List-opia

I'm the kind of person who likes to check things off a list.

I'm not quite sure why that is. Perhaps it gives me a tangible sense of satisfaction, perhaps because I live in a hazy world of dreams otherwise and forget things easily whether done or undone, perhaps it makes me feel like I have not wasted my time on this earth, perhaps because I'm a bit of a control freak... perhaps all of the above? 

In any case, lists work for me. I remember making lists in school - the homework to be done, the craft items to be carried the next day, the chapters to cover each day as part of exam prep. In fact, I like both - the making of lists and the planning therein and the checking things off and the ensuing glow of satisfaction. You see why I identify a bit with Monica from Friends?

Now that I pretty much live on the internet, I even have an app for creating my To-do list. Smirk all you want but when you enter the supermarket and get bombarded by shelf after shelf of products, your senses being assailed by colours, smells, sounds and your mind slowly fogging up with choices, you'll be thankful for that list you made. If I put on my pseudo-science hat, it feels like a bit of temporal displacement - Me from the past takes the hand of present, confused/ forgetful Me and says, "Pasta! That's what you have to buy next." Eureka. And with the app, you don't even have to carry around a crumpled piece of paper like some kind of wide-eyed bumpkin. Not to mention the Pavlovian joy at hearing a little 'ting'every time you check something off the virtual list.

I even find it helpful with my reading. I have loved to read for as long as I can remember. In recent years however, my concentration has taken a leap off the deep end and I often start several books simultaneously depending on whatever catches my fancy. Then I really struggle with books with a slow narrative pace or paragraphs of unnecessary description. Thus while my primeval greed to own more and more books remains intact, the chances of my completing them have dropped quite a bit. Enter Goodreads. On this book cataloging app, I jot down the names of the books I'm currently reading and also check off my progress at regular intervals. It makes me feel more motivated about completing a book especially if I beginning to get a bit bored of it. And now there also a Reading Challenge where my goal is to read 50 books this year. (Despite reading a fair bit more this year, this is easier targeted than done.)

Now let's be clear. Lists are merely an enabler not a superpower. They can't really make you do stuff if you want to be a lazy bum. Trust me I know. There are still several items in my digital to-do list that have been waiting for long in the hope of hearing a 'ting' against their name. Sigh! Procrastination is the enemy of the list-maker.

But hey! Guess why I finally wrote in this blog after ages? *ting*

Roman Holiday

EDIT: Found this piece in my drafts. It was written after my trip to Rome in April 2015 and intended to capture the details of a very satisfying break.

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It surprises me sometimes to think of how long it took me to realise I enjoy travelling. Going to a new place is like beginning the first chapter in a new book. A good holiday feels like spring-cleaning for the soul. So when I realised I had time for a super-short trip to Rome I grabbed the opportunity with both hands.

Rome was on my list of the top European destinations to visit - for being so steeped in history both Catholic and pagan. Indeed someone once called it a 'city of echoes' and it is a truly apt description for there seemed to be something of historical significance in every side-street in the city.

My trip began with a couple of unexpected and breathtaking views from the plane - the first as we flew over the ice capped Alps looking a bit like a fairy-tale kingdom and the second was the view of the azure sea with tiny white sailboats as we prepared to land in Rome. Feeling energized by these sights, I landed at Fiumcino Airport and found my way to the Leonardo Express train which would take me into the heart of the city. The journey from airport to city takes about half an hour and I was quite glad that my hotel was walking distance from Termini, the central train station.

By this time it was already late afternoon, but thanks to spring, I still had a few daylight hours left. Not to mention incredibly balmy weather. So I did some quick Googling, had a few words with the concierge and armed with a map set out for Santa Maria Maggiore, the closest place of interest. This basilica is the largest church dedicated to the Virgin Mary and is believed to have been built around the 5th century AD. When you see its grand facade and even more impressive and ornate interiors, the mind boggles to think of just how long it has been standing here. With glorious mosaic work and frescoes depicting scenes from the Bible, being inside the basilica felt like being inside a treasure chest. Since it was a Sunday, I was also able to attend evening mass and this completed for me a deeply spiritual experience.

Dusk had fallen and there was just about time to sample the local pizza before gearing up for the next day. A young Pakistani waiter spoke in Hindi to catch my attention and invite me into his restaurant, clearly excited to see someone from the sub-continent. As I sat in the open air pizzeria, I got chatting with a couple of Australian ladies who told me which sights I should see and how Florence should be a must visit on my next trip.

Dinner taken care of, a helpful Italian gent pointed me in the direction of the nearest shop selling gelato. While I enjoyed my dessert, I pondered over how travel also provided opportunities to connect with people from all over the world. A Swiss couple came into the gelato shop and after asking my opinion, selected the same flavour of gelato. We exchanged a few smiles and some comments and I thought of how freeing the whole experience was. This is one of the things I like about living in London as well - the possibility of exchanging a few words and a laugh with strangers without any ulterior motives.



The next day began with some incredible cappucino that charged me up for a long day of sightseeing.

I got tickets for the City Sightseeing Hop on Hop off buses and got plenty of helpful suggestions from the Bangladeshi promoters who started talking to me in Bengali. I had tickets for the Vatican Museum and the Sistine Chapel and was advised by the hostess on the bus to get off directly at the Vatican stop as queues tended to be long there. So I got an eyeful and camera-ful of the Colosseum, Piazzas, Circo Massimo etc.

It was a bright, sunny day and St. Peter's Basilica was teeming with people by the time I reached there.

Feeling a bit overwhelmed, I tried to figure out where the entrance was and where all the serpentine queues were leading. I was joined in this quest by a friendly German couple who told me they were on the same hunt. After quite a walk (by my standards), we figured out where we needed to go. On the way a Bangladeshi tour promoter convinced me that I needed a guide to take me through the labyrinthine museums and more importantly, that the guide would be able to drop me off near the Basilica which meant I could see that too without queuing and overall walk less! The guide was an Italian lady who took a group of us tourists through the Vatican Museums and the Sistine Chapel dropping nuggets of history along the way. Given how crowded both these places were, I was quite happy with my decision to hire her.

The Vatican Museums contain an immense collection of art collected by the Popes down the ages. There is just so much to see and marvel at that it soon became clear that one could not hope to do justice to it within a few hours. We went through room after room of ancient sculptures, artefacts and gorgeous paintings. There was for instance the Gallery of Maps hung with elaborate maps of Italy and its surrounding regions drawn during the 16th century. And these maps, created at a time which we would consider as having severe technological limitations, were all remarkably accurate! The Gallery of Tapestries is full of huge wall hangings made of wool and silk which depict religious stories. One interesting anecdote the guide told us was that the vivid red colour used in the tapestries apparently came from crushed ladybugs, so creating a tapestry was obviously a very time consuming exercise as enough ladybugs needed to be accumulated!

The Sistine Chapel was gorgeous. And smaller than I thought it would be - but that could just be because of how crowded it was. I was also surprised to find myself a bit underwhelmed by Michaelangelo's ubiquitous depiction of the Creation of Adam. I actually found The Last Judgement more interesting with its layered references to Dante's Inferno. No photography allowed here by the way.

St. Peter's Basilica was the last stop on the day's sojourn. It was magnificent example of Renaissance architecture and every bit as majestic as I had expected. It was a bit like Santa Maria Maggiore but bigger. The basilica is believed to be the burial site of St. Peter, one of the Apostles of Jesus Christ and his tomb is supposed to be directly below the high altar. Besides the many sculptures and tombs of Popes, the basilica also contains Michaelangelo's Pieta. Ralph Emerson called St. Peter's and "ornament of the world" and this couldn't be more true. One steps out of the basilica into St. Peter's square which is encircled partially by two arcs of beautiful colonnades to indicate the welcoming arms of the church.

Here I took a breather with a delicious pistachio gelato and watched the crowds go by in the square. I saw the Swiss guard in their colourful vestments too. After some souvenir shopping, it was time to head back to my hotel.

The next day, with Google Maps as my trusty companion, I visited the Pantheon - a temple built around 126 AD! The fact that it was built so many eons ago, the thought of how much those stone walls had seen, of the ever-changing multitudes who must have passed through its portico, really filled me with awe. The Pantheon is also one of the structures to have had an enormous impact on architecture with its distinctive portico with Corinthian columns and the huge rotunda within with light streaming in from an opening in the dome. Interestingly, despite its huge historical relevance, the Pantheon is not sectioned away. A loud and lively Piazza with tourists, food sellers and musicians lies in front of this gray building. I stood there among the milling crowds, helping a couple take photographs, contemplating another gelato, soaking in the sunshine and listening to the strains of The Godfather theme song being payed on a harmonica. It was a beautiful moment.

No visit to Rome could be complete without a trip to the Trevi Fountain - one of the most famous fountains in the world. Unfortunately when I went, it was being renovated. However a small pool of water was kept to one side should someone want to throw in a coin and make a wish. This girl sure did.

Among the many beautiful, open piazzas I walked across, the Piazza Navona was notable - a beautiful square with the gorgeously sculpted Fountain of Four Rivers. Rows of artists lined the sides of the square adding colour to the proceedings. Tourists were being enticed into the cool shade of the nearby bistros. And hawkers (all from the Indian sub-continent) were determined to sell one a selfie-stick. Rome was nothing if not lively.

After a leisurely lunch of gnochhi, I ambled down the sunny streets thinking of how my Roman holiday had exceeded my expectations in the best possible way. I was feeling relaxed, content, and energized - and fortunate to have set foot in a place that carries some of the key roots of civilization and spirituality.

Back from hiatus(?)

I see that it's has been a long time since I wrote a post. Getting all existential about your life and then moving to a different continent will do that to you. I also started (and have been neglecting) a different blog and wrote a few stories in the hiatus. So it's not all bad on the creative writing front.

Its so quiet as I sit in my room now and watch a leafy slowly flutter down from the tree in my backyard. The grey silence of autumn is strangely soporific. It is peaceful and unnerving at the same time - I crave the quiet and the solitude but it often plunges me into a kind of pessimistic lethargy. And so, I try daily to strike that right balance between a public life and a private one.

When one is alone, it is so easy to carve out some me-time. To do just what pleases one or to do nothing at all if that is what one chooses. It can quite spoil you for company. So easy to lay curled up in bed, endless thoughts spinning through one's head.

Being alone makes you realize just how many conversations you have with yourself. And if you're like me, it doesn't bother you at all because you have a pretty active inner voice anyways. It struck me one day as I was going back home after a long day at the office. Once my office work is done, it is highly likely that I speak to no one at all as I journey back home, prepare dinner and get ready for bed.

You realize that the reason why you didn't do certain things has nothing to do with location and everything to do with you. I thought I would finally learn the culinary arts once I was on my own. Turns out I still don't like to cook. Neither the beautiful kitchen nor the growling of my tummy can make me do it. I do the occasional egg-frying, pasta making etc. but I find I can't be bothered to do more when I can do less. In other words, when I can easily eat out or buy ready to eat food which fits my mood at the time, why would I want to spend time cooking. After a hard day at work or even over precious weekends, I feel I'd rather spend my time doing something else.

This is not to say that I don't miss home-cooked food. I miss it intensely. The cliche about nothing quite besting "ma ke haath ka khana" (meals cooked by mother) is true my friends. After a while, all the restaurants of the world will pale in comparison to a meal of familiar, comfort food cooked by your mom. But yes, the fact that I am used to dining out and experimenting with my cuisine has been helpful. I know some people who stuck to the same culinary diet all their lives and suffered each time they had to travel. Experimenting with one's taste buds is one of the joys of living.

This also means of course that plans of a change in lifestyle have flown out of the window. Healthy, organic food, regular exercise and other such dreams turn to dust when I get stressed with work. Then only a ready to eat cheese-laden pizza and several precious hours of sleep seem important. Waking up early to exercise? You must be joking. Working out after work? Do you know what time my work gets over? So, yeah.

I get easily distracted these days, so I'll assume the same for you and continue my knowledge-sharing some other time. I have to go figure out what to have for lunch.

To thine own self be true

They say imitation is the best form of flattery.
But I'm not feeling flattered at all to find that someone has merrily copied my lines onto their blog.
How desperate can people be? Grow up!

Brainy's the new Sexy!

Like most people, I have read about the exploits of Sherlock Holmes, the most famous fictional detective. However, I had mostly read abridged versions of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s stories. Recently I have been trying to plough through the unabridged Complete Works but the going has been tough. The stories are more than a 150 years old and the writing style is naturally dated and dry. Some of the stories themselves also feel a bit ridiculous given the plethora of crime novels and serials we have been exposed to. So basically to read the original works and enjoy it, one always has to keep in mind the time period when it was written and make allowances for it. Kind of spoils the fun. More literature and less a good detective story, if you know what I mean.

That’s why when it comes to favourite literary sleuths, I always turn to Monsieur Hercule Poirot – he of the ‘little gray cells’ and the passion for order and method. More importantly, Agatha Christie’s detective stories are much more about the psychological human drama behind the murders. This in itself renders them timeless because the key human passions remain the same whatever be the generation. They are also written about a 100 years after Sherlock which makes them more readable but again, they do contain several stereotypes which seem amusingly old-fashioned and sometimes downright racist in today’s world.

Anyway, I digress. What has, in fact, prompted me to write this piece is BBC Entertainment’s inventive new series, “Sherlock”. This is a Sherlock set not in Victorian, but contemporary England.  While the idea of a modern setting might make purists scoff, it is surprisingly effective in reinvigorating the franchise. The adaptation is intelligent, witty and entertaining – it retains the soul of the original while bringing in a 21^st centurytwist. London, where most of the stories are set, is not a rainy smog-filled city with the clattering of horses’ hoofs but a bright and lively one to be traversed in the ubiquitous black taxicabs. There have been 2 seasons so far with only 3 episodes each but each one has been a gem. Only a few Holmes stories have been used for the main episodes with their plots suitably tweaked. For instance, the first episode is “A Study in Pink” derived from the first Holmes story, “A Study in Scarlet”. However, there are several passing references to other Holmes tales scattered throughout the episodes for the aficionados. “The Greek Interpreter” becomes a story about comic book related murders, “The Geek Interpreter”, “The Speckled Band” becomes the case of a “Speckled Blonde”and so on.

A big reason why the series works is of course, Sherlock himself. Sherlock is played to perfection by Benedict Cumberbatch who portrays Sherlock as a slightly eccentric, “high-functioning sociopath” with just the right amount of charm.  Cumberbatch uses his wonderfully deep voice to great effect as he delivers rapid-fire speeches giving the impression of his tongue struggling to keep pace with his mind. His intense ice blue eyes and razor sharp cheekbones add to the image of an intense, obsessive and incredibly intelligent mind. His Sherlock is however also one who is childishly gleeful at the prospect of a serial killer and goes into a sulk when he can’t find a challenging case. This strange man-child is focused only on the gratification of his own need to solve mysteries and has an alarming disregard for social skills. But despite his negligent attitude and sharp tongue, he is still capable of caring quite deeply – for his friend Watson, for Mrs. Hudson, his landlady and for ‘the woman’, Irene Adler. In keeping with the times, Sherlock also prefers to text message his associates, uses the GPS to track criminals and is trying to give up smoking by using nicotine patches. Trust me, it's more entertaining than sacreligious. The constant know-it-all behavior, the immense egoism, a certain ruthlessness are all present but strangely seem almost expected in a man so gifted.

Martin Freeman essays the role of Dr. John Watson, the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock has. He is the perfect foil to the mercurial Sherlock and brings in the Everyman point of view and bewilderment when faced with the Sherlock’s brilliance. The camaraderie between the complex Sherlock and the forthright John (‘not’ Holmes and Watson) hits the right notes and has the nowadays-mandatory touches of bromance thrown in.

This reminds me of Guy Ritchie’s adaptations of Sherlock Holmes tales. Let me just say that I find them vile; especially when I compare them to the TV series. Like most of his other popular roles, Robert Downey Jr. plays himself and reduces Sherlock Holmes to a clownish ragamuffin. The movies are like any other modern action-adventure Shanghai Knights kind of a flick and the Jude Law and Robert Downey chemistry is forced. Guy Ritchie’s movies could have been about anybody else but definitely not Sherlock Holmes, the greatest detective of all time!

To appreciate the genius of Sherlock Holmes, read the books if you can, watch him in his original Victorian setting in the older BBC series or best of all… watch ‘Sherlock’.

Monsoon Memories

It's that time of the year again...when the rain whips the landscape out of maudlin stagnation and the thunder ignites disconcerting frenzies. When the world seems to turn on its head for a while as the sky darkens and lightning sizzles across it. Monsoon, like no other season, is such a spectacle, such a grand show.
While it is not my favourite season for various very practical reasons, I still enjoy a good storm for its sheer unreasonable-ness. When thunder booms and lightning zigzags, I feel alive.

I remember one monsoon when I was 8 or 10 years old. My mother finally gave in to my pleas and let me and my sister get drenched in the rain. Our house was on the 10th floor of a building and we had a huge adjoining terrace space to play in. It was all the privacy and space one would have wanted in a concrete jungle. We splashed about in the rain for a long time, exhilarated to be at nature's party. Not to mention being actually granted permission to get wet in the rain! I remember running around from end to the other frolicking in the unexpected freedom, fleeing to spots where the warmer water dripped off the roofs when it got too cold and then running back under the open skies again, while my mother sat with towels waiting for us to run back to her.

When I grew older and reached that strange limbo between being adult and a child, I enjoyed sitting by the window while the rain unleashed its fury on the world outside. I sat next to the window at night, the ubiquitous book in my hand gazing at the suddenly empty, slick streets being pelted with rain diamonds. The spray would hit my face and seem to whisper of exciting things to come, grand ambitions and secret promises. I could sit like that for hours lost in nebulous thoughts  and waiting for the transition to adulthood to be complete.

I remember sharing an umbrella. How the cold rain trickled down my back and my shoulder, my unruly hair dampened into soft tendrils. Clutching a friend tightly for warmth and because the space beneath that flimsy canopy was precious little. Giggling at the puddles, the dirty streets, the scurrying people and life's problems. Knowing that the umbrella was just a sham like much of life's promises but holding onto it nonetheless.

Nowadays when practicality almost completely threatens to overtake passion, the rain often makes me restless. I chafe at my routines and the predictability of my life when the weather gets so insanely unpredictable. I keep running to the windows to see how dark the skies have become and how hard it is raining. But my office windows are tinted and sealed shut and it is hard to make out much...

I got drenched in the rain again last night but I remembered to take out my umbrella lest my laptop bag get wet. I know I wanted to just walk down the well-known streets, past the people huddled under the shop shelters, with my umbrella in my bag, getting soaked to the skin, with a broad grin on my face and with my head held high. And maybe one of these magical monsoon days, I'll do it too.

Image courtesy: Google

My favourite Serial Killer

Season 6 of 'Dexter' has just ended. And despite the below par season, I miss my favourite serial killer already.

Meet Dexter Morgan. Blood spatter analyst by day who moonlights as a serial killer/vigilante. Watching his mother brutally murdered at the tender age of 3 had the effect of turning him into a blood craving sociopath. His adoptive father, a policeman, realizes Dexter's murderous tendencies early on and to protect his son and prevent him from killing innocent people, makes him follow a Code. According to the Code, Dexter will only kill those who are guilty of murder themselves. Following Harry's Code helps Dexter to provide an outlet to his "Dark Passenger" (his name for his urge to kill) and also maintain a facade of normalcy. His day job is with Miami Metro's homicide division where he works alongside his sister Debra Morgan. His job provides easy access to the scum of society who meet their nemesis at Dexter's hand. The basis for the characters have been Jeff Lindsay's novel, 'Darkly Dreaming Dexter', the first of his Dexter novels. While Season 1 followed the novel more or less, later seasons have veered away from the books' narrative.

"I like to pretend I'm alone. Completely alone. Maybe post-apocalypse or plague... Whatever. No-one left to act normal for. No need to hide who I really am. It would be... freeing."

'Dexter' is not for the faint-hearted especially when you consider that the protagonist chops up people and disposes the body parts in the ocean. But it is still one of the most widely acclaimed shows in a long time and has a cult following the world over. The originality of the premise and the writing have been one of the main reasons for the show's success. We hear Dexter's wry internal monologue and wonder at the dichotomy between social life and natural inclinations. Dexter is a monster but sometimes you wonder if there isn't a monster in everyone around him too.

"There are no secrets in life, just hidden truths that lie beneath the surface."

"Everyone hides who they are at least some of the time. Sometimes you bury that part of yourself so deeply you have to be reminded it's even there at all. And sometimes you just want to forget who you are altogether... I'm not the monster he wants me to be so I'm neither man nor beast. I'm something new entirely, with my own set of rules. I'm Dexter. Boo."

Initially, Dexter believes that he has no emotions, and takes a lot of pains to appear 'normal' and blend in with the other people around him. He prefers to stay low profile given his predilections. However Dexter does maintain a few personal relationships - with his adoptive sister Debra who is unaware of Harry's training, his wife Rita who is too traumatized from years of abuse at the hands of her ex-husband, her two children from an earlier marriage, Astor and Cody and his own son, Harrison on whom he dotes. These attachments complicate his double life and often make him question his nature.

" I'm Dexter, and I'm... not sure what I am. I just know there's something dark in me, and I hide it, I certainly don't talk about it, but it's there, always. This Dark Passenger, and when he's driving I feel, alive, half sick with the thrill of complete wrongness. I don't fight him, I don't want to, he's all I've got. Nothing else could love me, not even.....especially not me. Or is that just a lie the Dark Passenger tells me? Because lately there are these moments when I feel.....connected to something else, someone, and it's like, the mask is slipping, and things, people, who never mattered before are suddenly starting to matter, and it scares the hell out of me."

 
"I am a father...a son...a serial killer".

Dexter's dilemma, his questioning and the frequent emergence of his better self inspite of what he believes himself to be find an echo somewhere with the audience. His ironic musings reveal both his despair and his loneliness. They are also tempered with a dark sense of humour that is both morbid and entertaining.

"Harry and Dorris Morgan did a wonderful job raising me. But they're both dead now. I didn't kill them. Honest."

"[about a used car salesman] It's a toupee. Even this guy's hair is a lie."

"Want a real glimpse of the human nature? Stand in the way of someone's mocha latte."


A big part of the credit for bringing Dexter Morgan to life should go to the lead actor Michael C. Hall who has been awarded a Golden Globe for his performance. Hall also faced some personal challenges of his own as he was discovered to be having Hodgkins lymphoma during the shooting of this serial. He is now in remission.  Another interesting bit of trivia is that he was also married to Jennifer Carpenter who plays his sister Debra in the serial.

As I wait for Season 7 and hope it will be more like the earlier seasons I leave you with another quote from Dex:

"All you can do is play along at life, and hope that sometimes you get it right."

Delicious Ambiguity

I always wanted a happy ending... Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity.
--Gilda Radner

Brand New Day

Happy New Year y'all!
How have things been? My year end was super fabulous with family and friends trooping in for the holiday season. Had a fun time chattering away, eating, partying, eating, looking at the lights on Park Street, eating, buying cakes at New market, eating, going to the races and winning (yay!), eating, laughing so much that I could barely catch a breath...I loooooooooooooooove this season.

Another year races past...but this time I have something to show for it.
After months of moaning and groaning about it, I finally changed my job. I am yet to make up my mind about the new place but I am glad to be out of the old one. A change in the professional scene was sorely needed. There is just so much to learn every time one makes a fresh start. Better than feeling jaded. I just wonder why I didn't do this sooner.
I stopped dreaming (only) and started doing some other things also. These may not seem major but are again activities which I had been procrastinating about for ages.
I joined a gym. So far the mental feel-good factor has been higher than the physical one (it's much tougher than I thought) but am glad I went ahead and did something to keep fit. I have also begun to be careful about what I eat, though I must admit that matters have been less than successful. Still, made a start.
Also finally doing something to reignite some half-extinguished linguistic skills. Learning French. This is going well so far though again it is tougher than I imagined (think French grammar).
So all in all, I feel it's been a good year (touchwood!)...family doing okay, made new friends, learnt lots of new things, tried out new stuff...
Mantra for this year: 'every day in every way, I get better and better.' :)

Achy breaky heart

I feel that heartbreak need not be absolute or immediate. Or about love. Sometimes its just the small things that chip away at you. Till you feel a piece of you crumble. And you know you just lost something irretrievable. A small bit of sunshine and a smile or two.

If Famous Writers Had Written Twilight… | Lizzie Stark

If Famous Writers Had Written Twilight… | Lizzie Stark

Non sequitur

Loudspeaker blaring Shehnai music, bunch of labourers apparently annihilating the house next door, Labrador barking itself into a frenzy, train whistle competing for top spot, car honking from alpha to omega...just some of the sounds assailing the ears this morning.
How can I possibly hear myself think!

******

AMRI fire tragedy a reminder of how close we all walk to the shadow of death. Disaster can strike anytime and at any place. Most of the time we are saved by just dumb luck. And we don't even realise it. But to see the healer turn into hellhound is a betrayal too hard to get over.

******

It's almost the middle of December and winter is yet to visit the city properly. It's just pleasant weather now though some people insist on bringing out the monkey caps. In a strange way its also tedious, this in-between feeling. This is not what we planned for.

Like life.

******

I am doing too many things. Sometimes that's how I want it to be. Sometimes all I want to do is nothing.

J'apprends le francais. I am learning French. I had a sort of crash course during my post grads but it was more like a fling than a serious affair. But I like languages and I thought I would love to learn this one better. I am enjoying the classes having finally made time for them. The fly in the ointment are the timings - I spend half of my weekends in French class. Not a model that can be sustained for long methinks.

Sometimes I want to go to all the parties this season, visit all the fetes and galas, listen to the choirs...I don't know how else I will really be able to feel this season.

Sometimes I want to just take a long break from work and sit quietly warming my toes in the sun or reading a novel snuggled up in bed...I don't know how else I will really be able to feel this season.

******

The other morning I hopped on to a rickshaw since I was getting late for work. As it wound through some narrow side streets, I suddenly heard someone singing loudly.."Jaane kahaan gaye woh din..."(wonder where those days have gone). I turned to see who it was - the local butcher sitting in his dingy workroom slaughtering chickens.

Life can be so surreal sometimes.

******

Excess baggage

Much to my surprise, I have begun to gain weight.

The surprise stems from the fact that I have spent several of my growing years bracketed as ‘skinny’ before reaching respectable proportions. When I was in school, my mother tried feeding me every weight gain potion and tonic she could find. I did my bit by doing weightlifting with water bottles and trying to develop a love for food apart from French fries. Finally, by the time I started my post grads, I had reached a stage where I no longer needed to celebrate the emergence of a new kg on the weighing scale. (Earlier I used to treat my friends to chocolates when this happened!)

Once I started working, I thought nothing of eating out at the drop of a hat. I love cheese and junk food and saw no reason not to indulge myself. I knew weight gain was not something that came easily to me. The battle of the bulge was the farthest thing from my mind much to the envy of my peer group. I say all this to give some idea of how alien my current situation feels to me. It is only in the last couple of years that I have begun to feel a slowdown in my metabolism. It took me a while to accept the idea that, yes, I was indeed sliding down the road to plumpness. The numbers on the weighing scale are inching upwards as the cheeseburst pizzas and zinger burgers begin to catch up with me.

For a long while it was just enough to look at people around me and think that at least I was not ‘that’ fat (you know what I mean?). But I couldn’t deceive myself any longer after I realized I could no longer wear some of my favourite clothes. After spending months simply ‘thinking’ about diet and exercise, I joined a gym. I decided that food was one of the greatest pleasures left to man and I couldn’t, simply couldn’t, starve myself or stay away from my favourite dishes. I joined the neighbourhood gym with a lot of gusto, the vision of a slimmer me, crystal clear in my head.

My enthusiasm and energy didn’t last long. I was waking up at the unearthly hour of 7am to go to the gym which was run by a couple of ladies in their home. The challenge of waking early was daunting enough. Coupled with a ‘no pressure’, homely atmosphere it led to a serious lack of enthusiasm. I needed to know that I was burning fat, I wanted to know which muscles I was building up, I needed something more motivating. So I dropped out after a couple of weeks and began to search in earnest for a ‘proper’ gym. After much research and deliberation, I joined a gym near my office. I reasoned it had to be close to my home or my office if I was going to go there regularly. I also decided to go after work to avoid the problem of waking up early.

This gym has all the works. (Which it should, considering that it’s the most expensive one in the whole city!) They have the latest machines, a trainer to guide you and monitor your progress, steam rooms etc. Once I make it there, it’s all good. I exercise for nearly an hour and a half and while my body realizes just how out of shape it is, I get the satisfaction of knowing that I am actually doing something to correct the problem. Afterward, I drag my exhausted self into a cab and lie there like a zombie as some semblance of life slowly creeps back into me.

But. This entire scenario only works if I actually make it to the gym. I have discovered in myself an unfortunate tendency to dream up a multitude of reasons not to exercise on any given day. More often than not, I feel sorry for my poor self stuck in office the whole day. A minion of the corporate powers, my salvation seems to lie in making a run for home and hearth as soon as possible (or having a Wicked Brownie at the nearby Barista). So now I spend a bomb on my gym membership to satisfy some twisted part of my mind. My exercise in the last week has been confined to shopping for gym clothes and reading articles on the internet about treadmills and exercycles and lat pulleys…

But ……….today is a new day and as I write this, the spirit of my slimmer self is strong in me. I want to be her again…Watch out gym, here I come!

Oh Captain, my Captain!

Recently saw Captain America: The first Avenger. While the movie wasn't so great (even though am a sucker for superheroes), I rediscovered Chris Evans.

Is he a fine piece of eye candy or what? :)







Image courtesy: Google

Uttar Dakshin Purab Paschim

Well there's this major blog battle going on because a South Indian girl wrote some vitriolic stuff about Delhi boys here. The Madrasan, as she calls herself, has been lauded but has also been at the receiving end of major Delhiite outrage.

For my part, I think the girl is sharp but immature. Her post crossed the fine line between being humorously sarcastic and being genuinely nasty. And because generalisations are always crap. Just because she met an obnoxious Delhiite or two (or more) doesn't really mean that she can lambast the whole breed. Also I think that in this time and age, people would be more broadminded and judge (if they must) based on individuals not on communities or skin colour or gender.
Most reactionary posts that I read were not half as biting or offensive as hers was. Here's one which I particularly liked. Funny, witty and makes some good points. My only concession to the Madrasan would be that she has the 'right to write' what she wants to on her blog.

But her post shows that most people are still quite happy to play 'us vs. them' games. I guess its human nature to want divides. Being different is not always cool, sometimes its almost a crime. What else would explain all the communalism and regionalism that we still see these days. People want separate states (as if India didn't already have enough of them), people want to rename states to bring it closer to the regional name (a dumb idea if ever there was one!)...

I am a South Indian born and brought up in the Eastern part of the country and I speak fluent Bangla. Most people commend me for it and express their astonishment. By now, I have explained to several hundred Bengalis that the reason behind this is because I have been born and brought up in the East, because I have several close friends who are Bengali. Most don't seem quite convinced. In their eyes I'm still something of a rare bird. The other day a woman commented that "you people come from outside and learn to speak our language so well, I don't think I could do the same." I forebore to tell her that in today's age, when we have the freedom to travel and settle in any part of the world, to talk about 'coming from outside' is a moot point. I realised that telling her that my family had been settled in the East for a few generations had not made a difference to her. So I let her enjoy her blistering parochialism (or candour depending on which view you take). After all it takes all kinds.

I think its okay to be attached to a place, its historic grandeur, its warm people, its cute foibles and its appalling laziness. Its a bit like how one feels about friends - the funny one, the caring one, the full on masti one. One doesn't discriminate between friends basis community, religion or skin colour. I listen to generalizations but I react to individuals.
But sometimes I do feel that I am expected to align myself to a particular way of thinking and being. As if tying me down would give me more freedom. I resent this. I intend to set up a Non Aligned Movement of my own. And so I won't get into any discussion of Delhi boys and Southie gals...just tell me when you meet a nice PERSON.

Il Pensoroso

I find myself reliving the past more and more often these days. I think of the good times and the bad. I remember the simple pleasures and the complicated sorrows. I remember the heartwarming surprises, the lazy days in the winter sun, the chatter of familiar voices all around. I remember the trivial problems that seemed so huge. I remember the secret tears and unarticulated fears.

I don't know why but I feel quite a disconnect with the way of thinking these days. I am quite happily ensconced in the Chitrahaar era as far as my most of my beliefs go. I believe in the value of family, respecting elders, in true love, in wide-eyed innocence, in shyness as an acceptable virtue...in a simpler, less hedonistic way of living. I surf the net to connect to the world, I shop to feel good and I aim for a bigger house...but I remember a time during those long, familar power cuts when friends, family, neighbours sat around a communal aangan, drank endless cups of chai and chatted about everything under the sun to pass the time. Sometimes I participated, sometimes I just let their words wash over me like a river of warmth. Sometimes I read my storybooks by the light of a candle. Sometimes I made up poems and fairytales to tell the other kids.

I think of "multiverses" or alternate universes sometimes. It refers to the idea that there are multiple universes where maybe you also exist but your life has taken a different turn. You are not a mother of two kids settled in happy domesticity but a free-spirited adventurer. Or it could even be that time is not a contunuum as we perceive it, but an infinite series of parallel universes. This means that every moment that I have lived exists as a separate data point somewhere. I think that maybe, while I sit here typing out this post so full of yearning for days irretrievably gone by, there could be a world where that life still exists. Somewhwere in the vast mysteries of space and time.

After all think of how little we know about how the world was created. We run about our daily lives, one among the billions who inhabit a small rock suspended in what we call space. A space that has no beginning and no end. I find this incredibly awe-inspiring and scary. The idea that there is no beginning, no middle, no end to it all. How many other worlds are there? Is space really infinite? It boggles the mind to think of all these spheres spinning silently in eternity, sprouting life forms. Life forms who over aeons manage to complicate their life in incredible ways. We really forget or maybe we don't want to remember that at the end of it all, you are just an insignificant speck in the universe.

Yeah...its an effing trippy post.

Where is the love?

A riot caused by consumerism. Teenagers in one of the most developed cities in the world resorting to petty thieving and violence just for the heck of it. Grabbing unlawfully what they haven't earned simply because they want it. Using social media to alert and coordinate with each other. A government that is supposedly ready to face riots but is unable to tackle youngsters in its own backyard. Anarchy due to avarice.

In another hitherto peaceful nation, a gunman mows down students at a youth summer camp and bombs the government building exposing a new form of terror - homegrown right-wing militants who oppose multiculturalism.

Even as the world grapples to solve old problems new ones seem to crop up. Wonder what kind of a future are moving towards if globalisation, greater disposable incomes, increased connectivity to all corners of the world do not result in increased tolerance and respect.

Raindrops

Gray

Rainy, rainy day. Gray skies overhead. Water trickling down the windowpanes. Finally its cool enough to feel comfortable in your skin. For me, the first real monsoon day in Calcutta. That familiar difficulty in getting out of bed and getting dressed for work on a day that seduces you with its promise of cloud cocoons and lightning heartbeats. That familiar difficulty in getting a cab, waiting under a dripping umbrella with a laptop on my back watching the world rush by and feeling strangely distanced. I feel like I might keep waiting there forever – the rain flirting with me, getting into my shoes, breezing across my face, splashing onto my hands as I try to hail yet another cab.

I wonder what’s the worst that can happen if I just go back home and get into bed. I muse about the unfairness of a life where I run in an endless circle and let a marvellous monsoon pass me by.

New beginnings

Nothing is constant except change.

I am currently trying to get myself in a frame of mind where I am able to learn new things, about a new business. Have changed jobs after 6 years. Trying to gear up for whatever challenges may lie ahead. Strangely while everyone else seems to be view it as an occasion for going into raptures, I am a little more circumspect. The way I see it, I just gave up the comfort and security of a place where 'everybody knows your name' and am now about to dive into uncharted waters. It is exciting of course, challenging for sure. That is why I did it - I was tired of being complacent, of doing the same things everyday. But if you are a worrier like me, you will understand how I feel. And I have had a pretty bad experience with my first job itself. It was a campus placement into a reputed bank. Now I am amazed at how vulnerable and naive I was then. We all were. Out of 13 recruits, only 4 were left in the bank at the end of a year. So anyways, I am still somewhat troubled by the thought of the 4 months (yep!) that I spent in the bank. My benchmark is now 4 months. Fingers crossed.

My time in between jobs was spent in visiting relatives and friends. I hadn't seen this branch of my family for almost 8 years. It was such a thrill reconnecting with all of them. My cousins who I remembered as babies were now ready to give their board exams. The time I spent playing games with them was one of the highlights of my trip. I think its great to have children in the house. They keep you young. With their unbridled enthusiasm for life and their innocence.

Our ancestral home is near a village so I reconnected with a simpler way of living also. At one point, there was actually no network reception on my cellphone. But the doors of the house were thrown wide open and people kept streaming in the whole day. Somebody's uncle, brother, aunt, neighbour - they all dropped in to say hello and be introduced to me. It makes one wonder about the islands that we have become with our city bred ways. The whole area was surrounded by rubber plantations and my dad showed me the various plants and trees where he had played as a child. the food that we ate was plucked from the trees on the property. Nature at its purest. I remember standing near the front door putting my hand out to feel the rain splash on it while the trees whispered a melody all around me. Cool, fresh, green.

I went to stay with some friends after this in Bangalore. It was a short trip but one of the best I've had so far. We managed to pack in loads of adda sessions, lazing, shopping, sightseeing and of course, partying. The best memory would have to be when we were on this rooftop open air lounge called 13th Floor. The lights of UB city looming large amid the surrounding darkness, the cool breeze ready to whisk you away, the heady music, the soft chatter of the crowds and the company of good friends. Some moments are enough to last you for a long while.

We were having this discussion one day about what our vocation is, what is it that we want to 'do' in life. People who know what they are passionate about, what they want to become, are lucky - musicians, designers, even doctors or teachers. I think my calling in life possibly is to just chill with friends! That's the only thing I seem to be passionate about doing. And reading. Or rather having books to read. I returned home with 10 books after a 6 day trip.

And so, I sit here thinking about how soon time flies. I was just a fresher the other day and now I am a veteran, I was just the youngest in my family and now am an aunt, there I was waiting to vote when I turned 18 and here I am into my third decade. So cheers to new beginnings - the only way to live!