2015 in review

The year 2015 didn’t really start on a great note. I got hurt, got my entire extended family hurt, and ended up feeling like the biggest fool on the planet. But then, I survived. Once I cut out the toxicity, I was able to quite magically recover, almost instantaneously.

Somewhere down the year, I learnt to smile again. Be myself again. Be funny, be loved, and be great at what I do for a living. I learnt to drive. Went for long drives by myself. Treated myself to a vacation with some amazing friends. Met new people. Made new friends.

A few months later, self-healing in the form of reiki reached me. What started off as a one-time, what’s the harm in trying project, has now become a permanent part of my life. The positivity, the ability to react to situations without getting too emotional, and to heal myself and heal others has been quite a life-changing experience.

And then I started running. With marathoners. Alongside passionate runners. Though it happened by pure chance, I got hooked. I loved the runs. I loved Cubbon Park in the mornings. The sweaty realizations. The calm determination to keep up with the others. The painful stretches afterward. I fell in love.

I moved out. I moved to a bigger, more beautiful place. Closer to work, but more importantly closer to peace. The quiet of the new place has instilled a new sense of peace within myself. A close friend is now a mother. A closer friend is well on her way to become one. I have become a proud aunt this year.

I have always wanted to see snow. I have grown tired waiting for someone who will take me there. And so I am going to the Himalayas. I have never gone on a vacation by myself, let alone an arduous trek. But by the end of 2015, I would have those two items crossed off my bucket list.

So, in conclusion, I would say the year turned out pretty amazing. Life remains beautiful.

I wonder

The finality of death scares me. It is like reading the last chapter of your favorite book. As it slams shut, so does your complete identity. What you liked, how you talked, who you hated, how you laughed.

You are just a mere reconstructed memory. Sometimes glorified, sometimes damned, but mostly forgotten.

Sometimes, I wonder how it would be if I knew you were slipping away to the other side of the rainbow.

Would I have kept up the promise of laying with you on a bed of grass, watching planes roar above our heads? Would I have talked about my dreams and your fears? Would I have not just laughed heartily at your jokes but also comforted you in your dread? Would I have given you a goodbye hug instead of a nonchalant wave, the last time we had dinner together? Would I have been more me if I had known you only had 10 more days here?   

I wonder.

Quest

You are not pretty. In a moment of weakness, when the masks come off, get a glimpse of your soul. Your very own selfish, ugly soul baring its teeth, threatening to take you down with it.

But that is the truth. You are ugly. You want to be loved. You want to be wanted. Your cry hoarse about rainbows and unicorns and burnt-orange sunsets. And then you turn away and start building those infamous walls around yourself. One brick a day.

Your pillow, damp with sweat and tears, stands testimony to how much cowardice you have dedicated your life to. All the times that might have been. All that intimacy, you would gladly trade for a lollipop. And all those dreams, rising up above you; finding better places to be realized.

Are you really that delusional? The invisible bear on your back has put on weight. Coiling under a blanket does not help anymore. Stop being such a mucking foron. And hope again for that whiff of passion. That dark lining on the silver sky. Those fruity kisses. The slow waltzes. And once again, those saccharine sweet summers. 

Inked

Getting a tattoo is just like going through a breakup. It is messy, painful, you lose blood and some sleep, but it is totally worth it!

Stage 1: The act

The minute the needle starts piercing through your skin, and you lose the first drop of blood, you begin to think if it is worth it at all.  And this is when the tattoo artist starts looking like a dopehead who will not hesitate to plunge his needle right through your heart if you make even a slight whimper.

Scissorhands will scissor your hand right off

Stage 2: Denial

The morning after I got inked, I woke up to a plasma-oozing kitty cat that was now permanently etched on my skin. Permanently. No looking back. I flipped so much and so hard, and my screams rattled the neighbourhood. And then the denial began – Maybe the ink won’t stay. Maybe it will run out.  Maybe my hand will be good as new the day after. Right? RIGHT? No.

Stage 3: Anger

In exactly 48 hours, your beautiful tattoo starts looking like this:

The kitty-gets-dipped-in-slime tattoo

Yes. Scabs form, it becomes itchy, the skin feels tight, and you would do anything to get that goddamn heavy feeling off your heart (and your wrist, in this case). I also wanted to kill Mr.J, my genius friend and tattoo-partner-in-crime for talking me into this!

It did not help that a trip home was scheduled around the same time. If my mother’s glares could kill, all of you would have been sitting across the fire singing Kumbaya for my peaceful passing.

Stage 4: Guilt

So the tattoo is there but it still does not belong to you. After the scabs fall off, a thin transparent layer of skin forms over the tattoo. In tattoo-lang, it is called the onion skin. This does not fall off until the Halley's Comet zips past the sky five times. And then the introspection begins: So, why did I do this to myself? What went wrong? Was the tattoo an overcompensation for my other failures? Does the tattoo really look like a cat? What the hell was I thinking? Do I even like cats? 

Stage 5: Depression

The onion skin just does not fall off. The ink looks faded. Your friends still scoff. WebMD makes life tougher with all those graphic articles about how chemical tattoo dye infections can result in possible amputation. And your hand still needs baby oil every couple of hours, to not look like King Joffery at the Purple Wedding.

My wrist could die a hundred times like this, and my onion skin would still be there!

Okay!! Maybe not that bad. But waiting for this piece of skin to fall off has been the longest wait of my life.

Stage 6: Sweet, sweet freedom :)

And just like that, one day you wake up to this beautiful tattoo, shiny again, beaming at you. 

Inked!

And despite the melodramatic and symbolic crumbling of life that was supposed to be explained through this post, all you have got to remember is that - it always comes back together! And just like that :) 

Can you breathe?

Emotions. Desires. Ambition. Expectation. Death.

And when death precedes them all. When you invite death. When you willingly submit yourself at the altar of everything that ends; how hopeless would you have felt?

How utterly devoid of hope? 

Imagine being locked inside a room. Just a dark room. No windows. No doors. No beginning and no end in sight. You could have called though. One call for help. 

How resolute did you feel when you hid in the bathroom and drank out of the bottle? And later when you cried in pain? And much later when your body started giving up? 

And when the doctors tried to puncture holes in your throat to help you breathe, did you want to fight? Did you regret your decision? Did you think of your favourite song? Did you think of all the great journeys we have had together?

Do you remember the time both of us almost got thrown out of the bus for being raucous? Do you remember the innumerable times you bailed us both out of trouble? Do you remember our long conversations on the sidewalk?

You, with your long hair and graceful eyes, mindful of the boys staring at us; yet dismissing them with a callous flick of your head. You were beautiful even without trying. Have I ever told you that?

You are gone now. Just like that. And I am trying to forget. To forget the shaky voice that told me you were dead.

But, your credit card bills are due. Your message on my phone still remains unanswered.

Can you breathe? I sure can’t.

That one time I almost died...

I have always taken travelling in a bus for granted – Hop in, curl up under the smelly blanket, and hope that the speed bumps on the road do not break your back. Until, I woke up dangling off a 20 ft elevated highway at 3 AM in the morning.

My dad, mom and I were on a temple trip to a nearby village in Tamil Nadu.  The sole intention of the trip was to bribe Lord Shiva enough and accelerate the process of finding a unicorn that wanted to marry me (being 26 and having dramatic ‘will we ever see grandkids’ type of parents is not easy, I tell you)

So, half the journey went without a hitch; until at about 2.30 AM in the wee hours of the morning, when the driver stopped the bus for the very crudely put ‘ladies toilet’ break. As the driver shook us awake and demanded that all the women go for their ‘onnu’ now or never, all of us groggily trooped out. The thinly veiled threat of not stopping for even ‘urgent’ matters, actually worked.

After settling back into the smelly blankets, the bus had barely moved for ten minutes, when it started doing a weird bumpy dance.  Like a bewildered rocking chair that went sideways instead of to and fro. This continued with increased intensity and frequency, until we heard the chilling sound of a window shatter and the bus screeched to a resounding halt.

You never realize how scary an accident can be, until you are in one.  You can see the world whirl outside, hear frantic horns, cries of surprise and shock, and feel every single bone of your body shake in fear.  Our bus, to avoid a collision with a lorry that had abruptly braked in the middle of the freaking highway, suddenly swerved and almost fell off a 20 ft elevation.

What actually happened

This left the driver, conductor, my dad, mom and I, almost dangling off the highway in the middle of the night.  As the tyres had sunk into the mud, the doors of the bus refused to open.  This is when the whole ‘we are OMFGodly trapped inside a bus that could blow up any minute’ tension started to grow. The conductor sensing an alarm (or probably just looking at my pale, resigned to death, face) broke open an emergency exit window at the back. All of us, in a Spidermanisque moment, jumped out of the window one by one.

Then, the wait began. Like some sort of displaced refugees, we stood with our baggage on the side of the highway, under the pouring rain for 40 whole minutes. There was real fear of other speeding vehicles splattering our brains, but somehow we survived. I just stood there, shaking like a leaf, amidst the heavy rains, the gloomy police patrol vans, and the reckless lorry driver (who had by then escaped) being called ‘eruma maadu’.

Our rescue bus finally arrived with flashy lights and a driver who had the smug ‘I think I just saved a bunch of idiots by the road’ look.  My mother, obviously traumatized, remarked that this was all ‘andha Shivan oda’ miracle.

Drenched, scared-shit, and stunned, I could only think – if this really was the Lord’s doing, then our Gods must be crazy!

Failure

There are a few days when you feel like a complete moron for asking inane questions at workplace.  Over the last few years, I have come to realize that it is okay to feel that way. It is okay to ask stupid questions. It is okay if you get judgmental looks for sounding so dumb. It is okay to be rejected. It is okay to feel worthless. And it is perfectly okay to fall face first. Because, if you stop failing, you stop learning. If you stop feeling worthless, you will never be able to push yourself. If you do not cry, you can never appreciate the happy times.

Today, I begin to feel stupid. Today, I begin learning. Once again.

‘Sole’ searching at Kabbaladurga

As cheesy as it might sound, a close brush with death is all it takes to get a good look at yourself. While calling it a near-death experience would be an exaggeration, moonlight trekking and rock climbing at Kabbaladurga was definitely a close shave.

Armed with just a couple of energy drinks, water, and torch lights, Ice and I were a picture of calm on the way to this beautiful hill. There were 12 others in the van, who didn't know each other and were a part of this night-trek organised by the Bangalore Mountaineering Club. Listening to awful music and animatedly discussing ‘Game of Thrones’, we had no idea what we were getting into, until five minutes into the trek.

The night had set in and we could barely see anything beyond what the torch lights offered meekly. The two BMC volunteers warned us to keep our voices low, so as to not attract local wildlife. While my eyeballs popped out at the casual mention of cheetahs, Ice had already started hyper-ventilating.

The initial stretch was easy - Just a few rocks, plain land, and some water bodies to jump across. In exactly five minutes, as the foliage ended and the pitch-dark sky was visible again, we got our first glimpse of this massive monolith we were about to conquer. 

The sheer rock face was intimidating but we trudged along. One after the other, like ants, literally and figuratively. For the next twenty minutes, we scaled solid rocks, holding on to whatever we could, to maintain grip. After we climbed over the last ledge, we could, for the first time, see the dangerously steep and smooth terrain we had to cross to get to the top of the mountain.

There were tiny steps carved into the rock at some places. Slowly balancing the sleeping bag and the backpack, and also carrying the torch light, we made our way up. At some places, there were only rusty railings that we could hold on to. At other places, there were no railings or steps, and we just had to be sure-footed. By this time, most of us had lost the confidence we started out with. The intensity had taken its toll on us. One girl just sat down after scaling the insanely dangerous railings stretch, and refused to go ahead. Ice started talking, even more than usual, and I could sense that she was panicking. I was quiet. Just eerily quiet and kept staring straight ahead stonily. At this point, I remember thinking that if I ever did get back home alive and safe, I would live my life like I never have. No compromises, no settling down until I felt like, and no more crappy jobs.

As luck would have it, as I was getting up from a quick five-minute break, a part of my sole just ripped itself off the shoe. With another 30 minutes of rock climbing left, I sent a quick prayer upward, and desperately hoped that the sole wouldn't come out completely. Finally, after some more huffing and puffing, Ice and I were among the first ones to reach the top. It took me about a minute to realize that I had done it.

Spreading out our sleeping bags and feeling elated, all of us stared into the sky, hoping that the stars would lull us into a few hours of well-deserved sleep. Again, little did we know, cosied up in our sleeping bags, that the climb down would prove to be ten times more dangerous.

At 5.30 AM we started trekking downhill. My soles were completely worn out, and I just hoped that I wouldn't slip. Because, we climbed during the night, the abruptness of the incline did not matter too much. But, while descending, all of us could clearly see how a single slip could prove to be a fatal mistake. At particularly steep rock faces, we even bum-shuffled like babies to avoid tumbling down.

If climbing up that railings stretch was difficult, the descent was possibly even more treacherous. At places where were there were no railings, a single wrong step could have resulted in a sickening Varsha shower of brains, bones, and blood, across the peaceful Kabbala town. We were literally scaling the side of a mountain that barely had any solid footing, and exactly there, Ice started screaming . She had sat down by mistake and she could feel herself slipping slowly. While I put my hand out to hold hers, I knew I couldn't do much, because I didn't have a proper footing and being feather-weight is not exactly great help.

Finally, after screaming for a while, a fellow trekker rescued Ice valiantly, while she blushed bright red. Both of us had hung on to our lives by a thread and had come out perfectly safe. The fifteen minutes of trek after that was something I don’t remember, because I was just so glad that I was nearing the bottom of the hill. The sight of Ice, with her torn T-shirt, scurrying ahead, like a kitten happy after being rescued, was also very strangely comforting.

Only after the van, which took us back to the safety of Bangalore, started moving, did I realize I had bruises all over. My knees were swollen, my hands were sore, I couldn't feel my shoulders, and I looked like I could pass out any minute.

Then, with our bruises, worn-out soles, and torn T-shirts, we grinned widely to each other and said ‘We are totally doing this again next month’.

I don't

Yesterday, for the first time in 25 years, I was judged for who I am not. I was forced to be apologetic for who I am. I was expected to hang my head in shame for doing something that kept my conscience in the clear. I was hated for standing my ground. I was not loved any more for actually making something of myself instead of sitting inside kitchens. And I resent it. I completely resent it. If this is what it takes to 'settle down' and actually 'start living', then maybe it is not worth it. Do I really need a 'social event' to validate my success or show to the world how happy I am? I don't. 

A b'lore night

Bangalore is beautiful at night. Minus the noise, minus the chaos, minus the confusion – Bangalore is beautiful at night. As my work cab trudges along seamlessly along the smooth roads, there are so many sights and sounds to behold. The man with his midnight-foodstall hoping for one last customer before he can shut shop, men and women who come out of their office for a  smoke-break, a lone couple holding hands, and the doggies on the street gearing up for gang wars.

Flickering street lamps, orange traffic lights, cruising cars that make the most use of empty roads, near-empty bus stands, twinkling temple bulbs, a lone Bollywood number playing on a TV set somewhere,  a pressure cooker whistle, and a howling dog.

Massive trucks that honk endlessly,  a sad ambulance without its siren,  a man taking his dog for a walk, pungent smell of garbage, a hotel kitchen prepping for the morning, scavenging birds,  a lone cow, and distant laughter.

There is hope for a better tomorrow. There is joy in the night that is ending. There is peace on the quiet roads. It makes you feel all alone. And somehow, it is not too bad. Bangalore is beautiful at night. 

Do not speak the truth

I was reminded of these lines that I learnt in my sixth standard Sanskrit lessons a few days ago:

satyam brūyat_priyam brūyan_na brūyāt_satyam_apriyam ।

priyam cha nānṛitam brūyādéṣha dharmaḥ sanātanaḥ

Manu talks about Sanatana Dharma in the verse. The translation ' Say what is true, say what is sweet, but do not say what is true but not sweet, nor say what is sweet but not true. This is the perennial wisdom.' (courtesy: blog.practicalsanskrit.com)

In essence, he says do not speak harsh truths or (more dangerous) sweet lies. This knowledge was imparted by my teacher, when I was very young, and too naive to grasp what it actually embodied. However, the verse stuck on to me and I have followed this philosophy all my life.

What is truth? It's purpose is not merely to set the speaker free, but also to empower the listener. If a truth is being said just to clear the speaker's conscience, but adds absolutely no value to the listener, or goes to the extent of hurting them, then it should not be told.

For instance, let's assume that a friend, after saving up some money from his first job, buys you a gift, which you do not particularly like, what would you do? You could either bluntly state the truth and say that you did not like the gift, or choose to say nothing at all, and accept it graciously. Here, the gift is not just a mere material indulgence, it has a strong emotional undertone because it has been brought out of love. It has been chosen carefully and has been given to you with respect and love. In such a case, the truth becomes obsolete. If you still chose to speak the truth, then it is equivalent to using the truth as a tool to satisfy a very selfish purpose – putting your mind at ease.

Truth is powerful. It can set you free sometimes, but it can also shatter the world around you. I believe you can brutally honest to yourself and to others too,  as long as your truth does not harm them. Once, I was travelling to a friend's place for dinner. She had come all the way from the UK and was calling a select group of friends for some dinner at home. She had started cooking for all of us as soon as she had woken up that day and even kept text messaging her attempts at making dinner. In short, she was excited to have us over. However, I reached late because I started late and as a result got caught in the traffic jam. Now, when asked why I had reached so late, I could have said 'I started late' or 'I got caught in traffic'. While the first one is the truth, the second reason is partially a white lie. 

If I told her that I had started late, it would be truthful. It would set me free. It would help me enjoy the rest of the evening, but it would upset her. It would amount to her thinking that she was cooking for someone who did not even appreciate her time (which was never true). It would ruin her end of the evening. In such cases, does it really make sense for a person to know the truth? It does not do her good, it does not do anyone good - it probably teaches me to start ten minutes early next time I go to her house.  So, doesn't it make sense for me to hide under the white lie and keep everyone happy? 

So, each time I want to pass a comment on what I really think of a shirt someone is wearing, on why a friend is holding onto the past, on why a certain idea will never work out - I think. I think several times. Will speaking the truth help the person in the smallest way possible? If not, I do not shy away from saying a white lie and repeating it, if happiness is the solace the person is seeking.

In fond memory..

It has been a year already. And Syed continues to inspire us to do wonderful things that we never thought we would. His close friend and an equally wonderful person, Sathya, painstakingly organized a trip to an NGO called 'The Child' that takes care of orphans and underprivileged children. With the money raised, the children received white boards with markers, school uniforms, and lunch for two days. The home also received money to purchase a 2ft land. 

Thanks Sathya for the efforts taken. Thank you for making all of us a part of this wonderful initiative. There is surely no better way to remember a person as wonderful and unbelievable as Syed.

For those you want to contribute, here is the link of the NGO's website.   They also accept online donations. http://www.thechild.co.in/

I will remember you..

I still remember the first time I heard this song. Sitting quietly on the backseat of a car, overcome with so much emotion, and fighting away tears that were threatening to spill out.

As I struggled to look out of the window, to listen to the sounds outside, watch people pass by, anything but listen to this soulful music, anything to prolong bursting out into tears …

A  strong hand reached out.

A gentle yet firm hand clasped mine, entwining my feeble fingers, trying to invigorate and renew my hope. I resisted  the move first, but in my desperate need,  for a companion who understood and enjoyed the song as much as I did, I surrendered.

I surrendered to the music, to the hand, to the moment – and for a few minutes, I thought the music would last forever. Or did I think the hand I was holding on to, with my dear life, would remain forever?

The song was over in a couple of minutes, the loving hand stayed on for a while…

And then the music ended.

Silver jubilee celebrations

I know I am a bit too old to be talking about birthday celebrations, but who cares, I just turned 25 :) 

I am officially over the hill and my folks might soon give up their quest for finding my knight in shining armour :) I am closer to 26, and eventually closer to 30 too! 

I know this is just another day and just another year, but when the clock struck 12 and I looked around, all I could see were faces that meant the world to me. I still haven't figured out what I want to do, I have made a  lot of mistakes in choosing jobs, I still have to save up tons of money, but if there is one thing I have done right in all these 25 years, it is making the right friends.

Cheers!

What matrimonial sites do to you

When family friends, acquaintances, relatives, and the teacher aunty next-door (who by the way has been stuck in a terrible marriage for more than three decades), failed to set me up with a boy of their dreams, my parents finally took the plunge and signed me up for an online match-making portal. Online matrimonial sites are single-handedly the reason for me losing complete faith in humanity. Why you ask? Well, this is what they do to you:

1. They paint a perfect picture of happiness, joy, and love that will come to you if you make the decision to get married. For instance, look at that girl’s face – she is probably thinking, ‘I can’t believe I landed this dumb modeling assignment’.

But what does the website want us to believe? – ‘I am so effin happy because I found my knight in shining armor here, because that’s what knights do after they finish their rounds of horseback-riding and killing witches’

2. They want you to believe that the possibility of finding the ‘one’ is just a few clicks away. Phrases like how a ‘relationship manager’ could help you find your ‘life partner’ for a ‘premium price’ are thrown at you randomly to make you feel like a complete idiot for not signing up earlier.

3. They somehow manage to convince your ‘tambrahm’ folks that this is the next best thing after filter kaapi and The Hindu of course. Sample a typical conversation that I have with my mom:

Amma: Tambrahmmatrimony match says 80%... What’s the problem now?

Me: I don’t like him. He is settled in the US. I don’t want to go.

Amma: 80% di. Not common.

Me: Amma…

Amma: These days, 80% rarity, girls picky, what to do…(trails away visibly upset…)

4. Increases the chances of finding the ‘one’ by separating the several million castes we have in India. Iyermatrimony, punjabimatrimony, telgumatrimony, and oh for the rich fellas we have a privilegematrimony too. Somehow I believe things would be a lot easier if the sites were classified on the basis of professions. Some examples would be -- ITmatrimony, CAmatrimony, engineersintheusawithfakeaccentsmatrimony. Some the subsites would be parentscreatedtheprofilematrimony, lookingforspeeddatingmatrimony, and oh the hypocriterebelmatrimony ( Profiles that say stuff like 'I am extrovert with a traditional outlook)

If you think, things cannot get worse, sample this:

There is a ‘Pride of the Community’ column in a popular matrimonial website that features a celebrity. Any guesses who is the pride of the Iyengar community?

Ultimate star Kamalhassan – Yes! The man who has had two failed marriages, a long string of affairs, openly declared himself as an atheist, and is now currently living in with a woman he loves. Totally the poster boy for the conservative Iyengar community.

Did I mention the ridiculous profiles on the site? There was one ass who mentioned he only wanted girls who were ‘fair or very fair’. Some other gems:

• I want a girl who knows the national language Hindi (Since when did Hindi become the national language? It is an official language goddamit)
  
• I want a flexible match in the earning group of about Rs.3 to 4 lakhs per month, or an unemployed girl from a higher income group. (Translated as: Wants only rich girls. And don’t even get me started on the ‘flexible’.)
  
• Single daughter or single daughter with male brother/s preferred. (Again translated as: Non-rich girls don’t apply)
  
• Girl should be professionally qualified, employed/willing to work, very good looking, caring, traditional but with a modern outlook, and home loving. (Erm, my son, you can only find these women in the movies or Leo coffee ads. You know, the kind who wakes up at four, takes a bath, cooks, walks around the Tulsi plant ten times, prays for husband’s well-being, and then wakes him up with coffee)
  
• I want a girl who has been well trained in domestic responsibilities. (A maid you mean?)
  
• Quiet understanding, simple, broadminded, believe in co-existing, prepared to offer love and affection, have a feel for elders, knowing fundas of cooking, reasonably english speaking & educated and employed, family minded girl. (I just couldn’t go through this profile without flinching at the irony. The ‘quiet’ understanding with a ‘feel for elders’ part is just so creepy on several levels.)

My brother finds this whole process very funny and occasionally sends me profiles with grim jokes like ‘horrorscope’ on the subject line. This list could go on and on and make me sound like an absolutely judgmental ass who thinks the world of herself. Though this description might sound perfect on some counts, I am still stopping my passive aggressive rant so as to not ruin my ‘opportunities to get married’ on the interwebz.

Happy New Year 2012 :)

Ah, finally 2011 is drawing to a close. Throw in extreme bad health, depression, travel exhaustion, loss of dear ones, parts of body broken, unemployment... Phew! Honestly, I am not going to miss it...Hope 2012 brings better tides. On that bright note, Happy New Year folks :)

To a wonderful friend...

As I walked into Sify nervously, during my fresher days, the apprehension and the worry I had would vanish in a jiffy, when I saw this tall, lanky guy, with his uncombed mop of hair, drinking chaai and laughing his heart out at some lame joke he had cracked himself. That was the quintessential Syed for you – carefree, obnoxious, and impossibly funny.

He was often spotted in several places around the office, but more often, perched on the desk, right next to his best pal Sathya’s computer. With his gelled hair, and a handkerchief tied around his wrist, he would look intimidating, but the mischievous glint in his eyes, would give his innocence away. From his pastel color shirts that would evoke a string of abuses from Gauthami (the most common one being, ‘Hey Syed, you look tootiful today’), to his sarcastic one-liners that would kill Ishwarya’s stories about her team, he taught us an important life lesson – never to take it too seriously. I still very vividly remember how he would endlessly mock Anusha’s habit of straightening her hair every few minutes and managing to piss her off completely.

During my endless late night hours at work, he would often stroll by, say something really nasty about the kind of work I do or how unproductive I was being, by working extra hours - of course, I would flare up immediately and say something equally nasty back and this would continue, until both of us laughed and went our separate ways. Now when I look back, I realize that it was his way of giving me a stress buster and teaching me to take a break.

Syed was every bit a person who actually celebrated his existence on earth. He would play practical jokes, laugh loudly, and strut around the office like it belonged to him. He was no doubt the show stealer in any group. When his pal Sathya got married, he waited patiently until all the girls with their expensive sarees walked on to the stage and then mercilessly sprayed foam all over the lovely ladies. The amount of physical and verbal abuse that followed still makes me laugh uncontrollably.

His niece, Alina meant the world to him. Sending us baby pictures and videos of her every other day, he would cherish every moment spent with her. There were several days when I couldn’t help but admire the wholesome love he had for her.

Syed was someone who could instantly lighten up a tense moment, liven up a boring party, and cause commotion. And to know that he is no longer around, saddens me to no end. But, keeping in mind his spirit and the yearning he had for everything cheerful and happy, I will remember all the fun times we have had together. I know he is in a better place now, he is still happy, and is probably driving someone else nuts in another world.

I do not think he can ever be fully gone – each time we think about a joke he cracked, a photo he sent, or a prank he pulled off, he continues to live life, indomitably on his own terms. May your soul rest in peace. We love you.

Another move...

In my ambitious effort to move on to ‘bigger and better things’, I just moved to Domlur. Of course, I can vouch for the ‘better’ but ‘bigger’ I have my own doubts. I just moved into a nice, little place with pink, cream, white, and blue walls – as opposed to the orange monopoly that was thrust into my face for the past year. I can’t really say that I miss the open spaces, eerily quiet nights, and absolute lack of human presence for days together, that Whitefield gave me – but I do miss it for everything else that shaped the last year up for me.

The new place is centrally located with plenty of supermarkets and eateries, well-connected to the rest of the city, and also is a very peaceful residential area. I live right next doors to a small temple, so I can hear the temple bells and the chanting of mantras all day long (shortcut to Moksha probably). Also, I have to cross a cow shed and a few cows too to reach the house – my dad took this opportunity to aptly name the place Jerusalem. Indeed, it does resemble Jerusalem, because there is such peaceful co-existence between the cows, the birds that peck them, the doggies that curl up next to the cows for some warmth, and a lone, stray, fearless cat that bosses the rest of the animals around.

Once I cross Jerusalem (holding my breath of course for better Nirvana), I can see huge trees with white and yellow flowers, the sole Banyan that graciously bears the playful squirrels scurrying across, little children playing on the roads, the gossip club with old ladies clad in long robes (often irreverently called a Maxi), the permanently parked water lorry with a man screaming in rapid Kannada, and the towering temple that somehow brings a sense of peace to the whole neighborhood.

Garbage disposal in Whitefield was a complicated mix of scientific mechanisms – flex your muscles and fling the bag as far as possible and into the clump of trees. Sometimes, it would hit a hapless dog scavenging through the muck, and in which case, you would have to run away as quickly as you can to avoid getting bitten. In Domlur, the disposal techniques are simpler and certainly less adventurous. The disinterested old man who lugs the trolley around hardly even cracks a smile.

No more waking up at seven and still making it to office at nine, no more going back home for lunch, no more gazing longingly at the house from the office window, no more running into the same people – but I know for sure that I will love this place as much as I loved Whitefield soon enough :)

Turning 24

24, an age that evokes an ‘Oh, you aren’t married yet?’ sympathetic response in all tambrahm households. In fact, this is also the favorite topic amongst the kanchipuram silk saree-clad maamis at ostentatious tambrahm weddings as well. I had the fortune to be at one a few months back, and needless to say, I had to come back home gasping for breath.

What was more shocking to most of these maamis was that the cousin who was getting married was a few months younger than me! Horrors of horrors…How could that happen? If not for the constant scratching I had to focus my attention to, thanks to the very itchy jute sari I was wearing, I would have gladly pounced at a few of these ladies. To add to the drama was an uncle of mine who accused me, “Girls can’t put too many demands like this. Good matches might just run out after a while” - and the so called ‘demand’ that I had put forth was that I didn’t want to go abroad; for the simple reason that I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life making rotis on a dependant visa, and not being able to work.

This, of course prompted my dear mother to immediately make a trip to an astrologer. The dimly lit room was filled with pictures of several gods and a huge poster of Agastya muni. Agastya’s palm had a yellow triangle coming out of it and ending in a yellow circle. Was he trying to teach geometry? Or was he advocating family planning?

In any case, any funny retorts that I was itching to say out loud were silenced by one deadly look from the mother. As the astrologer took his time, writing out predictions on a book, my dad started playing a game of Solitaire on his Notebook. Another piercing look from mommy resulted in the quiet disappearance of the laptop into its original position.

Finally the astrologer looked up and sighed very deeply. Apparently there was some very bad news. Saturn was revolving viciously around me and Uranus just decided to set up shop inside the eighth house on my horoscope. I couldn’t extract rent from that cheeky planet and I was in for a period of very bad innings. His gloomy voice predicted that I would be cheated by my own friends and get married to a complete prick if I was not careful.

I would cut my future husband up, pickle him, and probably eat him up too if I got married now. “Planet influence, what to do?’ he sighed dramatically again. He also casually mentioned that I could either get squashed under a bus or lose a limb if I was not careful. As I turned to look at my folks with mock-terror writ on my face, I could see actual-terror on theirs. I began rolling eyes and signaling towards the door, but no avail. Mom was fixated on his ’How to kill your daughter’ tips and could not be shaken.

Of course, they all came around after a few days, when he called us up to tell us that the Gods had ordered him to get basmati rice that weighed as old as I was (24 kilos), a golden thaali, and an astronomical figure as his guru dakshina – and as for me, I just look really carefully before I cross the roads. I don’t want to die under a rubber tyre, I would rather die in front of my own little garden, stroking my sleepy kitten, and reading a book... :)

I just realized....

...that I love myself :)

I was just clearing out my old mail from a long forgotten email ID and - wow what surprises it threw up. I was such a different person three years back. College projects that I so strongly believed that they would change the world, playing peacemaker between warring people in class, fighting depression myself… wow, somehow I seem to have lost that youthful stupidity now. The highly judgmental, bookish, biased opinions that I had a few years back make me cringe but also smile

I also happened to see a few mails I had forwarded to myself from my official ID when I resigned last year. All the congratulatory emails, awards, and praises that made me swell up like a bullfrog now make me laugh. I have always believed in hard work. Just as I used to burn the midnight oil for a 5 mark assignment in college, I still cannot sleep in peace, if I know I had turned in a crappy article at work. Now when I realize that all my efforts are now probably in some project manager's docket that is lying in the attic - I am forced to rethink.

So many emails and letters, flying back and forth between so many important and no so important people in my life - lashing out harsh judgments, counseling people, an occasional birthday wish, unmentionable crushes, the start of a new friendship, the sad ending….and each one of those emails made me smile. Smile and reflect on all the wise and stupid decisions I had made in the past. To cut the monologue short - Yes. I was uptight and serious, but that’s what I was and still am.

I may have given half a limb for an office assignment that meant nothing, but at least I tried. When I did get the credit, I knew I fully deserved it. I do have my weaknesses and a considerable share of mistakes, but these little imperfections define me more than my successes. Yes, I love myself :)