Disclaimer: This is a blog related to motherhood.
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There are some moments in life that one would never forget. Memories of those moments, that grow stronger over time. The ones you cherish, treasure and replay time and again in your conscience, when happy or when sad, alike. Counting such moments in life would tell you how many times your life was near-perfect.
My magic moment was when I saw her for the first time ever. She came to our lives 3 weeks before the expected date. Over the 9 months we spent, counting the day of her arrival, I had imagined her with many faces. But nothing had prepared me to the beauty of the perfect little person who was handed over to me by the nurse. Maybe, all mothers feel the same way. Technically, it was the second time I saw her, when I actually saw her. I have a very poor eyesight and my doctor decided to let me go blind before the surgery. So my precious spectacles were handed over to the shivering hands of my mom, along with my other belongings.
Apparently, when after 10 minutes of the surgery, the doctor lifted up a tiny, screaming infant and showed me, I could see nothing, it was infact precisely a bee view, which consists of numerous blurred dots and nothing else. God! I could not even get a chance to count her fingers!
So, as I lay on the ICU bed a few hours after the C-section, with one bottle each hanging on either side of me, one pumping the IV fluid and the other pumping my husband Rajeev's blood into me (he still claims that I turned royal the day he donated his blood for me ;)), all that I could think of was meeting my daughter. I could hear her crying intermittently in the NICU which was side by the ICU. I waited and waited.
It might be a mother's instinct or anything you might call it, but the moment the nurse walked in with a baby, I knew she was mine. She was wrapped in a peach colored cloth and had a pink band around her wrist, with the name 'Baby of Vidya'. A few hours into the world, the link of the umbilical cord lost after 9 months, she was still connected to me through my name, and she would be, I was sure, for the rest of our lives together, one way or the other.
She was hungry and she needed her mother. The nurse helped me hold her. The first thing I noticed about her was her chin. She had a long chin, just like me and Rajeev. Her color was a shade of pink, as with most new born babies. She had long artistic fingers (ofcourse, there were all the ten, I managed to count them), she might turn to be an artist or a writer some day. Her eyes were large, bright and black. She stared expectantly at me, with quivering lips, yes, she was hungry.
As I held her close to my bosom, I knew that my life would never be the same again. I was a mother and my daughter was the new definition of my life. She was not a guest or an angel from heaven, paying us a visit. She was the living, little, warm human, whose heartbeat would be the rhythm of our life, whose breath would be the fragrance of our days here and whose smile would be our greatest joy.
That was my moment.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Sunday, October 30, 2011
The mirror
One day, God gave her a mirror. An unusual mirror it was. On it, she could see how others saw her. She only had to think of that person and alas!, she would find a new her on the mirror...
She thought of her mother..
And in the mirror, she saw the happily smiling toddler that she was... years ago..
For a mother, a child remains a child, forever...
She thought of her child..
And in the mirror, she saw herself dressed as an angel, holding her treasure, close to her bosom..
For a child, her mother is the angel from the other world, who bore her, fed her and loves her with her life...
She thought of her man..
And in the mirror, she saw the smiling, yet deceptive self of her..the calm of the oceans, the beauty of a storm and the mysteries of the life yet to be lived..
For the man, his woman is an unsolved mystery, who excites and baffles him at the same time, whom he would love as if there is no tomorrow and also, once in a while, would hate as if he does not want a tomorrow..
Finally, she thought of herself..
And in the mirror, she saw them all...
For the woman, she is what her world makes her...her love, her dreams and herself...
PS: I know this is a crazy one...but today I stood in front of a mirror and then I wanted something crazy :)
She thought of her mother..
And in the mirror, she saw the happily smiling toddler that she was... years ago..
For a mother, a child remains a child, forever...
She thought of her child..
And in the mirror, she saw herself dressed as an angel, holding her treasure, close to her bosom..
For a child, her mother is the angel from the other world, who bore her, fed her and loves her with her life...
She thought of her man..
And in the mirror, she saw the smiling, yet deceptive self of her..the calm of the oceans, the beauty of a storm and the mysteries of the life yet to be lived..
For the man, his woman is an unsolved mystery, who excites and baffles him at the same time, whom he would love as if there is no tomorrow and also, once in a while, would hate as if he does not want a tomorrow..
Finally, she thought of herself..
And in the mirror, she saw them all...
For the woman, she is what her world makes her...her love, her dreams and herself...
PS: I know this is a crazy one...but today I stood in front of a mirror and then I wanted something crazy :)
Friday, October 14, 2011
The Amorist and I...
I have to thank him, that kind man whom I met yesterday and whom under all probabilities, I would never meet again. I still remember the smile as he passed on the many bottles of deodorants that he had stacked on the shelf behind him since his shop started functioning, possibly wondering if I was a crazy collector of outdated brands of deodorants!
Now please don't ask me why I went there. Fate does not always leave you with too many answers, does it? I was out for a walk on a beautiful evening that was yesterday and suddenly remembered that my most cherished deodorant was wailing in its final moments of utilization every time I squeezed the nozzle. I got into the nearest shop and the above mentioned gentleman displayed his 'historic' possessions infront of me. There were many familiar brands infact, but all those were patronizing the darker sex (if females are the fairer sex, the male counterparts have to be the darker ones!). And then he dug out this black bottle with a cool green lining which held the title 'The Amorist'. I can't really blame him for the most stupid decision that I had taken as a consumer in the last 27 years, can I? Well, it is true that he was chattering so much that I could not get a chance to read what was written. Neither did it help that he considered the items in his shop to be better than those in the 'new found, lifeless shopping malls' as he put it. Oh, he did not allow testing the deos either, which is normal. I don't remember having told him at any point that the deo was for my brother or husband or for that matter, any guy. Anyways, I was lured in to buying this fabulous bottle of 'Set Wet Amorist' deodorant for men!.
Now, where were my brains? What was I thinking? Hadn't I seen those horrendous ads of a cute guy holding a bottle of this despicable specimen of deodorant and 3 females writhing in pleasure over the sheer joy of watching him spray it over his six-pack? Did it say anywhere that the scantily clad females had used it too? And didn't the ad clearly mentionSet Wet Deos for men?. It so happened that, until today morning, my brains were out somewhere, playing poker with its friends.
The moment I applied the new deo today morning, I knew I was stinking. Miraculously, at this point, my brains came back after the game and I thought of taking a look at the bottle I held. Bad news, this is how it read,
"Get Set Wet Style, Get Very, Very Sexy!!( Well, no complaints so far)
New Set Wet Style Amorist is the perfect lady killer(Shittttttttt!!!)
Its enticing, seductive and works brilliantly without you having to try too
hard(Yeah, sure, I was already stinking like I jumped in to a deodorant cauldron)
Spray it on and let yourself loose(I am already finding it difficult to breath
and loosening my non existent tie)
There will be plenty who would die for an encounter with you(That was bad news!!, could not really imagine a bunch of girls flocking around me, looking for the guy!!
Since I didn't have the time to change or better even, take a bath and wash away my sins, I proceeded to the class with the abomination sprayed all over me. Was I imagining it or was it really happening? I can bet that there were atleast half a dozen ladies hovering around me, sniffing hard! Field day for my neighbor Shushant, uh, don't thank me dear friend, its all in the game. Apparently, some guys to whom I never really talked also came to talk to me today. Now, what am I to conclude from that? Should I doubt my reputation or their orientation?
Anyways, after my first and last day of being drenched in a male deodorant, I can't say that I hated it or anything. The odor is a little too strong for my liking, but it is good! On a man, it might even be seductive. So its my husband Rajeev or my brother Vishnu who would be the lucky ones who would be gifted with this particular green bottle. On second thoughts, Rajeev would not get it. A man smelling much too delicious in the deo that his wife gifted him, might seriously affect our plans of a happily ever after. So it is my brother. Oh, do I see him jumping on to a open geep with 5 females, all dying to grab and bite him? Well, that is how the deo ads these days are, aren't they? An artificial substance applied to the body to affect body odor caused by bacterial growth and the smell associated with bacterial breakdown of perspiration in armpits (in short, helps you to not stink like a pig) has now been portrayed as a Weapon of Mass Seduction? Oh my, and I end up buying the wrong brand!!!
Now please don't ask me why I went there. Fate does not always leave you with too many answers, does it? I was out for a walk on a beautiful evening that was yesterday and suddenly remembered that my most cherished deodorant was wailing in its final moments of utilization every time I squeezed the nozzle. I got into the nearest shop and the above mentioned gentleman displayed his 'historic' possessions infront of me. There were many familiar brands infact, but all those were patronizing the darker sex (if females are the fairer sex, the male counterparts have to be the darker ones!). And then he dug out this black bottle with a cool green lining which held the title 'The Amorist'. I can't really blame him for the most stupid decision that I had taken as a consumer in the last 27 years, can I? Well, it is true that he was chattering so much that I could not get a chance to read what was written. Neither did it help that he considered the items in his shop to be better than those in the 'new found, lifeless shopping malls' as he put it. Oh, he did not allow testing the deos either, which is normal. I don't remember having told him at any point that the deo was for my brother or husband or for that matter, any guy. Anyways, I was lured in to buying this fabulous bottle of 'Set Wet Amorist' deodorant for men!.
Now, where were my brains? What was I thinking? Hadn't I seen those horrendous ads of a cute guy holding a bottle of this despicable specimen of deodorant and 3 females writhing in pleasure over the sheer joy of watching him spray it over his six-pack? Did it say anywhere that the scantily clad females had used it too? And didn't the ad clearly mentionSet Wet Deos for men?. It so happened that, until today morning, my brains were out somewhere, playing poker with its friends.
The moment I applied the new deo today morning, I knew I was stinking. Miraculously, at this point, my brains came back after the game and I thought of taking a look at the bottle I held. Bad news, this is how it read,
"Get Set Wet Style, Get Very, Very Sexy!!( Well, no complaints so far)
New Set Wet Style Amorist is the perfect lady killer(Shittttttttt!!!)
Its enticing, seductive and works brilliantly without you having to try too
hard(Yeah, sure, I was already stinking like I jumped in to a deodorant cauldron)
Spray it on and let yourself loose(I am already finding it difficult to breath
and loosening my non existent tie)
There will be plenty who would die for an encounter with you(That was bad news!!, could not really imagine a bunch of girls flocking around me, looking for the guy!!
Since I didn't have the time to change or better even, take a bath and wash away my sins, I proceeded to the class with the abomination sprayed all over me. Was I imagining it or was it really happening? I can bet that there were atleast half a dozen ladies hovering around me, sniffing hard! Field day for my neighbor Shushant, uh, don't thank me dear friend, its all in the game. Apparently, some guys to whom I never really talked also came to talk to me today. Now, what am I to conclude from that? Should I doubt my reputation or their orientation?
Anyways, after my first and last day of being drenched in a male deodorant, I can't say that I hated it or anything. The odor is a little too strong for my liking, but it is good! On a man, it might even be seductive. So its my husband Rajeev or my brother Vishnu who would be the lucky ones who would be gifted with this particular green bottle. On second thoughts, Rajeev would not get it. A man smelling much too delicious in the deo that his wife gifted him, might seriously affect our plans of a happily ever after. So it is my brother. Oh, do I see him jumping on to a open geep with 5 females, all dying to grab and bite him? Well, that is how the deo ads these days are, aren't they? An artificial substance applied to the body to affect body odor caused by bacterial growth and the smell associated with bacterial breakdown of perspiration in armpits (in short, helps you to not stink like a pig) has now been portrayed as a Weapon of Mass Seduction? Oh my, and I end up buying the wrong brand!!!
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Its complicated!
I still haven't been able to understand what it means when some one gives his/her relationship status as 'Its complicated'. Its particularly funny when the profile in question belongs to a 17 year old. And more so because all relationships inevitably are complicated, irrespective of your age, sex or sexual orientation!
From how I understand it, 'Its complicated' can mean the following. I am taking a male as my sample specimen for this study for the obvious reason though all the below points apply equally to females too!
1. You are in a state of indecision as to whether you are actually in love or not. I am being too optimistic here, but in most of the cases, it's your partner who is in this particular dilemma. You cannot spit it out because there is a chance of a 'Yes' somewhere in the distant horizon. You cannot swallow it either because the horizon seems to be a few tiny light years away from the Milky way.
2. Another possibility of the above mentioned complication could be due to the presence of more than one female in the frame and our shy groom is out there in the sun, holding a garland, wondering which one to choose. Please don't assume that our 17 year old is being chased by an axe mob of females, its more like him chasing them. The count of the females can go up to any number and as it goes up, the complexity of 'Its complicated' shoots up too, following a parabolic curve.
3. Yet more disastrous is it when there are more than one guy lingering around a single female. Of these, one has to be a villain and the other has to be a hero, Bollywood style and yes, the hero would always get the girl. Now, you are not able to decide whether you are the hero or the best man at the wedding.
4. More often than not 'Its complicated' is an open invite. I am free and I am available and I can give up what I am into currently because you are important. So why not just single and why Its complicated?. Market value!! Remember, the utility of a commodity follows its demand curve. Or is it the other way round? Well, I don't know, just apply a little commonsense here ;).
5. I must give credit to some for whom it really is complicated. Issues at home, trouble with the relation as such, uninvited interference of a third person and so on.. I do wish that you would soon be able to transform your status to Marrried/Engaged or if it suits you, to being Single.
Relations are tricky. The relation status is just another fancy word, being Single does not make you ready to mingle, being Committed does not make you a Romeo ready to die for his Juilet and being Its complicated does not make it any more complicated or simple than it really is!!
So be ready to sing,
You brought your worst and I’m right here
Now I've seen it all, and it’s never been so clear
Laa laa laaa.....
From how I understand it, 'Its complicated' can mean the following. I am taking a male as my sample specimen for this study for the obvious reason though all the below points apply equally to females too!
1. You are in a state of indecision as to whether you are actually in love or not. I am being too optimistic here, but in most of the cases, it's your partner who is in this particular dilemma. You cannot spit it out because there is a chance of a 'Yes' somewhere in the distant horizon. You cannot swallow it either because the horizon seems to be a few tiny light years away from the Milky way.
2. Another possibility of the above mentioned complication could be due to the presence of more than one female in the frame and our shy groom is out there in the sun, holding a garland, wondering which one to choose. Please don't assume that our 17 year old is being chased by an axe mob of females, its more like him chasing them. The count of the females can go up to any number and as it goes up, the complexity of 'Its complicated' shoots up too, following a parabolic curve.
3. Yet more disastrous is it when there are more than one guy lingering around a single female. Of these, one has to be a villain and the other has to be a hero, Bollywood style and yes, the hero would always get the girl. Now, you are not able to decide whether you are the hero or the best man at the wedding.
4. More often than not 'Its complicated' is an open invite. I am free and I am available and I can give up what I am into currently because you are important. So why not just single and why Its complicated?. Market value!! Remember, the utility of a commodity follows its demand curve. Or is it the other way round? Well, I don't know, just apply a little commonsense here ;).
5. I must give credit to some for whom it really is complicated. Issues at home, trouble with the relation as such, uninvited interference of a third person and so on.. I do wish that you would soon be able to transform your status to Marrried/Engaged or if it suits you, to being Single.
Relations are tricky. The relation status is just another fancy word, being Single does not make you ready to mingle, being Committed does not make you a Romeo ready to die for his Juilet and being Its complicated does not make it any more complicated or simple than it really is!!
So be ready to sing,
You brought your worst and I’m right here
Now I've seen it all, and it’s never been so clear
Laa laa laaa.....
Sunday, October 9, 2011
The walk together
I met Rajeev P S Nair on May 24th, 2008. We had talked a couple of times before we met, as we waited for the formalities of the arranged marriage to be negotiated. Once the horoscopes matched and the families were satisfied, we met in Bangalore. Our wedding was fixed on June 1, we got engaged on June 29th and got married on August 28th, all in the same year.
Like any other couple, we have had our ups and downs. There were a million things that we accomplished together, and there were moments when we considered being together as the gravest mistake ever committed by any human being on Earth. I had a talk with one of my friends yesterday and he was asking me why I was so withdrawn these days. He could not understand why I could not break free and have fun with people. I could not understand it either. He gave me a simple solution. He asked me to think about what was it in my relation with Rajeev that holds us together inspite of the distance. It was definitely not just the commitment of being married and having a child together. It was much more than that. It was the attempt to find that bond that led me to write this particular blog. I was skimming through all the snaps we had taken ever since we met and each of these photos share a story. I still haven't found out what I was looking for in the beginning of this exercise, maybe it was never meant to be found!
This was taken on the day our wedding was fixed. After the horoscopes matched, both of us were hoping that everything would work out. Our families had only seen our photographs and as with all arranged marriages, there were some complications here and there. On this particular day, we were walking across Bangalore city, receiving regular updates from my brother about the discussions that were going on between the parents and at one moment he messaged me, Congrats guys, you are going to be married!!! The photo was more or less an outcome of that happiness :)
Engagement is technically the best moment ever. You are legally entitled to date without any other bonds of marriage attached! I would say I had loads of fun on this particular day. My friends from Mysore added to the happiness. And the general consensus was that I looked pretty! But ofcourse, he looked smashing!!
Life between engagement and wedding for us were not really the perfect courting period as it usually is. We had differences to sort out, and it was a period of eating out all we could and gaining several kgs! My brother still remarks that I looked ugly at that time because of all the extra flesh. Well, take a look at me now and say that again!
In Chottanikkara temple, thaalikettu
Man and wife!
I promise I would take good care of your daughter, yeah, and i will manage her furious temper(!!!)
Where is my wife??. I think he looks extra handsome in this one!
Yeah!! There she is!!!
The beginning of the walk together....
The photo shoot begins!!
Can we call it a day? Hungry, Sweaty and Tired!!!
First day as Mrs Rajeev P S Nair
Another day in the estate of Udumbanchola
Our first car together. This was a Wagon R: KA 51- P- 8260. Rajeev named the car as Raman Kutty, Wagon Raman Kutty. Raman Kutty was with us through many beautiful memories. Selling him off after we relocated to Kerala was truly a painful moment!! Somewhere in the records though, he still belongs to us. We once got a mail saying that Raman Kutty's owner violated some traffic rules somewhere!
Around the first wedding anniversary!
In our flat in Bangalore where we made a life together!
After one year of marriage, we realized that a new person was coming to our life. It was all thrill, excitement and longingness. At the point when we didn't know if it would be a boy or a girl, we called the baby 'Thakkudu'. Tracking Thakkudu's schedule of the day was the main agenda of our life. Through the morning sickness, throwing up inside the car and all the blues, we waited for Thakkudu to come! After some really killing moments, we got Thakkudu and then we knew that Thakkudu was Siddhi!
Dad holding his daughter for the first time. He was so scared to do this! That his Kung Fu hands might hurt her baby skin!
The day she became Siddhi. She was so tiny, no one could believe that she was my daughter!
Second wedding anniversary.
Siddhi's choroonu in Chollalkaavu Devi Temple
Siddhi's first birthday! She was all grumpy and uncomfortable because of all the attention.
A recent photograph.
We may not be prefect for each other. I don't think anyone in this world could be perfect for anyone else. But we have made a life together. And our small world is as beautiful as we would make it. Thanks for the life, for moving through those moments when I was as bad as anyone could ever get !!!!
Like any other couple, we have had our ups and downs. There were a million things that we accomplished together, and there were moments when we considered being together as the gravest mistake ever committed by any human being on Earth. I had a talk with one of my friends yesterday and he was asking me why I was so withdrawn these days. He could not understand why I could not break free and have fun with people. I could not understand it either. He gave me a simple solution. He asked me to think about what was it in my relation with Rajeev that holds us together inspite of the distance. It was definitely not just the commitment of being married and having a child together. It was much more than that. It was the attempt to find that bond that led me to write this particular blog. I was skimming through all the snaps we had taken ever since we met and each of these photos share a story. I still haven't found out what I was looking for in the beginning of this exercise, maybe it was never meant to be found!
Life between engagement and wedding for us were not really the perfect courting period as it usually is. We had differences to sort out, and it was a period of eating out all we could and gaining several kgs! My brother still remarks that I looked ugly at that time because of all the extra flesh. Well, take a look at me now and say that again!
In Chottanikkara temple, thaalikettu
Man and wife!
I promise I would take good care of your daughter, yeah, and i will manage her furious temper(!!!)
Where is my wife??. I think he looks extra handsome in this one!
Yeah!! There she is!!!
The photo shoot begins!!
First day as Mrs Rajeev P S Nair
Our first car together. This was a Wagon R: KA 51- P- 8260. Rajeev named the car as Raman Kutty, Wagon Raman Kutty. Raman Kutty was with us through many beautiful memories. Selling him off after we relocated to Kerala was truly a painful moment!! Somewhere in the records though, he still belongs to us. We once got a mail saying that Raman Kutty's owner violated some traffic rules somewhere!
After one year of marriage, we realized that a new person was coming to our life. It was all thrill, excitement and longingness. At the point when we didn't know if it would be a boy or a girl, we called the baby 'Thakkudu'. Tracking Thakkudu's schedule of the day was the main agenda of our life. Through the morning sickness, throwing up inside the car and all the blues, we waited for Thakkudu to come! After some really killing moments, we got Thakkudu and then we knew that Thakkudu was Siddhi!
We may not be prefect for each other. I don't think anyone in this world could be perfect for anyone else. But we have made a life together. And our small world is as beautiful as we would make it. Thanks for the life, for moving through those moments when I was as bad as anyone could ever get !!!!
Friday, October 7, 2011
Our world, being turned around!
For the ones who had an impression that this would be a serious discussion about the financial or political condition of the world around, or the distressing news of the demise of Steve Jobs, kindly apologize. I am here to talk about my tiny world which consists of my spouse, child, parents, brother, grand parents and in-laws!
Every mother takes pride in calling her child naughty. I am in no way different. My daughter Siddhi is now 1 year and 4 months old. She is turning our world around by her many innovative ideas of having fun and throwing away all the primitive ideas of safety to air!
My house does not look the same anymore. The moment you pass the gate, you might find buckets stacked near the water tap. That's Siddhi's greatest time pass. She carries buckets (yes, not just one, but one in each hand) to the water tap and orders who ever is around to open the tap. After a while, that same who ever would carry a wet cat inside and change her clothes for the hundredth time. I cannot really count the number of times this ritual happens everyday.
Stepping further inside, please don't be shocked to find waste bins inside the show case. Siddhi has this special liking for waste bins. She picks it up, smiles at you and then pours it over her head. Apparently, my mother could not find a better place to keep it.
My house is currently a weapon free zone. You would not find a single safety pin, blade, nail cutter, knife or anything remotely dangerous anywhere near. This reform happened after she cut her hand with a stray blade some time ago and thereafter when my mother found her happily holding a knife in her hand and offering it to anyone who wants it.
Now don't be even more surprised if you hear my helpless mom talking in English to my even more helpless dad! English is the favorite language of communication in Vidya Vihar(that's my house) these days. This is because Siddhi, albeit her limited knowledge of Malayalam, seems to understand everything we speak. My mom plans to take a bath, tells my husband or my father that she is off to the bathroom, and whoosh, Siddhi is in the bathroom before she even collects her bath towels. And yeah, the only option is to bath with Siddhi inside, oblivious to anything happening around and joyously playing with all the water she wants. So then we devised a plan to use English in such emergencies. Knowing my daughter, it is just a matter of time before she would learn this foreign language too. I am starting to train my parents, brother and husband in Hindi and in a short while would be teaching myself Spanish, Chinese and Greek in that order so that we can somehow survive until she gets older!
Feeding Siddhi is a challenge which is usually bestowed on the person after an impartial coin tossing process. The ritual takes a minimum of 2 hrs during which she changes her mind as to riding her cycle, playing on her swing, turning over her huge kit of toys from the bottom so that the room is flooded with her toys and walking around the house. And after all these, you would be left puffing and panting and the plate would still be half full. Sometimes, after all this effort, she suddenly feels that she has over eaten, so she sticks her finger into her mouth and throws up the efforts of 2 hours all over you and off you run to the bathroom, ofcourse with her running ahead of you by several paces.
Now after such a hectic day, if you are planning to stay over, please get ready to sleep without pillows. Siddhi has mastered the art of climbing the window. Once she reaches the top, she looks at you, smiles benignly and leaves her hand for a sky diving. The bed was there to support her though my mother, witnessing this act of valor, almost got a heart attack. As a result of this, all the 20 pillows in and around my house are stacked below this particular window to catch her fall.
One day, my mother entered the kitchen and saw an yellow baby, aka Siddhi. She had managed to get the turmeric powder from the rack and had bathed herself in that. As my mom fled with Siddhi to dip her in a bucket, she thanked God that it was turmeric and not chilly!
Taking Siddhi out for shopping is more fun that you can imagine, ofcourse, I am talking from her perspective. As far as you are concerned, it is a messy and sweaty process. My uncle, the policeman and my aunty, who looks after her in the day time, in one of those disastrous moments which you might later want to rewind, decided to take her out for shopping in the nearby supermarket. My daughter has the habit of calling anyone remotely resembling my brother by the name Mama(uncle) and anyone a little older as Appooppa(Grandpa). Thankfully, my husband is the only person she calls as Acha(father)! So on this particular historic day, she entered the supermarket, spotted her victim and started calling him Appooppa. To be fair to the man, he wasn't all that old or anything and he was clearly offended. From my aunt's report, my uncle had the most embarrassed smile of his face as he apologized to the offended man and just has he was doing it, Siddhi shouted her lungs out 'Appooppa' and everyone blushed! As if that was all. It must have been a pretty sight with Siddhi running around the supermarket, treating everything around her as a hindrance, toppling things over, with my uncle running behind her to catch her and my not exactly slim aunty, painstakingly picking up and rearranging things that Siddhi baby had deranged!
The story repeated at Udumbanchola too, my husband's place, where we took her over the weekend. Again the voltage step up was relocated to the top of the almirah because Siddhi wanted to stick her finger into it, the weapons like nail cutter etc was over the cot for the obvious reason, the phone was over the television because she suddenly wanted to talk to everyone and the television itself barricaded through all the furniture available to avoid a serial toppling of all the antiquities that the television was housing. As we started to leave, I heard my father in law saying something about building some racks high up and my mother in law evidently was still panting.
All through the daily reports that I get from Rajeev, my mom and my aunt, there is only thing that comes to my mind. I am missing a large part of it. The fun and the pain both. I miss you baby and I promise that we would be together as soon as we can. I love you darling!!!
Every mother takes pride in calling her child naughty. I am in no way different. My daughter Siddhi is now 1 year and 4 months old. She is turning our world around by her many innovative ideas of having fun and throwing away all the primitive ideas of safety to air!
My house does not look the same anymore. The moment you pass the gate, you might find buckets stacked near the water tap. That's Siddhi's greatest time pass. She carries buckets (yes, not just one, but one in each hand) to the water tap and orders who ever is around to open the tap. After a while, that same who ever would carry a wet cat inside and change her clothes for the hundredth time. I cannot really count the number of times this ritual happens everyday.
Stepping further inside, please don't be shocked to find waste bins inside the show case. Siddhi has this special liking for waste bins. She picks it up, smiles at you and then pours it over her head. Apparently, my mother could not find a better place to keep it.
My house is currently a weapon free zone. You would not find a single safety pin, blade, nail cutter, knife or anything remotely dangerous anywhere near. This reform happened after she cut her hand with a stray blade some time ago and thereafter when my mother found her happily holding a knife in her hand and offering it to anyone who wants it.
Now don't be even more surprised if you hear my helpless mom talking in English to my even more helpless dad! English is the favorite language of communication in Vidya Vihar(that's my house) these days. This is because Siddhi, albeit her limited knowledge of Malayalam, seems to understand everything we speak. My mom plans to take a bath, tells my husband or my father that she is off to the bathroom, and whoosh, Siddhi is in the bathroom before she even collects her bath towels. And yeah, the only option is to bath with Siddhi inside, oblivious to anything happening around and joyously playing with all the water she wants. So then we devised a plan to use English in such emergencies. Knowing my daughter, it is just a matter of time before she would learn this foreign language too. I am starting to train my parents, brother and husband in Hindi and in a short while would be teaching myself Spanish, Chinese and Greek in that order so that we can somehow survive until she gets older!
Feeding Siddhi is a challenge which is usually bestowed on the person after an impartial coin tossing process. The ritual takes a minimum of 2 hrs during which she changes her mind as to riding her cycle, playing on her swing, turning over her huge kit of toys from the bottom so that the room is flooded with her toys and walking around the house. And after all these, you would be left puffing and panting and the plate would still be half full. Sometimes, after all this effort, she suddenly feels that she has over eaten, so she sticks her finger into her mouth and throws up the efforts of 2 hours all over you and off you run to the bathroom, ofcourse with her running ahead of you by several paces.
Now after such a hectic day, if you are planning to stay over, please get ready to sleep without pillows. Siddhi has mastered the art of climbing the window. Once she reaches the top, she looks at you, smiles benignly and leaves her hand for a sky diving. The bed was there to support her though my mother, witnessing this act of valor, almost got a heart attack. As a result of this, all the 20 pillows in and around my house are stacked below this particular window to catch her fall.
One day, my mother entered the kitchen and saw an yellow baby, aka Siddhi. She had managed to get the turmeric powder from the rack and had bathed herself in that. As my mom fled with Siddhi to dip her in a bucket, she thanked God that it was turmeric and not chilly!
Taking Siddhi out for shopping is more fun that you can imagine, ofcourse, I am talking from her perspective. As far as you are concerned, it is a messy and sweaty process. My uncle, the policeman and my aunty, who looks after her in the day time, in one of those disastrous moments which you might later want to rewind, decided to take her out for shopping in the nearby supermarket. My daughter has the habit of calling anyone remotely resembling my brother by the name Mama(uncle) and anyone a little older as Appooppa(Grandpa). Thankfully, my husband is the only person she calls as Acha(father)! So on this particular historic day, she entered the supermarket, spotted her victim and started calling him Appooppa. To be fair to the man, he wasn't all that old or anything and he was clearly offended. From my aunt's report, my uncle had the most embarrassed smile of his face as he apologized to the offended man and just has he was doing it, Siddhi shouted her lungs out 'Appooppa' and everyone blushed! As if that was all. It must have been a pretty sight with Siddhi running around the supermarket, treating everything around her as a hindrance, toppling things over, with my uncle running behind her to catch her and my not exactly slim aunty, painstakingly picking up and rearranging things that Siddhi baby had deranged!
The story repeated at Udumbanchola too, my husband's place, where we took her over the weekend. Again the voltage step up was relocated to the top of the almirah because Siddhi wanted to stick her finger into it, the weapons like nail cutter etc was over the cot for the obvious reason, the phone was over the television because she suddenly wanted to talk to everyone and the television itself barricaded through all the furniture available to avoid a serial toppling of all the antiquities that the television was housing. As we started to leave, I heard my father in law saying something about building some racks high up and my mother in law evidently was still panting.
All through the daily reports that I get from Rajeev, my mom and my aunt, there is only thing that comes to my mind. I am missing a large part of it. The fun and the pain both. I miss you baby and I promise that we would be together as soon as we can. I love you darling!!!
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Musings of a convalescent...
This is my first blog in many weeks, which is the longest break ever, since I started blogging with interest. Many asked me why I had stopped. I had no answer. For the same reason, I would not announcing this blog in any of the public forums. This one is for those of my "close to the heart ones", who, even without me telling them, would check regularly to see if I have freed my bird of creativity from the unjustified quarantine. As I sit, smiling and happily pecking at my keyboard, I have no clear topic in mind. But I think it is creativity that I might want to blog about. Beware, you might ultimately end up reading stuff totally unrelated to the above mentioned topic and you would definitely think what I had in mind or if I had anything called a mind at all. That is one reason why I am not planning to publicize this particular blog.
One of my friends told me last day that my creativity flows from my fingertips. Me being me and my ego being satisfied and belching, I was proud of the comment. Nevertheless, every rivers needs a mountain to originate from, and it is the lucidity and the briskness of the source which decides how far and long the river would flow. A masterpiece from Picasso or some "smile-able crap" from Vidya would both require the same basic factor to evolve, the right amount of motivation and stimulation. I learned in Organizational Behavior in the last term that strong emotions, positive or negative, can lead to a surge in the level of creativity. Taking a look at history, there are two basic reasons behind any work of art, love or hatred. Love encompasses emotions, calm and joy, whereas hatred would include anger, frustration and grudge. Going back to Picasso, have you ever seen his 'Guernica'? I would have puked had I understood any part of it. My brother painstakingly explained every bit of the picture which came out from a maestro who was inspired by the bombing during Spanish civil war. I am not as fortunate, if hatred could make me a creative write, I could beat Ayn Rand over her one million pages (not quite) long 'Atlas Shrugged'. What comes out of me when I am in the negative hemisphere would be even more pathetic than the work of some self declared artists of Malayalam, widely popularized through YouTube and the likes. I wait for it to pass, to think and to write. The last 20 days of my life were glimpses of a transition and indecision that I was going through. This phase is typically characterized through dark circles under the eyes, bursts of anger, lack of concentration and skepticism about everything and everyone. If you claim that this is a psychological condition, I would not refuse it, but atleast it is a condition acknowledged and appreciated by the sufferer.
The famous American Psychologist, David McClelland professed a theory for motivation, which is known as the need theory of motivation (any doubts that I am an FPM student now? Even my blogs are reflecting my deep intellectual knowledge!!). My Philosophy book review this term was based on his work and I would be blithe to send it to anyone who wants to know more about him or the theory. Well, he says that a person with a high need for achievement ultimately achieves something in life, and also about a few ways of raising this levels for a normal human being. One of this is fantasizing. Now don't start getting any ideas, he speaks about fantasizing the achievements that you aspire so that your dreams don't let you sleep. Cannot really help if your dreams also start evading you, can it? I have been having all these dreamless nights or the ones where the dreams are so broken, bordering on being night mares, like the cash flow statements I prepare for my accounts course, where nothing matches, you can neither make out the beginning, or the end or if there is a flow at all.
The PGP office of IIMK is sadistic in nature and derives pleasure out of shuffling our seats in the most unpredictable manner every 3 months. They did it again and now I am transferred from the corner of the last row, where I was invisible, to the corner of the front row, where I am just as invisible. I do not particularly enjoy being invisible because I still remember the adorable Prof Subhashis Dey (sigh!!) looking around helplessly to find the source of my voice when I posed a question in the class the last term. Well, my seat in class incidentally has nothing to do with my creativity ofcourse, but I was explaining it because now I have a new neighbor. Shushanta Guha (let not the 'a' at the end of his name mislead you, Shushanta is a male) and Sonia Singh (no misgivings there, Sonia is a female), who sits adjacent to him, have made some people suggest that the PGP office has collaboratively accumulated all the senior citizens of the class together. OK, we are the eldest ones in the class, with the other two elder to me but apparently no one would believe that the gorgeous Sonia is a mother of a child of 3 and that Shushanta is almost 28. I am again deviating from my early intent by discussing my interesting neighbors, this is what happens when you give a a chance to a "blog chatter box" a chance to write after weeks. Getting to the point, Shushanta has a 5 subject notebook, which looks very professional, though a part of its beauty has been tarnished by my 5 color pen. Yes, I do have a pen with which I can write in 5 different colors, which I am currently using to blackmail my classmates to my advantage. Ok, so today as I was admiring my colorful impressions on his 'once' beautiful book, I noticed a printed quote at the back cover and it moved me. It said, "Every work of art, every world changing idea, is a result of a moment's inspiration". I could not wait for the class to get over, which is handled by yet another interesting person (I am not writing anymore about my term 2 news in IIMK, that would take another blog and who said I am short of idea, OMG, give me two keyboards!!). All because this simple line of thought had given me the last spark to burn off all that was dormant and doubtful in me. After class, the all new me rushed to my room, looked at the mirror on the wall, smiled and opened the laptop!
This blog has no outcomes, no conclusions, no questions posed, nothing to think or ruminate about. The only intent is to let you know that you have no reason to worry about me now, I do not guarantee that I would never go on a spell of dark thoughts ever again, but with you by my side, I will get over it! And ofcourse, I do hope that a part of it has made you smile, as I have always wanted it.
One of my friends told me last day that my creativity flows from my fingertips. Me being me and my ego being satisfied and belching, I was proud of the comment. Nevertheless, every rivers needs a mountain to originate from, and it is the lucidity and the briskness of the source which decides how far and long the river would flow. A masterpiece from Picasso or some "smile-able crap" from Vidya would both require the same basic factor to evolve, the right amount of motivation and stimulation. I learned in Organizational Behavior in the last term that strong emotions, positive or negative, can lead to a surge in the level of creativity. Taking a look at history, there are two basic reasons behind any work of art, love or hatred. Love encompasses emotions, calm and joy, whereas hatred would include anger, frustration and grudge. Going back to Picasso, have you ever seen his 'Guernica'? I would have puked had I understood any part of it. My brother painstakingly explained every bit of the picture which came out from a maestro who was inspired by the bombing during Spanish civil war. I am not as fortunate, if hatred could make me a creative write, I could beat Ayn Rand over her one million pages (not quite) long 'Atlas Shrugged'. What comes out of me when I am in the negative hemisphere would be even more pathetic than the work of some self declared artists of Malayalam, widely popularized through YouTube and the likes. I wait for it to pass, to think and to write. The last 20 days of my life were glimpses of a transition and indecision that I was going through. This phase is typically characterized through dark circles under the eyes, bursts of anger, lack of concentration and skepticism about everything and everyone. If you claim that this is a psychological condition, I would not refuse it, but atleast it is a condition acknowledged and appreciated by the sufferer.
The famous American Psychologist, David McClelland professed a theory for motivation, which is known as the need theory of motivation (any doubts that I am an FPM student now? Even my blogs are reflecting my deep intellectual knowledge!!). My Philosophy book review this term was based on his work and I would be blithe to send it to anyone who wants to know more about him or the theory. Well, he says that a person with a high need for achievement ultimately achieves something in life, and also about a few ways of raising this levels for a normal human being. One of this is fantasizing. Now don't start getting any ideas, he speaks about fantasizing the achievements that you aspire so that your dreams don't let you sleep. Cannot really help if your dreams also start evading you, can it? I have been having all these dreamless nights or the ones where the dreams are so broken, bordering on being night mares, like the cash flow statements I prepare for my accounts course, where nothing matches, you can neither make out the beginning, or the end or if there is a flow at all.
The PGP office of IIMK is sadistic in nature and derives pleasure out of shuffling our seats in the most unpredictable manner every 3 months. They did it again and now I am transferred from the corner of the last row, where I was invisible, to the corner of the front row, where I am just as invisible. I do not particularly enjoy being invisible because I still remember the adorable Prof Subhashis Dey (sigh!!) looking around helplessly to find the source of my voice when I posed a question in the class the last term. Well, my seat in class incidentally has nothing to do with my creativity ofcourse, but I was explaining it because now I have a new neighbor. Shushanta Guha (let not the 'a' at the end of his name mislead you, Shushanta is a male) and Sonia Singh (no misgivings there, Sonia is a female), who sits adjacent to him, have made some people suggest that the PGP office has collaboratively accumulated all the senior citizens of the class together. OK, we are the eldest ones in the class, with the other two elder to me but apparently no one would believe that the gorgeous Sonia is a mother of a child of 3 and that Shushanta is almost 28. I am again deviating from my early intent by discussing my interesting neighbors, this is what happens when you give a a chance to a "blog chatter box" a chance to write after weeks. Getting to the point, Shushanta has a 5 subject notebook, which looks very professional, though a part of its beauty has been tarnished by my 5 color pen. Yes, I do have a pen with which I can write in 5 different colors, which I am currently using to blackmail my classmates to my advantage. Ok, so today as I was admiring my colorful impressions on his 'once' beautiful book, I noticed a printed quote at the back cover and it moved me. It said, "Every work of art, every world changing idea, is a result of a moment's inspiration". I could not wait for the class to get over, which is handled by yet another interesting person (I am not writing anymore about my term 2 news in IIMK, that would take another blog and who said I am short of idea, OMG, give me two keyboards!!). All because this simple line of thought had given me the last spark to burn off all that was dormant and doubtful in me. After class, the all new me rushed to my room, looked at the mirror on the wall, smiled and opened the laptop!
This blog has no outcomes, no conclusions, no questions posed, nothing to think or ruminate about. The only intent is to let you know that you have no reason to worry about me now, I do not guarantee that I would never go on a spell of dark thoughts ever again, but with you by my side, I will get over it! And ofcourse, I do hope that a part of it has made you smile, as I have always wanted it.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Age of agelessness
There are some people on whom age and time are much too lenient. People who can shock others with their marital status or matriarchal status. While I admit that there are very few so blessed, there are some like the gorgeous Nadia Moidu who can still pass for a 25 year old, the ageless Nagarjuna who can make even his own son jealous, or the bubbly Sachin Tendulkar who looks super cute and delectable inspite of all these hours and years in the sun. Now I don't really care how old movie stars or cricket players look as long as they are the best in their trades.
I am one of those lauded ones on whom age has bestowed its graces rather abundantly. All through out my life, I have been attributed an age according to the formula,
Vidya_Age_Assumed = Vidya_Age_Actual + x, where x in { 2,3,4,5}.
Let me try to explain this phenomenon. I have a father who is at 6 feet and well built and mother who is just above 5 feet, slim and petite. Ideally I should have come somewhere in the middle, or better even, tiny like my mom. But I happen to take after my dad in a superbly mighty fashion which has made me a female specimen closing resembling an Indian weight lifter; a looming 170cms tall, a weight I would not want to disclose, broad shoulders and a healthy appetite(ahem). I am proud of it now, but there used to be a time when the shoe size of 9 and the dress size of XL used to prompt me to adapt saint hood, only because that particular category abhorred sandals and any white saari is always 5.5 meters long.
Talking about my mom, my darling gem of a mom, the society used to hate me for calling her mom. And so I did it with vengeance. In a textile shop, I would walk atleast 10 meters away from her and call her 'Amma' from that distance. The sales girl would look around to find someone appropriate in size to be my mother and failing to find any, would sadly look at me as if I am a retard fond of calling every pretty woman passing by as mom. As if that would make me give up! I would call and call until my mom awakes from her reverie in the world of clothes and apparels and acknowledges me. She always taught me to be proud of myself, convinced me that being big does not make me ugly, protected me from the embarrassment by explaining to everyone that I take after my father and I am thankful to her for all that!
There are a few memorable instances of my life that I would like to jot down. The first one was when I was 17, and was attending a wedding function. When I told the groom that I am attending St Peter's Senior Secondary School, he eagerly asked me whether I taught Physics or Computer Science. After smiling and explaining that I was a student there and not a teacher, I progressed to curse the couple that all the children born to them, whether male or female, would be atleast 6.2' tall, weigh a Quintal each and would have feet as big as a baboon's. Of course, I didn't speak this out and haven't checked on them to see if my curse really worked or not.
The next significant event happened in God's own IIMK. On the first day here, after dinner, on virtue of of having an unenviable geographic quotient and an equally proficient friend, Neetha and I got lost in the campus. Nevertheless, both of us being rather confident of ourselves, claimed that we can find the way ourselves and ultimately reached the exit. Help was imminent and we got it the form of a female going somewhere and who agreed to take us to our hostel. A few minutes after we started walking, the kind female asked if Neetha was joining the next day. Not to be left aside, I loudly proclaimed that I am joining too. And the look I got! Our guide gave me a top to bottom stare trying to find out if any part of me was young enough to set foot(or whatever!) inside this youthful, bubbling campus. Failing to find any, she gave a shrug which said it all. Back in room, we laughed about it for hours and I was amused how coolly I took it.
Its rather strange how you want to look grown up and mature at the age of 15, I remember draping myself in my mother's saari for the effect. Little do we know that most of us might want to reverse this effect about 20 years later and getting into a teenager's clothes, or applying the array of age suppressing creams would hardly help. Frankly, I fear growing older, solely for the reason that I don't know what awaits me at the other end of the road, but there are many around me who demonstrate through their lives that aging is a graceful process worth looking forward to, and a few white hairs shouldn't make anyone panic.
I am one of those lauded ones on whom age has bestowed its graces rather abundantly. All through out my life, I have been attributed an age according to the formula,
Vidya_Age_Assumed = Vidya_Age_Actual + x, where x in { 2,3,4,5}.
Let me try to explain this phenomenon. I have a father who is at 6 feet and well built and mother who is just above 5 feet, slim and petite. Ideally I should have come somewhere in the middle, or better even, tiny like my mom. But I happen to take after my dad in a superbly mighty fashion which has made me a female specimen closing resembling an Indian weight lifter; a looming 170cms tall, a weight I would not want to disclose, broad shoulders and a healthy appetite(ahem). I am proud of it now, but there used to be a time when the shoe size of 9 and the dress size of XL used to prompt me to adapt saint hood, only because that particular category abhorred sandals and any white saari is always 5.5 meters long.
Talking about my mom, my darling gem of a mom, the society used to hate me for calling her mom. And so I did it with vengeance. In a textile shop, I would walk atleast 10 meters away from her and call her 'Amma' from that distance. The sales girl would look around to find someone appropriate in size to be my mother and failing to find any, would sadly look at me as if I am a retard fond of calling every pretty woman passing by as mom. As if that would make me give up! I would call and call until my mom awakes from her reverie in the world of clothes and apparels and acknowledges me. She always taught me to be proud of myself, convinced me that being big does not make me ugly, protected me from the embarrassment by explaining to everyone that I take after my father and I am thankful to her for all that!
There are a few memorable instances of my life that I would like to jot down. The first one was when I was 17, and was attending a wedding function. When I told the groom that I am attending St Peter's Senior Secondary School, he eagerly asked me whether I taught Physics or Computer Science. After smiling and explaining that I was a student there and not a teacher, I progressed to curse the couple that all the children born to them, whether male or female, would be atleast 6.2' tall, weigh a Quintal each and would have feet as big as a baboon's. Of course, I didn't speak this out and haven't checked on them to see if my curse really worked or not.
The next significant event happened in God's own IIMK. On the first day here, after dinner, on virtue of of having an unenviable geographic quotient and an equally proficient friend, Neetha and I got lost in the campus. Nevertheless, both of us being rather confident of ourselves, claimed that we can find the way ourselves and ultimately reached the exit. Help was imminent and we got it the form of a female going somewhere and who agreed to take us to our hostel. A few minutes after we started walking, the kind female asked if Neetha was joining the next day. Not to be left aside, I loudly proclaimed that I am joining too. And the look I got! Our guide gave me a top to bottom stare trying to find out if any part of me was young enough to set foot(or whatever!) inside this youthful, bubbling campus. Failing to find any, she gave a shrug which said it all. Back in room, we laughed about it for hours and I was amused how coolly I took it.
Its rather strange how you want to look grown up and mature at the age of 15, I remember draping myself in my mother's saari for the effect. Little do we know that most of us might want to reverse this effect about 20 years later and getting into a teenager's clothes, or applying the array of age suppressing creams would hardly help. Frankly, I fear growing older, solely for the reason that I don't know what awaits me at the other end of the road, but there are many around me who demonstrate through their lives that aging is a graceful process worth looking forward to, and a few white hairs shouldn't make anyone panic.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
A night to remember!
Durga thought her father was the most unromantic person on earth. That was until she met the man she was going to marry. She could not blame anyone for the choice, it was her own. They met on a matrimony site in the most traditional manner. The photos were hugely likable to each other and to add to the bliss of their parents, the horoscopes matched perfectly well. Contrary to the custom, they met each other in the city without the family interference. Durga was swept off her feet by the exceedingly handsome and charming man who waited for her at the other side of the road. She had no reason to believe that it was not the same with him. Their families were overjoyed with the relation the kids had found for themselves and in a matter of 2 weeks they got engaged. Yes, that was quick, but there were no auspicious days for the next 4 months of the year. Apparently, the families didn't want to leave two love stricken people in the city alone, without the bond of atleast an engagement ring!
That was 3 months ago. Soon after, Durga started having second thoughts. He was not the kind she had envisioned at all. True, she didn't want a man sickly in love with her, or obsessed with her every single action, she hated that kind. But she sure wanted someone who would surprise her with gifts once in a while, hold her hand while crossing the road, buy her dinner in a romantic restaurant or talk to her lovingly over the phone. This man was none of this. Once when she wanted to talk, he said his stomach was too full and so he cannot talk. Again, when she held his hand once while walking, he suggested that the physical effects of walking are better observed when you can move your hands freely. And on her birthday a week ago, he got too busy and didn't meet her to even wish her. OK, now these are all silly things in anyone else's view, but then Durga believed that these silly things are what added to the beauty of life. Things to remember in the long years they would be together, stories to giggle about in future and to share with the kids, such was the contentment that would have made her life perfect. Well, Durga just realized that with him, that was not to be. She was even considering talking to her mother about the difficulties in the relation though she knew that there was no backing off. Everyone found him to be perfect and called her lucky. And most of the times, he seemed to the genuinely in love with her, though the next moment he would do or say something that made her feel like a fool.
On the day which would later turn to their first night together, Durga was feeling uneasy since the morning. She was new to the city, the hostel food was still not a fond memory and she was terribly home sick. She was sure that the Paneer dish she had for dinner last night had not agreed with her stomach. Anyways, for the lack of anything better to do in the dreary hostel room and since the office rest room was a much pleasanter sight as compared to the one in the hostel, she went on to her office. The barrage started around 9AM during her daily status call when she rushed to the toilet. After 7 trips to the potty, she lost the count. Her stomach was as sick as her heart and she was truly a damsel in fluid distress! He called her in the morning, he always did that, a call that never lasted for more than 60 seconds. Unlike a cold or a headache, dysentery is not exactly the kind of disease that gets you the right kind of attention, yet Durga managed to tell him that her stomach was sick. He didn't sound sorry, neither did he make fun of her, worse even, he started advising her. He urged her to get Ginger or Tulsi tea that might solidify her bowels. Durga was angry when she hung upon him. Between 5 and 6 in the evening, her rate of visiting the toilet went up to 23 times per hour, an all time record. Durga realized that she needed medical attention and that she would not under this condition manage to reach her hostel with out someone's help. In a city to which she had recently relocated for better marriage prospects, she had no one else to turn to, apart from the fruit of the above mentioned attempt. Reluctantly, Durga told him that she needed to get to a hospital. Luckily, this time he did not advice her, neither did he sound obnoxiously serious. The man did not own a car or even a motor bike and she knew that he could not drive one, so she wondered how he was going to help her. But almost 15 minutes later and 7 more visits to the toilet, he materialized in front of her office in a taxi. Durga can barely remember her ride to the hospital, she was just too tired due to the unlimited outgoing with zero incoming. At one point she was leaning against his shoulder and at another, she was lying on his lap.
The hospital was crowded in the fever month of July and Durga lay in one of the many beds, with him standing by her side. She had chosen to lie on a bed nearest to the privy for the obvious reason. She dozed off after a while and got up to vomit violently. He helped her to the commode, cleaned her up and got her back to the bed. Moments later, she found him shouting at a doctor for not attending to her. The response was quick, Durga was transferred to a room on a wheel chair, IV was administered and was given the necessary medicine to immediately cork the reckless outflow from her excretory system.
Durga did not want to be admitted in the hospital, she did not want to stay there alone and she did not have one friend close enough to stay with her for the night. But she had no choice, she was sick and she needed care, He stayed on, went out briefly and got her things to eat and drink and clothes to change, helped her get up and walk whenever she wanted, fed her and cared for her like a father for his toddler.
Realization hits people in different ways. Durga required almost 7 hrs, a hospital bed and a flux to realize that she was going to marry a man who would value her more than his life, no matter what state she was in. They spend their first night together on two different beds, with him tossing around, because the hospital bed was hardly hospitable, and also checking on her IV in between, and her, well, she didn't sleep at all. She was fondly looking at the man she would soon marry, whom she now loved deeply and with whom she would spend her life, happily. She now knew she was lucky indeed!!!!
That was 3 months ago. Soon after, Durga started having second thoughts. He was not the kind she had envisioned at all. True, she didn't want a man sickly in love with her, or obsessed with her every single action, she hated that kind. But she sure wanted someone who would surprise her with gifts once in a while, hold her hand while crossing the road, buy her dinner in a romantic restaurant or talk to her lovingly over the phone. This man was none of this. Once when she wanted to talk, he said his stomach was too full and so he cannot talk. Again, when she held his hand once while walking, he suggested that the physical effects of walking are better observed when you can move your hands freely. And on her birthday a week ago, he got too busy and didn't meet her to even wish her. OK, now these are all silly things in anyone else's view, but then Durga believed that these silly things are what added to the beauty of life. Things to remember in the long years they would be together, stories to giggle about in future and to share with the kids, such was the contentment that would have made her life perfect. Well, Durga just realized that with him, that was not to be. She was even considering talking to her mother about the difficulties in the relation though she knew that there was no backing off. Everyone found him to be perfect and called her lucky. And most of the times, he seemed to the genuinely in love with her, though the next moment he would do or say something that made her feel like a fool.
On the day which would later turn to their first night together, Durga was feeling uneasy since the morning. She was new to the city, the hostel food was still not a fond memory and she was terribly home sick. She was sure that the Paneer dish she had for dinner last night had not agreed with her stomach. Anyways, for the lack of anything better to do in the dreary hostel room and since the office rest room was a much pleasanter sight as compared to the one in the hostel, she went on to her office. The barrage started around 9AM during her daily status call when she rushed to the toilet. After 7 trips to the potty, she lost the count. Her stomach was as sick as her heart and she was truly a damsel in fluid distress! He called her in the morning, he always did that, a call that never lasted for more than 60 seconds. Unlike a cold or a headache, dysentery is not exactly the kind of disease that gets you the right kind of attention, yet Durga managed to tell him that her stomach was sick. He didn't sound sorry, neither did he make fun of her, worse even, he started advising her. He urged her to get Ginger or Tulsi tea that might solidify her bowels. Durga was angry when she hung upon him. Between 5 and 6 in the evening, her rate of visiting the toilet went up to 23 times per hour, an all time record. Durga realized that she needed medical attention and that she would not under this condition manage to reach her hostel with out someone's help. In a city to which she had recently relocated for better marriage prospects, she had no one else to turn to, apart from the fruit of the above mentioned attempt. Reluctantly, Durga told him that she needed to get to a hospital. Luckily, this time he did not advice her, neither did he sound obnoxiously serious. The man did not own a car or even a motor bike and she knew that he could not drive one, so she wondered how he was going to help her. But almost 15 minutes later and 7 more visits to the toilet, he materialized in front of her office in a taxi. Durga can barely remember her ride to the hospital, she was just too tired due to the unlimited outgoing with zero incoming. At one point she was leaning against his shoulder and at another, she was lying on his lap.
The hospital was crowded in the fever month of July and Durga lay in one of the many beds, with him standing by her side. She had chosen to lie on a bed nearest to the privy for the obvious reason. She dozed off after a while and got up to vomit violently. He helped her to the commode, cleaned her up and got her back to the bed. Moments later, she found him shouting at a doctor for not attending to her. The response was quick, Durga was transferred to a room on a wheel chair, IV was administered and was given the necessary medicine to immediately cork the reckless outflow from her excretory system.
Durga did not want to be admitted in the hospital, she did not want to stay there alone and she did not have one friend close enough to stay with her for the night. But she had no choice, she was sick and she needed care, He stayed on, went out briefly and got her things to eat and drink and clothes to change, helped her get up and walk whenever she wanted, fed her and cared for her like a father for his toddler.
Realization hits people in different ways. Durga required almost 7 hrs, a hospital bed and a flux to realize that she was going to marry a man who would value her more than his life, no matter what state she was in. They spend their first night together on two different beds, with him tossing around, because the hospital bed was hardly hospitable, and also checking on her IV in between, and her, well, she didn't sleep at all. She was fondly looking at the man she would soon marry, whom she now loved deeply and with whom she would spend her life, happily. She now knew she was lucky indeed!!!!
Sunday, September 11, 2011
This is how I know them
As far as my knowledge goes, they come in 4 varieties. The nomenclature below is based on my limited experience and your divisions might differ, but however you name it, the characteristics have a very large probability of staying the same.
Men as I know them can be classified as the Ps, Ss, Rs and the others.
P - Promising, Polite and Patient.
These are the loving ones. The ones who smother you with their incomparable love. My Ps would change themselves or change their worlds for the woman they love. They lavish gifts on their girl and use all expletives possible to express their love. They call you beautiful though your mirror says otherwise and stare lovingly at you even when there is a parade of nude females around. Most of the times you end up feeling guilty that you are unable to return their love in the same intensity, magnitude or depth. They promise to wait for you for ages and ages and one day they realize that they can't. In the most ancient and despicable fashion, they drop one long mail, message or none of the above and disappear. Now if the ones of this kind leave, they are gone for good, they would never ever come back. You would only be able to think of them with a pang of guilt, wondering what went wrong. Afterall, the man had promised to stay and that's all what you ever wanted! And in the rest of your life, you never stop wondering, "What if he had stayed.."
S - Silly, Sensitive, Stubborn
Now the S are a whole different story altogether. These are the demanding ones. You really have to try hard, harder and hardest to keep them happy. And still you end up being in love with these rascals, for they have the charm and the charisma that none other possess. If you ask me whether they truly love you, I might answer yes, but again, you have to work for it. Never take these ones for granted, you hurt them and they are gone. But again, they would be back, provided you prove your love for them sufficiently well. One trick that works with them is the art of ignoring them. They cannot tolerate it and would come to you begging, asking for penance. But you should know where to stop or they would just realize that you are playing with them and vanish!! Frankly, I am yet to understand this kind. Don't ever expect a commitment from them. Some days, they would be so close to being the perfect one, and then they would not call you for days altogether. Evidently, they know that you are waiting and would hug them and fondle them when they are back, and a simple excuse would take care of all your anger.
R - Rational, Relationship-Oriented, Reliable
I am in love with the R category.These are the ones who would never speak one sugary word, never spend too much on gifts and never say that they would want to tolerate you for one more life. Damn it, sometimes you even doubt their love. But fake an accident, pretend your nose is blocked, sneeze a couple of times over the phone or perhaps hint that someone else has asked you out, and they would be near you, holding your hand and taking care of you or trying to impress you. No matter whether its a bad hair day, or you are in rags or if your sandals are smelly, they would not comment, apparently, they don't comment even if you resemble Merlyn Monroe in a particular outfit. These are the stoic ones who would be happy to spend a lifetime with you, fighting and making up, the one who would build you a mansion, ask atleast for your choice of color when he buys a car and would be proud of you and your achievements.
Added at special request:
D - Dreamer,Dumb,Devilish
These are the ones you must be very careful about. When they come about, you feel that the chemistry is awesome and that no one could be better. But beware of these cowards, these are mamma's boys with a non-existent back bone. The moment the pressure mounts, the dreamer turns devilish, shows you his ugly teeth and hides behind his mother's pallu. And years later, they would regret and come back ,not because they want to be back wit you, but because they just realize that they should not have lost you. Having them around would never do any good, a smile would make them demand daily SMS and the demand just builds up until you kick the devil out of your life once and forever!
The others.
The rest don't follow a pattern, most of them are 'lets have some fun' kind, some are 'I would die for you' kind and many are 'lets spend a day or a night together' kind. Ignore them, for they mean no good!
If in the course of life, I happen to find another category to add to, be assured that the list would grow. :)
Men as I know them can be classified as the Ps, Ss, Rs and the others.
P - Promising, Polite and Patient.
These are the loving ones. The ones who smother you with their incomparable love. My Ps would change themselves or change their worlds for the woman they love. They lavish gifts on their girl and use all expletives possible to express their love. They call you beautiful though your mirror says otherwise and stare lovingly at you even when there is a parade of nude females around. Most of the times you end up feeling guilty that you are unable to return their love in the same intensity, magnitude or depth. They promise to wait for you for ages and ages and one day they realize that they can't. In the most ancient and despicable fashion, they drop one long mail, message or none of the above and disappear. Now if the ones of this kind leave, they are gone for good, they would never ever come back. You would only be able to think of them with a pang of guilt, wondering what went wrong. Afterall, the man had promised to stay and that's all what you ever wanted! And in the rest of your life, you never stop wondering, "What if he had stayed.."
S - Silly, Sensitive, Stubborn
Now the S are a whole different story altogether. These are the demanding ones. You really have to try hard, harder and hardest to keep them happy. And still you end up being in love with these rascals, for they have the charm and the charisma that none other possess. If you ask me whether they truly love you, I might answer yes, but again, you have to work for it. Never take these ones for granted, you hurt them and they are gone. But again, they would be back, provided you prove your love for them sufficiently well. One trick that works with them is the art of ignoring them. They cannot tolerate it and would come to you begging, asking for penance. But you should know where to stop or they would just realize that you are playing with them and vanish!! Frankly, I am yet to understand this kind. Don't ever expect a commitment from them. Some days, they would be so close to being the perfect one, and then they would not call you for days altogether. Evidently, they know that you are waiting and would hug them and fondle them when they are back, and a simple excuse would take care of all your anger.
R - Rational, Relationship-Oriented, Reliable
I am in love with the R category.These are the ones who would never speak one sugary word, never spend too much on gifts and never say that they would want to tolerate you for one more life. Damn it, sometimes you even doubt their love. But fake an accident, pretend your nose is blocked, sneeze a couple of times over the phone or perhaps hint that someone else has asked you out, and they would be near you, holding your hand and taking care of you or trying to impress you. No matter whether its a bad hair day, or you are in rags or if your sandals are smelly, they would not comment, apparently, they don't comment even if you resemble Merlyn Monroe in a particular outfit. These are the stoic ones who would be happy to spend a lifetime with you, fighting and making up, the one who would build you a mansion, ask atleast for your choice of color when he buys a car and would be proud of you and your achievements.
Added at special request:
D - Dreamer,Dumb,Devilish
These are the ones you must be very careful about. When they come about, you feel that the chemistry is awesome and that no one could be better. But beware of these cowards, these are mamma's boys with a non-existent back bone. The moment the pressure mounts, the dreamer turns devilish, shows you his ugly teeth and hides behind his mother's pallu. And years later, they would regret and come back ,not because they want to be back wit you, but because they just realize that they should not have lost you. Having them around would never do any good, a smile would make them demand daily SMS and the demand just builds up until you kick the devil out of your life once and forever!
The others.
The rest don't follow a pattern, most of them are 'lets have some fun' kind, some are 'I would die for you' kind and many are 'lets spend a day or a night together' kind. Ignore them, for they mean no good!
If in the course of life, I happen to find another category to add to, be assured that the list would grow. :)
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
What Vidya would never be able to give Siddhi..
I am not attempting a lengthy and boring study of comparison of generations or the degeneration of values over these. This is more of a mother in me, trying to look at my childhood and find how much of it my daughter would ever get to experience. Ofcourse, she would have a lot more of some other stuff, I am sure, like a computer by the time she is in her primary classes, doll houses or robots, whichever she prefers, a car to take her to school, parents who can speak English, and so on. But looking back at the me of 7 or 8 years of age, which my daughter would take another 6 years to reach, I feel sorry for her.
With the festival season of Onam coming nearer, a day in the town tells me a lot. I find flowers being sold in shops and the crowd infront of each of these reveals that I am not the only person who currently owns a bare courtyard, devoid of even a single plant. Every tiny wisp of grass gets rudely pull out, the moment it pops its head out.
ThiruOnam, the big day, is preceded by 10 days of enthusiasm for the youngsters which gradually permeates into the elders too. A major part of it is making the pookkalam (floral patterns on the floor) The day before the first of these 10 days, the Atham day, my grandmother goes to some house which owns a cow. This process is for fetching cow dung for the next 10 days. Flowers are never laid bare on the courtyard soil. A bed of cow dung is made on each of these 10 days to provide the base for the pookkalam. My mother would puke at the sight of cow dung. I often wondered how she managed as a child! I had no such reservations though. I could scoop the dung with my bare hands and happily smear it on the soil bed even after a few days when the cow dung starts housing worms and such similar species! The first 2 days are actually uninteresting as the tradition says that only white flowers are allowed, and ofcourse, you don't have much variety or volume in that particular segment! The excitement builds up on day 3 when the lesser species of colored flowers(reservation among flowers too!!) are allowed entry into the pookkalam! I would get up at 5 in the morning and wake my lazy brother. We would together go to our neighbor's house first. Now, its not that we didn't have any flowers in my house, sure we did. but this particular neighbor owns an enviable collection of all kinds of flowers imaginable. Getting up early is to ward off competition. Almost all the kids in that locality greatly depend on this particular source for their pookkalams. We really didn't need a competition as there was more than sufficient for all of us. At the end of almost 30 minutes of jumping, plucking, arguing, bartering and sharing, we stare at those flowers high above us that we can't reach, gawk sadly and come back to our houses. I have never been creative when it comes to patterns. My brother was the boss in that. I would arrange the flowers as he commands and at the end of an hour, our pookkalam would be ready. The next step is to pull out my father from behind his newspaper, mother and grandmother from the kitchen and proudly display our masterpiece of the day. This momentum builds and explodes on the 10th day when we prepare up to 5 such pookkalams.
That was the past, a past that even some of my friends here would not believe I ever had. The past when we sit in our school bus and stare at the pookkalams laid infront of every single house on the way with jealousy or pride, when Onam was a life of 10 days that we would spend one year, waiting to live.
At the age of 17, I went away from home for my graduate studies. My brother didn't have the interest, time or motivation to take the tradition of pookkalam forward. But still, I made up for it in the last few days, when my vacation would start. In the 2nd year of my graduation, a snake visited our courtyard. It was of a poisonous variety and everyone suggested that the reason behind this visit was that our courtyard was too cluttered with plants. The next time I came home, my beautiful yard was all bare and without soil. It was paved with concrete blocks. After a few years, the neighbor, who was the source of the flowers sold her property and went away. The new owners cut her plants away and built a house.
Life went on as I moved to Mysore and then to Bangalore. The visits to Kerala were rare, Onam was a day of TV programs and good food and life was not the same anymore.
After Siddhi came to our life and we moved back to Kerala, I was joyous. I knew that a child would make a lot of difference to the festivals. They were always more interested and excited about these celebrations as compared to elders. Last year, during Onam, Siddhi was 3 months old. Though she would hardly notice it, I wanted to make a pookkalam for her. I sent Rajeev out on the day before Onam to buy some flowers. He came back with an insignificantly small polythene kit which contained flowers worth Rs 150/-. We made a tiny pookkalam on our sit-out and took photographs in the memory of Siddhi's first Onam.
After a few years, some day, Siddhi would come and remind me that it is Atham again and that she wants to make a pookkalam. With two enormous cars parked, where would I find her some space in our courtyard, safe enough to make a pookkalam that would not be over-run by these cars? Where will I get some cow dung from and even if I do get it, how would I smear it on the concrete? Would I be able to afford to buy her flowers as she wants on all the 10 days? When my daughter asks me why I took all those festive joys of my childhood away from her, what should I tell her?
With the festival season of Onam coming nearer, a day in the town tells me a lot. I find flowers being sold in shops and the crowd infront of each of these reveals that I am not the only person who currently owns a bare courtyard, devoid of even a single plant. Every tiny wisp of grass gets rudely pull out, the moment it pops its head out.
ThiruOnam, the big day, is preceded by 10 days of enthusiasm for the youngsters which gradually permeates into the elders too. A major part of it is making the pookkalam (floral patterns on the floor) The day before the first of these 10 days, the Atham day, my grandmother goes to some house which owns a cow. This process is for fetching cow dung for the next 10 days. Flowers are never laid bare on the courtyard soil. A bed of cow dung is made on each of these 10 days to provide the base for the pookkalam. My mother would puke at the sight of cow dung. I often wondered how she managed as a child! I had no such reservations though. I could scoop the dung with my bare hands and happily smear it on the soil bed even after a few days when the cow dung starts housing worms and such similar species! The first 2 days are actually uninteresting as the tradition says that only white flowers are allowed, and ofcourse, you don't have much variety or volume in that particular segment! The excitement builds up on day 3 when the lesser species of colored flowers(reservation among flowers too!!) are allowed entry into the pookkalam! I would get up at 5 in the morning and wake my lazy brother. We would together go to our neighbor's house first. Now, its not that we didn't have any flowers in my house, sure we did. but this particular neighbor owns an enviable collection of all kinds of flowers imaginable. Getting up early is to ward off competition. Almost all the kids in that locality greatly depend on this particular source for their pookkalams. We really didn't need a competition as there was more than sufficient for all of us. At the end of almost 30 minutes of jumping, plucking, arguing, bartering and sharing, we stare at those flowers high above us that we can't reach, gawk sadly and come back to our houses. I have never been creative when it comes to patterns. My brother was the boss in that. I would arrange the flowers as he commands and at the end of an hour, our pookkalam would be ready. The next step is to pull out my father from behind his newspaper, mother and grandmother from the kitchen and proudly display our masterpiece of the day. This momentum builds and explodes on the 10th day when we prepare up to 5 such pookkalams.
That was the past, a past that even some of my friends here would not believe I ever had. The past when we sit in our school bus and stare at the pookkalams laid infront of every single house on the way with jealousy or pride, when Onam was a life of 10 days that we would spend one year, waiting to live.
At the age of 17, I went away from home for my graduate studies. My brother didn't have the interest, time or motivation to take the tradition of pookkalam forward. But still, I made up for it in the last few days, when my vacation would start. In the 2nd year of my graduation, a snake visited our courtyard. It was of a poisonous variety and everyone suggested that the reason behind this visit was that our courtyard was too cluttered with plants. The next time I came home, my beautiful yard was all bare and without soil. It was paved with concrete blocks. After a few years, the neighbor, who was the source of the flowers sold her property and went away. The new owners cut her plants away and built a house.
Life went on as I moved to Mysore and then to Bangalore. The visits to Kerala were rare, Onam was a day of TV programs and good food and life was not the same anymore.
After Siddhi came to our life and we moved back to Kerala, I was joyous. I knew that a child would make a lot of difference to the festivals. They were always more interested and excited about these celebrations as compared to elders. Last year, during Onam, Siddhi was 3 months old. Though she would hardly notice it, I wanted to make a pookkalam for her. I sent Rajeev out on the day before Onam to buy some flowers. He came back with an insignificantly small polythene kit which contained flowers worth Rs 150/-. We made a tiny pookkalam on our sit-out and took photographs in the memory of Siddhi's first Onam.
After a few years, some day, Siddhi would come and remind me that it is Atham again and that she wants to make a pookkalam. With two enormous cars parked, where would I find her some space in our courtyard, safe enough to make a pookkalam that would not be over-run by these cars? Where will I get some cow dung from and even if I do get it, how would I smear it on the concrete? Would I be able to afford to buy her flowers as she wants on all the 10 days? When my daughter asks me why I took all those festive joys of my childhood away from her, what should I tell her?
Death is never fair.
This blog is not attempt at grooming my writing skills, as it usually is, but the intention is to vent out the sense of despair that I feel now.
My mother called me up while in class, which is unusual. Sensing urgency, I stole out of the class and called her back. She had a shocking news to share. A relative of mine got killed in an accident today afternoon. He was just 36, a father of 2 children aged 10 and 6. I was genuinely surprised at the unfairness of death. No one knows what accounting standards God follows to record the life asset its depreciation. Some year, the depreciation accumulates to a value equal to the fair value of life and then its over. I don't approve this technique, but I don't have the option to sue!
I grieved and then my thoughts returned to me, my selfish self. My mother takes care of my 1.5 yr old child while I am away in the new role of a student here. Siddhi, my daughter, stays with my grand mother, my aunt and a maid while my mom is away in office. She is very happy until 6 after which she needs one of us with her, me or my mom. The funeral is happening today and if my mom has to go, which she would and wait until it gets over, then it would be atleast 10PM in the evening before she comes back. I was concerned for my child. And that is unnecessary, I know, she has her father and everyone else with her. But apparently my baby getting restless for 3-4hrs in the evening until my mother gets back to her was more heart breaking to me than the thought of two children crying for their dead father.
I felt shame. I felt pained. And I wanted to write. Back in class, I thought about his wife, a very beautiful woman who was dear to all of us, his lovely children and I hate the whole system of life and death. I know it is inevitable, it would come to all of us, some day or the other. But it is all so unfair!!!
Monday, September 5, 2011
The day that was today!
Still the same, every time I decide to do it, or am forced to do it, I go through the same flurry of feelings. Writing before the actual moment is one way to ward of atleast some of my fears. It is this discovery that is prompting me to open my laptop at this moment.
Those reading this might have imagined that I am talking about those confused and crucial moments before an orgy or a nude club session. Well, you are almost there. The term presentations of most of the subjects are closely akin to stripping yourself infront of the crowd with most of them booing and some of them gawking at your not so perfect body. I have been considered a good speaker all my life. The lack of knowledge can sometimes be made up using these oratory skills, sometimes that is. I am a good actress too, but only when I manage to remember my dialogues. Sadly, in these presentations, you don't have an assistant director whispering the dialogues behind your back, directing you whether to move left or right.
So today is one of those days with two such torture sessions, apparently in the same room and on the same chair, but by two different executioners. One in the morning and one in the afternoon. I am getting ready for the first one, Wish me good luck!!!!
Epilogue(Evening after the presentations):
The day ended at a mixed note. The first presentation went fairly well, the system didn't beat us anywhere and my software background helped. I think I am safe.
The second one cannot be called bad, it was pathetic. And I was amused. All of us spoke rather well, I believe. The audience went through varied feelings like humor, surprise, disgust, but towards the end, there was only one remaining, 'confusion'. SRK's question was the nail on the coffin, a very innocent, 'What was that about?'. This was followed by an outburst in the class. Apparently, our message got dissolved somewhere in the flood of slides and men having sex with men. Well, individually the ideas might have been great, but together, the impact factor was missing. Not that it didn't make an impact, it was so hugely negative! The message was harshly delivered by the very critical comment of a class mate that we have hurt the emotions of some by selecting such a sensitive topic and making a mockery of it. The contempt was clear on her face and our macho boy apologized!
For those of you wondering what on earth we invented to mess up an otherwise easy presentation that gives you a wide scope for involvement. This is how I understood it, and other couldn't! We wanted to explain the cluttering of ideas in management education by explaining a simple concept through different management concepts. The idea that we were using in this exercise was the recent statistic that showed 25% of men in India have sex with other men. That was the point that touched the raw nerve. People evidently got confused as to what to listen to. The sex part of it or the management part of it.
The rest are in the hands of my Prof who didn't really look very happy. Though I feel that fate destines some of us to set bad examples too! Would Churchill have earned this glory without Hitler? The even otherwise great performances of some of the other groups after us got even more applause due to the impact we created. Ok guys, you don't have to thank us for that!
Nevertheless, it was great to work with people like the Tornado(Ajay), the fun-lover(Hansika), the reliable(Anubhuti), the cutie pie(Amber) and most importantly, the silent killer(Athul)!!! Love you team!!!
Those reading this might have imagined that I am talking about those confused and crucial moments before an orgy or a nude club session. Well, you are almost there. The term presentations of most of the subjects are closely akin to stripping yourself infront of the crowd with most of them booing and some of them gawking at your not so perfect body. I have been considered a good speaker all my life. The lack of knowledge can sometimes be made up using these oratory skills, sometimes that is. I am a good actress too, but only when I manage to remember my dialogues. Sadly, in these presentations, you don't have an assistant director whispering the dialogues behind your back, directing you whether to move left or right.
So today is one of those days with two such torture sessions, apparently in the same room and on the same chair, but by two different executioners. One in the morning and one in the afternoon. I am getting ready for the first one, Wish me good luck!!!!
Epilogue(Evening after the presentations):
The day ended at a mixed note. The first presentation went fairly well, the system didn't beat us anywhere and my software background helped. I think I am safe.
The second one cannot be called bad, it was pathetic. And I was amused. All of us spoke rather well, I believe. The audience went through varied feelings like humor, surprise, disgust, but towards the end, there was only one remaining, 'confusion'. SRK's question was the nail on the coffin, a very innocent, 'What was that about?'. This was followed by an outburst in the class. Apparently, our message got dissolved somewhere in the flood of slides and men having sex with men. Well, individually the ideas might have been great, but together, the impact factor was missing. Not that it didn't make an impact, it was so hugely negative! The message was harshly delivered by the very critical comment of a class mate that we have hurt the emotions of some by selecting such a sensitive topic and making a mockery of it. The contempt was clear on her face and our macho boy apologized!
For those of you wondering what on earth we invented to mess up an otherwise easy presentation that gives you a wide scope for involvement. This is how I understood it, and other couldn't! We wanted to explain the cluttering of ideas in management education by explaining a simple concept through different management concepts. The idea that we were using in this exercise was the recent statistic that showed 25% of men in India have sex with other men. That was the point that touched the raw nerve. People evidently got confused as to what to listen to. The sex part of it or the management part of it.
The rest are in the hands of my Prof who didn't really look very happy. Though I feel that fate destines some of us to set bad examples too! Would Churchill have earned this glory without Hitler? The even otherwise great performances of some of the other groups after us got even more applause due to the impact we created. Ok guys, you don't have to thank us for that!
Nevertheless, it was great to work with people like the Tornado(Ajay), the fun-lover(Hansika), the reliable(Anubhuti), the cutie pie(Amber) and most importantly, the silent killer(Athul)!!! Love you team!!!
Saturday, September 3, 2011
All that you should know about me!
Beware...
The list below is explosive. It might help you to learn things about me that can probably avoid me getting angry at you. But if you try to change yourself according to it, then my dear, you would have very little of you remaining in you!
Also, building an exhaustive list is impossible. My tastes change with time. The items are person dependent too, I might not find you scratching your head to be amusing to any degree whereas in someone else, I would find it super cute!!
So here it goes. Don't lose yourself in the deep whirlpool of the likes and dislikes of an eccentric mind called me!!
10 commandments!
1. My weight concerns me. And trust me, I don't eat too much. Any point hinted at my weight and the pertaining ugliness would turn me off forever! At the same time, please don't ever tell me that I am not fat, I would know you are lying and would hate you vehemently for a long time. So the best way out, ignore the topic! All the same, I would make fun of you and your weight and anything associated. That happens to be my right!
2. I am particular about table manners. Don't chew noisily, never open your mouth while eating, don't burp knowingly, I definitely can forgive you if I feel that it was unintentional. I usually don't do any of these, but in the rare case of me doing it, you are to keep absolutely quite.
3. I am good at advising people and telling them how to live their lives, but if you dare to try it on me, you are doomed! I will do as I please, talk as I want, behave as I wish, you are to watch every thing stoically. And if as much as see a shadow of smile on your face, needless to say, you would be sorry for yourself!
4. I can take jokes, but keep away the one with the tinge of obscenity. Does not mean I don't enjoy non-veg jokes, it's up to you to find out my level of tolerance. And some day you might just learn it the hard way!
5. You have the liberty to make fun of my ancestral origins, caste and remote family. Keep away my parents and my child. My husband and brother are all yours.
6. If I say I don't want something or I won't do something, it means I don't want it and I won't do it. You are not to demand it again. Nevertheless, when I say I am sleeping, you can try asking me for 2 mins more. Anything more than 2 mins and such a demand more than once a day would be met with an iron fist!
7. I do like surprises, not shocks. I love it when you gaze, but don't stare. You can praise me, but don't make me feel that you are making it up!
8. I hate losers. I define a loser as a person who never tries. I hate laziness, I hate people sleeping late in the mornings, I hate people who don't have dreams. On second thoughts, I guess I should have put this the first in my list as my greatest turn on is to be with a dreamer..someone with unlimited dreams!
9. Don't bore me. I hate sports, cars and action cinema. I am alien to English music though I do know that Brian Adams was not the former president of the US and the back street boys are not street thugs. So please don't talk to me about any of these and prove my ignorance. I hate to be revealed as a fool infront of anyone.
10. I am the greenest variety of the female species you would find on earth. You are not to entertain any other female in any capacity when I am around. I can be deadly if turned green!
Good luck to you. Following these rules would kill you. Not following it would make me kill you. Either way, you are so very DEAD!!!!
The list below is explosive. It might help you to learn things about me that can probably avoid me getting angry at you. But if you try to change yourself according to it, then my dear, you would have very little of you remaining in you!
Also, building an exhaustive list is impossible. My tastes change with time. The items are person dependent too, I might not find you scratching your head to be amusing to any degree whereas in someone else, I would find it super cute!!
So here it goes. Don't lose yourself in the deep whirlpool of the likes and dislikes of an eccentric mind called me!!
10 commandments!
1. My weight concerns me. And trust me, I don't eat too much. Any point hinted at my weight and the pertaining ugliness would turn me off forever! At the same time, please don't ever tell me that I am not fat, I would know you are lying and would hate you vehemently for a long time. So the best way out, ignore the topic! All the same, I would make fun of you and your weight and anything associated. That happens to be my right!
2. I am particular about table manners. Don't chew noisily, never open your mouth while eating, don't burp knowingly, I definitely can forgive you if I feel that it was unintentional. I usually don't do any of these, but in the rare case of me doing it, you are to keep absolutely quite.
3. I am good at advising people and telling them how to live their lives, but if you dare to try it on me, you are doomed! I will do as I please, talk as I want, behave as I wish, you are to watch every thing stoically. And if as much as see a shadow of smile on your face, needless to say, you would be sorry for yourself!
4. I can take jokes, but keep away the one with the tinge of obscenity. Does not mean I don't enjoy non-veg jokes, it's up to you to find out my level of tolerance. And some day you might just learn it the hard way!
5. You have the liberty to make fun of my ancestral origins, caste and remote family. Keep away my parents and my child. My husband and brother are all yours.
6. If I say I don't want something or I won't do something, it means I don't want it and I won't do it. You are not to demand it again. Nevertheless, when I say I am sleeping, you can try asking me for 2 mins more. Anything more than 2 mins and such a demand more than once a day would be met with an iron fist!
7. I do like surprises, not shocks. I love it when you gaze, but don't stare. You can praise me, but don't make me feel that you are making it up!
8. I hate losers. I define a loser as a person who never tries. I hate laziness, I hate people sleeping late in the mornings, I hate people who don't have dreams. On second thoughts, I guess I should have put this the first in my list as my greatest turn on is to be with a dreamer..someone with unlimited dreams!
9. Don't bore me. I hate sports, cars and action cinema. I am alien to English music though I do know that Brian Adams was not the former president of the US and the back street boys are not street thugs. So please don't talk to me about any of these and prove my ignorance. I hate to be revealed as a fool infront of anyone.
10. I am the greenest variety of the female species you would find on earth. You are not to entertain any other female in any capacity when I am around. I can be deadly if turned green!
Good luck to you. Following these rules would kill you. Not following it would make me kill you. Either way, you are so very DEAD!!!!
Thursday, September 1, 2011
I want you to know..
I want you to know..
That you mean a lot more to me than I would ever care to let you know,
That my pride might blind me often, but my love for you is blind too,
That the more I hurt you, the more I get hurt,
That your pain is agony for me,
That your happiness would make me feel that I have attained my destiny,
That the moment you win, I am on the top of the world,
That every moment away from you tears me apart,
That I often dream of our life and our future,
That in this life and many more to come, I would be by your side....
That you mean a lot more to me than I would ever care to let you know,
That my pride might blind me often, but my love for you is blind too,
That the more I hurt you, the more I get hurt,
That your pain is agony for me,
That your happiness would make me feel that I have attained my destiny,
That the moment you win, I am on the top of the world,
That every moment away from you tears me apart,
That I often dream of our life and our future,
That in this life and many more to come, I would be by your side....
Sunday, August 28, 2011
They lived on....
On the 7th year of her wedded life, Gargi declared her love for him. Not for her husband, but for him. He was always there, before and after. He was there as a shadow, as a presence and as a pang of guilt.
There are moments in life when all of us wish life had a rewind button, when you think and relive a particular scene one million times in your heart, wishing you just had a chance, a chance to change one nod of the head, one smile on the lips, one comment which was out of context. And then you realize that God hadn't created the gadget called life with that particular facility and that time machine is still a myth. You live on....Gargi lived on, for seven years.
She would not brand herself as a submissive wife, she was always rebellious. She demanded things she never got. She had given up a prospering career, for a few years initially, to care for her first child. She could never go back, the responsibilities at home increased exponentially as the second child came. A husband who branded the feminine gender as a kitchen keeper and child carer didn't help things.
Gargi would not want to recall her 7 years with her husband. There wasn't much worth recalling. It all came with the pain. The pain of being violated, with one person panting with pleasure and the other writhing in pain. A sigh of satisfaction from one and a whimper of relief from the other. Gargi often wondered how she had managed to labor two healthy children through the process that would not be branded as rape only because the man who raped her was entitled to do that.And off went the days and the nights, until he came along.
They met in the mall 3 months ago. The years had not affected his charm. She knew about his rise from an ad organizer to an established movie director by then
. The media acclaimed him to be the most eligible bachelor of the movie field. Surprising enough for a coveted cine person, he had an untainted image, was liked by everyone and still managed to make good movies. Gargi wouldn't have smiled at him had she the time to move away. It was all over in a second. She saw the smile of recognition materialize on his face and in a moment, his leviathan figure was near her, looming over her protectively.
"Gargi, is that you? Oh my God, is that really you?", he could not hide his excitement. Gargi wondered for a minute what he was happy about. That after all these years, when they meet, the person who she had once chased away from her life for the lack of dreams and ambitions was there infront of her as something, and the fiery her was nothing more than just a house keeper. Was he ridiculing her? But how does he know?
They were starting to attract attention. A popular figure with a middle aged house wife was hardly a pretty sight, Gargi started searching for the rewind button again. He stuffed his visiting card to her hand and rushed out of the mall. In a minute it was all over, her life had turned around, all the feelings pursed in her started churning up as bile in her throat.
Back at her home, Gargi toyed with the visiting card for about 72 hrs before she finally decided to call him. He didn't sound surprised or irritated, on the contrary, he sounded excited. They shared the stories of their last 7 years with each other. No, he didn't have a woman in his life, and neither did he plan to have one. Her heart skipped several beats over the one hour they talked. That was just the beginning, over the next 3 months, they talked almost every day. It was never the kind of romantic interlude that can be assumed from two sex starved souls. It was the souls themselves. Over this course, Gargi learned that he had never run out of love for her. He hinted more than once that he was still crazy about her. All this attention had a tumultuous impact on her. She smiled again.
That was 3 months ago. On the day of her 7th year of presumed marital bliss, Gargi woke up with the same anticipatory commotion in her heart. Just as in the last 7 years, her husband forgot, her children forgot. Only she remembered. The most beautiful day of her life when she looked pretty in everyone else's eyes. And then he called, he wished her, he mourned for her, her losses and for losing her. She declared her love for him. This time he was surprised. So was she. She was baffled by the irony of it. A man who she could have married, with whom she could invariably have lived a better life, there he was, even after 7 years, wishing she was his. To choose this particular day to let him know of her feelings for him, that was the test of destiny. The world is neither flat, nor round, it is a double helix, with the creatures on it dancing in pairs, sometimes you just fail to see the person on the other side!
2 days later, he called her up again. They were truly lovers now. The feelings they hadn't experienced 7 years ago were coming back to them, one after the other. She giggled in kitchen, he worried about the white hairs on his head, life was beautiful. The fact that they could never be together inspite of all this love was not a concern anymore. Perhaps people could love each other that way, under the realization that all that they can is just love, and love blindly, for if you open the eyes once, the truth might just incarnate itself infront of you and might break your resolve, your heart. That you can be lovers without a hug, a kiss or promise of one or several nights together.
He wanted to meet her, he had something to give her. In the coffee shop, 2 hours later, he gave her a Garcia. 'Love in the time of cholera'. They chatted for a while, and he asked her.
"Gargi, the only woman I have ever loved and would ever love, if I am your Florentino Ariza, would you be my Fermina Daza?"
She didn't have to think twice before answering yes, for she had read that book a long time ago.
And then lived on..for that day together, in some boat on some river that would not take them anywhere other than the loves end....
There are moments in life when all of us wish life had a rewind button, when you think and relive a particular scene one million times in your heart, wishing you just had a chance, a chance to change one nod of the head, one smile on the lips, one comment which was out of context. And then you realize that God hadn't created the gadget called life with that particular facility and that time machine is still a myth. You live on....Gargi lived on, for seven years.
She would not brand herself as a submissive wife, she was always rebellious. She demanded things she never got. She had given up a prospering career, for a few years initially, to care for her first child. She could never go back, the responsibilities at home increased exponentially as the second child came. A husband who branded the feminine gender as a kitchen keeper and child carer didn't help things.
Gargi would not want to recall her 7 years with her husband. There wasn't much worth recalling. It all came with the pain. The pain of being violated, with one person panting with pleasure and the other writhing in pain. A sigh of satisfaction from one and a whimper of relief from the other. Gargi often wondered how she had managed to labor two healthy children through the process that would not be branded as rape only because the man who raped her was entitled to do that.And off went the days and the nights, until he came along.
They met in the mall 3 months ago. The years had not affected his charm. She knew about his rise from an ad organizer to an established movie director by then
. The media acclaimed him to be the most eligible bachelor of the movie field. Surprising enough for a coveted cine person, he had an untainted image, was liked by everyone and still managed to make good movies. Gargi wouldn't have smiled at him had she the time to move away. It was all over in a second. She saw the smile of recognition materialize on his face and in a moment, his leviathan figure was near her, looming over her protectively.
"Gargi, is that you? Oh my God, is that really you?", he could not hide his excitement. Gargi wondered for a minute what he was happy about. That after all these years, when they meet, the person who she had once chased away from her life for the lack of dreams and ambitions was there infront of her as something, and the fiery her was nothing more than just a house keeper. Was he ridiculing her? But how does he know?
They were starting to attract attention. A popular figure with a middle aged house wife was hardly a pretty sight, Gargi started searching for the rewind button again. He stuffed his visiting card to her hand and rushed out of the mall. In a minute it was all over, her life had turned around, all the feelings pursed in her started churning up as bile in her throat.
Back at her home, Gargi toyed with the visiting card for about 72 hrs before she finally decided to call him. He didn't sound surprised or irritated, on the contrary, he sounded excited. They shared the stories of their last 7 years with each other. No, he didn't have a woman in his life, and neither did he plan to have one. Her heart skipped several beats over the one hour they talked. That was just the beginning, over the next 3 months, they talked almost every day. It was never the kind of romantic interlude that can be assumed from two sex starved souls. It was the souls themselves. Over this course, Gargi learned that he had never run out of love for her. He hinted more than once that he was still crazy about her. All this attention had a tumultuous impact on her. She smiled again.
That was 3 months ago. On the day of her 7th year of presumed marital bliss, Gargi woke up with the same anticipatory commotion in her heart. Just as in the last 7 years, her husband forgot, her children forgot. Only she remembered. The most beautiful day of her life when she looked pretty in everyone else's eyes. And then he called, he wished her, he mourned for her, her losses and for losing her. She declared her love for him. This time he was surprised. So was she. She was baffled by the irony of it. A man who she could have married, with whom she could invariably have lived a better life, there he was, even after 7 years, wishing she was his. To choose this particular day to let him know of her feelings for him, that was the test of destiny. The world is neither flat, nor round, it is a double helix, with the creatures on it dancing in pairs, sometimes you just fail to see the person on the other side!
2 days later, he called her up again. They were truly lovers now. The feelings they hadn't experienced 7 years ago were coming back to them, one after the other. She giggled in kitchen, he worried about the white hairs on his head, life was beautiful. The fact that they could never be together inspite of all this love was not a concern anymore. Perhaps people could love each other that way, under the realization that all that they can is just love, and love blindly, for if you open the eyes once, the truth might just incarnate itself infront of you and might break your resolve, your heart. That you can be lovers without a hug, a kiss or promise of one or several nights together.
He wanted to meet her, he had something to give her. In the coffee shop, 2 hours later, he gave her a Garcia. 'Love in the time of cholera'. They chatted for a while, and he asked her.
"Gargi, the only woman I have ever loved and would ever love, if I am your Florentino Ariza, would you be my Fermina Daza?"
She didn't have to think twice before answering yes, for she had read that book a long time ago.
And then lived on..for that day together, in some boat on some river that would not take them anywhere other than the loves end....
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Alicia Roeth was happy and excited. On their last days at work, people could feel ecstatic for different reasons. Freedom from the clutches of a manager who reminds you of Idi Ameen, moving on to a better place that has promised to pay you a little more than the pea nuts that you now get, prospects of meeting the Prince Charming on his horse. Well, not Alicia. She has spent her last 4 years in this tiny firm with just about 40 employees, and never once complained about anything. She has helped build and establish this place; she was a part of it. And it was not money that was luring her away from it. Alicia had always wanted to do her Masters in a university that was almost 500 miles away from her current firm and resignation was the only way out. She was looking forward to being back to school and more than earnestly anticipating an enviable farewell!
Farewell, the act of saying good bye. Alicia was sure that her colleagues in the firm were planning a grand farewell for her behind her back all these weeks after she had given her notice. Damn it, they would miss her badly, won't they???
The first shock came 3 days before her last working day. A guy who was with them for almost 2 weeks was getting married and the team was giving him a 'Good luck' party. The 40 of them assembled in their largest discussion room and the speeches started. Their 2- time divorced general manager explained the importance of having a partner and about the virtues of commitment, loyalty etc. He also handed over the gift voucher (the gift varies according to your importance in the firm, Alicia usually decided it) with all his newfound friends wishing him good luck. As they were getting ready to leave the room, the omnipotent GM roared again. 'Dear team, as you all know, our dearest Ms Alicia Roeth is also leaving us in another 3 days, we would like to thank Alicia for her invaluable services to the firm and proceed to present her a tiny token of appreciation'. It was all wrong, Alicia wanted to say. This was definitely not what she wanted. Was this what her colleagues were planning for her? No Champagne? No party hall? She had envisioned a beautiful function in a well decorated room, where all her friends would smother her with their love, 'I would miss you' and yes of course, there would be some parting gifts too. She had stocked her tiny drawer also with enough gifts for all of them. She wanted them to remember her thus was leaving the marks behind to make it easier for them, not that she really thought they would need any to remember her! Her GM’s cacophony shook her back to the present, in the dingy discussion room, where she was handed over the indeed tiny packet, exactly similar to the one the rookie got. There was a round of customary applause and a moment later, the impatient team filed out of the room.
Now all that was 2 days ago, Alicia still had her last day to look forward too. The clubbing of her farewell with the rookie's good luck party was probably the GMs decision and you don't question the boss. Her colleagues still had some plans, she was sure of it. As Alicia stepped into her office for the one last time, she looked around and felt a weight settling in her heart. God! She would miss this place. Today was the big day, there would be tears and not just from her. She had sneaked in a large plastic bag in her bag to stack all the gifts she would get. She hoped that she would not have to call a taxi to carry everything home. The first distressing event of the day was that everyone seemed busy. She was the only person leaving and was hence free, but others still had work. Alicia found that reasonable and forgave her friends. At around 10 in the morning, she sent out a good bye mail to all, partly as a routine and partly to remind everyone in case they have forgotten. One liner replies like 'All the best', 'Good luck on your future endeavors’ etc shot back in an instant to her mail box. So when was the party? Lunch time and she got a few more messages and mails, most to clarify the doubts in the tasks she had already transitioned. Alicia stirred at the sound of every foot step near her cubicle, every time her phone beeped, at every mail she got, this must be the one. Around 6 in the evening, Alicia was among the 10 people remaining in the office. As a rule, most people left office before 5 on Fridays. Before they left, some shook hands with her, some gave her a customary peck on the cheek. There was no hint of a party or gifts.
10 minutes after 6, once she was sure everyone had left, Alicia got up from her seat. Slowly, she pulled out the gifts one by one, and placed it on her's ex-colleagues tables.
Ironically, when she left her home for 4 years, she felt no anger, no sadness, no remorse..just a feeling of being disinherited from one's family...
Farewell, the act of saying good bye. Alicia was sure that her colleagues in the firm were planning a grand farewell for her behind her back all these weeks after she had given her notice. Damn it, they would miss her badly, won't they???
The first shock came 3 days before her last working day. A guy who was with them for almost 2 weeks was getting married and the team was giving him a 'Good luck' party. The 40 of them assembled in their largest discussion room and the speeches started. Their 2- time divorced general manager explained the importance of having a partner and about the virtues of commitment, loyalty etc. He also handed over the gift voucher (the gift varies according to your importance in the firm, Alicia usually decided it) with all his newfound friends wishing him good luck. As they were getting ready to leave the room, the omnipotent GM roared again. 'Dear team, as you all know, our dearest Ms Alicia Roeth is also leaving us in another 3 days, we would like to thank Alicia for her invaluable services to the firm and proceed to present her a tiny token of appreciation'. It was all wrong, Alicia wanted to say. This was definitely not what she wanted. Was this what her colleagues were planning for her? No Champagne? No party hall? She had envisioned a beautiful function in a well decorated room, where all her friends would smother her with their love, 'I would miss you' and yes of course, there would be some parting gifts too. She had stocked her tiny drawer also with enough gifts for all of them. She wanted them to remember her thus was leaving the marks behind to make it easier for them, not that she really thought they would need any to remember her! Her GM’s cacophony shook her back to the present, in the dingy discussion room, where she was handed over the indeed tiny packet, exactly similar to the one the rookie got. There was a round of customary applause and a moment later, the impatient team filed out of the room.
Now all that was 2 days ago, Alicia still had her last day to look forward too. The clubbing of her farewell with the rookie's good luck party was probably the GMs decision and you don't question the boss. Her colleagues still had some plans, she was sure of it. As Alicia stepped into her office for the one last time, she looked around and felt a weight settling in her heart. God! She would miss this place. Today was the big day, there would be tears and not just from her. She had sneaked in a large plastic bag in her bag to stack all the gifts she would get. She hoped that she would not have to call a taxi to carry everything home. The first distressing event of the day was that everyone seemed busy. She was the only person leaving and was hence free, but others still had work. Alicia found that reasonable and forgave her friends. At around 10 in the morning, she sent out a good bye mail to all, partly as a routine and partly to remind everyone in case they have forgotten. One liner replies like 'All the best', 'Good luck on your future endeavors’ etc shot back in an instant to her mail box. So when was the party? Lunch time and she got a few more messages and mails, most to clarify the doubts in the tasks she had already transitioned. Alicia stirred at the sound of every foot step near her cubicle, every time her phone beeped, at every mail she got, this must be the one. Around 6 in the evening, Alicia was among the 10 people remaining in the office. As a rule, most people left office before 5 on Fridays. Before they left, some shook hands with her, some gave her a customary peck on the cheek. There was no hint of a party or gifts.
10 minutes after 6, once she was sure everyone had left, Alicia got up from her seat. Slowly, she pulled out the gifts one by one, and placed it on her's ex-colleagues tables.
Ironically, when she left her home for 4 years, she felt no anger, no sadness, no remorse..just a feeling of being disinherited from one's family...
Monday, August 22, 2011
My namesake ruined my name!!
'So what is her name?', I asked him again. 'Oh, whats in a name, it's just a name afterall, you technically have no control over it, do you?', he replied. Ok, this was weird, Abu was my friend for about 8 years, we had very few secrets from each other and I was pretty sure that I was the first person after him and his newly found girl fried, with whom he was sharing the secret of her existence.
'Abu, I understand all that, what I don't understand is why you would not tell me her name?, is there a trouble?'
'Leave it Vids, she has a name and its just a name', Abu was desperate to get away from me now.
'Damn it Abu, tell me or go away', my final warning!
'Shakeela', Abu whispered. I could not hear him, Abu hadn't whispered this softly even on our exams and a failed encounter at copying!
It was Abu's turn to be angry now, 'Damn it, damn it, damn it Vids, her name is Shakeela Azeez, you happy now? huh'.
There it goes, I could hardly stifle a smile! Shakeela was a lovely Arabic name, it meant 'pretty', I knew many females who proudly carried that name. That was until she appeared on the screen. She as in, 'The Shakeela'. Shakeela was a softporn star of the South Indian movie industry. At one point of time, when even the super stars of the industry failed to produce an output at the theaters, Shakeela's movies ran house full! There wasn't a person in Kerala who didn't know her. And that made it all the more difficult for the numerous other Shakeelas around. They started to shy away from occasions that would render their saying their names. Some started using their pet names, and a few others even changed their names!
I looked at Abu. There he was, having found his true love, but with a horny name! I went near him, put my hands around him and consoled him, 'Abu, dear, whats there in a name?, afterall its just a name', I went on as I prayed to God to never produce a porn star who has my name!!!
Friday, May 6, 2011
GMAT and beyond...
Once it was decided that I would go on with my IIM dream the same year, it was time to plan the details. I hadn't taken CAT 2010 and so it was time to consider the alternatives. GATE was out of question as I plainly hated my engineering degree and could not imagine learning anymore electronics. JRF ,UGC etc were beyond my scope. Th final pick was between GMAT and GRE and I apparently decided on GMAT. Since I had a good base in quant(or so I thought, Mr Kaushik of IIMK would prove otherwise!!), I decided to do my preps online. GROCKIT was the site I mainly referred to. The exam registration cost $250. Well, I was on extended maternity leave, my bank balance was zero and I had a 5month old child to take care of. No exaggerations there, but it was rather difficult! Rajeev paid my exam fee, mamma agreed to take care of Siddhi whenever I was studying and I dug in hard. To our greatest anxiety, my bro was down with chicken pox and none of us including me, mom or my dad had had it ever. Dad was down next, so we were all in the risk category. Chicken pox always had a 2 week gap before it buds in the next person, so you always have to wait to know if you are infected.
And I registered my GMAT for November 17th and behold on November 7th, red bulbs emerged on my skin!!! Yeah....chicken poxy babies had found their way to my blessed body as well! I did not want to cancel my exam. i had to fight, and quite a fight it was!! On November 15th I bathed after the infection, the days in between were a haze, I could not remember any part of it except that I was working working and working. I worked harder than I ever did my whole life. And then Nov 17th came. Rajeev took me to Rajagiri college where I had my exams, and I went in. I was wearing a long sleeved kurtha to cover my still sour pox marks and my eyes were still tired.
The exam went pretty well, atleast the math part of it .Well, under any standards, 710 is not a bad score. Even Harvard averages on a GMAT score of 712. But would that and a 6/6 on analytical writing guarantee me an interview call in my IIM? I completed the application formalities to IIM Kozhikode and waited.....
Beginning of an IIM dream
Ok, so this infact is a very very long dream. I am too lazy to type it all in a stretch. I am right now sitting in my office in UST global Cochin and am happy and well, I am sad too. Parting is always painful and yeah, its time for another bye bye. I have given my notice and serving it now, well, blogging is not exactly a part of the serving, but ofcourse I dont blog when I have to work. And here I go messing up my thoughts again, so lets move on one step at a time :).
And before you start off in the eventful journey of reading this, I am Vidya and if you happen to see my name multiple times in the post, remember, its because the post is mine :P.
Year 2006:
Vidya dreams hard and works hardly. CAT 2006 is a total mess, and the excuse Vidya finds is that she has been placed in oolaa laa Infy. Mysore is calling and Vidya was ready. And CAT? hmm, am demotivated.
Year 2007:
Vidya is in paradise on Earth, Mysore Infy campus and Vidya is feeling absolutely useless. CAT springs in again, Vidya visits IMS Mysore and gets all the material she can, starts working on her quant again. But the fire dies away after almost a month.
Twist in the story:
So here is the big twist, Vidya does not want to do a PGP anymore. 1 year in Education and Research department of Infosys has made her realise that she loved teaching. IIMs offer a doctoral course named FPM(Fellowship program in Management). The course mainly looks at breeding faculty in management. Yeeehaaaww....Vidya now knows what she wants.
2008:
Mamma wants Vidya to get married. Vidya is 23, has a job, and Mamma thinks that is all she needs to start a life. Now frankly, Vidya is bored too, she needs a friend. And Vidya's horrible horoscope says if she doesnt get married before October 2006, she would stay unmarried until the age of 30!!!! Mamma is horrified and secretly, so is Vidya! Vidya finds Rajeev waiting for her infront of FORUM mall in Bangalore and 2 months late, in a typical arranged married fashion, Vidya Panicker becomes Mrs Vidya Rajeev Nair.
2009:
One year after marriage, Vidya and Rajeev realise that they are going to have a new person in life!!! CAT is just an animal to be pampered now!
2010:
Siddhi Rajeev Nair adds beauty to life, but Vidya is restless and Rajeev wants to know. Vidya tells Rajeev about her IIM dream and he thinks for a while. Rajeev finally says, 'Vidya, I respect your dreams, do what you need to, but please dont go away too far from me and Siddhi'. Vidya cries, both happy and sad tears are shed, she sets forth after her IIM FPM dream.
So that is how it all began. The rest of it in the next edition!!
And before you start off in the eventful journey of reading this, I am Vidya and if you happen to see my name multiple times in the post, remember, its because the post is mine :P.
Year 2006:
Vidya dreams hard and works hardly. CAT 2006 is a total mess, and the excuse Vidya finds is that she has been placed in oolaa laa Infy. Mysore is calling and Vidya was ready. And CAT? hmm, am demotivated.
Year 2007:
Vidya is in paradise on Earth, Mysore Infy campus and Vidya is feeling absolutely useless. CAT springs in again, Vidya visits IMS Mysore and gets all the material she can, starts working on her quant again. But the fire dies away after almost a month.
Twist in the story:
So here is the big twist, Vidya does not want to do a PGP anymore. 1 year in Education and Research department of Infosys has made her realise that she loved teaching. IIMs offer a doctoral course named FPM(Fellowship program in Management). The course mainly looks at breeding faculty in management. Yeeehaaaww....Vidya now knows what she wants.
2008:
Mamma wants Vidya to get married. Vidya is 23, has a job, and Mamma thinks that is all she needs to start a life. Now frankly, Vidya is bored too, she needs a friend. And Vidya's horrible horoscope says if she doesnt get married before October 2006, she would stay unmarried until the age of 30!!!! Mamma is horrified and secretly, so is Vidya! Vidya finds Rajeev waiting for her infront of FORUM mall in Bangalore and 2 months late, in a typical arranged married fashion, Vidya Panicker becomes Mrs Vidya Rajeev Nair.
2009:
One year after marriage, Vidya and Rajeev realise that they are going to have a new person in life!!! CAT is just an animal to be pampered now!
2010:
Siddhi Rajeev Nair adds beauty to life, but Vidya is restless and Rajeev wants to know. Vidya tells Rajeev about her IIM dream and he thinks for a while. Rajeev finally says, 'Vidya, I respect your dreams, do what you need to, but please dont go away too far from me and Siddhi'. Vidya cries, both happy and sad tears are shed, she sets forth after her IIM FPM dream.
So that is how it all began. The rest of it in the next edition!!
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