in a city not at all far away, there lived a girl. There was this bunch of stuff she was supposed to do. You know how it is with stuff you are supposed to do. If it is in your way, you step around it. If it grows so big that it becomes impossible for you to step around, why, you sit where you are, lean your back against it and enjoy the view.
One day the stuff she was supposed to do was being a very persistent nagger. It wouldnt let her rest, no matter how much she tried to ignore it. Fed up, she decided to go looking for excuses.
She crossed mountains
she swam seas.
She fought dragons
and got stung by bees.
Finally she found one. And what a good looking excuse it was! Strong and sturdy. No loopholes, whichever side it looked at it. She bought the excuse home. The stuff she was supposed to do was waiting for her, having grown stronger from all that neglect.
She walked in
her head held high.
Leaned on the excuse,
and looked the stuff in the eye.
The stuff gave up. For the time being. It knew however, that as long as she was willing to go through all that just to look for an excuse, it was safe. Its only when she really started to look at the stuff that it had to worry.
She and the excuse went on to live. Not too happily. Not at all for ever after.
(P.S. Thats the second time its happened. One sentence inspires a post and at the end, that sentence is nowhere in the post! This one was to be about her finding an excuse and them living happily ever after and making little baby excuses.)
Showing posts with label My favourite ones. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My favourite ones. Show all posts
Saturday, June 05, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Shit Happens
Yeah. Everyone knows that. Which is why we have been passed on well developed techniques for dealing with it. God moves in mysterious ways, poorva janma karma, every thing happens for the best - whatever be your cup of irrationality. Its supposed to help you accept shit and move on. Not mope around wondering - why me? Why did i miss that step? Why was the exam so hard just this year? Why did that bird have to fly over my head just then?
But, leaving aside shit that is generated by the randomness that is this universe, there is shit that happens to you for a reason. I dont mean The Alchemist type reasons, the universe is trying to send you a message crap, ihated intensely disliked that book. The day i find myself quoting non-sarcastically from it will be the day that i die. Ahem. Coming back. Shit that happens to you because you did something or said something or should have done something. Shit that you can somehow link back to you. Shit that you can and should learn from.
Sometimes i find myself in such a hurry to move on that i fail to differentiate between random shit and causal shit. I rationalize, i look for excuses, i find them, i move on. Once i've convinced myself there is nothing i could have done, its all pretty simple. A shrug and its done.
And now, because i've just realized that this is exactly what the Serenity Prayer says, and says much better, i paste it here.
But, leaving aside shit that is generated by the randomness that is this universe, there is shit that happens to you for a reason. I dont mean The Alchemist type reasons, the universe is trying to send you a message crap, i
Sometimes i find myself in such a hurry to move on that i fail to differentiate between random shit and causal shit. I rationalize, i look for excuses, i find them, i move on. Once i've convinced myself there is nothing i could have done, its all pretty simple. A shrug and its done.
And now, because i've just realized that this is exactly what the Serenity Prayer says, and says much better, i paste it here.
God, grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change;
The courage to change the things that I can;
And the wisdom to know the difference.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Morning walk
Warning: Long and pointless
"Your lower back should be straight."
She looked up from her push ups to see him standing next to her. She'd seen him by the stairs earlier, yet another person out for a morning walk in the university. "This way you'll have back pain. Keep you lower back straight and bend the upper back. Like this", he demonstrated. She looked on, wondering if upper backs could be bent voluntarily like that. She nodded. She'd understood, at least in theory. "Your turn now,", he said, standing up, "ten push-ups, the right way. And no stopping", he warned. She started. 5, 6, 7... He looked the other way for a second, she declared she was done. He gave a little snort, but said good and left. She yelled out her thanks to his back. She loitered for a while more, thinking of other exercises she could do outside of the gym.
It was when she was walking back that the unusualness of the situation hit her. We dont do that in our country, she realized. We are not friendly at first sight, we dont approach strangers, even in public places. We are probably world leaders in minding our own business. Except if you are old, she thought and chuckled. She hadnt seen her two favourite old morning-walk people in a while. The uncle who came with his walker, a helper, and the sunniest smile you could imagine. The first time he'd wished her good morning across the road, she'd stiffened, sure that she didnt know him, unsure of how to respond. The next time, she wished him back. And that is all it took for it to become a routine. And Pink Floyd Paati*. An old woman who wore a Pink Floyd t-shirt to her walk. She didnt know if it was the short hair or the twinkling eyes or the comfort she radiated, but it took all of two seconds for the t-shirt to stop being incongruous. Those are the kind of people you expect a smile from, she thought, not people from my own generation.
It was much later when she bumped into him again and he said she looked familiar and suddenly he seemed familiar too and they exchanged societies and house numbers that she found out that he lived just two houses away from her and had been doing so for the past 23 years. She'd heard of the cliche of course, but never imagined she'd be one of the people it'd be about. That should be a cliche too, she thought, how everyone thinks a cliche is something that happens to other people. P aunty's son he was. She couldnt believe. P aunty and her dog Caesar and the terror they inspired featured pretty prominently in her childhood memories. The cricket balls that found their way into P Aunty's garden and then went on to become Caesar's snack. The road they practically lived on as kids emptied in seconds if anyone so much as imagined Caesar being brought out for a walk. She'd heard of P Aunty's kids, of course. But this one was already a Bhaiyya** by then, and bhaiyyas unlike uncles and auntys had as little interest in you as you had in them. They wouldnt yell at you to keep the noise down, or shoo you away from the construction site because it was too dangerous. The lived and let lived.
Not such a small world after all, she thought, as she waved goodbye and got on her two wheeler at the University gate.
* grandma in Tamil
** as in Didi-Bhaiyya, used to address any older boy
"Your lower back should be straight."
She looked up from her push ups to see him standing next to her. She'd seen him by the stairs earlier, yet another person out for a morning walk in the university. "This way you'll have back pain. Keep you lower back straight and bend the upper back. Like this", he demonstrated. She looked on, wondering if upper backs could be bent voluntarily like that. She nodded. She'd understood, at least in theory. "Your turn now,", he said, standing up, "ten push-ups, the right way. And no stopping", he warned. She started. 5, 6, 7... He looked the other way for a second, she declared she was done. He gave a little snort, but said good and left. She yelled out her thanks to his back. She loitered for a while more, thinking of other exercises she could do outside of the gym.
It was when she was walking back that the unusualness of the situation hit her. We dont do that in our country, she realized. We are not friendly at first sight, we dont approach strangers, even in public places. We are probably world leaders in minding our own business. Except if you are old, she thought and chuckled. She hadnt seen her two favourite old morning-walk people in a while. The uncle who came with his walker, a helper, and the sunniest smile you could imagine. The first time he'd wished her good morning across the road, she'd stiffened, sure that she didnt know him, unsure of how to respond. The next time, she wished him back. And that is all it took for it to become a routine. And Pink Floyd Paati*. An old woman who wore a Pink Floyd t-shirt to her walk. She didnt know if it was the short hair or the twinkling eyes or the comfort she radiated, but it took all of two seconds for the t-shirt to stop being incongruous. Those are the kind of people you expect a smile from, she thought, not people from my own generation.
It was much later when she bumped into him again and he said she looked familiar and suddenly he seemed familiar too and they exchanged societies and house numbers that she found out that he lived just two houses away from her and had been doing so for the past 23 years. She'd heard of the cliche of course, but never imagined she'd be one of the people it'd be about. That should be a cliche too, she thought, how everyone thinks a cliche is something that happens to other people. P aunty's son he was. She couldnt believe. P aunty and her dog Caesar and the terror they inspired featured pretty prominently in her childhood memories. The cricket balls that found their way into P Aunty's garden and then went on to become Caesar's snack. The road they practically lived on as kids emptied in seconds if anyone so much as imagined Caesar being brought out for a walk. She'd heard of P Aunty's kids, of course. But this one was already a Bhaiyya** by then, and bhaiyyas unlike uncles and auntys had as little interest in you as you had in them. They wouldnt yell at you to keep the noise down, or shoo you away from the construction site because it was too dangerous. The lived and let lived.
Not such a small world after all, she thought, as she waved goodbye and got on her two wheeler at the University gate.
* grandma in Tamil
** as in Didi-Bhaiyya, used to address any older boy
Saturday, March 06, 2010
Wait a minute. Does this make me a geek?
It all started with this a virus walks into a bar video. Monu started to send a staggering variety of mathematical concepts into a bar, as befits an academic. We then came up with a half decent one about a Turing Machine in a bar. Which i then proudly passed around. And it all ended when someone sent ME into a bar and i got kicked out because i was too little. Dont ask.
Anyway. Coming to the point, ever since the Turning Machine revelation, i've had this itch to send the folks sitting at various levels of the Chomsky Hierarchy into a bar.
Note: Though there is one representative from every level, i've sent either the machine or the language or both into the bar depending on whichever was easy. Anyone wants to fill in the blanks, feel free.
A Finite State Automaton walks into a bar. "Do we server Finite State Automatons", the new kid behind the counter asks his senior. "Of course", says the senior, "he's regular".
A Regular Expression walks into a bar. "What can i get for you sir", asks the new kid. The Regular Expression yanks something off the army uniform of the guy next to him and throws it across the bar. It goes and lands next to the drink of a guy sitting there. "He'll have what that guy is having", the senior translates, "and keep them coming".
A Pushdown Automaton walks into a bar. "We dont server PDAs", says the bartender. "Why not", whispers the new kid, "i hear they can go on forever". "Yes, but they are terrible at holding their drink", the senior says. "The see something new, and out pops the old".
A Context Sensitive Grammar walks into a bar. "Do we server him", asks the new kid. "Only if he came in with Tony and Williams", says the senior, "we dont want to be dropping him home now, do we".
And now for the one that started it all.
A Turing Machine walks into a bar. "We dont server Turing Machines", says the bartender. The Turing Machine shakes his head sadly and moves to another state.
Modesty compelled me to shut up, but modesty was bested by honesty. Someday, i'm telling you, these bar stories will be used to teach Theory of Computation to a generation of computer science students. A subject surprisingly easy to botch up. I should know, i've been through it twice - the wrong way and then the right way. The machines, the rules, they are all so pretty by themselves, its almost as if they are made for missing the woods for the trees.
Anyway. Coming to the point, ever since the Turning Machine revelation, i've had this itch to send the folks sitting at various levels of the Chomsky Hierarchy into a bar.
Note: Though there is one representative from every level, i've sent either the machine or the language or both into the bar depending on whichever was easy. Anyone wants to fill in the blanks, feel free.
A Finite State Automaton walks into a bar. "Do we server Finite State Automatons", the new kid behind the counter asks his senior. "Of course", says the senior, "he's regular".
A Regular Expression walks into a bar. "What can i get for you sir", asks the new kid. The Regular Expression yanks something off the army uniform of the guy next to him and throws it across the bar. It goes and lands next to the drink of a guy sitting there. "He'll have what that guy is having", the senior translates, "and keep them coming".
A Pushdown Automaton walks into a bar. "We dont server PDAs", says the bartender. "Why not", whispers the new kid, "i hear they can go on forever". "Yes, but they are terrible at holding their drink", the senior says. "The see something new, and out pops the old".
A Context Sensitive Grammar walks into a bar. "Do we server him", asks the new kid. "Only if he came in with Tony and Williams", says the senior, "we dont want to be dropping him home now, do we".
And now for the one that started it all.
A Turing Machine walks into a bar. "We dont server Turing Machines", says the bartender. The Turing Machine shakes his head sadly and moves to another state.
Modesty compelled me to shut up, but modesty was bested by honesty. Someday, i'm telling you, these bar stories will be used to teach Theory of Computation to a generation of computer science students. A subject surprisingly easy to botch up. I should know, i've been through it twice - the wrong way and then the right way. The machines, the rules, they are all so pretty by themselves, its almost as if they are made for missing the woods for the trees.
Thursday, February 04, 2010
HBD
For reasons that hopefully have nothing to do with age, i sent out the following text as mail to everyone in my office. It also talked about sweets, so people forgave the mail (i think). You never know, though.
Time: 3rd Feb, around 11 p.m.
Place: Inside Vinaya's head
Really?
Yeah.
Just because the earth went around the sun once more since you popped
out?
Yeah.
Arent we getting a little old for this?
[silence]
Ahh. Right. Sorry. No age talk on the birthday.
Yeah.
Did we in any way help the earth on its journey?
No.
Did we maybe deflect a passing meteor, clear some asteroids out of the
way?
No.
So we just hopped on for a free ride.
Yeah.
And yet we celebrate.
Yeah.
Oh my god! If it were up to you, you'd still wear a new frock and
distribute lollipops, wouldnt you?
Of course not!
I give up. Happy Birthday. Have a great day.
Oh i will.
Time: 3rd Feb, around 11 p.m.
Place: Inside Vinaya's head
Really?
Yeah.
Just because the earth went around the sun once more since you popped
out?
Yeah.
Arent we getting a little old for this?
[silence]
Ahh. Right. Sorry. No age talk on the birthday.
Yeah.
Did we in any way help the earth on its journey?
No.
Did we maybe deflect a passing meteor, clear some asteroids out of the
way?
No.
So we just hopped on for a free ride.
Yeah.
And yet we celebrate.
Yeah.
Oh my god! If it were up to you, you'd still wear a new frock and
distribute lollipops, wouldnt you?
Of course not!
I give up. Happy Birthday. Have a great day.
Oh i will.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Talking about the weather
Since i havent classified anything in a while. I've often tried to slot the people in my life into two groups which i shall name fair weather friends and, rather imaginatively, foul weather friends. Not in any way related to the usual sense if any, in which these terms are used.
Fair weather friends are those with whom you like to "hang" in fair weather. When the going is good, they make it better. You enjoy the same things, you laugh at each other's jokes. They are the ones you miss during the good times.
And then there are foul weather friends. People you want when the going gets tough. Who encourage you, advise you, motivate you or just listen. The world feels a lot less worse when they are by your side.
And then of course are the people who defy classification. The people who carry your weather with them. They can make the sun come out on a rainy day. Or cause thunder showers in summer. The ones who evoke such strong reactions from you, you wish you knew why.
Fair weather friends are those with whom you like to "hang" in fair weather. When the going is good, they make it better. You enjoy the same things, you laugh at each other's jokes. They are the ones you miss during the good times.
And then there are foul weather friends. People you want when the going gets tough. Who encourage you, advise you, motivate you or just listen. The world feels a lot less worse when they are by your side.
And then of course are the people who defy classification. The people who carry your weather with them. They can make the sun come out on a rainy day. Or cause thunder showers in summer. The ones who evoke such strong reactions from you, you wish you knew why.
Sunday, February 01, 2009
Yaay! Blogpost material
Says one of the many messages on the cast on my leg. No one should be surprised that i hurt myself, but this one is cool in so many ways, where do i begin?
1. I didnt stumble. Or fall. Or miss a step. And yet within the span of a second there grew a lump of the kind they show in the mug-shots of goiter patients near my ankle.
Happened while i was skipping down the stairs, headed for our Friday bash. Friends gathered around. No one was sure how big ankles really are, so i was made to remove my other shoe so we could compare. Result was non-zero. Went back to my seat and waited for the burger that my Friday bash was reduced to.
2. Was driven to a big hospital in a big car by two big and very kind people.
My uncle tells me i missed Lata Mangeshkar being hospitalized there for a knee replacement surgery by a day. Damn.
3. Where i was wheeled around in a wheel chair! Something about a guy pushing you from behind, i dont know, it gives you a feeling of meeting the world head-on. Bring it on, i wanted to yell to all the curtains we went through, i'm ready for you! Genius that i am, i mastered operating the thing in the two minutes he left me alone with it. I'm ready to yettu podu on it, that is how comfortable i am.
4. One of the doctor's assistants came to look at the x-ray (in which my flat feet dont look flat. At all). He peered at the x-ray, squinted at it, tilted it at all angles, went a few steps back and started at it from a distance and in general spent a lot of time looking for whatever he was looking for in it. I wanted to tell him, what with me being such an expert on all things medical having watched Grey's Anatomy AND House AND err... Scrubs, dude, thats not how the cool ones do it. Just a glance tells them whats in there. He then gave up on the photograph and moved on to the real thing. Poked around the swelling for a while. I really should have accidentally kicked him while i could.
5. I got to see, live and exclusive, the cast being put on my foot! The PoP strips, the cotton, the bandage, the tub of water, all of it! The two other times i was casted, i woke up with the cast. This time i saw the miracle. Blessed are my eyes.
(Reminds me of the first time i had stitches. I was so mad it was my upper lip that was getting stitched. I wanted too see! The second time around it was my finger, i am ashamed to admit it was too chicken to see).
I did embarrass myself by asking him whether my jeans would come off once he put on the cast. I was worried, the only alternative i could see was to live in them for 15 days. It didnt occur to me they could be cut, until one kind man asked me if they were my favourite. Then i wanted to cry.
6. I got crutches!!! From the hospital, on rent, because that foot has a ligament torn and is not to be disturbed until further notice. So much advance thinking and execution is really not me. I am that person who would reach office, keep one foot out and then wonder how to climb up two floors without using the other foot. I dont know what got into me. Whatever it is, i hope it stays.
7. Got delivered home in a car by another kind soul. Even though i'd told them about the cast and the crutches, it was pretty dramatic. The 10 meters i had to walk from the car to the door, i did it with such ease and grace and speed, i could have been walking on four legs all my life.People said so.
8. And now for the best part. The cast has writing all over it! The few hours i spent in office before i could be transported home, i spent guilting people into writing messages on it. Because comments are so precious, i have to reply to them!
Lalit/Mohsin
<insert-name-of-process-that-does-all-the-work> was killed" - Genius. Pure genius. If only it was mirror imaged.
Zarin
Yaay! Blogpost material - Nothing but.
Charuta
Gym mein mat aana - Sob. Naheeeeee! Please? I promise to run on just one leg!
VijayG
!Work from home - too late. People missed the "not" and decided i was desperate enough to write it down.
Pushkar
Get well soon :) - like Zarin said, someone had to say it! Also its the only one my grandfather "got" and it made him happy. So thanks!
Charuta
You are NOT Claire :O - Again, genius. Yes, i know that now.
Nishant
Nerve Panic - Heh. Thats one problem we wont be asking you to reproduce!
Thats it folks. See you in two weeks with hollow armpits, etched out biceps and one very fit leg.
1. I didnt stumble. Or fall. Or miss a step. And yet within the span of a second there grew a lump of the kind they show in the mug-shots of goiter patients near my ankle.
Happened while i was skipping down the stairs, headed for our Friday bash. Friends gathered around. No one was sure how big ankles really are, so i was made to remove my other shoe so we could compare. Result was non-zero. Went back to my seat and waited for the burger that my Friday bash was reduced to.
2. Was driven to a big hospital in a big car by two big and very kind people.
My uncle tells me i missed Lata Mangeshkar being hospitalized there for a knee replacement surgery by a day. Damn.
3. Where i was wheeled around in a wheel chair! Something about a guy pushing you from behind, i dont know, it gives you a feeling of meeting the world head-on. Bring it on, i wanted to yell to all the curtains we went through, i'm ready for you! Genius that i am, i mastered operating the thing in the two minutes he left me alone with it. I'm ready to yettu podu on it, that is how comfortable i am.
4. One of the doctor's assistants came to look at the x-ray (in which my flat feet dont look flat. At all). He peered at the x-ray, squinted at it, tilted it at all angles, went a few steps back and started at it from a distance and in general spent a lot of time looking for whatever he was looking for in it. I wanted to tell him, what with me being such an expert on all things medical having watched Grey's Anatomy AND House AND err... Scrubs, dude, thats not how the cool ones do it. Just a glance tells them whats in there. He then gave up on the photograph and moved on to the real thing. Poked around the swelling for a while. I really should have accidentally kicked him while i could.
5. I got to see, live and exclusive, the cast being put on my foot! The PoP strips, the cotton, the bandage, the tub of water, all of it! The two other times i was casted, i woke up with the cast. This time i saw the miracle. Blessed are my eyes.
(Reminds me of the first time i had stitches. I was so mad it was my upper lip that was getting stitched. I wanted too see! The second time around it was my finger, i am ashamed to admit it was too chicken to see).
I did embarrass myself by asking him whether my jeans would come off once he put on the cast. I was worried, the only alternative i could see was to live in them for 15 days. It didnt occur to me they could be cut, until one kind man asked me if they were my favourite. Then i wanted to cry.
6. I got crutches!!! From the hospital, on rent, because that foot has a ligament torn and is not to be disturbed until further notice. So much advance thinking and execution is really not me. I am that person who would reach office, keep one foot out and then wonder how to climb up two floors without using the other foot. I dont know what got into me. Whatever it is, i hope it stays.
7. Got delivered home in a car by another kind soul. Even though i'd told them about the cast and the crutches, it was pretty dramatic. The 10 meters i had to walk from the car to the door, i did it with such ease and grace and speed, i could have been walking on four legs all my life.People said so.
8. And now for the best part. The cast has writing all over it! The few hours i spent in office before i could be transported home, i spent guilting people into writing messages on it. Because comments are so precious, i have to reply to them!
Lalit/Mohsin
<insert-name-of-process-that-does-all-the-work> was killed" - Genius. Pure genius. If only it was mirror imaged.
Zarin
Yaay! Blogpost material - Nothing but.
Charuta
Gym mein mat aana - Sob. Naheeeeee! Please? I promise to run on just one leg!
VijayG
!Work from home - too late. People missed the "not" and decided i was desperate enough to write it down.
Pushkar
Get well soon :) - like Zarin said, someone had to say it! Also its the only one my grandfather "got" and it made him happy. So thanks!
Charuta
You are NOT Claire :O - Again, genius. Yes, i know that now.
Nishant
Nerve Panic - Heh. Thats one problem we wont be asking you to reproduce!
Thats it folks. See you in two weeks with hollow armpits, etched out biceps and one very fit leg.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Conversations, imagined or otherwise
"There is no running away from it, we are all connected" he says."Remember those Venn diagrams we used to draw in school? With the hatched portions where A meets B? Why do you run away from the intersections?"
"The intersections are never me", she says. "A meets me, but its always more A than me. I'm not saying A does it on purpose. But i just make it so easy."
"It doesnt have to be that way, you know? Their lives are as connected to yours as yours are to theirs. Look at the intersections as a means to spreading your influence, to getting what you want while still staying connected. Its not a battleground where only one can survive. Not always."
"I dont know", she says with a confused shake, "its been a while since i've seen the positives of caring or being cared for."
"The intersections are never me", she says. "A meets me, but its always more A than me. I'm not saying A does it on purpose. But i just make it so easy."
"It doesnt have to be that way, you know? Their lives are as connected to yours as yours are to theirs. Look at the intersections as a means to spreading your influence, to getting what you want while still staying connected. Its not a battleground where only one can survive. Not always."
"I dont know", she says with a confused shake, "its been a while since i've seen the positives of caring or being cared for."
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
MPD
Guess who bangs her foot against the door and then apologizes to the foot?
Me. Or should it be We?
Me. Or should it be We?
Sunday, June 08, 2008
My claim to fame
I watched Batman Begins with a bat in the room. Beat that.
(A bat, which earlier in the day, was christened Chamgu by a cousin. He got so excited when he spotted the bat, he ran after it yelling, chamgadhad, chamgadhad. Everyone thought he was making up the name.)
(A bat, which earlier in the day, was christened Chamgu by a cousin. He got so excited when he spotted the bat, he ran after it yelling, chamgadhad, chamgadhad. Everyone thought he was making up the name.)
Saturday, May 31, 2008
The God of Small Things
Eshtapappychachen Kuttapen Peter Mon
The name has been ricocheting off the walls of my head since yesterday, each time with a different first name.
Rajupappychachen Kuttapen Peter Mon
Channapappychachen Kuttapen Peter Mon
Its funny, how well it goes with the names it meets off the walls of my head.
I dont want them to end. Estha, Rahel, Ammu, Chacko. Every morning, amidst all the chaos, i sneak into their world. And come out only when my folks very conscientiously pull me out and kick me off to work. I dont think i've felt this way about a book in a while. And inappropriate though it is, almost every page reminds me of To Kill a Mockingbird. I get the same wistful feeling i did when i read that one. Of wanting to go back to my childhood, as an invisible, adult, observer, as the omnipresent narrator of my story.
She warns you, oh she warns you on every page that its all going to end badly. And yet, even that cannot stop life, and the love for it, from seeping though. Small victories of small people need not fade away in the face of war, she shows. They can be scooped up and scattered in a book about war, such that they become bigger than the war.
P.S. At some point, it occurred to me that i could do this as a book review. And a much later point, it occurred to me that i havent actually finished the book.
The name has been ricocheting off the walls of my head since yesterday, each time with a different first name.
Rajupappychachen Kuttapen Peter Mon
Channapappychachen Kuttapen Peter Mon
Its funny, how well it goes with the names it meets off the walls of my head.
I dont want them to end. Estha, Rahel, Ammu, Chacko. Every morning, amidst all the chaos, i sneak into their world. And come out only when my folks very conscientiously pull me out and kick me off to work. I dont think i've felt this way about a book in a while. And inappropriate though it is, almost every page reminds me of To Kill a Mockingbird. I get the same wistful feeling i did when i read that one. Of wanting to go back to my childhood, as an invisible, adult, observer, as the omnipresent narrator of my story.
She warns you, oh she warns you on every page that its all going to end badly. And yet, even that cannot stop life, and the love for it, from seeping though. Small victories of small people need not fade away in the face of war, she shows. They can be scooped up and scattered in a book about war, such that they become bigger than the war.
P.S. At some point, it occurred to me that i could do this as a book review. And a much later point, it occurred to me that i havent actually finished the book.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Too many cooks, and you can forget about the broth
Enough is enough, Shyam thought. A king you may be, but there is, or at least should be, a limit on the arbitrariness you are allowed. Someone had to do something. But that was such a general sentiment, more often than not degenerating into no one doing anything. He would be that someone, he decided. He would put an end to it.
By he of course, he meant they. But Ratan was so much a part of his life, it was the same thing really. The two friends discussed opportunity, discussed strategy, discussed execution. As a plan began to take shape, they felt the excitement grow. Oh, this is going to be good, they thought. If things went according to plan, what they were going to start could well turn into a revolution! They would be the leaders, the liberators, they would be hope.
Their plan, they realized after a few days, would have a much better chance of success if Sundar was a part of it. Sundar supported them in principle, but was afraid for his skin. He told them he'd feel much better about the whole thing if Parth was also involved. Parth thought there was a part of the plan that only Karan could handle. Karan thought roping in Bali was a good idea. Bali refused to come unless his wife was there to see him off. His wife was at her mother's, comforting her sister whose favourite cow was having calving troubles.
So their glorious revolution waited, waited for the cow to feel better.
Moral of the story: Sometimes, screw it, lets do it is the way to go.
Notes to self: Listen to yourself. Sometimes, you talk sense.
By he of course, he meant they. But Ratan was so much a part of his life, it was the same thing really. The two friends discussed opportunity, discussed strategy, discussed execution. As a plan began to take shape, they felt the excitement grow. Oh, this is going to be good, they thought. If things went according to plan, what they were going to start could well turn into a revolution! They would be the leaders, the liberators, they would be hope.
Their plan, they realized after a few days, would have a much better chance of success if Sundar was a part of it. Sundar supported them in principle, but was afraid for his skin. He told them he'd feel much better about the whole thing if Parth was also involved. Parth thought there was a part of the plan that only Karan could handle. Karan thought roping in Bali was a good idea. Bali refused to come unless his wife was there to see him off. His wife was at her mother's, comforting her sister whose favourite cow was having calving troubles.
So their glorious revolution waited, waited for the cow to feel better.
Moral of the story: Sometimes, screw it, lets do it is the way to go.
Notes to self: Listen to yourself. Sometimes, you talk sense.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Beach bum
5 stolen minutes out of a hectic, one day trip to Goa. She sits on the beach, looking out at the sea. Wondering, as always, why she loves it so. She knows it is not a remanent of childhood love, when being on the beach meant playing in water and collecting shells. It has withstood the test of time. It is no longer what she does at the beach, it is what the beach does to her. It heightens her sense of loneliness, but in a way that makes her feel complete, like that was how it was meant to be. The world fades away, its just her and the roar of the waves. And peace.
The constant questioning, this search for motive, she realizes as she leaves to catch a bus back home, makes not one bit of difference to the way the beach makes her feel. In spite of all the unanswered questions, she leaves satisfied.
The constant questioning, this search for motive, she realizes as she leaves to catch a bus back home, makes not one bit of difference to the way the beach makes her feel. In spite of all the unanswered questions, she leaves satisfied.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Dream of a dream
As I watch Chak De second hand (second hand viewing is what happens when someone else is watching a movie, generally on a PC, generally with headphones, and you looking at the screen is only incidental) it hits me again. If there is something i can see myself happily do for a living for a long long time, it is playing some sport. I know, i know, i probably know nothing about that life or what it takes from you, but i can dream cant i? And as long as i am dreaming, i'd like to dream about a team sport. Not that an individual sports are not fun. They have their perfect moments where your eyes see the right thing, your brain makes the right decision, your body executes the decision beautifully and you feel like ONE being. Now imagine this perfection extended to include other people and suddenly, you are no longer limited to yourself. You are part of a much bigger whole.
All right, i'll stop drooling. But i now get why parents sometimes want their kids to fulfill their dreams. Its not the dream they want to pass on, its the fulfillment they imagine their dream would have bought. But it doesnt work like that, does it? The best you can hope for is that your kid finds his dream before its too late.
All right, i'll stop drooling. But i now get why parents sometimes want their kids to fulfill their dreams. Its not the dream they want to pass on, its the fulfillment they imagine their dream would have bought. But it doesnt work like that, does it? The best you can hope for is that your kid finds his dream before its too late.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Gotcha!
Age creeps up on you and says boo at totally unexpected places. It could be while you were listening to the uncertainties of someone just setting out in the world, looking to find his spot. And you realize how secure you are. The smugness lasts for a while before you realize it also means you can see your whole damn life ahead of you. No uncertainty, no unknowns. Old.
It could be when you hear of someone going for higher studies. Unknowingly, you smile your been there done that smile. And then the shock - When did I cross over to the other side of that one!
It could be when you are showing off your cute nephew's photos. And someone refers to his mom. And you start to laugh, say- she is my cousin, not a mom! She is a kid, like I am. Boo. OMG! Am I an aunty like she is?
Then of course there are the obvious ones. Like there is no way you can click the 16-24 age group in online surveys and still be telling the truth. Or the fact that your classmates are getting married in large numbers. And of course, people who ask you your age and then look around to see where you have left your kids. (No, that hasnt happened, and i dont see how it could, but i also see how it could).
To whoever is trying to send me these signals. I get it, you know, i do. What i dont get is, what am i supposed to do about it?
It could be when you hear of someone going for higher studies. Unknowingly, you smile your been there done that smile. And then the shock - When did I cross over to the other side of that one!
It could be when you are showing off your cute nephew's photos. And someone refers to his mom. And you start to laugh, say- she is my cousin, not a mom! She is a kid, like I am. Boo. OMG! Am I an aunty like she is?
Then of course there are the obvious ones. Like there is no way you can click the 16-24 age group in online surveys and still be telling the truth. Or the fact that your classmates are getting married in large numbers. And of course, people who ask you your age and then look around to see where you have left your kids. (No, that hasnt happened, and i dont see how it could, but i also see how it could).
To whoever is trying to send me these signals. I get it, you know, i do. What i dont get is, what am i supposed to do about it?
Monday, April 30, 2007
The other side
Hard-hearted I may be
But silver tongued I am not
What you see is what you get
I beard the burden of destroyed lives
Of destroyed hope I can not.
Hard-hearted I may be
But with a silver tongue that heals
Telling you what you want to hear
So however deep the cut may be
Its my conscience that bleeds.
But silver tongued I am not
What you see is what you get
I beard the burden of destroyed lives
Of destroyed hope I can not.
Hard-hearted I may be
But with a silver tongue that heals
Telling you what you want to hear
So however deep the cut may be
Its my conscience that bleeds.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Auntygiri
(Or should it be Auntiegiri?)
Not new, the concept has been around for as long as Auntys have. But now, cutting across age and gender, it has attracted the unlikeliest of followers. So, how much of an Aunty are you? Take this quiz and find out!
1. Do you always assume that everything that can go wrong will go wrong and prepare accordingly?
(reaching the (Indian) railway station an hour in advance, carrying food for 3 days for a 12 hour journey, umbrellas a month after rains have officially bid goodbye...)
2. Do you think that taking risks for non life and death issues is stupid?
(stupid to go out beyond ankle level into the sea, stupid to climb the gate when you can call the watchman, stupid to sit on the terrace parapet wall...)
3. Do you subscribe to the idea of society as a watchdog?
(that barks when you get home late, barks when you go watch a movie alone, barks when you do not follow the prescribed life cycle...)
4. Do you believe that our ancestors have figured it all out, and all we have to do is follow?
(they knew what to eat, when to eat, how to eat and I represent them, so eat! In other words, do you see the world the same way your parents do?)
Score: Give yourself one point for each question you said yes to.
Score You are a
----- -----------
0 Antiaunty
1 Miniaunty
2 Semiaunty
3 Superaunty
4 Megaunty
No, you do not get an opinion. You are not being judged, not by me at any rate. I just show you where you are. Where you want to be is none of my business.
Its not just a moral issue, this not wanting to pick a side. I just cannot see the thing in black and white. Auntygiri has saved my life more times than it has messed it up. I was once saved from walking back home several hundred kilometers because one miniaunty told me to keep my money distributed. In case your purse gets stolen, she said, which it did. We all know (and if we don't, we can guess) what happened when there was no Aunty around to remind me to carry my train ticket. If its about the numbers, Auntygiri wins, hands down. But its not. Cause when Auntygiri messes up your life, what remains is this unrecognizable mess that you can neither own nor disown.
There i go. On the middle path again. I wonder why i bother thinking at all, when i know that for every yes or no, i will come up with a maybe.
Not new, the concept has been around for as long as Auntys have. But now, cutting across age and gender, it has attracted the unlikeliest of followers. So, how much of an Aunty are you? Take this quiz and find out!
1. Do you always assume that everything that can go wrong will go wrong and prepare accordingly?
(reaching the (Indian) railway station an hour in advance, carrying food for 3 days for a 12 hour journey, umbrellas a month after rains have officially bid goodbye...)
2. Do you think that taking risks for non life and death issues is stupid?
(stupid to go out beyond ankle level into the sea, stupid to climb the gate when you can call the watchman, stupid to sit on the terrace parapet wall...)
3. Do you subscribe to the idea of society as a watchdog?
(that barks when you get home late, barks when you go watch a movie alone, barks when you do not follow the prescribed life cycle...)
4. Do you believe that our ancestors have figured it all out, and all we have to do is follow?
(they knew what to eat, when to eat, how to eat and I represent them, so eat! In other words, do you see the world the same way your parents do?)
Score: Give yourself one point for each question you said yes to.
Score You are a
----- -----------
0 Antiaunty
1 Miniaunty
2 Semiaunty
3 Superaunty
4 Megaunty
No, you do not get an opinion. You are not being judged, not by me at any rate. I just show you where you are. Where you want to be is none of my business.
Its not just a moral issue, this not wanting to pick a side. I just cannot see the thing in black and white. Auntygiri has saved my life more times than it has messed it up. I was once saved from walking back home several hundred kilometers because one miniaunty told me to keep my money distributed. In case your purse gets stolen, she said, which it did. We all know (and if we don't, we can guess) what happened when there was no Aunty around to remind me to carry my train ticket. If its about the numbers, Auntygiri wins, hands down. But its not. Cause when Auntygiri messes up your life, what remains is this unrecognizable mess that you can neither own nor disown.
There i go. On the middle path again. I wonder why i bother thinking at all, when i know that for every yes or no, i will come up with a maybe.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Aaaaaaaa
I feel kind of left out. And dumb. A silent revolution seems to have taken place around the world without my knowledge or participation. Unless, there was a lot of hungaama, widespread protests, which makes me deaf as well as blind. Whatever be the case, from around the beginning of 2006 the world seems to have agreed that Vinaya is a guy's name. Just like that. Indian railways has been doing that forever, but I thought the rest of the world would have more sense. The only explanation I have been able to come up with the universal lack of recognition of the trailing "a" is - "Rama is to Ram what Vinaya is to Vinay". I've lost count of how many of my phone conversations follow the following general format:
Me: Hello
Caller: Hello. Can I speak to Vinay N?
Me: Speaking
Caller: Mr. Vinay N?
Me: Speaking.
Caller: Hello? (unwilling to believe that connection can distort voices so much in this day and age) Can I talk to MISTER Vinay N?
Me: SPEAKING
Caller: Oooh, its VinayA. He he.
Me: Yeah, my name is very funny. What can I do for you?
It happens regardless of age, gender, education, geography, which is why I believe its a worldwide phenomenon. My hard earned degree was awarded, both during rehearsals and the actual ceremony, to Vinay N. Apparently, the world famous professor considered it more probable for a girl to answer to the name of Vinay than for Vinaya to actually be a name. (Her parents must have wanted a boy, he must have thought, if his thoughts ever stooped to such levels).
Maybe it would help if I would start to write my name as VinayA. But then, what happens to my name on capitals only official forms? Brilliant idea, I could change the spelling! Vinayaa, Vinayaaa, Vinayea, Vinayeah... I'd better consult a numerologist before I do anything rash. My whole future might depend on which letter I use to distort my name!
(Three cheers to me for single handedly typing out this post! Knowledge acquired as part of this process - keyboard shortcuts are not so great for us handicapped folks)
Me: Hello
Caller: Hello. Can I speak to Vinay N?
Me: Speaking
Caller: Mr. Vinay N?
Me: Speaking.
Caller: Hello? (unwilling to believe that connection can distort voices so much in this day and age) Can I talk to MISTER Vinay N?
Me: SPEAKING
Caller: Oooh, its VinayA. He he.
Me: Yeah, my name is very funny. What can I do for you?
It happens regardless of age, gender, education, geography, which is why I believe its a worldwide phenomenon. My hard earned degree was awarded, both during rehearsals and the actual ceremony, to Vinay N. Apparently, the world famous professor considered it more probable for a girl to answer to the name of Vinay than for Vinaya to actually be a name. (Her parents must have wanted a boy, he must have thought, if his thoughts ever stooped to such levels).
Maybe it would help if I would start to write my name as VinayA. But then, what happens to my name on capitals only official forms? Brilliant idea, I could change the spelling! Vinayaa, Vinayaaa, Vinayea, Vinayeah... I'd better consult a numerologist before I do anything rash. My whole future might depend on which letter I use to distort my name!
(Three cheers to me for single handedly typing out this post! Knowledge acquired as part of this process - keyboard shortcuts are not so great for us handicapped folks)
Sunday, November 05, 2006
I'm Back!
Blame this post on Monu. He is the one who told me such incidents should be documented, that they increase the BSP (best seller potential) of my blog. Who am I to disagree? So, here it comes, with a little bit of background and lot of mirch masala.
With the IT industry up and running again, placements were great for our class. The biggest majority of would be office going bachchas were lapped up by Bangalore based companies. Pune came a distant second, Hyderabad and Noida being also ran. There was a lot of horse trading from the very beginning, with people falling to unbelievable excuses to tempt people from the other camp. Even stuff like "Who will wake me up for breakfast everyday if you are not there" was considered respectable enough a reason to chuck a great job you still couldn't believe anyone could be dumb enough to offer you. End of the course and barring a few casualties to PhD and laziness, the various camps went to their respective cities pretty much intact. Bengaluru wale (Bengalurueans?) settled in their city (which means they cribbed about the traffic, the cost of everything and local language problems) and Punites settled in theirs (incessant rain, pothole paved roads and rickshawalas from hell for them). Life went on for everyone, with occasional conference calls between the two camps in which everyone spoke at once but no one had anything to say.
One fine day one brilliant Punite had the idea of a trip to what was then Bangalore, to see how the other half of the world lived. Lets continue with our story without getting into specifically who she was. She mailed her folks to see if anyone was interested. Only one other was. Another brilliant Punite, you say? Lets just say his heart was in the right place. These two made plans. Oh yeah, big plans that involved air travel and holidays from office. Her brother was especially supportive of the air travel idea. She not at all secretly believed it was because once she went to what was then Bangalore by air just to meet her friends, no one would ever question his trips to his holy place, even if he said he was going to see off his colleague's roommate's sister's friend, who was going to Chennai for the weekend. A feasibility study followed by in depth research revealed that bus travel for the to journey and train for the fro would be optimal. She promised to book train tickets the very next day after the results were published and the bus tickets a little later. She told the Bengaluru camp she was coming and they made their share of big plans.
A lot happens between this point and the point that follows. However since absolutely none of it is related to the story at hand, we skip ahead after making the following assertions:
1. She did not book train tickets
2. She did not book bus tickets
3. She did not tell him she did not book the tickets
4. He did not ask
Skip to some Friday. The day they were supposed to leave for Bengaluru. She messages him.
She: I hope you are packed and ready. We are supposed to leave today, remember?
He: I am at the bus stop. Where are you?
She: At the railway station!
They laugh it off, hit upon another brilliant idea to go catch Vettaiyadu Vilayadu in the local theater next weekend and go on with their lives. If you want to ask her how she liked the movie, go and read the story again. You have completely missed the point.
If you think this was the worst anti-climax ever, go hit Monu!
With the IT industry up and running again, placements were great for our class. The biggest majority of would be office going bachchas were lapped up by Bangalore based companies. Pune came a distant second, Hyderabad and Noida being also ran. There was a lot of horse trading from the very beginning, with people falling to unbelievable excuses to tempt people from the other camp. Even stuff like "Who will wake me up for breakfast everyday if you are not there" was considered respectable enough a reason to chuck a great job you still couldn't believe anyone could be dumb enough to offer you. End of the course and barring a few casualties to PhD and laziness, the various camps went to their respective cities pretty much intact. Bengaluru wale (Bengalurueans?) settled in their city (which means they cribbed about the traffic, the cost of everything and local language problems) and Punites settled in theirs (incessant rain, pothole paved roads and rickshawalas from hell for them). Life went on for everyone, with occasional conference calls between the two camps in which everyone spoke at once but no one had anything to say.
One fine day one brilliant Punite had the idea of a trip to what was then Bangalore, to see how the other half of the world lived. Lets continue with our story without getting into specifically who she was. She mailed her folks to see if anyone was interested. Only one other was. Another brilliant Punite, you say? Lets just say his heart was in the right place. These two made plans. Oh yeah, big plans that involved air travel and holidays from office. Her brother was especially supportive of the air travel idea. She not at all secretly believed it was because once she went to what was then Bangalore by air just to meet her friends, no one would ever question his trips to his holy place, even if he said he was going to see off his colleague's roommate's sister's friend, who was going to Chennai for the weekend. A feasibility study followed by in depth research revealed that bus travel for the to journey and train for the fro would be optimal. She promised to book train tickets the very next day after the results were published and the bus tickets a little later. She told the Bengaluru camp she was coming and they made their share of big plans.
A lot happens between this point and the point that follows. However since absolutely none of it is related to the story at hand, we skip ahead after making the following assertions:
1. She did not book train tickets
2. She did not book bus tickets
3. She did not tell him she did not book the tickets
4. He did not ask
Skip to some Friday. The day they were supposed to leave for Bengaluru. She messages him.
She: I hope you are packed and ready. We are supposed to leave today, remember?
He: I am at the bus stop. Where are you?
She: At the railway station!
They laugh it off, hit upon another brilliant idea to go catch Vettaiyadu Vilayadu in the local theater next weekend and go on with their lives. If you want to ask her how she liked the movie, go and read the story again. You have completely missed the point.
If you think this was the worst anti-climax ever, go hit Monu!
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
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