Taking a Bow

Me an honest Blogger? HHG has graciously awarded me with this title- An Honest Blogger. Dear HHG, receiving any award is always an honour- and when it comes from someone whom one respects and admires, it becomes even more special. Thank you so much HHG. But it has put me into an introspection mode.

HONEST- is one adjective that I’ve wondered about with regard to my posts. Not that I’ve been dishonest on my posts. I can confidently say that while I’ve never been dishonest here on my patch of cyberspace, I must add that I’ve had second thoughts at times, have pruned words before pressing the ‘post' button. On one occasion, I remember I went back and deleted an entire post. So whatever stays here, while is true, wholly true, I’ve never ventured to express anything that I’m uncomfortable sharing on a public forum.
Why do I do this? I’m not sure I’ve a clear answer, but even in my real life, except within my closest circle, I tend to be very careful about how I express myself. I’m extremely wary about ruffling feathers, rubbing people the wrong way. I’m mostly a fence sitter , a spectator simply because excited voices raised in dissent makes me extremely uncomfortable. I might express my difference of opinion politely once, and stop there without pursuing it. If the ambience is very vehement, I don’t take the effort even once. However I must add that I’m rarely convinced or converted away from my stance. I’ve been given to understand that I can be quite stubborn that way. I’ve wondered about the reasons I choose to keep my opinions to myself. Am I afraid of unpleasant, unfavourable reactions? Could be.

I’ve talked about my blog persona before here.

Getting back to the award tag, These are the rules:

1. The winner can put the logo on their blog
2. Link the person you received your award from
3. Nominate at least 7 other blogs.
4. Put links of those blogs on yours.
5. Leave a message on the blogs you’ve nominated.

Most of the bloggers I might have described as honest have been honoured already, so I’ll just mention some of the bloggers whose posts I find endearingly honest .

Akeeyu, Biswanath Ghosh, Punds, Asuph, like a feather, Libranlover, The Box

Disconnected thoughts

I saw “Jaane tu jaane na” when we had gone to Bangalore in Aug. Overall cute movie, but I was not as enamoured as I was with “Dil chahta hai”. In fact another story on similar lines- ‘Niram” in Malayalam- (which incidentally has been remade in Tamil too- with vijay and shalini- I forget the name of the movie) I had liked better- However, the hero is cute and some of the dialogue was brilliant.

Saw “Memoirs of Geisha” the other day- had heard so much about the book and the movie and so when I saw in the papers that they were relaying it I resolved to see it. Besides, I was free with no NIE sessions because it’s the quarterly exam season. As I switched on the T.V. “Philadelphia” was coming to an end- that movie about an aids victim - It was Tom Hanks as the Aids victim and he has turned out a marvelous performance as usual- quite painful and depressing to watch him crumbling bit by bit.

Memoirs of Geisha began- and God Disposes- or rather the EB disposes- the power cut commences simultaneously – resumed after the mandatory 1 hour. Saw what was left of it. Neat movie. Browsed through the net to get an insight into the whole movie. Poignant and powerful performances.

Listening to Muhammad Rafi songs- Ehsaan tera hoga mujh par

Dil chahta hai wo kehne do…mujhe tumse muhobbat ho gayi hai

Mujhe palkon ke chhaaon mein rehne do …

The way Rafi twirls and enunciates the word ‘Mohabbat’ tugs at the soul…

I listen to Chhaayageet daily on Vividh Bhathi on my cell - followed by ‘Aap ki farmaayish’- 10.00 – 11 p.m-mostly old melodies rustling up sleeping memories.

Y’day, saw ‘Thanmaatra’ – a Malayalam film based on the progression (regression) of an Alzheimer’s victim. This role is played by Mohanlal- a government official- a caring husband and father- notices his failing memory with some alarm. Gradually he loses all his faculties, left with random snatches of incoherent memories- how his family struggles to cope- so painful to watch especially those scenes where he for fractions of moments realizes his predicament- the helplessness, the deep pain- is heart wrenching to watch. I was sobbing away – I had been wanting to see this movie because I had heard it was brilliantly made, Mohanlal has done a wonderful job, ( tho I don’t think mannerisms like slurring and putting one’s tongue out are symptoms of Alzheimers) and so has the others who have played the roles of his caring wife, son, father, and close friend. Though I relished the technical brilliance of the film, I was totally sunk in depression by the end.

Really scary- one is left wondering about the consequences of loss of memory- one is after all an amalgam of experiences, memories and conditioned thinking- if that is gone, is not one reduced to an empty shell? Reminds me of an earlier post of mine here.

Lullaby memories- A repost

( The following is a repost of an old blog- dated January 18 '05.I was reminded of it when I read a post on Mad Momma's page. Since I blog very sporadically these days, thought of simply doing a cut and paste).


Today I was reminded of the time when I used to sing lullabies to my kids when they were babies- I would sit on the floor, my back resting on the wall behind, my legs out stretched with a pillow, and my baby , I would lay on my extended legs- I would have decided it was time for him to go to sleep, because I had unfinished chores waiting- and thus having my baby gently tucked up on my out stretched legs, my hands clasping the little palms, I would set forth belting out all the songs I knew- not necessarily lullabies always- any melodys would serve the purpose as far as I was concerned-( I remember songs like chura liya tumne jo dil ko too featured in this lullaby repertoire- ) and all the while I’d be rocking the baby to and fro on my legs- the songs would be in Malayalam, Hindi and a few in broken Tamil too- when I was at a loss for the lyrics- la- la- la- la would be substituted- Needless to say I forgot the hapless neighbours, but got to say to their credit, never received a complaint or a notice to quit our flat- the lullaby concert would go on and on for more than an hour sometimes, simply because I was enjoying listening to my voice to the hilt, irrespective of whether my baby was asleep or awake. There would be little breaks in between because my baby would be gazing wide eyed at me- sleep farthest from his eyes- and I would have to molly coddle him, talk to him in gibberish to which he would gurgle back heartily- and sometimes even reply back in gibberish- and after our little conversation I would go back to my attempt to singing him to sleep.

And finally when my feet had gone to sleep too, and I was reminded of the piled up vessels in the sink, the half cooked sabji in the cooker, I would stealthily pick my sleeping baby, tuck him cosily in his bed, with pillows all around for added cosiness, kiss the chubby cheek, gaze fondly at my sleeping angel for some precious moments and finally tiptoe to my kitchen to finish my chores. Less than five minutes would have passed and my jigar ka tukda would be wide awake bawling his head off for all he was worth- all efforts of a good hour and more gone up in smoke- awww… and if the door bell buzzed when my baby was sleeping- I used to get soooo angry…

And then there were the times when I would have run out of my stock of songs and my baby would still be wide awake, and I would have been exhausted… he would have decided that he had enough of the drama/concert and he would give me a solid yelling and I had to resort to other means of placating him…


And today my elder “baby” is almost *15, he is sporting an incipient moustache- his voice cracks and squeaks, especially when he is angry, and we end up laughing together- and I think I’ve forgotten to sing…

( * My baby is now 18 years and far away in a hostel ).

The point of no return.

THE POINT OF NO RETURN

HORIZON HUES

Dabbling after a long time...

Horizon Hues

Frozen Memories

On April 30th, we boarded the train to Delhi. ‘We’ included our family and 3 other families. Almost every year we visited some places in India during the summer hols. This year we were planning to visit Delhi, Agra, Mathura, Brindavan, Amritsar, Manali. Was I thrilled about the prospect? Was I looking forward to the trip eagerly? Well, actually the answer would be a very hesitant yes. I’m not a keen traveler at all. Give me my home, a book and Music I like and I’ve Paradise right within my clasp. However my husband and sons were mighty excited about the trip and that alone was reason enough for me to go along and I was determined to be at my cheerful best. The thing is that I’m too wary about travel comfort, hygiene, food quality, restroom facilities. Travel can be fine if all these factors are ensured but when one is in a mixed company its not always possible to stick to one’s idea of such matters. Our friends are very good company, most helpful, cooperative and adjusting but well, they go pretty easy on the aspects that I was concerned about.

I was traveling by a/c for the first time and the trip began comfortably. Last year we had gone by the non a/c and we got practically roasted as we passed through the Andhra terrains. This time I was swathed in sweaters inside the train while it was sweltering outside! I smiled, I laughed, I sang, played with the others but was I actually enjoying? I’m not sure. It was like I had left my soul behind. I don’t know why I’m like this?

We got introduced to a young American couple- a doctor and a professor who had chosen to come and work in India. They were very enthused by their experiences and shared their thoughts with us. Now they were returning home after visiting Agra and Manali.

We reached Delhi on 2nd noon. The heat outside hit us like razor blades. We refreshed ourselves at the guest house we were to stay in and then proceeded to Akshardham. I was a trifle disappointed that we could not make time to visit the Hall of Values- 50 minutes, Neelkantha darsan-40 minutes, Sanskruti Vihar boat ride. What then did we see there? We walked around , sometimes slowly and in a hurry at other times, gazed at the exquisite elephant sculptures. The place was sprawling and quite impressive and yet I remained somewhat untouched. As everyone around me raved , I was wondering what was it that I was looking for?

From there we went to the India Gate. I had been there years ago with my parents and brother.. I remember being touched by the thought of the soldiers who had laid down their lives for the freedom that we were now enjoying. I was wondering if our children realized the significance. As I type these words, I’m thinking that I wanted solitude- to be alone with all the sights around me. I was incapable of enjoying to the full the sights and the places in a lively group. However, one thing I realize that but for this group we would never have made the trip in the first place. We sat on the grounds as darkness was first setting in and a girl came over asking us if we wanted to apply hennah on our palms. We let her do our palms and she did it pretty fast. I participated in every everything but somehow felt strangely disconnected from everything.

Next day we went to Agra. TAJ MAHAL….As I beheld the all too familiar splendour standing out against the blazing skies, I was desperately trying to summon some kind of feeling…We gingerly traipsed along the sizzling mats into the cool interior of the mausoleum. Time management was proving to be a detrimental issue and so we jostled through the crowds. There were solitary moments when I was beckoned by the legend of the Taj, but there was no time to pause. We were scattered, the men were in the front as I sauntered up to my husband who was enjoying a joke with his friends. I whispered to him that I wanted to come back here on some cool twilight evening, sit down and simply gaze up at this sight. My husband smiled and said we’ll come again. Yeah.Sure.

We roamed the precincts and inner sanctum of the Agra fort when the sun was at the summit. The guide’s description made the tour somewhat bearable. But we were all so exhausted and thirsty because of the heat. I kept remembering scenes from Jodha Akbar and kept seeing Hrithik and Aishwarya in the locations in my mind's eye! I kept musing how everything would’ve been so much different if only it wasn’t so hot and we had lots of time to saunter to our hearts content.

From there we raced to Mathura- the place of Lord Krishna’s birth. I fervently tried to ignore the merciless heat, the oppressing thirst and my throbbing temples.I was determined to smile through it all. Only now as I type these words I’m reliving the sheer truth of it all.

On 4th, we boarded the train to Kiratpur. I was hearing the name for the first time .( Incidentally, I happened to see Veer Zaara after our return and when I heard Kiratpur mentioned as the place which Preity Zinta comes to restore her Bebe’s ashes, I was thrilled!). The berth on which I perched for the night had nails jutting out, 2 small kids were sharing the berth opposite mine and I was unable to go to sleep for a long time worried that the kids would kick eachother and tumble down from the upper berth. The father and mother slept blissfully on the middle and lower berths respectively. And the girl was coughing so badly.

From Kiratpur, we hired a van to take us to Manlai. The uphill trudge made some of us queasy, some of us threw up on the way- all in all it was one idyllic journey. The van had to stop at some place for some minor repairs as we got cooked inside. The heat outside made us wonder if we were really on the right route to the snowy caps of Manali. However to our relief and respite the air finally became cooler and the scenic beauty was quite captivating.

We found our hotel- a nice, cosy place but yes it was brrr-cold. Darjeeling on our previous trip was much colder. Here, there were times when I could bear to remove my sweaters and scarves, but in Darjeeling I was clinging to my cardigans, mittens and socks for sheer survival. Our friends who could not live without their daily dose of ‘thayir saadam’ succeeded in finding a restaurant that served good south Indian fare in the hills of Manali. It was a good place though.

Next morning, we climbed the hills to snow point in a place called Marih- Rohtang pass had been closed due to heavy snow fall. Our friends were gasping at the breath taking view of snow laden mountains. I too tried to share their thrill but honestly I was unable to feel the same way. The uphill ride was too precarious but I was too preoccupied with the cold to be nervous. We were wearing all the protective gear and I was grateful for the warmth that it gave. We looked like astronauts. We reached the summit after hours of slow travel. We climbed the snow laden mountains and it was drizzling sleet. The huge masses of frozen mountains that stood menacingly all around awed me naught. To me it looked like an endless expanse of lifelessness- the magnificence failed to evoke in me an inspiring awe. I could only perceive the stillness, the frozen aspect of Nature as lifeless-The gurgling, gushing angry waters of the Beas instilled fear in me- It was always only stretches of lush greenery, flowers and gentle warmth that brought cheer and serenity to my soul. I was wondering why I was feeling different from the others?

When I had seen pictures of snow in the past my brain had understood snow to be soft and spongy. The snow I beheld now were chunks of glassy ice. I was not charmed by the sheaths of glassy, crystalline all around me. My limbs cringed at the assault and I longed for the cosy warmth of the plains. The sheer lifelessness, the enormity of the deathlike glassy reflected glacier sheaths failed to evoke cheer in me. But I looked around me- my friends were laughing and I joined in the merriment. I did not want to be the odd one out. We took photographs – frozen memories. We partook of hot steaming noodles under a leaky tent. It was delicious. And finally we returned downhill.

In the evening we visited the Hidimba ( Bheema’s wife) temple, Vasishtha temple with hot springs. My elder son hung on a harness above the roaring rapids and I looked away.
Next day we trudged uphill endlessly to reach the only temple dedicated to Manu the first Man according to the Hindu scriptures. We also visited the Jataka temple and Van Vihar and did a bit of hurried shopping- mainly for souveneirs.

From Manali we left for Amritsar. The 12-13 hour van ride was tedious to say the least. We wanted to make it to the Wagah border. As we sprinted along the somewhat regulated crowd, I felt excitement building up within me as we moved among people from all over the country. As we passed through that narrow strip of land between the 2 massive gates- Pakistan on my right and India on my left, tears sprung to my eye and I was shivering in the blazing summer evening. I’m not sure I’ll be able to decribe what I felt during those moments, simply because I myself don’t know clearly. Basically I believe in the Universality of Humanity and I feel we are one with Nature and yet during those moments I was overwhelmed by some other emotion that I cannot define or name. Let me just say that during those moments the sheer proximity of these 2 countries which used to be one blurred the margins for me.
We waited on the open balcony seats for the ritual salute to begin. The sun lashed on us mercilessly and the wait was extremely uncomfortable. Patriotic songs blared from either frontiers. At some point, people, mostly girls began dancing enthusiastically on our side of the wall. There were people decrying the dancing display and there were people who simply watched. I belonged to the latter group – unknown strangers from all over the country holding hands and matching steps for those few minutes.
Finally the ritual salute began, the synchronization on either frontier- the salutes, that split second when the flags touched in an embrace, when the soldiers from either side shook hands- those moments made it all worth while for me. I cannot say what went on in the minds of the rest of the multitude. We came away exhausted but with a lightness in our being.

From the Wagah Border we went to the guest house we were to put up for the night. We freshened up and then proceeded to the Golden temple.
My first glimpse of the Golden Temple glimmering in the dark- the shimmering reflection in the waters around as I descended the stairs -it was so astounding . For me, in that moment the whole world reduced to a bubble and I was enveloped by as sense of immensely soothing serenity and sense of well being. For me it went beyond religion or community. I was lulled into a sense of being alone with the Universe in spite of the sea of people around me.
The Gurudwara is extremely well maintained and the members of the Sikh Community irrespective of their socio- economic standing worked towards the upkeep of the entire place. A member explained to us the history of the Gurudwara , at our request. The experience there made my entire trip most worth while and a most cherishable memory. I came away feeling blessed.

We returned to Delhi the next day. We visited the ISKCON temple, the Lotus (Bahai) Temple. As we were leaving the Lotus temple, we received the +2 results of our children. There were three (including my elder son) of them who had appeared for the +2 exams. Excepting for one of the girls, the results were not much to be rave about and that kind of dampened the cheer during the rest of the trip. Qutb Minar, Indira Gandhi, Rajiv Gandhi Memorial were all skimmed through in a blur of phone calls.We traveled by the Metro which was a memorable experience. Finally we returned to our lodgings exhausted and vaguely depressed.

On 10 May, we boarded the train back home. I love coming back home….

Last Saturday, I had 3 sessions in 2 schools. I had to finish cooking for the day and leave home by 8.20 a.m. DH and the sons helped me in the mad rush. I arrived at the bus station gasping for breath, anxious that I had kept my colleague waiting.

Soon we were on our way to our destination. After 2 sessions in the school with idyllic surroundings, we rushed back home again in two buses. Had a hurried lunch, stuffed the washing machine with laundry, freshened up, and then back again to the next school. No complaints because my colleague was 51 years old and she was as excited as me. After the third session I rushed to my dance class where my teacher's mother lovingly coerced me to have chapatis and delicious sabji.

Reached home at around 8.45 p.m. cooked dinner, had dinner ,Watched Voice of India, Zee little Champs simultaneously… and then retired for the night.
Was it me who had posted this and this once upon a time? Who is having the last laugh? HRH Time? But I’ll laugh along – for now I’m luvvvvvvvvving it…

From here to there

I was a complete home bird- I stayed indoors most of the time enjoying my own company to the fullest- of course I had the invisible company of all the bloggers whose thoughts I visited and revisited…my mind would be chewing on the thoughts that they penned, I would be traveling on their wave lengths- thoughts from all sides of the globe all the time while being ensconced within the walls of my home. I used to avoid traveling on my own as much as possible.

I first learnt to get around on my own when I enrolled for Dance classes last year. I had to travel by 2 buses to reach my classes. Few months back the journey had to be made in 3 buses- when the roads were under repair, and the third bus was the mini bus and it would ply only when it was jam packed and there was no space to prick a pin even. It would be dark inside the bus and I would be standing on my toes, reaching up to the bar above but there was no fear of falling because there was simply no space. It was impossible to see where we were going because the windows were blocked by people and I would request the person next to me to inform me when I reached my stop and invariably some kind soul would warn me as my stop neared. I would turn in the direction of the exit and kind of nudge myself amidst the thronging undulating bodies and eventually find myself outside the bus on terra firma. After a few moments of deep breaths and unloosening of my frozen limbs, I’d try to judge my precise location and then proceed to my destination.

Now, with my new job, I’ve to travel by the local buses at the drop of a hat. Crowds no longer deter me and though I’ve not begun to swing into moving buses, I do manage to catch one that’s almost ready to start. I can now day dream even while standing precariously clinging to the rod. I enjoy watching the other passengers as unobtrusively as possible. Sometimes the conductors are in a vile mood and sometimes they are quite cordial. The other day, the driver himself was a most gregarious individual and was chatting to anybody who would care to listen. I requested the conductor to let me know when my stop arrived and the driver butted in. He said that I would be easily able to identify my stop because there was construction work going on near by. Soon enough as we neared , the driver asked me if I remembered his instructions and he was pleased to note that I had been listening carefully!

I'm enjoying the oppurtunity to meet new people - both adults and children and am also pleased to notice that age and a few grey hairs can be quite liberating in terms of feeling comfortable and secure. I like watching and observing the events unfolding around me like I were outside the tapestry. Each day is like a new lesson and I feel like an eager student.

Resurfacing...

I'm feeling a sense of loss, a sense of hopelessness, of having reached a dead end- why? Because I've finished with the book I was reading. This is how I feel every time I finish a book. This time it was Paulo Coelho's "Veronica decides to die". I had been hearing about this book for some time now and was waiting to read it. A dear friend gifted it to me and I pounced on it right away. The feeling of euphoria lingered during every waking moment , and as I neared the end, I wanted to prolong the effect but Alas, its over...

I liked the book, but I liked "Eleven minutes" better.

I've got a job- and I'm enjoying it. But yes, it keeps me very busy with hardly any time for blog hopping.

I've been wanting to mention 'our songs'- a tag that I saw doing the rounds here.
Our songs are:
Dil tadap ke keh raha hai- Madhumati
Tere mer milan ki yeh raina- Abhimaan
Raaga devanum, Naada kanyayum ( Chamayam-Malayalam)

And the gibberish words I used to( I still do sometiems) call my sons:

Shonna vaava, vaava thutti, chanda kutti, chunglani kolomonas, dikkirivaale shodalge, kannaa, chakkara kutti, thulik. ( Plain gibberish)

ammade kannale, mutthalle, paalalle, thenalle, venna alle, sharkara alle, ayyo urumbarikkyum.( momma's sweet meats- gosh- the ants will come crawling...)


And with these words I remerge out of the frozen cocoon yet again...

Retracing my steps...

Today, I read this, this and this....
and so was inspired to post the link to one of my older posts:

http://ardramaamsandhyakal.blogspot.com/2006/10/what-blogging-has-come-to-mean-to-me.html

To My Teachers With Love

For me, sitting in class listening to my favourite teacher teaching has been a most enjoyable experience while in school/ college. Today, I miss being a student. I envy the students who have the oppurtuntity to go to college daily and be able to listen to such teachers who make the process of learning a most rewarding, memorable experience.

When I remember the teachers who I’ve loved and admired, there’s a vacuum in my heart. I would love to see them again, go upto them and tell them how much they have influenced me.

There are many teachers whom I’ve respected during my learning years for one reason or the other, but I guess I’ve special fondness and gratitude for some of my English teachers: Mrs. Lata Manik, Miss Elizabeth Chacko, Mr. James.
The prospect of sitting in their classes was elating. There was something in them that reached beyond the course curriculum and beckoned to your spirits. The beauty of the subject they taught simply unfurled and encompassed the student. That they loved their subject was obvious, and their excitement and fondness was infectious. I used to look forward to their classes and felt sorry when the bell rung signifying the end of the session for the day. I felt let down when they were absent.

Mrs. Lata Manik ( IndianHigh School Dubai):She instilled in me a deep fascination for the language. She was a vivacious, sunny person with a smile that cheered you completely. She would insist on us maintaining a vocabulary book where in we had to jot in the meanings of new words each day. She was very affectionate and I cherish the memories of her classes. I’m happy to say she’s just an email away.
Ms. Elizabeth Chacko( Providence Women’s College Calicut):
She loved her subject, her job was her passion and she was adept at infecting us with the same. She wanted to share the thrill of her subject for the sheer joy of it. We felt like we were embarking on a picnic. She talked to us like her equals, most informally without the diffrentiation of a teacher and the taught. It was simply the sharing of a beautiful subject, travelling through the brilliant alleys that we were unfamiliar with . She acknowledged our affection and respect and reciprocated warmly. I long to meet her again some day…
Mr. James: ( St. Joseph’s College- Devagiri- Calicut):

I liked his treatment of the language, his personal insights, his occassional witty remarks. He was a very down to earth, practical person with no lofty attitude. He was a friendly person and was very encouraging. His words of encouragement remain etched in my memory and I remember him with much gratitude.

I also remember my kindergarten teacher- Ms. Rajni (NBWSS- Ghatkopar) , Ms. Hemaji ( PWC- Calicut). The latter was the person who taught us the beautiful poetry “Kanupriya" by Dr. Dharamveer Bharthi.

I want to express my respect, regard and gratitude to ALL the teachers who have taught me, including my Gurus who have taught me Bharathanatyam. I consider myself blessed for their presence and influence in my life.

My first Guru- Mrs. Rama Sukumaran. It was a brief stint though a satisfying experience. 

Kalaimamani Melattur S. Natarajan:

He was an engineer by profession and a dancer by passion. For him, dance was and continues to be prayer.  For him dance was all about communicating with the Divine. From him I learnt about emoting, of bringing Rasas to life on the face- with a twitch of the eyebrow, the power of a weighed glance, the slant of a lip, a shrug of the shoulder. When he performs on stage, he is clearly in another world. He becomes his Art personified. Today at 70+, he still performs at the Annual Bhagavatha Mela- health issues do not deter him. I performed my arangetram under his tutelage.

 Kalamandalam Mani teacher: 

She taught me the basics of Mohiniattom. 

Kalaimamani Charulatha Jayaraman :

She follows the Pandannalloor  Pani. She was younger than me and called me akka. Charu was all about technique, method and Grammar of the Art form called Bharathanatyam.  It was about perfect stances, postures, mudras. If Charu moved a finger it would be with complete awareness of what she intended to  convey. She painstakingly evolved the steps to be woven into her repertoire. My not so young knees sometimes protested. From Charu I learnt the intricacies and nuances of The Art form. She was a perfectionist to the core and expected complete dedication from her student. 

(Realisation of a Dream)

Gibberish- speech/writing that is meaningless or difficult to understand

Identity: the fact of being who or what a person or thing is.

Fact: thing that is known to be true.

What is my identity? I’m still trying to figure out. The other day, my friend S from my college days called me, and at some point I realised that S was communicating with me as the person as she remembered me to be 20 years ago. And I had the feeling that ‘that’ person no longer was. But I continued to ‘live’ in her mind frozen in the year 1987!

We got talking about a common friend J and when I heard S’s description about J, I could hardly recognise the J that I thought I knew. So between my perception of J and S’s perception of J, which was the real J?

Sometimes, when I catch random adjectives used to describe me by people I know, I do a double take. Is that me they’re talking about? So among all these ‘perceptions’, there is no ‘me’ left. The different ‘me’s’ have merely an ephemeral existence in the minds of people around me. And so it is for everybody. Each of us relate and communicate with one another according to our personal, subjective perceptions. Each of us view, assimilate and understand the same situation/ person depending on our subjective perception. Sometimes the different perceptions coincide and sometimes they don’t.

Is this what they call ‘Maya’ ?

Then what is the point in getting enmeshed in nonexistent entities and instances?


Anyways, that is enough ramble for now, the Ardra that ‘I’ think I know has finished reading Khaled Hosseini’s – A Thousand Splendid Suns- and I’ve no words to express the gamut of thoughts running amok in me. I really don’t know what to say about this book. I felt rage, frustration, deep sorrow, and yet hopeful…The writing is brilliant and alive.

First the switch on my cpu doesn't work- that is sorted out and then the modem conks out- I call the bsnl - bharath sanchar nigam ltd- a lady talks to me like I were mentally retarded becos I keep insisting that I've n't messed up the connections. Anyways, after two days, that also gets righted and life is smooth sailing once again.

My joy at having a mobile library van drive into the premises was incredibly shortlived- first the librarian was not granted permission into our colony after the first 2 -3 weeks of celebration,then we were inforned that he would continue to come to a neighbouring area and me and a friend would very religiously plod our way once a week to get our weekly quota. Soon that too stopped. The librarian was down with a severe case of jaundice- followed by surgery and then bed rest! How can I be blamed if my superstitious nature resurfaces again now?

But then a friend of mine- from PWC days- she is still in calicut- sends me 6 books- though a staff who had come here officially. She also promised me that she would continue to send books to me via this staff, and I could return the same after reading them. It seemed a very delightful proposition. And tho I was very wary abt expressing my delight , joy and exhilaration, fearing the 'evil eye' , I now get to hear that the company here which reqd my friends' official assistance would soon discontinue their allegiance and they would no longer require to come to Trichy!

Anyways, until then for now, I've 6 books to devour- seeing 6 books together got me a trifle delirious- I was in a quandary as to where to start with...I chose Raja Rao's Kanthapura- but was unable to trudge beyond a few pages- found it a bit tedious, confusing with too many details and too many characters. Generally I hate to stop any book midway and I make it a point to finish a book however boring I may find it . This time however the sight of 5 other books was too tempting and so I went on to Paulo Coelho's 'The Zahir"- and I'm enjoying it...

I'm looking fwd to Khaled Hossaeini's 'A thousand Splendid suns' next- have been hearing a lot abt it.
Meanwhile got hold of 'The namesake'- found it very involving while reading it but once I finished with it- I was thinking on the lines- of 'thats it?'

Onam is around the corner. Achhan and amma will be coming to visit us.

Damage Control

After having come clean with my judgmental side, here’s the other side of the coin: What I admire in others!

I admire people who don’t lose their wits in times of crises- they’re calm, collected and know exactly what steps to take without pressing the panic button.

I admire people who are good and not nervous on stage- like in public speaking, singing etc.

I admire people who are very organised, disciplined .

I admire people who keep their home spick and span and are house proud.

I admire people who are always neat and presentable.

I admire artistes, writers.

I admire people who are fair and balanced in their outlook.

I admire people who do not lose their temper.

I admire people who are spiritually ( not necessarily religious) inclined.

I admire people who are comfortable and contented with what they are.

I admire people who are confident without seeming arrogant.

I admire people who are optimistic and positive in their outlook.

I admire people who take good care of their health, appearance.

I admire people who can keep secrets and do not gossip.

I admire people who are thoughtful, considerate of others.

I admire people who can voice their opinions without offending others.

I admire people who can love without expectations.

Aahhh! The luxury of being openly judgmental!

CeeKay – Thank you for two things:
One: for having given me this opportunity to be openly judgmental.
Two: for giving me fodder to blog.

To be openly judgmental is indeed a luxury because I take effort to be otherwise- simply because from experience I’ve realised that each individual feels as strongly as me on an issue and it is very rare that somebody is converted and expressing my stand has often proved exhausting and leaves a bad taste, so I tend to go my way without ruffling feathers. At the most I vent to DH and by the time I’m done with it, I’m fine with everything. So for once let me relax my self -vigil and have a go at it. I must add that some of the statements are relevant to the place I live.

1.. I’m judgmental about people who think, talk, breathe and live for cooking only. I was fine with it long ago, and used to enjoy experimenting with recipes once upon a time but prolonged exposure to people who talked only about cooking, about feeding people, finding mistakes in others cooking – nothing else- we used to spend almost the entire day cooking and receiving guests. The afore-mentioned people were very critical and did not hesitate to make insensitive comments in gatherings. Needless to say, I developed an unhealthy antipathy towards cooking, feasts and related topics. However, I’ve no problem appreciating people who enjoy cooking as yet another part of life along-with other interests.

2.. I’m judgmental about people who are too much into rituals blindly- and imposing them on others who may not be into it. I’ve been expected to do certain things which I’m not too comfortable with. I try to avoid such situations as far as possible. These people are so confident about it and it never even occurs to them that others may not subscribe to the same beliefs.

3.. I’m judgmental about people who keep asking me how much I paid for the things I buy- ranging from vegetables, groceries to other household items. They then explain to me how I was conned and could’ve landed better bargains had I consulted them.

4.. I’m judgmental about people who mispronounce words, especially when they use the softer sounds in place of accented sounds. E.g.: using ‘k’ in place of ‘kha’ and the like. Same goes for pronunciations like using ‘la’ or ‘ra’ sounds in place of ‘zha’ (like vaLa paLam instead of vazha pazham). I get unreasonably put off with such things.

5.. I’m judgmental about people who judge according to caste/ religion/ region/ financial status/food habits. To actually hear people (highly educated people too ) pass some petty comments based on caste differences kind of shocks me that people still think and behave this way.

6.. I’m judgmental about people who use foul cuss words in casual conversations. This is perhaps because in my family we don’t use several words. We don’t use those words pertaining to certain parts of our anatomy! Can you believe that!
Then we don’t even use the vernacular equivalent for ‘tu’ (in Hindi) even when talking to our youngers.The young girls- young enough to be my daughters- in my dance class are so exasperated with me because I use ‘neenga’, ‘vaanga’ ‘ponga’ with them. I’m practising to use ‘ni’, ‘va’, ‘po’ with them. My husband is no different; his most violent expletive is ‘kumblanga’ which is the Malayalam for ‘cucumber’!! When he uses this ‘cuss’ word, I know he’s real mad! Go figure! However he is comfortable with the usage of ‘ni’, ‘va’ ‘po’, so he is slightly better. Guess it is just a matter of conditioning. I experience cultural shock when I hear people around me calling their babies ‘naai’ (meaning dog) with overflowing affection! Actually I think I’ve stopped judging people who do this- because I realise I ‘m the strange one here. :- (

7.. I’m judgmental about people who are very suspicious about interaction between the genders.

8.. I’m judgmental about people who are pessimistic, negative, and envious.

9.. I’m judgmental about people who are too overconfident bordering on arrogance, and who seem condescending.

10.. I’m judgmental about people who come across as extremely over smart, over exuberant trying to seem soooo friendly and ‘extrovertish’. Most anchors- esp. those telephone in programmes on TV give me this impression. I experience a kind of sadistic delight in subjecting myself to their 'joie de vivre' and then seethe and squirm!

Having read most of the other tags, I’ve dared to come up with my eccentric tendencies in the hope that I’ll be forgiven and welcomed with open arms by my blogger friends. Now, let me self-tag myself to do the other one about what I admire in others – a fervent attempt to undo atleast some of the damage done by this one.

The Most Happening tag

I was tagged by Usha M at Sulekha and by Punds here. And those who’ve had the patience to read my blogs all through since 2003, I guess there are no more facts left to be unearthed about me. Still let me try to come up with a few more random facts about me.

1. When I come across an interesting word, I’ve a habit of trying to translate it into the languages I know- and I’m thrilled when I succeed in finding an appropriate word.

2. When I’m in a foul mood, I can ‘see’ my expression like I were a spectator- and I ‘watch’ the proceedings with loathing and helplessness. Needless to say, it only serves to sour my mood further.

3. I have this dream of attending workshops in Dramatics, Creative Writing, and Performing Arts.

4. I can be the most withdrawn, sullen person at some times and the most exuberant, vivacious, guffawing person at other times!

5. I’m almost 40 now and still at some moments I can be extremely shy/coy and this embarrasses me no end.

6. When I’m by myself, I hate to abide by the clock or any kind of routine but I ‘m careful about sticking to time when it involves others.

7. I used to be a chatterbox once, but nowadays I don’t feel inclined to talk much. There are times when I almost start to utter something and stop even before I begin.

8. Phone calls (esp. when it’s unexpected) from dear friends make my day- the rest of the day I float in happiness and remembered joy. But I worry that perhaps I had not expressed my delight enough.

Since this tag has been doing the rounds rather freely, anybody who feels inclined to take up the tag and hasn’t been tagged, please feel free to do it.

Blessings

My Guru gave me yet another opportunity to perform on two more stages in the span of a week ( Bharathanatyam recitals) as a part of our Dance school troupe. That makes it the eighth stage performance in the last one year! I find it hard to believe.

I enjoyed every moment.
I enjoyed the company of the young girls- young enough to be my daughters and yet they did not make me feel my age. I enjoyed the camaraderie, the light hearted banter- the leg pulling- though I was more of the amused, indulgent spectator. The friendly orchestra members, the family atmosphere.

I enjoyed the travel to the venues in a spacious van – with a movie playing which I watched intermittently with half open eyes and gave me a headache further on. I enjoyed the eating together in a small, clean abandoned wayside temple premises which we left even cleaner. I enjoyed the make up sessions, the mutual helping with the cumbersome costumes, the laughter, the giggles, the excitement coupled with nervousness as we waited backstage for our turn. The clasping of hands and praying together with closed eyes before the programme commenced, the amused stares of the people around and finally the Magic while on stage.

I enjoyed the trepidation in my heart, the glare of the lights, the feel of the stage below my feet, the sound of the ringing applause, the presenting of mementos, the clicking of photos.

I enjoyed the words of reassurance that my Guru spoke after each item, the thrill of achievement as a team …I enjoyed the scramble to unfasten the millions of pins and threads from the hair, the removal of layers of make up- the hurried dress change, and then finally the voracious attack at dinner packets. And finally the tired, yet relaxed homeward journey through the night as some of us slept and others talked. I savoured the mutual playful raillery of mistakes made, all of us fatigued and yet happy.

The two stages were as different as could be in every way- while one was so small that we were a crowd on it. It was a rickety one with criss cross beams covered by heavy mats- and we could feel gaping holes beneath our feet- my Guru was so worried that one of us would fall through the holes that we practically tiptoed gingerly through our steps. Here, there were a couple more stages close by with other performances going on simultaneously and as a result our musicians had a tough time playing by shruthi, making themselves heard- we mostly danced by a sense of feel and memory rather than actually hearing the music to which we were playing. Nothing could be done about it though because it was festival time! A new learning experience!

The next stage was so sprawling that we looked like ants on a football field! We danced (ran) across the length and the breadth of the yawning space called the stage. Here, however the sound system, the organising everything was perfect and we reigned over the arena. Another experience.

DH picks me up early next morning from my Guru’s place and I sleepily recount to him about how the programmes went, on the drive back home. Once home, I look for my sons-talk gibberish - they ask me questions which I answer hardly knowing what I’m saying. I then have a bath and then hit the bed and then it’s the proverbial log.

DH cooks breakfast and lunch, the boys help him. (Thankfully both the times it was Sunday after the programmes being on Saturday). I’m woken up at Breakfast and then lunch time and though I protest and plead that I want no food- only sleep- I’m literally dragged to the dining table and made to eat. I go back to slumber land again- and by early evening I’m more coherent and sensible.

One thing I realise though is that now at this age, while I’m dancing I’m too conscious about not forgetting my steps or missing my cue and so sometimes I miss out on enjoying letting go and to just emote - the technical nuances requires me to be so totally alert that I 'm not able to indulge in my passion for expression. I suppose it must be due to my age.

The Alta (red dye used to adorn the feet and hands ) on my palms and feet have almost faded but the memories of the experience will remain forever- and for that I’ve lots of people to thank for- My guru of course, the young girls with whom I learn, and who help me out…my most supportive and encouraging DH, my sons…and everybody else in my family …and The Almighty.

Mynah on the loose

I was on my daily blog hopping rounds that day, when I thought I heard some sounds coming from the hall. I was sure it must’ve been my imagination, still I went to have a look- and there was a mynah flying around in the hall! I had no idea how it could’ve entered our home- the only way was through the balcony in the bedroom- where I had been sitting all the while, and I hadn’t noticed! It kept flying in circles near the ceiling and I did not know what to do. As I tried shooing it- it flew into the kitchen- there was no way out through there- the windows were open but netted. It kept flying around, alighting on the water filter, the pots and pans, the shelves -clinging and clanging all the way. . I went back to the hall and kept the main doors open hoping that the bird would eventually find its way out.

I went back to my blogs keeping an eye out for the mynah. After some time I heard it in the hall again. I crouched on the floor afraid to breathe, lest it fly into the kitchen again. It was busy examining the underworld beneath the sofas, the shoe racks and kept pecking on the floor. It did not seem too inclined about flying into Freedom... Perhaps it had not realised that its freedom had been curbed. I cautiously tried out a weak, plaintive shoo- all the while worried it might go into the depths of the kitchen again. It hardly noticed. I ventured to tiptoe softly into the hall- nearer- and WHOOSH- thankfully it swooped out the open doors into the outside world in one reflex motion. I closed and bolted the doors behind me in relief. I had been worried that it would never find its way outside.

The Departed

On that Thursday morng ( Jul 5th), as I was busy running around to get things ready before the boys went to school and DH to the office, the door bell rang insistently a couple of times. I usually tend to get frazzled at such times, but I realised that this was an emergency. And it was- it was Saira- the DIL from the opposite flat. I immediately guessed what had happened, because it had been expected. The ‘Bhai’ – Saira’s FIL must’ve collapsed. Saira’s husband- Bhai’s son Afsal had informed us that the doctors had warned them that the end could come at any moment- and there was no need to come running to the hospital anymore. We had been expecting the inevitable and now it was unwinding right before our eyes. Incidentally, Afsal was in the shop through out the night trying to catch up with pending work and Saira and her MIL were all alone at home. DH rushed into their flat upon being informed…saw that “Bhai’ was lying on the floor – his eyes open but unseeing. His breaths came out in gasps and Saira’s MIL was screaming: “Kuchh karo- kuchh karo- unko theek karo”…but now the frail chest was no longer heaving…the warmth was already depleting…

What followed was heart rending- Saira’s MIL- a soft spoken woman who hardly spoke was now lamenting loudly- She was screaming “Allah” incessantly- asking to be taken away along – the neighbours started coming in from the near by flats…and as we tried to calm the woman- yet again, I had the feeling of stepping outside the scene rather than in it. Initially, I wasn’t able to hold back my tears when I first hugged the bereaved woman as she sobbed, my eyes later when completely dry as I performed the required actions in reflex like a zombie.

The departed had been a good old man and a wonderful father. His son Afsal who had by now arrived was devastated and was at a loss as to how to pacify his inconsolable mother. She kept mumbling that if Afsal had been home, his Abba would not have gone. The look in Afsal’s eyes at that moment shall remain etched in my minds eye for a long time.

Just to keep things going...

Saw an interesting tag at Chandni's.

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

I’ve got a couple of scars on my face- hmmm..one on the right side of my forehead and another on my right temple slightly below my eye. Both have the same story- as a child, though I was not particularly naughty, I did try leaping from cots, school desks- and landed without using my feet. And then blood, tears , stitches, scars…

2. What is on the walls in your room?

One austere looking “Mathrubhoomi” calendar scribbled with the b‘days of friends and relatives . A picture of Radha and Krishna bought from the streets in Udupi.

3. What does your phone look like?

Err…it looks like any ‘phone’ is supposed to look like!

4. What music do you listen to?

Classical songs sung by B’bay Jayashree, Aruna Sairam
Hariharan.
Old Hindi film songs.

5. What is your current desktop picture?

Picture of a reddish sun burst on the horizon.

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

Nothing in particular.

7. Do you believe in gay marriage?

Well, I do believe in ‘To each his/her own’.

8. What time were you born?

At noon.

9. Are your parents still together?

Well, Divorce was never an option on their cards.

10. What are you listening to?

Right now, only to the hum of the pc.

11. Do you get scared of the dark?

The absence of light does not scare me, but I do consider it an inconvenience at times.

12. The last person to make you cry?

My brother and his family. Let me explain .
The last time I cried was when I said Goodbye to my brother and his family as they were returning abroad after the hols .

13. What is your favorite perfume/cologne?

Night Magic.

14. What kind of hair/eye colour do you like on the opposite sex?

Thick, Black ,wavy hair with random streaks of grey, eyes that glint with mischief (on a particular member of the opposite gender to be specific).

15. Do you like pain killers?

While I’m not overwhelmed with affection for them I do find them rather indispensable at times.

16. Are you too shy to ask someone out?

Doesn’t apply to me.

17. Favorite pizza topping?

I dislike Pizzas.

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

Feeling rather full right now after a sumptous breakfast of Uthappams, still I think I can have Hot spicy samosas followed by Butterscotch Icecream any time.

19. Who was the last person you made mad?

Of late , My elder son at any point of time.

20. Is anyone in love with you?

Oh sure.