Curbside Prophet

Lostalgia

2011-09-06T10:27:00.000-07:00

The air smells thick. It feels like thoughts - deep, atavistic, ephemeral notions of what was, what could have been, what will never be.
It might have been the 96% humidity in the air, or it might have been the fact that no matter what economists say, some things don't change. The buildings might have been newly constructed, but the hands that built them are old. The dogs that nuzzle under the ancient rusty bicycles might be young, but their lineage is ancient. If mutts have lineages, that is. The kids who run to the school bus are just more recent models of him and his friends from twenty years ago. Minus the He-Man bag, plus the cellphones.
Going to the place you grew up is supposed to fill you with nostalgia, not nausea. It's supposed to bring back only the good memories, not the half-wished ones, not the curbed dreams, not the unfulfilled desires, not the unfinished stories.
As he walked these streets again after twelve years, he finally found resolution in one distilling thought - he had left to fill others' cup with good memories, to fulfill dreams and desires, to finish the story - for others. And that is what matters in the end.
That someone's walk down memory lane is nostalgic and pleasant because of him.

Be dillogical!

2011-02-03T07:15:00.000-08:00

It's hard to say where and when inspiration will strike. This time, it's Lays chips and their very clever tag-line "Be dil-logical". It gave me reason to pause and consider where I fall on the spectrum - more dil or more logic?
At work, I'm very little dil. Or so I'd like to think. Until something upsets me and then the waterworks start :)
In personal life, I've been too logical about what relationships are 'good' for me, but then unknowingly, my dil gets me in trouble. The heart and the head are at logger-heads...All. The. Time!
In school, I was too dependable and logical to be any fun. So perhaps that was the least dil-icious time of my life. In college, things turned a little towards the dil side of the dial. And grad school - I pretty much did what my dil dictated for the first four or five years at least. Then I got serious, got a job, worked on my dissertation and got my self-esteem messed up big time, causing the pendulum to swing wildly between dil and logic.
As I write I introspect...and the result of this introspection is that I am neither dil, nor logic...I'm just plain illogical and temperamental and unpredictable! Like the Buddha said, maybe balance is what I need. Or was that from my Calvin and Hobbes comic book?
Like I said, I don't keep track of what inspires my dil...that would be too, hmm, logical :)

Between a rock and a hard place

2011-01-26T08:31:00.000-08:00

I watched '127 Hours' today. And was blown away, to say the least. The movie is based on a true incident that happened to Aron Ralston, who documented it in his book (which inspired the title of this post).
*Spoiler alert! For the next two paragraphs.*
Trapped by a boulder in a canyon while hiking in Utah, with no way out and no chance of being rescued, Aron does the unthinkable. He amputates his own arm with a blunt multi-use knife. Slowly, deliberately, literally painstakingly. And then rapels down a cliff, starving and delirious and finally walks miles to his rescue.
While that in itself is incredible, to me what's more incredible is what follows, captured in a 2-minute post-script in the movie. He keeps going! Even today he's an avid climber, continuing to do the same things he used to before this incident. Moreover, he's apparently learned something about his tendency to be alone and disconnected...he's now married and has a son.
It's such a cliche to talk about 'learning from mistakes' and 'picking oneself back up' and so on, but to see a shining example of this is so inspiring. This movie and this story is exactly what I needed. This movie redefines determination, perseverance and hope for me.
Hopefully when I'm caught between a rock and a hard place next time, I won't be afraid to lose a bit of myself in order to find a new me at the end of the journey.

In defense of angst

2011-01-15T06:31:00.000-08:00

I've long maintained that there is beauty in pain that's unparalleled by the gloss of joy. Think about the great forms of creative expression - music, art, film-making...If not for true, deep, searing sorrow or pain or suffering, we wouldn't have several masterpieces.
For us lesser mortals not given to creative expressions at the masterpiece level, pain at the very least, acts as a wake-up call. A symptom that something needs fixing. An inner thermostat if you will. In fact, one of my favorite thinkers, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (pronounced chick-sent-me-high-ee) conceptualized anxiety and boredom as opposite, undesirable ends of a spectrum in which the optimal point is what he called 'flow'...being completely involved in an experience and deriving immense satisfaction and enjoyment from it. The corollary is therefore, that anxiety is a signal that there is lack of equilibrium.
Recognizing this is insufficient...work needs to be done to restore equilibrium and bring back flow. From angst comes insight. From confusion will be born clarity. Passing through fire we emerge pure and slightly wiser than before.
The challenge therefore, is in moving ever onward towards greater insight, clarity and wisdom to keep us in a state of flow.

What I am

2011-01-10T08:10:00.000-08:00

This new year I got a very interesting email from a new friend. After recounting all the things he was grateful for in 2010, he ended by saying he's thankful for learning that "everything I'm not makes me everything I am".
How interesting - that's how I feel exactly! While I'd be hard pressed to describe myself or what I want, I can tell you much quicker what I'm not and what I don't want.
I'm not a fan of adventure sports (or any sports); I don't like country music; I'm not religious; I'm not very good with numbers or languages; I'm not interested in accolades; I don't like the idea of sharing passwords; I'm not very politically savvy and I'm not good at flirting with the right guys.
That makes me a bit of a prissy sissy agnostic dumb wallflower. Right?

The gregarious loner

2010-11-13T00:12:00.000-08:00

It's the itch again. The uneasiness of the comfort zone. The discomfort of the routine. The predictability of normalcy.
He leaves before dawn in his old car, filling the tires with nitrogen to help them weather the long tough road ahead. He fills his heart and mind with emptiness for the same reason before he sets off.
Fifteen days, 2100 kilometers. He doesn't know where he's going to spend a single night, he doesn't know what he's going to do when he gets there, he doesn't even know where 'there' is. Of the places he sees, most are not even on the map. On any map. The people he meets are four or five degrees of separation away from his friends. "Friends" is an optimistic word...at best he has close acquaintances. Nobody knows his innermost thoughts or desires, nobody knows how he likes his coffee or what he wears to sleep. He thrives on what sociologists call 'weak ties' - people who know people who know people who know him.
He captures sights and sounds on his camera that have never been captured before. He talks to master craftsmen of long-lost arts and traditions, who don't realize that theirs is a dying breed. He plants trees, feeds orphans, rescues suicidal farmers and plays with tiger cubs.
He has interacted with more people than most, yet counts nobody as his own. It is impossible to classify him using any personality theory or typology. He is a contradiction and a paradox, a mystery that should be left unsolved.

This is mostly a true portrait of a friend of mine. As you grow older, you meet fewer and fewer interesting people, mostly because your definition of 'interesting' has evolved with time. Like a drug, you need higher and higher doses of 'cool' for someone to qualify as interesting. With an open mind and a wondering heart though, interesting is to be found everywhere.

Moving beyond jugaad

2010-11-09T08:35:00.000-08:00

So I've been back in India for about ten months now. Many others in many other forums have written about their experiences and revelations so I'll focus on just one epiphany I've had. All the hype around India's energy and growth? All true. It's not just restricted to the 'service sector' or to the outsourcing types either. It's true, exciting, entrepreneurial growth, from the ground up. Business sections in libraries and bookstores will yield books written about India's famous 'jugaad' - or creative solutions from atypical sources. Whether it's the makeshift shelter in a water-pipe or the famous washing-machine used to churn lassi, examples of jugaad abound. However, Indian entrepreneurs are moving beyond the current implications of jugaad - temporary, unreliable, cheap, makeshift solutions which are creative, no doubt, but nevertheless, difficult to scale. With our newfound business savvy and global mindset, not to mention our innate flexibility combined with creative problem solving, examples of true entrepreneurship are everywhere. In areas as diverse as tackling social issues like poverty, waste management, road safety, healthcare and education, creative geniuses are combining jugaad-like inspired solutions with business-school-inspired implementation plans. This I believe, is the true secret to India's future success.

It's begun

2010-10-25T09:11:00.000-07:00

The long, slow slide down the other side of the hill. The feeling of being left behind.
The acknowledgement of ignorance.
The marveling at youth, energy, naivete and enthusiasm. The cruel embrace of cynicism over hope.
I feel old.

Recalled to life?

2010-10-24T10:44:00.000-07:00

The reference to "A Tale of Two Cities" is not entirely lame. Not only am I thinking of resurrecting this space, but it's also apt because then this blog will be a good record of my life from two cities - Portland and now, Mysore.
In the years since my last serious attempt at updating this, life has - to put it mildly - changed.
The last few weeks have seen me grow increasingly restless and in need of a good creative outlet. I'm also looking to get back to serious writing, and I am rusty, to say the least. So this space is going to serve as my sandbox, my stage and everything in between.
If any of my previous readers are still around and still RSS-feed me, I'm bowled over and eternally grateful. If any new ones care to make this an occasional stop, I'm humbly grateful. Regardless, as someone wise once told me, remember what and who you write for. And in this case, the answer is unabashedly, selfishly clear. Me. So I welcome me back to the blog-world...drum roll please!

Of time, changes, and time changes

2008-11-02T22:26:00.000-08:00

Those who know me (or my blog!) well will attest to the fact that I'm so intrigued by this mischief-maker we call Time. One of my constant refrains has been my wish to manipulate time - 'oh, if only I could time-travel and see what the future holds', or 'oh, was the past really as awesome as I now remember it to be?', or 'man, I wonder what my life would have been if I were born in the 50s and was a hippy in the 60s and 70s'...
It came to me today, that I have actually had at least twenty times in my life where time has been manipulated. Every fall, when I set my clock back an hour to accommodate daylight savings time, and every spring when I lose an hour...every time I travel to India and return to the US and thereby gain about a day...it's as if I have been given a day to relive.
The first time this occurred I remember having a profound epiphany - it was August 3, 2001 when I left India for the first time, and I arrived in the US for the first time - on August 3, 2001. I recall thinking "Wow...this really is my second chance at living this day...and by extension, my second chance at life...I can be whoever I want to be in this new place and in my new role here".
Seven-odd years later, I can attest to the fact that Time indeed, has had his fancy with me, and I can feel the changes in me that have crept up to me over the years.
Maybe it's the seven-year itch and it's time for another profound epiphany. I am at the stage now where I am less inclined to let Time manipulate me, and want to take charge and have my fancy with Time. Not in some vain or unfortunate attempt at control over the uncontrollable or anything of the sort. But rather, a realization that every moment and every heartbeat is here but once...and deserves my respect and my best attempt to live it completely. I'm not sure exactly what that means but know it includes this...a respect for and awareness of the certainty of change. Some of that change comes from outside but mostly it is from within me, by me and for me.
And that, Time cannot change.

Framed

2008-07-31T20:36:00.000-07:00

"I'm young (well, not old),
Intelligent (make that "cocky"),
Flexible (read "not bold")
Yet my boat's a bit rocky...

I'm rich (well, not poor),
Funny (if you're me, that is),
Super fun (yeah, sure!)
Yet, that mark, I seem to miss.

I'm well-read (sagacious),
Interested (in myself),
Interesting (pretentious!)
Yet I remain on the shelf.

I'm healthy ("not dying")
Independent (free hippie spirit)
Successful (not lying!)
Yet missing that perfect fit!

Always the missing piece
The mirage on the horizon
The misplaced keys
Why am I, by fate, always shun?"

Ah, my child, it isn't fate
That's doing the shunning
Move the parentheses, mate,
Sometimes, to the beginning!

Lost

2008-06-01T09:09:00.000-07:00

Wow, more than two months since I posted here. Blame it on the usual suspects: being busy, lazy, preoccupied, uninspired...
Also then, trust me to use my old buddy, that faithful crutch - popular culture - to attempt a revival of the seemingly lost blogging instinct.
So, for the uninitiated, Lost is this show about a bunch of people marooned on an island after a plane crash. Or so it seems. Throw in hostile 'others', polar bears in the tropics, psycho-social experimentation, magic numbers, intertwined lives in flashbacks (and flashforwards!!), time travel, people coming back from the dead, existential questions about science and faith, and you have a bona fide Headache on your hands. Except, somehow, the writers have managed to keep - and grow - their audience's interests through four seasons. And for a show that threw up more mysteries for every mystery it appeared to touch upon, a la Bellatrix's vault at Gringotts, I am amazed at this larger mystery - HOW has it managed to sustain MY interest? Anyone who knows me would attest that I am a woman who needs answers. Now. Yesterday would be better. So why is it that I am still a devotee, a Lostophile, a discusser-of-the-last-episode-at-the-watercooler-on-Fridays, a Googler-of-Lost-theories, a reader-of-obscure-blogs-analyzing-the-literary-references-in-Lost? Is it the tantalizing little answers they feed you every episode to satisfy your curiosity for just a second, that reinforces my persistence? Is it just my high need for cognition and the desire to be proven right that makes me follow it until some small part of me is less lost?
Speaking of which, I'm entering into that Twilight Zone again - feeling lost in a metaphysical sense. Inasmuch as I'm hopefully preparing for some important changes in my life, I'm suspended upside down at the top of the last loop in the rollercoaster ride, knowing that for better or for worse, this ride is going to end soon. I might come out feeling exhilarated, or feeling a strong desire to empty out my insides. Either way, The End To The Wait Is Nigh :)
(In case someone's actually reading this other than me, sorry for being cryptic!) My newfound love, a group called The New Pornographers, says it best: "We're twisting incognito with no time, can't talk, can't tell if this is fantasy or culture shock, or remnants of a golden age that's near mint unplayed, or a welcome overstayed beneath the lightshow."
In other words, we are all Lost. Take courage then, from that old magician Tolkien, who reminds us that "Not all who wander are lost" and keep looking, friends...keep looking for those answers.

Coffee shop

2008-03-23T10:55:00.000-07:00

Hand in hand they come in
Eyes locked,
Bills and worries they forgot,
To share an iced tea.
And their lives "forever and ever"...

Some days there's progress
And humming and muffins.
Mostly there's frustration,
One unsolved equation.
A metaphor for the researcher's life.

Does reading for hours help?
And the hot chocolate?
What can bring back the caress
Or fill the emptiness,
Of a life taken away after fifty years?

Books are discussed
Looks are exchanged
But not phone numbers, not yet.
The coffee is paid for, shy thanks given.
Another month to read, to plot, to yearn.

It's usually Darfur or Iraq.
Today, they talk about "The power of one"
"Think global, act local", her eyes burn
With passion, her minions nod,
And add organic cane sugar to their chai lattes.

Once again, inspiration from a song - this time, an unabashed old-fashioned romance, reminiscent at once of The Beatles and Extreme and others - familiar yet refreshingly different. Made me wonder - if coffee shops could document the lives they witness, what would that look like?
Just found out - the song can be downloaded for free here! Apparently the diamond guys discovered the song before I did :)

Take me the way I am

2008-01-16T23:50:00.000-08:00

She smiled tentatively at him.

She'd gotten used to the stares by now...the whispers and the barely suppressed laughter at her two slender legs, her nose (how could she smell anything accurately with just a single nose?!!) and her symmetrical cheekbones under almond-shaped brown eyes. Yes, she understood their derision to an extent...what was the use of a mere pair of eyes, that too only facing a single direction? How could she compare with their twenty seven strategically placed sense-lenses which covered their globular heads and looked, x-rayed, detected, monitored, predicted and analyzed all at once? Whereas her two eyes merely saw.

What they saw now, though, made her pause and react. She'd experienced many stares in the time she'd spent in their world, but none that made her (single, four-cylindered, blood-pumping-only) heart beat like this. None that made her feel special, and (dare she say it?) beautiful. No stares that didn't ridicule her. Which is why she took a whole five minutes to realize that he was staring in admiration at her. He liked her. Despite her upright manner, her long haired, elliptical face, her lack of sense-lenses and multiple noses. He saw through her human exterior and fell in love with her inner being. At first sight. Using all twenty-seven of his 'eyes'...he took her the way she was.

Which is why she broke her tentative two-legged stride and smiled at him.

I discovered this song a while ago and fell for it at once. "At first sound". Saw the video for it and started wondering what it would feel like in a world where being 'normal' is abnormal. Where a slender, brown-eyed, long-haired stereotypical beauty would be considered a freak. Maybe it's all that Asimov I read last month, maybe it's my own experience being an 'alien', maybe it's the freedom from reality that the Science Fiction genre allows...this story is inspired by all of the above.

Different kinds of happy

2008-01-14T21:44:00.000-08:00

I just finished watching Sweet Land, a little-known but charming film about a German mail-order bride who comes to marry a Norwegian in small town Minnesota, set in the 1920s. In one scene, a friend is trying to tell her to look 'happy' for the camera as he takes a picture, but is confused as he tries to translate, because there are multiple words for 'happy' in Norwegian. As is explained in the movie, that's because there are 'different kinds of happy'.

Indeed. There's happy, and then there's delighted. Like a kid's love for 'candy and fresh snow' as Dave Mathews would put it.

Then there's joyous. For those times when the happiness has to be shared in order to be experienced.

There's excited. For anticipated happiness - there is nothing to match this feeling, because it comes laden with hope and energy, which by themselves are fruitless pursuits but in combination, make for a synergy that's unbeatable.

There's elated, for those times when happiness comes with a magic carpet for you to ride on. And you have to let yourself be taken where it's headed, because you know it's going to let you off soon...this too shall pass.

Then there's ecstatic, which should be reserved for use in a lifetime - maybe there's a quota ecstatic moments we are allowed in a single lifetime, and we live your life in pursuit of those.

I'm not sure where ecstasy ends and euphoria begins. And this time it's not about drugs and rock-n-roll (if it were, it'd be Ecstasy and Euphoria, right?). Maybe euphoria is a kind of quiet but intense happiness.

How about glee? And pleasure? And mirth? Nobody should be denied those kinds of innocent, clean, pure happiness...

Somewhere along the low side of the intensity continuum is 'glad'. A word that was invented less for polite conversation ("Glad to meet you") and more for expressing that something or someone is capable of changing your mood and your life.

And then there's content and satisfied, which is possibly what it's all about. Beatific feelings of serenity and all that...Contentment is probably the hardest kind of happiness to find in this world. And the more you chase it the more elusive it gets.

It's probably best to remember that happiness, like sadness, is fleeting. The best you can do is store up enough happy moments to tip the balance in your search for 'happily forever'. After all, forever is but a series of nows.

The South Window

2007-11-30T20:54:00.000-08:00

The body stretches. The tippy-toes bear all ten kilograms of her. The promise of twilight, the voices from outside, the breeze that carries the scent of jasmines and the fume of school-buses remains that - a promise.

He's here again! Same time, every evening...how does he do it?! Smart dog that! Where's the biscuit I'd hidden from my tea-time snack for you? Here, buddy, catch that - oh no, it's stuck in the grille amidst the mud, crowshit and leaves....no worries, I'll rescue it for you. Here you go, my pseudo-pet, o' orphaned-brown-eyed-lovable-flea-ridden-friend...

It's 6 o'clock. Young voices call out her name impatiently. A hasty gulp of water and off she goes. What will it be today? Pakda-pakdi or hide-and-seek? Or wait, the new kid who always wears jeans has a new game! It involves gathering stones and piling seven of them - go find flat stones NOW!

It's early. Too early for her to wake up. But it's Thursday, and on Thursdays he walks by sharply at 7:45 a.m. She catches her breath - he's washed his hair today...sigh...look at that white shirt and blue jeans...double sigh...will their paths ever cross? Does she want them to? Her fantasies always seemed more fulfilling than she allowed her life to be. Maybe she'll continue to wake up at 7:30 on Thursdays forever...

It's late. Too late for her to wake up. But it's Thursday, and on Thursdays she helps her mother blow out the dust from the grilled windows with her Mitey-Vac and clean them with a wet cloth afterwards. It's 7:45 a.m. already...if she doesn't finish this by 8:00 she'll miss the 8:36 again. And she doesn't quite want to listen to her bitch-of-a-coworker glance meaningfully at the watch with that irritatingly superior air again. Maybe she can wait to clean the window on the weekend...

Soon I'll be there again. At the same window that's seen me grow up. The window to my soul. To the only world I knew for twenty-two years. To the outside world. The window that has stood the test of time, but will soon be demolished, along with my childhood home, to make way for two high-rise buildings. This India trip will be my last chance to stand at the window. And relive my wonder years...

Happy Diwoley!

2007-11-09T11:04:00.000-08:00

In the early days of the STAR TV foray into the Indian Middle Class Household, there were several interesting attempts to endear themselves to the Indian market. One such funny attempt I remember is Richard O' Brien, host of my then-favorite game show "Crystal Maze" wishing "A Happy Diwoley to all our Indeeyan viewers!"

I'm reminded of that as I celebrate Diwoley - the Western version of Diwali, seventh year in a row.

Here's my attempt at describing "What Diwali used to be" versus "What Diwoley is now"

Being woken up grumpy-turned-excited by my mother at 4:30 a.m - Being woken up grumpy-turned-grumpier by my cellphone alarm at 7:45 a.m.

Wearing a new salwar kameez or sari - Wearing a new-though-so-last-season shirt I got on sale

Being dragged to the temple by my mother - Being dragged to another fruitless meeting by my boss

Eating gooey delicious barfis and laddus and mysore pak and badam halwa - Eating semi-sweet-chocolate-chip-and-walnut cookies

Going to all the neighbor's houses to eat their gooey delicious barfis and laddus and... - Walking past the people I've lived next to for over 2 years without knowing their names or sharing more than a "hello" much less Diwali sweets or even cookies for that matter!

Watching the kids burst firecrackers and see the sky light up with colors - Watching the leaves fall from the trees and the sky turn dark earlier everyday

On the positive side - all is not lost! There are valiant attempts to turn this Diwoley into Diwali by traveling 200 miles north to Seattle to celebrate it with my cousins and their friends, complete with saris, gajar-ka-halwa, Bollywood blockbusters (both Om Shanti Om and Saawariya, if you MUST know!) and desi-khana-parties with co-NRIs.

All I have left to do then, a la Richard O'Brien, is wish my Indian readers a Happy Diwoley :)

Miss.er.y.a

2007-10-27T16:03:00.000-07:00

I've been away from this space so long, I thought I wouldn't be coming back. But I guess I couldn't keep away after all :) So...what have I been up to? I'm hoping the title won't throw you off into thinking I've been wallowing in misery - au contraire! It's to be read strictly phonetically and here's why it applies...

1. I've been wallowing, not in misery, but in Misr. As in Egypt!! It was a trip of a lifetime - an absolute dream come true! When you think Egypt, you think pyramids right? When I tell you that that was just a teensy-weensy part of the magic that is Egypt, you'll know why I'm still in a daze! Right from seeing mummies, the pyramids, the fascinating temples to a cruise on the Nile to bargaining a la Fashion Street to being offered 400 camels for my hand in marriage, it was a wonderfully eventful trip! So that's one reason for the title - I was mistaken for a "Misr-iya" or Egyptian woman, several times, much to my delight, since I think that Egyptian people are very very lovely, inside and out!
Here are two of the 454 pictures I took in Egypt -one is a shot I like a lot personally, of the land of the 1000 minarets. The other one is the obligatory shot of person-in-front-of-the-Sphinx-in-front-of-the-Great-Pyramid.

2. I've been missing in action for a while. I realized recently that since June, I haven't had a single weekend really free to do such mundane things like change the broken brake light in my car, and change my wardrobe from summer clothes to warmer clothes. I've been in airports 13 or 14 times in the last month! So much traveling (for family, work, school and fun) in fact, that there are cobwebs in my guest bathroom since I haven't cleaned it for over 2 months :) Hence, I've been 'miss'-ing-from-this-'area' :)

3. For some reason, I can't help thinking how much better this year is turning out for me personally than last year. Lots of things have been gathering momentum for me, though my job is the one thing I was certainly happier about last year than this one. I've had lots of chances to travel, made good progress on my dissertation, have lots of things to look forward to even for the rest of the year, and then I wonder, is sadness defined by the happiness that precedes or follows it? If I'm happy now, last year this time was it "Misery aa?"

4. Finally, a tongue in cheek reflection of how many married people have recently told me either directly or by example, why I'm lucky to be single, independent and in a position in life where I can do things like take off on a trip to Egypt. So it's great to be a "Miss" - err.. yeah! At least for a little bit longer :)

Time's up!

2007-08-06T21:36:00.000-07:00

Just a second late
Lifelong dreams
Crash. Runner's last dash.

Just a minute late
Lovers wait
Helpless at bus stops...

Another hour late
Weather gods
Rejoice: "Flight Delay!"

Another day late
More fines paid
By hook or crook, books!

Another week late
Nervousness
Becomes motherhood

Another month late
The landlord
Has waited enough.

Just a quarter late
Shareholders'
Patience has run out.

A slow year later
Nothing much
Has changed in his life.

Another decade
Filled with Years,
Months, Weeks, maybe Days.

(But no Second chances)

Love Story

2007-07-27T17:48:00.000-07:00

As she finally started answering Ayaan's unasked questions, Rutu found herself going back in time, to when she was twelve, in a dark and dusty bookstore in a corner of the little town she'd grown up in.

They entered the store giggling and giddy, as only twelve-year old girls on an adventure can be. They quietened down at the old storekeeper's stern 'not-these-two-again' look and made their way to Fiction. They came to the aisle marked "Ri-St" and their eyes scanned the names of the authors till it came to Segal. Segal, David - No...Singhal, Rajiv...No No NO! Where was it?
Mona nudged Rutu and directed her attention to the girl who was standing there staring at them, with a hesitant smile on her face. Rutu glanced at her sort-of-familiar face and started - she had The Book! "Hey, we know you, don't we?"

Anila hesitated - she knew who they were of course, the most popular girls in her year, every teacher's favorite, and suddenly this year, every boy's secret crush - Rutu especially. "Yeah, I go to Loyola too - same year as you." Mona said kindly to her - "Oh yeah - you're in B-division right?" Anila smiled, heartened that she wasn't all that invisible. "Yes!" Then, shyly, "My name is Anila". Rutu said in a rush"Nice to meet you Anila...hey, are you planning to buy that book? Only - I've been telling Mona here about it all week and she absolutely has to read it and I couldn't find it at the library and..." Mona interrupted her - "Don't worry about it, Rutu...we'll ask them to order another copy. Sorry, Anila - she gets too excited about stuff!".

She waved bye and tugging Rutu's sleeve started leading them out when she heard Anila in a quiet hesitant voice - "Actually, I had ordered this myself two months ago - it takes a long time to come from the city. If you like, I can lend this to you after I'm done."

"She had saved a long time for this, and wasn't quite ready to sacrifice it completely and let us buy it.This was the best she could offer, being twelve, poor, very much tied to this deeply sought after relief from her circumstances and at the same time, eager to please us." Mona explained to her daughter. "You know, even not knowing the terrible struggle it was for this shy, invisible girl to talk to us, much less offer us her precious book, we thought it was a terrific idea and said yes at once."

And that's how The Book, as they would always secretly refer to it, brought these three unlike but soon inseparable souls together. They found relief, wisdom, joy and simple comfort in each other's company. Their different backgrounds and personalities served, curiously, to complement each other until they were only whole as a unit and couldn't have an idea, a fight at home, a crush or a period without sharing it completely with each other.

Rutu's crazy spiritedness was the best escape from Anila's dreary circumstances at home; Anila's patient and kind nature was the stabilizing force for Mona's depressed, angry tormented teenage years brought on by a broken family and an abusive mother, and Mona's brilliant and curious mind was the perfect stimulant for discovery and growth to channel Rutu's energy.
Little wonder then, when their own adult lives intervened and separated them not just geographically but also spiritually, it was like bits of their souls were snatched away from them.
Rutu's departure to the US, Mona's damaged psyche from a doomed and failing marriage, Anila's financial troubles and familial bonds were all catalysts for their eventually going their separate ways and not even trying to 'keep in touch' any more. They felt just too different from each other, living lives that they felt the others couldn't relate to any more.

As her thoughts wandered down these familiar paths, a sudden epiphany struck Anila. We think we are so different from each other and can't relate any more? How is that any different from what we were in that store all those years ago? We had nothing in common but a desire to read the same book one day. And look what we made from that...
As she packed the last box and opened the windows to let the smell of death and disinfectant out of her parent's room, she decided to take the first step and picked up the phone. Life was too short...
The surprise in Mona's voice was not masked by her choked whisper "I heard about your mother, Anila. I am so very sorry"
Drawing strength to speak just as a twelve year old had done once long ago in a dark book store, she replied "My friend, love means never having to say you're sorry."

Anila

2007-06-29T21:22:00.000-07:00

If she had been a betting woman, she would have lost this bet - Nobody expected that her little shrivelled frail mother would outlive her robust energetic ever-so-optimistic father. Anila's mother had been sick for as long as she remembered, in some way or the other. Now, at 68, looking like the oldest person on earth, weighing about the same as she did when she was ten years old, the last remaining light from her eyes was fast fading. Anila considered how she used to scoff at people who said things like "light fading from her eyes" - but realized that there was no better way to describe what was happening to her mother.

And there was no doubt, it was happening to Anila as well. Her father was her hero and her savior - she would never know where his hope and enthusiasm for life came from, living all his life as he did, in the most depressing hopeless circumstances. An orphan, married to a woman who, at best, was a constant companion and at worst, was somewhat of a constant drain on his time and energy with her constant sickness and her low motivation to do anything.

It sometimes seemed to Anila that she had inherited the worst qualities of her mother and nothing of her father except his comically large nose. She had lived a lonely, boring existence with few friends and activities until she was a teenager. When she was twenty two, she managed to "break out" of the constant dreariness of her childhood home and find a job in the city that managed to pay her mother's medical bills but kept her at away from the day-to-day caregiving that her father so gracefully and uncomplainingly took on.

Now that he was gone, so cruelly removed from their lives in the very instant the drunk driver rammed into his bicycle, Anila faced reality. The plan was to move her mother to the city with her, and hire a part-time nurse to care for her when she was at work. The last two weeks had been a frenzy of calling relatives, hiring movers, arranging for the nurse and trying to convince her manager to not fire her and of course, dealing with the funeral and the million ceremonies following it. There had been no time to even think about her loss, much less mourn it.

Today she had started packing - How do you fit more than forty years of life into cardboard boxes? She relished the quiet - the first silence since she arrived - as she methodically put away things to be thrown, things to be given away, things to be moved, things to be destroyed and wrote down everything. She came to an old trunk in the storage room and opened it, coughing in the dust cloud the sudden yank yielded. She had to smile as she realized what the trunk contained. It was all her stuff that she had left behind but Baba had not wanted to dispose of. He had carefully packed away her music casettes, her old half-knitted socks from needle-work class, her old school books, her scrap book of dried flowers and ferns which crumbled into dust as she turned the pages lovingly. And then she came upon something that brought with it a renewed sense of loss and grief and at the same time, some atavistic excitement and a memory of innocence. She dusted off the cover and hastily shook away the silverfish from the insides and began to read, "What can you say about a twenty-five-year-old girl who died? That she was beautiful and brilliant? That she loved Mozart and Bach, the Beatles, and me?"

To be continued...

Mona

2007-06-29T21:19:00.001-07:00

The phone rang suddenly, making her jump and hit her elbow on the edge of the dining room table. She realized she'd fallen asleep on her empty plate again. She answered the phone. "Hello? Oh ok. Are you sure? Alright, don't worry about it...it was only lasagna anyway. Thanks for calling. Please drive safe."

Only lasagna. That took only three hours to make. Because she only used fresh ingredients and insisted on making it from scratch. If only he knew.

On second thoughts, it probably wouldn't matter. It's not like her lasagna stood a chance against his clients or their frivolous lawsuits or their long purses. She doubted it would make any difference even if he did know how her life had become defined by waiting. Waiting for him to arrive so they could go to sleep in silence. Waiting for her daughter to come back from school with lipstick on and cigarettes in her bag. Waiting to have a decent conversation with her that didn't involve the words "Because I'm your mother" or "You're not old enough" or "Isn't there an earlier show?" or "I found this in your jeans - do you want to tell me how it got there?" Waiting for the day when either of them would look at her without resentment.

She filled a bowl with cereal (lasagna didn't sound as appetizing) and went to the sofa in the den to eat it quietly in front of the TV. The sofa was littered with her daughter's stuff...which she wasn't allowed to touch, of course. She tried gently pushing away a bag to make room for herself when a book fell out from the open bag. "At least it's not a pack of cigarettes!", she thought, relieved that the new hobby her daughter had found - reading - was in her estimation, the only hope she had to compensate for bad parenting and a broken marriage. For books offered a wonderful escape from reality - a reality which was all too damaged to possibly yield a healthy teenager. After all, Mona herself had books to thank for her own escape from reality all those years ago.

She picked up the book to replace in the bag when the title caught her attention and her hand stopped moving. Smiling wistfully, she turned to the first page and started reading..."What can you say about a twenty-five-year-old girl who died? That she was beautiful and brilliant? That she loved Mozart and Bach, the Beatles, and me?"

She was still reading, her mind half on the words and half in a long-lost reality, with tears running down her face, her cereal forgotten, when she looked up to see her daughter in the doorway. "Oh hey, sorry...I'll put it back in your bag...It just fell out when I sat down...Sorry"

Instead of the usual tirade and teenage drama queen sequence Mona had been expecting for 'invasion of privacy' and 'not respecting' her, her daughter came and sat down next to her.

Looking at her, she said, "Mamma, don't you know? Love means never having to say you're sorry."

To be continued...

Rutu

2007-06-29T21:18:00.001-07:00

She heard the TV as she came in. Suddenly, Ayaan's voice yelled, "What is 'Moby Dick'!"

Smiling, she glanced at the clock in the microwave oven as she put away the groceries - 7:38 p.m. Of course. Jeopardy was on. "This is what happens when you marry an IITian", she thought to herself, "you catch him talking to the TV, pretending to be on nerdy quiz shows instead of helping his wife out with the groceries!" It was, she admitted to herself, one of the most endearing things about Ayaan - this magical quality of his of transforming, at unexpected times, from the serious Chief Technical Officer of a multi-million dollar firm into a little boy. Like when she caught him practicing that perfect leg-spin in the garage as he waited for her, or when he was singing passionately as he cut onions "Pag ghunghroo baandh Meera nachi thi nachi thi NACHI THI!"

"What is 'Pride and Prejudice'!"

She walked into the living room. She nuzzled into the nook between his arm and the sofa cushion, as he distractedly patted her head in welcome. She looked at the clue he had guessed the answer to: "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife." The category was "Famous First Lines". She smiled to herself again, thinking of how similar Mrs. Bennet from Pride and Prejudice was to her own Aunt Tina, who had well-meaningly, if a little crudely, spoken about Ayaan as "a single man in possession of good fortune" four years ago to her parents, urging them to consider him a good match for Rutu. "So what if he's Muslim? Nowadays it's all okay...he is a wonderful boy. Very successful. And so handsome!" Indeed. Without Auntie, she would have found it very hard to convince her parents that she had made the right choice in agreeing to marry Ayaan.

Now she glanced at this handsome nerd and felt that she was the one who'd ended up possessing the real "good fortune". A frown crossed his face as he mumbled "Arre yaar...I know this one..which is this one yaar Rutu?"

She looked at the screen: "What can you say about a twenty-five-year-old girl who died? That she was beautiful and brilliant? That she loved Mozart and Bach, the Beatles, and me?"

"Love Story" she said immediately, and immediately felt like crying. For it had made her recall another time, another love story, another way in which she had been profoundly blessed with "good fortune". She snuggled against his chest as he looked at her, immediately sensing the change in her mood and providing the only thing he could to fill that void. His silent embrace.

To be continued...

For 'get' it.

2007-06-23T23:24:00.000-07:00

Boy meets girl.
Boy gets attracted to girl.
Boy gets nervous but bravely asks girl for her number.
Girl first plays hard to get.
But boy does get her number.
Boy gets back home and calls her at once.
Boy and girl get together for coffee the next day.
Coffee gets transformed to a walk, then dinner.
Dinner gets over much too soon.
Girl gets home and calls boy at once.
Phonelines get busy for two more hours.
This gets to be more or less a routine.
Girl feels like boy 'gets' her.
Boy feels like he's got her.
This gets them into the invariable misunderstanding.
The fight gets them back to reality.
Flowers, tears and parental disapproval gets them back together.
They finally get on with work, friends and other recently ignored pursuits.
The relationship that got off to a great start gets back to solid ground.
Many fights and dreamed up futures later they finally get hitched.
They get new names, a house and a Costco membership.
They both now both 'get' each other and get each other.

So here's a silly, almost cynical, look at relationships...prompted by a mini-epiphany that so much of the language used in the context of relationships is about 'getting' - getting a phone number, getting into fights, getting married, getting over each other, getting on with lives, getting a Costco membership, (a symbol stronger than wedding rings to signify bondage..I mean the bond of holy matrimony!!)
I think there's a less cynical post waiting to be written about 'having' - having a crush on someone, having butterflies in your stomach, having a great first kiss, having a baby, having a great life together, etc. But hey, less cynical just ain't me. And actually I did decide to give this one a happy Costco ending instead of going the 'getting over each other' route which was more tempting. So that's it...get it?

"So wait for the stone on your window"

2007-05-22T18:42:00.000-07:00

If I ever made a Hindi fillum in English and needed a song to play while the gundas do dishum dishum with the hero and chamiya hides behind, this would be it...

p.s. 1. The Decemberists are a Portland band and all the names in the video are references to Portland. Cool huh?
p.s. 2. I totally DIG how he sighs "dowwn...uh..ah..ah..uh"
p.s. 3. This will be my record breaking shortest/most idiosyncratic/most idiotic post!

Keyboard conversations

2007-05-16T22:22:00.000-07:00

I wrote up this entire post and then blogger performed its magic and it's gone...here's my attempt to recreate it. So frustrating :(

Alright, not a post about instant messaging or chat rooms. No, this time it's an inspiration from a concert of the same name I had the pleasure of attending yesterday. My very first western classical live music experience!
It was a concert by world-renowned musician Jeffrey Siegel, who played the piano, interspersed with commentary and introductions into the 'stories' behind the pieces he selected. (Hence the name "Keyboard Conversations"). He played some Mozart, Beethoven, Rachmaninoff and Copeland, all names I've heard of and read of obviously, but never really listened to. It was so fascinating to learn a little more about the pieces - why Rachmaninoff hated the very piece that was his ticket to high-class Viennese musical society and world-wide fame for instance. Or why a piece might have gotten a name like "Rage over a lost penny". I learned what a rondo is (it's a piece of music where a particular tune repeats at intervals, like this).
I learned that a composition needs to be 'published' and how several now-famous and dearly beloved creations almost never saw the light of day because the composer decided not to publish it. Then a starving student sells it after his death for money, and so on and so forth. It was also enlightening to realize that published music is merely a framework - the art and genius of the musician lies in interpreting this music, not merely reading it, as I used to assume. Which obviously could go either way - I tried to relate it to my terms and decided that it'd be like the difference between a Beatles cover of a Chuck Berry song and a Backstreet Boys cover of the same. They are both perfectly entitled to cover it, but who could do it better than John, Paul, Ringo and George? Or the difference between an Instant Karma remix of a Kishore Kumar hit and a Baby Doll #47 remix of the same :)
Finally, it was just so refreshing to feel how beautifully music (sans lyrics, videos, orchestra and other crutches) - just one man and his fingers making sounds - can evoke a complete range of emotions. It's true! I really could feel the joy and the despair and the naughtiness in some nuances, and the heavy finality of some endings...it's remarkable, the genius of the composer who imagined it, and the genius of the musician who renders it so well.
I felt that music really does have the power to transform...and not just the audience. I've always thought performing music gives one an immediate aura, an instant makeover, transforming even dumpy, aging, crazy haired people like Siegel into glowing, passionate, beautiful creatures.
Well, regardless of whether this turns into a serious pursuit for me, or merely serves as an interesting peek into a world I may never enter, I'm perfectly glad I engaged in these keyboard conversations yesterday...away from the more mundane keyboard conversations I have eight hours a day with my computer at work!

Turn yourself around and come on home

2007-05-08T19:53:00.000-07:00

She got out of town

On a railway New York bound

Took all except my name

Another alien on Broadway

There's some things in this world

You just can't change

Somethings you can't see

Until it gets too late

Baby, baby, baby

When all your love is gone

Who will save me

From all I'm up against out in this world

Maybe, maybe, maybe

You'll find something

That's enough to keep you

But if the bright lights don't receive you

You should turn yourself around

And come on home

That's Rob Thomas on the radio. As if he were singing with an aim, flinging those lyrics directly at me. As if he knew that the bright lights didn't receive me, that the New York minute (of course, my view of the New York minute is not as dim as The Eagles' view) was much too short, that Chicago was probably "my kind of town" but not my town, that I had my chance at the big city life and I blew it.

I just returned from couple of trips to these places and haven't overcome the hangover yet.

There is just no way around it - I'm a big city girl - I want the constant crowds, the public transportation, the street performers, the terribly-in-a-rush people, the museums and shows and big openings, the crazy traffic, the crazies, the melting pot of cultures, the languages I don't understand spoken by the people I can't stereotype wearing clothes I can't afford, the tall buildings, the midnight crowds, the ethnic themed restaurants, the celebrity sightings...and most of all, the energy. The sense that everyone has a purpose, a place to go, a reason to live and rush about. No artificially sweet hellos, no polite conversation in the park.

Of course, outside of Bombay, I've never lived in a 'real city'. And today, someone called me "Miss Suburbia" today. Not exactly a flattering term for someone like me. It's different if you have a family to raise and need to live in 'decent neighborhoods' with good schools, backyards, garage sales every weekend and more grocery stores around than movie theaters or cafes. Not exactly my priorities right now. And yes, I know, if I grumble so much I should just move closer to downtown - but then comes pragmatism and living close to where I work and not wanting to drive more than 40 minutes every day and wanting a larger 'modern' apartment instead of a crammed old 'loft with character' for which I'd pay twice as much downtown etc. etc. So as always in my life, head wins over heart, 'oughts' overcome 'wants' and I return from the bright lights to the quiet lanes of suburbia.

It's true you know, you can take a girl out of the city, but not the city out of the girl!

Love is difficult

2007-04-13T23:08:00.000-07:00

It's amazing (and a little embarassing sometimes) where inspiration strikes me. Last few weeks I've been watching Brothers and Sisters, a thoroughly floozy family drama with the usual ABC collection of good looking people engaging in melodramatic and highly articulate high-energy discourse every Sunday night on television. Of course, I'm hooked...and one random quote from one random episode especially gripped me. What followed was my usual frenzy of googling/library book borrowing/cross-referencing/wikipedia learning.
The outcome?
The following excerpts from Letters to A Young Poet (Rainer Maria Rilke), a collection of letters..to, hmm...a young poet :) Letters that are more philosophy than advice. Letters interesting even in translation and even after all these years. Judge for yourself, if you will - here are some selected paragraphs from Letter Seven. They are long and verbose but if you think carefully about what he says, it's worth it.

(Warning: For some fairy-tale-believing-romantics out there, this may or may not be your cup of tea - it outlines exactly why love is difficult, and describes the mistake one often makes in assuming that 'union' means 'loss of identity'; Rilke explains beautifully how it is impossible for "Two halves to make a whole" as a dear friend once put it.)

It is also good to love: because love is difficult. For one human being to love another human being: that is perhaps the most difficult task that has been entrusted to us, the ultimate task, the final test and proof, the work for which all other work is merely preparation. That is why young people, who are beginners in everything, are not yet capable of love: it is something they must learn. With their whole being, with all their forces, gathered around their solitary, anxious, upward-beating heart, they must learn to love. But learning-time is always a long, secluded time ahead and far on into life, is solitude, a heightened and deepened kind of aloneness for the person who loves. Loving does not at first mean merging, surrendering, and uniting with another person (for what would a union be of two people who are unclarified, unfinished, and still incoherent?), it is a high inducement for the individual to ripen, to become something in himself, to become world, to become world in himself for the sake of another person; it is a great, demanding claim on him, something that chooses him and calls him to vast distances. Only in this sense, as the task of working on themselves ("to hearken and to hammer day and night"), may young people use the love that is given to them. Merging and surrendering and every kind of communion is not for them (who must still, for a long, long time, save and gather themselves); it is the ultimate, is perhaps that for which human lives are as yet barely large enough.

But this is what young people are so often and so disastrously wrong in doing they (who by their very nature are impatient) fling themselves at each other when love takes hold of them, they scatter themselves, just as they are, in all their messiness, disorder, bewilderment. . . . : And what can happen then? What can life do with this heap of half-broken things that they call their communion and that they would like to call their happiness, if that were possible, and their future? And so each of them loses himself for the sake of the other person, and loses the other, and many others who still wanted to come. And loses the vast distances and possibilities, gives up the approaching and fleeing of gentle, prescient Things in exchange for an unfruitful confusion, out of which nothing more can come; nothing but a bit of disgust, disappointment, and poverty, and the escape into one of the many conventions that have been put up in great numbers like public shelters on this most dangerous road. No area of human experience is so extensively provided with conventions as this one is: there are live-preservers of the most varied invention, boats and water wings; society has been able to create refuges of very sort, for since it preferred to take love-life as an amusement, it also had to give it an easy form, cheap, safe, and sure, as public amusements are.

It is true that many young people who love falsely, i.e., simply surrendering themselves and giving up their solitude (the average person will of course always go on doing that), feel oppressed by their failure and want to make the situation they have landed in livable and fruitful in their own, personal way. For their nature tells them that the questions of love, even more than everything else that is important, cannot be resolved publicly and according to this or that agreement; that they are questions, intimate questions from one human being to another, which in any case require a new, special, wholly personal answer. But how can they, who have already flung themselves together and can no longer tell whose outlines are whose, who thus no longer possess anything of their own, how can they find a way out of themselves, out of the depths of their already buried solitude? They act out of mutual helplessness, and then if, whit the best of intentions, they try to escape the conventions that is approaching them (marriage, for example), they fall into the clutches of some less obvious but just as deadly conventional solution. For then everything around them is convention. Wherever people act out of a prematurely fused, muddy communion, every action is conventional: every relation that such confusion leads to has its own convention, however unusual (i.e., in the ordinary sense immoral) it may be; even separating would be a conventional step, an impersonal, accidental decision without strength and without fruit.

Pe/reli/gion Hole

2007-04-11T17:55:00.000-07:00

I felt her looking at me. With my eyes closed and my fingers wrapped around what must have seemed to her like a talisman. My head was covered with a silk scarf.

I could almost see the thought bubble floating above her head. "Ugh. Another one of those religious types."

Religious, huh? What kind of religion then?

I might be a Hindu, with my name, my upbringing, my vegetarianism, transitory beliefs in multiple "Gods" for multiple purposes, my belief in Karma and love of Diwali.
I might be a Buddhist, with my pacifist nature, my belief in moderation and 'the middle path'.
I might be a Christian, with my belief in kindness and forgiveness trumping revenge and regret, my sometimes Puritanical guilt and Protestant Work Ethic.
I might be a Muslim, with my belief in generosity towards the lesser privileged, and my reverence for culture and history.
I might be a Jew for my Shylockian ways and immense respect for learning.
I might even be a Shaman, with my feeling of connectedness with everything and everyone and belief in sustainability and honoring earth's spirit.
I might be a Jain, with my intolerance of violence and hurtfulness of creatures big and small.

Who would have ever guessed! I suppose you could call me religious.

Yes.

9 crimes

2007-04-03T14:41:00.000-07:00

Like one of Damien Rice's earlier hits, Blower's Daughter, which I absolutely love as well, for all kinds of reasons, I fell in love with this song too - "at first sound" :)
I don't know why this song is called 9 crimes, and I am not even entirely sure what the song is about other than to imagine that it's about being with Someone and thinking about/cheating on that Someone with Somebody Else.
Sort of a common theme in plenty of cool music, as it happens. Like Suzanne Vega puts it, "It won't do to dream of Caramel, to think of cinnamon, and long for you". Listen to Caramel in a car alone in the middle of a lonely highway at night and you'll know what she's getting at.

Ok, consider this my best attempt at getting over Blogger's Block. Maybe I can trace that to Dissertation Writer's Block. Or maybe the two blocks have a common cause - Blockheadedness. See what I mean? I can't even write a decent post script...:( Help!!

What's poetry got to do with it?

2007-03-31T11:47:00.000-07:00

Poetry has never been, at least to me
The wave to float my boat
Not quite accessible, a bit of a mystery
Like a distant snob, a little haute.

I wondered if anyone other than the poet
Ever 'got' what the poem meant?
The reader's delusional, thinking "I know it!"
While the actual target is left without dent.

The shackles of idiosyncratic love or pain
Not to mention rhyme and meter
What could such limited sharing possibly gain?
Not that this thought seems the poets to deter.

"Give me", I'd always say, "some lengthy prose
Slow unwinding leisurely descriptions
Never mind those who call it 'verbose'
True literature shouldn't feel like witty encryptions"

Of late I've been forced to question this (it's hard!)
And acknowledge that I was too quick to judge
There's true genius in the rapper as there is in the bard
Once you accept the magic, it'll refuse to budge.

How does a sonnet, an epic, or a child's rhyme
Bring words to the unarticulated feeling
And do so within a few short lines and in no time
And in a way that might just leave you reeling?

Well, if what they say is true, and Imitation
Is truly the greatest form of Flattery
You'll understand this attempt towards creation
Of what I try vainly and in vain, to call 'poetry'.

Say we meet again

2007-03-17T20:36:00.000-07:00

Say we meet again…
I pray that it is when the sun
Is in hiding and the stars
Are not quite aligned.

And upon your brow
There is a frown and the spring
Is missing from my step
And our fortunes are down.

Maybe I hate my life
And your face has gone ugly
My temperament’s not as forgiving
And your passion’s run dry

When we know there are no sunsets
Or romantic walks in the rain
And dreams are just neurons
Firing randomly while we sleep.

If, at that time, you still want to walk
With me in the rain, towards the sunset
And sleep just to dream of each other
Then, say we’ll meet again.

Thanks to Lindsey Buckingham (of Fleetwood Mac fame) for inspiration. Again.

Out-of-the-box experience

2007-03-11T19:53:00.000-07:00

There's this box I keep in my closet. I guess you could call it my "TBD" box - where I put things that are To Be Discarded, things To Be Delighted with, To Be Delved into, To Be Dreaded, To Be Dreamed up, To Be Destroyed, or just simply, To Be Determined. Examples of said things include old bank statements, letters/cards from loved ones, confusing promotional offers, tax forms, half-finished sketches, copies of speeding tickets and free airline vouchers, respectively.
Once in about 2 months, I take out this box. Usually on a weekend such as this one, when I have a nagging responsibility I just don't feel like facing, so instead of feeling completely useless I turn to The Box.
I usually end up tearing up most of the stuff because it's obsolete or confusing and more or less pointless to retain. Some other stuff gets assigned new hiding places in shelves and accordion folders where I (hopefully) don't have to deal with them for a while. Or if I'm lucky, ever :)
Then there's the stuff that remains. The stubborn things that have lasted many cycles of such ritual cleansing. Like the letter my grandfather wrote in his old, formal style. Or the card my old roommate gave me before I moved. The brochure I created for an event I helped organize for a cause that was dear to my heart. The ticket to my first concert. The gift I bought someone close to me that I never ended up giving...and never ended up giving up either.
Funny how this pattern repeats itself every couple of months. To get into the box in the first place, things need to be stamped with a seal of "Important - pay attention to this!" Couple of months later, it's funny how financial offers, insurance papers, utility bills and other 'important' documents find their way into my recycling heap and all that remains is stuff that probably have no practical or economic value.
Goes to show how much economists know about value, huh?

Today's the day to feel like a star!

2007-02-28T20:28:00.000-08:00

The Oscar blitz is over, the fashion vultures are done dissecting the bold, the beautiful and those in between but poor old me got to watch only part of the show. The one thing I wanted to write about however, happened in a commercial break during the show and concerns this ad...Nicely brings home the magic of the movies, what with the well-chosen scenes, the lovely song (is this the Butch Cassidy song???), the cool unfolding of the scenes and the fantastic tagline...really neat.
I love these montages, the ones they do during the Oscars where they honor someone or do a theme or something. My brother and I used to compete in naming all the movies in these things. Since he's not here, I need help!
These were the movies I could spot (in sequence)...help me fill in the gaps, please!
1. Breakfast at Tiffany's
2. Singin' in the Rain
3. The Seven-Year Itch
4. ???
5. The Birds
6. Titanic
7. ???
8. Say Anything
9. Mary Poppins

Hmm...advertising and cinema - my two simmering passions...Haven't indulged myself in a long time in either. Over the last few years, I've been watching myself grow distant from the world of mainstream cinema...the number of Oscar-nominated movies I have watched before the Awards Ceremony is usually an index and this year I hit an all-time low of ZERO! Unless you count arbit movies like Cars and Water...Trying to fix that tomorrow by going to watch Babel over some pizza and beer for $3 in a Portland must-do

In the meantime, I'll ponder over missing numbers 4 and 7 and look for your insights :)

Wisdom of the Ages

2007-02-19T16:26:00.000-08:00

She glances at the clock and starts
“It’s true, it seems, what they say
About time and how it darts
When you are having your way”
It seems to her, strange how her definition
Of fun has undergone a transformation
Now it’s more about reading a good book,
Or testing exotic leek or celeriac as a cook,
Or talking to a trusted friend after ages
And not so much about clubs or parties,
Or dares, or dressing up, or witty repartees
With strangers. Gone are those stages.
Perhaps this means she’s getting old
Or maybe just that through fire comes gold.

Wishious cycle

2007-02-11T20:29:00.000-08:00

I find it terribly easy to feel self-pity
For myself, my fate, my lot in life
As if I'm stuck here for eternity,
Sentenced to disappointment and strife.
The sun sets, the Daily Show comes on
Sleep, cellphone alarm, it's early morn.
Work, enquiries about the weekend
Polite laughter, coffee stains, emails to send.
I drive back in the rain just to greet
A broken smoke detector, a leaky faucet
That drips into yesterday's dinner plate set
Aside, only there were other needs to meet.
Replacing the batteries, doing the dishes,
I realize, "I've got just what my heart wishes!"

"So I try a little Freddie..."

2007-01-31T13:45:00.000-08:00

A fabulous reminder of why I fell in love with music.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uzA0nG_PurQ

A fantastic talent I discovered a couple of weeks ago, Mika (man? band? Freddie Mercury's reincarnation?) sings "Grace Kelly" with a chutzpah and energy that immediately brings back Queenly memories. The plaintive melody "Why don't you like me, why don't you like me, without making me try?" hits home, and how!

Luurve itt!!

Washed away

2007-01-26T22:08:00.000-08:00

A few feet away, the sea roared
She wiped away the stray tear
Time occasionally stands still, but Distances expand
At least the ones that didn't matter before

She walked on the sand
Dragging her feet
Leaving imprints of her memories
Recalling that evening

Now that she had lost it all
There was nothing more to lose
She stopped and carved the word
They once wrote in the sand

Knowing it will be swallowed by the sea
"Forever"

Inspiration at last. From this. Sorry, Parth! Don't know where that came from, but when I read it, I couldn't help thinking there must be another side to it...and maybe this is it.
Terribly bereft of ideas and patience and muses and all that. Shameless 'inspiration' must suffice for now.

Winter Soul-stice

2006-12-22T21:14:00.000-08:00

Be still, Wish Machine!
Another year draws to a close
Your time is running out, but
Wait! There's a moment yet
A desperate prayer to be back next year.

Be quiet, Restless Heart!
You now know the dangers lurking
Behind the smiles, the words, the promises
Wait! You may yet find
That not all who wander are lost.

Be calm, Agitated Mind!
Why must you ruminate and fret so?
One of your rushed thoughts beckons,
Wait! You can't stop thinking
But you must think of stopping.

Be mine, Fleeting Contentment!
Must you tease and tempt me still?
The more I need you the more you elude me
Wait! I'd forgotten - you are
The tail I should stop chasing.

Be silent, Loud Ambition!
I forget that you're powerless alone
You and your crony Entitlement must
Wait! I cannot use you yet
Not without Purpose and Hard Work.

Be patient, Silent Rapture!
Like a bottle of vintage wine
I've preserved you for the right moments
Wait! I know your time is coming - I see it
In the lengthening days and my brightening outlook.

The Audacity of Hope

2006-12-16T21:00:00.000-08:00

Just finished the book by Barack Obama. I follow politics about as much as an average person does, but for some reason, in 2004 my nose picked up a new scent - a scent that's now prevalent all over - the Obamenon (or the Obamonation as the Republicans might want to call him!) Call him what you will, Senator Obama certainly presents the most attractive (in many many ways!!) promise this country has seen in a while.
His appeal, in my opinion, lies in the fact that he proposes the middle path, the compromise, the honest unabashed idealism of the olive branch. Be it in his racial heritage, his career, his family, his politics, his views on social issues, he represents an interesting mix that appeals to a larger base than the now common polarized extremists in politics manage.
As I was listening to him (yes, it was a book on CD), I found myself torn. One part of me was so charged by his charisma, his honest and clear dissecting of issues, touched by his candid everyman reflections and very impressed by his ideas. This part of me was saying "I am listening to the future President of the United States - the man who has to take care of the nation as it falls from supremacy to mediocrity." The other, cynical part of me was thinking "This guy can't be for real. His words are too cliched, too smooth, too correct, too pleasing, too appealing - too good to be true. What skeletons lie in his closet, what traps lie in his inexperienced life waiting to trip him up, when will he mess up?"
Regardless of what his intentions are with respect to running for office in 2008, I know this much - so far, he has done everything right. If nothing else, this has been a well-managed show. And since I do retain a bit of audacity of hope as well, I will add this...this man is what this country needs. A leader charismatic enough to galvanize the masses, a politician young enough to not lose his idealism yet, a representative of the people who is appealing for the very reasons that make him distinct and statistically likely to lose - his demographics and his ideas.
I hope I'm wrong in my cynicism and doubt. I truly want to see him succeed where others have failed, merely to see the return of integrity, representative politics and idealism. Only time will tell.
As Red says in the Shawshank Redemption: "Let me tell you something my friend. Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane."
I'd like to take Andy's view on this: "Remember, Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things. And no good thing ever dies."
I too, have the audacity of hope.

Speaking of hope, check out the song on my lips these days: From the album, "Begin to Hope" Regina Spektor's lovely voice singing Fidelity - I like the symbolic use of color (and lack of it!) in the video. And of course, the way she sings 'hea-a-a-a-a-a-art"

What's crazy about standing toe to toe and saying "I am"?

2006-11-24T19:23:00.000-08:00

Anyone who's been to the movies recently probably recognized this line from the preview for the upcoming (and final?!) sequel to the Rocky series - Rocky Balboa. I haven't watched any of the movies yet. But this line, said quietly and simply, with no airs or arrogance, makes you wonder where it's coming from and made me, at least, want to watch the movie(s).
More than that. It made me wonder when was the last time I felt strongly about something and made a difference by asserting that feeling. Made me wonder if I've lost that ability to be passionate about issues.
It made me wonder why I haven't been successfully able to stand toe to toe with anyone or anything and say "I am".
I tell myself that I'm a pacifist and a believer in non-violence - what if I'm just too wrapped up in myself to truly care for a cause or for beliefs that make me want to shout them out from the rooftops or maybe even hurt someone who believes otherwise?
I tell myself it's flexibility - how do I know it's not cowardice in the false garb of flexibility?
I tell myself it's being open-minded - how do I know it's not fear of committing to a course of action, good or bad?
I tell myself it's my laidback, relaxed attitude and it makes my life less stressful - now I wonder where and who I could be if I did pressure myself, and others, from time to time (in a healthy, non-paranoid way!)
In my own small ways I do occassionally get up from my cushioned seat, peer down from my ivory tower and whisper in the middle of the night when nobody's listening, "Hmm..I guess I am...maybe...sometimes...".
That, apparently, is not enough :) I need to find myself some opinions, beliefs, and peaceful means of asserting them...and quickly, lest I fade into ignominy and complacence and forget my power to make a difference.
Thanks Mr.Stallone, for being the most unlikely reminder I could ever have imagined :)

Oh Ohhh S'heaven!!

2006-11-19T22:12:00.000-08:00

No prizes for guessing what the highlight of my weekend was! Casino Royale, in the grand tradition of 'prequels' was probably one of the most anticipated James Bond releases, and I admit, the only one I have seen in the theater so soon after the release.
To set the record straight, I am not really a James Bond fan. Doesn't mean I detest the genre or anything...au contraire, I quite enjoy watching attractive men wear tuxedos and save the world from bad guys. Just that I have seen only maybe three or four of the movies. None of the new ones with Pierce Brosnan. So coming from an almost-novice Bondie like me, this must mean a lot: THIS MOVIE ROCKS!!!
The aura surrounding James Bond - the mystique, the raw masculine attractiveness, and beyond all, the sheer style he embodies - comes wayyy alive in Daniel Craig. Talk about pleasant surprises! When I heard about him as the choice for the new (old) Bond, I cringed...I was rooting for Jude Law. But man, oh man...was I wrong! This guy is s-e-x-y!! Tight coiled spring, classic v-shaped body, tall, maybe not dark and handsome in the traditional sense, but well, hot :)
Okay, I'll stop gushing over his hot bod...I won't even mention his 'perfectly formed arse' (direct quote!) or the famous gasp-worthy swimsuit scene.
I'll point out some other non-Daniel-Craig things I really enjoyed about this movie...(baby spoilers ahead...nothing major)
- The fabulous first action sequence involving parkour. I first saw a parkour video about 2 months back and was amazed...this is an urban extreme sport which seems to slowly be taking the world by storm. The terrorist Bond chases is actually a famous parkour artiste, Sebastian Foucan, credited with creating 'free running', another parkour-like activity. There's literally thousands of videos online, but here's the scene directly from the film.
- The cool references to some Bond signatures - the way they introduce the Aston Martin, the impatience with the 'shaken or stirred' question, the way they almost reveal M's name.
- The first scene, which establishes him as a "Double 0" agent.
- The refreshing toning down of the 'item girls' and the bizarreness of the bad guys without making it completely boring. After all, what's a James Bond movie without beautiful women and strange but worthy opponents?! I loved the way Vesper Lynd pays him back when he suggests she wears something that distracts the card players from the game to her neckline. I also liked the slightly spooky bleeding eyes of the villian.
- The fact that this was definitely early Bond - work in progress. M is constantly angry with him, he does seem to kill more easily and efficiently than any of the others, not so sure about the sentimentality, but it marks his vulnerability and makes him real. Before he becomes a suave, wisecracking international spy with gadgets and girls galore.
- The poker games. I don't know this game well, but these were well orchestrated.
- The fantastic last line...what we'd been waiting for all along, delivered perfectly.
There's a couple of things I didn't understand. I noticed a few times there were references to a number 378...any idea why? Didn't quite get the CIA involvement - it seemed to disappear as soon as it appeared. Also, no Q?
Oh well, never mind. No need to analyze it all to death. All I can say it, this movie left me shaken and stirred :) Enjoy!

Shedding skin

2006-11-17T18:48:00.000-08:00

Last evening I did something I haven't done in perhaps fifteen years. I fell down and scraped my knee. Picture this: rain, slippery pavements, boots too sexy (and smooth-soled, as I discovered yesterday!) to wear often, dark alley in downtown, running to prevent a parking ticket, skirt (so uncovered knee), no sense of direction - dramatic, huh?!
So I fussed all day today, 'worked from home', didn't get out of my shorts, got some reviews and other stuff done that I couldn't do at work, and generally enjoyed my lazy day as an invalid. It got me thinking - maybe some shed skin isn't all that bad (other than the unholy mess it's left my knee in! I told someone that it has progressed from a crater of redness to a brown pothole!) Snakes shed skin all the time, and we worhip them don't we?!

Another story to support my point. My colleague's father recently burnt parts of his body including his face, in a freak yard accident. It seemed for a day that he was in serious danger, because he had lost sensation and they feared it had affected his nerves.
Turns out he's ok. More than ok, even. They grafted some new skin to his face, so this sixty-something year old man has brand new baby-smooth skin, and it feels much better than his beautiful daughter's expensive-lotion-pampered skin now!

While I don't recommend either method described above to shed some skin, I've been thinking how it must be to be able to shed some other kinds of skin, metaphorically, and wake up with brand new baby skin. Metaphorically, of course!

The skin of habit, of the past, of repeated patterns, of beaten paths, for one. How gut-wrenchingly scary and hard to give up a habit, whether it's smoking or TV or even chatting with a good friend everyday. In fact, giving up something like that last one might not even seem like a necessary thing. And those are the hard habits to break. The ones you don't have to. The ones that are not societally condemned or obviously bad for you. But think of all the friends you're not making or not talking to, when you talk to the same person everyday. Think of all the paths you haven't discovered yet, by traveling the same path again. Sure, you'll get lost, scared, run out of gas, out of time, bored, rejected, dejected...but isn't it so worth it the one time you find a new route, make a new friend, spend a delightful evening with a stranger, discover some new music, eat a new kind of vegetable, ride a new car, stumble upon a new bookstore or find a new art form?

The thing is, I don't know, I have been too wrapped up in the double layered skin of habit and fear to find out. I'm thinking of ripping part of it out...slowly. In hope of a new layer, a new identity, a new relationship, or, at the very least, a new story.

Early morning reflections...

2006-10-31T04:34:00.000-08:00

It is 4:30 a.m. I'm sitting here with three tabs open in my IE7 (thanks to Parth, I caved in and downloaded it!).
One has the website to book visa appointments in Canada open, and I sit groggily refreshing the page, hoping that magically the stars will align and the correct number of appointments appear in the correct place on the correct dates. "Correct" of course, defined as "fits into the plans I had made for the Universe without consulting Reality".
The second has my inbox open, with a message from one of my best friends, who writes to tell me that her stars have magically aligned and she is going to be able to make a quick trip home to see another of our best friends get married. I see it now. R is at the reception dias, looking lovely and charming and skinny as ever, and M and A sit down at a table after 2 hours of dancing, A pretending to be drunk on half a glass of wine, M pretending to be sober after 4 glasses of rum-and-coke. They both wish I was there, and start talking about 'old times' and as if they had a voodoo doll of me there to transmit those vibes, I can feel everything. The smell of a cool polluted Bandra night, the too-bright dresses of some of the ladies, the sound of teenagers flirting as they only allow themselves to at weddings when they are allowed to be good-looking and to dance with each other.
Well, I'll drink to that, then. My memories of looking good and dancing at A's wedding, my memories of seemingly endless arguments that somehow ended up with us laughing hysterically about something inconsequential, my memories of helping M make coffee-walnut-rum-icecream that was more rum than icecream, my memories of planning a treasure hunt for A's first anniversary, the 'spinster party', the inexhaustable energy we had for planning creative gifts for each other, the creativity born equally out of necessity (we were poor students) and time (we were poor students) and some kind of wonderful bond we had that I haven't been able to find since then.
I'll drink to that then, and hope that one day, maybe when the stars are aligned, we will replicate that magic - giggles and all.

O Me! O Life!

2006-10-15T11:05:00.000-07:00

On fields o'er which the reaper's hand has pass'd

Lit by the harvest moon and autumn sun,
My thoughts like stubble floating in the wind
And of such fineness as October airs,
There after harvest could I glean my life
A richer harvest reaping without toil,
And weaving gorgeous fancies at my will
In subtler webs than finest summer haze.

- Henry David Thoreau

The magic formula of "solitude + beautiful fall day + walk = complete rejuvenation" was tested yesterday, and found to hold true. Never underestimate the power of a beautiful day to give you perspective. It's not about feeling small in front of the grandeur of nature or anything - it's about feeling part of it. Feeling proud of the fact that you exist, a part of this mystery, able to appreciate the insanely pretty lights in the trees, the loud crack of twigs, the silence that carries a dog's sneeze, the resizing of your problems in the grand scheme of things.

Fall is fast becoming my favorite time of year. This year, surprisingly, we went almost two months without rains. Clear skies, stunning colors, crisp refreshing weather, and the promise of work and love and music to keep me hopeful.

Today it has been raining since the time I woke up. Farewell o fair weather, o life-giving beauty. May I never forget.

O Me! O Life!
O Me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer.
That you are here—that life exists, and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
- Walt Whitman

Weekend News...in Haiku

2006-10-01T22:22:00.001-07:00

Mesmerising scent

Deep dark hue

One black coffee please!

A cheesy movie

A good one

Weekend's up!

Now ev'ry evening

The fall sun

Leaves me earlier

Death Cab For Cutie,

Don and Dor.

Love? Fresh Air? Music!

Young jackfruit in cans,

Coconut, cumin...

..Amma's memories

Music, missed beats, moans,

Sticks, skirts, screams...

It's just dandiya!

Tangled wires, blank screens,

Drooping shelves...

Cut fingers, proud heart.

Crossroads

2006-08-03T23:04:00.000-07:00

Five years!

She never would have predicted that it would have lasted this long. After all, she was on the rebound, and rejection is a heavy chip on the shoulder. Not once, but three times consecutively. She had glimpsed a fantastic future each time, but fate had turned a cold shoulder towards her. Each time, she had mentally packed her bags, moved into a new city to start a new life, filled with the foolish optimism of naive and confident youth. Each time, at the last minute she realized that someone else had taken her place - someone prettier, smarter and luckier than she could ever hope to be.

So it was with little hope, a healthy dose of cynicism and a carelessness that leaned towards recklessness that she chose to enter this new relationship. She was in it to have fun, exploit the situation and enjoy herself. She didn't see much of a future in this, but knew for sure that it was going to be a ride of a lifetime.

At least this time she felt 'wanted'. In a strange and unexpected way, she felt like she was recognized for who she really was, and that was still okay! More than okay, she was valued and honored for who she really was. Yet, she felt like she was the lucky one in this relationship - the comfort it provided, the fun and excitement it promised, all the learning it afforded her, not just about the world, but about herself. It was like looking into a mirror for the first time in her life and really seeing herself.

In the heady rush of this new learning, she didn't realize that she was slowly shedding the past. This revealing of her inner layers meant getting rid of some of those chips on her shoulder that had become part of her story.

She didn't see the slow insidious way this relationship was worming its way into her identity. The innocent but steady trickle of time ensured that the seeds of its permanence had taken root in her life.

The thing is, at some level, she wasn't ready to recognize this or water those seeds of permanence just yet. She still wanted to pick up the sapling of her new identity and plant it in the comfortable familiar garden of past loves. This new garden, while fertile, was still foreign to her and sometimes this jarred her very soul. She could not bite the hand that fed her, but she could not eat everything it fed her either, after a while.

And then one day she realized that it had been five years.

She asked herself who she was, how much of her old self remained, where this was heading, how much of her future had she secured, how much of her present had she squandered away...all brilliant existential questions. With no answers.

She realized though, that she couldn't let another five years slip past without trying to rein some of it in. She had let the current of time sweep her into unchartered yet rewarding territories of her soul, but it was time she took helm and guided it into the future.

This relationship either had to end, or had to earn a legitimate name. Status quo was no longer an option.

Five years, she realized, is a long time.

It's been a while since I posted here, and I admit, I've missed blogging.
I tried to write this to reflect a lot of what I'm going through. While it might read like a page from my 'Journal of Failed Romances', this post was inspired by the fact that today marks the fifth year anniversary of my arrival in this country.
I told myself in 2001 that this was a two year Masters program, a two year window in which to gain some international experience, live alone, make new friends, learn about other cultures and also, as a bonus, get a degree. Two years turned into five, a Masters degree gave way to admission into the PhD program, that gave way to a job, a new visa, a new identity and a new life. Before I knew it I had become an NRI, a 'dhobi ka kutta, na ghar ka, na ghat ka', a foreigner no matter where I go. I've had occassion recently to question my situation, to answer some questions about my future one way or the other. I know that in time I will have my answers, but in the meantime, I will acknowledge both the good and bad that I've gone through in these five years, that have made them quite possibly the most important ones of my life.

Meaningless rambles...blame the weather!

2006-06-26T20:30:00.000-07:00

For the first time in more than a month, I am alone today.
Pensive (read 'lazy'!) and very hot. Today was the hottest day in Portland ever. A record breaking 107 degrees Fahrenheit. Must have melted my brain, because I can't hold a thought in my head without it going away and being replaced by another inconsequential one. Here's saving some of their ephemeral truths...

- I went to try out for Jeopardy. Got about 10 questions out of 50 (maybe more, but then those would have been sheer luck!), didn't make it past that hurdle, got 'randomly' picked out as a winner of a Jeopardy DVD, got a pen, a 'thanks for trying' and came back home happy with the chance to have missed work!

- Many thanks to those who tried to help me with the 5 interesting things...turns out I never got to use them. But here are the final five, for posterity.
1. My only court appearance occurred when I was only a few weeks old, to correct a clerical error on my birth certificate - the nurse had mistakenly entered me as 'male'!
2. Telling people about my job usually leaves them confused and calls for some 'I-O'pening remarks (I am an Industrial-Organizational or 'I-O' psychologist).
3. I have the worst, and best, luck on international flights - delays have led me to stay in France, Germany, Bahrain and Sri Lanka, completely unplanned and completely free.
4. I once had dinner with a Miss Universe.
5. A cop once let me off with a warning for driving in a 'no vehicles' zone; little did he know that I hadn't yet gotten my driver's license and was breaking a law more severe than not reading a sign!

- I am listening/watching to a DVD of Bruce Hornsby in concern. I miss going to concerts. I was going to attend his, but unfortunately, travel plans interceded - I am going to Las Vegas and the Grand Canyon during the time his band's coming here. I recall the first time I heard this guy, I really thought it was Bob Dylan in some new avatar. The song was "Gonna be some changes made". Check it out. Nice jazzy/folky/rocky feel - the band gives a new meaning to the words 'in concert' because they are reallllly connected and 'in concert' every single second.

- Last Friday, at work, we were celebrating a colleague getting married, and as part of the theme, we had to bring in pictures of our own weddings/weddings we'd been in/people we'd like to marry. I picked a couple of pictures. One was from my brother's wedding last year. The other one was from a friend's wedding more than seven (!!) years ago. Boy, did that one bring back memories!! I missed another friend's wedding in Bombay last week. Thinking of most of the old 'gang' back together without me, having a wonderful time, dancing (sigh!!), eating, drinking, making dumb jokes and enquiring after each others' families, was making me wistful and almost depressed. Until I got a text message from one of them, telling me that I am still one of them better than words ever have!

- Okay, my mind's finally ground to a halt. Too hot to think/type. Will be back when I have something to say!

In Jeopardy! Need help...quick!

2006-06-20T22:56:00.000-07:00

Hah! Got your attention?!
Well, it's true...sort of. Here's why:
I'm going to try out for a quiz show called Jeopardy on Monday. Very tough, very popular (okay, amongst trivia buffs), very cheesily presented but intelligently crafted show.
Part of the ritual for trying out includes a form I need to fill out. Part of said form reads "If you become a contestant on "Jeopardy!" we need to know some interesting bits of information about you to be used during our on-camera interview with Alex Trebek. Please list 5 brief bits about yourself below. They only need to be one-liners. Tell us about your job, hobbies, embarrassing moments, claims to fame, (awards, honors, etc.), your wildest ambition or some unusual things you collect."
Now, the last thing I can do amidst the many things I need to do already, is think of five interesting things about me, so I need help. Some of you know me more than ten years, some not at all...in my many avatars, something somewhere must (hopefully!) have struck someone as being interesting. If I can scrounge up even one interesting fact about myself through this forum, I'll not only be able to fill this dratted form, I'll also feel less boring. So please chime in!
And please do not refer to previous post - weird cannot qualify as 'interesting' for Jeopardy!
And I promise, at the end of this craziness that's my life at present, I will deliver at least one sensible post!

Weirdly yours...

2006-06-04T20:44:00.000-07:00

It seems like ages since I accessed this space, and the blogosphere in general. I actually made a mistake with my password signing in!

Well, given my current state of busy-ness, I'm glad to have an easy cop-out...my brain is too tired to come up with something original, so I'm going to give in to Aparna's tag.
This one requires coming up with 6 weird things about oneself, and then tagging six others. I'll do the first, not the second...(sorry, Aparna!)

So here goes, six publicly declarable ways in which I get qualified as 'weird':
1. I get really irritated and pissy if I don't get at least 10 minutes of quiet, alone 'me' time every day.
2. I hold on to little, silly mementoes which may seem inconsequential to others, but somehow tie me to a memory or a day. Examples include old ticket stubs, an empty cigarette box, an almost empty packet of Tums, an edge of a sheet containing a scribbled note from my college days, a piece of tinsel from a gift wrapping...
3. I am constantly looking for, and get tickled by funny store names, street names, place names, etc. Consider a gem from my road trip last weekend: An exit called "Hooker Creek" on I-5, enroute to a city called "Weed"! Only in California, land of free love and flower power!

4. I find it very hard to believe/accept compliments about my appearance. Relatedly, I hate being photographed.
5. There are times when I absolutely have to listen to a particular song, or else I get paranoid and superstitious feelings that something's going to go wrong. Like I believe strongly that the reason I topped in Math in my HSC is that I listened to "Sunny came home" just before I left although in the process I almost got late for my exam. If you know me at all, you'll know how ridiculous it is that I did well in something like Math and will believe that it's the song that did it!
6. I have a really weird memory - I can remember some foolish, unimportant trivia for years, but can't for the life of me remember whether someone I spent the last five days with wears glasses or not! I can't play card games because I forget what happened two moves back, but I can whomp your ass at remembering lines from movies I love, however long back I've seen them!

Phew, done! I'm still a blogger. Thanks for a quick excuse for an entry, Aparna. Anyone else who happens to drift by, feel free to accept the baton for this tag...

Later, gators!

Of Liff, Liberession and Everything

2006-05-09T19:22:00.000-07:00

Okay okay, before you protest about the last post being an empty threat and all that, let me say that all I meant was the entries here will be less frequent for the next few weeks/months (not that I was all that regular!) and also thank you for your support and all that jazz...

So, by way of explanation of the title, I should first acknowledge the wondrous Douglas Adams, and say thanks to Nocturne for making me pick up "The Salmon of Doubt" which was my traveling companion this past week which turned out to be a Very Interesting Week.
One of the chapters talks about the Meaning of Liff (follow link for explanation). Here's an excerpt from it:

We rapidly discovered that there were an awful lot of experiences, ideas, and situations that everybody knew and recognized, but that never got properly identified simply because there wasn't a word for them. They were all of the "Do you ever have a situation where..." or "You know what feeling you get when..." or "You know, I always thought it was just me..." kind. All it needs is a word and the thing is identified.So the vaguely uncomfortable feeling you got from sitting on a seat which is warm from somebody else's bottom is just as real a feeling as the one you get when a rogue giant elephant charges out of the bush at you, but hitherto only the latter has actually had a word for it. Now they both have words. The first one is "shoeburyness" and the second of course is "fear".

"What a tremendously exciting idea!"I thought. I'm not the first person to think we should have more words to describe those complicated feelings/situations that we need at least a paragraph to describe!
So here's my first contribution to the Meaning Of My Liff: LIBERESSION.
Liberession is the feeling you get when you are alone, trying to enjoy yourself, psyched by the idea that there is no pesky significant other present to drag you down/pile on you, exhilarated with the sense of liberation and discovery but strangely lonely and upset that there's nobody to share the moment with you, and depressed as a result of it. Get it? No? Perhaps a few choice examples will help...

Liberession is when you get your driver's license and are celebrating your triumph by eating the yummiest chocolate brownie a la mode. By yourself. At a cheesy diner. At 2:30 in the afternoon.

Liberession is when you are put up in a fabulous hotel in Europe because you had to miss the flight connection to the US, and you celebrate New Year with a bunch of really cool strangers and drink a lot of apple wine. And think of the family you've left behind. And the friends who are dancing and wishing you were with them.

Liberession is going to watch one of your favorite bands in concert alone because noone else you know wants to spend $40 on a ticket. But with the first chords of "Ants Marching" your self-consciousness disappears into thin air, and you cheer louder than the pot-smoking fifteen year olds to your right. And then try to look invisible and melt into embarassed nothingness.

Liberession is when you realize you are alone in a new place and having a wonderful time. But. Nobody. In. The. Entire. World. Knows. Where. You. Are. Because. Your. Cellphone. Is. Dead. And. Your. Travel. Plans. Changed. At. The. Last. Minute.

Liberession is when you walk back to your room slowly after your first kiss. With absolutely the wrong person. At absolutely the wrong time in your life. But still tingling from the feeling it left you with. Realizing that you've missed the boat on the Perfect First Kiss because you wasted it on the wrongest possible person you could have possibly picked to waste it on. But it felt so good!

Liberession is when you first listen to Clapton and Harrison's version of "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" and want to hug the person who introduced it to you but realize that a hug doesn't travel 1021.5 miles.

Liberession is when the shoes you've been following all season finally go on sale. And you get the last pair in the store. And realize that your friend who's been stalking them as well will have missed the deal. And you wish she was the same size so you could share them. But you realize that life is suddenly so much better now that you have The Shoes :)

I wish I knew how to quit you...

2006-04-27T18:34:00.000-07:00

If you've watched "Brokeback Mountain", you'll know where the title comes from. It's one of those phrases that so beautifully express a million feelings in one short, bitter, spat out breath.
This post reminded me that I wanted to write about this movie for a while now, but life has been getting the better of me. So I'll say a couple of things about the movie and then I'll move on.
To get the unpleasantness out of the way first, I don't really see what all the fuss is about. It's a good film, yes, but I don't know if it's a great film. I think this happens a lot with me...a perfectly good movie is ruined by the hype and rave reviews surrounding it so that I give it a lower rating than I would have if I'd gone cold to see it.
In my opinion, Crash deservedly won the Best Picture because it's a true-blue masterpiece - creative, courageous, wonderfully acted and scripted, skilful and intelligent. Brokeback Mountain is the stuff that spoof movie makers die for - sentimental, sweeping beautiful locales, rugged good looking men doing not so rugged manly things in a rugged manly fashion, weird endings, looooong pauses. At the cost of being accused of bigotry, I think the way the two leads expressed their love is a trifle too rough and bloody for me to understand - is all the violence necessary to demonstrate affection?
Ah well...time to move on. I think I am going to have to quit this space for a while. Life promises to be B-U-S-Y for the next few months. In any case, I'm starting to run out of ideas, so I'm glad to have an excuse (or fifty!) to quit blogging for a while :)
So fare thee well awhile, dear readers (yes, you three!), and my mind might be Broke, but I'll be Back!

Near death experience

2006-04-17T21:57:00.000-07:00

The blue Light beckons
Its seductive glow attracts
The darkness around him
Embraces, yet detracts

As he gives in to The Light
His days come to him in a flash
Work, bills, clients, all blur
Into a terrifying mental crash

He yearns for the peaceful bliss
Of ignorance, of enlightenment
The feeling of being one with The Light
The promise of detachment

A brief notion of denouncement
Of guilt, anxiety and perhaps regret
He quickly dims these intruders
And prepares to forever forget

Alas, forever is not to be
At least not yet, for him
Three hours pass, the film is over
His thoughts remain, dark and grim...

Alas, indeed...Like Asimov said, a writer is often a prisoner of his/her neuroses. There are some movies, books and music that draw you in so completely, it's like having a near death experience or an X-file-ish out-of-body experience. I'm afraid half my days are spent this way, unaccounted for and unacknowledged. Until now :)

Mix up

2006-04-02T16:27:00.000-07:00

It's been one of those weekends...I roamed around despodently, thinking of undone tax returns, unfinished books, unstarted dissertations, unburned calories and unreturned phonecalls. Looking for something to cheer me up, I turned to music. More specifically, to my casette collection. Yes, I'm one of those people who still listens to tapes and casettes, especially ones recorded with so much effort all those years ago before the CD revolution. I recall the days of lying down in the dark after the rest of the family was asleep, listening to late night radio on a tinny walkman with one finger on the 'record' button and the other holding the headphone cable just-so in order to be able to hear from both sides...
I have had to throw away some really good compilations over the years due to damage to the tape or a move or some other undignified excuse. One tape that escaped such a fate is something I called cheesily enough "All-time (English) favourites: My 'first' album" :)
Recorded over a decade ago, it has such a variation of pieces as "Layla", "Take on me", "Love me do", "Annie's Song" and "Saturday Night" all in one compilation!!! It's really embarassing to me to think that I thought of "I swear" and "Actor" as some of my all-time favorites! But hey, cheesy or not, it brought back some great memories.
Another of my favorite compilations somehow got lost (I think it is in the casette deck of a certain Toyota Corolla in Chicago...Own up to it, You Who Dared To Steal A Mix Tape from me!). It had some of the standard favorites like "Jhuki jhuki si nazar", "Huzoor is kadar", "Do naina" and "Tujhse naaraaz nahin.." that I am sure feature in others' compilations too.
And then there's some I got more picky and savvy about: Like a "Fantastic Females" one, which had some lovely numbers by the women of the day (Sade and Joan Osborne come to mind), one for dance music, which progressed brilliantly from techno to jive music to slow dance music all designed for a party that I never ended up hosting!
If you count the hours I've spent creating compilations, I'm sure it'll fill a couple of weeks at least!
I have never been gifted a mix tape (unless you count my providing a list of requests and twisting arms till it gets done!), but have been the giver and compiler of a few. Each occasion (one real sad, the others good) is marked as deserving of the care and attention and time and effort of timing the songs, maximizing the space used, the meaningfulness of the collection, the sequence of songs, the aptness of the occasion...it's not a trivial exercise!
In my own fantasy world, a compilation of songs chosen and recorded specially for me ranks much much higher than flowers or dinner or Paris or expensive perfumes in the 'romantic stuff' list. It ranks just below words (poetry/letters/anything) written specially for me and just above holding my hair back while I puke.
Rob from "High Fidelity" had it right: "Now the making of a good compilation tape is a very subtle art. Many dos and don'ts. First of all, you're using someone else's poetry to express how you feel. This is a delicate thing."
Indeed!

You Name It, We've Got It!

2006-03-25T13:10:00.001-08:00

I'm one of those people who gets a big kick out of puns, smart names and funny song titles. Every now and then I make people groan and throw things at me because of my awful jokes and puns...
Today I realized that there have been many masters of the art who have gone unrecognized for their talents, and I want to pay a little tribute to them. Here's a collection of some of my favorite store/business names.

Brewed Awakening - Drive-through coffee shop (love this one!)
Stand your Grounds! - Another drive-through coffee shop
Fussy Cleaners - Dry Cleaners
Interior Motives - Home decor store
Control Freaks - Computer services
Store-ables - Storage containers 'store'
Kitchen Kaboodle - Kitchen stuff
Heaven 'N' Hell Tattoos - Need I explain?
The Funky Hippy - Tye-n-dye T-shirts, psychedelic art, mirrored skirts, obscure Sitar albums, incense and quite possibly marijuana!
The Tao of Tea - more than 200 varieties of tea
What the Pho? - Vietnamese restaurant (Love it!!)
Souper Bowl - Restaurant (I think! Love it anyway!)
Mad Mex - Fantastic Tex-Mex restaurant

There's a lot more of these than I can recall right now, so feel free to contribute...I will come back to this list if and when I find more gems!

Springing into (in)action

2006-03-18T11:10:00.000-08:00

Ahh Spring!
Grass turns green
The blooming buds bloom
My eyes water,my nose tingles
Ahh Allergies!

Ahh Spring!
The earth awakens
The breeze in my hair
The darned birds shriek
Ahh Sounds!

Ahh Spring!
Bicycle rides
Brighter skies
Farmers' markets visits
Ahh Action!

Ahh Spring!
The Academy Awards
The loss of an hour
The forced optimism
Ahh Repentance for another season past!

Ahh Spring!
Billowing skirts
Shirtless men
Enthusiastic exercisers
Ahh The Elusive Spring in My Step!

I'm a little irritated as is evident. Apologies galore...(No relation to any James Bond girls!)
I feel like rebelling against the enthusiasm, the hope, the new spurts of life, the reminder that another season's come and gone (almost) and in a lot of ways, I'm the same.
Ahh Spring :(

Jazz like that

2006-03-11T16:28:00.000-08:00

One of the stations on my car radio settings is a jazz station. It's the one, I admit, that I listen to least frequently, but the other day, nothing else was gelling, so I settled on this one on a late night drive to the library to drop off some woefully late books.

Jazz and I have had a off and on rocky affair...The night in the smoky Chicago jazz club, the blues (ok fine, sort of jazz!) festival in Portland's city hall, the Jazzfest in Akron (Listen to my favorite piece from that night: Dave Brubeck's Take Five)...Every time I've been exposed to jazz music I find myself caught up in its magic, its crazy unstructured wonder and the passion of the musicians. However, like one-night stands, there is no attempt to reconnect, to find out more, to re-establish that magic. It's almost like it is too perfect to destroy with analysis.

Having said that, I confess that this time I started wondering what it is about music in general, and jazz in particular, that strikes a chord (pardon the pun!) in me. Here's what I think...
Jazz, by definition, is the epitome of creativity in music...there's little predictability, lots of improvization and crazy, unstructured ups and downs. Sounds a little like life, doesn't it?

However, stick with it a bit, unwind and relax with it a little, let it take you with it, and you'll start to make sense of it. Beneath the seeming randomness is a pattern. A steady thub-thumping of the bass guitar or the viola, a steady beat that ties together the various streams into one ultimate rush. Sort of like the chaos theory notion of 'attractors' which define the overall boundary or pattern of a phenomenon, within which there can be countless random behaviors. So from within this, if you focus on the immediate randomness, you see no pattern, no melody, no sense. Zoom out a little, and a pattern begins to discern itself and resonate within you. Sounds a little like life, doesn't it?

The other thing about jazz music, is the way it is created. Having had much greater experience with Carnatic music, I can talk about its equivalent in that system - kalpana swaram. The musicians have to be so in tune with each other (pardon this one too!), they have to stay one step ahead of each other, and the best performances are the ones in which they anticipate exactly what the other one is going to do and do it with them. It's like bridging the gap between minds, trying to understand and predict the other person, and that brilliant flash of satisfaction that results when you've succeeded. Sounds a little like life, doesn't it?

"I really believe that if there's any kind of God, he wouldn't be in any one of us -- not you, not me, but just this space in between. If there's some magic in this world, it must be in the attempt of understanding someone else, sharing something. Even if it's almost impossible to succeed, but who cares, the answer must be in the attempt."

Yep...I think it's almost impossible for me to completely understand the magic of music, but who cares, the answer is in the attempt!

NO!

2006-03-07T19:22:00.000-08:00

She is on her way to work. It's summer in Bombay and sweat is pouring down her back. She waits for the 8:06 train to Churchgate, knowing fully well how packed it will be. She shifts her heavy cotton dupatta so that it covers her head properly, wishing she could throw it away and stand naked under a fan. She looks up at the college student next to her, wearing shorts and a sleeveless top that reminds her of her son's banyaan.
Part of her envies this carefree creature - cool and fresh in this summer heat, with her perfect slim body and long legs, with no drunken husband to dread and probably a handsome hero of a boyfriend to protect her.

She is on her way to college. Another day wasted in the classroom when all she wants to do is practice for the swimming meet. Another day to be spent beating off advances she didn't ask for, from boys she doesn't know, in ways she is too shy to carry through. Another day trying to focus on the lecture instead of having to find a seat away from the aisle so the professor doesn't meaningfully rub against her every time he passes by.
It wasn't her fault that she was beautiful and healthy and the envy of every woman and the object of desire of every man who saw her. She envies women like the dowdy specimen next to her in the cotton salwar kameez. She had no need or space in her life to think about leery professors or psycho stalkers. Oh, what a blessing to be plain looking, poor and unambitious.

They both glance up for the train and see the lecherous guy approaching, giving the pretty student the head-to-toe apparaisal, with a long stop a third of the way down. His eyes move to the other woman, and repeat the routine with a twisted smile.

One hugs a bag close to her body, one readjusts the dupatta and looks down, an umbrella is held ready to keep unwanted hands at bay, a quick glance to check for the arrival of the train, hearts beat faster for a whole minute, as the man ambles past at a maddeningly complacent pace...

It's about time this stopped. We have the right to walk with our head held high, mind at peace, bare arms to the side, unafraid, confident and proud of being beautiful women. It is time we said NO to eve-teasing and NO to every form of dishonor and sexual harassment, small or big.

No matter how she looks, what she wears, what her background, where she's going, what language she speaks, what time of day or night it is...no woman in most places in India steps out on the streets confident in the knowledge that she will be unharmed or unaffected by eve-teasers.

Here's to the day when we can step into the street knowing that we will be respected, perhaps admired but never harmed, and always protected and safe in the city we love.
Here's to the Blank Noise Project.
Thanks to Aparna for introducing me to this.

Last Straw

2006-03-03T17:19:00.000-08:00

As he gathered his coat and things and started walking away, he knew that he should have realized it earlier. He could have done something to soften the blow, perhaps. Or controlled his feelings so it would not have led to this demeaning dismissal. He had his pride to protect, didn't he?
Why did he let it come to this desperate end? Why, oh why did he fail to see the signs? It wasn't that they were lacking..He should have noticed when his friends started drifting away, shaking their heads at him in pity and disbelief. Or when her looks of eagerness and invitation started to turn into disgust and disapproval. Or when he first realized that the lines between reality and fantasy had started to blur. Definitely when he saw her talking to the strong, handsome man in the black T-shirt and the comforting arm around her shoulder.
Now he was left with nothing to do but beat a reluctant retreat. No use glancing at her wistfully as he neared the door. Nothing he could do or say would change her mind now. She was pleading, but firm, "Out, please..NOW!"
The burly black T-shirt advanced, as if to protect her. "This does not have to get nasty, you know."
He knew. He was too tired, too resigned to protest anymore. Moreover, he still had the scar on his cheek from the last time he had tried to fight the inevitable. He rattled his glass empty, threw down the straw, and got up. He left quietly.
As he stumbled into the cab in confusion and regret, he saw the handsome bouncer turning over the chairs, and turning off the neon "Open" sign, as the bar-tender wiped down the bar and removed her apron.
He took out his cell phone and called his Alcoholics Anonymous buddy. "Hey Kev, I got kicked out of the bar again".

Attempt # 2*

2006-02-14T18:27:00.000-08:00

I've tried to rhyme and croon before, but never, my love, for you;
Words flow so easily now in a song I wrote, my love, for you.

You showed me life's possibilities through the glass of hope
I would have been lost and despaired long ago, but, my love, for you.

I was so selfish, tangled in my needs and fears
You saved me from myself by letting me care, my love, for you.

I had become completely numb to both pleasure and pain
You brought a spark back to my darkened heart and so I fell, my love, for you.

In your eyes, I'm beautiful, in your hands I'm clay
You can make me do anything your heart desires, my love, for you.

Life's joys, brief moments of bliss, triumphs, gifts
Don't you know that they'd all mean nothing if not, my love, for you?

You rode bravely with me, through my highs and lows
Forgive me my madness, but you made me crazy, my love, for you.

Before, diamonds were just hardened coal, snowflakes just frozen rain
Your faith brought wonder to my life and it's all, my love, for you.

In my heart I know the truth,"Zaara! It's written in the stars!"
There never was the slightest doubt that I was meant, my love, for you!

*This is the second time I'm attempting to write something ghazal-style. I don't know if it worked, but I thought that I'd be forgiven for unleashing this sentimentality today, of all days!
Of course, 'my love' in this piece is an amalgamation of my loves, past, present and future, platonic, romantic, and everything in between!
Happy Valentine's Day to all of you from all of me!

And so it is...

2006-02-10T23:51:00.001-08:00

...that I revisit a movie and a song almost by accident, and they capture me though they never did the first time around.

And so it is

Just like you said it would be

Life goes easy on me

Most of the time

I don't know what has changed in me since the first time I saw "Closer" or heard Damien Rice's "Blower's Daughter", but for some reason today, the second time around, I'm smitten.

And so it is

The shorter story

No love, no glory

No hero in her sky

It is rare for film-makers to allow a song to be so intricately identified with a movie, as this one is. What makes it cooler, is that this was from Rice's debut album, and gets complete airtime not once, but twice, in the movie, in its entirety, with no dialogue to interrupt its haunting, beautiful, heartfelt flow.

I can't take my eyes off of you

I can't take my eyes off you

And it is the perfect choice too - it has the same pace, mood, subtlety and flow of the film itself - passionate undercurrents, smooth yet confusing connections and transitions which somehow leave you wondering what hit you...

Did I say that I loathe you?

Did I say that I want to

Leave it all behind?

I can't take my mind off of you

I can't take my mind off you

And so it is

Just like you said it should be

We'll both forget the breeze

Most of the time

Watered down

2006-02-07T22:22:00.000-08:00

Children sail paper boats in dirty potholes,
Lovers meet, farmers weep,
A city grinds to a helpless, reluctant stop.
Monsoon rains...

Trees and houses torn up, families torn apart
Landscapes sculpted over centuries, change instantaneously,
Homes, dreams and lives destroyed by brute force.
Tsunami...

A poet dreams, a song is born,
A bee feeds,
Rays of sunlight compete seductively.
Dewdrops on a leaf of grass...

Mighty feats of engineering put up their sails and flags,
Travel thousands of miles to trade - slaves, spices and small pox,
Some to conquer, some to go home, some merely to marvel.
The ocean...

A panting marathon runner grabs wildly,
The old patient gestures feebly,
A baby cries helplessly.
A glass of water...

A drop is enough to break a heart,
To heal a bruised elbow,
To unleash a tidal wave of passion and pain.
Tears...

A bond of friendship over a fine catch for dinner,
A final farewell, a cleansing of sinful bodies,
An awakening of the mind.
A river...

Each flake is unique, never before and never again,
Snow angels, blocked driveways, cancelled school,
Christmas, little yellow gloves and hats.
Snow…

Tilling, building, mowing, entertaining,
Riding, shooting, cutting, running, drawing
Delivering, fighting, crying, dreaming.
Sweat...

A child builds a sand-castle,
A couple builds castles in the air, walking barefoot and carefree,
A surfer challenges his fate and the tides.
The beach...

A tag to build a dream on!

2006-02-05T00:33:00.000-08:00

When I was four I'd only just
Begun to notice that boys exist,
Have short hair and short pants
And car toys (if their parents were sexist)

By the time I turned ten
Things had changed a bit
My first crush, my first heartbreak
And at the time I was heartily denying it

Three years later and I had turned
Into that interesting creature, a teen
When the only boys that mattered
Were on TV, in books, or at least eighteen!

At sweet sixteen I still dreamt
Of lopsided smiles and brown eyes
And surprise gifts from Mr.Right
And dreaming, missed all the good guys :(

I turned twenty two, still single
Left the country for greener pastures
Got a degree, a job but still no man
Who'd thrill me to raptures

My mistake came to me one day
I had built a mold, a holding pen
And tried to fit men into it instead of
Molding my ideals to fit the men!

But hey, I got tagged by Aparna to dream a little dream. So I'm going to take this opportunity and see if I can squeeze all these years of red herring fantasies into eight bullet points !

The Rules:
1. The tagged victim (haha!) has to come up with 8 different points of their perfect lover.
2. You have to mention the sex of the target.
3. Tag 8 victims to join this game & leave a comment on their comments saying they've been tagged. (This I'm not doing, sorry!)
4. If tagged the 2nd time, there's no need to post again.

Ok, here goes...

Sex of the 'target' - Male.

My perfect desert island dreamboat ideal man:
1. Is a 'nice guy' - patient, compassionate, respectful, loyal and understanding.
2. Loves music. Is willing to experiment with different kinds. Indulges my music tastes, and shares with me his. Wants us to discover new music together. Gets excited by music trivia.
3. Is very intelligent, almost nerdy. Grasps things quickly and is a treasurehouse of knowledge. Is still logical, rational and keeps me grounded with that rationality and common sense!
4. Is very passionate. He gets excited by new advances in science, inspired by good poetry, intrigued by the possibility of alien life, amused by the mysteries of human relationships and enraged by the manipulations of politicians.
5. Has a nice mouth and a great smile, strong arms (not muscular - just toned and veiny!), brown eyes, straight black hair, a lean body, not too tall but taller than me, and good hands.
6. Respects me. Gives me my space and my independence without being resentful, jealous, hurt or condescending.
7. Brings something new to my life everyday, whether it is an attitude, an idea, a story from work, a book recommendation, a song that touched him, a surprise gift or tax advice. I think the loveliest relationships I've seen are those where couples share and learn from each other...And god knows I need to learn a lot of things!
8. Makes me want to show him off to my friends and family :)

Alright, I don't have eight people who read this blog that I can pass this onto. So I'm going to open this tag to whoever is interested in tagging along... I know one person who'd do it, but doesn't have a blog (Maru...how many such lists have you and I come up with over the years, huh?!), someone who has her ideal man already, someone who's shared some of his ideas on this with me but not completely, someone whose list will surely be interesting and someone who's such a romantic I'd love to see him forced into compiling a list of his romantic projections!

I say, chaps!

2006-02-01T19:11:00.000-08:00

Does that sound familiar? If you answered yes, you are probably from my generation/background/age etc. and remember the days of Doordarshan and watching Shah Rukh Khan make his skinny entrance into the entertainment world in "Fauji".
I had the great luck recently of chancing upon the first of two DVDs containing episodes 1-7 of Fauji in the local Indian store.
Watching these brought back memories of a simpler time, both for me and for the Indian television industry as a whole. A time when the jokes were corny but simple and clean, the sets were realistically middle-class, the clothes were ridiculous and the acting was pathetic!
Shar Rukh showed definite signs of his flamboyant self even then. The show no doubt propelled him onto bigger and better things, but even the other characters were interesting... the brother (intimidating, but oozing integrity and righteousness!), the women (with cheesy lines, bad accents, pink lipstick and big hair!),Varun (the "I say, chaps!" guy)and the other guys (Peter, Dev, etc.) and quite possibly the most entertaining character, Capt. Narayanan.
Those were the days I would watch TV because I followed certain shows. There were times set out during the week when the family would sit down together to watch TV for 30 minutes, we'd discuss it for a whole week in school and wait eagerly for the next instalment of the 13-episode (typically) serial.
Today? TV is an escape while I 'unwind' or eat...I flip channels impatiently and spend 15 minutes trying to find something, which I watch for 30 minutes at the most and get tired and leave. TV today is the opposite of wholesome, stimulating, exciting...And that's ironic, because there never has been so much choice, so many types of programming, such advances in media and delivery.

Is it me then, at fault? I don't know..I take solace in these lines from a song by The Boss:
"I bought a bourgeois house in the Hollywood hills
With a truckload of hundred thousand dollar bills
Man came by to hook up my cable TV
We settled in for the night my baby and me
We switched 'round and 'round 'til half-past dawn
There was fifty-seven channels and nothin' on"

Alito bit of Sandra on the run...Alito bit of Dubya by your side...Alito bit of you makes me want to cry!*

2006-01-26T19:52:00.000-08:00

Confused ranting and incoherence ahead. Consider yourself warned.
While filling my coffee mug yesterday at work, I glanced at a newspaper lying nearby and read a headline that almost made me drop the contents and burn my hand. Judge Samuel Alito (almost Chief Justice, nominated to replace Sandra Day O'Connor) says he is willing to revisit a 33-year old landmark judgment Roe v. Wade that legalized abortion in the United States (or rather, outlawed anti-abortion laws) if voted to the Supreme Court. Democrats in the Senate and ordinary people everywhere are worried about this very Republican/Conservative tilting of the Supreme Court. Thank you very much, Mr.Bush.
While each state has its laws regarding this issue, the federal law precedent was established in 1973 with this case. In Oregon, state law has lower restrictions on abortion than is federally deemed the minimum, or so I understand. This place is certainly more liberal and socially conscious than other areas of America I've seen. Before coming here, I was in Ohio which is more conservative for sure, but I saw little of that conservatism living in the liberal shelter of the University town. For naive ears like mine, then, things like the Supreme Court is leaning so right now, that it could repeal what most would now consider a given, the right to medically terminate an unwanted pregnancy, sound a little scary.
I am not declaring any pro-abortion tendencies. I am not even sure if I am pro-life or pro-choice. I cannot bear the thought of terminating a life at any stage, be it as an embryo or a foetus or a twenty-year old fighting a war he was lied to about. All I know is these are personal decisions, and if the law takes away the possibility for even that personal decision to exist as a choice, there's some justification for worry.
Ignoring the nature of this particularly sensitive issue of legalizing abortion, isn't there something amiss in a judicial system that's considering reverting back to what was the status quo three decades ago???
I have maintained for a while now, that the definition of 'progress' in this country is in grave danger. I am not pretending to have closely followed the happenings in the Senate, but the little I hear about is enough to strengthen that fear. Progress can now mean anything from rethinking 33 year long legal precedents, to refusing to acknowledge scientific proof of evolution in favor of teaching about 'intelligent design' in schools to lying to the world about the existence of non-existent WMDs to...grrrrrrrr!!!

There seems to me, to be more and more interference of the legal and political system into the personal life of Americans. I think people in this country had gotten used to certain freedoms, (like freedom of speech, maybe?) that is suddenly being questioned under the current political and legislative atmosphere. (In fact, I hesitated for a while before deciding to post this! Once again, thank you very much, Mr.Bush!)

This supreme court nomination is one of those rare occasions when the great (grave?!) influence that politics has on the law and hence, on the every day life of people, becomes very clear.
However, all is not doom and gloom...Alito's nomination replaces Harriet Miers', a woman whose lack of qualifications and credibility would have made Bush a bigger joke than he already is. So that's something. I suppose?!

*With apologies to Lou Bega - Mambo # Five!

I'm saving the Earth for my children. Can you help?

2006-01-21T19:56:00.000-08:00

When I was in college, I had a big crush on this professor of anthropology. He was the brooding, moody, pessimistic kind. He taught us everything except what was required to pass the exam. He hardly smiled, never knew us at a personal level, but when he spoke, I was mesmerized by his ideas. One of the things I'll never forget is him wagging his long middle finger (he always did that...at once amusing and amazing my girly immature mind!) and saying in a low rumble, "We are robbing the earth from our children!!! And you 'educated' lot? All this college education and what will you remember when you leave? Malhar! (Our college festival) Hmph!"
I've thought guiltily about that statement lots of times. I am really robbing the earth from my children. And so are you.
Recently, I came across a few ways to ease that guilt. It's all contained in a little magical book called "50 simple things you can do to save the earth". It is an old book, but the ideas are awesome. They don't involve major time-commitment or cost, just a little mental change. Here are some of its suggestions that I suggest we all start implementing.
1. Use liquid detergent (usually phosphate free, compared to powder). And use less of it. According to Consumer Reports, manufacturers recommend more than is really necessary.
2. Use warm water, instead of hot water in the washer. It doesn't make a difference to the cleaning, and it radically reduces power usage.
3. If you own a house, install 'low-flow faucet aerators' - they reduce the water used by 50% but increase the strength of the flow so that it seems more!
4. Use less plastic. PLEASE! This is the most disgusting thing I've come across here. People use a giant plastic bag and double bag their groceries even if it is only two apples and a toothbrush! I've started using good old cloth bags like we used to in India. Some stores here give you monetary credit for doing that! If you must use plastic, reuse till you can't any more. Then recycle. It just means taking it with you to the grocery store/recycling place.
5. Drive less. Take public transport or cycle to work/school at least once a week if you can. Carpool. Don't drive if you can walk (like to the next store in the mall...it's only 30 steps more!) Walking is good for you, for your car, for the environment. If you must drive, try and get a car that gets good mileage and has less emissions. There's at least 4 great Hybrids on the market, and more coming in 2006-2007. Consider that option.

Okay, I'm tempted to go on, but I have a better idea. The realist in me is telling me that I am being a tad ambitious here; the idealist in me is telling me that nothing ever is lost by trying; the guilt in me is telling me that if I don't even do this, what good am I? So here goes...The simplest, yet, most difficult tag of all...A tag that will save the earth!
I tag Adele, Anoop, SD, Parth and Dinesh to come up with at least three ideas to save the earth. The rules are simple: these ideas must not cost a whole lot, they must describe something you will do or can think of doing if the opportunity/need came up, and must not be duplicates of ones in this list or your tagger's list. I am convinced we can come up with 50 more usable ideas easily. It's okay to steal/get inspired from other people/websites/books...just share the knowledge. And please pass on the tag. And other readers (if there are any!) please please be inspired and tag along!

Let's start this ball rolling...it's not too late, people! Superman and James Bond shouldn't have the patent on saving the earth. I think my children deserve to see some of the magic our world has to offer, and I hold myself and you personally accountable for that!

Say na, say na...

2006-01-11T21:41:00.000-08:00

Unfortunately, my mind is unable to 'say na' anything, so I'll do another quick review.

I saw "Bluffmaster" this past Friday in Seattle. Maybe it was the 6 gruelling hours I spent in traffic before reaching, maybe it was the YUMMY Abhishek (I'm quite sure it was!), maybe it was the fantastic music, maybe it was the company I was in...I had a really enjoyable time at this movie.
It was really refreshing to watch a movie with an interesting storyline, real personality and some fantastic lines. It was surprisingly cocky at times, irritatingly silly at times (very few) and overall great timepass.

Some highlights to watch for (Don't worry...No spoilers):
1. Abhishek's appalling clothes which manage to look good on him. Don't miss the pink floral shirt! And of course, the red shirt and the "Bluffmaster" pimp rings and fur in the end.
2. Riteish Deshmukh - a purposefully over-the-top performance that deserves special mention.
3. Lots of funny scenes. Like when Dittu suggests the idea of a partnership like Bonnie and Clyde, or Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Roy cuts him short with "Desi bol!!"
4. The great music. I must say this soundtrack took some time to grow on me, especially the initially irritating "Say na, say na" but now I love it. Vishal-Shekar's idea to use international artistes like Trickbaby, Arash, etc. intermingled with classics like "Sabse bada rupaiya" (which sets a great tone for the film in the beginning) and "Tadbeer se bigdi hui" is a stroke of genius.
5. My favorite of course, is Abhishek's rap "Right here, right now" which has its own video at the end of the movie. Which, unfortunately, the theater folks cut short just when Abhishek says "Dayummnn"! Damn!
6. The categorization of baddies as different types of fish - right from Bangda/Pomfret to Shark and Whale! Tu kis type ki machli hai?

I'll close this post with my favorite lines from my favorite song on this album:
Waqt ka kya bharosa
Banke paani beh jaaye
Kal agar na mil paaye
Reh na jaaye baat baaki
Right here, right now...

So...what's new?!

2006-01-02T21:19:00.001-08:00

A new year...A new hope...A new year resolution
A new war...A new death...A new way of dying
A new day...A new life...A newsworthy life
A new 'knew'...A new now...A new 'ewww'
A new designation...A new realization...A new resignation
A new time...A new feeling...A new dream
A new news...A new nose...A new muse
A new house...A new car...A new bill
A new bill...A new law...A new lawbreaker
A new love...A new lover...A new distinction
A new me...A new you...A new 'us'
A new time zone...A new apartment...A new blurring of identities
A new way...A new directionlessness...A new adventure
A new spirit...A new weakening of the spirit...A new awakening of the spirit

What does this new year hold for you????

Because...

2005-12-29T08:04:00.000-08:00

.... Dreams need an engine and four wheels
.... An engine and four wheels breed dreams
.... I now have a winter-storm-overcoming-challenges-getting-a-good-deal story to tell my grandchildren
.... This is a one-of-a-kind feeling
.... I have never heard the twang in the guitar in "Mora Saiyyan" (Fuzon) or the shifting Dolby-like effect in "Suzy Q" (CCR) as clearly as I do now
.... My perfect travel mug of coffee beckons
.... The illusion that you own the car is sweet (the credit union owns it actually)
.... Exhilaration needs a mere 5-speed automatic, 156 HP, 4-cylinder engine to express itself
.... There are memories hidden in the Northwest waiting to be found
.... There are boys waiting to be picked up (yeah, right...who am I kidding!!)
.... I now firmly believe that distance is an ambiguous, subjective, flexible concept whatever the physicists may say. 2 miles is long using two legs, manageable using two buses, nothing using a 2006 Toyota Camry LE.
.... There are scenic routes waiting to be made favorites
.... There are shady areas in downtown waiting to be lost in (or 'discovered')
.... There are excuses for being late for work waiting to be invented (No more "I missed the bus!")
.... It is time!

Say hello to the new car owner!

Shamelessly copied this idea from Parth, who wrote a beautiful celebration of buying a house here

Time and Tide wait for none...

2005-12-16T20:24:00.000-08:00

The growing pile mocks me
And reminds me of my 'issues' -
Time management, bad memory...
It almost makes me blow my fuse.

It's been just about two weeks
And I'm almost reaching the limit
"Do it now!" my inner voice shrieks
As the rest of me tries to dim it.

I try to find other distractions
But they all involve so much work
I pull myself together in fractions
It is a duty I can no longer shirk.

The time has come to face facts
If only to save me from tomorrow’s shame
I can no longer afford to be lax
I have certainly lost at this game.

With a wistful glance at the sunny road
I resign myself to the dreaded chore
I sigh and pick up the heavy load
And toss my clothes through the washer’s door

What is it they say about
Washing dirty laundry in public?
It’s just my clothes, without a doubt
But not washing them now will make me sick!

P.S. By way of explanation of title: Tide is a very popular brand of detergent here. And tomorrow is laundry day :(

For you a thousand times over!

2005-12-14T22:57:00.000-08:00

I'm reading "The Kite Runner" (almost done...even flipped to the end and satisfied myself that I'd known it all along!). This phrase is taken from the book, and is the phrase that haunts the protagonist throughout because his friend yells it out before going to run his kite, and that run changes their lives forever.
Set mostly in Afghanistan, a little in America and Pakistan, it reads almost like a direct insight into the deepest recesses of a man's mind. It's a story about friendship, betrayal, guilt, cowardice and courage, and ultimately, redemption of the kind that makes you believe in destiny. It's a story of politics and its potential for ripping apart lives literally and figuratively. It is a story of growing up years after you're grown up. It's a story about the loss of one's land, one's 'watan', one's identity. And about 'a way to be good again'.
I am really thankful for the fact that I am reading again. The magic of books is that they transport you to lives and cultures you may never have imagined otherwise. While I've occasionally mentioned books and music and movies in this blog, I have never done a review before, and part of the reason I am doing it is I wanted to write something in this space! Another part of the reason is that I wanted to share this and make a semi-public commitment:
Even if this story and the writing fade from my fickle memory, I hope that this phrase is something that will stay with me: "For you, a thousand times over!"
I hope to say that someday and mean it.

...And the return of the (romantic?) story...

2005-12-02T22:00:00.000-08:00

Caffeine Hi...

He saw her first in the Starbucks five blocks from where he worked. He still doesn't know what made him walk into that Starbucks that day, seeing that there was one only two blocks from his office. (After all, this was Seattle.) Maybe he wanted to avoid the pesky woman at the counter there he felt obliged to talk to.
When he saw her, she was reading a Nick Hornby novel, and the only person he knew that read Nick Hornby was himself. As if that wasn't enough to pique his interest, there was that quick smile and flash of familiar friendliness in her eyes as she looked up from his book to catch him staring at her. He tried to look away quickly but didn't succeed, and so ended up giving his shoes a shy embarassed smile. A woman who looked like that and read Nick Hornby and smiled at him? Was he still asleep? He ordered a peppermint hot chocolate for a change, and decided that, since he was feeling adventurous, he'd try talking to this woman. For a change. "Good book, huh?" or "The book's better than the movie, huh?" or "Have you read 'A long way down' by Nick Hornby?" or just "Hi!". Yes, he decided to start off with the hello and if he got any reaction, to follow up with some pseud comment about the book.
He picked up his cup from the barista and turned around preparing his shaking hands and nervous mind to say "Hi". She was standing right there, and he almost spilt the hot chocolate, peppermint and all, on her.
"Shit, sorry...I mean...God, sorry! I mean.." His voice tapered off as he realized that his first words to her turned out to be less intellectual banter and more clumsy mumbling.
As he recovered and decided to leave before he seriously embarassed himself, he heard a soft voice, "Hey, no problem...Didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to say hi."
"Hi!"

Sugar Rush...

All she knew about him was that he worked around here somewhere because she'd seen him get off at the same stop everyday at around the same time and walk by here. And that he was cute in a grungy Seattle way. And that he was kind enough to make polite conversation with the pesky woman that everyone avoided at the other Starbucks she'd seen him go to often.
She knew that he didn't know that she even existed. I mean, how was he supposed to just know that she sat here almost everyday hoping he'd stop by here instead and pick up a coffee, and let's face it, her. She also knew that she was chicken enough to not wait for him at the other Starbucks but hopeful enough (or crazy enough?) to wait for him here.
The other day she'd spotted him in the Borders where she worked and discreetly followed him around and picked up the book he had been thumbing through. It turned out to be quite good, and had made her little crush on him grow.
She was reading it now, trying to not to look at the door every second. When he did walk in, she quickly shifted her gaze but couldn't quite stop herself from looking up again. She was so surprised that he was looking at her that she smiled in wonder, almost to herself. She cursed herself at once for seeming so like a stalker, as he gave her a half smile which he quickly turned to the floor.
"Get a grip, woman!" she told herself.."He's probably gay or married or as intelligent as a door-mat. Just find out which one it is, before you torture yourself to death or bankruptcy by Starbucks!"
So she picked up her book, her mint chocolate and her nerves and went up to him to say hello. She made him jump, and he stammered out a shocked apology for almost spilling his drink. She smelled the mint...At least they had the same taste in sweet hot expensive beverages, she thought, and it gave her such a teenage rush to hear the eagerness in his deep warm voice as he said hello.
"Hi!"

I'm always amazed that two people (often a man and a woman) can live the same experience but yet experience different things. A lot of what happens to us, happens in our minds. What seems like a friendly smile to one, seems like a stalker's give-away to another. An experiment in choice of drinks for one is a signal to the other that they were meant to be together. An obligation to one seems like kindness to the other.
This could be the start of a relationship built mostly on (wrong) assumptions in the protagonists' minds...
Then again, this could be just another encounter and a sweet way of starting something special.
Or it could be just one of those countless missed connections which end with a look or a "Hi" or a moment shared and treasured for a few days or weeks, and then relegated to the bottomless pit of lives we never allowed ourselves to live.

Of moonshine and fog

2005-11-28T20:27:00.001-08:00

I returned to work today and the expected enquiries about "How was your weekend?" This otherwise routine question actually demanded a justifiably substantive reply this time, but I must admit, I had to disappoint my eager audience. I mumbled an incoherent "Good" or "Fabulous" thinking how hypocritical I was being, because my weekend was rather tame. All I did apart from go out couple of times, and chat with my long lost friends, was eat and sleep and read and watch High Fidelity. Again.
And cry over "House of Sand and Fog". I saw the movie sometime last year, and it was one of those movies that made me want to read the book. And a sadist I must be, because I knew the incredibly painful story, remember the feeling I had at the end of the movie though I'd forgotten the details, and yet I sought out this book, placed a hold in the library and traveled over an hour to go get it.
And it was worth the wait, and the trouble.
It's not the greatest literary work, but it's gripping and morbid and depressive to the extent that it made me feel happy to not be in that mess! The book is written from the alternating perspectives of the two protagonists, a woman who's losing her house, and a proud ex-colonel of the Shah of Iran, who bought the house in a county auction. Neither of them wants to let go of it, and the way the story is told, you don't know whose side to take. There is no good and evil in this book. Throw into the mix a cop who falls in love with this woman and that acts as a catalyst for the break up of his marriage, and you've got a real mix of emotional forces. It's a remarkable portrayal of motives, passions, principles and pride.
And speaking about passions and pride, I did myself proud by doing some painting and redecoration of my room yesterday. I had bought these cute sun and moon wooden motifs from Michaels (the best store in the world!!) and finally I painted them yesterday. They turned out great and are now hanging on my wall next to my favorite pictures. And on the opposite wall hangs a beautiful set of four mirrors with candle holders, conceived and executed by my awesome cousin who really ought to be an interior decorator not a software developer.
So, on hindsight, my weekend wasn't all that tame. It had its share of sand, fog, candlelight, sun, moon, and of course, rain. Next time someone asks me how my weekend was, I'll have a better answer!

What a difference a day made

2005-11-25T16:45:00.000-08:00

24th November, 2005. First Thanksgiving in the years I've been here that I didn't have any real plans. So I accepted a Thanksgiving dinner invite to a colleague's place. I was touched that I was the only non-family member invited to the affair, and before I knew it seven hours had passed, I had enjoyed a lovely traditional Thanksgiving meal and answered every question about India the father had, made my first feline friend, spoken about topics as diverse as corruption in Mexico, a car called "The Brahmin", whether Einstein qualified as a sociable person or not, the origin of the word "OK" and the kind of wedding my hosts were planning to have. All in all, a very enjoyable evening.
Cut to today, "Black Friday". To save myself from myself, I decided to go to the mall in the afternoon when I hoped the crowds would have thinned down, and maybe spend an hour or two checking out the shopping...Boy, was I in for a surprise! It was 1:00 by the time I reached (having waited 20 minutes for the bus, unheard of in normal times...but the bus-driver apologized for the delay and blamed it on the traffic and advised us to get back by hook or crook because no buses would be on time today!!) The mall was as crowded as Crawford market! I was pushed and jostled around by enthusiastic (read 'desperate') shoppers. I was nauseated in about 15 minutes and I was back in my cozy apartment with a book by 2:45, probably the only person who actually went to a mall today and didn't buy a single thing!!
Some lessons learned from the last two days:
1. I know what they mean by lonely now...The holidays can be pretty depressing here if you're alone.
2. On the other hand, even a phone call, a dinner, a conversation with someone on the bus can relieve you of the feeling of being lonely, if only temporarily.
3. I was the only passenger on this one bus I took yesterday, and the bus-driver told me I was the only one all day (this was at 3:30 p.m.!) and we rode for about 20 minutes without sighting a single soul...not a car on the road, not a single person on the roads! Americans sure take their holdiay seriously!!
4. I passed by the mall yesterday on my way to dinner, and there was NOT A SINGLE CAR parked anywhere...it was then that I realized how large the parking lots were.
5. Today, there was NOT A SINGLE PARKING SPOT available in the same mall!!! People were honking and stalling, fighting and cussing at each other with their windows rolled down...If I saw a millionth of this energy yesterday, I would have felt less like a lonely loser yesterday on my bus ride.
As you can probably deduce, I have had nothing substantial to say or do, no bright sparks of inspiration striking in the recent past, so this post was just a way for me to note a few firsts for posterity - my first Thanksgiving dinner with an American family, my first (sort of) Black Friday shopping (well, sort of!) experience, my first holiday I've spent completely on my own, my first experience of contrasts so drastic and so shocking from one day to the next that I'm at once amazed and reassured. What a difference twenty four little hours indeed makes.
FYI...the title comes from a very sweet song by a very sweet Jamie Cullum who combines jazz and folk and a little angst in his album "Twenty-something". Jem and Jamie Cullum are my recommendations for some mellow wind-down music on a cold evening.

Transformed!

2005-11-12T15:44:00.000-08:00

Today I discovered a few things
About myself and how things have come to be.
When realization dawned this afternoon
It shocked, saddened and amazed me.

It started when I decided that
My beautification tools were lying ignored
The face mask and wax strips and bleach
Were begging to be used... (Actually, I was bored!)

With some trepidation and uncertainty
I put on an organic face peel
And immediately my eyes started to burn...
(Oh, anything to enhance that sex appeal!)

I suppose 'organic' meant 'filled with ammonia'
So I closed my teary eyes and put on a CD
"Ah!" I thought, "Some good old feminine pampering..."
The thought of relaxing making me giddy.

"See, I can be lady-like if I decide to!" I thought
As I sat on my new IKEA chair
That I'd assembled this morning (how manly of me!)
With a pink face and an expectant air.

I sat and rocked back and forth
As the music played on quietly
Three minutes went by and I relaxed
But soon I could no longer let it be.

By the time the second song came on
I was almost crazy with guilt
I jumped up and put on the dishwasher
So much for the ambience I'd built.

How could I sit and not do anything?
Not even watch TV or read a book?
The silence in my head was deafening
All that inactivity, oh, the toll it took!

I had forgotten how to do nothing
How to relax and be still.
As the face mask dried and the CD played
All I could think of was my phone bill!

It dawned on me then
That I am indeed my mother's child
For all my lofty plans of being lazy
The act of doing so makes me wild!

That doesn't mean I'm a workaholic
In fact, I'm quite the opposite!
It's just that I've lost the ability
To be quiet and rested and...just sit.

I suppose growing up does that to you
With its countless worries and distractions
Before I knew it I've become one of 'them'
An adult, a bore, a woman of action!

I ran the dishwasher, paid my bill,
Washed my face and wryly told my reflection,
"Well, the organic peel bottle was right,
I can really feel the transformation!"

P.S. True story. Happened to me today. Wahhhh! I'm a grown-up!!

Dancing Nancies

2005-11-11T18:20:00.000-08:00

Could I have been

A parking lot attendant

Could I have been

A millionaire in Bel-air

Could I have been

Lost somewhere in Paris

Could I have been

Your little brother

Could I have been anyone other than me

Could I have been oh, anyone other than me

Could I have been anyone?

Another day, another Dave Mathews Band song inspiration...The name of the song is "Dancing Nancies" (don't ask me why, I don't know!)...but it's a song that makes you think about all the 'coulds' and 'woulds' and 'if onlys'.
This alternate reality stuff is something that I am really intrigued by. A sleight of hand, a twist of fate (apologies to U2!), and voila! I could have been anyone other than me!

Could I have been
A junkie;
Bill Gates;
Bill Watterson;
My grandmother;
A boy (*shudder* !!);
An inmate on death row;
A talented but struggling artist;
The lead singer in a punk rock band;
The writer of closed captioning captions;
The bored magician in a children's birthday party;
The girl who topped the class instead of always being second;
The girl who always failed the class instead of always being second;
The person who ended up being with the person I wish I'd ended up with;
The person who does the cartoons on the sides of the pages of MAD magazine;
A pen-pushing oily-haired desk clerk in a government building in Madhya Pradesh;
An industrial/organizational psychologist who grew up in Bombay and liked Dave Mathews(!!);

Anyone other than me?

Poetry in Motion

2005-11-08T18:27:00.000-08:00

I travel by bus everyday to and from work, and I've noticed something I've not seen in any other city's public transport - poetry! There's a program called "Poetry in motion" whereby select poems from (I think) local poets are displayed in the Trimet buses. Not only are they a good way to spend an otherwise uneventful journey, sometimes the pieces are surprisingly good. Today I read this on my way home, and because I don't want to forget it, here it is:

I Confess

I stalked her
in the grocery store: her crown
of snowy braids held in place by a great silver clip,
her erect bearing, radiating tenderness,
the way she placed yogurt and avocados in her basket,
beaming peace like the North Star.
I wanted to ask, "what aisle did you find
your serenity in, do you know how
to be married for 50 years, or how to live alone,
excuse me for interrupting, but you seem to possess
some knowledge that makes the earth burn and turn on its axis"
but we don't request such things from strangers
nowadays. So I said, "I love your hair."

--Alison Luterman

Addicted to love...

2005-11-04T20:23:00.000-08:00

...Haha...now that you're reading curiously, hoping for some juicy tidbits about my love life, let me disappoint you. This is another crazy idiosyncratic post about a list. To be more precise, a list of songs from movies. English movies, because I have neither the expertise nor the slightest idea of where to start if I had to choose from the thousands of Hindi movies, with the average 8 songs in each :)
This list may not contain great songs or great movies, but they are special in my book because they fit the theme/mood/moment/scene exactly right, and make each other just a little more magical. Read on and if you recognize any songs or movies you'll know what I'm talking about. And feel free to add on.

1. Addicted to love. Sung by a throaty sexy-voiced Robert Palmer; "Cocktail". Every time I listen to this song, all I see is (a very cute!) Tom Cruise turning down the music while the patrons in the bar yell "Might as well face it, you're addicted to love!!!"

2. Pretty Woman. Roy Orbison...perhaps his biggest hit (unfortunately) thanks to the movie. Julia Roberts' walk down Rodeo Drive, the modern day fairy tale of a movie. Need I say more?!

3. (I've had the) Time of my life. Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes sing in the climax of "Dirty Dancing", a movie with all great songs and fantastic dancing, especially in this song. Oh Patrick Swayze, come give me the time of my life!

4. My Sharona. The Knack. Featured in "Reality Bites". It's a fantastic scene; This group of angst ridden youngsters enter a store and the song is playing in the background. Janeane Garofalo (I can't spell it ok?!Sue me!) asks the irritated manager to turn it up and she and Wynona Ryder start this crazy dance as Ethan Hawke tries to embarassedly ignore them. Fabulous scene!

5. Raindrops keep falling on my head. B.J. Thomas sings this, one of my favorite cheer-me-up songs. Featured in the ultra-fabulous "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid". Paul Newman tries out his new cycle, with Katherine Ross on it at first and then as she looks on, tries all kinds of stunts culminating in being chased by a bull, as the song plays on. Charming...

6. In your eyes. Peter Gabriel. In what is probably the best instance of a movie making a song popular, and vice-versa, and probably one of the most famous scenes in movie history, John Cusack holds up a boom-box playing this song as a serenade in "Say Anything".

7. Unchained melody. Despite sounding decidedly cheesy, let me say I still think the scene in "Ghost" with the pottery and Demi's sexy shirt and the ultra sexy Patrick Swayze and The Righteous Brothers crooning in the background is one of the sexiest scenes. Ever.

8.Tiny Dancer. As featured in "Almost Famous" which is amongst my top five all-time favorite movies for sure. The song plays as the rock band is on a bus, having had a major 'incident' and being close to breaking up. But Elton John reminds them why they love rock and music as they all pick it up one by one and end up singing the song together.

9. Say a little prayer. Speaking of singing a song together, this is the only song on my list that is not by the original singer/band. In the movie "My Best Friend's Wedding", a dashing Rupert Everett starts this song at dinner and ends up having the entire table singing with him and being charmed by him. What makes this song even more special to me is that my best friends and I sang it at our best friend's wedding :)

10. Lose yourself. Eminem's passionate and poetic outburst which transformed millions' ideas about rap and Detroit's "8 mile". I'll stop here, with some lyrics from this song...

You better lose yourself in the music, the moment
You own it, you better never let it go
You only get one shot, do not miss your chance, to blow
This opportunity comes once in a lifetime yo

Of Earth, Rain, Wind and Fire

2005-11-01T21:08:00.000-08:00

Nope, not a lecture about the balance of elements or of the ancient arts of healing naturally (although I once did give that talk! In another lifetime, it seems like!!) This one's about my last few days...

Earth
I watched the movie 1947, Earth. Finally. And came away very impressed and more than a little depressed. It's a beautifully shot and directed film, with good acting (except for Rahul Khanna, but he's cute and it was his debut, so he's forgiven!) and very very interesting characters. It made me wonder about the beast within each of us that Aamir Khan's character talks about...What would release the one within me? What would it feel like? Would I recognize it?

Rain
It has been raining for the last couple of days almost incessantly, and the weather channel promises more of the same. I complained yesterday about how it's depressing me no end, when I was offered a different perspective: Rain should make you think of life, of growth, of freshness and beauty. Hmmm...I do love the rain, but when it's warm and I'm not running late for work without an umbrella, feeling like a failure. Again.

Wind
As in I'm going to blow my own trumpet. I got a much better offer than I'd expected for the job, and I'm going to take it, obviously! At least I know I'll be here for a while, now. It's an opportunity that pretty much fell into my lap, and I feel lucky.

Fire
As in firecrackers and diyas and Yellow Dots in a Black Sky* - in short, Diwali. I gave up the fireworks as soon as I learned about the concept of pollution and child labor, but nevertheless, I used to enjoy Diwali because it always meant family and good food and sweets and neighbors being neighborly and new clothes and forced temple visits and singing and visiting grandparents and the happiness of Diwali vacation.
*Rare and priceless piece of art ;)

So there you have it, four basic elements of life...if only this meant there's some balance in my life...It doesn't feel like it! Maybe I need some, wood, is it? The missing element? For now I'll be content with listening for the fifth time today to "Guncha", a song from "Main, meri patni aur woh" that has captured me, especially Mohit 'Dooba Dooba' Chauhan's hesitant but heartfelt unplugged version. After all, as I found out, "Guncha" means flower-bud and that has some wood, right?!

Hosh bekhabar se huye unke bagair
Woh jo humse keh na sake, dil ne keh diya

Saaki ne phir se mera jaam bhar diya... (Maybe that's what I need!!)

Guncha koi mere naam kar diya...

Haiku

2005-10-29T13:21:00.000-07:00

Another experiment with words and poetry...
Instead of finishing up the work I was supposed to have done yesterday, instead of preparing for the arrival of my uncle, instead of Saturday morning cleaning, I sit down trying to write Haiku. All I know is the basic rule - it has to follow the 5-7-5 syllable meter. I know that sometimes a mention of a season is deemed necessary, that Haiku writers avoid the use of the personal pronoun...I don't know much else beyond this. With that half-baked knowledge, and no real determination to stick to even these rules, words flowed pretty easily :)
Here are some samples:

Winter closing in,
Threatens to
Freeze these moments soon.

Ev’ry day the sky
Is pretty
In a diff’rent way

The fall sky is pink
And so is
My face flushed at your gaze

Naive drops of dew
Don’t they know
That the sun is out?

The season changes
A child laughs
Life goes on again

Work remains undone
I escape
Into Haiku world!

Mere desh ki dharti

2005-10-26T22:40:00.000-07:00

[Warning - a post that's about nothing and yet, about everything. About identity and about losing it. Guaranteed to sound like a conversation you've heard or had sometime in your life. Feel free to skip this one.]

It's around that time of the year when I miss India a lot.
Ganesh Chaturthi, (which was always a big deal for me, growing up), Navratri, Diwali, Christmas, New Year. It wasn't the religiosity of these festivals, or the fact that we'd get off from school, it was just the spirit and the air of celebration, as if nothing could go wrong then....these 3 months were filled with a buzz and energy that I've yet to see in this country.
On the other hand, rarely in my 22 years in India did I feel as hyper-aware of being Indian as I feel right now. Take for instance, the fact that I'm reading Vikram Seth and R.K. Narayan, a feat which is almost easier to accomplish here than it was in India - I just ordered them online from the public library and went and picked them up, instead of buying them pirated or at an expensive store in Bombay. And as I read, I listen to Rafi croon on musicindiaonline.com while I cook paneer on the electric stove. I've watched and heard more Hindi and Tamil songs and films here than I ever did, and I now recommend them to my mother in Bombay!!
I think it boils down to a combination of two facts:
1. The Indian diaspora is a highly resourceful and determined group. We might have left Indian soil, but we carry India in our accent, our bearing, our lunch dabbas and our jholas.
2. America is indeed a land of opportunity, where dreams can turn into reality at a higher rate of probability than many other places.
Today, at worst I am one of countless confused NRIs who will always be a foreigner wherever they go. At best, I am a fortunate girl who has learned to appreciate the magic of ghazals, Madras slang, old filmi music, Amma's cooking and the wonder of the perfect pani puri thousands of miles from 'home'.
At the same time I am not one to cling desperately to Indian traditions because I feel lost or lonely, it's more about being able to celebrate and appreciate who we are. In fact, my desi friends and relatives here can attest to the fact that I blend in much more easily to the American social/corporate world than many others. I now have friends who hail from all over the world, be it Coimbatore or Singapore, London or Copenhagen, Shanghai or Chicago. I truly feel like a 'citizen of the world', and that boundaries matter little.

tere des ko maine dekha tere des ko maine jaana
jaane kyon yeh lagta hai mujhko jaana pahachaana
yahaan ki vahi shaam hai vahi savera
aisa hi des hai mera jaisa des hai tera...

P.S. I still miss the kachori from the Ghasitaram Halwai on station road in Chembur. And the wise-cracking sabziwaala under the flyover. And the curious questions from absolute strangers in the train about my shoes. And the colors of the saris and ghaghras under the yellow display lights. And Monginis' blackforest pastry. And Dileep the sandwich waala outside college. And the way VT station looks at 9 p.m. when the crowd is thinning down and the lights are up and a cool breeze blows and my mind is still and happy in the great buzzing craziness that's Bombay.
Yes, it's around that time of the year when I miss India a lot.

The birth of an emotion

2005-10-24T21:47:00.000-07:00

Long ago, someone lent me a book called "The Kids' Book of Questions", which contained questions that kids often ask, that strike at the very heart of a matter. Like "What happens when someone dies?" and "If I color my hair green will you still walk with me to the mall?"
In my then-energetic state, I wrote down many of those questions, and I've gone back to them sometimes and watched some answers change over the years, while some remain the same.
One of these questions was, "If someone gave you a magic potion that will take away pain forever, would you drink it?" (Sort of like the blue pill-red pill scenario in the Matrix, maybe?) My first impulse was to say hell yeah! Until I discussed it with a friend, who as vehemently said no. That surprised me, because he was one of those soulful brooding types who struck me as being constantly depressed. He then wisely pointed out that if he obtained the magic to never feel any pain, how would he feel any joy?
Because isn't that what most emotions are? The absence of their opposite emotion? Happiness is more obvious to someone who has experienced unhappiness. Siddhartha became the Buddha only because he witnessed death, disease and suffering in a life that was completely devoid of it till then.
Thus, we come to Aarti's Third Law of Emotionality*:
"There cannot exist an emotion without an opposite, if unequal, and maybe hitherto not experienced, emotion"
A corollary: "The greater the intensity of experienced emotion, the larger the hypothetical space comprising the possibility of experiencing its opposite emotion"
*Important Note: These laws are utterly volatile, subject to change at whim and fancy of law-maker, and if not changed, possibly apply to her alone!

There will be laughter after pain;
There will be freedom after strain;
Lost chances will return again;
Although every boon has its bane,
Not every effort is in vain!

Sorry about semi-manic-depressive-incomprehensible ramblings...felt the need to unburden a little and rhyme a lot today!

The Dreaming Tree

2005-10-23T12:38:00.000-07:00

And the story goes on..or does it??

Parth tagged me on an interesting tag doing the rounds. A story-building exercise - each person pastes all the previous 'branches' of the Story Tree and then adds their own 'branch'. My branch is so neutral...it adds neither twist nor character...It could be the end of the story, or a good in-between pause before the next chapter. I made a conscious effort to do two things I suck at:

1. Sticking to the word limit (it's exactly 100 words!)

2. Try and take it in a positive direction

I don't know whom to tag, so Aparna, Tarun, and other assorted regulars (and others dropping by!) , consider yourselves tagged. If you want to take it up, follow the rules which are pasted at the end.

P.S. With my love for Dave Mathews, I rechristened the tag after one of their songs! Completely optional if anyone cares to take this up and change it!

He thought it would be an ordinary journey. Standing behind the pillar he watched the train snort arrogantly into the station. With each snort he was reminded of his grandfather's words "You will fail in the city and return penniless"; with every heavenward whistle, he heard his cousin, "Don't worry. Come here and I will get you a job at the construction site." Now he had a 34-hour journey to prove one of them wrong, and he expected the excitement at the end of the journey. He looked at his ticket once again: compartment S9 berth 23.

Pushing his luggage under the seat, he sat close to the window. "Papa, when will you be back?" - his four year old daughter Munni asked innocently. He stared into those soft brown eyes of the motherless kid. He held her frail palms in his, through the window. "Munni, Papa will get you a nice gudiya from the city..Say tata," his sister spoke to the kid, to avoid an emotional outburst. In a minute, the train pulled forward, and Munni's little fingers parted from between his. "I need to go..", he thought, "I have to, at least for Munni's sake.."

The humid summer breeze and the rattling train coaxed him into an uncomfortable state of drowsy consciousness. He dreamt that Munni ran away, the closer he ran to her, the farther she was, like a mirage. He woke up with a start and squinted at his watch."What is the time please?"A smallish woman, a meek voice as if she was scared that her existence would annoy someone. Her only noticeable feature was her rather large, expressive eyes."4.30"Something made him look at the woman again. He had stopped noticing women long back. Ever since Meenakshi passed away...

Four long years. His daughter’s birth. His wife’s death. Joy and sorrow in an instant. A heady cocktail. He had hardly recovered from it. He barely had a chance to. You can’t be a poor farmer in Andhra Pradesh and have time for emotional upheavals.Life betrayed him once with the death of his wife. Life betrayed him again, three years in a row, with the failure of his crops. Every year, the debt increased and it felt like a noose tighten around him. Tightened till he could not breathe. He shivered with the memory of the night, where he took a bottle of poison in his hand …
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
He threw the bottle away when he heard the small voice behind him, “Papa, what’s beyond the big well? Sanju says that’s where the world ends.”
His then-preoccupied answer had satisfied Munni’s innocent curiosity, “No, beta…That’s the railroad to the city…There’s a lot of world beyond the big well.”
He had repeated the answer to himself, “No, it’s not the end of the world”.
Maybe some of that same innocence in this woman’s voice or eyes made him rephrase the answer to her question. “What is the time, please?”
In a crystal-clear flash of certainty he realized…
“It was time.”
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------(Everything below the dashed line above should be copied and pasted with every accepted tag)This is a Story Tree and is best nurtured as follows:
1. A blogger can add only 90-100 words (not more or less) at a time
2. All previous snippets of 90-100 words need to be copied before the new set of 90-100 words are appended.
3. Each entire snippet should be linked to the respective author (and not just the first sentence or so)
4. Characters, scenes, etc. can be introduced by an author
5. Bizarre twists, sci-fi, fantasy sequences are best avoided.
6. A tag must be accepted within 7 days else the branch is a dead branch
7. After appending 90-100, the Story Tree can be passed on to at most 3 bloggers.
8. If more than 1 branch leads to a blogger, s/he is free to choose any one of them but cannot mix the snippets of the individual branches.
9. The Story Tree is best left to grow than concluded
10. Please attach the image of the Story Tree below with each accepted tag (the link address can be copied and used)

Blocked!

2005-10-15T02:03:00.000-07:00

It's happened. After some surprisingly frequent entries, I've finally run out of steam. I don't know what to write. Every sentence I start seems stupid and meaningless. I suppose it's writer's block. I suppose you need to be a writer to have writer's block. Whatever :(
That's not the only thing. I also have been facing reader's block of late. I hate to admit it, but I can't seem to read anything new with anything nearing the enthusiasm I used to have for books. I have had this Arthur C. Clarke book for over a month now, and have sooo lost momentum that I have forgotten the beginning of the book! That hasn't happened too often.
You know what else was blocked? My entry into the apartment. Our friends dropped us back tonight after dandiya, and as soon as they started driving away, I realized that the apartment keys were in their car. We ran after the car, stopped strangers and asked them for their phones (middle of the night, middle of nowhere, two young women looking dressed up and pretty, asking strange men for their phones is certainly not my passtime of choice!), called people who knew our car friends, woke up half the town (yeah, all five of them!!) and finally, after waiting a while, got them to come back with the keys. So much guilt, tiredness, cold weather and being irritated with myself doesn't mix too well.
On the positive side, I got a job offer at the company I'm interning with. After only two months :) I'm going to have to make the decision over this weekend, but regardless of what it is, I am pumped about it!! I plan to indulge in some good food or at the very least, some good Tiramisu or ice-cream tomorrow. So there'll be something else of mine that'll be blocked - my arteries!

Arz kiya hai..

2005-10-10T18:43:00.000-07:00

"So what if today's gone, there's always tomorrow"

What she couldn't find so far, how will she get tomorrow?

Time is not very fair in matters of death or love

The dead and the loved ignore today and forget tomorrow.

She sits alone today, with little hope or clue

That they didn't today, but would have met, tomorrow.

She had always refused Time to have his way with her

Her dreams await her, if only she would let tomorrow.

If she could only see the future today she'd know

Her unknown destiny will be met tomorrow.

Do not despair that Time is running out.

Faith, Zaara, for there is hope yet, tomorrow.

My oh-so-feeble attempt at writing a ghazal in English, which sadly, is the only language I dare experiment in. Please don't be too critical...I know that ghazal-fans are very passionate and will probably see this as blasphemy. I only plead ignorance and a naive exploratory impulse. I have started a rocky affair with this beautiful art form only recently - me of the "gender-free Bambaya Hindi and snobby English only" fame is falling crazily and surely in love with Urdu thanks to ghazals. I was given some reading material on the history and technique of ghazal-writing, and tried to follow some of those rules here. I know there are others I may be ignorant about, so any help will be greatly appreciated!

1. "Radif" - Every verse or couplet must end with the same word or phrase (which ends both lines of the first couplet - "Matla")
2. "Kaafiya" - The word before the Radif in each couplet must rhyme
3. "Maqta" - The shaayar's (poet's) name or pen-name appears in the last sher (couplet). Some of you know that I sometimes call myself "Zaara", like at a restaurant making reservations to some idiot host who can't pronounce "Aarti"!
4. Each couplet should be able to live on its own. No story telling then, no links from one verse to the other. The idea is that if you wanted you could drop one or more while quoting/singing it.
5. "Beher" or meter or length - In case you didn't notice, I didn't even try to follow this one. The others were hard enough to keep in mind!

Curry Rock, anyone?

2005-10-07T17:17:00.000-07:00

"Dollar Income...sellavvu adhikam...nelamai kevalam..kevalam..KEVALAM!!"
("Dollar Income...Extra Expenses... Horrible state.. horrible.. HORRIBLE!!")

The melodious (???) strains from a new multilingual album by a group of Indian-born American techies from Virginia calling the album "H-1 Bees" (as in worker bees, get it????). The few lyrics I heard on this radio program clip made me laugh but also nod in agreement. They seem to have captured the essence of countless 'potluck' conversations and e-mails and blog entries...The Indian worker in the US is a unique specimen, (rivalled only by the more unique Indian grad student in the US). They've termed their style "curry rock", a little contrived if you ask me, but I got a kick out of "H-1 Bees" :)

The Washington Post did a piece on them, from which the following snippet is taken:
"On the surface, they were not unlike many others who have left India over the past decade on the H-1B visa, a guest worker program for highly skilled professionals. They wore glasses and mustaches and collared shirts. (Heehee!*) They could exterminate Y2K bugs and code Java and link Unix. But as they toiled in cubicles, they dreamed of banging on keyboards of a different sort*, of a world where C-sharp is just a musical note, not computer code. And then their worlds became one. "H1Bees," an album recorded in a basement-turned-studio and released Sept. 10, is a mix of Indian and Western beats with lyrics exploring the high-tech immigrant's experience in the United States."
* Laughter added by me :)

Let's watch and see if the "High-Tech Immigrant" Bees drone on or buzz off...

The Milkshake Challenge

2005-10-05T22:20:00.000-07:00

Okay, I am going to play spoil-sport now. Tarun and Aparna both tagged me on the 23-5 tag. But since I feel stubborn and uninspired, I'm going to twist that around to a tag that I am going to start, for once! Sorry guys, play along please :)
I call this one The Milkshake Challenge. There's a scene in a certain movie I love (that I've mentioned too many times on this blog so I won't again, for fear of overkill)...A couple walking by a river is beckoned by a pseudo-beggar-poet who asks them for a word, with which he'll make a poem, and if they like the poem they can pay him some money.
I like that. The idea of picking a word and creating a home for it in the form of a story or a poem is appealing and literarily challenging.
I have no money, however, so I urge people to do this for kicks - it can be a limerick, free verse, a funny rhyme, a ballad, even an epic if it pleases you. Pick a book or magazine (or journal article, like I did!), pick the first word you see (no articles allowed!) and create something out of it. I hereby tag my taggers Tarun and Aparna and also Parth and Anoop. It's a fun way to occupy some time...And the rule is to not put too much thought into it.
By the way, the name of the challenge, and the post, comes from the original idea (the movie) because the word the couple picks is 'milkshakes'.
Alright, my word turned out to be 'preferences'. So here goes.

Coffee, tea or me?
My way or the highway?
To be or not to be?
Never, tomorrow or today?

Do you feel the weight
In each of those choices above?
Can't escape at that rate
Though that's exactly what you'd love!

Term a choice a preference, and
Watch the change in your mind
It's like fate dealt you a bonus hand
So you don't always get left behind

Preferences give you leeway
A return to the fork in the road
Allowance to change your mind halfway
A lightening of a heavy load.

A choice, like a diamond, is forever...
Chiselled in time, bound to fate.
A preference for a choice isn't, however,
Regret and guilt it doesn't create.

You can take me up on this game, or you may not.
The choice is yours, you know my preference!

On the 8:58

2005-10-03T22:05:00.000-07:00

She sits in the same seat everyday. Her hair is scanty and red, her clothes are bulky and old. She chats with the driver about her cats and the weather. I call her Mrs. Bella Figg (she's probably what the Harry Potter character Mrs.Figg looks like).
There's the intriguing guy who looks like Jason Lee's character Jeff Bebe in Almost Famous. Except for the glasses. Bebe didn't wear glasses. Intriguing Guy never looks up from his book, not even to catch me staring at him fantasizing about him.
And here she is, a striking unforgettably beautiful woman if there ever was one. She has straight blonde hair that is always let loose, and which reaches just below her perfectly cute butt, and she carries a bright red bag, as if she's afraid people won't notice her otherwise.
Mr.Eyebrows has just entered. He looks different everyday, and I suspect he does something to his eyebrows to change his look daily. It's like a new hairdo...I suspect its the only hair on him he can do anything with, sadly.
The oriental-looking lesbian couple are always dressed in black. They don't say much to each other, but hold hands and occasionally giggle softly at a private joke.
Next stop, and two more people enter.
She looks happy in her pink corduroys and white Girl Power tee, and smells of bubblegum and a fourteen-year old's optimism. He could not have been more different. His clothes and tatooes and hairdo spell G-O-T-H, with black leather and chains and gel. His discman screams adolescent angst for three surrounding rows to hear.

And so we all sit here quietly for the next ten minutes. Just for a little while, we are all together, headed in the same direction - Bella, Bebe, Blondie, Brow-Man, the Babes, Bubblegum and Bad-ass. And me. Only to get off at whatever stop life picks for us to continue our individual journeys alone.

Bridge over troubled waters??

2005-10-02T14:46:00.000-07:00

"Subject: NEW ORLEANS VS MUMBAI

Inches of rain in New Orleans due to hurricane Katrina... 18; Inches of rain in Mumbai (July 26th).... 37.1
Population of New Orleans... 484,674; Population of Mumbai.... 12,622,500
Deaths in New Orleans within 48 hours of katrina...100; Deaths in Mumbai within 48 hours of rain.. 37.
Number of people to be evacuated in New Orleans...entire city..wohh; Number of people evacuated in mumbai...10,000
Cases of shooting and violence in New Orleans...Countless; Cases of shooting and violence in Mumbai.. NONE
Time taken for US army to reach New Orleans... 48hours; Time taken for Indian army and navy to reach Mumbai...12hours
Status 48 hours later...New Orleans is still waiting for relief, army and electricty status; 48 hours later..Mumbai is back on its feet and is business is as usual
USA...world's most developed nation; India...third world country..oopss...did i get the last fact wrong???"

I got this in an e-mail recently - I don't know how much of it is true, but regardless, it gave me some food for thought. Of course, this report, even if true, obscures some possible reasons for the differences it goes to great lengths to outline (like the difference between a hurricane and other rains, perhaps?). I was thousands of miles away from both places when these tragedies struck, but I heard enough from my friends and family in Bombay to imagine the destruction and havoc caused. Also, having grown up in Bombay, I know fully well the spirit of the city - its never-say-die spirit, its enterprising enthusiasm, its unexpected beauty and generosity of spirit that is often hidden beneath its ruthless business-minded exterior. So maybe there's something to the crude generalization this e-mail tried to make...I don't know. Any thoughts?

Saawan barse, tarse dil

2005-09-28T18:51:00.000-07:00

She woke up twenty minutes late, which meant she would miss the train. Damn! A quick shower and she was wolfing down her coffee and maska-pav over her mother's curious glances. Damn!She musn't seem too obviously in a hurry, her mother may wonder why she suddenly got interested in getting to college on time. Where were those earrings she'd set out especially for today? And the blue sandals? Damn!

He couldn't see properly with his glasses all wet from the rain, was that his bus ambling down this way? His umbrella had done the turn-upside-down-and-make-people-laugh thing again. God, he hated that umbrella. Especially today. He hated having to travel by bus. He hated these stupid glasses...She was going to laugh when she sees him - in his ridiculous glasses and wet clothes. But he couldn't afford contacts, not with the money his parents were paying for his entrance exam classes. Which reminded him, he still needed to study for the test today..

Finally, she decided on her second favorite earrings, which didn't really match her pale yellow churidar, but hey, she looked good in dangling ones. She walked out nonchalantly waving to her parents, and then sprinted down the stairs and caught a rickshaw straight to where they were going to meet. She thought once about the money, then decided that it was worth it. Especially in this rain.

No, not his bus. What was with the traffic today? Everything seemed to be moving extra slowly. Ok, he'd probably have to wait a while, why not whip out that textbook and refresh the formulas? Of course, there's no chance she'll see him in the bus-stop so he didn't have to impress anyone. Maybe if he waited long enough in the bus stop, he'd dry off, and also get some studying done. Man, he was really worried about these exams.

NOOO...She thought, as there was a sickening squilch and the rickshaw refused to budge. It was stuck in a pothole. Bombay roads! "Memsaab...aap utar jaayiye, abhi bahut mushkil hai isse nikaalna yahaan se!" What? Get down and walk in this downpour? TODAY?? In her pretty dress, with her hair done, and...what will he think?? Seeing that she had no choice, she stepped out and started walking in the rain. Any other time, she'd have been devastated to be walking in her favorite outfit in the heaviest downpour of the season with mud splashing her shoes and clothes and her efforts to look good dissolving in the rain. But not today. Today, these thoughts were quickly replaced by one as she trudged along the muck and slime. "I'm going to meet him".

He looked up to see that his bus had finally arrived and was starting to leave. Jumping over the side of the bus-stop he ran to catch the bus he had waited forty minutes for. In the process his bag got jostled around a pole and his book fell out. His precious book with the problems that'll undoubtedly appear on the exam and cost him his chance at an MBA education and a six figure income and contact lenses...These thoughts were quickly replaced by one as he dangled from the entrance of the bus. "I'm going to meet her".

The inspiration for this came from a song in a movie called "Dahek" (which I haven't even seen!) The video totally captured my imagination - it took place in the rains for one thing, and that's enough romantic context to keep me happy :) Then there's the incredibly expressive looks at the end of the song when the couple finally meets after braving the elements and the roads and fallen milk carts and what-not - there's shyness, desire, excitement, a tinge of embarassment...Sonali Bendre and Akshaye Khanna, in those 20 seconds of not saying anything, say so much. Aah..young love :)

Story time...

2005-09-26T00:22:00.000-07:00

The run.
He’d followed her for eight blocks. She noticed a blue shirt and a beard. Panicking, she ran faster, picking hidden paths until she lost him. She finally reached home, panting and nervous. As she entered the bedroom, a blue flash surprised her from the shadows. His stubble teased her lips as he breathed, “I won!”

Crazy little thing...
“They did what?” GI56 asked incredulously. “Got ‘married’”, PE14 said, tired of trying to make them understand. IK25 added in an awed whisper, “They even used to procreate with a single unit repeatedly”. “But…but...why?” GI56 wondered.
PE14 said wistfully, almost to itself, “I’ve heard of something these human ancestors of ours used to call ‘love'...”

Okay, two attempts to fulfill the tag-requirements - Parth tagged me to write a short story within 55 words. Two attempts to while away a train journey instead of working like I meant to. Two attempts to get back to the blogging world after feeling like I'd run dry of ideas! One is almost a secret fantasy of mine...talk of runner's high ;) The second one is sort of inspired by the kind of science fiction that I love, where we start questioning society and human-ness from a futuristic eye.Let me know which, (if either of them) works.

Here I tag Aparna, Vivek and Ramya

Video killed the radio star!

2005-09-18T21:43:00.000-07:00

It's been over a month since I moved into this new place, and today I finally acquired a TV. So far, I was occupying my free time once I got back from work with healthy activities like walking a mile to and from the grocery store (no car either!!), painting, listening to music, re-reading my Harry Potter collection, etc. And of course, as you might have guessed from my last few posts, reallly listening to some music. I found some cool stations on the radio - there's one that has 'block parties' every day, where they play only Led Zep or only The Doors or only CCR for 2-3 hours straight :)
But today spelt the end of that simple life and the beginning of The Simple Life (maybe I won't stoop as low as that though...Paris Hilton makes me puke). So, right now, with no antenna (other than a twisty thing made of aluminum foil!!) and no cable, we get FOX and WB, and a hazy UPN and a very hazy NBC. So naturally, about 2 hours were spent watching various programs and bad ads and commenting on the banality of American television. Here are some juicy excerpts of what I saw:
1. An ad that goes "My TV sucks!" and the TV actually physically sucking things!!
2. A show that had detectives trying to figure out some crime that apparently was committed by a woman in her previous incarnation. Shades of "Honi Anhoni"???
3. A promo that declared that "America's favorite psychic soccer mom returns this fall, in 'Medium' - all new episodes starting..." Yeah, like America has so many psychic soccer moms so they had a contest and voted for their favorite one! Puhleeeze!
4. A Family Guy episode which insinuates that the baby (which by the way, talks with a grown man's voice. In a British accent, no less.) is having sex with his mother. I am not kidding. Talk about an early manifestation of the Oedipus Complex!
5. A show that condones extra-marital affairs..Nay, encourages them with thunderous applause for the adulterers. "Oh no,I've made a huge mistake. (You think, good..he realizes he shouldn't cheat on his wife.) I should never have used my real name with that woman."(HUH??? That's the big realization???) and "Honey, you know I'd never touch another woman. Uh, except maybe, at, like a strip club!" (After which said honey proceeds to forgive the asshole and kiss him!!! Women on TV are such dimwits, it makes me mad!!!) Ok, I am not a prude, and I do know why sometimes, people might cheat or have affairs outside a relationship. But I draw the line when it becomes condoned, accepted, encouraged and celebrated in popular culture. Especially when it's on national television and not cable. I love Comedy Central style dirty politically incorrect humor because they make no pretense of being 'family friendly entertainment' with 'fun for all' and 'cherishing values' or any of that BS. So next time, spare me the lawsuit against Winnie the Pooh and take a look at your WB Sunday shows.
Ok, nuff said bout that. I guess I'd forgotten in 2 months how mind-numbingly stupid some of these TV shows can be, and how mind-numbingly stupid they can make us! How many stereotypes are perpetuated, how insensitive they can be to some groups (especially gay people), how destructive some of the humor can be (like a father bribing a son with $200 shoes so that he doesn't tell his mom about his dad's cybersex partner..What in the world can be a positive thing to come out of that situation???) and just how stupid these shows assume we are!
Ok, having said that, I'm going to call my cable guy tomorrow morning and ask to be hooked up to 40 channels of similar drivel. Farewell, o last of ye faithful brain cells!

And Time will have his fancy...

2005-09-12T08:09:00.000-07:00

Snippets from brilliant work by poets from different ages, with different voices, speaking different tongues, but reaching me in one place.

As I walked out one evening
- W.H.Auden

But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
"O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.

"In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.

"In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.

Aaj jaane ki zid na karo

- Sung beautifully by Farida Khanum (Written by Fayyaz Hashmi??)

Waqt ki qaid mein

zindagi hai magar

chand ghadiyaan yahi hain jo aazaad hai

Inko khokar abhi jaan-e-jaan

Umr bhar na taraste raho

Save tonight
- Eagle Eye Cherry (from his awesome debut Album:Desireless)
Go on and close the curtains
cause all we need is candle light
You and me and a bottle of wine
gonna hold you tonight
Well we know I'm going away
and how I wish, I wish it weren't so
So take this wine and drink with me
let's delay our misery

Save tonight
and fight the break of dawn
Come tomorrow
tomorrow I'll be gone

Today's the first birthday of this blog...Happy Birthday!! In several ways, Time has stood still for me this past year, but in several more, he has certainly had his fancy. Thanks to all those who travelled down this curb with me!

Duets that do it for me...

2005-09-08T20:31:00.000-07:00

Today I was listening to an album I've heard many times before, and I thought I knew it quite well. Well, not quite. It was The Corrs, and the song that blew me away today was "Little Wing". Let me take you through the voyage of discovery.
There I was, letting it play in the background while I fought research writer's block (the worst kind!!) Suddenly the mini-Mediaplayer pops up with the name "Ron Wood" and that name rang a bell..Then when the song lapsed into the guitar solo, and I heard the crowd's excitement, curiosity got the better of me, and I googled it. Sure enough, Ron Wood turns out to be a guitarist who's played with the likes of the Rolling Stones and Jeff Beck and Rod Stewart.
So here's a song that was originally a Jimi Hendrix number, covered by The Corrs (of all the bands!) with a guitar solo by Ron Wood...will wonders never cease?
It reminded me of the pseudo-intellectual, semi-idiotic excitement I felt when I found out about other great collaborations, like:
The FANTASTIC George Harrison-Eric Clapton version of "While my guitar gently weeps" (Live in Japan),
The Bono-Frank Sinatra NON-live, doctored version of "I've got you under my skin" (Who thought hip, crazy, mostly drunk, liberal Bono could match ole blue eyes, so-handsome-in-my-expensive-suit Sinatra?!),
The Eminem-Elton John duet of "Stan" (enraged and enthralled homophobics and homosexuals alike),
Tom Jones and the Stereophonics (I think!) doing "Mama told me not to come",
Rock meets rap, when Aerosmith and Run DMC "Walk this way",
a really cute song "When you're gone" with Bryan Adams and Mel C,
Rock now meets country, when Sheryl Crow and Kid Rock, more recently sing "Picture",
Hollywood meets boy-band-born British-boy-rock with a really well-done duet of the classic "Something Stupid" (originally by Frank and Nancy Sinatra) by Nicole Kidman and Robbie Williams, with Nicole doing a surprisingly good rendition of this surprisingly difficult song,
Speaking of surprising, I was surprised when my sweetheart Dave Mathews collaborated with Carlos Santana (seems like everyone collaborates with Santana!) to do a sweet little romantic number "Love of my life"
and to wind back to the album that started my post, Bono and the Corrs doing the magical magical "Summer Wine"...
Ok...that's the end of my postponing writing the damn paper..it was an exciting way to escape though..If you can think of any additions to my list of collaborations, feel free to share.

I wish I had a singing Babelfish

2005-09-07T21:36:00.000-07:00

I suppose language and the ability to transcend time in thought are two things that distinguish the species homo sapiens from most others. The second one I haven't quite figured out whether I'm good at or bad at..I know I am no good at predicting the future, especially my own. The past? Well, "memory is a wonderful thing, if only we didn't have to deal with the past"!
What I wish I was better at, is the first. Language. Words can be powerful, if inadequate tools of expression. Even if I knew all the words in all the languages of all the cultures in the world, I think I'd be able to express only a fraction of all that I am thinking right now.
Hence the need for a Babelfish. A Babelfish is a fictional creature that you plug in your ear and then you can understand any language in the universe. Makes for a handy companion when you're hitchhiking in the galaxy :)
I need no ordinary Babelfish, I need a singing one, because I get most frustrated with my lack of knowledge of languages when I listen to music, especially ghazals or Tamil music. Carnatic music somehow I never even tried to understand the lyrics for!
Just paying attention to the lyrics, and making a little effort to find out the meaning of the words, or the story behind the song, can make all the difference between liking and loving it. But hey, that effort is what is the clincher...I used to be so enthusiastic about that kind of stuff before. I remember painfully playing a song on my old cranky cassette player over and over again till I got the lyrics written down just so I know them. I remember staying awake till 2 a.m. one night in college gushing over the poetry of Bob Dylan and The Doors with a friend.
I thought those days were gone, till lately. On recent long drives I have had the experience of actually listening to the words of some songs I might have heard before, and liked for the music and the tune and the singer's voice, but until I understood the words, I never really loved them. I also have had the chance of listening to some music that I never have before and loving it, mainly for the music. While I have a lot of help in the form of an indulgent teacher and an online dictionary, I still wish I had my singing Babelfish :)

I wish, I wish...
I wish I had a fish
Not a guppy or even a shark
I need my fish to light my dark
And not one that'll end up as a dish.

A fish to help me appreciate
The magic that people create
When they make music
And make those words tick
Such a fish will be a true mate.

A singing Babelfish would be nice
Can't win it in a throw of dice
But I sure can dream of it
To clear my confusion bit by bit
But till then a dictionary'll have to suffice!

My dil goes mmmm...

2005-08-30T15:51:00.000-07:00

...every time I hear this song - all three versions of it :)
And when, my long-lost friend calls me to tell me that he is majorly crushing on someone after eons, my dil goes mmmm...The Return of Hope.
My dil went mmmm when my cousin and I picked up a paintbrush (after, guess what, eons!) here.
My dil is going MMMM (loud and excited!) at the prospect of the long weekend...looking forward to spend it with loved ones enjoying some of the famous Oregon outdoors before summer totally leaves us.
My dil went "mmmm..my arteries are clogging" when we ate ice-cream from Coldstone Creamery - the bestest ice-cream I've had for a long time. Maybe ever. It had strawberry, banana, vanilla, roasted almonds, crushed KitKat candy, pineapple pieces..Yummmy for the tummy, as my friend says!
My dil went mmmm when I succeeded in introducing three more people to a movie that's close to my heart. And even louder when they loved it too.
On my way back to Portland from Seattle this Sunday, as I was traveling in the train, I sat next to an old woman who taught me so much in a few minutes...that's another post, another day, possibly. Anyway, talking to her filled me with hope, wonder and awe at her grace and wisdom, and my heart went, mmmm..I want to be an old woman like you one day!
Also when I come back from a day at work wondering whether I am accomplishing anything at all in my career and what to eat for dinner, and what my bank account looks like, and what my boss thinks of me...and I see a rainbow break the bleak Oregon sky with the reminder of life's transcience, beauty, unexpectedness, and rewards when we open our eyes and hearts to it.
My dil goes mmmm...I feel lucky!
Little post-script: My dil and my voice are both going mmmm..over Fuzon. Not often have I loved all the songs in a single album the first time I hear them. This guy's voice is going to haunt me all week at least..especially "Mora saiyaan" and "Tere bina" and "Ae Chaand"..heck..all the songs!

Ore-gone!

2005-08-21T19:36:00.000-07:00

Thanks Robyn, for the idea for the post title…there’s hope for you, yet, in the punning world!
Wow! It's been a month since I lifted the blogging finger…first time in the entire year I’ve been a blogger that I've missed my once a week (on average) entry. How did that happen? Well, let’s see… a combination of factors, really. 20 days back I left Akron, Ohio to come to Beaverton, Oregon for about 6 months at least. I am an intern (no, pardon me, an ‘assessment specialist’!) with a fantastic company in a group that’s growing rapidly, at a time when I can really make a contribution (or influence millions of people’s chances of getting a job, actually!!) My transition has been a busy one. Two weeks since I started the job, and this is the first day I am actually sitting and doing almost nothing and have had the time and inclination to write this post. I haven’t had Internet at home, and I wasted 2 hours today trying to set it up only to be informed that it was in vain and I need to try tomorrow. AAARGGGHHHHHH! Plus, the fact is, I am too chicken to do this at work, and at least the first month, I need to impress the boss with my diligence and so on, don’t you know!

So, what’s new and happening in my life? Besides everything?
· I have learned the pain that moving to a new place can be. As a new international grad student four years ago, I felt no need or pressure to get at least semi-decent furniture or plates that matched or a real shelf for my books (instead of a cardboard box covered with a dupatta!) Now that I have graduated to intern status, I somehow felt that I shouldn’t settle for stuff I could scavenge from the road-side or from garage sales. So with a lot of help from my cousins, I bought furniture from IKEA (which I assembled myself, with no major mishaps, much to my surprise!), and with a few additions my apartment will soon be complete!
· I also spent some fantastic days with said cousins, learning a lot more about them and through their eyes about myself.
· I recalled after a long time what it feels like to discover a good friend in someone you think you know, but you don’t quite KNOW until you spend a few nights with them chatting into the wee hours of the morning or a few moments thinking the same thoughts or a few tears shed together or exchange a few embarrassing stories or complete a few of each other’s sentences. The person in question is probably reading this, and for everything, my dear, thank you!
· I saw Mount Rainier in all its glory one beautiful summer day. The northwest is certainly unsurpassed in its beauty and its surprises. Because it’s usually so gloomy and rainy and depressive, these sunny days are such a blessing. And I felt doubly blessed to be seeing it with people I love being with.
· I discovered the meaning of ‘expensive’ again! Whatever its faults, I’ll say this for Akron, living there was affordable. I have always been kind of a penny-pincher, but let me tell you this, when you start paying $5 for something you used to pay $1.88 for four years, you’ll start acting stingy too! So what if Oregon has no sales tax, they make up for it, by charging three or four times the price of everything.
· Except for this one section in one grocery store in one corner of one neighborhood in Beaverton, where they sell old books for 25 cents. I bought “Mystic River” and LOVED it. Dennis Lehane’s style is powerful as hell. The imagery, the poetry, the raw emotion and the stark reality in his writing…like this: “(The words) formed a wall in front of her and Jimmy and then that wall sprouted a ceiling and another wall behind them and they were suddenly cloistered within a tiny cell created by a single sentence.” I mean, to convey so much with words…it’s beautiful!
· I watched “The Aviator” (liked it a lot), “Mangal Pandey” (liked Aamir Khan a lot, liked the movie more than a little but not as much as a lot!), “Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi” (finally! And I loved it a lot!!), “The Sound of Music” for the millionth time and still loved it, and parts of “Casablanca” (the parts that I love a lot! “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine!”)

Ok, now that I’ve semi-explained my absence from the blogging scene, let me thank all you fabulous people who faithfully posted responses despite the fact that I didn’t reply. Of all the blogs in all the websites in all the Internet, you browse into mine!
Welcome, newcomers to my curb and old-timers, keep returning!

Time to face the music?

2005-07-21T10:45:00.000-07:00

Of all the people I know, I am the least likely to write about this topic, but I want a reality check. Since most of my (few!) readers are Indian, they are quite possibly in a good position to comment. And the topic is Recent Indian (especially Hindi) Film Music.
Is it just me, or has the quality of musical output in fillums improved tremendously these past few years? Or do I just have more patience to listen to more of it and the opportunity to experiment? But from the long dreary dry spell of the '90s (save the occasional DTPH or 1942 type relief), these last 5-6 years with the Veer Zaaras, Bunty aur Bubblys, Lagaans, DCHs etc. are bubbling over with innovativeness, energy, and..gasp...that elusive concept..MELODY!
It's not all remixes and jhankaar beats (which are a wonderful trend too, imho!), it's somehow the revival of classic elements in music. The qawwali has been back for a while, the slow haunting melodies with basic instruments (think Parineeta), the infusion of classical aspects into mainstream music (think Raincoat, Kisna, and in Tamil music, Ivann, Parthiban Kanavu) the readiness to experiment with singers and music directors is evident and has sprung on us the genius of Ismail Darbar, Shreya Ghosal, Shantanu Moitra, etc. instead of same old Kumar Sanu and Alka Yagnik.So..am I just waking up too late, or do you feel this distinct but welcome change? Or is it all a biased view and will I feel a few years later that that music is fresh and beautiful, and man, what were they thinking in 2005 when they made that sucky music?!

Can't stand this longing!!

2005-07-16T08:36:00.000-07:00

Today, of all days, I can't stand that we aren't together. I can NOT take the thought of another pair of hands on your back, another pair of eyes devouring you, someone else's day complete because of you. How can I sit here and think of anything else but you? Call me obsessed, but I NEED you. Why are circumstances so cruel, my will so weak, your thought so overpowering that I cannot focus on anything else? Aww..come on..the last five years could not have been a mistake. From the moment I first set eyes on you, I knew our relationship was meant to be forever. How can you be so distant then today from me?
Today, the day the next important chapter of your life is revealed to everyone the world over, Harry Potter, I wonder when you'll be mine!!
Ha! And you thought it was another lovey-dovey piece? Tricked ya, sorry! :)

Love...or so I thought...

2005-07-14T18:52:00.000-07:00

I thought I loved you, until I realized that I only thought of you when you were in the same room as me.
I thought I loved you, until I realized I only loved the way you looked at me when I wasn't looking.
I thought I loved you, until I realized that I loved your voice and your energy. And your hair. And your eyes behind your glasses. And your Adam's apple.
I thought I loved you and that we were meant to be until I realized that we were meant to be...apart.
I thought I loved you, until I realized that I loved that we loved the same things.
I thought I loved you, until I realized that all you did was hurt me. Over and over again.
I thought I loved you, until I realized that I hated having to impress you all the time.
I thought I loved you, until I realized that I never felt the need to impress you at any time.
I thought I loved you, until I realized I loved being loved by you.
I thought I loved you and could never get over you, until I realized how quickly you got over me. And then I couldn't get over you fast enough.