Thoughts

Chutki.

2011-08-02T14:28:00.004+05:30

Yes sir. It has been a long time. Before my moisture-laden ferric blog is reduced to a pile of rust, I thought it best to write maybe one last post before I close it down.

I’m kidding.

Today’s post is about Chutki … my beloved cat. Well, at least at one point of time, she was mine. I’d been wanting to blog about both my ex-pets for a while now … what I did not imagine was that I’d be writing an obituary for one of them. Anyway …

Some background….moving to B’lore from the USA is by far the smoothest transition that I’d expect compared to any other city of the country. And after the initial dance tour, and the subsequent setting up of the house, what I was left with was a lot of time, and a generous helping of boredom to go with it.

Cut to flashback. I’ve always had cats. Grown up with them, in fact. They’ve been the best of friends; have brought joy, fleas, friendship, laughter and fur (in no particular order) into the house in no measurable quantities. Of course, these guys and gals were all strays who adopted our house to deliver future generations of strong, broad-minded (enough to accept humans as fellow earthlings) and reproductively active felines.

Cut to the present. I wanted that experience again. Partly to cut open the enmeshed and unbridled boredom and idleness that was threatening to eat my brain cells alive, and well … because I’m a cat person. Or so I thought. Hmmm … well … let me reserve judgement on that for later. And so the hunt began. I scoured websites in B’lore looking for homeless kittens to adopt, to nurture and to neuter. Yes, I had decided I’d do that because that’s what all responsible animal owners do. Every thread I’d pick up would more of less result in a loose end though. No cats at the end of that leash, I was told. I almost gave up when I called this lady who’d three new-born kittens, but whose mother had died(assumption)/abandoned her young (also, assumption). Either way, without a mother’s protective paw around young kittens, they were very susceptible to all kinds of infections. I had mothered 2 such newborns once, and I knew what a big responsibility that was. So that was kept on the back burner while I looked for some that were of the mother-ful variety.

As luck would have it … umm … I had none. So back I went again to this lady asking if her kittens were still around. Yes, they were and they were waiting to be picked up, I was told. So N and I went looking for her house. The nice part was they were also animal-lovers. As soon as we get seated, out comes this little shoe-box lined with linen, and sprinkled with 3 tiny tiny kittens. Two of them were yet to open their eyes fully, but one was staring at us with such wide-eyed naïveté, that it was hard for me to ignore her.

Mostly ginger, she was the color of the typical Indian cat with those tiger-like stripes that would blossom later. She hardly mewed or cried. In fact, Chutki never did, even later. All along the journey home, she’d either be up and staring at us, or she’d be sleeping. She hardly even measured my palm, and my palm is very small.

My days after that were a blur, taking her to a vet, getting her the right food. And as she grew to fit my whole hand (!), her energy-levels grew to a point of no-endurance. Even in those days, when I did not have a “job”, if I’d go out for a couple of hours in the afternoon, she’d be hyper when I’d return. Quite a handful, that one, literally!

For my own sake, let me document her most cherished memories.

1. Yes, it can get messy. And I had read up on various potty-training manuals before I brought Chutki in. Ours was a second floor house with a balcony that is a sheer drop down to mother-earth. No escape route there. So while figuring out on what might be my best option, as a meanwhile thingy, I just placed newspaper on the little balcony, and plugged the drain pipe hole that led out of it. (I seriously did worry about her tiny head getting stuck in there, what with cats being the curious lot and all that.)

So we put her on the floor and let her take a sniff/look around. We go into the kitchen for a glass of water, and when we come back, she’s nowhere to be seen. Nonplussed, I look around in the hall before stealing a look in the balcony. And there she was, doing her business in a quiet, private corner making optimal usage of our daily newspaper. Awww, we went.

2. One fine day, we got home our new couch. A minute later, she was all over it, all 450 gms of her, lolling, rolling and clawing at our handsome furniture. Out came the fibre, and down came she. That was when I decided that I’d get another cat (Natwar deserves another post of his own, such are his kaands.)

When Natwar came in, he was instantly all over the place, sniffing the floor and Chutki, if she got in his way. Chutki, bless her soul was a typical home-cat. She was born in a house, lost her mother, came to our house straight away … I don’t think she’d even seen another cat prior to Natwar. So before friendships were forged in the fires of Mt. Fate, she hated him. She hated his presence near her, always yowling, growling at him for stepping into her private space and she hated his guts to pester her, while she, the Queen Feline, reclined peacefully.

Her tail would start swooshing ominously whenever he’d so much as think of approaching her for a good wrestle. The idiot that Natwar is, he never did latch on to her subtle hints. But as I said, more on Nattu later. There was the day when I brought Nattu home. I was sitting on the floor, back against the couch, and feet stretched out. Promptly he made a spot for himself on my legs. Not wanting to give dear Chutkuli an opportunity to sulk about this attention-grabber a.k.a Nats, I placed her also on my legs but a safe distance away from the grey-white tabby. It so happened that the tip of Nat’s tail touched Chutki from behind. Out came a yowl, guttural and bloody loud. So much for my thinking Chutki didn’t have a voice. Chuckles.

3. She was never a needy cat. Pleasant-natured and very playful. But the few times that she did want to nuzzle into me, and if I were to be sitting on the couch, she claw her way up the arm (too small to make it in one jump), then trot along the arm-length, rappel her way to the tip of the couch, do a brisk walk again till she reached my neck, dig her claws into my flesh, get on to my neck, and put her wet nose against my cheek.

...
I do miss that.

4. One night, I stepped out for a drink of water before I turned in and found only Natwar on the couch. Chutki was nowhere to be seen. Puzzled yet again, I called out to her, and she answered with a short but very sharp mew, as was her usual custom. I looked out of the little window connecting the hall and the balcony, and there she was. She had stepped out, ‘coz she had to go, but was too small to jump back in. I opened the verandah door, and in she came, looking a gazillion times more adorable to me.

(Natwar of course had no intention of making my life this awww-some. He had pooped already in front of the main door. **Derisive laughter**.)

5. Speaking of curling up on the couch … we had already made the bedroom out-of-bounds for the cats, and planned on going down the same route for the couch. Whenever either or both of them would get on, I’d whip out an old dusting-cloth, the orange ones you get … and whip it a centimeter away from where they were. In the beginning the whoosh of the air used to startle them into getting down, but sooner than later, they realized that these guys weren’t really going to hit them. With a meh! expression on their faces, they, and Chutki especially, would just curl her body even tighter and smaller.

I miss that too.

Hmmm … I guess these are her top-five memories.

The reason I betrayed them and put them up for adoption was because I simply couldn’t neuter them. Yes, it makes them less aggressive, and more homely. Yes, it makes them less-prone to infections and what-not. Yes, it’s the thing to do if you are a pet-owner. But, I chickened out. I wasn’t convinced that I had that right to do that to a fellow-being. I’m probably stretching it too far, but I simply didn’t think it was right. Initially I was all gung-ho about it, but the more I thought of it … all in all … they were up for adoption. The day I dropped them at the foster-home (they loved it there, what with three other cats for company) was a bleak evening.

A month later, they were adopted by a nice guy A and importantly, they were adopted together. They were happy at their new place with a new owner who cared for them, and they had each other for company. A few weeks ago, a street-dog mauled Chutkuli. She was severely injured, and died in her sleep. I had planned on visiting them the weekend before, but I put it off as something else came up. If only I had ……

Anyway, Natwar is ok, so is A. Both of them are a little low but life goes on.

Rest in peace Chutkuli. You will always be remembered most fondly. Love you!

Total recall : Natyanjali 2011 :)

2011-03-10T17:40:00.008+05:30

Alright.

So the last time I attended the NAtyAnjali festivals, I had made up my mind that I would document the whole experience in vivid detail. That of course, did not quite happen. This time, I’ve decided against deciding anything. I will simply write. And hopefully the product will make sense. So here goes.

The reasons that caused me to first apply for the Natyanjalis in 2008 are admittedly rather vague at the moment. I suppose I was looking for opportunities to dance ... to prove something to myself. I also wanted to visit the temples of Tamil Nadu … temples which have withstood the winds of change and have stood, silent spectators through the sands of time. And what better way to do both than through dance? And so I had set about applying to the Chidambaram, Kumbakonam and Thanjavur '08 Natyanjalis. Fortunately I got through the last two.

Performing at those two kshetras bolstered my confidence,(and my resume) to no less extent :). But lets move on to the Natyanjalis 2011 - Chidambaram, Kumbakonam and Thanjavur; 4th, 5th and 6th of March, respectively.

So we left Hyderabad on the 3^rd of March, the day after MahaSivarAtri. The onward journey was pretty uneventful. We reached Chidambaram at around 1:30 PM on the 4th, and after having a sumptuous lunch, we retired to our rooms and conked out for a while dutifully. :) Soon it was show time. My dance slot was at 6:45 PM in the evening, though we actually got onto the stage at 7:15 PM.

Chidambaram …was wonderful, the majestic gopuram looming in the audience, being the audience… perfect. My performance I thought was far from it though. I’ve a lousy habit you see … if I’m not personally satisfied with my own efforts, no matter what anyone says, I will still think rather mean of me. The reverse also holds though, if I think I’ve done my best, and I’ve reached that personal bar that I’ve set for myself, no matter what anyone else says, I will like myself and will give myself credit at the time.

And so, though my orchestra rather dutifully praised me, I knew that that was not my best. A chance at redemption came on the morning of the 5^th, when I danced in front of the sanctum sanctorum of Lord Nataraja. And I had found what I was looking for the previous evening. Salutations O Nataraja… One who dances to keep the Universe intact… and dances also for its dissolution.

Next stop. Kumbakonam. Train at 12:55 PM from Chidambaram. Train late. 75 minutes. That pretty much sums up any adventure we had on our way to the kshetra of Adi Kumbeswara. :) The AC bogies pretty much saved our lives I’d say. We reached at 4ish I think. Imagine my surprise when I’m told my slot’s in the night at 11:30 PM. After some kind, but futile attempts to get it bumped up to 9:50 PM by Mr. Subhash (manager – Aathithya hotel, where we were put up), we finally got onto the stage at 12:15. AM. :)

There is a lovely little idiom/phrase in telugu ‘ArdharAtri ankamma sivaalu ee nAtyAlenti?’ (Why are you dancing in the middle of the night, as if one possessed by Siva and Sakti?): It was exactly in that situation that I found myself that night. And I danced like one crazed. Not caring that it was way past twelve, begging the organizers for those last five minutes so I can complete what I intended to … aah … good times!

Yes sir, Kumbakonam was most satisfying. :)

Then … Thanjavur. Something about that place is just magical. I cannot quite explain it. I’m most certainly humbled and awed by the aakaaras at Chidambaram and Kumbakonam, but Thanjavur … it is something else altogether. What grandeur! What enormity! The sheer size of the gopurams, the vastness of the lawns, the temple grounds, they all seem to smilingly engulf you. And you are only too glad to be prey.

You enter the sanctum sanctorum already feeling really really overwhelmed, and then you behold Brihadeeswara.

:) In dance, there is the Adhbhuta rasa, the emotion of barefaced, blatant and brazen wonder. Glancing at Brihadeeswara brings forth that particular emotion in spades. :) The gracious Lord, stands encompassing the earth, it would seem. But wait till you see the Mother … the Goddess Brihannayaki … a gracious six (or is that seven?)-footer who looks at you with the utmost love, beckoning you to dance like only She’s watching. She’s a clever one, I tell you!

I danced on the Nandi mantapam. And I think They enjoyed it too. :)

My Natyanjalis thus came to a satisfactory end. But my trip was far from over. We left for Rameswaram the following day. A racking 8-hr bus journey. Not something I’d recommend. Next time I’m taking a train.

Bus journey, fever, cold and cough (yes, I’d developed all these en route) aside, Rameswaram was special too. To walk through the streets and think ‘Could Lord Rama have stood on this very spot where I am right now?’ was stimulating, to put it mildly.

We also visited the various teerthas in the town before boarding the train to Chennai on the 8^th evening. A word of advice : If you are planning to take the Chennai Express, from Rameswaram to Chennai Egmore, departing at 5:00 PM, I suggest you pack a sumptuous dinner for yourself. Because there is nothing, I repeat Nothing that you can find along the way. Our group of four (the orchestra had left by then) slept empty-stomached that night. :'(

In Chennai, we rested at a family friend’s house. Both uncle and aunty have great respect for my parents and went to great lengths to see that we were well taken care of. A most sumptuous lunch (I think I should specifically mention this … it had been ages since I ate the way I ate at their place :P) was provided … quintessentially telugu in all aspects … there was the banana leaf which served as the plate, the tomato and gongura pachchallu, the gongura pappu, appadalu, boorelu, annam, vankaya koora, capsicum-potato fry, teeya pulusu, kammati perugu … the works! I even did that which I haven’t dared to do since I-don’t-know-how-many-years … I filled my boorelu with neyyi and gulped down four of them :D!!! Guess all the weight that I think I’ve lost over the Natyanjalis will come bounding and galloping back home like a faithful pet :D.

Sigh! Anyway … this morning … I/we reached Hyderabad well, happy and satisfied.:) There are many I need to thank for the successful conclusion of this trip.

* I bow to Rama first and foremost – Thyagaraja’s ishta daivam, and mine too. :)

* Sri Narendra Kapreji – our family's guru, Rigveda GhanApAti, scholar and human-being extraordinaire, for agreeing to accompany us, for a particular request of mine.

* Smt. Vijayavalli Priya Yeleswarapu - My dance teacher. I bow to her, for she has taught me much more than just dance.

* My family and friends – my pillars of support.

* My orchestra team - Smt. Srivalli Sarma (vocals), Sri Sarma (nattuvangam), Sri SridharAcharya (mridangam), and Sri Anil Kumar (violin).

Here's to dance and the joy that is inherent to it. Namaskaaram!

The leaf, the martyr and 26/11

2010-11-25T18:11:00.001+05:30

I walked through the grass
I walked through the mire
I walked o'er tree and bough high
I walked to get to you.

I looked up at the clouds
Seeking direction as they dispersed
I let the wind whisper in my vein
As I walked to get to you.

For many I wander without aim
My gait meanders without goal
But there is solace in this journey of mine
For I know I walk to get to you.

I see many in my trudge
Some touch with me with tenderness
Caressing my aged skin they ask me fondly
Who it is that I walk to.

I smile and gently ease out
knowing my day is not done
I trust myself to the breeze
As it walks me to my destination.

Upon the ashes of a fallen soldier I
rest my wrinkled self I let the gray
shroud me I embrace the life that once was
I have finally walked to you.

A tribute.

2010-11-02T02:13:00.021+05:30

It seems the yearning to write hits me only after 12:00. AM that is. Eyes droopy. Eyelids weighing a ton ... sleep beckoneth, crooneth, and wooeth. This post though, is not about me. And it is that, that is keeping the nidraadhineta* at bay.

Sometime in September or late August, I had spoken with Padmasree Guru Gangadhar Pradhan - the legend amongst Odissi exponents, and Guru par excellence. Wanting to be part of the 2011 Konark Dance festival, I had called, written to them asking for details, email-IDs, whatever it was that they could give me, about the fest.

When I dialed for the first time, an old voice answered the phone. Old yes, but I could tell that it hadn't lost all of its vigour. There was still that timbre of energy in there. I rattled off statements and questions - where I was calling from, who I was, and what it was that I was calling for. The Voice heard all my queries, and said that he'd have to ask his son to get back to me.

I would not say that time stopped, or that I was awash with the feeling of being hit head-on by a truck of magnanimous proportions, no I wouldn't say that. But I did pause. It had sunk in that this was no clerical persona I was talking to, no sir. It was THE Man himself. The Founder, ladies and gentlemen of the Konark Dance Festival.

There are times in life when you feel about as small as the Qutub Minar, and as gigantic as a fire-ant, all in the space of one tiny moment. That moment, was then.

Awed, humbled, 'acutely-aware-that-my-eyebrows-had-left-my-face-and-were-in-my-hair' and the realization that if I did not say something other than 'Oh', and 'OOOOh' soon, I would pity myself very much indeed - all of this was happening in that teeny-tiny time frame.

I offered my respectful namaskaaras to him as best as I could over the cellphone (- sometimes all the technology in the world is not enough eh?). When I told him about myself, Guruji explained how solo dancers might not work on the huge stage of the Konark Dance Festival ... explained how applications had to be received well in advance ... and somewhere down the line he went into a 'Yes, ... Gangadhar Pradhan is a dreamer ... he is a doer ... that is why he started this festival .... that is why he has put his life into it ... but I'm old now ... others are managing it well ... '; and I quote verbatim. Our conversation lasted for probably 7-10 minutes.

When I put the phone down .... it was with mixed feelings. I knew I couldn't apply as a solo artist for the KDF, but on the other hand, I had spoken to an artist ... and not just any artist ... one of the best there ever was. And somehow in this gargantuan expanse of space that we all occupy, intertwined with consciousness that is both universal and personal - I heard a fistful of heartfelt sentences spoken by a great master.

Today I read that he had passed away recently. A twinge of sadness tempered with a keen sense of 'of the many many people that he met and spoke with, I was there too ... if only was a couple of minutes' - these permeate my thoughts right now.

The Mahabharata says that an individual stays in heaven as long as someone on earth remembers them and their good deeds. Once, the memory of that person's deeds fades away, the said individual takes birth again, and another cycle begins.

What can I say Guruji - you are going to be in heaven for a VERY long time.

To dream and to do. You've taught me this. May dance always be with you. Namaskaaram.

*Nidraadhineta - The deity who presides over sleep. A reference to this may be found in the Chandi Saptasati - a treatise dedicated to the Goddess Durga, which praises Her as the Cause of all activities in the universe, including NidrA or sleep.

A birthday, a niece, dance, and a trip.

2010-09-06T00:52:00.003+05:30

Its 12:25 AM. I really want to sleep. Somehow, I've picked this ungodly hour to do a blog post. Its been long. Really really long since I blogged last. But why now? What can I say, we artists are whimsical. We do what we want to do, when we want to do. I have heard people complain that artists can be difficult to handle. I wonder why.

A lot of things have been happening to me, I'm happy to say. Dance, cooking, veena, SPICMACAY at UVA - its keeping me busy to say the least. There was a time when the non-availability of tasks to do (when I'd just arrived in the USA) used to create borderline depression. Now, the jam-packed schedule has begun to shoulder that responsibility.

But between the chaos of an having hundred different things to do, all wrestling to get to the top of your mental priority list; and the deafening quiet of cerebral cells dwindling away in the night of idleness, I'd prefer the former. So yes, I'm enjoying my time with all the attempts at tearing at my hair. :D If you've read my blog posts before, you will realize that I tend to put a verbose spin to many of my stories. I assure you that it is exactly that, that I'm doing right now. So do not waver O brave one. Read on.

I recently returned from my trip to Philadelphia for a performance at the Norristown Dance Fest. It was most satisfying. :) The event was organized well, and I got to catch up with a million friends and relatives. I spent my birthday there (29th Aug - now now, no years will be mentioned :D), with my darling niece Sriya, and her parents (my cousin Sridhar and his wife Srividya). Of course, the availability of two people within the same four walls bearing the same name became cause for a lot of leg-pulling. And my husband who possesses the nose of a bloodhound when it comes to sniffing out any potential for poor jokes, pounced on the situation like a hungry Jack Russel on a bowl of kibble. :D

I feel I've to say a few words about my little niece - mere aankhon ka taara :D. You might think that that is a bit of an exaggeration considering that we stayed at their place only for a couple of days. But she is such a cutie, such a little ray of joy that I feel completely justified in giving the whole taara comment. At this point, I wish her and her family the best of everything, all the time:). (I'm in a very aaseesulu*-giving mood right now- as PG Wodehouse would say, the milk of human kindness floweth in my veins at the moment :D).

I visited my Veena teacher in NJ (she had come visiting) and brought back a veena. The whole trip was a testament to that popular greeting ' kshemanga velli laabhanga randi' **. Good times, to sum it all up. And so it is with hope and happiness that I step into a new year. Tomorrow I might be in the thick of a mid-life crisis, but today, I'm good. Yep.

Post script for the non-telugus
* good wishes
** Go safely and come back profitably (my translation is not as poetic as the original. But it'll have to do.)

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at srividyaangara.blogspot.com.

Out of titles. Just read on, will ya?

2010-01-05T23:00:00.006+05:30

Happy new year to that meagre section of the world's populous who happen to read my blog. May the year bring everyone happiness, peace, prosperity yadda yadda yadda ... and now to the main point of my blog.

These days a lot of philosophical, vedantic, bordering_on_mid_life_crisis questions have been arising in my mind. And so I turn, as usual, to books for the required solace. I present to you now a passage from the book that has captivated me currently.

"...And all the bridges over rivers were destroyed and boats forbidden to ply, and the trenches (around the city) were spiked with poles at the bottom. And the land around the city for full two miles were rendered uneven, and holes and pits were dug thereon and combustibles were secreted below the surface. Our fort, O sinless one, is naturally strong and well-defended and filled with all kinds of weapons! And in consequence of the preparations made, our city was more prepared than ever to meet the foe..."

The city that's being talked about here : Dwaravati or Dwaraka
Speaker of the words : Sri Krishna
Speaking to : King Yudhishtira, the Just
The Book : Mahabharata

If I'm not mistaken, that emboldened line in the passage I think refers to a landmine. A bloody l.a.n.d.m.i.n.e. Mentioned in a book that dates as far back as 3100 B.C. Wow. WOW. If you thought Jules Verne writing about the submarine a good god-knows-how-many-years-before-the-thing-actually-got-invented was fascinating, what would you think of this? And the fortifications mentioned in the book are amazing down to the very last detail. Trenches dug, well stocked food and water supplies for the soldiers, cannons, bullets (yes, bullets), and get this - every soldier paid in gold and no soldier or his family left unpaid or dissatisfied. The Indian government would do well to take a leaf out of this book and increase the paychecks of the its defense forces eh?

To summarize :
3100 B.C.
Sense of security? Check.
Good governance? Check.
Prosperity and happiness all around? Check.
People's faith in their rulers? Check.

2010 A.D - An advanced world.
Check's bounced.

Sigh.

A second observation. Sri Krishna who many believe to be the incarnation of Sri Maha Vishnu, was Himself the head of that city. All He had to do was just think that Dwaraka was to be safe, and it would have been. But no, even He with all His Almighty-ness had to work to keep that city safe. He did not, and neither did His citizens think that just 'coz the mighty Krishna a.k.a MahaVishnu was their protector, they could just sit and do nothing and leave it all to Him. They defended their city with all the necessary safety mechanisms in place. This despite knowing very well that the ruler of that city was none other than the Lord Supreme Himself! Great lesson to be learnt eh? No matter who you are, you still got to work.

While reading the M, a thought crossed my mind about that other epic, my personal fav - the Ramayana. So this is my theory.

In the Kali yuga, the Srimad Ramayana, in my humble opinion, works better for every individual than the Mahabharatha.The Sri R was in fact, probably written more for the Kali yuga than any other. Think about it. The Mahabharata introduces the concept of gray in human nature, while the Ramayana is mostly black or white. When gray comes in, it takes a person of extremely clear vision (the likes of which include Sri Krishna Dwaipayana Vyasa Himself) to do the morally right thing.

The Ramayana one the other hand, is quite straightforward in its morals, no confusion there at all. Be a good son, be a good wife, a good brother, father, basically be a good person, but when something bad happens, don't chicken out saying 'All is god's will' but get off your b*** and do the thing that you need to do to make it right. The Mahabharata also gets that point across but well, as I said, in the splashes of black, white and gray thrown at you, one takes time. That's my take at least.

Another point is that the Mahabharata raises a lot of questions. Too many questions. And sometimes, those that aren't very comfortable in nature either. If you keep up the reading, you'll find your answers, but if you give up, those bugging questions will just take root and colour your opinion of the epic. And your thoughts of everything else too.

At the end of the day though, I really do think that the ancient epics of India are the most gyaan-giving books that one can ever find. In the guise of millions of characters, in the garb of wonderful stories, they teach you to be what you need to be, to get to where one eventually wants to go. They let you question, and they will provide you with the answers. Just don't stop mulling over what you've read and just keep reading.

In an India that is fast developing/westernizing/rapidly-marching-ahead-and-in-the-process--perhaps-loosing-its-core-traditions-and-value-systems(?), these ancient beacons of light I think provide a sense of grounding. And sanity.

All in all, here's to my reading many many more books this year. Not to mention blogging about them. :)

My first choreography

2009-11-04T22:25:00.001+05:30

For the Deepawali 2009 celebrations hosted and organized by the Indian Association, Charlottesville; this is what I presented. Its a lovely composition by sitar maestro Pandit Ravi Shankar. May this be the first step on a long, wonderful journey of Kuchipudi choreography!

Heaven.

2009-10-07T20:30:00.001+05:30

I've been having this craving for chocolate recently. Oh k ... chocolate's welcome anytime into my mouth, but the other day, I just had to go beyond my usual MO, which is 'pressed-against-window-salivating-looking-at-chocolate' or 'just-smell-the-chocolate-its-all-the-pleasure-and-no-calories'. So I walked into the Lindt chocolate shop on the main road. I think heaven smells like a chocolate shoppe. I've no doubt about it. Aah ... that heavenly scent (at this point, I draw a long 'lost-in-choc' breath). All around me was a riot of colour. Chocolates in blue, gold, orange, red, cream wrappers - all encasing that one drop of Swarg.

After a great deal of thought, I decided to go for a $1.25 small bar. (Less cals, and craving's gone too) before my eye crept up to its luscious neighbour - The chocolate mousse stuffed, dark chocolate covered Lindt bar. The catch? Serving size 4 pieces. 200 (or was that 270?) calories, 120 from fat alone. Gulp.

Out went 4.50 bucks, in came the chocolate. And what a chocolate it was! The mousse was semi-solid protected by that semi-sweet dark knight, and there I was biting into it, and I swear by the heavens, I might've floated a little ... I'm telling you - I distinctly felt lighter when I bit into it for the first time.

I mean, whoever came up with the idea of stuffing chocolate mousse into dark chocolate? Do these chocolate creating guys just sit around mahogany and walnut tables and come up with these delicious, mouth-watering, fattening, calorie-ridden combos?

Sigh. Hey... what can I say? Bring 'em on.

Nostalgia

2009-07-30T02:20:00.001+05:30

I was looking at all these old DD documentaries today on Youtube (bless that site). My personal favs are the "Mile Sur Mera Tumhara", and "Baje Sargam". Where are those kind of films now? I think apart from the short documentaries' inherent goosebump-y appeal, there was the charm of DD also.

Its just sad that children these days aren't growing up with these wonderful films. I remember running to the television set every time these films would be broadcast. I remember Byomkesh Bakshi, the detective serial aired every wednesday at 9.00 PM. And I don't know if anyone even remembers "Stone Boy". That serial had a haunting title song.

Then there was the "Purab se surya uga" franchise - the heart-warming short films stressing the importance of education. Sigh.

I'm glad I was born in the 80s.

Chronicles of a married couple ...

2009-06-18T00:32:00.000+05:30

Act1. Scene 1.

Me (washing dishes). Husband (cooking).

(...in continuing conversation)
Husband : Tumhe maaloom hai, Rajasthan mein relatives ko 'sa' bolke address karte hain ... like bhaisa, bhabhisa ...?

Me : Haan ... maine sunaa hain yaar pehle ... oh maybe in that Hindi serial that comes on COLOURS channel back in India, Baal Badhu or something.

Husband : Arrey usme bhi hai na ... woh Jodhaa Akbar mein ...

Me : Oh haan ... wahi tho main soch rahi thi ... kahin aur bhi sunaa hai maine ... usme Aishwarya kitniiiiiiii pure aur beautiful lagti hai (Note : Let me reiterate that I'm no fan of her acting ... but I think she looks like a billion bloody bucks) ...

Husband : I swear ya ...

Me (looking at him warily ... ) : "I swear ya?!?!" Isn't that a girl thing to say?

Husband (leaning in) : I sweaaar yaaa .... Ai-swar-ya ... get it ? :D

Me (At this point, I am forced to hit myself with the cleaning scrub in my hand ... address him in a tone mixed with horror and pity ... pity for myself that is ..) Pleaaaaaaaaaase baaaaaaaap ... don't torture me. Doing dishes is punishment enough!!!

Husband (bursts into a song ... (he always ... always has a song for every occasion. Yes, this is what I've married into ... voluntarily. :D)) : Mera emooooootional atyaaachaaaaaar.... Tauba tera jalwa ....

Rigours of a married life eh? :D Love it though :).

Fly high. And let it be first class :D

2009-06-16T01:54:00.000+05:30

We just returned from a one-week trip to San Francisco! Now that is one beautiful city. I had a great time seeing the Golden gate bridge, Lombard a.k.a the world's most crooked street, Fisherman's Wharf etc etc. More SF, more 'walking-around-so-much-your-feet-threaten-to-dislodge', and finally Yosemite National Park. It is one beautiful beautiful place. And if you like to be close to nature without getting swamped by people, plan to go there on a weekday. Less crowd. Trust me. One week went away in the blink of an eye. But the best ... was yet to come.

Our flight back home was set to leave on Saturday evening at 7.45 PM. Unfortunately the airlines we booked (UNITED) did not turn up on the runway. It was delayed/cancelled/who knows/who cares and we were in an unfortunate 'standby' list; which as it is with standby lists, never would get cleared. Now generally airlines overbook as is standard policy. So before you ever get onto a flight, there exists a full possibility of your getting kicked out of it if you are an 'overbooked' passenger. So anyway, there is a 'waiting' list and there is a 'standby' list and a w-list takes precedence over an s-list. Never mind, if both lists contain names hanging in there like hot potatoes. Though the airlines have to first accomodate the waiting list-ers and then go to the standby. As a result of a mixture of fate and mathematics (its a long explanation as to how that word got into the fray) and policies, we were stranded in the airport.

When we spoke to the guys at the help desk, they apologized profusely for all the inconvenience caused. Nice.

We asked them when we could actually get to see the inside of a plane.

They said 'We don't know.'

And then they went back apologizing profusely for all the inconvenience caused. Oh, and also handed us these little pamphlets that spoke eloquently on UNITED's rights and reservations and stuff. Just in case, someone decided to sue for emotional trauma.

We then went dragging ourselves, along with the luggage to a second customer-centric help desk.

And that's when we met our angel.

She put us up at a lovely hotel, presented us with 2 $15 food coupons and two tickets to Washington, via Denver.

First class.

Ahh. The flight to Denver was good ... I mean, instead of the economy 3-seater, you have a two-seater covering the same space. So more leg-room yadda-yadda-yadda and we had a good flight. But then .. the flight to Washington ... oh my oh my. They had these individual 'S' shaped areas. It was about having your own space. No neighbours. You are all there. On your own. A laptop-monitor-sized personal TV, storage at your fingertips (literally I mean ... one button and ta-daaa ... a door pops open from somewhere revealing hidden compartments ... it was like being on Treasure island :D) , two large pillows, and a very soft blanket.

Then I found a magic button. Just press it, and your seat unravells itself to be a wonderful soft bed. It was studying metamorphoses all over again I tell ya. All in all ... San Fran has been gooooooood to us!

I believe now ... if there's heaven above... baby ... its first class :D.

Ramlalji, aaj main bhi maan gaya ... Jo jeeta wahi sikander!

2009-04-29T15:45:00.000+05:30

So I've been watching Jo Jeeta Wahi Sikander again. And again. And again. And again. In a space of 5 hours, I have watched that wonderful climax at least 6-7 times, not including the whole movie everytime cheering for my beloved Sanju aka Aamir Cutie Khan. (Note: I don't care if you think I am jobless.)

However I think they made a mistake in the filming of the race. Everytime the race is on, the commentator speaks of "Baramullah ke khatarnaak pahaadi" and tops it with the "Kodaikanal road". I thought the whole story was set in Dehradun. So unless Kodaikanal is mountain range in Dehradun, (which I very much doubt), the filmmakers made a mistake here. But I nitpick. I just love that movie. First of all, there is that sure fire theme of the underdog win, which I in general lap up like a hunger-ridden Jack Russel. Then the songs. There's peppy, romantic classic, awww, so cuuuuute, you take your pick.

My favourite is however not any particular song though (I like all of them, even the "Naam hai mera fonseca"). My fav in the movie is that climax track. The part where Sanju is right behind that Shekhar Malhotra and the music goes from adrenaline-squirt to adrenaline-pump. And slowly he overtakes him in that 'dhin-chak-dhin -dhindhin-chak' drone. A.W.E.S.O.M.E.

I have been thinking though, if there were a sequel to JJWS, what and how would it be. Forget sequel, after Sanju gets home with that gigantic cup in his hand, I wonder how his formidable dad would treat him? Finally give him the bhaav he has been craving for since Act1, scene1? His brother Ratan would be incredibly proud of him though, but maybe the attention would get to him finally and he would start feeling jealous of his kid bro? I wonder what would happen. There really should be a sequel to this. Really.

Until then, I shall watch that climax (and maybe the whole movie) again :D. Jai Ramji ki mai-baap!!!

The chronicles of a married couple ...

2009-03-08T06:23:00.004+05:30

N : Honey! I'm home!
M: Aa gaye!!! (The whole hindi phillum style ... wife standing with belan in hand scene) Ab yaad aayi tumhe ghar ki?
N : Mujhe bahut bhook lag rahi hai? Khaana do mujhe...
M:(Taken aback) Tumne mujhe samajh kya rakha hai? Naukraani hoon kya tumhari?
N : Jo bhi ho ... raani tho hoooooooo
M: (Rolling eyes) Why do I even bother?

Fortune fame, mirror vain, gone insane, but the memory remains.

2009-03-07T19:52:00.002+05:30

I am back! From Sunny Florida baby! Of course, the 4 days we stayed there, it was raining, freezing and in general far removed from its out'ray'geous title. I went up ... down rather, to meet up with me bro who studies there. And K is his roomie. K, a.k.a, sthitham.

Trip over, it was time to leave. I vowed to myself that I would sleep ASAP and get up real early (at this point in time, my husband snorted and excused himself. Probably to laugh himself silly, but oh well...) and leave the next day at 8.00 AM. And then we all went ahead and stayed up till 2.30 AM. I don't know what it was that started our trip down memory lane (you see, sthitham, me bro, and I, have known each other since 16 years. Ok. I've known my brother longer, but you get the general idea.), but we picked up speed and started recounting stuff that went past the Jurassic era and clamoured back to my pre-US days.

I think the discussion started out with how my brother owed me money. (:D) And our fights, our first swear words ... stuff like that. Bonding, bonding, and more bonding. My husband of course was only a poor, imprisoned witness to all our ramblings. As I said, we were bonding.

It was in the course of the conversation, (by this time, we had come to my pre-US days) that medical care in the US came up, and how it was so absurdly heavy on the purse. (And the soul, coz to pay for stuff here, you might just have to sell it to the devil). And of course we had to then launch on our injuries through the years, our cuts and bruises, going into indepth detailing of the various hues and fluids that spawned out of it. Dentists can't be far off when you speak of injuries and that's how this story came up.

Just before I came to the US, I got my two remaining wisdom teeth removed. From the moment, that damned dull ache started in my jaw I knew that it was time to bid goodbye to my two remaining structures of sapience in my jawline. "To the dentist", was the slogan raised. When I went in, I didn't recognize him at first, (he did put on some weight and had grown a moustache (its amazing what a difference that thing makes to a face)) but obviously it didn't take long to exchange courtesies and there we were, on that familiar dentist's stool+sofa+couch+electric chair thingy with that blinding light on my face and the dentist's voice telling me that 'This might hurt a bit'. (You think?)

After the first tooth was removed, and somewhere between removing the second, the dentist goes "Please ma. Don't bite." I nod and mumble "Ohe hoechor". After a couple of minutes, the dentist says again in that sing-song voice of his, "Pls ma ... don't bite ma. You are biting my hand ma". Ouch. Embarrassing. Thanks to the anaesthetic, I had no sensation of biting anyone and I thought his first statement was more of a 'I'm doing this in your mouth, there is a chance that you might clamp your jaws on my palm. Please don't' kinda warning. Poor chap. I really was sinking my teeth into his hand. Ugh. Of course I scrambled as much as I could in that dentist's chair thingy, and wishing heartily to turn into vapour, I mumbled an 'Oh' and many-a-sorry, all starting with 'h' and sounding like a bunch of 'h's and 'o's.

By the time I finished that story, I had tears in my eyes. Actually everyone did. I think everyone might have had internal injuries too, from all the laughter. (Chuckles) Yep... some trips truly rock. Especially the ones that involve memory lanes. They are fun. And they are free. :D

Where there's a leak, there's water

2009-01-15T03:41:00.003+05:30

I had my first housewife adventure today. My apartment got flooded :D. And the reason I'm gleeful 'bout this is, as my ever-helpful husband puts it ever so subtly, 'Be...cau...se you don't have to do anything but sit on the couch". Now the question is, what the hell am I doing sitting pretty on the sofa while the house fills its insides with water? Not definitely waiting for a little dinghy to wing by and rescue me.

It all starts when I wash up my dishes and come out into the hall to relax a wee bit and also help myself to a chocolate milano (aaaaaaaah ...) cookie. Unfortunately, the hall decides to wash itself and there's a film of water stretching all the way till the carpet, devouring a bit of it already. After a 45-min session with the mop and the floor, I ditch the milano and decide to go in to the kitchen to replenish my strength with a glass of milk. And what do you know. More water. And I had JUST finished a 30-minute session with the kitchen BEFORE I had that 45-min session with the hall and I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!!!

I decide to pop by my neighbour and ask him if he could help me a bit and hey!Its the maintenance guys in there (Empty apartment + place crawling with maintenance guys = relieved and happy me). And before you know it, our place is crawling with the maintenance dudes. By the way, ever since I've moved in here, I have been wanting to mop that hall, but owing to a variety of reasons, mainly laziness, I've been putting that off. And now, that hall's been cleaned five to six times. And I'm not the one doing it!!! :) God bless those maintenance chappies.

The work's still going on by the way, even as I type this. There's a pipe in there that's leaking and the chappies have decided to blow a hole in the wall (not ours, the empty apartment gets the brunt of it. Yet again.) to fix it. I hope it turns out all fine and more importantly, dry.

So that's that. I'll get going now. Have to visit a temple.

PS : Runaway leaks, flooded house and visiting temples. I really AM a housewife.

PPS: Love it.

The strange case of the issue with the tissue.

2009-01-10T12:23:00.002+05:30

I'm generally not one for body humour ... especially if its the lower half of the body and its multifarious aspects that's under scrutiny. So it took a long time for me to decide on whether or not to write 'bout whatever it is that I'm about to write now. You see ... its about (hushed whispers) my tussle with the tissue.

I recently got married (normal voice) and like many married women who move to the US 'coz their corresponding pati parmeshwars stay there; I did too. Our flight route took us through London, starting from Mumbai, and finally landing at Washington DC. Now the thing is, just before we left, I had an attack of gastroenteritis, and that meant that I had to rush to the bathroom at the slightest gesture from my poor stomach. So there I was in that constant mumble-y state of mind, and rumble-y state of tummy and it was with that, that I left my beloved Hyderabad. Anyway, we soon landed in Heathrow and nature called, and then eventually started to yell.

I had to rush to the loo, and... no water! And tissue... ewwww. Is it me or does anyone else also find the whole tissue thingy gross? 'Coz using a piece of paper to do away with your job is really not my idea of a job well done. (And I can't believe I just typed that!) Anyway, what happened had to happen. When I came to the US and stepped into my new home however, I decided to put my foot down. No tissue. I lost. Well, not half actually. I got a jar.

Hey its not like I didn't try you know. I did. But I think I stay jarred. The other day, I went out with a couple of friends to play pool. A few half-hours later, my friend G draws me aside and asks me if I'd adjusted with the tissue. As you know, I'm a shy and retiring person, who generally shrinks from discussing stuff like that. I tried to wriggle out of the situation. I know I'm going to regret writing this later, but I think I mumbled something 'bout alternating.

But the question is, is it just me? I want to know if there are other stricken humans out there too who grapple with the issue of the tissue. If I can be brazen enough to write about this fragrant topic, I'm sure the comments can be air-freshener-ed in too.

It’s what they say ...'Speak up Amreeka'.

Dehugging life.

2008-11-16T01:01:00.001+05:30

M: I've decided that I shall never speak to all and sundry in Telugu.

V : What happened?

M: A life-altering incident.

V : I repeat ... what happened?

M: Ok ... so I was in Mysore. For my training. On my left sat my good friend (whose name eludes me right now), while on my right, sat... well... a guy who wasn't. After conversing with my good-friend-seated-on-my-left, and realizing a little later, that class was over, I turned to the guy on my right and asked him to move. He looked shocked. Taken aback used in conjuction with scandalized would attempt to convey the general impression he gave. And with all this, he didn't budge but instead coughed a "Sorry?". I repeated my request. The traumatized fish-out-of-water, hunted look still hung on his face. I was beginning to lose my patience. People were queueing up behind me with a "Hoy! Get a move on there!". And in my indignation, I exclaimed "Please move!" to which reason seemed to return to the hapless chap's throne and he ... well ... he moved.

I found out later that the unfortunate guy was a kannadiga. That's nice. But I still couldn't fathom why he looked like he'd seen a ghost when I asked him to move. And then, it hit me. I had spoken to the guy in Telugu in the first two instances of requesting him to displace himself. But that still didn't explain his outrageous 'Howwwwwwwww could you?' expression.

I bumped into a Kannadiga friend of mine later, and asked him casually what tappuko meant in kannada? He laughed and said not sans a mischevious gleam in his eye 'Why? Have you been using that word lately?' and promptly dismissed my question. Now I knew there was something wrong. This time I sought out a girl friend of mine, another Kannadiga and posed the same Q. Again the m. gleam in the e. Damn. Whaaaaaaaaaaat did I do wrong? And this time, the answer came.

V : What happened?" (Ok ... I think I need a new line)

M: Well ... I was speaking to my friend right? ... in class? I was conversing with her in telugu. And when the class ended, I had turned around and said "tappuko" in the same flow to this random guy. And ... sigh! While tappuko means 'move' in telugu ... (deep sigh) ... that guy heard it as something else... the 'pp' part of tappuko must have sounded like 'bb' to him and ...

V : Ok ... what happened? (I really need a new line now...)

(Silence)
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(Umm... more silence)
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M : Sigh ... In kannada, tabbuko means "hug me".

V : (Rendered incapable of speech. Current action : ROTFL)

Tagged.

2008-11-08T23:46:00.006+05:30

కార్తీక్ గాడు నన్ను tag చేసాడు. So here I am racking my head as to what my idiosyncracies could be. When I really should be sleeping. Grumble.

1. I had this quirk for a very long time ... if someone hit me on my left hand, I'd hit myself on the same spot on the other hand to balance it out. Wierd? Not half. This actually went cantering to such heights that if my foot touched someone's chappal, then I'd use the other foot and touch the second chappal and endevour to displace it by the exact same distance and angle as the first one (which anyway happened by mistake to begin with). Sigh. Poor me in those days.

2. When I see a fold on a garment ... be it a curtain or a table cloth or someone's chunni, I just HAVE to go and smoothen that crease and keep flattening it till my hands have lost a coupla inches.

3. In my world of fantasy, (which I suspect is a customized set of utterly ridiculous but extremely pleasant thoughts), I'm the world's greatest dancer. Kuchipudi is my main stream, but I'm perfectly capable of executing complex manoeuvers in any style of dance known to man. Oh wait, that doesn't include ballet though ... it only limits itself to Indian classical dance styles. And yeah, I've been bequeathed the greatest of the titles from India's Bharat Ratna to France's Legion of Honour (all before I've hit 30). Naaahiiiiice.

4. I like my పప్పు, కూర, సాంబార్, చారు, మజ్జిగ పులుసులు, పిండి మిరియం (That, in the same order is daal, curry, sambar, rasam, and I don't know whatever majjiga pulusu is called (umm ok... its a buttermilk based sambar, poured loosely (no pun intended)) and pindi miriyam( uhh... I think this one's got a lot of urad daal, lots of black pepper( hence the name 'miriyam' ... meaning pepper) , and beans... but beans can be substituted with any other gourd- veggie also I think) to be ever so slightly sweetish. I cannot bear a dish that has the essence of tamarind and the absence of jaggery. Even my pulihora must have have gud in it. I like the mix of sweet-sour in my food, and if you can't manage to bring that out, then don't invite me. So there.

5. I believe that the planets watch over us and especially bow to Hiranyagarbha - He who dispenses with lethary and who has a proclivity to dole out life-giving rays and the whole works. And all this, when I wake up at 12 in the afternoon.

6. When I see a train, I HAVE to count the number of bogies. And woe begone the person who interrupts me.

That's that. I know they're more. But I've to think 'bout them and I'm sure I've better things to do. Like look at the stars outside and think of being an astronaut.

Zero gravity

2008-09-29T23:37:00.002+05:30

I don't like weighing scales.

If ever there was a contraption whose mere sight was enough to make me teeter on the icy brink of deep blue funk, it is that. Over the years, I've come up against many of their kind. From the uncertain pappa-gimme-a-1rupee-coin-no?-i-want-to-check-my-weight weighing scales to the heck-you-ARE-overweight ones lounging about at a doctor's.

The one I hate however, is in my gym. A friday evening, after a gruelling workout, when I step onto the offending machine, it says 53.2. I had the best weekend ever. I come back on Monday and it reads 55.8. Sigh. I don't starve myself (anymore) but I'm not that gutsy an eater either. Fishy is what is written all over that WS and all in all, I'm thoroughly justified in looking at the thing askance when I step into the AC environs which house it.

Today was no different. Workout wise I mean. After an hour's 'am-sooooooooo-dead' exercising, I gathered myself and started to crawl out of the place. I tried not to look at the weighing scale which had mysteriously appeared (it wasn't there when I walked in) at the entrance. But a gaggle of giggling girls had that machine at their mercy and its hard to ignore a gaggle of giggling girls at any rate. So I stepped into the circle. One girl said, 'I don't trust this scale an inch. I showed my weight as 53 one day, and the very next, 58'. I had company.

Wait time. My turn now. Weight time. 0.1kg. I get down, hit the thing and again, it shows 0.1 kg. Now I know that that's not possible. And yet, I think I'm beginning to like this thingy. I feel light-headed. Happy. I think ... I'm floating. Zero gravity, here I come.

వివాహ భోజనంబు... I think not!

2008-09-26T23:58:00.001+05:30

N: Once you come here, we must invite people home.
V: Gulp. Am I to cook?
N: Ummm...yeah.
V: But I can't cook! I mean ... I can't cook for too many people. I mean ... its not that I don't want to ... I mean ... I can't! I'll burn everything! Or undercook it. I'll put too much salt or too less of it ... I caaaaaaaaaaan't! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh! (Running away flailing arms.)
N: Oh relax! We'll order it from the desi restaurant around the corner, and pass it off as yours.
V: Chee. That reminds me of a too-hep-for-household-bahu who picks up the phone to order stuff off a menu when family members come home. I don't like characters like that.
N: Ok, first of all ... there aren't any family members coming. And second of all, you aren't hep.
V: Great. I burn food annnnnnnnnd am not hep.

Cookery classes, me thinks.

Of cals and chocs :)

2008-09-16T12:45:00.000+05:30

'Twas a funny evening that I found myself in. I generally like to head for my session at the gym by 4.45 PM. 'Coz with the gym, the ol' FCFS rule rules. 15 minutes later. I'm all set to give a pricey treadmill some wear for its value. I turn the knob and ... oops. The gym door is locked. Another lady comes in. She's a regular. Hell or high water, she comes as sure as Rani Mukherji's films flop. :D. Ok... that was rude. As sure as the sun rises in the east. There ... better. I think.

Anyway, the regular comes in, all set to do her set of pumpin' and ohohoho - locked. Soon there's another lady joining us. And another. And into our motley group, walk in three assorted gentlemen, none of whom have the all-too-important key to unlock the door to our dreams (of looking toned and fit and what not .. you know!).

Before we know it, there's a crowd milling around impatiently heartily cursing
a. the instructor who bloody well should've been here by now
b. the security guard who wore an expressionless face and a spare key that unfortunately could not be spared until the instructor had arrived.

The clock strikes 5.20 PM ... 20 minutes ... that would have meant nearly 100 calories at least. All lost. In the meanwhile, the girls are swapping stories on how a couple of guys almost came to blows. Here's a story that did the rounds. Chap A had apparently 'booked' his slot on the treadmill (which means, he asks the girl using it "How much longer? Oh k ... I'm after you" and then rushes to grind his muscles on some other heartless contraption) and a second one B, not choosing to utilize his time elsewhere just hangs on to the treadmill, billowing great waves of "That's enough ... gerroff now willya?". Obviously, there came a point, when the girl does get off the t.mill, B jumps at the opp. A comes fuming and starts arguing ... then A and B get together and fire away at the girl. Sigh. People.

Anyway, amidst all this, the key-chap (no pun intended), comes in, unlocks the door. And here a mini-race takes place. Everybody scrambles (pretending to amble along casually of course:D ) to get the best machine, me included. Ahh ... all's well that ends well and I came away with 300 calories burnt.
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I treated myself to a milk chocolate later to celebrate that. Guess some things never change eh? :D

A l'll bit o' this and a l'll bit o' that ...

2008-09-14T20:43:00.001+05:30

Today, being Ganesh nimarjan, I was looking at the many processions of our Tusker Lord. Riding royally, he came in varied shapes and sizes and hues accompanied by that high-inspiring teen-maar beat that is our usual harbinger ... 'The Ganesh Idol's coming ... its coming ... come out of your homes people!' I always feel like running out and doing a nifty step or two with those colourful people out there. In the end though, I generally do it on me veranda when no one's looking. Or at least, when I think no one's looking. Hmmm ... after my marriage (oh blush blush and drawing patterns on the ground with right big toe) this december(oh did I tell you that I'm getting married? No? I'm getting married:D), I don't know when I'd be seeing another Ganesh immersion procession sitting on that granite stool in front of my house. Oh wow... when it hits you finally, it hits you hard, doesn't it?

How does a girl who has spent her entire lifetime (till then) living with her parents in her comfortable cozy home, suddenly put her stuff together and walk out? Oh sigh. I wish I had stayed in a hostel atleast sometime. I would've got used to staying away from mom's (slurp!) food and dad's wry humour then. I've been in this house of mine since a good 15 years and practically know everyone in the colony. But you gotta move on. Dammit. You've Always got to move on.

I saw Ashta Chamma the other day. Its this new telugu movie and by jove! It is Good. The cast is fresh and they deliver. Period. The script is tight, the dialogues funny and the audience a satisfied lot. :) Two words. Go watch.

My veena teacher, it struck me today, is really progressive person. Despite having studied formally only till a single-digited standard, she's manages herself pretty darned well. She called me up today in the evening, asking if I could come and rig this electronic system for her. She tried doing it on her own ... all of her 65+ years, but well... couldn't. The system still didn't work when I left her, but what shone through her was her penchant for activity. She's an active Brahmakumari and does have her own sweet world to dwell in. I've never known her t0 compromise on anything she doesn't believe in. She lives alone, but I don't think I could categorize her as 'lonely'. Her husband recently passed away ... her children are in different parts of the world, but she is content. Yes, as J.Herriot's Yorkshire Dalemen would put it ... "She's a strong 'un" alright.

Finally, the blasts. Delhi rocks again and this time, it ain't a compliment. Sometimes, I wish a bloody deluge would come, sink the entire world and be on its way. No life. No problem. But I guess we must just keep fighting. For how long? No idea. But just keep going ... just keep going. I hate to think of the family of those 20+ people who've been killed. Of the many others who've been injured. In an instant, their lives must've changed. Poor people. The thought in my head is, till now ... these things happened to 'others'. Now though, it seems different. A shadow seems to be creeping on the land. But what do we do?

ఎందఱో మహానుభావులు ...... కాని ఎక్కడున్నారో? :)

2008-09-12T23:17:00.000+05:30

Q1. Can you play the saxophone? Can you drum up a nifty beat? Oh heck! Are you gooooooood at any stringed or wind or percussion instrument?
Q2. Are you from Hyd?

If your answer to the above Qs is 'Err... yes.', then please! could you let me know ... 'coz we need a jazz-or-classical-bhara musician asap!
Thanks!

PS : And for those who cannot read telugu ... the title said ... "There are many great personalities (out there) ... but where are they?!?!?!"

Do let the info flow in!

Dance ... me ... musings ...

2008-09-08T12:19:00.001+05:30

I've never posted a writeup exclusively dedicated to dance. With all the declarations that I make about dance being my passion ... I thought it was high time I did. So here goes.

Imagine a pot. Now imagine its surface riddled with a thousand holes. Now imagine a really really Really bright light. Now imagine the thousand holed-pot placed mouth down on this brilliant source of light. What do you see? Light shoots forth from the pot. The light does not belong to the vessel. But it illumines it. Now imagine the holes melting away ... unable to take the heat of the rays. Soon the body of the pot is gone. And there is only ... light. That, my friends is dance... to me.

It rises from within you and fills you and then seeps out of you. And soon ... it becomes you. Dance to me is a way of life. It lights up my heart, mind and soul. And if I keep on with it, it'll erase the difference between the three. It takes me to a blessed place from where I have no wish to return. But I do. Sigh. I think its heaven. But it seems more than that. Cannot describe the feeling. Is this what they call Brahman? But those who taste Brahman loose their interest in everything otherwise right? That's what the scriptures say. Then how could I've felt That, when I'm clearly still amongst the mundane? Hmmm.

I feel energy ooze out of me when I dance. But I feel like I'm being restricted in this body ... in this cage of flesh and bone. I want to soar ... I want to fly ... I want ... to dance. When I portray the rasa-leela, I am Krishna ... I am Radha. When I dance to the celestial Jagadaanandakaaraka, I am Rama ... I am Sita ... I am Thyagaraja. For when I dance ... I... am.

I exist when I dance. I simply get along when I'm not. To dance is to live ... to breathe. To be. I do not want to away from this wonderful art O Rama ... be kind to me O Blue Hued One ... and let this art practiced by Nataraja himself be a part of me. Let it seep into me ... let it rule me. I do not want accolades, I do not want applause from a crowd. I wish to dance in front of Thee ... You are my audience ... You are my Guru. You are my Nattuvanar ... You... are me.

Am I allowed to speak like this? They say only the Enlightened ones are supposed to speak of God and Themselves as One. And whatever light is within me, sure needs a spark-plug replacement sometimes :). Every mudra is a mantra to me and it pains me when someone doesn't do it right. But then again ... what is right? What is wrong? Only my perspective is the veil that separates the two.

Is he who teaches us dance the Guru? Or is it Dance itself that shows us the way? Is the Guru the Giver or the Given? Again ... hmmm. I think dance is way of bhakti. Of wanting to worship He who created You, through movements of your body. It is the most profound and the most powerful representation of joy because your entire body responds to the call of the Divine. Gaurang, Meera, Ramakrishna Paramahamsa ... all the Greats danced in ecstacy.

And I want to do the same. I want to dance for me. Because it is me.

The sun is out now.........

2008-09-06T16:32:00.004+05:30

These are blue days for me. I've had a fallout with special someone and I don't think things are going to get back to normal in a hurry. On the bright side, my days at my company are numbered and boy! Am I glad to be getting out of it. You see ... I'm getting married this december :).

When I was young, probably in my 6th or 7th standard, the word marriage belonged my 'Never-ever-ever-ever-ever-mention-that-word-in-front-of-me' book. And if an aunt or an uncle happened to say that I'd be getting married some day, I'd scoff at them and retort "I'm never going to marry." Oh and this would be followed by a good deal of general foot stomping and raging and raving. Chuckles. And now ... !

Coming back to my favourite event of the year, December is going to be one heck of a special month for me :) ... haven't started shopping yet though. But the blue prints have come out and the wheels are beginning to move. The invitee lists are out(whoever comments on this post would also recieve an invitation :D) , the menu has been decided ... the hall's been booked... but lots left to do!

No ... there's no need to be blue. 'Coz the sun's out and everything seems bright and beautiful:).

Ahead of time or catching up with it?

2008-08-09T20:15:00.001+05:30

I was watching "Sudigundaalu" today. For those uninitiated in Telugu, this is an old movie, literally meaning "Whirlpools". And in my opinion this movie defines Progressive Cinema.

I cannot go into raptures without giving you a brief outline of the movie anyway. So here goes.

The story's 'bout a lawyer who's little boy (the apple of his e and light of his l)gets murdered at the hand of two teenagers. The lawyer dad (essayed brilliantly by Akkineni Nageshwar Rao) instead of tearing the two kids apart limb by limb, decides to defend them in the court of law. In the interrogation, it is revealed that the couple murdered the hapless boy for 'fun'. Everyone is soon treated to the ghar ka maahol of the two teenagers.

The girl's parents have no definition of immoral behaviour. Her mom's got a BF and her dad, a GF, so what's all the fuss about? She follows her parents' modus operandi faithfully by 'being friendly' with one chap, 'liking' another, 'loving' a third and 'marrying' a fourth.

The guy's father on the other hand, is an old politico who consciously wants to put society on the road to progress, and in the process puts his family on the road to perdition. He marries a young girl with the sole objective of providing her with a roof over her head, conveniently ignoring a young woman's many other, and maybe more vital needs. The young wife is the same age as her husband's son, leading to some very confusing, frustrating and awkward feelings in their respective bosoms. The wife takes solace in reading A-rated novels to satisfy her galloping senses while her 'son' steals the same books to let his imagination soar into forbidden lands.

The lawyer points out that with magazines painting every figure with a sexual brush, it is not surprising that children are crossing tracks to enter unmanned territories, and that futures that could and should be rosy and fruitful are constantly under seige by monsters of modern society. And this was a 1960s movie for god's sake!

What is thought-provoking is, that though the movie came out in the 60s, its relevance is truer for today than any other. With movies glorifying violence and popping cleavages always at hand and within reach of 1st-graders even, which child will not be influenced? I know a kindergarten kid who closes her mom's eyes when a smooching scene comes up on TV. And this was supposed to be a joke! Ugh. I sometimes wonder how is it that people have children. I mean, the responsibility of shaping them up to herald and be part of a bright future is so mind-numbingly awesome! Not to mention, terrifying.

Sudigundaalu captured the essence of modern Indian society so well, that it cannot be bracketed as a bygone movie. Its message is profound, eternal and valid for the rest of time.

A Rainbow's all I need!

2008-07-24T23:23:00.000+05:30

Irrelevant titles are the fad of the season :D.

And oh... I got a distinction in my diploma :) . For all my rants 'bout feeling suicidal 'coz I thought I screwed up the exam, I did pretty well... no? :)

Gururdevo bhava!

2008-07-12T22:31:00.003+05:30

Today, we organized a surprise b'day party for my dance teacher. It was a quite a pleasant affair :). I went in late, 'coz I was making that greeting card till 5 PM (Yes yes ... hand-made cards aren't extinct yet! :D).

We had pooled in money and gifted her a tala-meter, an instrument that plays the taala when you plug it in. Dead useful, and a gentle reminder that the students of Sankari Natyasthal (that's the name of the dance institution by the way :)), Kukatpally are a thoughtful lot :D.

Not to be immodest, it was my idea to get the tala-meter. I'd remembered that she'd mentioned it in the Thanjavur Natyanjali trip. The lady who was the vocal backup could not make it then , and my teacher had mentioned off-handedly that the tala-meter would be really useful and all that. Luckily, I remembered the right thing at the right time. And given her amazing vocals, its the perfect gift for the talented lady that she is.

Again, I might be guilty of boasting, but I have to say this. I connect with only very few dancers. And everyone knows that unless you connect with what's going on, you cannot be a part of it.

I must re-iterate here that I am not the world's greatest dancer, indeed that honour belongs to the Lord of Dance, Nataraja only, but I think I can safely say that I'm not bad. In fact, I could go so far as to say that I'm a good dancer. And my teacher is I think the best of the dancers ever - the best as far as I've seen.

I've always maintained (if and when I get an audience ie :D) that dance is all about connecting ... connecting with the Transcendental...connecting with your audience ... with your students. When you do that, you (this is only my theory by the way!) bond with energy around you I think, and that you pass on to your audience/students. That's how sometimes you sit mesmerized through an artist's rendition. That's my explanation anyway.

The point is, with my teacher, its like that. Her name's Mrs. Y. Vijaya Valli Priya by the way. Like all relationships, this ain't perfect either. We've our shares of lows and highs, but at the end of the day, when she sings and choreographs and then I have the honour of performing the most intricate movements to the most divine of songs, all is forgotten and forgiven.

And that's the way it ought to be. Happy B'day ma'am! :)

PS : We've Guru Pournami celebrations this next Sat (19-07-08) ... will surely write a post of that.

PPS : Not that anyone's gonna comment/look forward to me posts (Hmph. Sulks.) more to chronicle the event for remembering later I guess :). Chalo ... tataxxx.

As you like it!

2008-07-07T23:08:00.000+05:30

Watched "Jaane Tu ... Ya Jaane Na" today. The only reason I had expectations from it was 'coz it was an Aamir Khan Production. And I'm glad I placed my bet on him. Total paisa vasool movie. I don't know if this is a downside, but I'm addicted to that Kabhi kabhi aditi wala song man! Its so catchy!

Fresh faces ... great acting, and timing ... everything's ... just great! Love the movie! Imraan's charming and Genelia's ... well ... she's Genelia ... getting better and better with every film. I don't mind watching this movie a couple more times ... and coming from me, that saying a LOT.

Catch it.

Bloody hell!

2008-06-09T16:25:00.000+05:30

Note : This post was written a very long while back. Didn't really get around to posting it though. So here goes!
Talk about a bad day man!
Statutary warning
If you're of the opinion that its not propah for girls to give vent to extreme emotion by the therapeutic means of using anti-social words which happen to be 4 letters long, then Please; this post is not for you.

Today has been the single most lousy day since I joined my new bread-giver. My bus comes in at 8.45 AM by my watch. And the day I arrive running and wheezing with a lung almost near damage, at 8.46 AM, the bus invariably has to turn up at 8.30 AM. I generally enjoy walks, but my 15 min daily trudge to the bus stop is generally marked by an acute sense of racing-against-time and repeated gimme-a-lift-someone gestures. Anyway, today was different. I did get a lift and did catch the bus. I couldn't miss it. I had to wait for a good 10 min. Now the good thing about my company is that it provides bicycles for its employees to reach their respective buildings, thus eliminating the need to walk that stretch of 2 km inside the campus. And the bad thing is, there's NEVER a cycle around when you really need one. So there it was, another 15 min worth walking in the sun. By the time I arrived at my cubicle, I felt like I'd run a marathon.

After a great deal of colourful language about the sweaty start to the day, I settled down. Of course as a person on bench, I couldn't settle down and do something that justifies the company paying me, but I was thankful for the free time anyway. I had some stuff to do and I did. At 2ish, I get a mail from my HR with the subject : Meeting. and a "Please plan to attend" in tow. That's it. No agenda mentioned.

Now, I've come to realise that meetings with agendas are a lot less dangerous than those without and it was with a sense of trepidation that I stepped inside the meeting hall. The meeting was supposed to be anchored by three musketeers (for my own job-safety, lets call them M1, M2 and M3 and M1>(M2~=M3) k?)... biggies in the corporate ladder. I had no idea that a meeting could be molested to such a degree and by jove, molest is the right word, perhaps a trifle euphemistic, but nonetheless right.

M2 starts off with a 'There have been other sessions scheduled before this which some of you have not attended. Now had you guys been in project, it would've been understandable but being on bench (oh glory be!), this kind of behaviour is unacceptable.' Fine. Agreed. But seriously, a day session with a psychologist?!?!?! Puhlease!

How do I put my ordeal into words man???? From stuff like "You should learn to come on time, you might not be in any project but that shouldn't stop you from stepping into the sanctum sanctorum of the campus before the cock crows (this from M3). At least it wouldn't discourage those who are actually working on a project." (Great. Apart from making us feel like S***, he actually managed to give the impression that those stuck to a project actually gaze whimsically at us, praying for a speedy return to that coveted word of corporate IT, Bench.); to "Do you know when the average benchie comes in? At 10.00 AM. (. Surely not! That's the cardinal sin of all eras. Oh and this gem comes in from M1.). In between all this, M2 manages to scrape together volunteers to write some tools and stuff. Stuff that has B.O.R.E.D.O.M written all over it.

Now here's the part that makes the blood (no pun intended) boil. There's recently been the launch of a blood donation drive in the company. I don't know if all the M1s of the company get together at the coffee machine and go 'Hey how much of blood did you squeeze out of your guys ... I got a gallon's worth already'. 'Coz that's the impression I got the way M1 went about the whole thing. For a good 30 min.

Now don't get me wrong, blood donation is a noble thing and I support it totally. That I'm aneamic stops me from pouring the pints but the way our M1 kept at it with a steady drone of "What do we have to do to make you donate blood?" (which was followed invariably with uncomfortable silence) made is sound more like a blood extortion campaign than a blood donation one.

I mean... seriously dude, "'What do we have to do to make you donate blood?" !?!?!?!?!!? what kind of a F***ED Q is that baap? What was he expecting us to say? "Sure...just give them a thousand bucks each or grant them 5 extra leaves in addition to the ones they're due for?!?!?!" The docs would probably have to restrain people physically from donating blood then. Of course comments like 'You'll be given a Frooty and a biscuit packet' didn't yeild much. For a meeting schedule for a half-hour, the damn thing went on for an hour, the major part of it being our bloody favourite topic.

5.30 PM. The buses were about to leave and our musketeers shows no sign of abating. Finally one lady has the guts to stand up and say 'I've got to go now'. All the Ms were disappointed ... for it meant that the benchies would've to be tortured in another meeting and that the opportunity at hand was getting ready to vanish into tiny wisps. I raised my hand too and said "I'd like to leave too ... my bus is on the verge of leaving". And then M1 says sarcastically , "Oh! Are you one of those who comes in at 8.00 AM in the morning?" The bloody F***er. I come in at 9.00 AM every morning and occupy the BENCH and when I justifiably want to go into the world where things actually HAPPEN, he comes up and gives me this sardonism laden S***? I've a temper like a rocket and a not-so-public library of invective at my disposal and I put them to use quite efficiently. An unfortunate aspect of today was that I wore my favourite pair of jeans. And it being wednesday and not a friday, jeans are against the law of the land. So when M1 let go his 'witty' lines on me, I couldn't just walk out from amidst 50 odd folks without letting their eyes catch my wardrobe faux paus. !#@$@#$%@#$%

Of course, I missed my bus and that meant a another hour's wait and a lot more diatribe floating in the atmosphere towards M1. Basically I got the impression that the Ms were starved of an audience who would do them the honour of listening to their dishing stuff out and who's handier than an assorted collection of 50+ benchies sitting on their butts with nothing to do but attend s***ty meetings on "psychology of the average benchie" and "What to do when on bench?" ? I mean, they just wouldn't tire out doling out advise baap! And the questions!!! The lady on my left asks "Will there be any technical trainings?" at 5.28 PM; after the Ms speak one after the other on arranging sessions on various subjects, technical and functional. Needless to say, I gaped. The worst part was, the questions seemed paryayvaachi to me. "Could you tell us a little more on the technical sessions?" was inevitably followed by "What kinda technical sessions would be having and when?" People people people. Please have pity.

All in all ... bloody day! Am bushed!

The 'Dork' side of life.

2008-06-04T22:26:00.002+05:30

Ok. First things first. If you've read my previous post, you might've noted that my view on life then was downright jaded and jaundiced. I believe I mentioned the word 'suicidal'. And I also noticed, that there hasn't been a single comment telling me that that's not the way to be and that happiness in this universe finally manages to touch you. Apathy is so depressing.

Anyway, the fact that I'm writing this post obviously translates to my changing my mind from what I wrote previously. I'm still alive and kicking (at a lot of things.) And now, to my rant.

So today I join my gym. At the office. Great gym. Great equipment. And great me dresses up like the chief official of the Land of Loserdom. The first few minutes, I stood dumbly in there before talking to the gym instructor, who took one look at me and announced "You can't work out in those clothes" The horrified expression and the dozen exclamations were pretty much tacit and understood by both parties. I convinced him for today, and worked out for like 15-20 min. And then I was told to go home.

I don't know what more I was expecting from my first session anyway. Walk out after losing half my weight or something? Grrr. I think I subconsciously figured in a solid one hour or more of training on my first day itself after which, swathed in sweat, I shall usher myself into a new land of promise and hope. Crash. Less than half-hour. Disappointing dude!

Anyway, the bright part in my life is that I'm now a diploma holder in Kuchipudi (thoroughly disconnected statement ... I know). Officially allowed to teach that magnificent art form. So cuppa kuchipudi anyone? I'll charge nominally! :D

2008-05-27T14:02:00.002+05:30

I've often wondered why is it that people commit suicide just 'coz they didn't do well in an exam. Now I think I understand. I did not freak out for my EAMCET exam also ... but this one ... screwed it up big time man. And frankly I feel suicidal.

A whole year, down the drain. And to top it, my teacher thinks I was over-confident. Great. Just great.

Maya"jal".

2008-04-16T19:48:00.004+05:30

2 PM. No water in the company. All restrooms have empty toilet tanks within and waste bins with "NO WATER" signs on them, without.

Did someone say that Judgement Day's nearer when MNCs run out of water? Brrr.

Cat-a-strophic!

2008-03-22T00:00:00.000+05:30

Though my exam is less than a couple of months away, I'm shamelessly seeped in the wonderful world of James Herriot. Pen name for Alfred Wight, this veterinarian doctor has an exquisite hand, whether it comes to treating his patients or simply writing 'bout them.

And this had to happen to me. I was at chapter 41 of Dog Stories (a heart-warming book truly) when at around 5ish in the evening I became conscious of this tiny mewing going on and on. Now, it had rained, nay, poured in the afternoon, and obviously this tiny little kitten was alone and crying, lolling in the mud, waiting for its mother to come and pick it up. And the mother (it grew up in and around my house) was there sitting on the parapet wall, mewing in its own tenor. It lazily ambled along and meanwhile I (quite foolishly) went and picked up the little feller, brushed a red ant off it and set about rubbing it dry.

Her majesty strolled in a few minutes later and when I placed the apple of her eye in front of her, what do you know! One sniff and about-turn. Yikes man! What could I do??? Most unfortunately I was still in Herriot's-ville with the Yorkshire Dales' ethereal earthiness and lush greenery embossed in the mind. Did I mention that it had rained? Yes? Good. The sky looked laundered and the earth moist and green. It could've been Yorkshire itself for Rama's sake. As such, with each passing chapter of Herriot's, my desire for a pet was increasing by leaps and bounds. And lo behold! Here was a helpless kitten, evidently causing no flutter of motherhood in its mom. It was like Nature had smiled and said "You asked for it!" And I had revelled in the fact.

The internet came to my rescue and I figured out what I had to feed the little one. Went out, got a teeny milk bottle and multi-vitamin syrup and eggs and stuff. I was heady with this surrogate-mom feeling. This was going to be my baby. :) But it was not to be that way I guess. Feeding a little one is WAY tougher than it looks man! I've often wondered why is it that people get annoyed when their child doesn't drink milk, or eat whatever it is that they wanted it to eat. They just had to handle it with patience I felt. But now I knew. My furry little buddy refused to get anywhere near that bottle. How I managed to coax and cajole and feed it, only I know.

By the end of the whole thing, I was heartily sick. I prayed for the mother to come back and take it under its wing ...er... paw. Took a nice little chappal box, line it with a whole edition of New Indian Express, put my new best friend in it, and placed it outside. At around 9.45 PM, I heard teeny mews again. Stepped out with the intention of checking on it. Surprise! It was sound asleep. Mew! Mew! The noise cut the surrounding silence again. And to top it, it had that oh-so-vulnerable tenor attached to it. Enough to melt the hardest hearts. And mine, as everyone knows does not fall into that category anyway, which means, the problem of not melting never arises.

Stealthily climbing over the neighbour's parapet wall, I landed on the other side of the wall, and gulp ... of the law. Silence again. I couldn't go so far as the windows in case someone saw me. I was too young to go to prison anyway. So I turned back. And there it was again. Mew-Mewwwwwwww ... take-me-hooooooooome, I'm-coooold-and-hungryyyyyyy, I-want-my-mommmmyyyyyyy, the cries said. Again the expedition began. And not a fruitless one, this one. I found the tiny one (this was even smaller than its sibling) wet, hungry and crying. Oh god. Not again! It doesn't take a mastermind to guess that I took this one home too.

My first thought was to feed this chap but I read (obv, on the net) that feeding a cold kitten recks its digestion. So I set 'bout making the fellow warm. Unlike in the previous case, I had no advantage of time over this one. It had already had its share of cold, and sleep. And now it only had hunger. And to prove a point, it started yelling loudly, MEW MEW MEW all over the place. And boy, for a tiny body the size of my palm, it could bring the house down with those perpetual cries for food.

I ushered in my trusty vapourizer and let that comfortable steam steal over the kitten's body. After which I set 'bout feeding it. This fellow, unlike its predecessor, went for the bottle with gusto (relatively speaking) and I understood why motherhood was considered so important and fulfilling. The joy of feeding someone far more vulnerable, the responsibility of taking care of someone dependant on you ... its an exalted feeling. But enough of senti ... the newest member of the gang was placed along with its sibling in their makeshift home of cardboard and paper.

Apparently new born kittens must be fed every 1.5-2 hours. And I don't think they like the concoction I so lovingly, brewed for them. They must think that I'm being a nuisance waking them up and pouring that wierd mixture down their throat. But I've got to do it.

I love cats you know. If I ever have a pet, it'd be a cat. But I'm praying here that the mother cat would come and take these two guys back into its fold. Its too big a responsibility for me ... those little fellers need the warmth of their mom, not some dumb bottle with lactose shoved down their throat. Please Lord Rama, let the mother come and take 'em both back! Pleaaaaaaaaaase!!!

PS : I'd have pasted a couple of snaps here, but those guys are too young, way way way too young to have someone photograph them even! Bhagavan ... if they live, I'll come and break a couple of coconuts for you!

PSS : Feeding time ... gotta go!

THANJAVUR!!!

2008-03-17T22:25:00.003+05:30

I'll let the pictures speak for themselves!!!

Srividya Angara and the Adventure of the Railway Concessions

2008-03-04T16:28:00.001+05:30

Note : Please refer to glossary at the end of post, in case of UAs. Heck! Just refer to it!

Railway concessions. Artists. The two entities it seems are linked by that inexplicable bond of karma that we are so fond of quoting. Ok, the inexplicable bond of karma that I am so fond of quoting.

A week ago, I went through the entire ordeal of getting my concessions approved and tickets booked for my impending trip to Kumbhakonam and Thanjavur (to perform at the Natyanjali dance festival, in case you aren't up to date with my posts :D). I thought I should document the episode so it might guide, akin to a beacon guiding a stricken sailor, some hapless artist who has a fairly vague manner of approach towards the formidable task that lies ahead. Oh alright, I just like to get a little prosaic sometimes. But you get the idea I guess. So here goes.

Scene1 - The curtain raising act

Where are you starting from? Where are you going? For the sake of convenience, consider these as points A and B respectively.
Do your homework on the Indian Railway train timings, fares, availability etc. A most helpful site is www.indianrail.gov.in.
If you're in Hyderabad, you need to go to Potti Sreeramulu Telugu University at Nampally and get a concession form written out. Easier said than done? Not quite. Read on.
If you aren't in Hyd, well ... you got me there. But the rest of procedure is probably the same, so you could still hold on to this post.
Before stepping in the environs of the Univ, prepare a letter addressing PRO, Potti Sreeramulu Telugu University. Cut the corporate lingo here and clutch at the "Respected sir/madam" straw. It'll help.
Have at least 15 copies of the list of people coming along with you. (I took four but ended up submitting around 12 more copies. Thank god for the Carbon papers.)
This done, the concession form when written, should specify the points A and B in the OCF. As in, travelling from A to B kinds. And more importantly, the RCF MUST state B to A. You cannot have a point X merrily stroll in, in between. And if you've to change trains, then do mention, via say C. In my case, I had to go to Thanjavur via Chennai, so it was Sec'bad to Thanjavur via Chennai. You cannot have a A-->C while going and B-->A while coming back. Has got to be A->B and B->A. So far so good? Still with me? Read on then.
Make sure that if the group is splitting during the onward or return journey, you've have as many concession forms from the Univ, as there are groups. To elaborate, if the group X is splitting, into X1 and X2 in the RJ, then you must take two concession forms, stamped and ratified from the Univ. One form will go to X1 and other to X2.

Scene 2 - The hair raising act

Now that the Univ part is over, you move on to the next chapter, the seemingly impenetrable fortress of Sanchalan Bhavan. And if anyone tells you otherwise, don't believe them.
By that I meant, if anyone guides you to Rail Nilayam, that's the not the place you want to be in for concessions. All roads lead to Rome and all concessions to be approved take place in Sanchalan Bhavan.
So grab you forms and pens and pads and march in.
Go to the 2nd floor, Commercial Division and if I'm not wrong, its the 2nd or 3rd door on the right that takes you to nearer to your goal.
If you've arrived at lunch time (which I advise you not to), wait. Once that's done, wait for some more time.
They will give you some pink and yellow forms on which they'd write the details of the group and the kind, the points A and B. Make sure you check all these before you place a weary foot out of the Bhavan. Also, there's a date funda there, which I'm not too sure how to put into words. It is the date on or before which these concessions are valid and acceptable to the Railway authorities. So make sure that date pretty much covers your entire trip. Or you'd have emerged as the last word on railway artist concession for the day, with no access to that much coveted 75% concessioned ticket.

Scene 3 - The final act

You've your forms all signed? Dates, names, destinations all in place? Good.
Walk into the Sec'bad Railway Reservation Complex (applicable to the twin city residents only of course), which is a generally pleasant place.
Go to Counter number 30. Group tickets counter. If there're people in front of you, brace yourself for some wait-time. (There were two men in front of me, with 30 and 40 tickets done respectively. Never had I missed a good book so much!)
Make sure all your forms, train names, numbers, names of the artists are all filled out duly. Keep your cash ready. When your turn comes, handle the scene with patience (believe you me, you need it) and panache and presto! 11 hours into the task and its is done. Not bad eh? :D
Oh and the most important thing ... have fun!

Coming up on this post : The magnificent temples of Kumbhakonam.

Glossary (:D)

UA - Unidentified Abbrevations :D
RJ - Return Journey
OCF - Onward Concession Form
RCF - Return Concession Form (Duh!)
Univ - University
Hyd - Hyderabad

Are you an artist? Do you have an outstation trip planned?!?!? Then read on ...

2008-02-25T19:02:00.009+05:30

The amount of trudging around I did in Rail Nilayam today, you'd think I know the layout of the building ... foundation et al। Stepping into that formidable fortress of quintessial government b'cracy, I was conscious of the task I had in front of me. I was supposed to get the concession forms for a dance trip I had planned. The term 'mammoth' comes to mind. The trip was to cover Kumbhakonam and Thanjavur. Armed with all the necessary documents, I step in.

'Halt!' barked the security guard। 'Railway concession', said I, to which he threw me a look and a few words, the net result being that I was in the wrong building, and that Sanchalan Bhavan was where I should've been, not Rail Nilayam. The words of a guard of course... not to be taken too seriously. 45 min later, I'm marching out towards Sanchalan Bhavan. Grumble.

Surprise! My onward journey says Kacheguda to Kumbhakonam, while my return journey states Thanjavur to Sec'bad। Can't do, I'm told. If you're going from A to B, then the return must hold B to A, and nothing else. Sulks.

Now I've to go Back to Telugu University and get that form changed and then crawl back to Rail Nilayam/Sanchalan Bhavan whichever and get the tickets done. Half a day in the sweltering sun, and a task not done. But it'll all be worth it, when I dance at the magnificent Brihadeeswara temple at Thanjavur. :)

Ganatantra dinotsava subhakankshalu!

2008-01-26T15:25:00.000+05:30

Ganatantra dinotsava subhakankshalu!

Damn … why do I always blank out when I want to pen down some thoughts!?!?! I suppose I’ll just have to categorize it as one-of-Nature’s-mysteries and leave it alone. Hmph. But I digress. Of late a lot of thoughts have been swirling around in the cerebral firmament. So here goes.

I was watching the parade today on TV. And the eye generally mists over when you see a Shaheed 28 year-old Captain Harshan’s old father comes up to accept the Ashok Chakra… or when an equally brave man Colonel Vasant Venugopal’s young widow accepts the honour on his behalf. There was also one Dinesh Raghuraman (I hope I got the name right), one Naib Chunni Lal … all of whom received the medals posthumously.

When I think of them, I realize I’m so insignificant. What am I after all???? A mundane, one-of-the-crowd IT engineer, earning her pay packet… I mean … here I am secure in my beautiful home, filled with the people I love; I have a great job which gives me enough money to pay for my dance. And yet … yet … this bloody greedy mind cribs for more. And there were those soldiers who CHOSE to die … who spurned the regular MBA/Doctor/Engineer or whatever relatively 'safer' jobs that they could easily have got … they died … leaving behind aching spaces in the hearts of those who loved them.

All I really face is big bugs and small and medium sized bugs in my programs. Not bullets. Just bugs. I’ve good stuff to wear… to eat. I have my family around me. My mom makes me nice food and loves me … my dad is there for me always. Every weekend I’ve my dance class … and yet … I manage to actually feel cranky sometimes.

I’ll try never to crib again. (Hey … I said I’ll try) I’ll think of that slain Colonel and Captain and the lives that could’ve been and never were … and I’ll realize that I don’t have the right to wail if things go wrong. No sir … because all I face are bugs. Not bullets.

I salute you Sirs. Jai Hind.

2007-12-10T22:10:00.000+05:30

An article which I thought I should put up on my blog...
Major Manish ... I salute you sir. Thank you for taking care of my country. Thank you very much.

"The body of Major Manish Pitambare, who was shot dead at Anantnag for a cause , was cremated with full military honours at Thane on Wednesday ………….

On Tuesday a news swept across all the news channels 'Sanjay Datt relieved by the court'. 'Sirf Munna Not a bhai' '13 saal ka vanvaas khatam' 'alhough found guilty for possession of armory, Sanjay can breath sigh of relief as all the TADA charges against him are withdrawn'

And then many experts like Salman khan saying 'He is a good person. We knew he will come out clean' Mr. Big B 'Datt family and our family have relations for years he's a good kid. He is like elder brother to abhishek'. His sister priya Datt 'we can sleep well tonight. it's a great relief'.

In other news, Parliament was mad at Indian team for performing bad; Greg chapel said something ...; Bomb scare in gorakhpoor express; and Shah Rukh Khan replaces Big B in KBC and Sonia asked PM to consider reducing petroleum prices (I wonder who's the PM anyways that is not the topic so leave it.) But most of the emphasis was given on Sanjay Datt's "phoenix like" comeback from the ashes of terrorist charges.

Surfing through the channels, one news on BBC startled me , it read , Hisbul Mujahidin's Most wanted terrorist 'Sohel Faisal' killed in anantnag, India. Indian Major leading the operation lost his life in the process. Four others are injured.

It was past midnight, I started visiting the foolish Indian channels, the ones who are 'Sabse TEZ', but Sanjubaba was still ruling. They were telling How Sanjubaba pleaded to the court saying 'I am the sole bread earner for my family' 'I have a daughter who is studying in US who will look after her'. And then they showed how sanjubaba was not wearing his lucky blue shirt while he was hearing the verdict. Also how he went to every temple and prayed for last some months. A suspect in Mumbai bomb blasts, convicted under armory act...was being made into a hero.

Sure Sanjubaba has a daughter; sure sanjubaba did not do any terrorist thing as in bombing some place or hijacking an airplane etc. Possessing an AK47 is considered too elementary in terrorist community and also one who possesses an AK47 has a right to possess a pistol so that again is not such a big crime; Sure sanjubaba went to all the temples; Sure he did a lot of gandhigiri but then..., people. please read on...

Major Manish H Pitambare got the information from his sources about the terrorists' whereabouts. Wasting no time he attacked the camp killed the Hisbul mujahidin's suprimo and in the process lost his life... To the bullets fired from an AK47..

He has a wife and a daughter (just like sanjubaba), age ...18 months.
Major Manish never said 'I have a daughter' .before he took the decision to attack the terrorist hide out in the darkest of nights?
He never thought about having a family and he being the bread earner No news channel covered this since they were too busy hyping a former drug addict, an actor in real and reel life, a suspect who's linked to bomb blasts which killed hundreds. Their aim was to show how he defied the TADA charges and they were so successful that his conviction in possession of armory had no meaning. They also concluded that his parents in heaven must be happy and proud of him..

Parents of Major Pitambare are still on this earth and they have to live rest of their lives without their beloved son. His daughter won't ever see her papa again.
Finally Sir Major Pitambare , to my generation there is no greater hero than one who laid his life in the name of this great nation. Hence Sir, I salute you. You are the real Star,
Vande mataram. "

I came across this article today ... came in as a forward. Not one minister came to honour this soldier ... what HAVE we become today??? I don't know how far a reach my cyber voice has, but I'd like to express my gratitude (how inadequate words are ... for they cannot throb like an emotion) ... to all those who make a difference to Bharat. Jai Hind.

Gaol ... oops ... "Goal" I mean!

2007-12-04T18:04:00.000+05:30

I saw Goal recently. On a friday morning. And the only thing good 'bout it was John A's sports car in the movie. (WHAT a car!). After the experience, I'm wiser. And weaker. How in the name of everything that was soccer, could people concieve this half-baked, hare-brained, you-got-a-cliche-we've-got-it-in-the-movie plot, I will never understand.

I've read and re-read how the critics have panned Bipsy's character. I don't agree with them though. Its rare for a film of this generation to cast an appealing lady as the chief operating officer for the department of humour. In the whole of the movie,(and here a theatreful of people would vouch for me) the parts where Bips came up and flaunted her phisiotherapist frame were the ones we laughed the hardest.

What the hell was she thinking applying lotion to John A's nose?!?! Now I'm not well-versed or heck!even acquainted with the art of phisio-therapy (did I even get the spelling right?!?!), but am pretty sure applying lotion to a near-broken nose is not the right way of going 'bout it. I don't know if it was Bipasha or the dialogues. Its like giving a "half-wit of the year" award and the only candidates are Dumb and Dumber. Seriously ... Bipasha?? Phisio-therapist??? They've grossly insulted every practicing phisio in the world. And her dialogues ... "Main bahut sexy hoon? Aur tum bhi bahut sexy ho." Ugh! She's totally beheaded her character, and stamped on the remains with a dainty foot (She looks good, never argued with that!)

And I could not understand how is it that after John signed a deal with some "leading" soccer club, he goes galloping back to his old team??? Call the lawyer you idiot and sue him!!! Bad movie man ... and I sympathize with our fun-team who arranged this trip in the first place. They tried for Aaja Nachle, but got a wet sock(cer) instead.

Cold. Again. And Again. And Again. Grrr.

2007-11-26T21:38:00.000+05:30

I'm back from Vizag and I've got myself the season's in-thing ... a cold. AGAIN. Maaaaaaaan!!! I've always prided myself in my resistance but it looks like I'b had a rubby noze all this year!!! I HATE cold and where best to crib than my blog ... where the privacy is defeaning what with hardly a reader to intrude upon my wonderfully verbiose world of words.

Here's wishing me a speedy recovery and AT LEAST 2 years of cold-less health!!! :) And oh ... some comments on my blog might aid too :D !!! (Yes yes, I like to see someone commenting on the blogs I write! And hey! Who doesn't?!?!?!)

Bai blues!

2007-11-13T17:55:00.000+05:30

If there was a house which cleaned itself, which did not require a money-mongering maid to cater to it, wouldn't that be just great? (Yes, maid problems galore!) As soon as its 6 in the morning, the earth would make way for these nozzles that would spray water onto the pathway. Built into the wall would be a cabinet with these cleaning contraptions, things , sorry 'beings' whom I shall affectionately address as Robo-bais, or wait ... better still "Ro-bais" :D. My robais will clean the pathway, would let the house sparkle and in general, bring good cheer. And all they'd ask for is a couple of drops of oil for the ol' hinges. For further info on how a robai works, please read my previous blog. :D

Maybe, they'll save the world some day. Maybe there'd be movies made on them. Of the top of my head, "Bai Bai baby" sounds good. With the power of the robai, the average Indian housewife would be able to put an end to the whimsical attitude of the average Indian bai. She could shoo them away if they don't work properly, without getting a horrid feeling in the pit of her stomach. And a bloody pain in the small of her back.

Normal bais who generally thrive on fat salaries and sloppy housework would be replaced by robais would would brighten the house with the musical whirr of their gears and whatever it is that makes them work, and in return would ask for only a little oil to satiate their mechanical apetites. Oh amazing! I love the idea. And the best part is, these robais must be solar-powered. Imagine an army of robais at your whim powered by the Sun. Your house would be clean. Your idea might actually sell. You'd be rich!!! You'd rule the woooooooooorld. Maybe I should rein in my imagination a little bit.

Sigh. Alright alright, I hate these maids. Not one of them does a good job, they threaten to leave if they're are reprimanded, let alone blasted. They wouldn't let others join if they're kicked out. Hate them! But you've got to live with them. Grrr.

Quarter century. Not out :D!

2007-08-30T17:15:00.000+05:30

Yesterday, I successfully completed the first quarter of my life:). Happy B'day to meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!! I'm not quite sure if I should wave flags and buntings and shout 'yayyyyyyyyyyyy!!!' or bear an Oh-maaaaaaaan-not-alreadyyyyyyyyy kinda attitude. Heck! I'll take the first option! I thought it would be a nice tribute to my yesteryear memories if I sit and recollect the ones I found fondest.

Hmmm .... I just realized that recollecting fond memories is the nicest thing on earth but blogging all that ... not a cup of tea. If only the keyboard could be connected to the brain, so, as the sentences form, off they go into the blog. Sigh. And thus are obliterated, yet again, from history that could have been made, reminiscences both sweet and sour.

Oh well … at least I can always pen down what happened yesterday:). I got loads of phone calls for one thing:). That felt nice. I took amma out for that movie Chak De! India (I really liked this one! I generally prefer Not watching SRK in action, 'coz its constant crappy mush with him and his brigade of Karan J and Aditya C, but this movie ... man ... came in like a breath of fresh air when stuck in traffic jam on a flyover built over a once-upon-a-time-fresh-water-now-sewage body of water ... but that's a different story) and then we dined at a nice restaurant:).

There were couple more same-yappy-budday people out there. One family (Mother, Father, Sister and younger brother) was dining alongside us. Reminded us of how we used to go out like that too:). But with bro' taking wing for higher studies, combined with an alarming increase in distaste for restaurant food saw us bid that rare tradition goodbye. So it was a mother-and-daughter day out and it was nice:). Oh yeah, and my office colleagues gave me a pen and a keychain. I had specifically gotten down on my knees (figuratively of course :D) and begggggged them not to give me the traditional artistic-clock thingummy that they usually spring upon the suspecting public :D. Hey! Maybe I just flagged off a spate of keychain-pen birthday gifts now. Oh well…

So that’s that. Tataxxx

Depressing

2007-08-11T21:10:00.000+05:30

You know what's depressing ... opening your blog for the millionth time and seeing 'zero comments' underneath each of your posts. So whoever's reading this, please post your kind comments :D.

PS : Maybe there should be an edit in the software that drives a blog, that unless the reader (other than the blogger him/her self:D ofcourse) leaves a comment, he/she shouldn't be allowed to navigate to another pane or close the window even :D? If ever the blogger wanted some hatred in his/her life, this would be a surefire way of recieving it in spades:D.

I WISH...

2007-07-21T13:28:00.000+05:30

I found that I've been cribbing a little too much lately (even by my normal standards :D) ... so i thought I'll put together a ‘little’ list of 'I-wish'es. So here goes!

Political wishes

- I wish our country sees able leadership come up at SOME point in my lifetime. We last saw that phenomenon in the Jurassic era.
- I wish Sonia Gandhi leaves the country. (Fat chance!)
- I wish the Congress would stop sucking up to SG so much.
- I wish Pratibha Patil does NOT become prez for the country. We've enough incompetence as it is without new contenders.
- I wish Dr. Kalaam returns.
- I wish politicians would stop patronizing minorities so much. It jars.
- I wish the majority stops squabbling amongst themselves and display a modicum of unity and strength, both of the mind and the muscle.
- I wish Kashmir’s Hindus return to the Valley in pride and in honour.
- I wish all Kashmiri militants dead.
- I wish Mohammad Afzal (the guy who planned to blow up the Indian Parliament) is finally hanged.
- I wish those who caused the Mumbai train blasts are caught and subjected to a death a little less benign that ‘to-hang-unto-death’.

Road wishes

- I wish roads wouldn’t get inundated every time there’s a shower.
- I wish people would start respecting road rules a little bit more.
- I wish people wouldn't use the road as a loo or a spittoon.
- I wish the government puts up loos and spittoons all over the place.
- I wish people USE these and not the road for god's sake!

Home wishes

- I wish I there were robotic maids in my house:-D. Here’s is my thought on it. They should be 'intelligent' contraptions. Maybe have furry blades fastened on their underside. They should move horizontal to the ground squirting water (mixed with a disinfectant:-D) and cleaning it simultaneously. Darting all over the place, they should be equipped with sensors to avoid solid objects in their way. Maybe the sensors should work like a bat's. Depending on the kind of feedback they get when they shoot whatever it is that sensors shoot, these little wonders would figure out if they're approaching wood, metal, plant, concrete or flesh (that's us. Pets would fall into that category too.) And then cleverly clean all around it too.
- I wish there was a dishwasher for Indian households. With the kind of ingredients and utensils we use, there should be special custom-made dishwashers for us.

Filmi/TV wishes

- I wish Telugu movies being screened these days wouldn't be so mind-numbingly dumb!
- I wish to see ONE decent Telugu movie!!! (Can't seem to find one :(( Bommarillu and Aite would be exceptions to this though.)
- I wish directors started dressing their leading ladies in clothes and not where-are-the-clothes. (This one’s global I guess, not just Telugu.)
- I wish Telugu songs would have sensible lyrics in them!
- I wish Telugu movie plots would go beyond the menacing-villain, beefy-hero-with-flashback, garment-shy-heroines and garmentless item-girls charade.
- I wish SMS-based voting in reality TV shows stops. It obviously doesn’t make sense if people are voting only because the person’s from his/her area and not because he/she sings better than the others. That’s sad.

Children wishes

- I wish people would send their children to school.
- I wish children wouldn’t beg on the streets.
- I wish schools weren’t this pricey. 20000 for a children’s nursery school seems rather stupid to the mind. Think about higher levels of education then.
- I wish children wouldn’t be abused.

Gen wishes

- I wish that the gen-next and gen-ex embrace the ancient wisdom that Bharat is so rooted in.
- I wish men respect the women in their lives. And vice-versa.
- I wish the old didn’t have to live in old-age homes.
- I wish everyone had a loving family. Like I do:).

Me wishes

- I wish to remain a big fan of Lord Sri Ramachandra always.
- I wish to see dawn throughout my life. Kuch samjhe? :)
- I wish to have my family with me. Always.
- I wish I continue to dance. For all eternity. With love and devotion towards the celestial art.
- I wish not to clamour for fame in dance, but joy. Ok. A little fame wouldn’t hurt I guess.
- I wish I could control my temper.
- I wish to have my own little house filled with people and things I love most in my life:), with a little garden filled with trees and flowers. Basically, lots of nature.
- I wish I had a pet cat. Love cats.
- I wish I had a dog too. Like dogs. Besides, it’ll keep my darling cat, company. :D
- I wish I wouldn’t be so scared of attachment.
- I wish I could manage my time better.
- I wish to visit Chidambaram, Tiruvarur, Tanjavur and Bhadrachalam.
- I wish I could dance in front of all the holy temples of India.
- I wish I could perform at the Khajuraho festival.
- I wish I could get my hands on the Harry Potter book 7. :D
- I wish the Tathaastu-devtas would say ‘So be it’ to my wish-list:).

Jai Ramji ki and Jai Hind!

Aaaaaaaaaargh!!!!

2007-07-14T23:36:00.000+05:30

I just wrote a damn big juicy blog describing in intricate detail the surgical removal of my wisdom tooth. Ok. Maybe I just touched upon the topic rather delicately like dewdrop on a flower petal. So much for similies. But I WROTE a big blog, and it all got deleted when I accidentally closed the window :(((((. Hayyoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. Great. I'm back to my basic form of expression. Cribs.

Too irritated to write half-an-epic now. Hmph. Night.

Gottit!

2007-07-14T23:12:00.000+05:30

Oops. False alarm. Turns out my big juicy blog wasn't deleted after all. Heh heh. (Sheepish chuckle).

And the big story is ...

I went to my dance/carnatic vocal classes today with a swollen cheek ... an aftermath of parting ways with my gyaan dant. Luckily, the l'll fellow was hardly connected to the jaw-bone, with the result that if my dentist were a wizard, a mere flick of the wand could've remedied my problem.

My previous tryst with another maverick molar wasn't a walk in the park though. More like a walk in the Forbidden Forest. Ok. I confess. I love the Harry Potter books. Anywayyyyyyyyyy ... classes were nice. I learnt this 'Sabdam' (a type/class of item in Kuchipudi) called 'Prahlada Pattabhisheka Sabdam'. Was very nice. Goes to the Misra Chaapu taala (123-1234). Lovely piece. And my teacher's abhinaya (expression) is so well done, its a treat to watch her I tell you.

Dance ... sigh ... just love it. Its like family you know. All the while when I was practicing my vocals, I had my left hand on my left cheek to sort of quell the swelling and hope fervently that it was invisible. But with dance, I didn't care if I had the swelling or whether my puffy face assumes wierd expressions instead of the one I was trying to in fact, portray or if I'd got christened as 'chubbs' today evening ... all that mattered was that I was dancing. And what with the recent Tirupati trip and my being ill the whole of last week, I could hardly get around to practice. So today was nice ... like homecoming :).

Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaawn. Will you look at the time! Big day tomorrow. Tataxxx.

PS : Is it me or did my crib blog turn out better than this 'lost-and-found' one? Comments?

Vijayostu gyaan dantalaku!

2007-07-14T11:21:00.000+05:30

Its been a long impending decision to get my wisdom tooth removed. Finally when the damn thing threatened to infect its healthy molar neighbours, I had to roll up my sleeves and take action.

The dentist after prodding the tooth a little bit,barked to his assistant ... "Get me the chisel and the hammer". Help. After my tooth was dislodged with the combined efforts of the c, the h and the machine, I ambled home and here I am ... scribbling down this blog in a lot less interesting fashion than it should be.

Cya.

Blog pratibha

2007-06-29T14:44:00.000+05:30

Its been some time since I blogged. Wonder if my writing skills are still as keen as a razor blade, that went sunbathing last week on the edge of a wash basin and forgot to come back. It does feel good to write again though. My previous blog was devoted exclusively to 3 wonderful forms of expression.
1. Ranting
2. Raving
3. General cribbing

I've decided now though, that I'll cut down on all that. And eventually stamp it out of my system. I can hear my best friend chuckle "Mission Impossible?" already. Nonetheless I shall persevere to soliloquise upon how beautiful life is. About how wonderful it is that our country is making headway in various fields. That we're getting a brand new president, a woman at that! Now now ... we shouldn't close our minds to this wonderful Mrs. Whats-her-name-oh-yeah-Patil-Pratibha-Patil just because she
1. is incompetent
2. carresses controversy like it were her pet pom,
3. has sent her spine on an indefinite holiday to some lost part of the world and
4. was handpicked by the italian mafia for precisely these exemplary characteristics.

Must...celebrate ...must (choke) rejoice ... must... control .. urge... to fling... hefty object at wall. So... as I was saying, I hereby dedicate THIS blog to writing cheerful stuff like that.

Oh, and speaking of cheerful (seriously cheerful I mean) looking forward to my dance program on the 25th of July. Its at this Venkateswara Swami Temple near my place. The day happens to be 'Toli Ekadasi', very auspicious reportedly. Can't wait!

I think, for a first post, this will do. Tataxxx.