The philosophy of coolness

Generally, normal people are ignored. And then there are some cool people who don't care about what others think about them. They also don't care about their impact on others. They are cool like that.

Today, since I am feeling like a normal person and because I am generally jobless, I pondered about coolness.

Let me declare now that I am not a cool person. There are so many people who will vouch for that. So, like all uncool people, I have a curiosity about cool people. As a result of my "deep thinking", I came up with some findings. This is purely based on a very limited sample space comprised of personal examples of people who have been declared cool by others.

1. Cool people do not use formal language or ordered lists (I just did that. Hence proved, I am not cool).
2. They talk anything in front of anyone and do not care about anything. They are free spirits.
3. They have more than 400 friends on Facebook.
4. They can spend as much as they want, and do crazy stuff which is popular, like shouting bad words in public.
5. They like Russell Peters.
6. They talk to anyone and everyone and always smile. This part makes me wonder whether they had plastic surgery on their face. How can people keep up a fake smile for so long?
7. They hate routine of any kind. They sometimes do not brush because that would break the "normal" routine.
8. Being responsible is being boring, according to them.
9. They will rush over, shake your hand and talk as if you are the most important person in the world. The next moment they are gone and sometimes don't even recognize you the next day.
10. They are not attached to anything. I am not going to elaborate on this point.

The one important lesson I have been forcefully taught is that one must always be careful while dealing with these folks. But that is what we normal folks never do. And this is my philosophical derivation for the day.

Time pass with bus pass

The most interesting part in a bus journey, for some people, is feeling the wind on their face while travelling. For some, it is the roadside scenery that they get to see. For some, it is the nap. For some, it is conversations with strangers. For some - the movie (in video coaches).

For me - none of the above. I prefer dreaming with my eyes open.

The wind on my face - that is a problem. First of all, the wind does not restrict itself to a 2 dimensional circle shape and caress my face alone. It encompasses the entire head and whips my hair around. It gets tangled and messy. Now you may imagine me with an absolutely displeased expression - inverted U-shaped mouth and narrowed eyebrows. That is how painful it is for me to even imagine messy hair. If there is something girly about me, it is the fuss I make about my hair. It has to always be neatly combed. One can never find me in an "out-of-bed" hairdo. Ever. When I see someone with uncombed, tangled hair, I feel like fishing out a comb from my bag and smoothing it out. Apparently, I have a calling for that kind of social service. So, needless to say, I always wear a scarf when I am not travelling in a completely covered vehicle with the windows rolled up. 

A nap in the bus - never. There are some people who can sleep anywhere, anytime. Not me. I am like those FB forwards that are popular these days - a scared-to-close-eyes-in-the-shower kind of person. Also, what if someone put a mosquito in my mouth when I am asleep? What if a lizard falls in? Since I have travelled more in India only, I have been exposed to such unwanted but omnipresent insect population in the bus. What if a cockroach went for a walk on my hand and I never knew because I was asleep? Most importantly, what if someone stole my wallet which had my ID card and Rs.5? (Yes I was the "porathuku bus pass irukku" type of girl). Even during school tours, I used to be the only person awake in the bus. It was not because I was paranoid in the school bus with my friends. People had built up a reputation that I was the girl who never slept in the bus. I had to maintain that. Peer pressure.

Video coaches are interesting. If the bus driver likes black and white movies, it is fun. I love MGR movies. They are so much fun and contain excellent rofl worth material. If you don't watch B&W movies, try one. Start with this. Arjun and Gaptun movies are always janaranjaka (entertaining). What I cannot take are Vijay movies. Shabba! All that noise and shouting! Kanna, there is something called volume button, we will make use of it if we want to hear you better, please don't shout in my ears. My worst experience was once when I got into a bus in Coimbatore in the evening. I hadn't eaten lunch. It was a 5 hour journey and the movie of the day was Selvaraghavan's Kadhal Konden. By the time that depressing movie was over, due to hunger and the negativity in the movie, I felt like throwing up. I never traveled in a video coach after that.

My greatest sore point about bus travel was, is and I guess, will always be - conversations with strangers. Anyone who has read my posts must have gathered by now that I am not a normal person. I identify the weirdest things to worry about and spot the silliest things to laugh at. If someone with droopy eyes sits near me, I worry when they would fall asleep and when their head would start falling on my neck. I even plan how to shift their head away and scan the bus to see if there are any other free seats with people who look wide awake. Now if they are awake - that presents various other interesting possibilities.

The first kind of people are those who do not talk. I like them, but they eat - throughout the journey. In addition to the constant roar of the bus, one can hear a noise that reminds you of a cud chewing cow near your ear. Annoying. Very. If that is annoying, the furtive glances they shoot at you and the way they crouch around their food is annoying to the superlative degree. I feel like standing up and taking an oath to assure the lady that I will never covet her greasy vazhakka (raw plantain) bajji.

Some people set their minds on the impossible task of making me talk. I am a listener. Conversation is something I prefer to listen to. These people don't understand that. What do you do? Where are you going? Do you have a job? What are your parents doing? Are you going to get married? Do you have a boyfriend? Sometimes I just give them a smile in return for every question. Sometimes, I play along. I invent a whole new person. I try out all the names that my parents could have given to me instead of this one. I try out different professions for my mother. Sometimes, she is a doctor. Sometimes she is a housewife. I sometimes have 2 elder brothers, one working as a police officer, if the person near me seems shady.

And then there are those who talk. On their phone. 

"ALooo! Aan..Sollungaaa...Kekudhaa??? Na nalla irken...Aven epdi irkyaan? Veetuku vandaana?" * maximum volume * - I know I can never sleep even if I want to. In fact, no one in the bus can.

"Hi" * giggles * "Hmmmm..." "Hmmm....?" "Hmmmm...!!!" * giggles * "Mmhmmm..." * Looks at me and looks away * "Mmhmm..." * giggles * - This is when I get mild headache.

"Hel-Hello..Can you hear me?" "How can they do that? Tell them they have to pay up immediately" "This side 1 crore turn over, that side 1 crore turn over" "Next month Delhi program" - Mild laughter begins in my head.

"Hello? Yes" * listens for 3 seconds * "Not interested" * hangs up * "Cha, who wants their credit card? This is one headache!" - I bestow a look of camaraderie.

"Hello Dubai ah?" - Intense laughter in my head. I exert maximum self control to keep a straight face. Such phone calls are made to UK, US and European countries too, smack at midnight or in the early morning hours for those folks, if they are not imaginary.

But when it is a Wednesday afternoon and you are in an AC bus, you get the window seat and there are not many people in the bus. It is not a video coach. That journey is bliss. Bus journeys can be fun, only the timing and ambiance has to be perfect.

The Social Experiment

Sound and Bala tried a social experiment. One situation - A bus ride. A pretty girl smiles at the protagonist. Bala says what goes on in my mind and vice versa. Not very surprisingly, we were correct about each other.

Sound's mindvoice

Ah! A pleasant bus ride. Cool breeze is sweeping the land.

Oh! My hair is flying. Let me tie a scarf. The girl sitting next to me is pretty. Will she think that I am putting scene and all?

Let her think whatever she wants, I will tie the scarf. Else, my hair will become a mess. Oh! My elbow touched that girl.

"Sorry"

Why did she smile back at me. Am i looking funny? Cha! I hate that girl. Everybody ties a scarf. What is there?

Oh! wow its drizzling.

Hey it started raining.I love rains.Cha! i will get stuck in traffic. I can't reach home in time.Why it should rain now?

Ean enaku matharam ipdilam aarathu? Why does it happen to me always? Why god, why me? 

Bala's mindvoice

That's a nice cool breeze...It would be great to have a beer now.

Let me stretch my legs. I wish I could doze off.

Oh, now here's a pretty girl. She is pretty, but tiny.

I bet she will be prettier with glasses.

Her hair is flying. What is she thinking? Oh she is looking at me.

Is she feeling uncomfortable? She is narrowing her eyebrows, her forehead is crinkled, she is thinking whether she should tie up her hair. She smiled at me now. Let me smile back and then look away, she will be confused...or maybe I should smile and keep looking at her, she will get scared and it will be funny.

Its raining now.

Oh no I hate rain, I will get all wet. Let me call Sound to bring her car and get me out of the rain.

I wish I could have a beer now.

True or Fal(l)se?

(This article was originally written and published this week in the IGSA Scratchpad magazine for the November issue. Reblogging it here for other readers.)

Fall is the first semester in the US for most Indian students. It is a commonly noted pattern that students come to the US for international exposure, and after reaching here, painstakingly search out people from their own regions within the home country (if possible same city/street also), form a group and enjoy the great social life within that circle. But this trend has changed these days with the advent of Facebook. People do not form such groups after coming here. They do it even before coming here. The international exposure is typically limited to the climatic nature. Anyway, that is not what I am supposed to be writing about.
 
When I decided to “take the GRE and go to the US to study”, I did exactly what all of you must have done: talk to people who had already done that.

“Fall or Spring?” asked the great one. That is when it started. I thought, what’s a Fall? Fall from where? Spring to where? But I could not ask that to her. So I said, “Ummm…haven’t decided yet, tell me generally.” She knew I didn’t know. I knew she knew I didn’t know. She knew that too, but then she was the great one, the one that had been there and done that already.

I finally gathered that notwithstanding the reasons for calling what we learned in our text books as “autumn”, that season is apparently called Fall in this part of the world. I did not complain, because the concept of 4 seasons itself is incredulous to me, or anyone from South India. We only have degrees of summer interspersed with bouts of rain to clear the dust on the roads.

 

Since this issue falls in the Fall semester, I am going to write all about Fall. Fall is widely recognized as a beautiful season. “Fall colours” is a term I hear a lot. I can safely vouch for its presence in cosmetic range promotions, dress collection ads and Facebook photo albums. This is also the football season in the US. Only, it is not actual football. They throw and catch the ball, but call it football. Interesting, really.

Fall is a great season to start your stay in the US because you will have absolutely no problem in adjusting to the new country. The weather is unpredictable, but you are used to that already. And then there is Deepavali that falls in the month of November. You get reminded of everything you did back home – burst crackers, wear new dresses, eat sweets and receive money from elderly relatives. But hey, we have the Thanksgiving sale in November. You can sit outside BestBuy all night, tented up in the cold and buy that ipad which seems less costly because it has been purchased in the Thanksgiving sale. That is just seasonal purchase syndrome, but it is fun if you like that kind of thing.

If you are from South India, you must have celebrated Navratri by arranging dolls in steps, eating sundal and singing songs. Here, you get to dress up as your favorite horror movie villain and frighten people – mostly, those on your Facebook friends list in India.

Yes, the semester begins with mild bewilderment. You attend classes to keep your part-time job, fight with roomies, get desperate about the internship scenario, do homework (who has ever done those things before, you wonder) and write exams with pencils. During mid-October, the bewilderment is complete. Some of you haggle with travel agents from September to get a good rate for December tickets to India. By the time you book tickets and leave to India, you feel like you are in a long-distance relationship with your travel agent…

I apologize for the digression from the topic. I had meant to demystify “Fall”. Summer ends in Fall and winter begins from Fall. So when is Fall? I am not sure. In a few years, I think I will confidently tell you that there is no such thing as Fall. It is a scam by IDunnoWho to create confusion among desi students preparing for their masters application. I got an email yesterday from my mother’s friend’s daughter’s friend, now in her 3rd year of engineering. She wants to apply for masters in the US. I did not want her to feel the uncertainty and fear that I felt 2 years ago. So I replied to her that I will help out with everything. She just needs to tell me, “Fall or Spring”.

Birthday Bums

Yes, you read it right. Bums, not bumps. It has been reported recently that there is a group that keeps invading birthday parties. The Birthday Aggression Beater Youths (BABY), a non-profit organization that aims to prevent acts of aggression in birthday parties, has done some really good work in carrying out relief activities in severely affected birthday parties.

BABY has done extensive and in-depth research on the modus operandi of these "bums". The organization says that bums are all around us. "They look very normal, and act like normal people. The sad part is that most of us do not realize it even while we are being attacked.", says a spokesperson from BABY. 

Bums can slip in as one of the attendees, and the worst cases are when a bum is one of the organizers of the party. Luckily, there are a few indicators that can help you judge whether your party is being attacked:

1. If the party seems to be going berserk with strange people entering and telling others what to do, you are under attack. Take the cake and run. Oh, take the birthday baby along too.
2. If the party is being held near a swimming pool and random people start pushing in other people randomly.
3. If no one is wishing the birthday baby but all guys are trying to impress some girl in the gathering and all girls are bitching about the same girl.
4. If everyone seems to be more bent upon beating the birthday baby than singing the birthday song.
5. If it feels like a nightmare and you want to leave your own party.

Most people can relate to the scenarios described above. So what can you do if you are planning a birthday party?

1. Plan a party without a cake. Bums avoid cakeless birthday parties.
2. Plan a party that involves a Carnatic music kutcheri. Even if there is chocolate cake, bums flee at the mention of classical music.
3. Never plan a party by the pool, that is like an open invitation to anyone who is roaming about joblessly.
4. Never invite pretty girls to the party.
5. Arrange for some strong bouncers in front of your house to throw out bums.
6. Plan party games. Something involving XBox for guys.They will be lost in it and not force you to play Smear-the-cake or push-me-in-water type kindergarten games.
7. For girls - Start a rumour that one of the guys is checking out one of the girls. Never name the guy or the girl. That will keep them busy and happy.
8. Now sing the birthday song, wish the birthday baby, and sit back with a piece of cake.

In case of emergency situations, reach out to the BABY emergency hotline (564-WET-BABY).
For post-attack post-traumatic counselling, contact (564-CRY-BABY)

The Chemistry of Love

One lesson that I have learned in life is that people in love are opportunistic. Not judging them, but I don't like it very much when they use me.

Do I sound mean? Yes? Yes, I am like that :)

The Chemistry of love

I am not going to name names, but just assign alphabets as aliases for real people. Let us do this like a chemistry equation. Just so that it sounds like it makes sense. I used to love chemistry at school (the subject). The one that existed between my fellow students - not much, in cases where they tried to use me.

Assume X and Y are a couple, or hope to be one. The best solution would be for X to ask Y out or vice versa and get on with their lives. But no, that did not happen very often. X and Y looked at each other. They stared at each other. They shot sidelong looks. Y specialized in executing the sweeping glance covering the entire class but lingering a few seconds more on X. Y would start laughing suddenly when we were having a serious conversation about the length of the ribbon on M's plaits that day. But that did not ruffle me because it just meant X crossed her peripheral vision with his hand on his sidekick's shoulder. I noticed all these things, because I was jobless like that.

X would visit the temple near school, because she wanted to see Y playing cricket in the ground nearby. She'd pull me along, because then we were two pious girls talking in the temple and not one girl gaping at a guy. The interesting fact was that I was the one who used to talk, and listen. She was busy checking him out.

We were the last ones to leave tution because then he could saunter over and make fun of ME so that she could laugh. Huh.

We were the only people to have lunch in the classroom so that he could ogle at her from outside.

I could not skip the boring field trip because then people would talk if she walked alone with him.

She cut my call (her call would have woken me up) the minute she saw his second call and expected me to wait by the phone.

And the conversations we had? They were always laced with "You know what that fellow said?" "I told him..." "He is so funny" "I hate him" "These guys n all..." You know how it is. One gets to nod and approve. Always. Even if you were bored. Even if you also wanted a chance to bore other people. (Yes, I got my chance now! I have a blog to bore people.)

What happened to these couples? Some of them got married and that was the last I heard of them. Some of them moved on and got married to other people. It does seem funny to me now. I can imagine how I must have looked when I was treated like a monkey in the game of throw and catch. Very funny.

So you ask me where is the chemistry part? Here:

X and Y's courtship should have been a simple reaction like this:

Unfortunately for me, they chose to make it a reaction that required the presence of a dummy catalyst, like this:

In case you don't know what a catalyst is, "A catalyst is a subtance that increases the rate of a chemical reaction, but which is left unchanged by the reaction."

I am still single. That says it all :)

Rumor has it

Did you hear...?

Rumors are fun. Really. Even when they are about you, sometimes they are fun. Apparently, in this part of the world, there is a rumor (or a rumor that there is a rumor) about me that I have a boyfriend. Nice, no?

I can imagine my close friends pointing and laughing at the very idea. If there is one thing that is an established fact among my friends, it is my absolute ignorance about "dating", "relationship" and things of the mushy kind. My best friend's favorite jibe at me is about how I wouldn't even realize it if a guy were trying to ask me out. So, there could be a measure of truth in the rumor - I might have a boyfriend about whom I myself am not yet aware of. I give it to the rumor-mongers.

And there are other generic rumors. My favorite one at school was, "no class today". I personally tried to start a rumor once - that the teacher slipped on the stairs and fell down, so no class. I had always imagined that scene with the teachers I did not like. My attempt fizzled out. Not even one soul in the class considered buying the lie. 

That was one of the earliest failures in my life. But I did not lose hope. I decided to perform a Root Cause Analysis for the fiasco (budding software engineer). I arrived at these causes:

1. Lack of lying skills - I had to admit, the teacher slipping in a staircase that consisted of 3 tiny steps and being rendered unable to come to class was a bit of a stretch on one's imagination.
2. Unconvincing body language while lying - This problem is caused by problem 1 because body language  efficiency is directly proportional to the "believability" of the lie.
3. Lack of support - Even my close friends did not support me in the effort. They did not have to believe in the rumor, they just had to talk about it.
4. Lack of incentives - I should have garnered support and offered incentives such as guarantee of not including their names in the mischief makers list if I got caught, bondas in my house that evening or something like that.

So what do we infer from the paragraph above? Rumors are instructive. They indirectly encourage self introspection.

And then there are rumors on a slightly larger scale. There was a rumor in our area that a certain ghost was frequenting the railway crossing at night time. I always wondered why ghosts chose night time. Probably because they are typically dressed in white and have a pale white complexion. If you look at it from a "rational" perspective, they are spotted at night due to better visibility conditions at night, with a dark background. Anyways, this rumor was harmless and in fact, had a positive effect, because kids were scared to wander far from the house at night and not many people frequented the railway track for digestive waste disposal.

And....rumor has it that people who type too much will not get dinner tonight. So, I am cutting this post short. 

P.S: It is rumored that those who read this post and do not leave nice comments on FB or Twitter will be tormented with more such posts. Just FYI.

I don't swear

It is now very fashionable to inject swear words into one's vocabulary. And it irritates me. It also seems to be something people think they can flaunt. Not shamefully, but proudly. And then there are those who support such people. I don't know who makes me more indignant.

Decency has lost the appreciation it deserves. Vulgarity and cheapness have pushed it out of the social limelight and are basking in their new-found social acceptance. I partly blame social media for this. People are now proud to display their mediocrity. They beam ear to ear when they talk about how perverted they are. Showing lack of respect to others has now become the "in thing".

Being frank and outspoken is very different from being brazen and rude. And again, it is peer pressure that makes people accept most of the nonsense that is promoted these days. And when people like me do not join the bandwagon, we are criticized. No, we are bullied.

Well, I am not someone who will "go with the flow". I am this way and I dare anyone to try and change me. If you feel it is your freedom of expression to belittle everyone around you, it is my free will to not listen to you.

If you think I am old fashioned, who cares? I do not think much about you, so your opinions don't matter either. One thing is for sure - however low these people stoop down, I will not reach down and call them names. I have a blog to rant about it. Without swearing.

Frankly, my dear!

He was not the most handsome man. He was not the fairest of them all. He was not received in the best families. He was the scandal of the town. Expelled from a prestigious institute, cast out of his family, a speculator and a gambler who consorted with "unchaste" women. 

No, I am not talking about the Madurai accent speaking, unwashed, dirtily dressed uneducated guy with the uncombed hair who is often the hero in recent Tamil movies. He abuses women, beats up innocent people, sometimes commits murder and lives like a pig. He is even rude to the purity-personified heroine who doggedly pursues him just because the producer of the movie paid her to do so. After the intermission, he is still the same animal which now develops "love feelings" for the heroine. He follows her around like a puppy and she takes her revenge by making him do stupid things, which are different from the stupid things he did before the intermission. Enter villain/villains in the climax and it is mostly the heroine who is raped or killed or commits suicide. The hero is brokenhearted and alive. And that is the sad ending for you which somehow evokes appreciation from the modern movie-goers.

Okay, that entire paragraph was digression from what this post is about. Where was I? Yes, I am talking about Rhett Butler. All you practical jokers (I know I said jokers instead of practical-joke-crackers, relax.) don't even try to ask in which hotel he works. If you don't know him, go and read Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell.

He was not the most handsome man, but he was handsome. He was a rebel but not a menace to society. He had common sense but not arrogance. He was opportunistic but not selfish. He was outspoken and confident but not brash. He teased the quirks in women, but did not insult them. He respected ladies. He was frank but not rude. He seemed to be very unattached but he was patriotic and loving. 

He admired and respected the woman he loved. He understood her, spoiled her like a child and let her stamp her feet through all her tantrums, soothed her fears, bore her idiosyncrasies, laughed at her rude remarks and still retained his dignity. And when she had been blind to his love beyond a point, he told her, "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn" and walked away!

I admire Rhett for his suaveness, cool head, practicality and genuineness. And frankly my dear, he is one man who should not have been just fictional.

Note: This post is just about Rhett Butler, the fictional character. People trying to read between lines please note that you are expected to only read the lines that have been written. The rest are blank spaces.

The whistle blower

I have often heard elders appreciate youngsters with a "fire" in them. I am one of those. With a slight difference. I have an innate arsonistic tendency. 


They say there is no smoke without fire, isn't it? I can't express in words as to how thankful I am for that fact. You see, I have been gifted with a nose only for cosmetic purposes, by the almighty, for reasons only He knows best. I cannot catch a whiff of anything unless it is shoved right under my nose within a radius of 10 cms. 


I was once in Bangalore, staying in my mother's friend's house for a brief period. I was a fresh college pass-out, and had landed in the inevitable IT job. I was there for my "KT" period. (For the uninitiated, KT stands for "Knowledge Transition". I learned to my consternation that the only thing that got transitioned was time. There was no knowledge whatsoever to begin with. The wisdom that I managed to draw from my seniors was that nobody knows what they are doing.)


It was a quiet, pleasant morning in Bangalore. I was alone since aunty had left early to work. I was waiting for the auto. Meanwhile, the coffee-paithyam that I am, I strolled into the kitchen and switched on the stove to heat the milk. I then stepped out to look for my ID card - yes, I also spend half my life searching for things. I finally managed to find it and rushed out since I had heard the auto come around. I was beaming ear to ear since I had located my ID card in record time and also remembered to lock the door, AND heard the auto. I was proud of my intuition, astute detective skills and auditory sharpness.


I went to work and promptly paid a visit to the coffee room after dumping my bag in the chair. I called my amma to report my day so far and picked up a cup to get coffee from the vending machine... YES, finally, I remembered the milk on the stove. 


"Ayyayo amma!"


"What did you do now? I thought you were doing fine today. Did you get into some other company's office?"


"No no, milk..stove.." I floundered, aghast and disappointed with my memory, and my nose for not detecting the smell of over-boiled milk.


I quickly called aunty. I began "Aunty...I..." in a panic-stricken voice.


"Yeah yeah, there was a lot of smoke, the watchman noticed and called me. They got in with the spare key that I had given the watchman. I am now at home, clearing the mess." I could sense the note of resignation in aunty's voice. (Huh! This and all I can sense. But not smoky smell.) For the rest of the duration of my stay, I gave up coffee. 


I would like to say that I have been very careful after that incident. That I do pranayam everyday to clear out the access issue in my respiratory system and to improve the smell-sensing algorithm in the nasal module in the nervous sytem(oops! work jargon hang-over!). But. No. 


Amma never lets me boil milk or contribute in any activity that involves active duty in the kitchen for fear that I will, literally, bring down the house. I take care of the peripheral and boring activities like scraping coconut. The most boring job on earth (But it does have perks. One gets to smuggle some shredded coconut every time amma looks away). Peeling the skin off boiled potatoes (I openly demand a certain number of peeled potatoes in return for just peeling the potatoes and not trying to cook them).

My friend Bala, the true friend that he is, made a life changing suggestion to me after numerous such incidences when I did have to boil milk when amma was away from home and I had a craving for coffee. He told me that there is something that will literally blow a whistle when it is time to switch off the stove. The milk cooker. 


But then one day I forgot to fill water in the whistle...

Patima

My grandmother has always been a busy lady. A typical R.K.Narayan novel type grandmother. A formidable, tough person who has never known a day that has defeated her. The world's best cook, a busy bee and a lady to whom no one has dared to speak back, yet.


I am not sure why I write this post now, but I just had to. The image that comes to my mind as soon as I think of my patima (as I call her) is, my patima with her wet hair tied in a Kothavaranga pinnal and knotted below, muttering sacred chants, with "Sambrani" smoke coming out of the sambrani holder in her hand, going about the house to spread the purifying smoke all over the huge house. There is nothing like that image to make me feel at home.


She would wake up at 4:30 AM every single day, take bath (hair bath every day) and wear her "madi" clothes. She would then enter the Pooja room and sing slokas for the next hour. Sacred chants in Sanskrit and Malayalam. I have never heard her sing any other time, all my life, except for during the early morning.


We never had to wait for coffee because, by the time we woke up at 6:30 AM, patima would have boiled milk and prepared fresh decoction for filter coffee. We did not have the custom of having tiffin for breakfast. It was brunch, as that was my late grandfather's preference. Patima has never changed any habit in the house, that had been originated by my thatha. So brunch it is, to this day. She would finish cooking at 8 AM, sharp.


We lesser mortals had brunch n left to our vocations - school or office. Patima would then spend the next hour - hour and a half in the big garden. One half of the garden had flower bearing plants - Changu pushpam, bougainvillea, etc. The other half was a kitchen garden: Plantain trees, coconut trees, Sapotta trees, "Keerai", and I don't remember the rest of it. She spent a good deal of time there, watering the plants and walking around the garden.


Brunch was 10:30 - 11 AM for her. And then, a short nap from noon to 1:45 PM. 2 PM has always been coffee time at home. Tiffin was at 4 PM. Upma, Dosai, Idly, etc. After that, she would sit in the front yard of the sprawling house and start removing the leafy portions from coconut tree leaves and keep the stalk for making homemade broomsticks. She used to keep trays of pulses and cereals in the sun for drying. Once in a month, she would replenish the permanent stock of thattai, murukku, cheedai, adhirasam and omapodi. 


I have not had Omapodi that is even half as good as my patima's till date. I don't think I ever will.


Evening was flower-stringing time. She would "thoduthufy" jasmine flowers for me and my amma to decorate our braids and for the pictures of all the deities in the pooja room. I used to sit by her and she would regale the same family history type story for the 1000th time. I can recite it even when woken up from a dream.


One favorite hobby of mine was blackmailing her that I would touch her before her "madi" period got over after the evening pooja. I spoke about it here. It was fun and I did it often ;)


6 PM was worship time again. She would light the lamp only after which we were allowed to switch on lights in the house for the evening. After pooja, it was dinner time at 7 PM. Then she would chat with our tenants or watch TV for some time. She called it a day at 9 PM. 


Now, she lies in the same bed, day after day, hour after hour, watching the same 4 walls every single minute. I feel bad for her, because, I have always known her as a very active person, who had a solution for everything; One whom no one could restrict or argue with. But I guess, no one can argue with old age.

One Mat(t)er

The eyes widened. The eyebrows shot up. And a shrill noise pierced my ears. My amma nearly knocked me over as she ran towards me, grabbed my shoulders for support and climbed on the sofa behind me! 


I was shocked. I had never seen amma move faster than our honorable madam chief minister in my entire life time (Yes, I am sly. I omitted the number of years I have completed in my lifetime.) I staggered and somehow managed to maintain balance. If I fell down, amma would fall on me. But something told me that she would not be worried about breaking my bones. She might, in fact, crush a few more while trying to get up and run away again.


"Ok. Stop. What was she running away from?" - I know that is what you are asking me now. She was running away from Pogo. The cute li'l fella on the top right corner of this blog. 


Amma is scared of anything that moves on fours. Dogs, cats, cows and cars (ok, the last one is only when I am the driver). I had acquired Pogo recently and amma was visiting me for the first time after Pogo's entry in my life. I knew she was scared of dogs but I was hoping she would be partial to Pogo. Look at him. He is so awww :) But I was wrong, wasn't I?


Amma has always been my bulwark against any threat. She has always stood between me and cockroaches, geography exams, toothaches, heartbreaks, scary dreams and every other crazy fear of mine. 


Strangely, I felt proud that I was finally between amma and her fear - little Pogo. I loved the cute one more, now!


I managed to hold Pogo in one hand (he was small enough to hold in one hand) and sheperded amma through the furniture and lead her into the bedroom. We sat on the bed and started chatting. Amma kept shooting furtive and fearful glances towards Pogo. I was reminded of the looks I used to bestow upon lone cockroaches near the wash basin while hurriedly washing my dinner plate, all the while running a prayer in my mind invoking all the various Gods to protect me from the vile creature with antennae.


In some time, amma got so engrossed with the tale about my failed attempts to make my favorite kootu that led to my new recipe that was a mix of kootu and sambar comprised of carrot, beetroot, cabbage and pattani, that she forgot to shoot anxious vigilant looks at Pogo. Pogo meandered through my hands and legs and somehow got past the fortress I had formed around him with my legs.


Amma shrieked "SOund!!!!!" ("SO" - when she saw Pogo advance towards her "ound" - when I quickly caught him with one hand and scooped him towards me). She got up and quickly rushed out of the room before I could say "Minnal".


She was gone. By the time I deposited Pogo into my empty laundry basket and rushed out, I got a call on my phone. "I am in your neighbour's house. Please keep him in some friend's house di. Take him back when I am gone. I am so scared Sound!" - Amma.


I smiled. Mothers are such precious people. You can have only one of them. But everyone has one. 


I said bye to Pogo for sometime. And that is why I have left him here, on the top right corner of this page. Look after him y'all. Say hi to him whenever you visit.

(A)broadly Speaking – Jet lagged

I had arrived. The 24 hour flight journey did not seem tiring until I had food and hit the bed. I had not purchased a bed yet, and had to share a pillow with my roommate but I was asleep in a jiffy. Suddenly, there was an earthquake. The whole world was shaking and I was moving back n forth...no, wait. Somebody was trying to wake me up. "Whaa?" I tried to open my sleepy eyes. My eyelids were protesting. "Come, let’s go shopping. You need to buy stuff. We won't get a ride tomorrow."


I resisted the urge to ask "Who are you?" and reminded myself that this girl lived in my new home. I was stuffed into a car already occupied by the driver, a neighbor, the girl who woke me up and my other new roommate fresh from India, tottering sleepily by my side. We drove along in silence as the other two "experienced" Indian students in America argued whether HEB was better than WalMart. HEB has fresh vegetables and WalMart is best for all other stuff, it seems.


We went into the store. They looked at us expectantly, as if our jaws would drop on entering the mammoth shop. But hey - It was just Big Bazaar, without the many floors. Not surprised. We went about picking comforters (never heard of that before), pillows, etc. As luck would have it, I had forgotten to bring a soap case and the store only had designer soap cases starting at $13. I seriously considered giving up taking bath, altogether. The next day I enquired around and realized that we had left home at 12 AM and returned at 3 AM. The experienced people were still operating in IST, obviously.


The next day, my "old" roommate left in the general direction of the university. I had no idea where that was; I had lost all sense of direction. I then ventured out, to take photographs to send to all the expectant folks back home. For one thing, I noticed there was a lot of vacant space. The one statement all newbies like me kept making was, "What a lot of space! If we had this much space in India, we would have built so many apartments to house hundreds of people!"


I had reached the US in the peak of Texan summer. It was unbearable. I am from Chennai and yes, it was unbearable to me. First of all, there were no share autos on the road. No autos. No government buses blocking every inch of the road. One had to walk, if one was a broke student new to the country without friends who had a car. I was looking for part time student worker positions in the university and let me tell you this; GRE/TOEFL is cakewalk for most of us. The real test lies in the numerous walks looking for a part time job and saying "How are you today?, "Have a nice day" even when you are dead tired and the guy just wasted half an hour of your time to finally say that he had no open positions.


One acquires patience and one learns to smile in this country. Whether you mean it or not - depends on you. 


We had an international student welcome party in the university and we got a lot of free stuff. One more thing you learn - it is ok to get free stuff. Everyone does. It was fun, going around different stalls in the party hall pretending to be interested in what the people in the stall were saying. But everyone in the stall knew we were interested in the freebies and we knew they knew. We smiled and moved on. 


It was funny in a way, going to giveaways, talking to people as if I was an authority on Indian tradition and culture. I could hear my grandmother's satirical laughter in my head. We took home couches and coffee tables. It was fun, decorating the new house and inviting others to show off our interior decoration skills.


The first day of classes was a big event. Everyone mock-ranted about going back to school on Facebook and got a satisfactory number of likes. But the point was, we realized a lot of things later. One had to do homework and read for classes. No marks for attendance, but you will attend anyway, if you intend to keep your scholarship. And you really have to work, if you want to keep your part time job. That was the time most "Westernized in India" types starting realizing the stirrings of patriotic feelings that had been dumped deep inside their hearts.


I still hate Starbucks coffee. I make filter coffee at home but I like the people who smile at me in the coffee shop. I dress up in salwar-kurta for Indian events but still go shopping to Macy's or Forever 21 and exclaim "Woowwww!!!” looking at the collection. I visit Indian temples for the Indian food but I also visit Chipotle and PittaPitt. I still have a bit of jet lag, apparently.  


I like it here. But I can't say I love it here. I still love my life back in India. I have arrived, but perhaps, not to stay forever.

Taxonomy of Tambrahm Makkal

In the aftermath of a heavy afternoon meal comprising of rasam saadham and vendakka fry, the author of this blog and @AnushaRajagopal sat down to make a significant socio-scientific literary contribution to the world. The end result: 


Taxonomy of Tambrahm Makkal


Ammanjis 1.0


Essential Characteristics:


Food - Full meals without garlic/onion, preferably made at home.
Work ethics - Saami kanna kuthification is used as the motivation methodology.
Societal Outlook - The world is at home. Outside is just where they step out for inevitable activities.
Social Networking - Highly restricted to local neighbourhood, same gender friends only. Cell phone number revealed only to friends. All photos and info locked on FaceBook - looking for options to lock name too.
Weekend Activities - Carnatic music, Cooking, temple visits


How to spot one? Lost look while in the company of other categories.

Theme music: 


Chamathus 


Essential characteristics:


Food - Pure vegetarian (cake allowed), sometimes, egg is not non-veg while not in the presence of parents. Does not mind eating with non-veg bakshinis.
Work Ethics - Saami kanna kuthification (relaxed version). Copying is ok, as long as one does not get caught.
Societal Outlook - Recognizes the presence of 2 worlds. One at home and friend circle (comfort zone) and one outside. Not bothered by either. Not much.
Social Networking - Photo on FaceBook is ok. No stranger's friend request accepted.
Weekend Activities - Strictly non-alcohol based. Movies, kutcheris, beach trips, coffee houses


How to spot one? Positioned in middle rows in class. Rooted in traditions but open to new ideas.

Theme music: 


Abishtus


Essential Characteristics:


Food - Non-veg food consumed outside family circles.
Work Ethics - Sunday late evening realization about assignments.
Societal Outlook - Active participation in both worlds.
Weekend activities - sometimes, alcohol based. Otherwise, same list as chamathus.


How to spot one? Late night party attender, but worried about mother's call.

Theme music: Yo boys! 


Cool dudes


Essential Characteristics:


Food - Veg/Non-veg food discussed and consumed openly at home and outside
Work Ethics - Two sub categories available. 1) Strictly copying on the day of submission 2) Completes assignment well ahead of time and loans it to others
Societal Outlook - Try to integrate both the worlds
Social Networking - Active
Weekend Activities - Unpredictable. Ex: Carnatic music jam mixed with alcohol.


How to spot one? Sakalakalaavallavan types

Theme music: 


Global Citizens


Essential Charatertisics:


Food - Anything.
Work Ethics - Does it only when it matters the most
Societal Outlook - Global village is the concept
Social Networking - Maximum usage
Weekend Activities - Bunjee jumping. Or some such thing, unattempted by most people. 


How to spot one? Stands out of the crowd

Theme music: 


Note: Review papers are welcome on this research paper. We reiterate that there were no "random anonymous" surveys or reference to any other literary works to supplement our insights, to pen this paper.

Off to the Fair

This is a poem I wrote recently for the Special Career Fair edition of ScratchPad, the TAMU Indian Graduate Students Association's newsletter.


Tearing through my silent home
Rang the alarm - "Trrrriiiinnnngggg"
I couldn't just turn over and sleep
It was a rather special morning.


No dilly-dallying or lazy walks-about-the-house
No meditative stares at the ceiling fan
Ladies and gentlemen, for, that day -
I was a woman, with a mission.


Portfolio in hand, a smile on my face
Formal clothes, tied up hair
I climbed up my heeled footwear
and off I marched to the Career Fair!


Stalls everywhere and goodies too
Smiling people all around you
Well well, it sure was a fair
but did you know, you are the ware


We moved in queues and shook hands
We nodded our heads, tried to blink less
handed resumes and spoke a lot
The motto was, "Boast not, but impress"


My legs hurt and hair became awry
Tiring it was, to move around
I was running out of resumes
but talking - that was home ground


A few disasters, and rays of hope
A keychain here and pen drive there
Comrades smiling as we crossed paths
It was, after all, not a nightmare


Maybe I had knocked on a door to my future
Though, I knew not where
I told myself "To try, I did dare"
And back I came from the Career Fair

#MadeMyTrip - A Hashtagable Memory

So, everybody had been off to trips during the holidays. I decided to take one too. Visited Sukanya - one of the sweetest girls on the planet. Has traces of lunacy but that is a family trait. Excusable. Similar lunatic strains have been detected to be present in strong proportions in her Big Bro(as she calls him), Bala. #CloselyKnitLooseFamily


We visited NASA. Strangely, everytime I read or hear "NASA", I am reminded of this famous scene from Annamalai. #VideoBreak


 Anyways, now that you are back from the youtube link to this post, let us continue. The place is interesting. There were a few puzzles in the booths there that left me slightly embarrassed in front of 8 year olds but you shall never get to know about that. There was a game in which one had to step on the alphabets to frame the word, which is the answer to a question displayed on a big screen. I am sure you were not able to visualize what I just said. Let us just say, it required the person playing the game to have considerable leg-brain coordination. Which I do not. I tend to twist an ankle every 2 days. And trip and nearly fall almost every day. So, again, kids from around the globe, with their parents, got to smirk and comment about me in their mother tongues. #Shakingoffdustfromshoulder


Moving on. We went on a tour of NASA. We took some pictures. I only remember one thing now - One of the engines in some XYZ rocket weighed 15650 pounds. And there was more than one engine in that rocket. That is all I remember now. #IDontRememberTrivia


The second most memorable trip was to the Houston Meenakshi Amman Temple. Sounds so odd no? But we went. Straight to their canteen. Hot Venn Pongal and Sambar. Delicious. But they did not have the one thing I have been dreaming of since I came here - Vadai. We went on Friday. Vadai only on weekends it seems. #VadaiPoche


THE most unforgettable thing was, we went to this small place by the lake where they had a few "Exhibition - Raattanam" type rides. Me and Sukanya's friend "Ethi-vittufied" Sukanya and goaded her on to take the roller coaster ride with us. Actually matter is, for me also Building-Strong-Foundation-Weak only, but Sukanya didn't know that. People mentioned that the "apparatus" was wooden and not metal and so it was uncomfortable etc. But yuvar honour, my problem was, I had a "falling" feeling in stomach. The ride started, Sukanya closed her eyes tight, and we went hurtling down at top speed and - screeeeeeeeeech. No, that was not the wind. My voice came tearing out of my lungs - "Ammmmmmmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa". My paatu teacher would have been glad to listen to me finally opening my mouth and singing aloud. I was so sure the train was gonna go awry and fly away from the rails. One consolation was, there was water all around. I would not have broken bones, or so I consoled myself. By the time I finished this risk analysis, the ride was over. We were dazed and got down. They said we could collect our photographs from some booth. But that booth was closed. So, there is no proof to record this historic incident in which we...err..I faced my fears and Sukanya did not. #HistoryWasMade


But, the one thing that upset her was - she lost her hair band. As for me, I found my voice. #NoHashTagForThis


Great trip. #Whattey


Claimer: This post is evidence that the author who has always enjoyed wasting time, now does that on Twitter. She is fascinated as to how the hashtag makes capturing the essence of complicated stuff simple and fun. #KeepItSimpleSilly

(A)broadly speaking - New year point of phew..err..view