Listings

Warning: This is a complete me-me post. If you’re not in the mood for it, sorry, come back later.

I make lists. Used to make lists obsessively. I still do, at work. Somehow, the intensity and the urge to make lists for my own things to do, has dipped, drastically!

Today’s been a horrible and boring day. First the Mumbai terror strike and then the buzz around it, next the rain. Its been pouring non stop. I got drenched in the morning and have been sitting in the agency’s office since, freezing my bones off. I basically don’t have any “work” here other than to get them to do what should’ve on their own. Something like a teacher. And i hate it. My mind’s not occupied and can think of n other things i need to do. So here’s my list.

- I need a manicure and a pedicure. My nails are beginning to look like claws.

- My books don’t fit in my bookshelf anymore. I need to find a place to put them without having to hunt the house down when my hands itch for a particular one.

- If I’m going to arrange my books, I should also make a list of books i haven’t read yet (from my collection, that is).
I always have 4 books to be read and I keep buying books in spite of that.

- I need to scout around for a learn-it-yourself CD or website that’ll offer course content to learn web designing through Photoshop.
Any suggestions?

- I have at least 200 pictures i need to look at and decide what goes up on my flickr account.

- I need to buy a pair of jeans. This has been on my list for over 2 months now. While i’m on the topic of jeans, I also need to get my old ones altered.
They’re insanely loose and refuse stay up even with a belt. Hint of pride, maybe?

- Then comes the entire bunch of wedding shopping to be done. There’s still time

- I need to start looking through my big huge collection of junk and discard stuff that I’ve had no use for in the past and will have none in the future.

- I tell myself every monday morning that i’m going to cut down on my intake of sweets and junk. And I promptly break it by monday early afternoon itself (that’s about a coupla hours). So i need to put a reminder to not do that the coming Monday.

I’m still at the agency and its still threatening to pour but i feel marginally better after having made my list! Phew! Thank God for small mercies.

Faith

A wrong turn on the way to the Gingee fort, took us (3 fellow photography enthusiasts and me) to a dilapidated temple on a hill. It had no semblence of a temple at the first glance. No crowd, no clanging of bells, no smell of incense and camphor, no pomp and show. Instead what I saw was empty beer bottles and cigaratte butts all around the place. 

I don’t know his name, or why he suddenly beckoned me into a gaping hole in the wall, or what drove me to climb up that seemingly difficult slope. Inside the gaping hole was darkness everywhere. When my eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, I saw 2 men sitting there. One of them was sitting in front of a small diety and praying with full concentration. When I went in, he gave us a tour of the really tiny temple.

Most of the stories he told us about it being Siddhar Bhoomi and hearing their conversations and healing the sick can be easily brushed off as mindless talk of the village folk. He says he found his calling about 7-8 years back and since then has lived in the temple.

 

He goes in to the village for a meal a day and a glass of tea in the evenings. He firmly believes that the magical spring at the top of the hill has water that heals. This portrait was taken when he took us to the spring and made us taste the water as a testimony to the fact that stagnant water can never taste this pure or even be moss free. After some coxing, when we tasted that water, we found it was just fine. It didn’t taste like stagnant water at all.

What fascinated me was not his healing stories, not the seemingly clear water, not the bizzareness of the situation, but this man’s faith. He might have been telling us all this for the money we gave him finally, as one of my friends pointed out. Even if it was for the money, to sustain himself or the temple, his voice rang with a conviction that you couldn’t miss. His faith was in place. I left that place fascinated by what he had to say. 

When was the last time this happened to you? Has the sheer strength in someone’s conviction/faith taken you by surprise?

Kismat connection!

Street shopping has a certain unique kick and joy involved. Its for people who don’t mind the sun, dirty roads, wading through lots of crap to find one good item to purchase, haggling and most of all pushing their way through crowds. All the sweating and the haggling gives you feeling of satisfaction at the end of the purchase, that’s often lost in big shops. I’m not very fond of large gatherings of people in general. But one situtation when I’m almost always willing to compromise on that rule is when I know shopping is involved. People talk about how great street shopping is in cities like Bombay and Calcutta. I totally agree. People like me go mad there. I end up buying things I either have absolutely no use for or something that would seem completely ridiculous to me when I get back home and look at it. This is of course, in spite of buying n other things that I completely adore. The last time I was in Bombay, the money I shopped for on the streets could’ve bought me another flight ticket to go back there. I’m not saying its a bad thing. When you’ve faced this as often as I have, you just learn to live a poor life till the next salary kicks in. So I resolved to indulge in street shopping the next time with just about enough money to buy something only if I absolutely loved or felt the pressing need for it at that point in time.

Last week, K and I decided to go to T Nagar and spend an afternoon shopping. T Nagar doesn’t have as much variety as Bombay but its still enough to give me a kick to last an entire weekend.

We were walking down along this pavement

And this is what caught my eye

My Karma is catching up on me!

So much for my happy ending

A good story typically has strong character, a decentish storyline, a few twists, and above all, a happy ending. Its something we’ve been brought up to believe in. Even when the step sisters tortue you or when your step mom tries to kill you or you’re isolated on top of a tower with no door, you perfect ending always finds it way to you. You remember the Cinderalla type stories where the prince is always persistent and comes back to the girl and it all ends with a kiss and the “they live happily ever after” line. You grow up listening to these stories, wide eyed and full of optimism. But in real life, when you meet the frog and kiss him, he doesn’t quite change into a prince. On the contrary, quite a few princes seem to morph into frogs when you open your eyes after the kiss or after the alcohol wears off. Life should ideally be like the ending of Jaane tu yaa jaane naa. You know, where the prince comes riding on a horse, proclaims his love for you to the world and rides away into the sunset with you. Then again, that would be life at its perfect best.

In real life, the big bad wolves seem to outnumber the princes by a very unfair number. Then again, there’s this other kind of story where people cry with you when your life goes kaput and you go through more distress than the heroines of most Tamil mega serials. You know like the Mahabaratha types, people learn lessons from your life, advise others not to make the same mistakes but no one really wants to be you. My bedtimes stories never really featured Mahabaratha’s ending cos you know, its all dark and sad and the kinda story when made into a movie gets critical acclaim. You’re so sheltered from what you’re likely to encouter when you grow up. Its a desperate attempt to protect your innocence. So much for their happy ending stories.

Flying

Flying makes me feel important. As much as I hate long lines, waiting, airports, in-flight food, lost baggage hungama, crying children and take off. I love the way I feel when I fly. When I look down from above, I feel like my existance is more purposeful as compared to those lesser mortals that I see. This silly sense of euphoria originates from the middle class upbringing that had me waving my hand off at any plane that I could barely even spot. Aeroplanes, I believed, were for people who were way too important to take a train. Like it was a sign of raising above humanity. A sign that cordoned off the special people from the normal haggard ones.

During my debut air travel, I did everything that my 12 year old brain could think of to act like I belonged there. With all these people I had been waving to, till then. The people I had strained my neck to catch a glimpse of and admired. It was going to be an important moment in my life. A moment that was going to mark my crossing over to the other side.  When I entered the aircraft, I couldn’t help gaping at my fantasyland, inspite of all rehearsals in my head about acting cool. It was hard to accept that fact that everything was nice and classy. No gr ubby TTRs, no rusty window panes, nothing smelly or old. The cool carpet, the pretty attendants, the chocolates, the free kiddie goodies, even the small little toilet was just the way I thought it would be, impeccable. Then when your stomach stops churning after landing, your luggage even finds its way to you (mostly). To top all of this, when you see someone holding your name on a placard, announcing your glory to the rest of the world, not that any of the people you travel with would even care, the sense of accomplishment is just something else.

Talk about being narcissistic

Mothi

Imaginary friends are cool. They always laugh at your jokes, compliment you on your pretty new frock, never let you feel lonely, show bursting enthusiam for all the games you invent, and display unflinching loyalty even when you behave unreasonably. Not that real friends behave any differently. Imaginary friends are cooler cos, well, they’re just yours and you don’t have to share them.
Mothi is my imaginary friend. She wears a black and white checked frock and white pearl earrings. She’s the one I shared all the games and activities I invented with. Like making pots and plates using red clay found under the tree in the front yard. She was the only one that knew the right amount of water to be mixed with the clay and the exact spot they were left to dry in the scorching heat.
We used to have long conversations about all my classmates and why Raji miss beat me yet again that day and all our worldly worries while making pulpy keerai paste of leaves on the ammi in the backyard. This would then be cooked on our brittle red clay pots. The conversation would continue through the delicious meal. In the night, she would lie down next to me and talk to me and sing songs with me till I slept.
I thought of Mothi today after many many years. She feels just as real as she did when I was 3. What the hell, its 1.30 in the night and I could use some nocturnal company.

Shankar’s a typical 5 year old. He’s loud, naughty, smart, a bundle of energy and is definitely heard more than he’s seen. Every morning when I stand in my balcony, sipping my coffee, I see him walking to his car with his lunch bag. The lunch bag is always held very close his chest and is carefully set on his lap, taking care to not upset any of the box neatly arranged in it, once he settles in the car. The driver always follows with the school bag that contains way too many serious looking books for a 5 year old. He’s safely deposited at school for the next 6 hours where he learns to make some sense outta his serious books.
When he gets home, his hair’s messy, shirt’s not tucked, there are sooty black smears on his face, lace invariably undone, but always visibly happy to be home.
When he’s all fed and cleaned again, the books in the big school bag are apparently waiting to catch up with him. He’s packed off to a tuition class where he’s again coached for the next coupla hours. He drags his feet and puts on his best lost pup look to avoid his tuition. When that didn’t work, he hid his books. They were promptly discovered and he was packed off again. Next, he tried something slightly more radical, rolling on the ground and howling his throat out! Instead of being sent away with a kiss, he was dragged to his tuition and firmly planted amidst other equally distressed children.
In time, he realised that none of his antics worked! Shankar’s parents truly believe that teaching him to take his school work seriously early on will help him beat competition later on. This also justified them moving from a plush independent house surrounded by trees, in the suburbs to a cramped 2 bedroom apartment near the good school.
Small joys like jumping over walls, climbing trees, cycle races, gilli, 7 stones, getting burnt in the sun are slowly turning into luxuries.

Huffing and puffing..

I want to pass out now. I was never made to go through pages of seemingly meaningless code and figure out where they fit in. Actually, I was told its the easiest way to get a new template. I was quite bored of my drab old one. Once all my specifications were spelt out, Mayur was nice enough to find me a template that fit them.

Now, I feel all cheerful even though my head is still reeling. Whaddya think

Blahness..

I want to whine and whine while someone fusses over me! I want to be difficult even when I know its a situation no one can do anything about. I want to throw tantrums and still be taken out for fancy dinners and be bought roses and told how stunningly beautiful I look! I want to be a spoiled, difficult brat and be loved for it.

I want to cry for no reason and snap everyone’s head off. I want to be force fed ice cream and strawberries, I want the sun to stop beating down so hard on me, I want to snuggle under a blanket and watch FRIENDS all day, I want someone to massage my legs while I go to sleep, I want to eat pani puri at 2 in the morning, I want a head massage, I want my eyes to feel like I have cucumbers on them all the time, I want my pimples to vanish and stop hurting, I want to say the most outrageous, immature things to the everyone I meet, I still want them to think I’m smart and funny.

Blahness alert! I want a hug!

..and the name reads different now

Felt like it was about time Meant to do it a long while ago, but just never got around to it.
Roomie’s not in town. It gets kinda boring being alone at home. I discovered that boredom doesn’t only lead me to organise my books and music but also pushes me to clean up my kitchen and dust my pans. Given that the kitchen area was clean, decided to actually cook. I hereby declare that there’s nothing more delicious in the world than vathakozhambu and uralakazhangu curry! Its also the safest bet. You can try really hard but can absolutely not screw it up. Curling up in front of the TV after a satisfying dinner is almost the perfect end to a sunday!
PS: Since i discovered the joys of blogging from my mobile, the frequency of posts have shot up!