could relate to everyone. At rounds, he would talk just as easily to the mother of an auto-wallah as he would discuss cricket to a man suffering from piles. But that wasn’t the most amazing thing about him. He would talk you through the process of medication; he was one of the last standing ‘patient’ doctors we had.
One of the things which doctors must get from a patient perspective is to be patient (forgiving the pun). It makes a huge difference when we know what exactly is happening to us and how much it’s going to hurt. When I know it’s going to hurt a lot, I’d like to be prepared for it, like clutching a hand or even a chair handle if required! So even though, this is the 5700th appendectomy you have been performing, it is most definitely, our FIRST! With all due respect to how you save our lives every day, all of us have a hypochondriac streak in us that makes us believe that things are a lot more serious than they seem! So forgive us our little I’m-going-to-die-a-heroic-death act and be a little more patient with your patients.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
A bit of the Sun
Irony is god’s way of laughing at us. How else do you explain the things that we take most for granted, which when it’s over, is the time when you want it the most? Case in point, childhood! All I wanted to do as a child was to grow up and dress up and be all important. And all I want to do now is to crawl back into mama’s lap, or better still, get back in her stomach! Childhood… the time when everything is right… when we have a head full of worries that amount to nothing really… the time when decisions revolved around whether to have one or two mangoes a day… on which excuses to give for getting up late and how to drive people in the house nuts!
Much ado was made about how I was so poor in math, but not even the best of tuitions and summer camps and witchcraft could make me better at it. I still add the change given by the shopkeeper to the amount I’m supposed to give him instead of the usual subtraction!
A major chunk of my summer holidays were spent in Bombay. Yes, I am one of those who can only think of it as Bombay and not its corporate- sounding evil counterpart, Mumbai! And for this reason, Bombay for me was and still is a place to go to have fun! I had a whole extended family there, and going there for my summer hols was part of growing up. I used to look forward eagerly to the time when we would pack up for the trip, paying special emphasis on all my fashionable clothing, just so I could elicit oohs and aahs from my cousins in fashionable Bombay! And how we would share our clothes. Just as I would reach out to the then-fashionable yellow tights (gulp), my cuzz would want to wear the exact same thing! And then the screaming fit would start! And end only with all 3 cousins bawling our eyes out, the yellow tights forgotten in the melee!
As luck would have it, all 3 of us were of the short and plump variety (it’s a different thing, I’m the only one who’s still the same) and one of the summer endeavors were to have us learn to ride the cycle! And as convenience would have it, none of the parents in the house wanted to take up the arduous task and decided to leave it to the watchman’s son, who was a puny thing who was hardly 2 years older than us and probably a third of our individual weight! Every morning, as we were forced out of our bed, we would groggily go up to the Malayali cycle- borrowing shop and sheepishly ask for the cycles with the side stands. We would carefully wheel it back to our compound only to fall repeatedly again and yet again as we learnt the tricky art of cycling! And every morning, the poor chap teaching us would come to the door appealing to my grandmother that he can’t take it up anymore and that if either of us would fall on him, he would surely die of asphyxiation! My grandmother would chide him for overreacting only to shut the door and laugh till her false teeth clicked together!!!!
Those summer days were spent with gay abandon without a care for the morrow. Unless the morrow promised a trip to Juhu Beach or Fantasy Land, in which case we wouldn’t sleep for the sheer excitement of what was to come. Juhu Beach held its own charm, it was possibly the only time when we saw our parents having as much fun as we did jumping and sqealing as much as us, if not more theatrically!! There was something about the gentle lapping of waves, which seem to peel away their inhibitions, layer by layer. But we didn’t know that back then! Back then, it was just amusing to see our strict mothers holstering up their salwars and having the time of their lives! And having frolicked in the water for a couple of hours, our stomachs would be growling, waiting to be ravished by the riot of street food that was available on Juhu Beach! With the sun setting in the background, we would pop in Pani Pooris and Dabelis, mopping it up with the famous Pav Bhaji. The final item on the menu would be the mouth watering Malai Kulfis, eaten painstakingly slowly to ensure that they were not the first to finish! That night, as we hit the bed, we would incessantly talk about the height of the waves and the adventures that we had, until we dropped off to sleep out of sheer exhaustion.
The best part about summer holidays was that you got to sleep late and get up even later. Or so we thought until yet another endeavor cropped up… Art Class. So we would find ourselves at 7:30 AM in a small shed, with a bunch of equally dreary, droopy eyed kids who would be listlessly coloring the fruit/vegetable of the day! There were a couple of shining stars in the class; my youngest cuzz included, much to our irritation! She would proudly come back and show everyone her masterpiece when the middle one and me would desperately try to shut ourselves in the restroom at the exact same moment! When our art books were finally found and examined, oh the shame, the shame! Well it wasn’t really my fault if my hand refused to do what my brain instructed! I would start every page, thinking “This is it! This is going to be my masterpiece. ” But one mis-stroke would render it pointless, and frankly I was prone to getting bored very quickly. Soon, the middle one and I would have a competition about who could make the worst of it and once we tired of that, we would turn to the little one to see how we could spoil hers in turn! Sure we would go to hell for that, but it was well worth the effort!
Mangoes! To be more specific, Alphonsoes! The emperor of the king of fruits! And if anyone dare challenge that, I pity your childhood! What you do have a choice in, is the way you eat your alphonsoes. Whichever way you eat it, the rush that goes straight to the head as you take that first bite of the golden orb is beyond poetic verse. But that in itself was a process, first we had to make sure that we weren’t wearing anything that was too grand for fear of spilling. If we were, a large towel would be wrapped round us. We would then be given the chance of choosing our piece which would be heavily debated, scuffles sorted and mangoes distributed. We would then be given strict instructions that we were to sit tight on the ground and not move around while eating. That last instruction was uncalled for; even as children we knew the respect that the ‘emperor’ commanded while eating! I think it was possibly the only time when the house was silent for the most part as we savored every last bite.
3 girls in a community full of cricket crazy boys was no joke. Evenings would be spent in making teams of 2 to either play cricket or lagori (7 stones) with us girls being chosen as the last in the teams, Kacha-Pakka to put it mildly. Even then, I remember boasting to the other 2 saying that I’m the first to be chosen among the KPs!! Small mercy, that! I had exactly 1 moment of shining glory in cricket when I took one of the leading batsman’s wicket. Even that became a standing joke as one of the boys said I was yawning and stretching and the ball got caught in my hand! Still, I was Queen for a day!
Summertime was a time to do everything possible under the sun (pun intended). I don’t think we are yet to work the tan off! But then again, a totally wasted day was, in our opinion, a great day!
Much ado was made about how I was so poor in math, but not even the best of tuitions and summer camps and witchcraft could make me better at it. I still add the change given by the shopkeeper to the amount I’m supposed to give him instead of the usual subtraction!
A major chunk of my summer holidays were spent in Bombay. Yes, I am one of those who can only think of it as Bombay and not its corporate- sounding evil counterpart, Mumbai! And for this reason, Bombay for me was and still is a place to go to have fun! I had a whole extended family there, and going there for my summer hols was part of growing up. I used to look forward eagerly to the time when we would pack up for the trip, paying special emphasis on all my fashionable clothing, just so I could elicit oohs and aahs from my cousins in fashionable Bombay! And how we would share our clothes. Just as I would reach out to the then-fashionable yellow tights (gulp), my cuzz would want to wear the exact same thing! And then the screaming fit would start! And end only with all 3 cousins bawling our eyes out, the yellow tights forgotten in the melee!
As luck would have it, all 3 of us were of the short and plump variety (it’s a different thing, I’m the only one who’s still the same) and one of the summer endeavors were to have us learn to ride the cycle! And as convenience would have it, none of the parents in the house wanted to take up the arduous task and decided to leave it to the watchman’s son, who was a puny thing who was hardly 2 years older than us and probably a third of our individual weight! Every morning, as we were forced out of our bed, we would groggily go up to the Malayali cycle- borrowing shop and sheepishly ask for the cycles with the side stands. We would carefully wheel it back to our compound only to fall repeatedly again and yet again as we learnt the tricky art of cycling! And every morning, the poor chap teaching us would come to the door appealing to my grandmother that he can’t take it up anymore and that if either of us would fall on him, he would surely die of asphyxiation! My grandmother would chide him for overreacting only to shut the door and laugh till her false teeth clicked together!!!!
Those summer days were spent with gay abandon without a care for the morrow. Unless the morrow promised a trip to Juhu Beach or Fantasy Land, in which case we wouldn’t sleep for the sheer excitement of what was to come. Juhu Beach held its own charm, it was possibly the only time when we saw our parents having as much fun as we did jumping and sqealing as much as us, if not more theatrically!! There was something about the gentle lapping of waves, which seem to peel away their inhibitions, layer by layer. But we didn’t know that back then! Back then, it was just amusing to see our strict mothers holstering up their salwars and having the time of their lives! And having frolicked in the water for a couple of hours, our stomachs would be growling, waiting to be ravished by the riot of street food that was available on Juhu Beach! With the sun setting in the background, we would pop in Pani Pooris and Dabelis, mopping it up with the famous Pav Bhaji. The final item on the menu would be the mouth watering Malai Kulfis, eaten painstakingly slowly to ensure that they were not the first to finish! That night, as we hit the bed, we would incessantly talk about the height of the waves and the adventures that we had, until we dropped off to sleep out of sheer exhaustion.
The best part about summer holidays was that you got to sleep late and get up even later. Or so we thought until yet another endeavor cropped up… Art Class. So we would find ourselves at 7:30 AM in a small shed, with a bunch of equally dreary, droopy eyed kids who would be listlessly coloring the fruit/vegetable of the day! There were a couple of shining stars in the class; my youngest cuzz included, much to our irritation! She would proudly come back and show everyone her masterpiece when the middle one and me would desperately try to shut ourselves in the restroom at the exact same moment! When our art books were finally found and examined, oh the shame, the shame! Well it wasn’t really my fault if my hand refused to do what my brain instructed! I would start every page, thinking “This is it! This is going to be my masterpiece. ” But one mis-stroke would render it pointless, and frankly I was prone to getting bored very quickly. Soon, the middle one and I would have a competition about who could make the worst of it and once we tired of that, we would turn to the little one to see how we could spoil hers in turn! Sure we would go to hell for that, but it was well worth the effort!
Mangoes! To be more specific, Alphonsoes! The emperor of the king of fruits! And if anyone dare challenge that, I pity your childhood! What you do have a choice in, is the way you eat your alphonsoes. Whichever way you eat it, the rush that goes straight to the head as you take that first bite of the golden orb is beyond poetic verse. But that in itself was a process, first we had to make sure that we weren’t wearing anything that was too grand for fear of spilling. If we were, a large towel would be wrapped round us. We would then be given the chance of choosing our piece which would be heavily debated, scuffles sorted and mangoes distributed. We would then be given strict instructions that we were to sit tight on the ground and not move around while eating. That last instruction was uncalled for; even as children we knew the respect that the ‘emperor’ commanded while eating! I think it was possibly the only time when the house was silent for the most part as we savored every last bite.
3 girls in a community full of cricket crazy boys was no joke. Evenings would be spent in making teams of 2 to either play cricket or lagori (7 stones) with us girls being chosen as the last in the teams, Kacha-Pakka to put it mildly. Even then, I remember boasting to the other 2 saying that I’m the first to be chosen among the KPs!! Small mercy, that! I had exactly 1 moment of shining glory in cricket when I took one of the leading batsman’s wicket. Even that became a standing joke as one of the boys said I was yawning and stretching and the ball got caught in my hand! Still, I was Queen for a day!
Summertime was a time to do everything possible under the sun (pun intended). I don’t think we are yet to work the tan off! But then again, a totally wasted day was, in our opinion, a great day!
Monday, March 14, 2011
What I want!
If childhood is anything to go by, I came across one of those books which we used to call slam books ( which were such a rage back then) where I've written in clear, mostly legible prose under the question- "10 years from now, I would be- A writer". And thats that. The finality of childhood. A full stop. And then, I'd like to believe, life happened While in actuality, nothing really happened in a drastic way to really change the course of action. I just went with the flow of things. But somewhere along the line, it isn't like I forgot what i eventually wanted to do. Because i know this is what I want to do. In Life! I want to write. Whether it pays for my far-from-frugal lifestyle or otherwise. Which is what I'm thinking right now. What stops me from doing that? Is it because I'm too too terrified to take that leap of faith to do what I want? Is it that sense of complacency (read laziness) that comes out of having it good? Is it the money? It's all of the above. Eventually, there will come a day when I will find it in myself to trust in me! And on that day, I will not be able to stop writing. Until then.. it's the life of page positions, rates per cc and running around like a headless chicken! To heads, then!
Thursday, December 23, 2010
The Final Countdown!!
It is that time of the year again, where the whole world is eating, DRINKING and merrily celebrating the end of yet another year! And I mean, the whole world is doing it... it’s just one of those celebrations which no one can ignore, can they? I obviously choose to overlook all those party poopers who refuse to get out of their homes, but Ahaa… if they switch on their TV sets, new years’ smacks them right IN YOUR FACE!!! The New Years’ frenzy doesn’t leave anyone.
Just imagine... People all over the world trying to figure out what they will do when it tolls 12, albeit at different times. Visualize the Queen pondering over her palatial wardrobe thinking ‘Oh, sod it!!! I’ve nothing to wear!’. And women all over trying search for the PERFECT DRESS (cleavage being directly proportionate to their current relationship status) thinking. “Why can’t I find that one dress that hides all my flaws and highlights all my beauts??”!! Even the unmentionables are at their unmentionable places poring over plans of destroying the world, saying “Happy 2011, may it be the last year of humanity”!! Not to forget all the people who fancy themselves too old to ‘shake it’ tut-tutting to each other “What has this world come to? What is the big deal about the New Year? It isn’t like they’ve found a cure to cancer. Back in ‘78…..”
All the same, it isn’t something most of us can get enough of. Right from trying to figure out the perfect party to go to, to the people to go with, down to the perfect shoes (sexy, but danceable) are all debates that start at least 3 weeks in advance. Ironically, most people don’t quite remember much after that first tequila-shot taken at 12 to commemorate the event!!
Every party has a set of those people who are hammered out of their wits, who are funny to everyone except those who are in charge of taking them home! From the girl who wants PDA from everyone to the creep who keeps staring at people to the first time drinker who pukes behind the couch and promptly passes out to group of people who are gamely trying to finish the last round of drinks that someone over-enthusiastically ordered!!
The morning after, is spent in happy reminiscence or trying to kill oneself depending on the hangover levels. Best friends call each other to figure out who they finally ended up with and what exactly they did because they don’t remember much of it!!! Top that hangover with cringe-worthy behavior (singing “The Final Countdown” in a high soprano voice!!) and it is something that may want you to bury yourself under 6 feet of non-judgeable mud!!
All’s well in the end as we ring in another year with pomp and fanfare and exceptionally loud music!!!
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Murky Waters
It’s just that period when all roads lead to none
Each decision so interwoven with people and places.
One of those times when nothing can be done,
Except pass it off as one of those phases.
What, when, where, why, how
My sentences seem to start with these
Answers which I seek from within now,
Much like the ever elusive inner peace
Sometimes I’m just tired of thinking,
Hardly an adult, yet bored already
I wish to escape into a world of nothing
With a hand to hold me, strong and steady
Life was so easy back then
Without a dent in my soul
As a child, my parents would hold me when
They’d protect me from the whole world.
Each question I pose laughs back at me
Settling down to a giggle, but stays nonetheless
Joined by its peers, for me to see
Through murky waters, I guess.
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