OotyBlues

Love -smitten Limerick

2011-08-05T22:12:00.002+05:30

My contribution for Limerick-Off Monday at Mad Kane's

A love smitten guy was irate,
Loudly bemoaning his fate.
The love of his life
Would not be his wife
'Coz she eloped with his best mate

Limerick Mondays

2011-07-11T22:19:00.002+05:30

My absolutely favourite form of poetry is the limerick and im so glad i finally found this wonderful blog.
This is my submission for Limerick-Off Mondays at Mad Kane's blog.

A gal who was lovely and fair
With long golden flowing hair,
Was rescued from her tower,
By a prince of great power
Who used her hair as a stair.

Fear

2011-07-02T18:17:00.000+05:30

Fear slowly seeps into the house as night falls. I see it in my father’s haunted eyes. He peers out of the windows looking suspiciously at anyone on the road. He goes around the house drawing the curtains and checking the locks again and again..
Its almost a month since the incident which turned our lives upside down, and shattered our complacence. My father was attacked by a knife-wielding man when he returned home, one night. That it happened on our doorstep, was the first shock. Fifteen years of living in peaceful surroundings with hardly another house in sight, had lulled us into a false sense of security. That it happened to my father, a gentle unassuming man, was the second. None of us really expect anything truly terrible to happen to us. Until it does. All those stories - masked men, armed robberies, knives and guns- happen to other people. We spend one moment ‘tsk’ing in sympathy, maybe a few more in ghoulish curiosity, thank god it wasn’t us and move on.
Guilt and fear-that is the unfortunate lot of the victims. Who realize how whole lives can change in a couple of seconds, that they might spend the rest of their lives trying to recover from those few seconds. That what seems an earth shattering event to them, is lowest in priority to the police - an attempted robbery with no loss of life and only a broken door to show.
There are images that play in my mind over and over again. A masked man, his eyes glittering in the light, holding a knife and a hand around my father’s throat, the normally pristine floors covered with blood from my fathers dripping hands, the front door fallen on the floor ripped from its hinges, the screaming and the silence that followed, my son lying quietly on the bed with blood on the floor all around him.
The endless stream of visitors, come bearing fruit, sympathy and suggestions- sell the house, shift to town, get a dog, get a watchman and so on. Things seem better for a few hours. Yet when they leave, fear seeps in again slowly.
Everyday darkness falls and my father, imagining watching eyes from every window, goes around drawing the curtains, imagining that anyone walking on the road is a potential threat, watches carefully out of every window, imagining that masked men can come through the door any minute, checks the locks again and again.

In appreciation of my coffee mug

2011-06-17T15:40:00.003+05:30

My contribution for the prompt at Applehouse Poetry Workshop. An appreciation for anordinary thing that we use everyday.

Appreciating the humble coffee mug

Today I want to say something wonderful

About my coffee mug

The first thing I want to see everyday

Steaming in the morning light

I hug its well-rounded contours

Close to my chest and sigh deeply

With pure pleasure

As warmth seeps into me

I take a deep deep breath

Inhale the aroma

Of hot filter coffee

Freshly brewed

The wide handle fits easily into my palm

Encircled by fingers and thumb

The soft pastel colour

Patterned with flowers

Are a welcome sight for sleepy eyes

Every morning

The Next Step

2011-06-12T18:24:00.002+05:30

My contribution for this week on Sunday Scribblings

Im always waiting to see

Where the next step will take me

Where I am right now

Dosent really matter somehow

The future is what’s exciting

Alluring, inviting

Will it bring something I've been waiting for so long

A chance to right a wrong

A chance to win the game

A chance to make a name

The next step is waiting for me

If only I could see what it would bring me

Simple Pleasures

2010-01-31T10:47:00.002+05:30

1. Waking up late on a sunday morning and not having to hurry to get to office
2. The sunday magazine and coffee in bed
3. The pleasure of a sharp knife cutting into soft fruit
4. A warm fluffy cheese omlette for breakfast
5. A long lazy day to look forward to
5. And best of all - my brand new fiery red scooty awaits below :)))

Welcoming 2010

2009-12-31T18:13:00.001+05:30

The past 4 months have been an interesting time for me. I took a decision which I felt had been long overdue, and which most people viewed as risky or downright stupid. I quit a very well paying job in Mumbai to come to Chennai so that we could have the married life that we had missed out for over a year post wedding. We found a house, settled down and had (are still having) such a good time, that the lack of the job didn’t really bother me. Except that is when random people asked me if I had found a job yet, or how I managed to pass the time at home.
I realized that life can actually be stress free and happy, even though I missed the routine of work and going to an office, the camaraderie, I didn’t really feel something significant missing from my life, except moneywise. This was such a big revelation because I had just spent the last one year in Mumbai, working, and doing just that. It had become the central focus in my life around which everything else was arranged. To top this off, it was a job that I hated. Why did I make something I hated the central focus of my life? As do most people I know. Dissatisfied with everything in life. Constantly looking out for something else to do, that may perhaps make our meaningless lives more meaningful.
My mother calls us the ‘spoilt generation’. We have had things too easy so far, not had to struggle for basic necessities like our parents generation, that just any ‘job’ will do. No, it has to interest us, promise us growth in the organization, give us a good boss, and most important of all pay well. Very few, if any jobs that fulfill this criterion and even if they do, we just keep looking for the next big fix.
I think I needed this time, this little break to recoup my life, rearrange my priorities. And now, this seems to be a job I would enjoy, I hope to learn and grow in. I know it will be difficult balancing work and home now. I know that what we have together here is too precious to waste, I am not going to let work dominate my life. I know it wont be as dreamy as life has been these past few months. But the opportunity to stretch is beguiling, I would like to see how I cope. Its going to be an interesting year ahead.

Life and Work

2009-12-28T18:16:00.001+05:30

The past 4 months have been an interesting time for me. I took a decision which I felt had been long overdue, and which most people viewed as risky or downright stupid. I quit a very well paying job in Mumbai to come to Chennai so that we could have the married life that we had missed out for over a year post wedding. We found a house, settled down and had (are still having) such a good time, that the lack of the job didn’t really bother me. Except that is when random people asked me if I had found a job yet, or how I managed to pass the time at home.
I realized that life can actually be stress free and happy, even though I missed the routine of work and going to an office, the camaraderie, I didn’t really feel something significant missing from my life, except moneywise. This was such a big revelation because I had just spent the last one year in Mumbai, working, and doing just that. It had become the central focus in my life around which everything else was arranged. To top this off, it was a job that I hated. Why did I make something I hated the central focus of my life? As do most people I know. Dissatisfied with everything in life. Constantly looking out for something else to do, hta tmay perhaps make our meaningless lives more meaningful.
My mother calls us the ‘spoilt generation’. We have had things too easy so far, not had to struggle for basic necessities like our parents generation, that just any ‘job’ will do. No, it has to interest us, promise us growth in the organization, give us a good boss, and most important of all pay well. Very few, if any jobs that fulfill this criterion and even if they do, we just keep looking for the next big fix.
I think I needed this time, this little break to recoup my life, rearrange my priorities. And now, im ready to go. Im sure it wont be work first anymore. I know it wont be as dreamy as life has been these past few months. I hope I get to enjoy that as well.

How I hate housework!!!

2009-12-17T15:22:00.009+05:30

Every morning I get up, rub my eyes and think of my day ahead. Sometimes it makes me groan when I have some task I have been putting off for days, a few days it’s exciting when I have something interesting to do or sometimes I’m just nervous when it’s an interview day. Most days though, it seems to be a never ending stream of housework. This, despite having a maid who sweeps, wipes and cleans the dishes and a washing machine to wash the clothes. I know I am luckier than a lot of women who don’t have these luxuries, but that doesn’t make the rest of the work any more interesting– like folding, ironing and putting away clothes, like picking up random clothes and paper off the floor, like dusting all those “cute” little knick-knacks that suddenly don’t seem so cute any more, wiping shelves, cleaning, cleaning, cleaning…
The one thing that I surprisingly seem to enjoy is the cooking. Having been cooking for only a few months, anything I try is new and I try adding something extra or different to every dish I make :). A husband who is willing to experiment too and eat everything I make is definitely a big plus. So I decided to complie a list of simple and easy recipes that had worked wonders for me.
My recipe for this week is an absolutely wonderful chocolate cake that can be made in exactly 5 minutes, adapted from here

5 minute Chocolate Lava Cake

Ingredients
Cake :
1/3 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup maida
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
6 tablespoons milk
1 teaspoon vanilla
Stir In :
2 tablespoons brown sugar
1 tablespoon granulated sugar
1 tablespoon cocoa
1 teaspoon instant coffee powder
2 tablespoons milk

In a microwave-safe cup, stir together all the dry ingredients for the cake first - 1/3 cup granulated sugar, 1/2 cup maida, 1 teaspoon baking powder, 1/4 teaspoon salt, and 2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder. Once these are thoroughly mixed, slowly add 6 tablespoons milk, and a teaspoon of vanilla. Stir till smooth
For the liquid chocolate sauce, mix 2 tablespoons brown sugar, 1 tablespoon granulated sugar, 1 tablespoon cocoa, I teaspoon instant coffee powder and 2 tablespoons milk. Pour into the cup with the other ingredients. Gently swirl it in; don’t mix thoroughly.
Cook in the microwave for 2 1/2 to 3 minutes, depending how powerful your microwave is. According to the original recipe, “ When done, it’ll look set on top, and kind of mushy around the edges”. However mine turned out firm around the edge and mushy in the centre after I cooked it for about 2 and ½ minutes. Turn the cake onto a plate and the cake is ready!!! Don’t let it cook for more than 3 minutes because the liquid or the uncooked batter inside spills out and coats the cake in a lovely chocolate sauce

Horrors of a new household

2009-12-04T18:56:00.003+05:30

The door swung open and I stepped in a little gingerly, trying to pick my way through the 3 inch layer of dust that seemed to coat every surface. One and a half years after we were married, we were finally going to be living together- here in this messy house that had been locked up for 3 months. I had been well prepared already but it was still difficult not to scream in frustration as I looked at the dirt around me. We plunged right in, armed with brooms and mops and managed to scrub off a little of the dirt.

Prashanth left for office soon with a worried look on his face, imagining me dropping dead from exhaustion, no doubt. I surveyed the disaster area and decided to clean up one room at a time, starting with the bedroom. A morning spent dusting cleaning, mopping and sweeping left me clutching my back. So I entered the kitchen to take a break , but the sight was almost too much to bear. All our pots and pans had become black from salt water and corrosive sea air. It would take me a week to just scrub my way through. It took me three days to finally get the house into some semblance of order.
We were still eating out everyday and my next task was to get the kitchen in order. Amma arrived then, like a godsend and we happily spent the next two days shopping. The prospect of setting up house seemed to send everyone into paroxysms of ecstasy, especially the thought of buying plastic bottles in all shapes and sizes. She painstakingly washed, filled and arranged all of the boxes. The kitchen set up, we started cooking and surprising myself, I enjoyed it. Experimenting was exciting, and as long as I was trying out a new dish everyday, I was happy. Prashanth being appreciative of everything I tried, spurred me on.

I discovered just how demanding a house can be. There’s something to be done everyday – the gas, the telephone, electricity, some pipe leaking, something we forgot to buy – it seems never ending. But its worth it when I just take a look around and think that its my home - a dirty house that somehow transformed itself into a home. Plus a beach that’s a 5 minute walk away more than makes up for any other disadvantages I think :)

Sea

2009-11-25T09:07:00.002+05:30

White moonlight traces a path on the restless sea
The waves, silver mirrors as they crash on the shore
Sand stretches smoothly into the distance, unblemished
The sea dances a wild dance tonight and we are its only witnesses

What sudden whim brought us here, this rain-scented night,
While clouds gather on the horizon?
Why does it fascinate, this ceaseless motion?
Rise and fall, fall and rise.

For now, it’s just us and the sea, bound by different spells
Wind and water, power and fury, elements unleashed
Our hopes, our worries, our lives
We forget, as our insignificance stares us in the face

Coming Home

2009-10-08T21:46:00.002+05:30

The bus swayed dangerously to one side on its way down, righted itself in time, and rushed forward to take the next curve. The driver, oblivious to the plight of its occupants was intent only on getting down the hill in the fastest possible way. I clutched desperately at the lemon in my hand, tried, failed and proceeded to deposit the contents of my stomach down the sides of the bus. Task accomplished, I sat back and tried not to feel guilty at the frowns from the other passengers. I had done this journey at least fifty times a year and yet had never felt good about it once.Another hour and our ordeal was over as we reached the rolling plains. We still had some distance to cover.
Sindhu and I were so excited, we could barely sit still. Amma predictably fell asleep in the last half an hour of the journey and had to be shaken awake as our destination neared. We got off, vomit-stained and weary.
At last I could see Thatha sitting on his rocking chair on the broad verandah. Ammachi anxiously scanning the road, looking out for us. We were enveloped by people as we reached. Questions, hugs, smiles. It was good to come home.

The sun came out

2009-09-24T20:45:00.000+05:30

She looked at herself in the mirror and saw what she had become. Brown eyes dulled by pain, unruly hair that hadn’t been brushed in a while, a tired face. That was exactly how she felt – tired and dull. It had been over a month now and time seemed to have done nothing to erase the pain. She found it easier if she didn’t think about it, in fact if she did not think at all. She spent all her time, curled up on the sofa, gazing out of the window. The weather outside seemed to sympathize. It had rained for most of the time they had been here.
Her parents were worried. It would have bothered her once, the look on their faces. But she shut them out now, like she had shut out everything else. It was exactly 2 months today, to the day she had been married. They both hadn’t been able to stop smiling, their happiness bubbling over. It had been a perfect wedding. They had a whole month together, and he was gone. One more victim in the rising number of accidents, one more statistic. How did it really matter in a population of over a billion?
She was lucky, they said. Lucky not to have been there, lucky to have escaped, lucky not to have witnessed it. What did they really know about luck? Where was meaning now? What did she have to live for? Her life seemed a bleak empty landscape, matching the weather outside. Her parents had brought her back home, away from anxious and well-meaning relatives. Who talked about her in hushed whispers, about poojas and second marriages, the evil eye and bad luck. She seemed not to hear or see. Nothing mattered anymore, really.
Home was the hills, the cold air, the comforting house and memories of childhood. She started going for long walks alone, hoping that physical exhaustion would help shut out the pain. The rest of the time was spent on the sofa hardly eating or sleeping.
Her mother mentioned one day that she had met Shika, who had asked if they could meet. To her own surprise she agreed. The meeting was swiftly arranged before she could change her mind. Shika, with whom she had been inseparable for two years in school. Her closest friend for a long time until work and life had thrown them apart. She wondered what would she say when they met, would they have anything left to say after so many years? She wanted to cancel, but picking up the phone and calling was too much of an effort. It seemed ages since she had last had gone through the motions of any social conversation. Silence had been her only weapon, her only means to cope.
The day dawned, dark and depressing as it had been for the past month. Rain lashed the windows, the road was a muddy river. She couldn’t go in this weather she decided, and felt relief, tinged with a little disappointment. Suddenly by afternoon the rain stopped, the weather cleared. She did not have the energy to make an excuse, she went out to meet her friend.
Shika came and enveloped her in a hug. The mists cleared a little. They went to a little coffee shop, so they could talk, and sip coffee in awkward moments. Suddenly the years seemed to disappear, they talked as if they had never been apart. There was so much to say and so little time to say it. She talked and talked and talked. About her husband, dreams they had had, the wonderful times spent together and how it suddenly vanished in a second. She didn’t know how precious it had been till it had disappeared. Shika merely nodded. Listened and held her hand through the tears.
It was finally time to leave, and they walked out together into the sunshine. The sun had come out so that the 2 friends could meet.

Adulthood

2009-09-22T19:55:00.002+05:30

I took a step towards adulthood today
Some childish innocence slipped away
A little less noise
A little more poise
Though maturity is still plodding on its way

An Ode to Positivity

2009-08-20T11:29:00.002+05:30

Oh Positivity! Where were you, in times of misery,
When only cold winds of anger and self-pity surrounded me?
Why do you appear only in bursts of sunshine,
When all seems well with the world?

Oh Fair weather friend! What are the charms that
Authors of self help books have seen in your eyes?
Will you not reveal to me, the 'Secrets' of the universe?
Or show me the ways to 'think and grow rich'?

Would you please stay? Would you make me realise
That the glass is really half full, that the pit i am in
Could have been deeper and bleaker,
That the darkest hour of night is just before dawn sets in?

Oh Positivity, my friend! Where art thou?

Holes

2009-08-01T12:31:00.003+05:30

Holes in the ground, I wish I could disappear into
They never appear when I want them to
People knocking, asking for things i dont wanna give
Wish I could learn just how to live

Rabbit holes transport you to wonderland
Will I find mine close at hand?
Coz I just wanna run far far away
Find a hole that would be my hideaway

Holes in my heart, I've shed many a tear
People in my life appear and disappear
Angry words, hurt and disappointment
Wish they would go away somewhere permanent

Rabbit holes transport you to wonderland
Will I find mine close at hand?
I just wanna run far far away
Find a hole that would be my hideaway

Holes in my head black and endless
Thoughts i dont wanna think or express
Things I dont wanna remember, places I dont wanna go
Carefully skirt around them, but they are still there I know

Rabbit holes transport you to wonderland
Will I find mine close at hand?
I just wanna run far far away
Find a hole that would be my hideaway

Early Morning Office

2009-01-22T09:08:00.003+05:30

I had forgotten what it felt like to come into office on an early morning. Sunlight pouring in through the windows and an empty expanse of cublicles, the water cooler free of people, the cafeteria just getting ready for breakfast, the AC not freezing cold. And the total silence.
It's nice to watch the office slowly fill up as people come in and start work. Switch on their computers, check their emails, drink some coffee, banter with friends. And then start their endless phone conversations.
The office machine slowly wakes up to life, and the human cogs start turning. The wheels will grind on late into the night.
But for now its an empty office.

Oh What Freedom this!!!

2008-11-20T08:49:00.003+05:30

It's been a long long time. I have to come to office early to do this. :)
What shall I write about today? Theres everything and nothing. I've been thinking about the process of novel writing. How do authors construct a story, fit charachters into it and govern everything about them? Its a feeling of immense power but incredibly difficult. How do they ever decide that this is the way the story is goins to happen, this is the way this charachter is going to behave and this is the way I am going to write it. I for one cant even think of a story I want to write about.

Why are you Late Today ?

2008-08-30T18:53:00.000+05:30

The door bell rings suddenly, insistently, shaking me out of my slumber and I walk bleary eyed to the door. The maid awaits, having managed to wake me after four attempts at the bell. Our morning alarm clock is late again. And I know that we will be rushing to office, running around desperately to catch an auto-wallah willing to take us the short distance to office, cursing the traffic, and generally doing what most Mumbaikars do in the morning.
“Why are u late today?”, I question querulously, “Don’t you know we have to get to office by 9, and can’t be waiting for you?”. She does not answer, just staggers around unsteadily while she attempts to sweep the house. I notice, and think for the umpteenth time that we need to get a new maid, this one seems to be getting worse by the day. But there just doesn’t seem to be the time to do anything nowadays. I rush to office, oblivious to any problems but my own.
Another day dawns, more leisurely this time. The bell wakes me up again. I even attempt a smile today, from the general good cheer of the weekend stretching ahead. I make some tea while she cuts the vegetables. Only when I am about to drink it, does it occur to me to offer her some. She becomes a human suddenly, just the same as me. A few questions and I learn her story. Married at 18, four kids already, and a drunk for a husband who beats her up regularly. The last time he had done that, she had had to go to hospital for a week and couldn’t walk properly after that. She still came to work anyway because she’s the only earning member now. Economic independence and women’s liberty. This is not what they mean, surely?
The door bell rings again. She seems terrified. “If it is my husband, tell him that I have left. Please. He will drag me home if he finds me here”. I open the door to find blood shot eyes. I smell the alcohol on his breath. I hold the door open an inch, and say she has left. He repeats the question, and I my answer. More irritably. Insistently. I slam the door shut on his face, wishing instead that I could give him a taste of his own medicine.
She smiles at me gratefully. We are allies now. Friends in a way. She may remain a terrible cook, and a sloppy worker. But she’s turned more into ‘Madhuri didi’ now, from being just ‘the maid’.

The Incredible Kindness of People

2008-04-03T22:25:00.002+05:30

We often hear stories of people complaining about how they have been unfairly treated by others. I think its an in built human trait that we focus on the negatives rather than the positives. But i have often been amazed by the sheer kindness that people can exhibit sometimes without expecting anything in return.
I was on my first trip to Mumbai, alone on a train from Chennai, visiting the IIT campus for a competition. Solely dependent on some vague instructions provided by the event organisers I was a little nervous about how to get to the campus from the station. Asking a few people in the compartment around me, elicited immediate directions and warnings. One man actually got down in the station along with me, put me on a taxi after issuing dire warnings to the driver and even went to the extent of calling me after half an hour to inquire if I had reached safely. I was incredibly touched. And delighted. That a total stranger should go to so much trouble for me expecting nothing in return was surprising to say the least.
Ive tried to do my bit too after that, helping strangers with heavy luggage, giving up seats on buses for old people, exchanging berths on trains. Little bits of kindness here and there. People view me suspiciously sometimes, but they make someone's day a little brighter sometimes. And they are surprised too by the kindness of strangers.

Transition times

2008-04-01T19:39:00.003+05:30

My life has been always neatly divided into phases. There was school, college, Wipro, MBA so far and now my married phase is about to begin. But I think its those in between transition times that are the hardest to define and get through. Looking back now I think they were what helped to adjust from one phase to another and changed something inside me. Helped me grow up from a school going child to one supposedly ready to face the challenges and sudden independence in college. And then from an immature college student to an excited then bored office goer.
I am in a transition time right now, and I have the feeling of having lost my moorings, of being afloat and patiently waiting to reach somewhere, to start the next phase. I can already feel the time slipping away, the time I want to cling onto and remember - as a spoilt grandchild, as an independent woman, as a daughter with the freedom to make her own decisions, as a child who doesn’t have to think about what others might think of her actions. Time to just sit at home and while the hours away, reading a book or sleeping or just doing nothing without feeling guilty about it. This is one of the most precious times to me and i intend (hopefully) to use it well.

The End

2008-02-29T17:34:00.006+05:30

The last class is over. The last exam done tomorrow. My dues will be paid. My bags will be packed. And I will be out of here in a few days. 'Here' has been home for two years. An incredible two years.
A tiny room that surprisingly seems to fit in everything. Friends for life. A totally new career. A few amazing professors, a few horrific. Burning the midnight oil everyday. Learning outside the classroom. Tough schedules. Movies on the Lan. Endless chatting. Shouting at the top of my voice. Dancing in the rain. Long walks on empty roads. Last minute submissions. Giggly Gossip Sessions. Never ending assignments. Meetings in the well. Sleeping in class. Laughing uproariously at silly jokes. Making presentations I haven't even read before. 24 hours internet. Reading in the empty library. Impulsive trips with friends. Arguing with 'bhainas' in broken Hindi. B Bot. Worrying about grades. Weekly trips to Big Bazaar. Endless batch meets with people shouting. Kotwal mails. Mess food. Cats sleeping under my bed. Washing machine queues.

I've had a wonderful time. And now its time to move out. And on. To a totally different phase in my life. Its scary. More than XIM was when i first arrived. I am leaving behind now, everything familiar and safe and comfortable and stepping out into the unknown. Am I doing the right thing? Am I doing it the right way? Will I make terrible mistakes? Do I know where I am going?
I dont know any of these things. But I know I can manage. I've learnt a little of that here.

What am I Missing Here?

2008-02-15T17:47:00.002+05:30

The days seem to flow into each other, each passes by unremarkably. And before I know it a month has gone by and I have nothing to show for it except a constant stream of movies, books, a few classes in between, lots of sleep and a decidedly lazy attitude to life. My resolutions of studying all the books in the library, of learning something new, of visiting as many places as I could, of writing of all the things I wanted to write but never had the time, of catching up with old friends, all seem to have vanished into thin air. I have caught ‘Sixth Term’ disease.

The last term in this course that has filled my life for the past two years is one that I have been looking forward to for so long. Very few classes, lots of free time and the placement headache out of the way. This is the time that we are supposed to enjoy ourselves, do all the things we never had the time to do and yet it feels strangely unsatisfactory. To while away all our hours in doing nothing and finding newer ways of ‘passing’ the time requires energy too, something we seem to lack. Occasional weekend trips once to Calcutta, others to places nearby did relieve the monotony. But they were occasional.

I seem to have lost something. Something that helps me want to do the things I’ve always wanted but never got the time. Something that inspires in me a disdain for the monotonous. Something that makes me hate my present life and makes me look for better things. Work. Need to find it soon.

Feel Good

2007-12-01T22:43:00.000+05:30

Just came back from one of the best lectures i have ever attended. One of those defining moments of my time here. What was extraordinary about this particular one on services marketing ?
The professor put in a series of seemingly random thoughts on his ppt and yet made it interesting (and this coming from a person who has seen nothing but ppts for the past two years is definitely a compliment).
But we have had good speakers and presenters before. The concepts he was teaching were not really new.
He managed though to keep a bunch of bored and sleepy MBA students spell bound for three hours. His secret according to him, was that he treated this lecture as a service too. And therefore made every effort to 'delight' us. Catch our attention, connect to us and impart concepts in ways that we had never even imagined before. In the process he gave us a service experience that would be very difficult to match or surpass.planning
We were impressed by the amount of and thought that had gone into this lecture session. We have had professors and more professors. What made some of them outstanding was the passion they had for their subject, the level to which they were willing to go to make us equally passionate about it too.
What i have learnt in these two years is not management theory or jargon. Ive learnt that hard work always shows results, that the simplest words are more powerful than the most obscure jargon, that passion is what differentiates the good from the best.

Banking and Poetry

2007-11-21T10:11:00.001+05:30

What is it about Commercial Banking
That makes creative instincts flow?
Pens scribbling busily on paper, producing
Drawings, cartoons and now this little ditty too

The purple shirted professor
May in stature seem rather small
But to be uniformly detested by sixty
Is no mean feat at all

Udal Mannuku Uyir Tamizhiku

2007-10-17T01:57:00.000+05:30

Udal Mannuku Uyir Tamizhiku
Ithai urakka solvom Ulagirku
Inam onraaga
Mozhi venraaga
Puthu velai edupom vidiviku
Nam Vetri pathaiyil Narigal vanthaal
Virunthu Vaipom vinniku

Pirantha pillai nadanthu pazhaga
Kaiyil velai kodupom
Pirantha pillai iranthu piranthal
Vaalal keeri puthaipom

Yutha sattham ketaal pothum
Mutha satham mudipom
Ratha kulathai nirappi nirappi
Vetri thaamarai paripom

Engal mannai thottavan kaalgal
Engal mannil uramaagum
Engal pennai thottavan kaigal
Engal Adupil viragaagum

Udal Mannuku Uyir Tamizhiku
Ithai urakka solvom Ulagirku
Inam onraaga
Mozhi venraaga
Puthu velai edupom vidiviku
Nam Vetri pathaiyil Narigal vanthaal
Virunthu Vaipom vinniku

- Vairamuthu in Iruvar

Boat on Stormy Seas

2007-09-06T01:13:00.000+05:30

The clouds break out on this oppressive night
That seemed to stretch endlessly ahead
Lightening flashes and thunder rolls

The mood catches us too
And suddenly our quiz papers
(The cause of the depression)
Come flying out
To become delicate vessels weathering stormy seas
And for ten minutes we forget ourselves
In trying to keep them afloat

"I am very sorry. I understand your situation. But the rules say you can't"

2007-08-22T12:39:00.000+05:30

Six days separate us

23 years brought us together

My cousin. My friend. My sister.

Twenty three years

Of happiness and tears

Of dreams and fears

New discoveries

Adventures together

You were always the brave one.

The first to do something

I always followed. Hesitantly. But I did

The first to ride a cycle. Then the kinetic.

The first to go to hostel. The first to talk to boys.

The first to travel alone. To go out with friends.

To have fun. To cry your heart out. To get angry.

The first to break rules.

To do things that I could never have dreamed of.

To live.

I was the quiet one.

Immersed in my books.

Always followed the rules.

And now these rules.

Come back at me.

I miss the most important moment in your life.

“ I am very sorry but you can’t go to your sisters wedding.

The rues don’t allow it”

Why do people hide behind rules when they have to make a decision?

Why are rules always right and people always wrong?

Birthdays

2007-05-29T17:03:00.000+05:30

May 23rd was the birthday of two very unlikely friends of mine. Unlikely in the way we became friends, through the internet. Unlikely that we have stayed friends for so long and not drifted apart in the way that a lot of my friendships do. Two people totally unlike each other.
Raakesh. One of a disappearing breed of book readers who would never dream of listing Sidney Sheldon or Dan Brown as a favorite author. Who shares a passion for the written word and constantly introduces me to writers I’ve never heard of before. Who never ceases to amaze me with his literary skills. (And sometimes misleads me into thinking someone else’s poems, his own :)) Who manages to stay supremely unaffected by the ultra competitive world that is IIM-L. Whom I hope will get round to writing his novel before drinking himself into oblivion.
Ramakrishnan. Technical Wizard. Nature Lover. Ceaseless Questioner, with an inexhaustible interest in everything he sees or hears. Sharply Observant. Conscientious (Remembering my birthday even if I forget his). Interesting. Irritating (because he disagrees with most things I write). Hard working. Sincere. Genuine. A great friend.

Happy Belated Birthday to both of you. May you have a wonderful year ahead.

Unreasonable Reactions

2007-05-28T17:55:00.000+05:30

I met a classmate again yesterday, from a long time ago. Why do some people always elicit the same reactions from you no matter how older or ‘grown-up’ you think you have become? Unreasonable reactions. Were there some invisible vibes that only I could catch and feel uncomfortable about?
An unexpected meeting this was. She had become thinner and much prettier. A trace of an accent too. But the unreasonableness welled up from within and I was left waiting to end the conversation and get back to the comfort of my friends. To people I felt secure with and didn’t feel like I was acting a part.
Was that what I was doing? For the ten years in school? Was that why I didn’t make an attempt to keep in touch with my classmates? Do we really grow up and mature? Or do we just play different parts?

Wallowing in Nostalgia

2007-05-23T17:23:00.000+05:30

Nostalgia is such an old people’s word, something I used to associate with people over 70. And yet I seem to be wallowing in it most of the time. My blog seems to overflow with it and I compounded the error with a three day trip to Kerala that was pure nostalgia. It’s always funny to go back to once familiar places, to feel an awkward stranger in a place that you were once part of. This trip though was something I really enjoyed. Not the wild excitement of a rollercoaster ride. More like the warm contentment that comes from a long, quiet drive.
Arriving at Coimbatore was such a relief after the never ending vastness that Chennai always seems to me. It felt good to be back to a town I knew, whose length I could cross in half an hour, where an hour’s drive would take me to the next district and most importantly where people addressed me with respect.
And then, Kerala. I had forgotten how intensely green Kerala is, especially after Tamilnadu’s dry scrub. And how pretty most of the houses are. And the number churches that lined the highway. It felt good to be back.
A friends wedding in Palakkad, where we arrived just in time for lunch but got included in the family anyway. The endless rituals, the crowd, the laughter, the noise and the confusion. It seemed like some gala family function. Only on the bus back home did it actually sink in that she was married now and would be going far away. To another country and another life. We would be lucky just to hear her voice again.
The weekend in Cochin. There are some places I love and some places I hate. Cochin I remember with affection. It was a very short 8 months that I spent there. The memories rushed back as soon as I entered the city. Shopping expeditions to mg road, ice creams on marine drive, spices in Broadway, cooking together in the kitchen, giggling bus trips, packed lunches, movies, exhibitions, laughter sessions at midnight, surprise parties, late nights spent talking. All the good things that happen while living with friends.
The place doesn’t seem to have changed at all, in the one year I have been away. But our lives have. Veered off suddenly into completely different directions, so much that we may be lucky just to meet each other again. And it was lucky, this second chance to go back, even if it was just for 2 days. We spent almost the whole time remembering those 8 months. Laughing and talking. The future was there too but as little as possible.
It was a pleasant weekend. The inescapable saree shopping and ice cream eating on MG road, dinner at the house of some friends and some sight seeing along with two other bored and irritated guys who hadn’t really changed much in a year.
I returned, happily content. Nostalgia is not really such a bad thing I think.

Whither Thy Name??

2007-04-30T17:58:00.000+05:30

Most bands make me wonder how they were named. They don’t seem to be related to anything at all. Like Smashing Pumpkins. Or Pink floyd. Or Deep Purple. Jethro Tull. Led Zepplin. My time in Wipro being well-spent, a search on google led me to http://library.thinkquest.org/4626/rock.htm , a site listing origins for some band names. Some of the explanations were wildly entertaining while others pretty boring. Most disappointing of all was Pink Floyd from whom i had expected a much better story, given its reputation.

ROCK

2007-04-30T17:57:00.000+05:30

What makes a concert? Music. Guitars. Drums. Voices. Lights. Special Effects. Singing. Audience. All that and still more.
Imagination. Arrogance. In-your-face-attitude. Spunk. And sheer love for music. That’s what I saw in a rock show this weekend. The Junk Yard Groove, one of Chennai’s most famous bands, with the enviable reputation of not having lost any contest they’ve entered.
An open amphitheatre at the YMCA grounds. A reasonably sized crowd. A tamil rock song too. A good performance and a great evening.
I met a budding rock star too that night. Most unrock- like. A software engineer by profession, clean shaven with not a hair out of place. A cultured voice and obviously no drugs. Whats rock without the bad boys?

Nothing to Do

2007-04-26T11:30:00.000+05:30

An air-conditioned room when the temperature outside is around 40 and steadily increasing. A 24- hour internet connection (with the interesting sites blocked off course). An entire cubicle to call my own, along with drawers which I can never fill. A salary too for the two months I am here. The only thing missing is work, something I didn’t think I would miss so badly.
I am back in Wipro again. For summer training this time. Nothing really seems to have changed. I have been saddled with a vague project that nobody including my guide seems to have a clue about. No attendance, no one to check on me, stretchable schedules and six cafeterias on campus. Life should be good.
It’s not unfortunately. I am bored out of my wits. All around me people seem to be working frantically all day. I am tired of surfing the net, especially because all the sites I really want to see are all blocked – yahoo mail, gmail and orkut. This should be the perfect time to churn out those pages on the blog.
But I am a strange creature. I have this overpowering urge to write only when I don’t really have the time to, especially during my end term exams. And the rest of the time, a terrible inertia settles, making any occupation other than sleeping really difficult. And after a time, sleeping in office gets really embarrassing. So churning seems to be my only option now.
Why do all IT companies go on this hiring spree, with no idea really where to place the new hires? Wipro this year recruited around 180 summer interns from b-schools across the country. And most seem to be in the same sad state I am in - with guides who are too busy to take time off, or irritated with the obligation they have been saddled with, and most are actually wondering what they are doing in the organization. Not the best way to encourage people to join them after the course I should think.
Time for my second coffee break. The tale of woes will continue….

Forbidden Times

2007-03-29T19:38:00.000+05:30

When is the best time to write? When you are totally free and have nothing to do? I never get any ideas then. What do you do when you are in the middle of your end term exams and have this itching urge to write.. something.. anything at all? You write :)
There have been countless times when i have been in the middle of something important and got this really great idea to write about. I usually shove it to the back of my mind with a note for 'later'. Somehow later never happens because the idea disappears by then.
Obviously i am not doing that today. No great idea struck. But I am on a resolution now to do the things i want to do and not what i really ought to do. And here i am.
(Written in the fond hope that my dad does not see this and start getting sleepless nites :)) )

Green Green Grass of Home

2007-03-10T20:04:00.000+05:30

It’s been a long long time since I went home. Ten months to be exact. And I will be going back finally in April. Green grass, forested hills, pretty streams, flowers bursting with life, tea estates, cold misty mornings, acres of gardens. These are the images that Ooty typically conjures up.

Ooty to me is home. A small town where most of the people know each other. Where I am always assured of hot tea and warm genuine people, wherever I go. Where the postman sees my father’s name on a letter and delivers it straight, without looking at the address. Where I can leave the keys in the scooter while going into a shop and be assured that it will still be there when I come back.

A sleepy town that really only wakes up during the season and gets really dirty when the hordes of tourists descend upon it. Tourists complain that it gets dirtier with the year and still come back the next. A town where the only sure fire way to make money is to open a bakery. But the best chocolates are still from KingStar.

A town where the primary mode of transportation is walking because there are only two town buses (there are more now) which never go where you want to. Most of the roads are either narrow or too crowded which makes driving a pain. There are too many slopes, making cycling impossible. I only learned to cycle in the eighth standard in Coimbatore during my holidays. Which leaves us with walking (except for horse riding of course).

This is the Scotland of the East, where the English still seem to live on. Most of the pretty, snooty houses (and the not so snooty ones) are old and British. Local legend has it that they were bequeathed by their English owners, who left the country after independence, to their gardeners or milk men who are the present snooty owners. The Nilgiri Library, one of my favourite haunts, seems to still live and breathe in a different time. The rows and rows of well thumbed, leather bound books , the huge reading room with its well-worn carpet and sagging couches, the deer and bison heads on the walls, the wizened clerks and librarian, the benches outside, the silence even, seem to sigh for days gone by.

Some of the most eccentric and erudite people live here. A dentist who is a renowned naturalist and studies the toda tribe in his spare time, being the only non-toda to speak the language. A supreme court lawyer who is also an environmentalist and runs a school based on the principles of J.Krishnamoorthy. A scientist who was the former head of the Atomic Commission. One of India's most famous photographers who has opened an institute there now. All of them are stalwarts of the town.

It's the people who make a place what they are. And Ooty has some of the nicest people i have ever known. The Ooty i know is not visible through a tourist's eye. It's the place i love and wouldn't want to ever change.

Old Friends

2007-03-04T19:45:00.000+05:30

“Time it was and what a time it was,

It was a time of innocence

A time of confidences

Long ago it must be

I have a photograph

Preserve your memories

They’re all that’s left you see”

Was just listening to the song by Simon and Garfunkel the whole of yesterday and it made me want to call up and talk to all of mine. It’s been quite some time since I last did. Somehow I am not very good at keeping in touch, but there’s always an instant feeling of comfort, no matter how long the gap has been.

Phone conversations are always a little rushed. It is difficult to fit in months of happenings into a 5 minute call, and often we may not really know what to say. But when we meet in person it seems like old times are back again. We spend all our time pulling each other’s legs, talking about past atrocities, teachers, classes, classmates, silly fights, people we hated, gossip. The present and future are there too but they somehow don’t seem that important.

We grow up and mature. Things happen in our lives. Change. We spend so much time apart. And yet the distance dissolves in an instant. I haven’t really had a lot of friends through school or college, but those that I have are ‘lifetime’ friends. I know they will always be a part of my life, no matter how far apart we are, how sporadically we meet or talk or how different our lives turn out to be.

“And that has made all the difference”

Blood Bath!!

2007-02-26T00:10:00.000+05:30

Light. Colour. Noise. Confusion. Excitement. Anger. Passion. Love. Hate. All the elements that go into making the perfect movie. And Maxinations 2007. What was supposed to be a competition between hostel blocks - to test all skills ranging from branding, promotion, strategy to innovation, creativity, general knowledge and much besides - soon degenerated into something else.

Every point counted. Every second made a difference. Every step was carefully measured. Every strategy fought over. Every inch hard won. This was war, no holds barred.

What makes a bunch of pretty normal guys turn into a single minded unit with a single aim? What is so special about a shield made of wood and brass? What makes people pour in energy, time and passion to win it at any cost? Why does it turn friends into enemies and normal sensible adults into immature children?

It brought entire blocks together, this shield. It turned XIM into a cauldron of seething emotions in three days. Creative juices flowed like never before. Sleep was a thing of the past. Everywhere there was a frenzy of activity. Everything that could possibly be used to catch attention was done. Charts, posters, cutouts, banners, flexs, audio advertisements, shouting, banging. Spirits were definitely awakened. Over 15 events in three days. Singing, dancing, dumbcharades, rock stars, quizzes, mimickery, comedy, collage. A pot-pourri in short that carried with it the prestige of the block.

It started off with the crash of breaking bottles and ended on a much louder note with a slanging match. It was amazing to see how quickly discontent spread. How quickly disagreements erupted. How quickly a small stirring of discontent snowballed into an avalanche of abuse and invectives.

If a piece of wood can cause a war, why not a beautiful face?

What’s So Great about Reading Anyway?

2007-02-17T00:06:00.001+05:30

Some people read for pleasure. Some for knowledge. Some to impress other people. Some when they are really bored. Some because it is a good habit. And some for no reason at all. It’s just something they do like breathing or eating or walking or living.

Books have always been a part of my life as far back as I can remember. Right from the time I was a baby, busy tearing up and scribbling on all the books in the house, from the time I first learnt to read in school and then tried to finish reading all the books in the school library, from the time most of my relatives stopped buying books for me because they were slowly going bankrupt, from the time I got locked up inside the house because I couldn’t hear my father screaming out my name while I was sitting in a corner reading, from the time I was branded a “book-worm” for life. Till now, when reading an entire book in one sitting appears to be a luxury.

To people who don’t like to read, it seems such a solemn solitary past time, something that introverts like to do. It is a secret that “book-worms” carry around with them- the reason why books can be more addictive than heroin. It’s something hard to explain, there’s a totally different world inside. One that’s really difficult to beat. Reality doesn’t even come close.

I have lived most of my life through books, learnt things from them that nobody could have ever taught me. Ancient civilizations and modern day reality (with science fiction thrown in). England and India and USA and Africa. Good and Evil, Right and Wrong. Romance and Religion. Law, Horses, espionage, war, farming. Courage, Hope, Life. People. Ideas. I have learnt something from every one of them.

My idea of heaven is a great book, a rainy day, a warm blanket and a bar of chocolate. Nothing could make me happier!!

Live in the Moment?

2007-01-03T11:24:00.000+05:30

Is there any such thing as a perfect moment in life? A time when everything comes together and happens with smooth precision? Everything that you have dreamed and planned and waited for happens exactly the way you wanted it to, at the exact point in time you were expecting it to? And even if that happens do you really feel the way you thought you would?

Most of my life I have always waited for moments like those and they have never happened. Live in the moment seems such a simple adage ( to the point of stupidity even, or so I have thought). Is that what life is about? Why are the simplest truths the most difficult to understand?

It’s taken me a long long time just to redefine my concept of perfection. Twenty two years of time wasted, just waiting for things that never hapenned. There’s a poster put up on one of these hallowed walls which says ‘Every cubic inch of space is a miracle’. Every second is a miracle too. A moment of perfection.

Trains

2006-12-15T20:56:00.000+05:30

Train journeys are times for introspection and contemplation. New resolutions. Catching up on lost sleep. Refreshing and rejuvenating. Time to come to terms with yourself as you watch India rush by through the windows. Chequered fields and lazy streams. Acres of water that make India’s rivers the Godesses they are. Miles and miles of uninhabited space. Crowded and dirty towns. Sleepy villages.

What is it about the suspended reality in a compartment that encourages intimate conversations with perfect strangers? That encourages people to share deep dark secrets that they wouldn’t reveal to their family much less strangers they have known for little over an hour? That makes life outside seems unreal and far away.

Eating, sleeping, talking, reading, staring out of the window, thinking, dreaming, planning. A train offers so many avenues. Why do people still feel there’s nothing to do? Maybe I belong to a strange breed that actually enjoys long train journeys. Alone.

82!!!

2006-11-23T01:06:00.000+05:30

Yesterday was a momentous occasion in my life. The first election I have ever faced. I went prepared to make a fool of myself, and surprised myself. Being 13^th in line didn’t really do anything to boost my sagging morale, but two last minute points from two of my friends saved me at the last minute. And surprise surprise, I returned to my seat with thunderous applause. What was this suggestion I had made? That we have online elections from the next year onwards and eliminate manual elections which are really a waste of time!!

Even more surprising was the fact that I actually got 82 votes, something totally unexpected to me. Of course I didn’t get into Xsys which is what the election had been for, but who cares about trivial issues like that! ;))

What did I learn? That my networking is next to nothing. That i can soemtimes speak in front of a crowd. That I am very uncomfortable talking about myself. I prefer blunt honesty to grandoise phrases. That there are actually soem people willing to vote for me inspite of all these drawbacks :))

Stereotypes Go Out of the Window

2006-11-06T01:49:00.000+05:30

There are so many firsts in life and I have just experienced one of them. A real life rock concert which to my surprise I really enjoyed. Rock to me has always signified men with long dirty hair wearing really dirty tshirts, singing incomprehensible songs at the top of their voices, played at full volume by people who use fuck as every second word in any sentence.

So when my friend dragged me to attend this final concert of xpressions, which by the way is our college fest, currently going on, I reluctantly agreed. And I was pleasantly surprised that I really enjoyed the music (which I had never really thought of in that sense before). The band was Pentagram, an obscure Indian rock band to me at least. But soemthign about the music caught and held me. It was an indescribable feeling, the way I felt listening to the music. Who knows maybe I might end up as a die-hard fan of hard rock

My Best Friend's Wedding

2006-10-25T09:44:00.000+05:30

Today my best friend is getting married and I’m not there. Four years of our lives we spent together. The four best years of my life. Engineering College.
We entered college together with dreams in our eyes, we were disappointed together, we rediscovered what college is really about, together. Living just four houses away from each other, we went to college together, missed buses together. Studied together, presented papers, had accidents, went shopping, did projects, placecom duties, hoarded books in the library, wore sarees, watched movies, played with London and shreya. Ate, slept, talked and entered Wipro. Went late everywhere, confused and frustrated everyone around us. Had accidents, got shouted at- by professors, policemen, All together. People said we even looked the same.
And then college was over. Wipro beckoned and we split. Me in cochin and she in Chennai and then Bangalore. We still managed to keep in touch, irregularly though.
Bhubaneshwar next. Even further away. And then she tells me her wedding is fixed.
Suddenly she’s in a different league.
Time changes everything. Just one year has passed and already those 4 seem far far away.

10 things I learnt from my trip to Germany

2006-10-10T00:48:00.000+05:30

Doing things at the last minute does not always work.
Anything is possible. Always prepare for possibilities like the taxi wheel rolling away or missing suitcases on the flight
Never never ever make the mistake of flying with Air Deccan
Always always check things with at least two people before deciding on a course of action. Mistakes can be costly (almost 90 euros :( )
How to survive in a foreign land with almost no money and only marie biscuits and one small pack of nutella for two meals
The miracle of how Germans survive eating German food. They only eat bread for breakfast, lunch or dinner (Even 300 different kinds don’t really make for much variety). They do not drink water – only wine, beer or soda.
People are basically the same everywhere. Some nice and some idiots
Germany has the best cars in the world
Losing a tooth is not the end of the world
Chocolates are very expensive, especially when you are counting pennies and have a long list of people back home waiting for you.

Sad Times

2006-10-04T22:01:00.000+05:30

This has been a rather sad trip home for me. I just got two days of my puja vacation to spend at home and I discovered a lot of things had changed.
My grandparents showed signs of growing old, something I really didn't like to see. My grandmother seemed to have shrunk into herself. She seems to be getting smaller and smaller by the day. I still got a chance to enjoy her great filter coffee though. And my grandfather, the centre of my life for 4 years, the person holding the entire family together, always full of life and love and good advice seems to have become old and tired. It almost brought tears to my eyes to see him like that.
I spent four years of my life in my grandfather’s house. Four years while in engineering college. In retrospect they seem to be the best years of my life so far. An unforgettable time. I learnt more in that time than anywhere else. I was lucky, much more than I realized then.
We had a get together too during those short two days, my class from engineering college. A lot of conversations and memories relived. For the guys it was one more chance to be at college, away from mundane lives as software professionals. I spoke more to my class mates then than I ever did during 4 years of engineering college.
And then the saddest part. Two of my closest friends are getting married. And things have changed so much. They talk about wedding plans and in-laws and new houses. And I suddenly realized that this would be the last time I saw them before they were married. Marriage somehow seems to turn young carefree girls into mature care laden responsible adults. And I didn’t want that to happen to them. I wanted them to be the same people I had known in college. But I realized that it would be impossible. And that soon I would have to turn into one too. And that was the saddest part.

Possibilities and Probabilities... Dreams and Dreary Facts...

2006-07-24T00:46:00.000+05:30

To see the World in a grain of sand
And Heaven in a wild flower
To hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour...

- William Wordsworth

My Favourite Place

2006-07-21T21:44:00.000+05:30

The library is the best place on campus. It’s got something that nothing else here can ever hope to match. No not even the campus of the 21st century or “wi-fi” or laptops . Not air-conditioned classrooms or the much touted x-cafe(don’t know what people actually see in it) or even the lawns that make you feel like sitting there and watch everyone else rush by.
It's got that undefinable something called charachter. A sense of time standing still, of having seen so much, a sense of permanence, of being still being here, after everyone and everything else has gone. A mute spectator to so many people. So many different kinds. Last minute readers who stay up all night, project groups who insist on discussing everything at the top of their voices, tuition groups- with an ‘expert’ taking classes, people who come to read the journals and the paper, people who want to do some research… all kinds…
And then there are those crazy kinds who love the library for being just the way it is. For its warm welcoming silence that stretches out and reaches you as soon as you enter the reading rooms. For those huge airy rooms and open windows from where you can look out and think and dream and wish and imagine. For those rows and rows of books that seem to hold so many unfathomable mysteries that we cannot even hope to understand. For those small pleasant surprises, like finding an actual real life non management book, with stories on Delhi, mysteriously lying in the reading room. For the guilty pleasure of reading it for a while instead of studying. For those moments of contentment when you suddenly look up and see that it’s raining and the world looks so beautiful today. For those few minutes when the page starts swimming before your eyes and you can sink into blissful oblivion, right on top of your books. For that sense of contentment while reading with a friend and just looking up and reading on. For those so many things that I cant begin to describe.
The library is the best place to be on campus.

Southie in Northie Land

2006-07-03T17:00:00.000+05:30

When I started this blog sometime back, I was surprised to hear from a lot of friends that it’s a typical B-School thing. Anybody who gets into a B-School has to start a blog to talk about their experiences. I vowed then that I would not be so boring, but I realize now how absolutely impossible that is. I have been here for two weeks and there is nothing else I can actually think about. Assignments, quizzes, lectures, ragging, committees, presentations that start at 10:30 in the night, meetings that start at twelve. Everything seems to be happening all at once I haven’t had the time to get my bearings. Yet. With ragging officially over my dreams of some sleep vanished into thin air when the professors started theirs, handing out assignments by the dozens.
I learnt lessons in Time management, with every meeting starting strictly on time and latecomers being pulled up. I gained new insights into team work while doing assignments especially with an Economics assignment which had to be submitted at 5 sharp in the evening. We wasted the entire afternoon doing nothing and then with fifteen minutes left, three of us started frantically scribbling and drawing diagrams, a true example of team effort. We submitted the assignments in pieces, with each of us completing different portions and then combining it all together while running after the CR’s to take ours too. We realized we were not as bad as another group which had with people literally drawing that one last diagram as though their life depended on it, even as they rushed to submit it.
My biggest learning has been Hindi with most conversations around here taking place in that language so detested by politicians in Tamilnadu, that land which seems to grow more perfect in my dreams each day. Still, living in the North is an eye opener (though my friends are quick to tell me that ‘Bhubaneshwar’ is not exactly North but East India. These finer points of distinction are incomprehensible to my tiny brain. Anything north of Andhra is classified as “North India”. A land of thievery, dacoits and kidnappings, of Laloos and Phoolan Devis, of adventure and romance, of total disregard for the law. Anybody who heard that I was going to a college in the ‘North’ warned me to be very very careful. ‘It is a totally indisciplined place’(with much emphasis on the ‘in’discipline). I have not found any of these things so far but I am still hopeful.
The stereotypes are here too and more ‘stereotypical’, if there is such a word, than I have ever seen. Any place south of the vindhyas is classified as Chennai. One person actually asked me “ You know there are 4 types of South Indians – some Tamil, Telugu something.. and you are?? “. I had never actually thought of myself as a “type” before, and this was a big eye opener.
The south is a very “conservative” place, steeped in tradition, afraid to step out of established boundaries (Conservative gets this special treatment because I have heard it most often). And I would agree on most counts. Except that there is so much more to it than just these adjectives that I couldn’t even begin to describe. Just as “not really North, more like East” India is proving to be very different from my imagination. Of course living within the secure confines of a B-School , disconnected from reality, is not a good place to judge things. But I still have two years ahead of me.

Home is Where The Heart is

2006-06-05T18:38:00.000+05:30

Swathes of dark green velvet sliced through by streaks of shimmering silver. Paddy fields of jade stretching towards the horizon, interspersed by thick coconut groves. The most beautiful houses I have seen anywhere. Bougainvillea running riot on every wall it can find. Backwaters where time seems to stand still. Picture Postcard perfect. Gods Own country. Seen through a bus window.
Reality intrudes. Rudely. Living in Kerala is a little difficult for anyone from Tamilnadu. The most difficult thing to get used to is the food which is the really important part for most of us. Eight in the night means shutter time for most shops and the whole town is probably asleep by nine. The one and only exception to this general rule is the wine shops which do a brisk business even at the unearthly hour of ten pm. Most buses stop running by nine thirty, and women stepping outside the house as late as seven in the evening is considered scandalous. Which makes life difficult, especially in an IT company, where late working hours are a general norm. Not that there are many of them here as yet. The supposed IT capital of Kerala, Kochi, proudly boasts of two buildings in its ‘InfoPark’. But we are still emerging so everybody is on their way here. The rain is a way of life here, to be battled with time trusted weaponry – the black umbrella and rubber slippers. ( I already have the black umbrella, will probably succumb soon, to the temptations offered by the rubber slippers).
I find a lot of surprising similarities to my hometown here. Both are highly touted tourist hotspots. There too all shops (except obviously the wine shops) close by eight during off-season times because nobody in their right minds could possibly want to wander about in the cold, doing of all things, shopping. Except crazy tourists. Most of them shivering in the cold and yet insistently in shorts. It has always amazed me to see normally sane people, lose their minds once they come on a ‘holiday’ to a place where nobody knows them. Most of the local population prefer to walk, so we have exactly two buses for the entire town, which is not much in terms of size, to begin with. Obviously these two don’t really run very late at night. The last bus from Coimbatore is at 7:30 pm because the Ghat roads are difficult to drive on late at night. ( Late night driving does offer some very interesting experiences though. Will describe those in my forthcoming posts). The rain I have already described ad nauseam in my previous post. Only here sweater and socks replace rubber slippers. Life without either of them is unthinkable. The weather outside is irrelevant. It has been said, and rightly I think, that if any person is spotted walking around in Coimbatore, in the hot sunshine, wearing a sweater, that person would definitely be from Ooty.
Home is never far away, I guess, no matter where I travel.

Cochin Diary

2006-06-01T20:28:00.000+05:30

I stay in a flat with four of my friends, in Cochin. This account of our morning schedule was written a long time ago ,soon after we moved in.
It's six in the morning and the alarm rings. I wake up swich it off, feel really lazy and think i'll sleep for five more minutes. Merlin's alram rings and i realize that my five minutes has as usual turned into half an hour and as usual, again, Nithya is already in the kitchen. Regretfully, tearing myself away from my warm bed, i get up and waking Merlin, go and help Nithya in the kitchen. The coconut that we bought last night in a fit of culinary extravangce has to be broken and there's nothing around remotely capable of doing the job. I try the iduki for a long itme but it dosent seem to even make a dent . Each of us takes a turn but nothing seems to shake the unbreakable coconut. We then try the marble slab in the kithchen and obviously i am the one who ends up breaking off piece of the marble. We finally decide to do what we should have done long ago - take it up to the terrace and break it on a stone there. So merlin and me set out to the seventh floor to break our coconut. The job is done in less than a minute. We come back triumphant, its already seven and we have to rush.
Merlin and Nithya have a bath while i scrape the cocnut and gowri cooks the brinjals. Before we realize, it's eight and we run out of the house, scattering all things in our path. We rush to the bus stop and wait- we are just in time for heaven... "Heaven??" u ask? actually thats the name of our bus, proudly sporting a sticker that says "Welcome to Heaven". What kind of a bus could this possibly be you wonder? Renaming it "Hell" is a well-worn joke by now. Resembling a tin can on wheels we wait in perennial anticipation of the time when it will fall apart. In fact its a wonder that it still hasn't, considering the way its driven. The bus arrives, bursting at the seams,and we somehow manage to squeeze in and try holding on soemwhere tightly. In less than a minute we are off on our ten minute roller coaster ride. The driver dosen't know the meaning of the word 'slow'. He either drives at breakneck speeds or brakes to a bone jarring halt, with us holding on in fear of our lives and wondering when we will head out of the windscreenand hoping at the same time that we will not be squeezed to death. All men are equal to him, he tries his maximum to kill them all. A few lucky souls get space to sit in between, but soon info park nears. We fly around the last curve and we get down, happy that we have survived today.

Monsoon Magic ?

2006-05-30T14:55:00.000+05:30

Ooty to most people conjures up images of rolling hills, deep dark forests, gurgling streams, not to mention the ubiquitous botanical gardens and the lake , all bathed in glorious sunlight, or at the most a romantic mist. But then, a vast majority stays here only for a few days as tourists. Very few people actually have the privilege to live in the queen of hills for most of their lives and therefore know that its not quite the same at all times of the year. We have the unique distinction of being one of the very few places to receive both the south west and the north east monsoon in full spate. That simply means that it rains most days of the year.
I have often been surprised by people in the plains longing for the rains. For me it has always been something that has to be borne stoically. Going to school everyday in the seemingly endless, ice-cold, rain with the wind howling in your ears is not really something to be longed for. Most of the times there is no electricity for days on end because some tree has fallen on the electric lines somewhere, the clothes take weeks to dry and everywhere there is the smell of dampness. Ooty during the monsoons is a morass of mud and water.
The most beautiful fragrance on earth, when the first rains hit the dry, parched earth, to give it life, was something I had never experienced in ooty.
The term ‘Magical Monsoon’ has never made sense to me before until now. I am in Cochin where the monsoons have burst forth in all their glory. It rains and rains and rains all day and all night. There are very frequent power cuts. Clothes don't dry, buses dont come on time. I don’t feel home-sick anymore. I’ve just realized that the rain can actually be beautiful. Especially while standing under an umbrella with a friend, eating ice cream and watching it pouring down on a gray choppy sea.
Im waiting to go and rediscover the magic back home in Ooty.