Frankly Speaking!

Anonymity brings the best and the worst out of people. My fair share of anonymity gave me my days of happiness, but when the tables were turned i've had to run for the covers.

The first time i got a phone connection at home, when i was 8, i was amazed by its capability. Then again, that amazement was short lived, only to be taken over by my, shall i say, quest for pulling off pranks.

The Telephone, the modern day connector, in its various forms, has been a revelation and to many a tool to unleash their creativity.

While my initial foray to pranks on the telephone was a more sober one, with conversations usually like:
Me (ring up a friend's number, with a piece of cloth over the mouth piece): "Hellowwww !"
Friend: "Hello, who is this ?"
Me: "Hello ! Hello ! "
My friend tapping the mouth piece, and shouting even louder
Friend:"HELLLOOO !"
pretending like i cant hear, i too shout back like i had my shorts on fire
Me:"HELLLOOO!!"
Friend:"HELLOOOOOO!!!"

after 2 minutes of shouting "HELLOO" and beating the crap out of each other's ears, my friend hangs up, with the word still ringing like a temple bell!

On one instance, i recorded my voice in a tape-recorder, which had me asking questions at regular intervals apart from recording a "hello". Armed with such a fantastic weapon, I called up my cousin, and switched on the tape.

The tape contained something like "Hello, how are you ?" ...a small pause, to give the caller a chance to answer.... "what did you do today?"....a long pause..."Are you going out anywhere today ?"....another pause..."you know what happened today ?..."...and my long boring story.....in the end "ok, got to go, bye"..

while my cousin sat at home, for 20 long minutes ruining his day, busy answering my questions, and listening to a boring story about how staff at zoos take care of ducks, i was happily playing football outdoor, and enjoying inside out :D.

Well, it was not all rosy and pink all the time, and the telephone has been a headache on a lot of occasions. The coming of a telephone to our house was one of celebration and happiness, more to our neighbours than to us. Being the only house in the street that had a telephone connection at that time, our house had turned into a makeshift telephone booth with neighbours dropping in to call either their "Anna" in kottayam, kerala or a "Paati" in dharampuri, TN.

Since the neighbourhood spoke like a hundred different languages, tamil, malayalam, telugu, and i spoke rookie maathi as my mother-tongue, my young impressionable mind was bombarded with all kinds of languages, making me almost forgot my own language !

One particular lady was the most irritating, one because she spoke in a language i never understood, and the other, and a far more dangerous one being, her screaming and shouting over the phone. She would come in almost every evening whenever her uncle would call up from kerala, asking for "Geeeedhha kupadriya ?" (i later found it was "Can you call Geetha ?") ....while given an opportunity i would just hang up, but under the watchful eye of my mother, i couldnt do that. while my sister would go scurrying out of sight from my mother, just in case she asked them to call "Geeedha!", i would be left shivering holding the handset, with the voice ringing in my head "Geeedha kupadriya !", "Geedha Kupadriya ?", each time increasing in intensity. One glance at me, and i would know that i had no choice but to walk down a mile and call "geedha aundy"...day in and day out, aunty would go on and on, about how her small land in kerala was being manhandled by her uncle who grew pumpkins on them instead of aunty’s preferred coffee beans, pouring over the phone. My only source of entertainment at that time being the "chitrahaar", that aired hindi songs on TV, would get ample servings of malayalam sandwiched between the songs thanks to aunty. As if this was not enough, she would hang up the phone after a 1 hour marathon, and then sit down to tell the whole tale back again to my mother in broken Tamil. since my mother didn't follow malayalam, and the aunty didnt follow kannada, both had settled for tamil as a common language(which neither knew anyways), and i would be stuck in between them trying to decipher hindi songs on TV !, while the scars on my ankles itched on account being beaten to pulp for accidentally speaking in a language other than English, during school hours; Talk about linguistic confluence !

Being relatively new to the telephone, many of us had minimal or no knowldege of telephone etiquette, with "Hello" being the only common link, between any two caller, in most of the cases. Since "Hello" being a English word, it HAD to be indianized, and it gets real funny when you dont get what the other guy’s telling. In many cases, one cant get if it’s a “hello” or just a decorated yawn.

Some of the hello's include, reading phonetically,
"hey lo",
"Haaa low"
or a more romantic one would be "halove"..
some would sound like the person is threatening you with a greeting: "HALLOW"
a more portly man would sound like "HOLLOW" !
one gujarati aunty who would call us, used to sound like she was always in a hurry, with a fast "haLL oh!", stressing really hard on the "L"s..

Atleast better than a few who would call home and directly jump into the topic, without confirming who’s on the other side.
woman: "Hello!"
me: "Hello!"
woman: "may-dum, tommorow is my daughter's marriage, and you are cordially invited.”

Being the kiddo i was, i was pleasantly surprised by someone addressing me as "madam" and inviting me to a ceremony, but wanted to confirm if the invitation was really for me.

me: "aunty, its me, where is the marriage ?
"woman: "ayyo! is it you, give it to your mother!"

RATS !!...i would get shunted out like a bug.

And to this, the wrong numbers to add to the confusion. Our Home phone number unluckily differed only slightly from that of a nearby tile company, and people used to usually interchange the numbers, and we would land up getting a lot of calls asking for either "Glazy Tiles with pink stripes"...or "Sir, when can i come and pay the bills for the tiles ?"..or even worse, some used to shout "May-dum, your tiles have still not yet arrived, why are you so lazy ??? !" ..i did not get how he came to know i was lazy, but he sure had dialed a wrong number !

Once a guy called me when I was in a particularly bad mood due to the "Geedha" effect.
Man: "Saar, venkateshwara elllidare ?"("where is venkateshwara?")
Me(yelling back`):"Tirupathi nall idare hogri next bus nalle, sigthaare"("he is in Tirupathi, catch the next bus immediately, you will meet him")

Here, my exposure to kannada language has only been through the minimal words my mother has spoken to nanny in front of me. So kindly ignore the inaccuracy, if you find any.

Even worse is when that long lost pre-school friend calls up, and pesters you to recognize him/her. In pre-school i hardly knew how to speak, how would i recognize a person voice who's grown into a beast ever since?

My family’s talent for not recognizing people’s voice over the phone only got worse with the wrong number stuff. A few years back, my brother had an offer from Oracle, but rejected it since he was not ready to travel to Hyderabad. However, another cousin bro of ours got wind of this and thought he could play a prank on the Oracle bro. Calling me on his cell, masquerading as an Oracle HR, he started off:
Cousin: “Hello, can I speak to Mr. Harshal?”
Bro: “Hello, yes speaking”
Cousin: “I am Satish from HR, Oracle. I would like to offer you 5 lakhs, instead of the 3.8 lakh we had initially offered, would you like to join us ?”

My brother couldn’t believe his ears’; anyone with ZERO IT experience would jump in for such an offer. He actually did a somersault and then went in for the dive.

Bro: “Yeah, that is a good offer, I would consider it seriously”
Cousin: “Also, we have decided to pay your accommodation charges, car rental and also give you free travel tickets to bangalore”

By now he was doing a reverse bungee, and trying to walk on one hand. He could not believe they were offering all this.

Bro: “Oh that’s a neat offer, I accept it”

A crack, a stifle, and a HUGGGGEEE ROAR….. his ear popped out of his head… my cousin was laughing and rolling, gasping for breath…..after 5 minutes of uncontrollable laugh, he finally told him "its me Adhish!"

Brother was so shocked by the sudden laughter, he could not register that it was our cousin, and was wondering why the HR guy was laughing so loudly. He had at that time thought that he was so happy he had accepted the offer, that he just could not control it over the phone.

Bro: “Sorry I didn’t get why you were laughing ? and you said you were Satish not Adhish!”
Cousin(still gasping) : "I am your cousin, Adhish!"

That sudden realization …

...and then it was too late to reverse what had happened….

The Telephone has, until recently, more or less been a costly instrument to own. However, even costlier are the calls. Back then, it wasn’t very costly, about 1 rupee for 3 minute rounding. People however would go to great lengths to save that amount too. One aunty who would otherwise speak slow when she used to come home, often comfortably spoiling the evening for me, used to speak like a rattle snake running for life when it came to phone conversation.Her calls used to be more like:

Aunty:”JustTellMommyThatWeWontBeGoingToTheTempleTodayAndI’llGetHalsandhiKaal SambarAndChutneyPowderTomorrow”… PHATAKKKK …..she would cut the phone; message delivered in less than 30 seconds….I would just tell my mother that a particular aunty had called and spoke in malayalam :D.

Talking about etiquette, the concept of a voice mail, has been a difficult one to swallow for many in India, including me, with many uncomfortable speaking to a machine. The first time I enabled my voice mail system, I had put my name, a courteous message asking the caller to leave a message. After a few days I realized what a folly I had committed. Every day I would check my voice mail to find messages like
“Hello ! Hello !... hello ?…..Tak Tak Tak…“It got cut!”
“hello …hello ! hello !! Can you come to Silk board at 9:30pm, hello? hello ?”
“hello….hello !..shya..She picks up the phone, says something and cuts the phone!”

My friend was fed up of hearing garble messages on his voice mail, more often being “Hello…someone is talking, someone is talking mom!”…apparently, my friend had left a short message with just his name, which the caller mistook as someone speaking at the other end.

Telemarketing has been a more recent phenomenon in India, but it’s nonetheless frustrating and irritating. Add to this, mobile phones make it even worse. Once my friend, out of an elevator, red with anger “They don’t even leave the lift phones, these Citibank guys !”….and on another instance, another friend who was running to the restroom, ran back to pick up his phone ringing, only to find out that a lady was interested in knowing whether he wanted to buy kashmiri carpets for 20% discount.

Once I decided to give these telemarketers back the taste of their own medicine.

A lady from Standard Chartered called up,
Lady:”Hello ma’am, I am calling from Stan chart, what is your name ?”
Me: “hi, my name is malleshwari..”
Lady: “would you be interested in a credit card ?”
Me : “Yes certainly, how much credit can you give me?”
Lady(excited) : “Ma’am, based on your salary we can give a credit of up 25K”
Me : “That’s cool, I would like a credit of 25K”
Lady : “What is your designation, ma’am ?”
Me : “I am currently working as trainee office girl.”
Lady ( slightly apprehensive): “What is your salary, ma’am ?”
Me: “2000 rs per month, including perks”
Lady(voice suddenly changing into a harsh tone): “Oh !! we do not currently have any scheme for that income”
Me: “May-dum, please give me a credit card, please”
Lady(slightly irritated):”I’ll give you a call once I confirm with my manager”
Me:”May-Dum, please maydum, at least give me your phone number, so that I can call and find out once you have decided. Please write down my contact info : Malleshwari, care of kalpeshwari,..blah blah” ..PHUTAAK….the phone line got cut, and so were the numerous calls I used to get from standard chartered….i guess my number was blacklisted soon after this call :D :D…

The Telephone never fails to astonish me, nor does the numerous possibilities it possesses, to irritate and frustrate people included. However, like someone put it so well for Monsoon’s in India, it is but a “Necessary Evil”.

Right now my cell rests safely in my locker, and so are my morbid fears of someone making another prank call.

-the girl.

moving on, to the mind games..

at last I can see..
life has been patiently waiting for me..
and I know there are no guarantees..
but, I'm not alone.
there comes a time in everyone's life,
when all you can see are the years passing by..
and I have made up my mind,
that those days are gone.

I sold what I could..
and packed what I couldn't..
stopped to fill up on my way out of town.
I've loved like I should..
but lived like I shouldn't..
I had to lose everything to find out.
Maybe forgiveness will find me,
somewhere down this road..

I'm Moving On
I'm Moving On
I'm Moving On..


ps: i wrote this poem after my 12th std. board exams,during the vacations. This is a live example of certain things which come to your mind even before you have experienced them and your mind,already reaches to a conclusion and i say that now,coz after two years i have started experiencing a bit of it.

-the girl.

an angel by the furnace

Neha. The most beautiful girl in the colony. Everywhere she went she was noticed, for those expressive eyes that widened at the sight of chocolates and ice creams, those chattering lips, that bouncy hair, and the ever dancing feet. She was a whiff of fresh air around, the sun shine on a somber winter. She was the world to her parents and her brother and her world revolved around a small place called home. Neha. 6 years old.
“Love you sweetie” Aarthi, Neha’s mother, said as she got home from school.

“Love you too mamma”, Neha said as she dropped her bag on the couch. She walked over to the table to her mom. She kept moving her hair that fell on her face time and again.

“Is the long hair bothering you honey?”

“No mamma. I love it. Preethi has like that”

“That is why I let you grow your hair” Aarthi said.

“I’m hungry mamma” she said and sat on the table.

“Here is your glass of milk and your favorite chocolate cake”

Neha was all chirpy as she relished her evening snack. She narrated all that had happened that day at school. Her mom sat near her wondering how so much could have happened in one day in her daughter’s life, that too when she was just in class 1.

“Mamma! Are you listening to me? Don’t you think Tinku was bad to me? I don’t like him”

“I am listening Neha. Tinku must be a nice kid. You guys should not fight with each other”

By then Neha had finished her snack and she was all set to change her dress.

“I want the red frock today” she ordered.

“Whatever you want mam” Aarthi changed her dress.

“It is time for play. I’m going out mamma. Can I play for extra 15 minutes today please?” she pleaded.

“No Neha. It would be dark. Get in soon and don’t go out of the colony compound”

“I promise not to go out mamma. Love you mamma”

“Love you honey”

Neha went out to play with her colony friends. The colony grounds were usually filled with kids of all ages with parents sitting on the stone benches watching their kids play. Aarthi occasionally accompanied Neha, otherwise Neha was just fine playing with the other kids without her mom’s supervision. Kids run helter-skelter, beat one another, play all sorts of games, scream, roll in the mud, jump into puddles, and everything that gives them the pleasure of being away from home and school.

Neha was always sure that she got to know the time from someone there. She would get back home before 6 because her dad and brother would be home after 6. She would love to see them come home. She would hug her dad and her brother and she would want to tell them every evening how much she loved them and how much she missed them the whole day. She did not know a world other then these three people.

She sat on her study table and began to read her book watching at the door every minute. After a while she heard the screeching noise of her brother Nitin’s bicycle. She jumped out of the table and ran to the door. Nitin stood there with his school bag and lunch kit waiting to hug his little sister. Neha ran to him and hugged.

“I love you bhayya” she said and hugged him. She did not care how dirty he looked after school, how unclean his shirt was. All she knew was her brother behind that dirty appearance.

“Come bhayya, mamma has chocolate cakes today”

She went back to her study table. She continued to read and kept looking at the door again.

“Papa is here” she jumped out of the table and ran to the door as she heard the car door slam. She jumped up to her dad Rahul.

“I missed you papa. Why are you so late?”

“Sorry Neha. I will try to keep up the time”. Rahul made it a point that he was home soon for his family. If ever he was late he would make sure he called home and informed and also talked to Neha a few words. This was a common code of conduct between Aarthi and Rahul.

At the diner table.

“Neha, how was school today?” her dad asked.

“Nice papa. Tinku pulled my hair today. Please tell him it pains”

“Sure honey, I will tell him not to hurt you” Rahul smiled.

“How come Neha tells everything that happens in class and Nitin never utters a word?” Aarthi asked.

“You expect me to give you an account of events? Mamma, I’m in class 6 and I think I can handle things myself” he said.

“But you are still a kid to us Nitin, so why not share your day with us. We would love to hear about it”

Nitin was silent.

“Nitin, we are not compelling you, but you sure would feel good to talk about it. So try. Now finish off everything on your plate. When it comes to food, I still would love to be a Hitler” Aarthi said and walked into the kitchen.

“Mamma” Nitin called out.

“Yeah?”

“Love you!” he said.

“Love you too my sweetie pie”

“Mamma” Neha called out.

“I love you too mamma” she wanted to confirm.

“Oh honey, I love you too”

That night, in the bed.

“Mamma, can I ask you something?” Nitin asked.

“Yeah” she said as she was putting Neha to sleep next to him.

“Today, in school, I thanked one of the teachers for clearing a doubt of mine. I also told her that I love her. Why didn’t she respond to that? Does she hate me?”

“No Nitin. It is no harm to tell people that we love them. Some people are still not open to such a statement from a kid. Your dad and I tell you kids that we love you quite often to let you know that you are the world to us. You respond to that. We hug you to give you the warmth of love. It is a way of showing a person how much they mean to you. You were thankful to your teacher and you told her so, but she didn’t take it well. Don’t worry about that”

“Ok mamma. Good night. Love you” Nitin said and pulled over the comfort.

Neha closed her eyes after she had overheard the conversation.

A simple family. A simple day. Simple events. A simple life. Day after day.

Next day.

“Mamma, I’m home!” Neha said as she dropped her bag on the table.

“Hi honey! Listen, I have to go to bhayya’s school for a meeting. You have your snacks and drink and go play. I will be back before 6. If I’m a bit late, you can stay at Rita aunty’s house. Is that ok with you?”

“Ok mamma” Neha said as she finished off her cake and drink.

In 15 minutes Neha was dressed up and ready to go to play. She walked out of the house and towards the ground. All of a sudden she ran back home and by then Aarthi had left. Neha was disappointed that she couldn’t tell her mom that she loved her. She was disappointed.

She joined the other kids in the block and forgot about her worry. She was playing on the swing looking at the other kids waiting for their turns. She loved to play on the swing. One of the boys who were waiting for his turn turned impatient and stopped the swing abruptly. Neha fell down on her knees. She couldn’t tolerate the pain and began to cry. One of the ladies around came running to her and helped her stand up. The kids stood around her looking at her bruised knees.

“Don’t cry Neha, it is just a bruise. You are fine” the lady comforted her.

“Mamma” Neha cried.

“What happened?” Prashanth asked. He was a college student who was playing basket ball close by.

“She fell off the swing. Do you have cotton and medicines in the games room?” the lady asked.

“Yes” he said and carried Neha to the games room. He washed off the blood, applied medicine and put some cotton on the bruises. By then Neha had calmed down and she missed her mamma a lot.

“That is it. Now you are ready to go back and play” Prashanth said.

“I want to go to mamma” she said with tears still brimming.

“Ok, come let me carry you home” he said and carried her to her house.

Aarthi had not come back.

“Now what do we do kiddo?” Prashanth asked as he let her down.Neha was all the more worried and she sat down at the closed door.

“Don’t worry Neha. Mamma will be here any moment. Till then come let us watch Pogo at my place” he said and lifted her.

“No” she said and sat down there with a stubborn face.

Prashanth sat next to her.“Ok, I will wait here too” he said.

She was silent. She was angry with her mamma for being late.

“I’m going home now. Going to watch Pogo and also eat chocolate ice cream” he said and stood up.

Neha looked up and slowly lifted her hands. He carried her to her house.

Aarthi and Nitin came home at 6.30 PM. Aarthi went to Rita’s house to pick up Neha. Rita’s house was locked. She ran to the ground which was almost empty. She asked the few kids who were around and they did not know anything. Aarthi panicked. She ran to the security guard who also had no information. She ran frantically back home to call Rahul and then she saw Neha walking into the house. She ran behind her.

Neha walked to the couch and sat there grumpily.

“Honey, where were you?” Aarthi asked and then noticed the cotton wrapped on her knees.

“Neha. What happened?” she asked and ran to her.

“Akash pushed me from the swing” she said. She didn’t sound fine.

“Awww. Who put the medicine?”

“Prashant bhayya”

“Does it pain a lot Neha?”

Neha nodded her head. She didn’t cry although she was brimming from inside.

Nitin sat next to her little sister and hugged her. Neha immediately took off his hand and walked to her study desk. She didn’t look up the door. She pretended to read.

“Neha, you want something to eat? Maybe chocolates?” Aarthi asked as she walked over to the refrigerator.

“No, I just had ice creams”

“Where? And where were you all this time?”

“At Prashanth bhayya’s house”

“Honey, are you alright?”Neha nodded her head.

“Come here, give mamma a hug. You will be fine. The pain will be gone tomorrow” Aarthi spread her arms.

Neha didn’t run to her. She didn’t move from her study table. Aarthi walked over to her and sat beside her small table.

“Sorry sweetie. Sorry for being late. Come to mamma” she said and pulled her out.

Neha wouldn’t budge. Just then Rahul walked in.

“Hello people” he said with his arms up in the air.

“You seem all excited today” Aarthi said.

“Yes. I’ve got the employee of the month award”

“Congratulations!” Aarthi said and got up from Neha’s study table.

“You got a prize papa?” Nitin asked.

“Yeah, something like that” Rahul said.

“Why is my little angel so silent today?” he said and lifted Neha from her desk.

He noticed legs.

“What happened?”Neha did not respond. Aarthi told her about it.

“She is angry with me and wouldn’t want to talk to me” Aarthi said.

“Sweetie, see mamma is crying. Talk to her” Rahul said.

Neha got off from her dad and walked to the couch. She put her head on the pillow and closed her eyes. Her silence that evening disturbed the family.

That night, in the bed.

“Neha, are you still angry with me?” Aarthi whispered.

Neha closed her eyes on hearing that question.

“I love you honey. Please talk to me” Aarthi said and kissed her.

Neha quickly wiped her cheek. She detested the kiss. She didn’t open her eyes. After a while, Aarthi walked away closing the door behind. Neha opened her eyes and saw Nitin sleeping next to her. She got off the bed and slept on the floor. She cried within. She trembled. She missed mamma and papa.

The next morning, Aarthi thought Neha had rolled off the bed. The entire day Aarthi was disturbed about Neha’s silence. She was waiting for her to get back from school.

“Neha honey! Love you! See what mamma made for you today” she said and looked at the table.

Neha walked into the living room, dropped her bag on the couch as usual. Unusually she climbed up the couch and slept on it. Aarthi walked over to her.

“Are you not feeling well?” she asked and touched her forehead.

Neha closed her eyes.“Neha, you must talk to me” Aarthi shook her and Neha did not budge. Aarthi sat next her and let Neha sleep. It was 6. Neha did not wake up to the screeching noise of Nitin’s bicycle. She also did not wake up to Rahul’s car. All the three sat around her looking at the beautiful girl sleep.

“Something must be eating her mind” Aarthi said.

“Should we take her to the doctor?” Rahul asked.

“I’m worried Rahul” Aarthi said and held his hand.

“Maybe she was worried after falling from the swing. We weren’t around. Maybe she is angry about that”

“Whatever it is, I want my baby to talk to me” Aarthi began to cry.Neha woke up and saw her family, her world around her.She immediately hugged Aarthi.

“Love you sweetie” Rahul said.

Neha looked at Rahul.

“I don’t love you” she said.

None of them expected that.

“Are you angry with me?” Rahul asked as she tried to take her from Aarthi.

“I love you too Neha. Come let us go play” Nitin said.

“I don’t love you bhayya” she said.

She got off from Rahul and sat down on her study table. She crossed her arms on the table and buried her face in it. Her family stood there looking at her fighting something within. They were helpless.

“I won’t go and play any more” Neha said her face still buried in her arms.

Aarthi got up to walk up to her while Rahul pulled her back and asked her to stay put so that Neha spoke some more.

“Ok Neha. You don’t have to go to the ground to play from tomorrow” Rahul affirmed.

“Tell Akash not to push me while I’m on the swing”

“Sure” Rahul was feeling better and a smile escaped from his face. Aarthi sat on the couch and her worries were draining.

“Tell Prashant bhayya not to do that again to me”

“What?” Aarthi asked.


“Prashant bhayya did bad things to me. He removed my dress while I was eating ice cream. He made me do bad things to him. I didn’t like it”

Hell froze. Rahul and Aarthi were beginning to feel uneasy. Neha looked up at her parents who were already frozen.

“Mamma. I told him I love him and I hugged him. You told me this is a way of being thankful. And he hugged me and told me he loved me too and did bad things to me. He kissed me all over. He hurt me. I don’t want to love anyone mamma. I don’t want to hug you” she said and got down the study table and walked to Aarthi.

Aarthi carried her and hugged her to her bosom. Rahul looked at Neha with tears brimming. Nitin was not sure what was happening. Aarthi felt a chillness running down her spine.

Neha, turned around as she put her face on her mother’s bosom and said, “Papa, tell Prashanth bhayya not to do it. It pains."

Rahul looked at her little adopted daughter helplessly.

A simple life was shattered beyond recovery. None of them slept that night except for Neha. She preferred to sleep on the floor.

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

Neha was formed in my mind after reading this. I wasn't at ease to end the story like that, but this is to all those Nehas who have gone through this. I suggest you read that post by Satheesh. Something has to be done... Something...

-the girl.

sweet,sweet surrender

Its been so long since I last saw a sunset that I'd forgotten how pretty it is when the sun sets behind the hills and the glow lingers for hours to come. When each, and I mean EACH aspect of life seems to just crumble away, when everything collapses like a house of cards, when pain moves beyond desolation... is that when the phoenix rises?
I promised to fight. But I didn't read the small print. Did I promise to fight everyone's battles? All the time? Lesson learnt = ALWAYS read the small print!
Someday I'll go to sleep because I want to and not because fatigue takes over... Someday I'll wake up beacuse I want to and not because I have to... Someday I'll not be sad... Someday there'll be sweet surrender...Because beyond desolation, hope is lost and right now, that's all I have...

-the girl.

A Time of 'Their' Lives.....

Even though the action of football has always intrigued me..I fail to understand why the male department regards people who are clueless bout what footbaal is all about,or who is in which team..(and of course,who has the hottest babe next to himself!) as something unearthly giving looks which makes one (yeah,the females..mostly.) feel like getting rolled up inside her own shell by the inferiority complex!

I was talking about the whole issue to a friend who got married last year in April..and whose poor wife was cursing herself as to why did she affirm for the wedding to be held on a FIFA year,and that too prior to the World Cup..I could come to a few conclusions which my friend declared..the conditions(the only conditions,rather) in which the men would watch the matches..and how their girlfriends or wives should not be interfering (here,genuinely disturbing..)in the matches,with their television sets..and so on and so forth..I m just penning down the bold and the blatant statements..(kindly shift back on time..a scene of say 8th june'06 and imagine as if the guy is himself claiming the following..

I am alive and kickin....But its June 8th and that means World Cup is almost here....wooohooo!!

Please forward this to your girlfriends, wives, etc.

1. From 9 June to 9 July 2006, you should read the sports section of the newspaper so that you are aware of what is going on regarding the World Cup, and that way you will be able to join in the conversations. If you fail to do this, then you will be looked at in a bad way, or you will be totally ignored. DO NOT complain about not receiving any attention.

2. During the World Cup, the television is mine, at all times, without any exceptions. If you even take a glimpse of the remote control, you will lose it (your eye).

3. If you have to pass by in front of the TV during a game, I don't mind, as long as you do it crawling on the floor and without distracting me. If you decide to stand nude in front of the TV, make sure you put clothes on right after because if you catch a cold, I wont have time to take you to the doctor or look after you during the World Cup month.

4. During the games I will be blind, deaf and mute, unless I require a refill of my drink or something to eat. You are out of your mind if you expect me to listen to you, open the door, answer the telephone, or pick up the baby that just fell from the second floor....it wont happen.

5. It would be a good idea for you to keep at least 2 six packs in the fridge at all times, as well as plenty of things to nibble on, and please do not make any funny faces to my friends when they come over to watch the games. In return, you will be allowed to use the TV between 12am and 6am, unless they replay a good game that I missed during the day.

6. Please, please, please!! if you see me upset because one of my teams is losing, DO NOT say "get over it, its only a game", or "don't worry, they'll win next time". If you say these things, you will only make me angrier and I will love you less. Remember, you will never ever know more about football than me and your so called "words of encouragement" will only lead to a break up or divorce.

7. You are welcome to sit with me to watch one game and you can talk to me during halftime but only when the commercials are on, and only if the halftime score is pleasing me. In addition, please note I am saying "one" game, hence do not use the World Cup as a nice cheesy excuse to "spend time together".

8. Please do NOT ask me the rules of soccer when the game is on! If you really want to know, look it up on the Internet. The computer is all yours when the game is on (only when the game is on). And don't ask silly, stupid questions like "Oh, why is he walking out the field?" (He got a red card, dammit).

9. The replays of the goals are very important. I don't care if I have seen them or I haven't seen them, I want to see them again. Many times.

10. Tell your friends NOT to have any babies, or any other child related parties or gatherings that requires my attendance because:

a) I will not go, b) I will not go, and c) I will not go.

11. But, if a friend of mine invites us to his house on a Sunday to watch a game and his television and sound system is better than mine, we will be there in a flash.

12. The daily World Cup highlights show on TV every night is just as important as the games themselves. Do not even think about saying "but you have already seen this...why don't you change the channel to something we can all watch??", the reply will be: "Refer to Rule #2 of this list".

13. And finally, please save your expressions such as "Thank God the World Cup is only every 4 years". I am immune to these words, because after this comes the Champions League, Italian League, Spanish League, Premier League, etc etc.

Thank you for your cooperation.

Regards,

Men of the World.

(space..)

Siiighhh..!!thats all i can say..

-the girl.

Mind trains...

the mind trains baffle me..and the destiny and conclusive thought further...a few days back, i was watching a popular TV show with the name The Apprentice.there were two finalists ...one British turned American and the other a Jewish American.The latter had always mentioned his Jewish religion..and so it stuck in my head.i believed that the latter would win (coz he was young and a good strategist) ....he lost.

Could religion be a criteria for selecting people? how much hold on our thought process does religion have?(my mind trains started moving all over by now). In a country like America which is melting pot of so many many kinds of people...how many really hold onto their religions? how and what do they identify themselves with?being raised here in India...we know that we are not just Indians...we are from this caste..this sub caste..this state..etc etc.... we have a WHOLE flow chart coming to us...and everytime ...we talk or think or organise...we work along this very flowchart...

how do I think..? i think first like myself..then like my surname, then like my caste ..then my religion ..and so on..at EVERY level ..i modify myself...to suit and fit ...and ultimately....am i ME?and then ....as i kept on this line....those words emerged...words that were conclusive and truely something that amazed me ..i said..

"Tradition can either Pull u Down...or Keep u Grounded...its all about perspectives"..

is it? ...

-the girl.

time for another pomme..

The true worth,
Of a speck of dirt,
An oyster sees,
When a pearl he weaves.

Dew drops so small,
Enthrall one and all,
On a morning fine,
But only in sunshine.

These qualities divine,
Of oyster and sunshine,
In your mind,
Hidden u'll find.

And that's the key,
That'll fully change thee,
From a speck of dirt,
To the man u'll be.

-the girl.

Remains of the Storm ..

Look there. How calm those waters seem now that the season has turned. Only yesterday, they were savage seas. Churning violent storms and casting them our way. The vengeful east winds that crashed on our shores. Dancing dervish. As if they wanted to reclaim the land. To take it away to the sea. How they raged andplundered. How we waited and watched. Many days and many nights. And when it passed, we came out to gather the fallen pieces of our lives. To scavenge what the storm left behind. To mourn what it took.

The storm itself dissipated. Scattered itself across the land. Precipitated. Into a weeping autumn rain. Dissolved. Perhaps atoning for its sins.

Or maybe it simply wandered. Couldn't find its way back to the ocean. Who knows ?

Whirlwinds uncoiled on their vortex. Squalling over arid sands. Caught between nowhere and nothingness. The solitude of the desert drove them mad. Deranged, they shifted sand dunes by day - only to move them back by night.

Convectional crosscurrents ascended the firmament. Nothing remained of their wrath but a passing turbulence. Somewhere else, a translucent breeze touched land. It rippled golden through the tall seas of praire grass. Waxing-waning. Cresting-falling.

Some storms became winds. Some winds disintegrated. Into the cold drafts that condensed on your skin on muggy, moonless nights. Yet others, like tattered paper kites fluttered hapless from old telegraph wires. Gales rattled windows, crept in through cracks and settled in damp corners. Occassionally stirring but mostly silent. Fragments of air stood motionless. In suspended animation. As if they had died mid-sentence.

I collected them all. The fragile, broken pieces of a tempest dead. The consequence of sorrow. And its cause. Withered wafts surrendered themselves. I held them down with paperweights lest they should escape. They crumbled to ash between my fingertips. I inhaled every moving gust till my lungs could hold no more.

And I walked. I walked till the ocean found me. Till the tide drew in. It had waited long for the storm's return. Keeping vigil on the eastern sky. Hoping for the winds to ride back into the sunset. Water looked at me, questioningly. Melancholy waves leaped up and then subsided. They knew. They knew what the silence meant.

I stood there for a moment that was both brief and long at the same time. Reflecting. Reminiscing. Then I said a prayer. Exhaled deep. And in doing so I buried the remains of the storm. At sea.

-the girl.

to the Left of Right

I have always had trouble with fundamental truths.

As a child, I could never be sure if the long arm of the clock showed minutes or hours. Somehow, I had made the association that because an hour is "bigger" than a minute, technically, the longer arm ought to show hours. Then ofcourse, I would find out that I was wrong and would make a mental note of it. But the next time around when I was asked to tell the time, I'd go over the same premise and arguments in my head and become horribly muddled again.

Relative directions were another bane to my existence. I had a hard time telling left from right. Ironically, I understood cardinal directions very well. But if I was told to turn left, I would have to stop and think. Even then, much to my embarassment, Iwould end up getting it wrong some times. Then my grandfather taught me a trick.

I remember him and I walking home from my Saturday hobby class. I must have been about seven years old then. Everytime we reached a corner, he would ask me which way to turn and I'd choose. It was our game. What amazed me was that no matter how many wrong turns we took, we were never wrong enough to be lost. We would always make it back home in time for lunch.

In the course of these weekly games, it had become apparent to my grandfather that I fumbled with directions. I'd say left when I meant to go right and vice-versa. He'd correct me politely when I made a mistake but was careful not to make me feel conscious about it. "We are just the same, you know", he said to me one day. "I used to have trouble with these things too when I was your age. But its nothing to worry about". And then after a brief pause, he chuckled "Maybe it runs in the family".

I was secretly delighted because this was something we had in common - something that bound me together with my grandfather. I was also relieved to know that there was hope for me yet. Afterall, for someone who claimed to bungle up directions himself, my grandfather had done pretty well in his life. I explained to him my futile attempts at memorizing left and right using all kinds of mnemonics.

"Well, lets forget all of that. It isn't going to help us. We must think in pictures. That is the best way to remember anything", my grandfather said as he walked ahead and stood at the corner of the sidewalk across from me and a red mailbox.

"Now remember the spatial details of what you see here. Try and click a mental picture of it and tuck it away in your head somewhere. The mailbox is to your right. I am standing to your left. If you want to go right, you walk towards the mailbox. If you want to go left, you come to me. Right - mailbox. Left - me. Thats all you need to know", he said to me and then we continued on our way home.

That was many years ago. A lot has happened in my life since. I have grown up for one. My grandfather has passed on. The house that where I grew up was torn down. Occassionally, I still have trouble telling time on a dial-type analog clock. But when it comes to directions, I have become very clever. If you ask me to turn left, I don't have to think twice - or even once for that matter. The neurons in my head fire away mechanically. A familiar scene flickers in my mind's eye. I see a red mailbox on one side. My grandfather is on the other side, smiling.

And I walk towards him. I just keep walking towards him.

-the girl.

badla lungi!!

a book review is anytime better than a post where the boy questions my gender! :-1

the boy must note that his 'little' post is well-regarded and taken into consideration to plan a few things against him.

glorious females,no comments,eh?? thou shalt see the consequences!

wait and watch! till the meantime,i pray to god that the boy gets basked in colours by his hostel mates and also that his room is flooded with water and walls coloured in vibgyor!!

-the girl.

Atonement

Writers are omnipotent. They sit by the brook on sunny afternoons and create bubbles of lives that sway with the wind - every bubble an universe in itself, pregnant with lives twisted and tortured by a greater purpose and responsibility. The writer can then create lives, destroy them, lure the eve with a shining apple or destroy the bubble with a indistinguishable colored pixel. Period.

They could either sweep the rug of reason off your feet and take you to another space and time where their protagonist becomes the center of an ever expanding thriving universe (like how an unassuming ten year old from pivet drive realized his parents were the greatest wizards of all time). Such a premise easily lends itself to drama and larger than life characters (like the man who cannot be named). Or they could show you a seemingly insignificant card and make you a witness while a minor accident sways it and makes it fall. And just as it falls, it kisses another card and takes it along and soon they all fall, an entire castle of cards, kissed with death and a twist of fate. And when the whole castle is in shambles, you have no one to blame but a minor insignificant accident - a woodworm that ate the cross. And a satisfied writer who orchestrated it all.

On a midsummer morning, 13-year-old Briony Tallis watches, from a hidden window, her sister take off her clothes before her father's ward and jump into a fountain. An admittedly unusual incident (aggressive foreplay if it were in a hollywood movie) but not an event that by itself could entwine three lives, destroy them beyond belief and dismember a family. But by the time you are through with Part one of Atonement, you realize that the lives of those caught in that decisive moment have been irrevocably altered and each of their picture perfect plans for future irrepairably destroyed.

The first part of the novel is a master piece. It paints an upper middle class setting in the early part of twentieth century, overlays it with an entire family of interesting characters. Briony Tallis is looking forward for her brother Leon to return and writes a play as a welcome act, that she plans to stage with the help of her cousins. Her sister Cecilia is spending time at home after her years in Oxford and living with them is Robbie turner, who's on his way to study medicine, after an exceptional year of academics. Each chapter is written from the point of view of one character and hence events are revisited and shown in the different perspective. And it's eventually this difference in perspective - subjectivity of realism - that causes the seemingly insignificant card to sway and fall and take with it the entire castle.

The story could have ended there. But the laws of cause and effect wouldn't have been complete. The unlucky wouldn't have been victimised and erring soul wouldn't have repented. The rest of the book binds the ends and records the atonement of the protagonist. Though the text is exquisite, the imagery detailed, these introspective parts fail to capture the magic of the first act. More so because they do little to advance the story - time goes by slowly as the characters trudge through the walk of life reconciling themselves with here and now and try in their own little ways to mend it. But like the author himself writes, "The crystalline present moment is of course a worthy subject in itself ... it allows a writer to show his gifts, delve into mysteries of perception .... However, such writing can become precious when there's no sense of forward movement ... underlying pull of simple narrative".

In the end, time flies. Lives end and plot twists are resolved. The thirteen year old girl reaches the autumn of her life and waits for the witnesses in her prosecution to fade so that she could finally atone for her sin. In a master stroke in the end, the line between the reality as in the book, and those recorded as a work of fiction by the Briorny is forever blurred. And when the final page is flipped, she stares out at the autumn sky and reconciles with herself and her written word.

Atonement is no doubt a work of class. And as with anything with class, it runs the risk of being compared with itself than with its contemporaries. I would have loved to like Atonement a little more. You know that when the last word is said, you don't feel the emptiness that only art could leave you with but in its place a sigh, a shadow of what it could have been. A master piece.

ps: [Atonement : A Novel - by Ian McEwan].

- the girl.

The song of the road..

It is one of my favourite fantasies, a long-cherished romance. And as favourite romances go; this one too is as yet unconsummated, waiting for a bolt of lightining to strike and bear me away in a flash. Cause that is the only way it will be realized.

And one of these days I mean to. Board the first sooty, smoke-belching State Transport bus or a train I see to nowhere. No plans, no nothing. Just like that. Me and my backpack, the bus/train and co-passengers.

Journeys fascinate me. It is my ‘fix’, though I have remained an armchair gypsy much more than I like. Travelling is a process I love. It is a simple kind of a joy, to trace the path you are going to take from point A to point B on a map. Wondering just what lays in store for you this time as you go through the motions of booking your tickets and packing your bags and taking stock of your fellow passengers as you make yourself comfortable on your seats. And then actually travel the way your finger has already traced.

But, as I said, it is a simple kind of a joy and though I revel in it, there is something more; before I could emerge as somebody befitting the tag of a traveler. In my eyes at least.

You see, it has always been the unchronicled that holds a special place in my heart. The undiscovered and the ‘boondocks’. The places you don’t hear much about. Or only of unsavoury incidents if you do. These are the ones that are the farthest from the ‘touristy’ and the ones described as sleepy. The places which long-distance trains whiz disdainfully past or stop by for only a few seconds.

But I want to sightsee these. To know their hawa, paani and fasal as Mulayam Singh Yadav would put it. To know the meandering roads those lead to these far-off places. Removed so far from the kind of life I am familiar with and know.

These are really small towns and cities. Some unknown and some fairly known. The kinds where a stranger would be immediately recognized. I want to experience their character, to know their reactions to a stranger who crosses their path for no apparent reason at all. No reasons, except a curiosity to just see their way of life and their native habitat.

Perhaps, it is the omniscient journalist in me, but it is a strange kind of longing this. To want to attach; an image, a face, an experience to these far off places that lure and intrigue and are nothing more than names on maps to me right now.I want to trade the known for the unknown. Revel in the luxury of knowing that I am unafraid to try the untested. To just step out off a train as it halts at some random station somewhere. Wish I had done that in Bongaigaon in Assam for no reason other than the fact that the name had a nice ring to it or Cooch Behar because it looked so beautiful in the early nippy dawn of December and I so badly wanted to linger around and wait for the faint pink stain morph itself into a heart-warming blazing orange.

Or oh, when it struck me the strongest in Delhi because she left the train there. She earns a living singing Bengali folk in trains. I don’t know her name, but regulars on the Azad Hind told me that though they didn’t know where she boarded from, she always got down at Delhi. I had followed her through the length of the train trying to speak to her as she went about singing the most sweetest songs I had ever heard.

Regulars greeted her with familiar smiles and so tuneful was she that first-timers shoved currency notes into her outstretched hands. She charmed me, this frail old lady with the most beguiling smile. She who made a living out of something which was a ‘heritage’. And while it put food in her belly, it also gave joy to people as she sold back to them their own long-forgotten and fast-dying out culture. I wonder if she realizes the enormity of what was for her a matter of living. This unwitting symbol who was a reminder and guardian of folk culture.

These are the stories I most like. The ones that I want to write. And there are many, I know. Buried in the boroughs of places salted away from mainstream eyes, going about their businesses far from the madding crowds.

I want to go there some day. To Mithila, Muzzafarpur and Deoband. To Gadchiroli, Jamkhed and Tikiapara. To Thangachimaddam, Shirpur and Malegaon.

And then some more.

To experience, a slice of life.

PS: Of course there is Prague too.

So, Godspeed.

-the girl.

tank tank tank

heebeejeebies.

see and edit.

waaaaaa.

The evanescent flicker

He stood in solitude in the looming darkness,
A candle of unrequited love mired in a tempest,
He burnt himself in futile waiting,
For a ray of hope to enliven his being.
But she turned deaf to his heart-rending pleas,
And blind to the drops, rolling down his cheeks.
Leaving time to heal his damaged destiny;
As she watched him melt into oblivion.
She thought the dying flame would leave no trace,
But in the hardened wax she could still see his face.

this is just it..just it.no explanations for its creation.

-the girl.

Phew!

i just missed out on something..bad!

before i posted my previous post..i was just running through all the posts on this blog and it struck me..that the nature of this blog seemed to be conveniently shifting its place from sad to the merry shade..

i realised that if a person reads all the girl's posts,he would surely get an idea that she faces 'serious' nervous breakdowns every week or so..the posts are that gloomy..n the boy seems to be too kind (read: only on the blog!) to actually see where the cloud is heading towards n posts in sumthing funny..to get back the audience from the gates!..

and now,when he was actually coming my way to write sumthing grim..i shooed him off..shya!why i am missing this thing is coz this dude never fails to smile..alright,he succeeds in making people cry n yeah,wail to stop his highly stupid-bordering-on-silly pjs..and so its different to see him getting into that mode..

perhaps,i shud make an attempt at collecting some pjs,emphasis on dead silly ones..; and make him go sad..which then compels him to post in sumthing of my genre..

so..its the pjs then..beware,mah friend!..

-the girl.

You want to beg..?!!

Some things never end, and some things we never stop talking about.

Accent, arguably, is one of them ! It almost always has one in splits when someone mimicks an accent, or when a word is pronounced so wrong that it gives the sentence a completely different and silly meaning...
I live in this place, where the strength of the janta is, shall i say, pretty accent-uated. The other day i was at the groceries store to buy some kulfi. After placing it on the counter, the lady started entering the details on the system, when she looked up at me and asked:
Lady : "you wanto beg ?"
I was sure i heard what i heard .....ok, i know i havent started earning as yet, but an offer to beg ?? Wow !..and i thought begging was a self-inspired profession all the while !
Me: i am sorry! i'd like to pay!
Lady: "yes, but do you wanto beg ?"
Stumped by her insistence, i almost gave it a thought, before i shouted out,"No, i don't want to !"
Lady: "ok!", she said, peacefully removing the kulfi out of the carry bag she had put it in, and handing the kulfi to me!
"here you are, no baeg !"...striking me at that time that she meant "you want a bag ?" !!!

I've always believed that teachers are probably the most important reason students develop an accent in the first place. Not that the teachers do it intentionally, but well, they have been taught that way !
At school, often, we were introduced to the gay and the 1-dimensional world simultaneously, by our math teacher, who wouldnt as much as flinch when she used to direct us saying "please all the gerls and boys, draw a straight lion !", while some cheeky blokes would hiss at the back "wonder how a gay lion would look like"!
Lecturers and profs in college usually used to be the butt of the jokes when it came to accent. more often than not, the bad ones used to have a bad accent to go with, which would not only make them look dumb, but atrociously funny to discuss!

Sometimes they twisted and rolled the words so badly, it's got innocent people in a tight situation on many occasions. We had this lecturer in college, who spoke in thick malayalam accent, and looked like an adult midget. Roll call was the worst, since she pronounced numbers like she was frying something round in her mouth before uttering the words. My friend, had 412 as his roll number, and unfortunately for him, the teacher always pronounced it as "for toll" !. well, it did take a toll on him, if you think about it, since he took ages to comprehend what she had said, answer out of turn, and get kicked out for giving proxy ! that's the unluckiest one can get - Roll number for toll!

...and there were some who pronounced a specific letter differently.

My friends' lecturer in college couldn't say the letter 'P', and would instead say "Fee". Unfortunately for him, his 'P' vocab was better than his 'F' !
One gloomy day he caught one 'Premnath' sleeping in class, and launched himself on him,
"Hey you Fathetic Frame-nath !! are you sleefing in class ?" ...to bring all back from sleep...
Before foor frame-nath could get back to his lenses and senses, a tight blow landed on his head, with another blooper on it's way...
"You are feeling so sleefy, someone else has to wake uf for you ?".
...i'd like a job where someone else could wake up for me, while i slept!!

Another prof of mine had an issue with the 'T's, often coming out as 'thi' or 'tha', and the evil mind that we were, we had named the prof "thomatho-pothatho". she'd go "you guys are therrible, whaths the need to thalk in the labrathory ?" during the microprocessor lab sessions...well after this, we couldnt talk, more so because we tried hard not to howl in laughter!
...but the one that takes the cake was this lecturer who couldn't say 'sa', and would say 'sha'. Imagine the look on this new girl in the second year, when he asked her almost smilingly to "please shit down where the girls are shitting" !, directing her towards them!
much as i would note layke to be kyencerned about these, shumtimes it becomes fainfully unbearable !
Accent proves to be a little hard to digest when you are in a serious situation though. You can't really laugh at times, more like just be green faced trying to control it, but it's funny nonetheless !

There's this dude friend of mine, who pronounces "Brian" like its "Brain". ok, it's not very funny, and could be a compliment in many cases, you'd like to think! Well we had planned this hang-out one day, and this dude friend wanted confirmation from Brian,he hadnt received it..so in a slightly surprised tone, he mused : "I sent a message about this to brain an hour ago , but haven't got any response yet !". I can swear my other friends pinched themselves once to check if they weren't sleeping since they was hearing things, while i was knocked off my chair trying to control my laughter! That's one cheeky brain which not only knows it is slow, but brave enough to tell it out !.

Well all said, these are but innocent mistakes people probably can't do much to change. That's way better than the ones who try to put up an accent, and half way down the line forget to continue it, and start sounding like they've eaten crab legs.....that's a different story to be taken one at a time!...that's when "you'd wanto baeg" to puke into!

-the girl.

A future full of questions..

A journey full of trepidation

A decision full of misgivings

A meeting with a long-lost friend

A walk in the rain

A confession to a listener

A workplace with the much-needed space

Return of tensions full force.....

Sigh... nothing is perfect, is it?


-the girl.

existence.future..

Have you ever wondered about your exsistence in this world?

seriously... im a ponderer i think a lot and sometimes my thoughts dwell into a lot of aspects of the purpose of my existence on this planet, there is a fire in my soul that doesn't die, there is this want, need to achieve more than i was meant to do, to make a difference to the world that i live in.

But then again.. am i a dreamer? As a 20 year old young woman , am i expecting my self to create wonders.. i often wonder if there are more people like me out there who feel lost and uncomfortable and feel like they have been restricted from unleashing their true selves?

just the other day...I saw a baby with a golden ribbon around her head. and i kept observing the twinkle in her eyes and the innocence in her smile and it almost brought tears to my eyes.. being next to her made me feel so impure , I have to admit i was jealous of her.. she didn't have to worry about which lecherous man was watching her, whether she was dressed appropriately?, how was she to earn money? .. such a carefree and lovely existence.The thought that hurt was that one day that innocence will be lost and that she will be like any one of us, in this terrible wicked world , helpless and fighting for her survival. making sure that she is safe at all time, having to worry about creating an identity for herself and fighting it out in this deep dark world where one has to throw away all his values and morals and kill and cut anothers throat to get forward in this race of money ,wealth and fame.

And then i ponder, is this what i have come to? Is this why i exsist, to have a fancy car and a 6 figure salary and handsome man by my side and be selfish and turn my self away from the real world, which is where i should be!...


Just in case,you have started thinking that i am a highly pessmist girl,who always tends to think bout the big,black,dark,evil world then no..it isnt that.on the contrary,i think the world is rosy and beautiful and i can see and feel the sushine also..but its just the on-off bouts which take me to such paths which would lead me somewhere..which are undiscovered..n which i am scared to discover..

-the girl.

back,..with a bang (?)

yes, it has to be a big hi, that too in block letters.have been absconding for god knows how many days..
but now surely back with some things which i gave a thought to, realised n felt.coming up soon. till then..
:) ..just a smile.

- the girl.

God in small things..

Have you ever been big enough to notice small things? Have you ever walked down a street looking at the trees and see them smile at you? Ever seen a dry leaf being carried away by the wind, taking somersaults, running from nobody like a child in the park, waiting for something to come its way so that it can topple over once again?

Have you seen a small child smile… at you… because of you? Ever felt at the top of the world even after a worst possible day because you made someone smile… and could see that someones day being made?

Have you ever had the time to time the time? When you had to rush nowhere… like still water! No work to go to, no friends to catch up with, no calls to make, no mails to check. Just stand like a tree… smiling at everyone who bothers to notice. When you are very calm and serene, in a mood to appreciate the beauty of nature… notice the small but beautiful things around you that you overlook most of the time. When you are in a mood to listen and not talk… this is when you should try talking to small people, one that do not matter to you… oldies for example… who probably are the only people who could feel the earth rotate around its own axis. People abandoned by people, by senses and waiting to be abandoned by life. Try and talk to them… connect with them… and you shall realize that they do think… think big… think smart… just like us… the only difference is that may be they cannot maintain their flow of thought. But its very interesting listening to them… and best part is… if you do listen… you are blessed with that one small smile on their face at the end that says, dear… you made my day! One smile that can speak more than 1000 comprehended words per second and infinite happiness… far beyond any communication bandwidth. Make you feel good… big… happy... blessed. Reinstates the belief that God exists even in small things.


Love everyone, because life is like a game of chess, once the game is over, the king and the pawn go in the same box.
– Inspired by Being Cyrus (The Movie).


The quote has not much relevance with the post... I just like it.

-the girl.