Grow up? Y maa?

I cannot accept that I'm growing up. Terribly agonizing you know. I'd like to stay young forever, 22 would be ideal. These days I find a lot of people calling me akka. Kids in the temple call me aunty.



Your daughter is missing you my fiancee said; that's when I realized that am officially chikamma now.



Yeniiiiwayyy Everyone grows old, I know.. but I still yearn for for Neverland. :)



Is it my mistake???!!!

People & Places

There is this place in Jayanagar 4th block. It used to be my favorite restaurant months ago. We used to come all the way to this place to have food. Yesterday lunch time and we were just in front of that hotel, I dint want to go.



When certain people can make you hate your life on a whole, then making you hate a place is no big deal.

Stirred Life - 2

“Home Sweet Home”!! The doormat welcomed me. As I hit the doorbell “Om Namah Shivaya”, I heard it groan.



“Look at you, how sober, don’t you eat there?” mom almost yelled, opening the door.



“I am tired ma; let me sleep for a while. We shall talk later”, I retired to bed. The softness of my favorite pillow helped me get that cadaver sleep that which I hadn’t had for ages.



“She is Radhika, working in IBM as ML” dad passed me a snap. She looked cute, but didn’t have that charm I always looked in girls. “We have finalized 3 alliances, all you need to do is pick one of them and rest will be taken care” amma commanded.



The whole motive of coming home was to taste the slurpy rasam amma makes, chat with old colony friends and of course forget that witch at work with whom I am dealing with. The scene somehow changed completely. Every time family spoke about me getting hooked up I would make reasons, genuine ones actually to put it off. Today it was different; I really wanted to check those photos. I guess it was time to get committed. May be that would help me recover with all the stress. I wanted a woman who would make “behind every successful man there is a women” quote come to life.



“Where are the other pics?” I asked.



I could see the excitement in my parent’s eyes. They would never dream that I would come forward for the cause. The “3 knot” cause.



“Look at this girl, She is Anu Pallavi” papa showed me the next pic.



“Anu Pallavi” I already liked the name.



The smile of the lady made me forget all the stress I was going through. “It’s her!! Your dream girl” my heart started talks.



Going by the lovely smile and the name, “what does she do” I enquired.



“We will have to ask Mohan. He is the one who gave the pics to us”, mom picked up the phone and called Mohan uncle.



“It would be great if I could meet her once and then I can tell you about my decision. I am going out. We shall talk once am back” I left home.



~~~~ End of Part 2 ~~~~

Dec 17th

On my desk I read

"We should never be afraid of tears. They soften our hearts, wash our eyes, and clear our vision."

Stirred Life - 1

Behind every successful and happy person, there will be a perfect mood of God writing the story of that person. God probably is in no mood for a change since six years as he writes my story.



Life has been the same for the past six years. The roads that I travel, the time of travel, the place I stay, and of course the workstation, nothing has changed. Imagination and the creativity inside me are on the verge of a wary death.



Adding cherry on the ice-cream is the client. Ever complaining and never listening attitude of them has made my life wretched.



Hi I am Rahul. Thanks to Bollywood, every time I introduce myself people expect a ‘6 pack’ Sharukh Khan in my personality. So to speak I am quite a contradictory person. Plain, easy, undemanding and all such soft adjectives if added would make more sense to me.



Tech Lead, that’s what is my designation in this org. Preparing reports, adding ghost hours in the billable section, always trying to add sense to all the nonsense excels that my PM wants me to update and the most of all having daily conversations with my client onshore & defending my team of 8 for all the work they do which most of the time doesn’t make the client happy; such is my work.



I always believed that life is beautiful, without any doubt. But it comes with its seasons, its hard knocks and with several tangles. It makes demands on us to change ourselves, sometimes it also overwhelms us. It could be much simpler, happier and easier if only we learn to love life’s complications.



That’s what I am doing. Climbing the success career quite early in my life explained all the tantrums I am dealing now. Our team in India works day in and day out to cater the wants of the client.



Oops I realize client is a more of a collective word. To be very precise about the problem, I am dealing with a Madame residing in the other part of the world.



She is Jaya!!! Confident, Courageous, Impatient, Arrogant, Stubborn, Straightforward and a born leader; that’s few things I can quote about her. She is like this women who thought that “fixing men” means “taking a chisel and hammer, and start sculpting men”

What’s with this chunk of code? It’s a total junk. How on earth could you guys do this? Why wasn’t I in the loop when this decision was taken? The BA needs to be asked before this code is finalized. The MOM is lacking many points that were spoken. Weekends are meant to be, to work when deadlines are approaching.

Always finding mistakes and making my life miserable. It’s been a year almost, and the situation has been the same. Miserable, Miserable and More Miserable;



In life, we got to learn our lessons swiftly. Otherwise it will teach us in a hard way. It did not take much time for me to realize that “Tiredness is... laziness with a reason”!



“I need a break”, finally the emblematic techie within me spoke.



“I can’t grant you leave, why don’t you take a break just for the weekend” PM suggested. Not wanting to take up an argument with him I nodded.



~~~~ End of Part 1 ~~~

%&*#$@*

```````````````````````````````````````````````````



Me: Coz its your "Happy Birthday", I am going to make, hmmm say... "A Vegetable Bath"!



Mumma: Well why bath? Keeping them under the running tap would do sweetie!!!



Me: Happy Birthday PJ Queen! Muahahaha :)



````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Moment Of Truth

Many a times we arrive at cross roads. Where we need to cross – over;
Cross over people, cross over memories, cross over pains, cross over the life that was.
They all say, move on, that's the way of life. Even I have said that, to the ones who came to me in times of pain and loneliness, seeking for words of nurture and care.



'Move on' I have told them, 'life holds so much to see and perceive.'
'Do not derogate yourself' were my words, 'for you know not what you're worth.'
'Everyone deserves happiness', I tried to make them believe, 'so do you, and so shall you get.'



Ironically, when my time came, neither there was anyone to tell me this, nor could I really make myself actually follow what I used to preach. I laughed at myself, thinking, how wronged they all are, who think I am wise, I am nice. Coz I aint. I am weird. Yeah, really I am.



Time and again, I go back and think over all that I have said, and all that I have done. Only to find, I just don't fit in. I know not what I'm doing. I know not what my true calling is. I'm still searching for it. I have my fears. I have my short-comings. I am a solitary-reaper.
But still I am happy. I can love. I can laugh, make others laugh. I can be content with what I have.



Weird, eh? Told you!






I was at a cross road yesterday, looking ahead, and not wanting to walk, for I wanted to back home. But they pushed me, drove me out, told me 'this is what you got, so this is what you'll do.' And so I did. I walked. I slithered. I ran. And today, I stand at a new cross – road. All over again, thinking it wasn't that bad. There are worse things that can happen. Perhaps that was what was meant to be. Perhaps we're all better this way.



At times it's not that hard pushing away a long existing image from your head. For the bruise is too bad to conceal or make up. And at times, certain images just refuse to be washed away. They mock at your helplessness; dig at your tears, and satire at what a fool you had been. And yet you try. And so I did.



They say, home is where the heart is. I have made my heart my home.

Letter to Ajji

Dearest Grandma,



It’s been quite some time I wrote to you; uh haa 10 years perhaps. I am not fine and also hopelessly lost by the way; Momma and Poppa too are. Except for “Gunda” who now does not like to be referred like that :). She is "Vatti" for people!



Grandpa is fine, still doesn’t agree that he should stay with us. The talks we made asking him to come here failed and finally we had to give up. He is very much into Yoga now. Oh man how could I forget that you both almost talk every day. I am sure he would have told you about why I am so lost.


Lets get into details later, how are you? Did you meet him? Your favourite “Guru Raghavendra swamy”. Does he look the same? Like how we see in the photos? Does he wear that orange dupatta, err khaavi batte on his head there also, and what about the other list of gods whom you used to worship? You must have met them all by now. Is it cold there? So many questions I know, you can answer them while you speak with grandpa next time, and I shall get to know from him, or even better you can come in my dreams. We can talk there, but your daughter wouldn’t let me sleep after 5:30am. So we won’t have much time to talk, I think its fair enough if you tell grandpa.



You know even now, I wash my hands before I eat, when I am using spoon for having that not-so-good-puliyogre in the food court. I miss the puliyogre you used to make, the way you used to spread out the white rice in that big bowl and get it to the hall. There is no fan in the kitchen hence the bowl used to be placed just below fan on the teepoy. After few minutes you used to get the fresh mix, with lots of kadlekaayibeeja & pour on top of the warm rice. Then carefully you mixed them together using hands so that we dont end up getting only plain rice without the masala. Momma always uses the spatula now, & uses ready to eat mix and I always end up getting those lumps of plain rice when I eat. :(



Its not just puliyogare, but that many more things that you made. It’s too bad that you dint teach momma the right recipes, or maybe you did and she doesn’t remember them well.



I still never forget to tell a "Sorry" when I realize that I’ve hurt someone. Over the years I have learnt that a sorry along with a hug does wonders, hmmm it actually takes out the guilt out of you completely for the wrong you did. I have been a good granddaughter :)



(Psst Psst: Tell grandpa that you’re proud of me, next when you talk with him and please do not tell him that I asked you to do it. Innocence at its heights it will be)







Coming back to why I am lost; where do I start from, hell lots of blunders that exist that .......



I am fed up of “whatever happens happens for good” happenings. I want something good to actually happen. I don’t want to learn anymore from such happenings.



People who simply can’t stay along, almost invade into my life like twister..call it suntaragaali in kannada, stay for a while, causing things like curiosity, hope, sometimes dreams too, to whirl around my life in a perfect zoom and then suddenly they leave, only to make the place they stayed a junkyard.



Finally I hear “whatever happens happens for good!!! This is how you learn in life”. I have learned enough from all of them who did that. Can you believe, now I almost know how to quit from all kinds of alliances that exist in the world, starting from whom you chose to whom your parents chose?



They do it so cleverly that I literally took some time to get enlightened that they haha, well you know what I mean right. I am totally lost, and so is everyone around. You said god plays fair always; please ask him to consider this request of mine. I prefer not to play any game starting from now, until he assures me I’ll not be in the receiving end.



I can’t even sleep on Momma’s lap coz she will be worried that am lost. We both pretend that we are fine. If you’re free tonight please come in my dreams. I need your lap. For a minute at least, to find “the hopelessly lost myself”.



Love,
Your Granddaughter

Quoted.....

I understand feeling as small and as insignificant as humanly possible. And how it can actually ache in places you didn’t know you had inside you. And it doesn’t matter how many new haircuts you get, or gyms you join, or how many glasses of chardonnay you drink with your girlfriends… you still go to bed every night going over every detail and wonder what you did wrong or how you could have misunderstood. And how in the hell for that brief moment you could think that you were that happy. And sometimes you can even convince yourself that he’ll see the light and show up at your door. And after all that, however long all that may be, you’ll go somewhere new. And you’ll meet people who make you feel worthwhile again. And little pieces of your soul will finally come back. And all that fuzzy stuff, those years of your life that you wasted, that will eventually begin to fade.

Stolen from Chamu's Diary

Chamu’s Memory Mania

Chamu at 12yrs: Scored 18/25 after hard work;



Her prayers to God:



“I wish you could increase my memory power so that I get more marks”



Chamu at 22yrs: Broke up with her boy friend;



Her prayers to God:



“I wish you could decrease my memory power so that I’ll forget him”



My moral of the Story:



Few things are matters of mind and few are matters of heart; but both involves only one thing and that's "TIME".



& Time is the best healer, always :) !!!

Assiduous Vatti

Preface:


1. Vatti is Vathsalya, my younger sister. If I start adding adjectives to "describe her" then, this post will just turn into a "good words" post.


2. Keeping it simple, I'll say she is a good (not-so-normal) girl, and she is in her 12th std now.


3. She goes to Maths tuitions *only, 3 days a week, Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays.


4. Every Saturdays there will be a test in this tuition classes that she goes and Vatti doesn’t like missing tests.


Now you all have sufficient knowledge, lemme start the scene...


A trip was arranged in the college for Innovative Film City recently. Yea that's good news I know but it was scheduled on a Saturday. That's bad news for Vatti coz that's when she has tests at her maths tuitions.


She protested; that she won’t go on this trip (now you know why she is not normal). Normally it’s the other way with kids, they would not want to go to the tuitions and miss the tests. But, anyways, so I and mom had to rush to the tuitions, talk to the lecturer to schedule a re-test on some other day. The lecturer being very nice and knowing that Vatti was not like normal kids, agreed and said she can take a re-test when a different batch takes it, and that was on a Monday.


The trip was over and also the re-test. The conversation after the re-test went something like this...


Mom: How did you do in the test?


Vatti: Yea, very well. Full baruthe (normal answer).


Mom: Wasn’t the test paper different? I mean your batch already wrote the test right, so you must have already got the questions.


Vatti: No I donno what questions he gave to my batch. I did not ask anyone.


Mom: I am sure he would have changed the questions; else you can arram se do well na?


Vatti: No he did not change the questions. It was the same paper.


Mom: If you donno what the questions were, how come you're so confident that it was the same paper?


Vatti: There were no extra question papers so sir gave me some other batch ka answer sheet.


*shocking* right..??? Hold on... there is more...


Mom: OHHH MYYYY GODDDDD; so did you copy from the answer sheet?


Vatti: Errr?? What??? Copy? From that one? Whoever wrote that won’t even get a mark, everything was wrong!!!!


Mom (din't stop here): If you did not see the answers then how come you know they were wrong...?


Vatti: I finished the paper soon. Also revised twice. Still had time and hence saw the answers.





We all Love you Vatti :)

Say Cheezeeeeeee

We, "The birthday committee", formed from a team of 43, make sure that everyone’s birthday is celebrated. It was one such birthday yesterday. I came across an instance during the party and that immediately got me into a thinking process (guess not having the cake is showing positive results, I have started to THINK).


~At the Party~


I saw 3 of my colleagues smiling for a photo. *Click*. These colleagues who posed for the photo shoot reached the colleague who took the snap and almost snatched the camera from him. Next thing they did was hitting the "Preview" button, while two of them agreed that the photo looked neat (they meant they looked good), but the third person refused to agree. He looked a little dark, than his usual complexion was his argument. Even before the other two debated on that, he hit the "Delete" button. The image vanished in seconds.


Thanks to Steven J. Sasson, the digicam that I got on my birthday last year, underwent all the above tortures without a single complaint.


~Lost in thoughts~


Gone are the days where one had to visit the studio to get a pic. I can recall my mom deciding on the colors and the costumes that would look good for the photo, weeks before the D'day. It would be regarded lucky if the picture came well and the result pitched in only after the photo was developed. How can I forget how furious mom was when in a family photo that we took, I had ended up closing my eyes.


Then came the era where dad bought a camera home; our own camera. The one that was regarded small (in size) those days. But actually was so huge that I managed to hold only the lenses. This particular camera had 4 kinds of lenses; all of them being for different distance photo take.


There were so many blunders people (about 8 families) who used the camera did. Sometimes they forgot to switch on the flash; fewer times the battery would be low, most of the times the reel would be put in a wrong way hence got stuck, the clicking trigger did not work on few occasions. Many of my memorable trips though are in mind but were not captured due to such small mistakes now, but big blunders then.


The amount of reels that were bought always depended on how big the event or the trip was. The event used just 24 snaps and that would expect us to wait for the next event so that the remaining unused snaps would be used, and then we get entire set developed together. Being born in a family where in all are photogenic, it was very rare that we would get into the wait phase. Many a times we used to have a day dedicated for the “photo shoot”, just to use the remaining snaps and in return the reel could go for the developing.


Going by experience, we clicked away the initial 2 and the last 2 pictures out of 36 randomly i.e. without focus. My major excitement were those moments, when myself and my cousin waited for dad to get the photos after washing (call it developing) to check out how we both have featured. Dad would carefully view each and every negative so that none money was wasted on bad snaps and their developing, also most of the times the studio person himself denied developing the bad photos.


~Back to reality when someone clicked my pic~


Coming to the digiworld, where even mobile phones have camera, the enthusiasm factor has obvious vanished. Are you dark? Short? Plump? All your problems can be solved. You can look the way you want (immediately in the pic) if in case the reality is not possible or will take time.


Before I sign off all would like to say is, the technology has never asked us to waste resources, isn't it?


O btw Check out this new avtaar of mine, of course shot in a 3mp mobile cam at the birthday party :)

One Veracity of Life

You see two individuals, their behaviors, the way they project themselves practically.



You like one and not the other. But astrologer tells that things will work fine only with someone whom you dint like practically.



Irony of life is, people around believe non-reality and not the reality; and most of the times make you agree that reality is wrong.



Tsk Tsk… Ultimately you start to feel that reality is not bliss I guess!

Chamu’s 1st interview

Hey readers, it’s been long time I wrote something; thanks to my internet which stopped working for various reasons. Anyways now that I am back, let me tell you something nice. About chamu who has just taken up her 1st interview. Read on…



Nope. It was not her 1st job interview. You know those matrimonial interviews that happens in India, yea the bringing the tray types. I am bringing you the exclusive conversations that happened including the fluctuations in experiences of pre, post and what happens in such interviews and how our chamu handled and is still handling it.


Pre-interview day:



“Uncles and Athe will come on Saturday itself” declared chamu’s mom. But why trouble them thought chamu. “Did you iron the saree?” she asked again. Chamu wanted to wear salwar but dad would not agree. “Saree and that’s it” he told chamu. “Yes amma, saree is ironed and ready. Also the blouse is ironed. The small jewels are ready and kept at one place. Please tell me if there is anything else I should do” yelled chamu. Thanks to the rainy weather her voice was gone. “You had to fall sick at this time only huh?” almost scolded chamu’s athe. Now how can she take control on that? “What will you do if they ask you to sing?” athe wouldn’t stop. “Is that a prelim round for Indian Idol version 4?” chamu thought but dare she utter that. She giggled all by herself.


That night her cell was bombarded by messages by cousins and best friends wishing her best of luck and to be herself, the confident and chirpy gal that she is all the time.


By the time she opened her eyes it was already Sunday.


Million $ question of the day: “what if they ask you to sing?”


The D-Day:


“Chamu, get up on your right. Make sure you do a Namaste to lord Ganesha” instructed uncle. “Yes uncle” chamu said.


Saree was draped. Jewels were put. No make-up was the mantra. After all this chamu sat by the window waiting for them to arrive, it was 10:45am and they were scheduled to arrive by 11:15am. The only advantage the girl gets here is to watch the madhumaga first than him watch her. Thanks to the window she thought.


The car arrived. She could recognize the aunty who was playing the common friend role here. So many people but the madhumaga still wasn’t to be seen. Finally chamu saw him. He is wearing jeans and a nice shade. He will surely not like the saree look chamu confirmed the pallu again in the mirror now. Wasting no time she ran to the kitchen. All of them came inside but he dint athe said. “Why?” was chamu’s question. “He is over the phone, must be he is very busy. Work et el” exclaimed athe. “Busy? On a Sunday? well ok” chamu kept quiet because there was nothing she could tell and nothing would be understood even if she did.


All the introductions happened and the situation was still now. “Take the tray” athe said. “Huh, tray? Please not that. That would be very formal. Aunty has told me to behave as if some friend has come to visit me” chamu almost cried. “That’s the custom. Now do not argue, take the tray of water and keep it on the table. Do not talk anything else” athe again instructed.


“Aunty is below the switch board, next to her is a kid, next is your to-be athe, after her is your to-be maava, then his chikappa and then the madhumaga, finally his chikamma. Your dad has left his king chair for you magale. Oh my god you’re sweating. Don’t be tensed. It’s just a phase of life” said uncle. That added some amount of confidence. Indeed she was sweating. The girl who was sometime an RJ and loves the stage was sweating. That’s the hard reality of life.


Chamu reluctantly took the tray and reached the living hall. Her eyes were on the tray and the 6 glasses of water. She kept the tray and looked to her right. She saw the aunty and all she could think of was “How are you aunty?” thank god aunty eased the situation by telling “I am fine, please sit down”


That was a sigh of relief for poor chamu. She sat and wiped that last trace of sweat from her face. Aunt said that she will introduce all of them starting from the person who was adjacent to her. She started off with chikamma and her name which chamu could hardly remember. “This is ***********” chamu did not understand what the madhumaga said and while she was telling hello to him, she realized that she had forgotten to greet the chikamma well.


For the next set of people she greeted with folded hands along with a Namaste. All what followed next was talks about the educations of the uncles and aunties, thats is when they finished their education, and not to forget about Obama & his outsourcing. “Hello what about us?” thought chamu. As if aunty heard that she asked chamu what was the branch she studied and next question was for the madhumaga.


"Elec and Comm"!!! "Computer Science"



Again it was uncles and aunties who stole the show. The girl and the boy had to just listen and thats it.



Chamu observed lot of things. That the madhumaga is very close to his chikamma. He would not even get up and keep the plate and glass on the table. Was he very lazy? who knows. His chikappa has a great sense of humour. His mom loved kids and his dad very silent.


Chamu’s sister came from her tuitions and it looked liked every one was waiting for her. Poor kid wondered if people had come to see her akka or her.


Time just ticked away like that and finally it was over.


Million $ question of the day: “chamu jasti mathadalla ansute?”


Post- interview phase:


Everyone liked the madhumaga and his family. Mom asked chamu and she said “More than him I liked the family especially his chikamma and his mom” The only question in chamu’s mind is “Will he say yes?”


And every time she asks that question she remembers what her CEO told her few months back “you have such great personal skills, you will get a great life partner” and she smiled.


Million $ question of the day or let’s say days: “Is it a success?”.


Positive or Negative, madhumaga will always be remembered!!


 End of story part 1 –


Once the results are out I shall share the story part 2.

Sometimes...Behind ME

Time to wear the mask.


Put on that smile.


Make it seem that everything’s alright.


Coz all’s not lost.


….Not yet.


So off I go.. to the world, my stage.








Sometimes I pretend to be strong and smile though my heart pains.


Sometimes I pretend to be weak and allow the world to do me favours.


Sometimes I pretend to be smart and read and think and imagine and create.


Sometimes I pretend to be stupid. These are the days I love wearing my Fasttrack glares.


Sometimes I pretend to be intelligent but I can’t understand.


Sometimes I pretend to be blonde but it’s only peroxide.


Sometimes I pretend to be fully aware of where I’m going but I’m hopelessly lost.


Sometimes I pretend to be lost but I hold His lamp that lights my path in my hands.


Sometimes I pretend to be confident, but I know that I don’t know.


Sometimes I pretend to be unaware, but I know that I know.


Sometimes I pretend to be happy, even though…


Sometimes I pretend to be sad - and am constantly amazed at the love God and my family show me.


Sometimes I pretend to be entertained, though like Solomon, I feel everything is a vanity of vanities.


Sometimes I pretend to be pious, though I wish for vanity of vanities.


Sometimes I pretend to be a writer, I play with words until like a jigsaw puzzle I know what fits where.


Sometimes I pretend to be a reader, all the while trying to stop my mind from racing ahead to figure out where it’s going.


Sometimes I pretend to be a cook. Very rare times indeed, but it does happen.


Sometimes I pretend to be a connoisseur of food. But I have a small appetite, I have no sense of smell and my taste is sub-standard.


Sometimes I pretend to be bindaas. Sorry, it’s almost 3 am, I can’t think of the English word for bindaas; and who really cares?


Sometimes I pretend to be good. Though only God and I know the utter depraved extent of my unholiness.


Sometimes I pretend to be bad. I do a decent enough job at it, but I run home to God everytime. My hiding place.


Sometimes I pretend to be a narcissistic, but I don’t love the way I look at all.


Sometimes I pretend to be self-deprecating but I can’t stop taking pictures of my self with my phonecam (read posing also).


Sometimes I pretend to be loving, but I still struggle with altruistic love, forgiveness and surrender.


Sometimes I pretend to be hard. But I can’t help loving.


Sometimes I pretend to be happy with my work. And then I realise I’m not.


Sometimes I pretend to be sad with my work. Then I’m surprised how much I’m really grateful for it.


Sometimes I pretend to be complaining, all the while giving thanks in my heart.


Sometimes I pretend to be giving thanks, all the while complaining in my heart.


Sometimes I pretend to be ambitious. But all I want is to be happy and love all those around me.


Sometimes I pretend to be simple. But I really want to be remembered forever by everyone.


Sometimes I pretend to be fashionable, when all I want is to wear my old navy blue salwar.


Sometimes I pretend to be not fashion-conscious but I check trends and I change outfits for hours before going out.


Sometimes I pretend to be very family oriented though in my mind I want to be out with my friends.


Sometimes I pretend to be without attachment. Though I know my God and my family are my backbone, my support, my stronghold.


Sometimes I pretend to be able to give everything up. But I know how weak I actually am.


Sometimes I pretend to be weak. Then I realise in Him I have everything and I need nothing more.


Sometimes I pretend to be here, but I’m not, I don’t want to be anymore.


Sometimes I pretend to be at work, but I’m here at my blog, wondering if I have new comments!


Sometimes I pretend to be happy with what I write but I know its mostly plain crap.


Sometimes I pretend to be on a higher literary level but I’m quite pleased even with my most inane blog posts.


Sometimes I pretend to be blogging because it’s my creative outlet but I constantly monitor my feeds and my hits and I smile.


Sometimes I pretend to be tech saavy about the net, but all I want to do really is just write.


Sometimes I pretend to be worldly and secular. But I remember Him always.


Sometimes I pretend to be like someone else but I know I’m myself.


Sometimes I pretend to be individualistic. But I know I’m just copying so many people.


Sometimes I pretend to be sleepy but I’m like an insomniac.


Sometimes I pretend to be awake but I’m day dreaming.


Sometimes I pretend to be planning but I’m going with the flow.


Sometimes I pretend to be going with the flow but I’m a obsessive control freak.


Sometimes I pretend to be in the present but I reminisce and I wonder.


Sometimes I pretend to be fore-sighted but I’m living in the moment, trying hard not to think.


Sometimes I pretend to be brave but I wonder what people would think about me.


Sometimes I pretend to be interested in other’s opinions of me but it doesn’t really matter.


Sometimes I pretend to be neutral but I realise it’s love.


Sometimes I pretend to be in love but I realise it’s not something that can happen as often as I’d like.


Sometimes I pretend it’s real, but I’m pretending.


Sometimes I pretend I’m pretending, but it’s real.


Sometimes I stop pretending, these are the times I am realise the depth of true love.


These are the times I realise, everything else is but a pretense.


But it’s late, I’ll go to sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll get up and start pretending again.

My words...

I’m like the inchworm that climbs to the tip of a blade of grass, and then waves about in a panic, near to losing its fragile hold, tiny head seeking the next blade of grass. That’s me, wailing and waving about, clinging to my blade of grass, all the while I’m in a sea of grass, and soon enough my tiny head bumps into one, thus it goes with the writing of latest post in blog, I’m at para 2, clinging, frantic, and blind.


Where are my words? Why aren’t they golden? Silver? Brass? Why are they clay? But clay can be shaped, baked, glazed and painted. Clay can have strength and symmetry and tell a story as subtle as light. I know that certain posts require several rewrites. I can feel it in the voiceless words that are not good enough, in the words that ought to be said, the words that wait to be written, but are still lost in the silence of thought.


I like to get the words right the first time. In selecting words to create narrative,”…every word is on trial for its life.” to quote again. I always think of the words I’m writing when I’m writing, of choosing the right word to convey what I want to say, what the story demands. That demand may not always be obvious at the beginning, but as I read it over and over, I see…something, and the thinking and the selecting begins afresh. I cannot write without paying close attention to the words from the moment the first letter of the first word appears at the first tap on the key.


So the brain yelled at me this morning. Get back to the writing instead of so much thinking! Enough with the thinking! The thinking is fine; the writing’s how you get the post done! So write already!
Sheesh!


My theme occurred to me as I scribbled the last of the thinking: Life is uncertain and you must give it the best meaning you can.


The brain is giggling in anticipation.

The LADY

Plumes of smoke twisted around her long manicured fingersnails making spirals in the frosty air. She looked like most Party people on any given day and especially on Valentines evening - shrouded in black. The modern belle had severely straight, dyed black hair, Black turtle neck, tight short black skirt, black pantyhose and tall black stiletto boots. Leaning against a hotel wall, she spoke to a man who seemed more interested in her than she did in him. She looked out into the night and took a drag on her cigarette. “I taught my girls to drink scotch!” She proudly proclaimed flicking ashes onto the sidewalk.


As I passed by, I imagined her instructing her ‘girls’. “Now, girls, sophisticated woman only drink scotch! It’s a taste you must acquire!”


In what situation would she be telling her girls to drink scotch? What girls? It made me wonder, as I tried to invent situations where this phrase might fit. Might be a good start to a short story;

!!!

Writing is like a psychotic boyfriend, now that I think about it. You know the type -your parents love him, your sisters adore him, your friends think he might be ‘The One’ for you. And none of them notice the way you walk hunched over all of a sudden to keep your heart from breaking, and the bruises that are the reason why you suddenly wear a lot of make-up.


Writing is a lot like that. Sometimes, when it’s good, it’s very good. But when it’s bad, it’s worse than anything you can imagine.


I haven’t been writing for sometime now. It’s like being in heroin withdrawal, with the added bonus that your drug of choice doesn’t work anymore. I still love writing. I still love the feel of a character or a story inside of me, waiting to come to life. I imagine that that’s what being pregnant must feel like.


I just can’t do it anymore. I am filled with ideas, pregnant with them…but when the time comes to put them on a page, I just can’t do it. I write perhaps two pages and think to myself ‘what utter shit. Nobody will ever read this!’ and it’s true. Because somehow, somewhere, I seem to have lost the confidence in myself that made it possible, even when I despised myself and wanted to die, to write and get myself out of there. Writing was my lifeline back then, lifting me out of myself and taking me to places where I could be whoever I wanted to be, do anything I wanted to do. And it doesn’t work anymore.


Because since this thing happened to me - this thing that turned my art against me - writing has been my pain. Not my drug against the agony of life, but the cause of it. And that’s never happened to me before.


And I still want it. That’s the worst part. Maybe I’m just too stubborn for my own good, unwilling to give up on the idea that I will be a writer, or maybe I’m meant to get through this and go on writing, someday even something worth reading.
And that’s why writing is like a psychotic boyfriend. You know he’s only going to hurt you. You know he’s bad.


You know that every time he says ‘it’ll never happen again,’ never is really only ‘until next time’ because it will happen again.


And you still go back.


Because despite what the world wants you to believe, there are more important things than being happy. And art is one of those things.

No Personal Questions Please!!!!!!!

The above line, sometime back used to be very famous with the stars. Yea, "used" to be, but after few years the stars gave in their efforts of keeping things on a low profile. All thanks to the Indian media, the 'hush hush' talks and the 'chirpy' dates that the stars do, it's all accessible to the common man and of course the woman as well.


Let’s push the politicians, the actors, the cricketers aside and talk about the janathe. For a change let us talk about me. All though I am no less a star, considering my normal status there is this new problem that I face everyday everywhere. Not just myself, this kinda problem I am sure is common for all the working IT girls with ‘miss’ statuses.


Scene #1: There is a wedding happening. Lots of guests are busy discussing about what the girl does, how many days of holidays he has got, what visa the girl is going to get, will they leave India together, and I enter along with my parents. The discussion almost stops and the same people throw questions at me for which according to my mom, I am expected to answer in a very humble way.


Scene #2: Mom and me are buying grocery with the help of “Sudex ho” which is not so popular in Mysore. While I tear the coupons I hear some familiar looking aunty talk with mom, and she asks mom, the same questions which thankfully my mom answers in a humble way.


Scene #3: Dad is dropping me to work. He gets a call on his cell phone; the political pudaari is so loud that I realize why dad doesn’t keep a cell phone having a loud speaker. After lots of discussions about the current political trends, who did what mistake, I hear the caller ask dad the same questions. I hear the same answers mom gives people, of course not in a humble way (dad is a cop).


Scene #4: Surfing the internet I happen to come across one of my old friend. Incidentally she is online and we start talking. After the initial hi, glad to see you here talks, she enquires me with the same prashnegalu.


All the kanyeyaru by now would have guessed the set of questions which are more tougher than the ones in CET/CAT exams. For others here it goes:


1.When are you getting married?


2.Software engineera? What’s your salary?


Ma and Pa have their common answers scripted mentally. They just laugh at the ever curious people that it’s my decision and they are waiting for me to sign off with the green flag.


I read in a social scientific study, that it's important not to confuse correlation with causation. In other words, just because married folks are healthier than single people, it doesn't mean that marriage is causing the health gains. It could just be that healthier people are more likely to be married. I also read that whenever people ask questions that would make you speechless, one should either be confident to answer it or else make sure that those questions do not lessen the emotional quotient.


For declarations like “next you”, I say a “thank you”....


& for the above typical Indian questions, I just shrug my shoulders and say “No personal questions please!!!”.





Quite a star answer alwa? What next? Ah people just ~Pack Up~.

Lotus Fragrance -- in Karnataka!

So finally people of Karnataka have given their verdict. They need
change. They need development. They need basic commodities at
reasonable prices. Most of all they need a STABLE SINGLE party to
power.


It is clear evidence that people took a decision that the elections
came in heavy to them. JD(S) is taught the lesson for not doing
justice to BJP and Cong too is taught lesson for inviting JD(S) to
form government, but later pushing them aside thus forcing for
governor rule. People of Karnataka were deprived from all the
development that had to happen because of all this and hence have
looked for a change. BJP have proved that no vote is untouchable.
Sushma Swaraj rightly called the "Lucky Mascot" has managed to get 8
out of 9 seats in Bellary region.


The reason for defeats of major leaders in JD(S) crew is none other
than HDR, the Gowda son. Right from Sidharamaih, M.P.Prakash,
J.T.Devegowda he always makes sure that the upcoming leaders fail so
that there are basically no front line leaders in the party. Now if
these leaders come up and mark themselves as specific caste leaders,
there will be fewer chances for him to come to powers or even give
threats to the family politics. For him building party is not
important but coming to power is important, according to close
sources. In such cases the leaders who cannot handle him and his cheap
way of politics choose to quit. He at least now should realize that
any party cannot stand with one big leader but also needs other
committed people. If he was not power hungry, I guess we would have
better government with HDK and Yediyurappa now.


The biggest mistake INC did was going by jothishya and totally
illogical seat distribution. There are almost 10-15 seats which were
given away by congress to BJP and JD(S) just like that. I mean from
where did Hegde's daughter come into picture? Some say that certain
defeats in the past have come from candidates who were in no scene of
winning like Tejaswini. But she was a known person by then and a very
eminent journalist who knew the spelling of politics. The games played
by JD(S) and INC just to make sure that Yediyurappa loses and hence
there would be no leader from BJP, was a idiotic move. By not making
their contestants they made it easier for Yediyurappa. People are not
that dumb to pick a contestant who was admitted thrice to hospital
just during the election time and go for another bi-election.
Bangarappa after being in active politics for such long time failed to
realize he was made the scapegoat. I guess he should consider getting
the jothishya aspect to his home first, after all the members from his
family irrespective of what party they belong have lost miserably. The
time of entry, of SMK probably was late. Even otherwise his factor did
come into picture. He getting Byregowda's son from the US all though
worked, but selecting Ambarish keeping in mind about Loksabha results
failed miserably. Vijaylakshmi Bandisidhegowda does not fail to visit
any house in her region whenever there is a death, just to make sure
that the death will not stop the livelihood of the family. Her efforts
have not gone waste and also the decision her son took for not
quitting JD(S).


Even though the final verdict is of a frustrated voter and not of the
intelligent voter, a decision is made. I hope the decision gives the
"common" voter what he wants.



Herez wishing Yedyurappa (Changed name after some Jothishya tactics) a successful tenure. Let the change, change everything :)

The WAIT HEAT

For Others....




The walls of the home are dull. They have not seen paints from a very long time. Its very difficult to even guess the previously painted shades. Walls wait!!


The cotton of the bed is worn out. One has to sleep at the extreame edge of the cot as the other parts are hard and bumpy. Cot waits!!


The grandma jewels are inside the locker. They are not worn for a long time now, needs some dusting to be done. Jewels wait!!


The white paint rangoli on the floor in front of the gate has faded and the dots that have to be connected are themselves gone. Floor waits!!


The trip to India is not fixed as there is no event happening and holidays are not planned. NRI family waits!!


The nail has no family portrait hung to it after the new additions and deletions in family. Nail waits!!




For Her...




Bare forehead without sindoor, That finger without the E-ring, Neck without the thaali, Toes without the T-ring, Name without mrs prefix and without his name sufix, No status change right from the simple orkut to the big passport, No to-be mother to ask her why she is working late, No to-be father to call her and ask if his son takes good care of her, No to-be sis to call her out for shopping, & finally no someone with her, made just for her YET!!!!!




& she WAITS!!

Of Beauty and Men.......

She ran. She ran as fast as she could. Finally when she was at a place where nobody would spot her she sat down gently. She had to make sure that the wings don’t get messed up. Her eyes were moist by then. She could see her reflection in the clear running river water. White Kohl is what you need few said. Black wouldn’t be visible at all someone shouted. All of them laughed. The frock is contrasting for the skin color many yelled. A fat butterfly is a rare scene they laughed again.


She ran from there. All she could hear while she ran was them & their taunting voices. Those voices made her mother’s voice fade. You are a lovely butterfly her mom told her after she wore those wings that she herself had made.


She had carefully collected the feathers past two months. Few from the bushes, lots from the dirty road side; they were white, grey and also black. Each of them she carefully washed as soon she reached home & dried them with the tissues & kept them under her bed. She made sure she dint sleep on the side where they were kept; instead she slept on the side of bed where they were not kept. Every morning she would ask her mom to lift the heavy bed just to check if all the feathers were crisp & with a HOPE that few would have multiplied so that that day she would not have to worry if she dint get any feathers while coming back from school. & everytime she realized that none multiplied. The enthusiasm increased & that day she found more feathers than the previous day. She painted them in colors of red, yellow and green. The river showed the dark skin she had clearly. With that sight the voices became clear.


Few years later:


She is now confident; a confident dark fat butterfly. Now she doesn’t run when she hears those voices. She stands with feet firmly grounded & colourful wings fluttering. She could now laugh at them back. She was a rare specimen butterfly. She had all colors, red, yellow, green & not to forget white & black also. But somewhere deep down it pricked. She had learnt to cry in heart and not through eyes. Beautiful, that’s the catch now...


I wonder when this will stop.... I wonder will it ever stop.... !!!

turbid

Women! Complex creatures indeed; that includes me as well.


Now for example: I hate to listen to things that are like instructed for a pre-school kid. But at the same time I complain that I am not pampared like a kid.


Now that's just one example. More like, I hate when people say women are complicated & look at this post. *sigh*


Poor Men :)

Tagged

Have no fear for giving in

Have no fear for giving over

You’d better know that in the end

Its better to say too much

Then never say what you need to say again

Even if your hands are shaking

And your faith is broken

Even as the eyes are closing

Do it with a heart wide open

Say what you need to say

Yea my "Faith" is broken! That's the right word. BROKEN.

Tag -- >

• Stay alone amidst wild forests of Nairobi on a tree house.
• Get drenched in the thunder & lightning rain.
• Meditate for an entire day.

That's it I guess....

Duh!!!

I am sure all of us have done 100 things while giggling/talking/listening over a phone call. During those Normally ok kinda days, I pick out all the stuff from the handbag if its the starting hour of the day & fill in all the stuff to the handbag if its the last hour of the day, @ office of course.

During those not so NORMAL days, I wonder where my phone is while on call :)

One of those days TODAY

Rodeo Blues

Me (showing a pic on web): Hey check out this guy da, he is my latest crush!


Sis: He???


Me: yea... Just guess his age, can you?


Sis: might be in his 30s.


Me: How did you guess that? I have asked few others & they all said he is in his 20s.


Sis: If you’re stressing on a fact of “age” & he looks young then that means he is old. SIMPLE!!


Me: *Perplexed*


Sis: But here in this picture he is so much Rodeo fascinated types.


Me: Yes... But what’s so not-cool about a rodeo fanatic? Actually who are they?


Sis: They are so much country people.


Me: So? What's wrong in that?


Sis: ok to explain in a better way, ಎ...ನಮ್ ಹಳ್ಳಿಯವರ ಥರ ! (Like our villagers)


*Lots of giggles*



---------------------------------------------------------------




Me: Hey, wish we had Bluetooth in pen drives as well.


Sis: I have it actually.


Me: Uh ha...show me.


Sis (showing the device): See, it has blue ತೂತು (ತೂತು means hole in kannada).

Happy Birthday

This morning I thought perhaps it's time I start posting about more serious, and relevant political issues that affect all of us. Its my blog's first Birthday after all & I have to write something serious. But then I realize I'm not that way inclined. It would be like taking medication unsupervised, which is fun, but it's still not all that it's supposed to be. So I'll let insanity be how it was & will not take any medication.

Realized Regret #2

I'm walking through streets that are dead

Walking, walking with you in my head

My feet are so tired, my brain is so wired

And the clouds are weeping
With that I’m soaking

Did I hear someone tell a lie?

I hear someone's distant cry?

I spoke like a child; you destroyed me with a smile

While I was sleeping
Could you ever be true?

I think of you

And I wonder

I'm sick of love; I wish I'd never met you

I'm sick of love; I'm trying to forget you

Just don't know what to do

But the truth is I'd give anything to

Be with you

:(

Every word that you uttered, It is still fresh in my mind...


Despite the hurt that it caused, I am standing by you......


Why is love so blind?


My hopes you killed, Smothered my expectations,


Yet ,I love you more with every passing moment ...


Is there at all an explanation?





I trusted you with all I had,


Yet, u made a mockery of my emotions.


Did you ever love me at all?


Or was it just one of my many false notions?





I surrendered to you completely,


In you I put all my faith...


And when i realised that it was a mistake,


It had already been too late.....

My PCL tore :(

<-- This Liggie tore.


RICE is what I need to take, errr RICE is Rest, Ice, Compression and Elevation.
I am on bed with rest and ice. Pray for my torn lig people coz there is no other medicine.

W.I.C.K.E.D

I Just wrote something "Clever" just now! But wonder where I put that :)

24

Behind an AutoRick:


ವಾಹನದ ಹಿಂದೆ ಹೋದರೆ "ಧೂಳು"...


ಹುಡುಗಿ ಹಿಂದೆ ಹೋದರೆ "ಗೋಳು"!!


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Inside a Romeo kinds Heart:


I gave you flowers,


I gave you Love letters,


I even gave you my Heart;


YOU threw them... Thankfully, inside YOUR DUSTBIN!!


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Listening to the same song the whole day for about 89 times will result in the below:


ಒಂದೊಂದೆ, ಬಚ್ಚಿಟ ಮಾತು, ಒಂದೊಂದಾಗಿ, ಕೂಡಿಟ್ಟ ಕವನ!ನನ್ನಿಂದ, ನಾ ದೂರ ನಿಂತು, ನಾ ಕಂಡೆ, ಮಾತಾಡೋ ಮೌನ!ಸೊಲುವುದು ಹೃದಯ ಹೀಗೇಕೆ? ತಿಳಿ ತಿಳಿದು ನಗುವೇ ನೀನೇಕೆ?ಮಾತಾಡು, ಓ ಮೌನ, ಮಾತಾಡು ಹೆ ಹೆ ಹೇ ಒಂದೊಂದೆ ಬಚ್ಚಿಟ ಮಾತು, ಒಂದೊಂದಾಗಿ ಕೂಡಿಟ್ಟ ಕವನ!


ಸುಳ್ಳು ಸುಳ್ಳೇ ಮುನಿಸು, ಆ ನೂರು ಕಳ್ಳ ಕನಸು, ಆ ಮುಸ್ಸಂಜೆ ಮತ್ತಲ್ಲಿ ಮುತ್ತಿಟೋರ್ಯಾರು?ಕೆನ್ನೆ ನಿಂದಾ? ಮುತ್ತು ನಂದಾ? ಬಗೆ ಹರೆಯದ ಒಗಟು ಇದು!


ಹೊ ಮೊದಲು ಅಪ್ಪಿಕೊಂಡ, ಆ ಮದುರ ಮೌನದೊಳಗೆ, ಬಿಸಿ ಉಸಿರಲಿ ಮೊದಲು ಹೆಸರ ಪಿಸುಗುಟ್ಟಿದ್ಯಾರು?ಇ, ವಿರಹದಲಿ ಅಡಗಿದೆಯೋ, ಸನಿಹ, ಸನಿಹದಲಿ ಯಾಕಿದೆ ವಿರಹ? ಹೇಳುವೆಯಾ?


ಒಂದೊಂದೆ ಬಚ್ಚಿಟ ಮಾತು, ಒಂದೊಂದಾಗಿ ಕೂಡಿಟ್ಟ ಕವನ!ನನ್ನಿಂದ, ನಾ ದೂರ ನಿಂತು, ನಾ ಕಂಡೆ, ಮಾತಾಡೋ ಮೌನ!
ಹೊ ಹೊ ಹೋ, ಸಣ್ಣ ತಪ್ಪಿಗಾಗಿ, ಮಾತು ಸತ್ತುಹೋಗಿ, ಅ ಮಂಕಾದ ರಾತ್ರೀಲಿ ಬಿತ್ತರಿಸಿದ್ಯಾರುತಪ್ಪು ನಿಂದಾ? ತಪ್ಪು ನಂದಾ? ಕೊನೆಗಾಣದ ಒಗಟು ಇದು!


ಮುಂಜಾನೆ ನಿದ್ರೇಲಿ, ನಾ ಹೇಳಲಾರದ ಕನಸ, ನೀ ಸಿಕ್ಕಾಗ ಮಾತಾಡೊ ಮಾತೆಲ್ಲಾ ಬೇರೆ.ಈ ಸುಳ್ಳನ್ನು ಕಲಿಸುವುದೆ, ಕನಸು? ಅದನ್ಯಾಕೆ ಬಯಸಿದೆ ಮನಸ್ಸು? ಕೇಳುವೆಯಾ?


ಒಂದೊಂದೆ ಬಚ್ಚಿಟ ಮಾತು, ಒಂದೊಂದಾಗಿ ಕೂಡಿಟ್ಟ ಕವನ!ನನ್ನಿಂದ, ನಾ ದೂರ ನಿಂತು, ನಾ ಕಂಡೆ, ಮಾತಾಡೋ ಮೌನ!


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


A ಮದುವೆಯ ವಯಸ್ಸಿಗೆ ಬಂದ ಹುಡುಗಿ watching TV9 with ಅಮ್ಮ, which showed Golden Star wearing Golden Sherwani in Golden Palms resort :-


ಹುಡುಗಿ : ಅಮ್ಮ, we will get same kinda Sherwani for my hubby-to-be.


ಅಮ್ಮ: OK OK. No problem!


ಹುಡುಗಿ : Let him also wear that necklace kinda thing.


ಅಮ್ಮ: OK OK. No problem!


ಹುಡುಗಿ : And also, reception should be in "GOLDEN PALMS" resort.


ಅಮ್ಮ: O.......... ಆಯ್ತು! ನಾವು "GOLDEN PUMPSET" ನಲ್ಲಿ ಮಾಡೋಣ.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Here is this Kannada soap called "ಮಿಂಚು":


Where in people are given whacko names!


"ಚಿತ್ತರಂಜನ್"!! And if this guy had a bro, he would be "Amruthanjan"?


Now calling Amruthanjan would be a lil tough so his nick would be "Amruthu" or even cut it and call him "Muthu".


And would be a nick to "ಚಿತ್ತರಂಜನ್"?


GUESS GUESS......


"ಚೀಇಇಇಇಇ....ಥು"


My personal opinion about this post: "ಯಾಕ್....ಥು"


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Same SHIT everywhere

....... and I thought only Indian "Public Toilets" speak!!



Game anyone???



Shitty Sense this one.



Grammer is so important!!



Finally a success story

For my always “Little Vatti”

Before... Long time before...You loved me in a different way? Times change and the ways also!!
But isn't this what it means to grow up together? ...



I know it’s unpleasant to see innocence and starry eyes be replaced by one of the less sweet character traits … like practicality… (I’m really not the biggest fan of practicality).



And I do think it’s more romantic when you say... the sum of all forces add up to ONE... unity is always a nice number... (Zero’s are kina empty like... unless they have ONE in front of them and besides I really doubt these physicists know what they are talking about so if I were you I wouldn't take that law at face value) . I also think it’s romantic when you tease me about “bowl” or the “servant-wears” [You should understand]. When we were sad at the same time while Schu spoke that speech and when Jammy was dropped! The times when we were happy while some BI*** lost the big boss and the nach baliye. Those times when we both laughed and cried together...Very few of them but best of all the times till date.


Anyway...Let’s just be romantic shall we?



You are home to me... and you are my innocence and starry eyes ... It's with you for safe keeping... coz I now find myself in a world where it might not be the best thing to wear on my sleeve...



I'll just do what I need to do and come to you when I need to be me or when you should need me...Even when I am gone...to a different family; a family which cannot possibly have you.



So please don't forget that you are loved just as much as always...



Also, please don't forget the vitamins along with the chapters that you read almost 12hrs a day...
Vitamins I mean the lovely food amma prepares and the way we have it together.



I love you


the older
(...and hopelessly lost) sister.

Chito-Chat

*Listening to BAD BAD GIRLS by Anushka*



Dhanurmaasa is finally over. Mom over phone. Whenever I hear this matrimonial stuff I start getting this strange feeling. “Am I running out of expiry date?” What’s the big deal about them being in so much hurry. One big reason why I am kinda ok with the whole thing is that I get to re-locate. 22yrs in one place is too much. That too for a person like me who would not complain if work involved travel all the 5 days. But the truth is I work in a same 10*10 place [call it a cubicle] for 9[+ if needed] hrs for 5[+ if needed] days a week.



I have started to enjoy these womanish talks mom has with my athe. While she was still on phone I decided to join the fun and asked “mom while I bid my last bye-bye after marriage, who all will cry?” She was already in tears. Mothers are so lovely! She started “your dad, me, athe, ajji, thatha and Vatti [that’s my sis]” Sister?? Nah... She wouldn’t I am sure.



“How could I forget” mom continued. “You will cry, trust me you will cry lots”.



“Me”???? Mom said that with so much confidence. But what about the costly make-up I will be wearing? Its goanna get all spoiled. Ohmiigoddd I better get lots of tissues and yes glycerin handy, just in case I do not *sigh* you know ~~NOT CRY~~



I am already worried! Better get some solutions on this emotional expectation; not here in reality but yeah in dreams.



*Plugs a large lump of cotton*

The making of ಗಾಳಿಪಟ!! EXCLUSIVE

It’s pleasant. Sun rays for the first time are pleasant.


09:30am, terrace. It’s me, my laptop and the sun.


Sankranti is the day when sun is most powerful I remember ajji telling me in bed time stories. Powerful to eradicate all the worries and regrets that people have and make them feel good. Yes, I am feeling it now. No sun block No glares needed for protection; and yet, Pleasant is what I feel.


The sky is so clear too. Hold on, it isn’t. I see tiny things flying around. Different colors and different sizes they are.


“What about Colour paper?”


“Yea we have.”


“And Sticks, thread and a small cloth.”


“All there.”


I was 6yr old when this happened. I wanted to fly kite. Did not want to buy one and fly but make one all by myself and see it fly in the skies. With help of my maama and ajji, it was finally done. Now came the time for the poor Gaalipata to reach the sky. Ajji said she will hold the thread and I had to go a little far from her along with the kite and push it into the air.


While I did this, a strange thought buzzed across my mind. What if I too go with the kite? And can’t come back. Too much of Alice and wonderland that time! I had made maama and ajji spend 1 hour on the making of the Gaalipata. What reason do I make now for not wanting to fly the kite? So many questions in my innocent mind; no answers yet.


Those were the days when I used to hate milk. Not that I like now. I started shouting “Milk mamma milk”. Family was shocked. May be there were having too many questions in their mind too. All of them rushed inside to get me milk.


Not wanting to waste any time I pick up a thread nearby and tie one end to my leg and the other end to a stone next to me. Wait it’s not yet over. I now challenge the kite.

I am having milk now; once I finish it I get all the energy so that I can throw you up in the sky. You think you can pull me with you and take me away from my family. Nah! Dreams!! I have this stone to help me.

Family calls me to have milk. “I want to have it here with the kite”. I am sure family was more confused now. But I asking milk was the biggest happiness for them. They get it near me and that was the first time I drank milk within minutes.



My kite finally flew to the skies and thanks to the thread tied to the stone I stayed so much on earth.



I smell the lovely aroma from kitchen now. Amma must be done with pongal. By the way if you thought you will have a read on the making of Yograj Bhat’s Gaalipata; too bad. You can get all that and more in all the TV channels today. For here, this one is exclusive indeed; about the making of “My Gaalipata” ಮನದ ನೆನಪುಗಳಲ್ಲಿ ಒಂದು ಪಯಣ :).

All I have

I've never distributed chocolates on birthdays.


I've never played a lead role in any of the plays.


I've never gone out to trips with friends.


I've never created any fashion statement.


I've never had any fancy haircut.


I've never had a candle lit dinner.


I've never got Teddy-Cuddle gifts.


I've never done bungee jumping.


I've never got drunk.


I've never stayed out during the wee hours even on New Year's Eve.


I've never gone out of Karnataka.


I've never won any awards.

When I have beautiful parents, a lovely sis and now two grey hairs I will never have any regrets either.