The abys'MAL LU'cid pondering pool

MALLUISM again!!!

2012-01-12T13:17:00.002+05:30

This post is not to poke fun at a particular community if that's what you anticipate by reading the title.( At least we can be sure of the fact that they are much talked about :P please refer http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/kochi/Being-Mallu-tops-Indian-Twitter-trends/articleshow/11426137.cms )

This is the story of a lifelong plight that a poor 'mallu' might face for ages to come ( ahem..maybe it might be a publicity gimmick..this particular mallu likes being appreciated..ahem ahem..yeah yeah..ok this mallu definitely manages to grab some attention :P)

It has been eons since this mallu, belonging to the fairer sex had written a post on MALLUISM. (refer:http://www.mallikasridhar.blogspot.com/2009/01/malluism.html)

It was a phenomenon coined when she belonged to a different place at a different time. Desperate to shirk it off, she realized that her past caught up with her in an almost similiar form.

Now she just smiles in that same faraway wondering look in her eyes; at times stiffling an embarrassed giggle under her breath for the "way of life".

Poor Mallika; You name means the queen, in tamil ; the jasmine whose fragrance is intoxicating.

But now she is known and identified by definitive traits:

1. If you are lost and staring at free space : well this can only be- Mallu

2. If you can spot someone in close vicinity making a fool of herself : It is has to be- Mallu

3. If you are ocassionally dioriented, existing in a different dimension : It is no doubt- Mallu

4. Anything below the Vindhya mountains (sic) South Indians- Mallus from Malluland ( our Ms Mallu hates this sort of generalization..she likes to be unique :P and throws disgusting looks to those above the Vindhyas –“Dude, there are four states down there!!

5. The people who ask too many questions- Mallu sympathises with the critics,for though it can be a little exhaustive for the Northies,the ones below the Vindhyas uphold the essence of science by reasoning :P

Mallu though happens to fulfill 4 out of 5 of these traits despises to be associated with this particular community which goes to the “gelf” to visit their “ungle and aundy” in “thubaii”. She fights a desperate losing (because she knows in her heart it’s a wonder on earth :) battle with her mother and sister who love the God’s own country.

And so we rest the case here of what ever you wish to coin it– “Malluesque”, “Malluish” or which has become the "way of life" (read: to deal :P )

MALLUISM (we just cant deny its popularity :P)

A "Harry"ed Me - I

2011-08-04T05:43:00.007+05:30

1999

A thin lanky child sat in the verandah, with her legs propped up, resting a fat book on them. She was reading the book with wonder and glee. Curious eyes watched her from the depths of the room. The owner of those curious eyes came out into the sunlight looking over the lanky child’s shoulder to get a glimpse of what she was doing. The child was at first taken aback, then found herself staring into the thick glasses of her older cousin. The child’s eyes had a twinkle which puzzled her cousin, a scrawny child with two thick braids reaching her shoulder. She sat down beside her young cousin and listened to her talk about magic and dark wizards and godfather and broomstick ( there was some dragon and a weird sounding creature called hippogriff… Azkaban?? ). Everything sounded very strange to the other child but somewhere she felt an urge to know what magic those brightly coloured books wove on her young cousin. She ran inside with an indignant air. She knew that the books she read were a lot more exciting than those wildly coloured magic books.

Both the girls played and talked at night for a while. The younger girl started yawning and got up to leave. She picked up one of the books and smiled at her sister as she left. The lamp cast dim shadows around. The older one sat there looking at one of the books. It was the thinnest of all those coloured ones her cousin had. She picked up one and looked at it. It had a nasty pink book cover with a boy’s face on it. He had huge round glasses on. He was looking at a bright train puffing pearly white smoke. The back cover had a tall man with a white beard wearing a royal blue robe with stars on it. She opened it after having stared at the book for a long time .Her eyes moved along the first few lines, the first few pages; she had a puzzled look on her face, the sequence of events not making any sense….

She read on and on; her eyes blurred with sleep, read through the last lines of the first chapter…those lines which was going to make her life chimerical..something that she would cherish all her life..which was her childhood…

“A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs.Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley... He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding uptheir glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter -- the boy who lived!

Those dark rimmed round glasses....Thank you Div for making me see through them...life truly became wonderful:)

Supermen

2011-04-21T06:30:00.002+05:30

Dear Men,

( The ones in my family...and yeah all those who relate to it or personally feel this post might ; in some way be a revelation of the sordid truth of their masculinity.)

PS : ( Disclaimer: It is in no way to hurt your towering male egos. No matter what you shall be indispensable :P...And so this is dearly dedicated to all those guys,chauvinists.(pigs??!!) )

I am putting up a very brave front...ahem...I am putting forth in detail whatever I may have muttered under my breath in the history of my 22 years of existence. As much as my fingers ache to type this down as a ubiquitous truth ; I shall only point out my personal observations.

I come from a patriarchal family.My grandfather,a strict disciplinarian also nurtured a huge male ego which of course passed down to his seven sons.For all the men in my relation everything they did and still continue to do; surpass excellence !( and the female species are surely inefficient ).Whether they cook-"God save you! you children will definitely chew your fingers off ! Just wait till you taste my sambhar." followed by the apparent- "your mum doesn't know how to cook... worse.. I taught her how to :P "

OK??!!! so men( ahem... in my family... I don't want to be badgered by the entire male species. I do know of some really wonderful ones outside my own clan :P ) do know how to cook and so goes for cleaning the house , washing the clothes , shopping wisely , operating the banks."Oh here we are - The supermen.Its our forte' ."

" Stock markets; well you won't understand. Why bother?"

"Rock and metal- definitely not for you.Why don't you go and listen to Hillary Duff."

" Die Hard- ahem.. we guys are going out for it.(read: "Excluding you, because of the simple rule-u're a girl ")

" WWE- Whoa no way, its not for dainty ones like you. Even watching it might just chip your nails. "

"Cricket- Please don't ruin my moment of solitude with the television with your lingering feminity."

[ A special mention about my bro Gautam-

PSP and Gameboy: Dude!! you cant learn it..you still happen to be a girl." (Hah!! I dismiss it for teenage turbulent period :P )]

And last but not the least chauvinism unleashed during the act of driving. If the car goes slowly-it's a woman.If the car doesn't pick up at green-it's a woman.If the car doesn't give way- it's a woman.If the car coughs and stops in between- whoa, it's confirmed,it's a woman because men think that women just can't drive as well as them.

And as my dad is confronted about this he dismisses it and comments on how much we woman criticize , crib and gossip( though I hate to admit it albeit it's true when he says " Women,that's your forte' ."Ahaan..there I snigger away to myself... Men, ye know not but ye practice the subtle art of it :D)

PS again : This has been a part of my drafts during my early workings with the blog. It was and still is dedicated to my Mum, my aunt, and my sister who have endured :P. No! , this , in no way means we are complaining. We are just amused at how amusingly amusing you are. To the most important men in our lives ( Sridhar, Vinod, Gautam and Aditya). We love you.

Yours Sincerely,

Not a feminist-"yet if need arises to protest against male-ism mental atrocities" enthusiast.

Chaos

2011-04-15T15:08:00.012+05:30

....and they are in constant battle of wills. Its like a funny bumby ride. It makes you a little apprehensive but also gives you the thrill. There is a constant rebellion,something that wages a war on the inside but dreadfully placid on the outside. However the one who resides within is timorous and the other blithe. Its a bedlam out there...and in the din it is heard..

Alterego : Have you seen yourself? Dude!!!.... you are lame...

M : No Dude!! I am bored...

Alterego : Exactly my point!! Ok lets see what are the things that can do you some good.

M : Hah!! you saying that to me? You are a bore...in constant anguish. Oh!! to think of it what makes you fret so much?

Alterego : You man!! you!! I dont understand what is there to grin about all the time? I dont like your smile. Its like painted on your face!! makes me sick..

M : ...and you make me sick with the ravage you create inside most of the time. You are one who doesn't let me be. You, with that lost fuzzy look upon your face, with those distant dark pupils like a fathomless pit, for your eyes. What is it that you keep agonising about ?

Alterego : let you be? you seem to revel in things which are so mundane..to sum it up you seem like a perky, bubbly kid who pursues and craves for all the banal things in life. I am just trying to make you see light.I don't agonise. I am just a lot deeper than you think.

M : Don't talk about enlightening me when you are the one who stays in the dark!!... in gloomy places where you brood all day long. You ponder, you think. No one likes you. Call yourself deep? You are a shadow following me. It gives me a headache.

Alterego : Sigh!! think again man! It shall become extremely difficult for me to reside alongside this. There...There you go again...that's the problem with you. You think with your heart, I with my mind.

M : Don't try to reason with me. You just don't know how to live your life. C'mon!! chill dude!! Live it up . Ok , a li'l bit of this drink now, I am sure that will loosen you up bit.

Alterego : To what? to waste away my life. Do you know what gets me high?? Its the passion to live my life like I want to. To do the things I want to.

M : I am fed up!! That's not true. This is not what you are...this is me!! I am the one who lives my life like I want to!!

Alterego : Ahaan?? correction: you live a shallower version of what you call life. With this cackle of yours whom are you trying to impress? Not yourself for sure. I wonder where you are trying to fit ?

M : NOOOOO!!! just shut it out.. I dont want to hear you anymore.....

The din becomes louder; the hum turning into a chant . The voices getting louder...M was heard...

There was a man who had a face,
It looked a lot like me,
I saw him in the mirror and I fought him in the streets,
Then when he turned away I shot him in the head,
Then I came to realize I had killed myself.

It was foggy around , the lights were dimming.
hazy as it became, a slow rythm resounded in the voice of Alterego.

And I know I’m dead on the surface

But I am screaming underneath

And time is on your side
Its on your side now
Not pushing you down
And all around, no
It’s no cause for concern.

2wards 2orpidity?

2010-12-12T03:34:00.004+05:30

4.am

I am lazy (Oh yes! and probably my mum might excitedly add in a few more unpleasant adjectives to it.) but for a start I gave my blog a makeover ( with possibly a hundred delays while surfing randomly through the net and darn!! why on earth does facebook exist? ) and so while I sit down to write( after a very very long time), stifling a yawn ; I contemplate switching off the lights,snuggle into the blankets and procastinate this post for a week( I told you I am ,lets take a better sounding word: nonchalant).

Well this post was planned up for July just after a pretty vapid birthday.

What I expected was far too different from what I got.

A peck on the cheek probably suffices on such occassions according to family elders . The younger brother thinks of it as any ordinary day and broods around in corners with the 'whats the big deal with wanting the whole affair to be so much "wheeee".' ( Ahh!! I am willing to sideline it as teenage problems.)

So as the year comes to an end; I end up thinking how vastly things have changed.

The year has been satisfying on a whole. It started in a great city and might probably end up in a great one too. Both have seen me as different people.

That jump around animated brat is more reticent, demure and as my mother cheerfully puts it, sober. From the 'pack my bags and run off' to the 'laze around in the weekends' sort of a person.

I have had to 'settle' at home again.

Yes the latter part of the year saw me more prudent and probably wiser of the decisions I took in the former and as I sit and muse, all the vivid pictures flash, of another time which was so fast paced that probably I savour it now with all the ruminations.

22? call it torpid. I laugh at myself for turning a lot older in a matter of months. For the better or not is something I cannot fathom but at the moment,the only thing that brings a smile is the awaiting Sunday morning hot oil bath and yapping in the eve with my mum over a bowl of sweet corn soup.

Mumbai Chronicles I - The confessions

2010-05-25T23:49:00.006+05:30

After some soul writing, back to the old days ( I wonder why this irresistable urge to write only when exams are round the corner?? As they say an idle mind is a devil's workshop but I feel its utopian, full of those random lucid thoughts...and just then, that circuit diagram floating in front of you reminds you to get back to reality...yes the very reality that makes you curse for the sh*t you got into..yes I would have loved to be a thinker if there is any such occupation) Oops for the digression. For those who think that my posts are just centered around me and probably not a single word on the raging world issues ( as if we dont have enough of the media debates on them the whole day ) I would like to share the little intricacies of life..which maybe becomes quite a mundane affair for most of us.
For the past six months this has been stored in my drafts. I was collecting my observations and I knew I would have more things to add on to it.
I am a little ashamed to pronounce myself as a Delhite. Four years ago this very statement would have earned me proud smiles and a pat on the back by my fellow compatriots, those very ,who initially showed sympathy at my moving out of my home town for my graduation. But as the years trundled along, it saw me admiring a lot of the culture in which I settled in. Yes, Pune was a wonderful experience. I can write a novella on all my exploits there. Its probably shaped me into a different, hopefully better me.
But in my last two years I have had the taste of one of the most enigmatic cities I have come across( Bombay lovers are going to embrace me on this..I expect a few sloppy kisses too ).
I had my apprehensions albeit the fact that there was something about the city that pulled me towards it time and again. It mysteriously romanced me.
As they say " Jo Bombay aata hai.. woh bas yahin ka reh jaata hai "
I dont know how true that holds for me. I am still soul searching it.
It has it all. Among the starry blitz; the common man or the fast paced work culture and yet a calm which is tenacious. Maybe as a child I never got to see the real Delhi but as an adult I got to feel a city so enthralling.
The air which smells of the salt and fish .The first thing that you become aware of are the beads of sweat on your brow and still you look on at that fervent energy around you,trying to infuse yourself with it.
As my days in Pune-Bombay are numbered and before I go back to "rediscovering" the Delhi I left behind , I want to chronicle it. So keep visiting all Mumbaikars...
Till then (from the hit '78 movie, Don) " Yeh hai Bambai nagariya..tu dekh babbua."

With Or Without You

2010-05-20T22:33:00.002+05:30

She stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes stinged and they trickled,hot tears, blurring her sight.Dazed,she looked around at the sea of faces around her. She saw no escape and yet she found her solace in it. Those very faces looked quizzically at her but knew nothing to judge her. She wanted to defy them and so justify to them. Those emotions in which there was a reason to rejoice as well as wallow. She wanted to keep feeling it, desperately trying to hold on to the threads of joy...but why and for whom did she want to engulf in sadness and let it go?
She felt warm and sublime, his eyes on her and yet she made herself cold and indifferent to it. Those doe shaped eyes, wide open or shut saw her, for darkness could not take away the light of her face, her smile which wrinkled her nose. They stole glances at her but wandered off when caught. Those eyes wanted her to know, yet hesitated.
Everytime their elbows grazed, she made it linger for seconds till she jerked it away. She wished time would halt as she felt his shallow breathing on her neck,yet prayed for it to slip away quickly. The more she sidled away, the more she was drawn towards him to drown herself into his arms.
He wanted her arms around his neck, her lips on his, their souls conjoined but found himself distancing away.
He saw those empty faces around him, those questions,but did he care? His pain was sweet but could he take it anymore?
They walked as one,in the milling crowd and yet away from it. Both were afraid to catch the hum in the air and yet a chord struck in their hearts, a harmony so intertwined that they felt blessed and cursed.
So was the dichotomy of love.....

Rain

2010-04-23T19:05:00.004+05:30

Her hair came undone, the curls falling delicately over her shoulders. She looked all around her. Suffused in a pink glow. The white bark of the eucalyptus was radiant, chipping but with a shimmer of a fresh pearl. She felt the bark under her pink fingertips looking down at the long shadows being cast. The shadows swayed on the gravel pathway, dainty and ethereal. She looked up to those leaves that made them, gentle, swaying ,the branches bowing down to touch the ground. She sensed the sun peek in and out through the leaves, the stray srands of hair on her forehead glistening in the dusk lights. She stood enraptured at every sound, the rustle of the leaves, the wind entangling her locks, the cuckoo in her sweetest and of the voices around. The plants around her plush, green and vibrant whispered of hope. It stirred a music in her very being ; a thread of rhythm flowing through her veins. Overwhelmed was she, as every gamut of emotion struck a melody, a symphony known only to her; a harmony of all that she saw, heard and felt.
And then it fell, resting upon her long eyelashes, as clear as a crystal. She opened her palms to feel it. Wet and cold , flowing through her fingers onto the parched earth. The incense; that of the earth ,its thirst quenched. It sparkled,the colours bouncing off it as rays flitted across. The grey above with solar streaks left an orange tinge around.
It felt like life washed away;and yet it felt like being a being again...
She moved,like the wind,through every drop which touched her skin. She felt it on every niche in her being,every curve of her body, every corner of her soul; infused with the tones to which she danced.
" Raindrops keep falling on my head,
But that doesn't mean my eyes would soon be turning red,
Crying's not for me,
Cause I'm never gonna stop the rain by complainin'
Because I am free,
Nothing's worrying me"
Yes she saw it, heard it, and felt it.
and then on her lips, partook of it, brackish and fresh, tears and smiles, despair and joy.

Bad Hair Day...anyone?

2010-04-21T01:06:00.003+05:30

This post was long due...for all those times that my mind seems not to be preoccupied with something or the other..these are the thoughts that usually fill in..
A little scratch through my wiry hair suffices enough to say that its the very "wiryness" I am pondering about.
PS : With due respect to those who muse over greying and thinning (:P)
I am one among you too...
So am I happy with my inheritance??... is what I am unable to decide most of the time.
This saga commenced 22 years ago..when there were gasps of 'oohs and aahs' by old kanjeevaram clad ladies who would do anything to slobber up your cute baby face with oodles of watery kisses and having done that would fondly twiddle their fingers around the tuft of hair on the head.. and with long sighs of happiness exclaim " oh so! The baby is going to be such a Rapunzel."
Yes there were standards set and pedestials to reach upto on which I shall elucidate, further on.
So the baby, innocent and unaware of the targets set before it..trundles on in daily life.
( The baby in particular was a cute cherubic thing with beady black eyes and curly black locks. Ahem!!! Am I sounding too full of myself *wink* ?? The aftermath is a part of the plight I have had to deal with till now and maybe all my life.. sniff )
So comes the age old Hindu ritual of tonsuring the baby's hair, with due respect to all the evil eyes they wanted removed and better future and luck they wanted to ensure( still wondering when they shall take effect). And so ended the dream of the beautiful "to be rapunzel" locks.
The child still unaware of the misery it was destined to live with was much too happy with a close crop( read: The delhi heat is too much to bear).
Mother decided in two years that now was the time to cultivate the scalp endowments.( It didnt really make much of a difference to the child who was much above these "hairy" issues then )and just when it was in process; there goes another "mundan" as it is called ( I really wonder when will all those rituals work in my favour).
I faced it...
I was three and was " Ganju Patel teri khopdi mein tel!!!!"
and so I sported a close crop almost all my childhood and teenage years. I loved it. I felt free (saves you the heat!! yes I was blessed with quite a thick endowment ). Never paid heed to the forlorn looks of my father who always wished that his daughter would be a well oiled two braided "ponnu" from a Tam Brahm family.
Instead my days were spent adjusting my hairlook to that of Diana or admiring Kiran Bedi. In my teens my obsession with Rowling's hero made me want to sport his style more(victim and that too of a grave " hairy" injustice).
Yes I have not inherited my mother's hair nor my father's. I have neither straight and silky like his nor wavy like hers. A long line of women in my family have had braids enough to draw gasps of admiration. I am the black sheep.
I merely have a shape shifter. Something that is wiry, frizzy,wild and difficult to tame, affected by water at every place but there are days when they are beautiful, curly locks or when they are straight and set, wavy and fall lucidly over my forehead. Time and again hairdressers give up. My scalp is a task. They work their way to make it look as presentable as they can.
I sport shoulder length hair now with red streaks..yes it looks wonderful somedays( guess my father thinks I am more of a taint now than ever).
But I just feel I have had too many bad hair days to last me for a life time.

Bitchin' Kitchen

2010-01-18T01:05:00.007+05:30

Some call it overconfidence and some call it foolishness... I usually go by the saying..what goes at the top does come down at some point or the other.. Probably my creative stagnancy was too prolonged or the fact that I have had too many random thoughts in my head that went away like wisps of smoke( I have been away from the writing scene for some time now, read: almost half a year) but this incident was something that just had to be put down.

Well the whole thing started with the realization that turning 21 is not a very pleasant situation.Ahem!! the fact that I have received a reluctant nod for certain things in life like the subtle acceptance that nothing can be done if I decide to let my hair down socially( read: alcohol in measured amounts). On the other hand there are certain other things being pursued with a fierce enthusiasm.( read on)

So the theme revolves around the kitchen,the place which I despise the most and is the least visited sector of my home.( I am usually found eyes shut,face down,under covers in my natural habitat that is called the BED; ocassionally I can be found loitering around reading something and the maximum activity that I show is of munching edibles around the dining area. This, I talk of, the pure bliss days right now) And so it is that whenever I am in this elysian phase, it is shattered by polite digs at me by my mother and paranoia expressed by my grandmother at my lack of kitchen activity.( This is being said with a lot of spite and bitterness!!!! for dramatic effect)

I am a very peaceful person or call it MALLUISM as coined by my friends; but it usually takes a lot to perturb me deeply.So you can imagine my plight when I decided to enter the threshold of the "kitchen".

And so at the god thanking prayers and smiles of the ladies ,the omellete was added on to my list of 'cook to survive items' ;the only other being maggi.

The biggest battle started when the tougher things came about and since the challenging stakes and feminist egos were at their highest: my time=my domain was the simple rule.

I would rather not put it on god's mercy but my own "haath ka kamaal" for three superb attempts at the 'dosas' , peas curry and 'kovakkai'( tamil) or 'kundru'( ivy guard in english which I just found out courtesy the mighty google).

Having done this my parents left me at my mercy to experiment with the delightful world of tastes and smells.So my days at home, alone were spent in making rectangular,triangular,square 'chapattis' with roasted,cracked and rockhard variants of it. It was that fateful eve when I cooked a decent 'dal' all alone with instructions from my mother over the phone.Probably the fact that I managed to pull it off all on my own( without a vary eye from the sidelines) and that my father and his family appreciated it( being people of few words and praises) I decided to show my 'expertise' at it once again.

17-1-09

It was three days after Pongal and it just suited my fancy to make sweet pongal for myself and my friends( read: this is called overexcitement)

Having being completely confident of the recipe,which is easy let me assure you;I created the worst disaster ever in south indian history.

Learn how to burn ;) :-

250 gms rice and 100 gms moong dal to be cooked in a cooker with 31/2 cups of water

add 250gms milk and 200gms jaggery in it.

stir well and add dry fruits for taste.

How on earth it went wrong I still cannot fathom!!!!

It was dirt mud colour and well the taste ahem!! was burnt jaggery.

Yes, I am left with a sympathising friend, a bowl full of bitter something-that- gives- me-shivers-when-I-look-at-it,and utensils which shall keep me occupied for a week.

Take a look at it..Dont go by the chocolaty color of it or the fact that it tastes like bitter dark chocolate.It is neither.

Do I feel morose? Not at all..except for that longing friend of mine who was expecting me to spin out some miracle.On the other hand I expect a reprimand and a warning never to enter the kitchen again, at least alone!

Suits me!!!..as long as further 'hand for marriages' suggestions by the family doesnt come along for the 'poor 21 year old me' :D

With love....

2009-08-04T01:09:00.003+05:30

29th July 2009 9:45 am

It pains me immensely to type this out..and the last thing that I would want is a post on my blog..

My beloved Thatha, K .Ramachandran breathed his last..May he be relieved of his long drawn suffering.May his soul rest in peace.

Walking Backwards

2009-07-28T14:15:00.004+05:30

Entering the final year in college is quite a funny thing. On the one hand, I'm feeling sort of relieved to finally be at the fag end of my engineering life cycle. Not that I did not enjoy it while I was here, its just that there is such a thing known as TOO much studying (or engineering - whichever you prefer) and I'm glad to be moving on to bigger (and hopefully better) things. And so, while I sat back reminiscing on how time just flew by during my three years here, I realised how different this was from entering the 12th standard while in school. Okay, obviously it is quite different considering that one is associated with one's school for way longer than with one's college. But, it just made me ponder over how different we were then and how unrecognisable I would be to my former school self.
Its a very commong thing for students in school to fantasise about going to college and you know, having THE time of their lives. But I never really felt that way. I was quite happy in school and was in no hurry to get to college (yeah...I can hear you screaming NERD! but that's just how I was). Now, I went to an all girls' convent (one of the other reasons why people fail to comprehend why I wanted to stay in school :P). But, I think I can safely say that I did have a great time while in school, and I think I wouldn't be wrong if I said that sometimes, college doesn't even begin to compare to school. First up, kids in school have a way better idea about having fun than their counterparts in college. While in college, you'll need to shell out a great deal of dough to have a "fun" time - for eg. going for a movie, followed by food (or booze if that's your thing) and then finally crashing at a disc - whereas an average school kid has a great deal more fun than that by engaging in a highly adventurous and exhilarating bout of the - NEWSPAPER FIGHT! Kids know how to enjoy the simple things in life - something we lose to the Levi's and the Lee Coopers when we get to college. Oh,and the yearly ritual of the school picnic - ours was a toss-up between either Nehru Park or the Lodhi Garden (I still remember grimacing whenever I heard that we were going to either of those two AGAIN)- was totally something else. I still remember the way we used to gape and joke (quite rudely) at the "uncles and aunties" trying to well, have an excursion of their own in the bushes while in the park. Oh, and the ultimate weapon of destruction, the FRISBEE could be seen flying all over the place with adrenaline-charged kids running after it for all their life's worth.
As far as studies went, well I might sound vain when I say this but me and Mallika(co-conspirator and partner in crime) were pretty much the "teacher's pets" in the most biblical sense of the word. Though I might add that I wasn't as neurotic and nerve-wrecked as she was ( she was more like the teachers' lap dog :P), still I did have my "nerdy" moments (and its really not as bad and geeky as it sounds - instant gratification never hurt anyone :D). This obviously singled us out as the class enemies and we had our classmates plotting and scheming to turn us against each other(divide and rule personified) in ways that would put Ekta Kapoor and her entire brigade of vamps to shame. So, I had people coming up to me saying how egoistic and nerdy Mallika was, and people would go up to her and chime about how I had told them a "non-veg" joke (biggest crime that one could get penalised for in the SIXTH grade) which was obviously an apt reflection of my "poor" character :P. But, in the end, I guess Harry Potter sealed our friendship forever (nobody could get through something as sanctimonious as THAT). And finally, in the ninth grade, we committed the ultimate act of treason - we BUNKED class ( although unintentionally, though I usually leave out this minor detail - doesn't sound as cool :P). The teachers were in shock as if their worst nightmares had somehow come to life. But, still we got through unscathed (though I'm not too sure about Mallika - she seemed to be having a nervous breakdown and a panic attack at the same time - I looked quite callous next to her :D) and managed to retain our dignity too, till of course the time when we recounted this incident during our 12th standard assembly to the principal's horror (I was quite smug though :P).
There are too many memories attached with school - the chemistry lab for instance - our lab attendant tearing his hair out at the amount of salt we took for our experiments ("salt khaana hai kya?"), and that one fateful day when I managed to break a beaker, a pipette and a test-tube within a span of 20 minutes (the attendant said he had never seen somebody wreak so much havoc during the 25 years that he had spent in the lab). Then, there was that one time in the tenth grade, when I yawned right in the face of the maths teacher ( I was in the front seat and I didn't even bother to cover my mouth). She obviously got the hint, but she went on (I've never felt so ignored in my life :D). Oh, and then during Chemistry class in the 11th grade with Mr. Khilnani (the only male teacher in our school - poor guy- not that he deserved any pity, the tyrant that he was). I really needed to go the loo and it seemed like the class just wouldn't end. Of course, it didn't help that he was teaching about "fluid pressure" during the class.
So, I guess that's enough about my rant about school. I could not have asked for a better school experience than the one I had at Mater Dei. But, more importantly, I don't think that it would have been as memorable without Potter (yep, that's what Mallika was in school...though I'm not too sure now :D). All the fun we had, the experiences we shared, all the fights and then the making up...everything just forms a very colourful mosaic which will always be a part of my life.

School really is cool.

Nikhita

I had a vision..

2009-04-14T17:43:00.003+05:30

I have got over my phase of viewing reruns of episodes of my favourite superhero- Superman. However somewhere in the subconscious he still dwells….and probably that was why I recently dreamt of having X-ray vision. Now, one wouldn’t want to ponder on what are the advantages..ahem of having this peculiar boon but this has definitely made me open my eyes to the vision, I lack (leave alone X-ray; I don’t have the normal night vision too). I hear that constant cackle of complaints around me against bad haircuts, dentist nightmares or for the matter of fact- the chubby syndrome( a polite term for the obese). I on the other hand feel as if the whole world around me is a bad television.

Having stuck in this myopic stage since a tender age; my eyes have been caged behind frames of a myriad kind. Having a deep disgust and disregard for them, my ‘callousness’ ensured that they never lasted too long(read: losing them in water; I guess you wouldn't want the details.... or getting repeatedly smacked on the face till they fall off etc etc..) How I wished it was the same with the ‘geek’ and ‘nerd’ name-calling.

And as I broke another pair and ruined my lenses(unintentionally of course ; wink) I realized it had its advantages too…

1. You can always look through certain unwanted entities and if confronted can blame it on bad vision.

2. You can avoid work (people ‘politely’ refuse to let you carry things around, college blackboard not visible=no need to take down notes).

3. Source of pity…a way to get attention (you need to squint in an orderly fashion to convince).

However my reader’s will agree with me that nothing’s better than to see the world in its full colour and grandeur with the miracle that has been bestowed upon us…as Ruskin Bond truly puts it…”The eyes have it”.

Gossip Girl(s)

2009-04-02T19:16:00.005+05:30

I've been living in the hostel for almost three years now and I thought it worth my while to document a widespread affliction amongst girls viz. gossiping. Now, the dictionary defines gossip as "casual or unconstrained conversation or reports about other people, typically involving details that are not confirmed as being true", but in the hostel it becomes much more.
Now, the victims of gossip are of myriad kinds, but the ones who act "too big for their shoes" or the ones who are oh-so "la-di-dah" are the preferred ones. Any girl with exceptionally good hair or a flawless complexion or an attractive physique or anything remotely good about her will undoubtedly become the butt of various speculative conversations, the main aim of which is, without exception, to list her hitherto non-existent "flaws". So, somebody with good hair might actually be talking to 4 different boys at odd times during the night, information courtesy "the girl's room-mate's friend's room-mate's sister who is a junior and is living nowhere close to the girl in question" , but surprisingly we are ready to believe such a "reliable" source with such vicious faith - its actually quite cruel. In fact, there's nothing more macabre than watching a group of girls gossiping away to glory, the result being that somebody who was "miss goody-two-shoes" till yesterday might now be referred to as a "wolf in sheep's skin". You have good skin? - you must definitely be having exceptionally intolerable B.O. ; you have a good dressing sense?- it obviously means you have an attitude problem; have a good physique?- liposuction anyone?; you get good grades? - you use people as a ladder to get to the top; you name it - they have something on you to bring you down. Now, you might be thinking that gossiping is limited to those out to get each other - you could not be more wrong! Its amazing how much your best friend talks about you behind your back and rest assured - she's not eulogising you. I have to hand it to such girls though - the kind of things they can gauge just by giving you a cursory glance - "oh the one with the silver earrings? Yeah, she's a kleptomaniac" - they don't even know your name yet. So, this is an ode to all those girls who gossip to spice up their otherwise monotonous lives - character-assasination being their sport of choice!

Nikhita

The Inside Story

2009-03-29T15:51:00.004+05:30

As part of the college magazine team I have been working on some editorials for the past month.During the course of putting together various articles and scrapping away quite a few(read: tearing my hair over them),I decided to put up one article which has been inspired by most of my own experiences as well as inputs from my enthusiastic friends.I gave the title as The Inside Story...

THE INSIDE STORY

Here’s to a different take on what actually occupies the inner recesses of the mind of students during lectures, labs and seminars at our college( or I should rightly state that “the general trend observed in that similar species called engineering college goe-er’s”; wink).

The precautionary tagline comes henceforth as the picture does not seem too rosy .The sea of students who appear…mind; just appear to be engulfing knowledge are actually being bogged down with some pretty disturbing thoughts. After having spoken to a good number of students( who of course want their identity to remain anonymous) I jotted down a few of their ponderings……

@ Lectures

Lectures mean a lot to our students and when I approached them with this question the responses that I got….

1. “Excuse me???? What??!!!”

(Apparently suffered from the temporary ‘ I am ignoring you by acting deaf’ syndrome..hehe)

2. “OFF; OFF; OFF!!!!”

(That anthem which soothes the ears.Wonder how the chaotic noise from different sources at different pitches, sound to that one silent , dignified source which receives it??????)

3. “Yawn!! If Sir walks this way wake me up..”

(Read: My eyelids won’t remain open even if I crowbarred toothpicks into them.

Conclusion: Bachi hui(or not) neend ko pura karna)

4. “Why has the attendance sheet not been circulated till now?”

(After all, a platform to exercise new handwriting styles..hope you caught the drift.)

5. “I am a little loaded today…Aye please take it off …21 ki proxy laga na!!!!

(That effervescent personality comes bubbling to the surface at this point of time.The most awaited activity during.. or wait!! Should I say at the end of the lectures.)

6. “Oh yaar!! Roll no. nikal gaya….maam; maam”

(For those beauties who went the snoring way)

7. “Hollywood-Bollywood, Bingo, Zero-Crosses, Name-Place-Animal-Thing, Sudoku”

(Yipee!!! Recreation hour.)

8. “ Pass the journal sheets.(By whispering or via chit system.)”

(Rate of writing is directly proportional to rate of speaking of the lecturer in class.)

9. X: - “Bluetooth on kar na.”

Y: - “Can’t you wait a minute. I am texting.”

(Proven: - The cellphone ought not to be exposed to children; snigger)

10. V: - “I didn’t understand this particular equation”

(Grinding teeth; the one who is accidently paying attention in class today)

W: - “Which unit is going on?”

(Grinding teeth ;Grinding chalk and giving murderous glares to V.)

@ Labs

Labs are crucial. So we found our correspondents a little sober and grim but they assured us that there have been and will be good old memories…

1. “Kya karna hai? What is going on? What is this scary looking equipment?”

(The usual clueless state. I am willing to assume it as lack of sleep.)

2. “Do bunk ho gaye; pause for harassed look; will I be there in defaulters?”

(Something to converse upon since the experiments are nowhere near to penetrating the head.)

3. “Cut, Copy, Paste.”

(Comp to comp or pendrive to comp…stealthily or unabashedly.)

4. “Two hours…groan!!! Stomach is grumbling.”

(For the foodie, who is currently drooling over her fantasy puff from the canteen.)

5. “That bright sun; the clouds so white; that blue bird.”

( Nature and technology in sync. Read: experiment is still not penetrating the head.)

6. “Patch cord tails!!!! hehe”

(Experiment just refuses to enter the head.)

7. “The hands of the clock move so slowly!!!!”

( To blame on universal laws and curse the general fate.)

8. “ Why are so many corrections in journals given?”

(Makes you get up from your unfinished sleep and mutter curses under your breath. As it is you are not able to configure the experiment and are depending on some reliable source. So this provides ample time pass for two hours.)

9. “ Maam excuse me from the lab. It is urgent.”

( With a spring in the step our person visits the washroom, empties and refills the water bottles and does general time pass in front of the notice-boards.)

10. M: -“Copy maar na readings; teach me later on how we went about it.”

N : - “Maam told me to press this button and that; toh phir kar diya(sheepish grin).

(Conclusion: - Bang your head on the wall. Experiment has not been understood by any living soul in the lab, even the reliable source.)

Black

2009-03-06T17:59:00.005+05:30

I've blacked out.

The inner recesses of my mind has been bogged with black for sometime now.As the world whirls past me,the black stays,like a blur,reflecting a deep thought in my black eyes.

I run my fingers along my black locks thinking of the times when I have felt elevated listening to Pearl Jam's 'Black'. The rhythm, so strong,Vedder's voice so powerful, that it takes me into the black realms and when I close my eyes the world vanishes into oblivion.

And sometimes when darkness falls and it is black, I see myself in fear.Fear of the unknown,yet to come or the past which creeps along like a venomous snake.

The time when the world is at my feet and smiling to myself, all I can see is the black beyond;untouched and yet to be conquered.

When the void,the vaccum brings about serenity in the soul or the mourning which cleaves the mind to fragments.The world captured in black which mystifies its very being.The silence and the chaos.

The black which sometimes makes me radiate the positive, empowers me.

Pearl Jam's Black

Sheets of empty canvas

Untouched sheets of clay
Were laid spread out before me
As her body once did
All five horizons
Revolved around her soul
As the earth to the sun
Now the air I tasted and breathed
Has taken a turn
Ooh and all I taught her was everything
Ooh I know she gave me all that she wore
And now my bitter hands
Chafe beneath the clouds
Of what was everything
Oh the pictures have
All been washed in black
Tattooed everything
I take a walk outside
I'm surrounded by
Some kids at play
I can feel their laughter
So why do I sear
Oh, and twisted thoughts that spin
Round my head
I'm spinning
Oh, I'm spinning
How quick the sun can, drop away...
And now my bitter hands
Cradle broken glass
Of what was everything
All the pictures had
All been washed in black
Tattooed everything

All along I lived in a rainbow world,bright and sunny loving all the hues which made life so colourful. But somewhere I forgot the 'hueless', the one which brings with it the completeness.

Don't take back the city from me...

2009-02-14T02:13:00.005+05:30

The wails reached his ears.He could no longer wait.He looked over to his wife , then sprang to his feet and proceeded towards the room with a spring in his step.His happiness knew no bounds...

FLASHBACK:

17th July 1988 1:32 pm

As the monsoon drenched the city high and low, somewhere in a ward in Nobel Hospital,Indore a lineage had continued.Ramachandran looked on and on at the new arrival,at the tightly shut eyes,tightened fist and miniscule fingers.He then twirled his fingers around the jet black locks of the baby; feeling exalted.His first grandchild,born in the city which saw his whole life....

FORWARD:

I, Mallika was born in Indore.

Indore with its Chappan dukan,Palasia,Meghdoot and Rajwada.

With its 'pakwaan' and sweets.

With the plateaus,the black soil underneath the feet and the rains.

With abundant cotton and cloth.

With a blend of the north and the south.

Indore with its thriving zeal.

There is a lot more to it which never catches my eye and probably I might never be able to fathom as well as my grandfather does.

For him it is his life, a part of his soul,embodiment of his spirit.

It was in 1966 when my grandfather decided to finally settle down in Indore.With his work at the textile mills and his children to be educated,he lay down the foundation for his love for the city. My grandmother, a devout, godfearing woman left her home deep down in Kerala to settle down with her husband.Something that she still talks about with a sparkle in her eyes is the way visitors used to throng their household and how she practically spent the entire day cooking three course South Indian meals.The youngest of her children( my aunt) walked her first steps in Indore.My mother ran about in her frocks in the city's gardens; her brothers chasing wildly after her.The very city whose Bum kachori waala brought about yelps of delight from the four children.(My uncle is still very nostalgic about it).When my mother and her sister fought their cold sisterly wars while bicycling through the lanes of Palasia.( One such incident led to my mother falling in the gutter..something for which she still holds a grudge against her sister).And then it was time to go to college;where the typical 'goondas' followed the sisters around.Or where my grandmother sang away to glory; her canatic music so appreciated that she got her break in radio and got covered by media.A place where she was afraid that her immense talent would get stagnant,she strived not only to keep the music in her alive but pass the knowledge down to generations.Where my grandfather was one of the pioneers of the South Indian Association and chaired the association's school.The city which not only gave them fame and respect but also a lot of love.

They faced a lot of hardships. His job.Their health.Their children moving away one by one,getting married.But there was never a time in 20 years when the thought crossed their minds to wrap up their lives in Indore and move in with their children.

My mother got married first.She made me an Indorian...My aunt's first child, my cousin Divya was also born in Nobel hospital exactly after a year I was born.Our favourite holiday spot was to be in Indore, among the milling crowd, among the hundred's of my grandparents' friends.

I am finding it difficult to type anymore.This past year I have had some very difficult moments.My grandfather who has been battling with cancer for sometime now came for a major surgery to Delhi.

The fact that he is unwell gives me nightmares.But the other day he mumbled,tired and exhausted, to my mother, to give away their house in Indore.

My mother got almost tongue tied as she told me this, gathering courage from within her which on the other hand was yelling away in protest.

I held the reciever and my mother's voice drifted in,trying to explain to me how they were too weak to go back now.I felt a knot in my throat,my eyes cringed and blinked too much and as I faced reality, I cried, cried like I had never before. They are probably never going back and living their lives as they used to.

And now as I wipe away the stray tear that had fallen while I was typing, I feel remorse for my home for I might never find it to be the same place again.....

MALLUISM

2009-01-24T03:40:00.005+05:30

It's wait for it....

This post goes out to the one who coined this phenomenon..(Anu)

Too much addiction to something leads to hazardous consequences( I wonder what course of action I will take) anyway...she has lately been obsessed with the tv sitcom How I met your mother.( The more I see it,the more I adore Barney and find Lily and Marshall irritating a la Ross and Rachael as aforementioned by Nikhita in the post Whatup!?.As for Anu she has probably seen..(I have lost count) some of the episodes again and again and AGAIN...12th of second season,last of second season etc etc..The phenomenon probably sprung up from the sitcom,which is my guess.

And so my name was used as a verb a la ' poor Ted ' . Some of the conversations in which my name..ahem pet name featured in were-

1."Why are you looking so Mallued?" :

When someone enters into the dream state mode and gets cut off from the conversation.

2. " Don't be such a Mallu about it" :

When someone gets particular and particular and PARTICULAR and finicky.

3. "Mallu wali baat kar di na yaar!!!" :

OK this is getting embarrassing. I am feeling the heat now.

For someone who enters into idiosyncracy.

Enough of getting myself butchered on a public site.As I was saying Anu after having suffered the 'pains' of tolerating me in my full blown element(read: irritating her on purpose.I seem to derive inane pleasure out of it;pause for devilish grin;and secretly I know she finds my nautankis cute)

MALLUISM was born.

And it has become a way of life for my friends..live life a la Mallika style.(snigger!!)

PS:- Even though I know that things seem wrong when I am not addressed as Mallu but, but....rolling my eyes.

Not your rolling wheels....part III

2009-01-21T23:43:00.004+05:30

And the final installment..

It has been nearly 6 years( yes that long!!) since I rode the Kinetic and somehow I never seemed to miss it or have pangs of longing, looking at others( even though my sister has had the fun of her life riding her's.Read: crashing into backside of cows and donkeys!! true story)

On a more serious note, I realized I needed a bike, when I came to Pune for my studies.Every one had it( and I did not succumb to peer pressure) but when the rates for taking a rick skyrocketed( It's also quite tedious to travel by bus) I decided to plead to my father( read: fight, argue and try to get my way).

But as you have gone through the past two reads,it is not easy to get my way around dad.

And I end up walking most of the time( at least the nearby places)I trust in it more strongly than ever now.

So daddy felt bad that maybe I was getting deprived of certain opportunities.

This led to waking me up at 6 in the morning on the first day of my after the semester holiday,in the freezing Delhi winter( and when I enquired grumpily, he answered about wanting to take me out for a morning walk???!!!!) After much protest and a rebellious fight he got me out of the house for his walk(!!!???)

All wrapped up in woollens I reached the porch of my house to find a car waiting with a vacant driver's seat and my father sitting beside it smiling a toothy grin.

Of course I was excited,apprehensive.It was an amalgam of emotions.I took to steering the wheel and maybe it was the first time I felt like I was flying.

The days went by...After I got the hang of the clutch and the break, the real test awaited me. It was no more '6 in the morning' drives for me( thank god!!!). It was worse.Now I took out the vehicle at 6 in the evening( boohoo).

Believe me; it was worse than my bicycle lessons and kinetic lessons.I thought I was good at multi tasking but this??

The clutch.Gear change,clutch,break,accelerator,slow speed-gearchange.Clutch.Speed breaker,gear change,clutch.Crawling slowly in traffic jams.Rearview mirror,sideview mirrror!!People swerving past,changing lanes( which is irritating,even though they know you are a learner).

And dad not meting out; shouting out instructions( it's the most difficult when he teaches how to drive the car).

The finale' is yet to come...

It was two days before I left for Pune and dad caught me casting a longing look over to his car.I had never driven it and truthfully, was scared of it. Magnum Optra was huge and unpredictable to a rookie.

My father coaxed me to take it on.( read: getting butchered).

It ended with me crashing in on three cars at the same time.

( wait for it..though this was a spoiler..I must admit, with apologies to my not so modest nature, that I drove 6-7 kms beautifully(reversing,parking,u turns etal) and the one thing that my dad had not taught me...

YES ! and if you haven't guessed by now- THE SLOPE driving using the handbrake and once I neared the gates to my home, I could'nt get it over the ramp and there it goes.I end up giving scratches to three huge cars.My father averted further bankrupting damages by pulling the handbrakes on time.For the first time in my driving experience he grinned back. Maybe he was expecting it...I still cannot fathom what he thought.I got ripped off by my mother.My conscience torn to shreds.)

And here I am back in Pune now longing to take the car( magnum flies, literally!) on the highway.I had to learn the difficult way and this time round it will stay for sometime to come...

I am not your rolling wheels.....

I am the highway.

Mallika

Not your rolling wheels....part II

2009-01-18T00:31:00.002+05:30

As I approach that gate along the dusty sidewalks of Indore, it brings back distinct memories. I look around sheepishly and just try to vanish into 'oblivion'.

In history; with time ,the motor was introduced.The manual sweating out decreased and man started experiencing bliss in the form of comfortable travelling.
I had moved on from the tricycle, bicycle to the Kinetic Honda.Oh yes, my teenage years saw me wearing a big smile on my face as I rode away to glory. My training started in Indore, as usual under my father who religiously sat pillion and meted out instructions.

(This was the time when I went into those "ignoring you" modes. Believe me, one feels great when the cool wind blows across your face and hair . You are speeding away into the infinite and all you have to do is to press the accelerator.)

Funny, that it sounds so picture perfect.(Of course it would when all the road belongs to you and you are driving at 6 in the morning)
So when, again my father left the vehicle to me and over that( I don't know why he does this to me) he helped my overexcited 4 year old kid brother to the pillion; I knew my fate was sealed so was Gautam's.
History was yet again repeated.But this time round, my grandfather's Kinetic got scarred for life. It would have all gone well had the darn slope not been there. (These slopes have nearly ruined everything. And this time round the story does'nt have a 'happy' ending...it ends in absurdity).
My bike was slipping off and I could do nothing to control it.( I was going against the ramp..ok I want to give it a different name...) After 15 min of frustrated accelerating I finally managed to pull it out on the road after which my brother hopped on.
The brat was so exalted about me driving him around,that he kept on jumping in his seat all along the bumpy road.( No dad around, was already giving me the jitters..he was walking on foot, a good distance behind us)
And yes I gate crashed..literally; thanks to Gautam's fidgeting. He fell and fortunately did'nt get hurt. I fell with the bike and pushed the accelerator . The tilted vehicle pulled me along with renewed vigour and ended its fateful journey by leaving a dent on the wrought iron gates.
All the scandalized people pulled up my howling brother( he did'nt even get as much as a scrape) and all had their glaring eyes upon me( they did'nt even pick me up from under the weight of the vehicle!)
By then my father arrived shouting his head off at me for not pressing the breaks and for putting my brother's life at risk.

( Ok; so where did justice die?! That's what happens when 'daddy' is not there to supervise, when that is his prime job and unnecessary brotherly additions as pillion riders)

I still am not comfortable riding a bike... I have forgotten probably and haven't tried renewing those skills since then. As for now I really enjoy pillion riding.
And the Kinetic? Its back there in Indore wrapped up in a dusty sheet. All this has not only put an end to my glorious bike riding future( I went back to my bicycle) but also tainted my grandfather's reputation.( The gate belonged to the school where my grandfather was the chairman.The talk is still doing the circles)

More to come...
Mallika

Rab Ne Paise Waste Karaaye :P

2009-01-17T21:59:00.005+05:30

Ok..before I write anything I would like to confess that I'm not a huge SRK fan...wait let me rephrase that...I loathe (read I barf whenever I see him) SRK...So, with all due respect to all the fans out there...this article might seem a little biased ( really, you might want to stay away from it altogether). So anyway, I went to see this movie because well I had no more classes that day and had nothing better to do ( I repent that thought till this day). Now, with my past experience of SRK movies, I was obviously not expecting much from the movie - really, I had gone fully prepared ( read I had left my brains at home). But, apparently even that wasn't enough to survive this one. So, while SRK "ji" dished out his oh-so-adorable ( retarded anyone???) lines for miss High Flying Tani "ji" ( sure, she looks good- but I mean that's why she is in the movie right? - we don't really expect actresses to really "act" now do we?), I sat cringing in my seat, wondering who to curse more - myself or the people sobbing away to glory all around me. Well, to tell you the truth, I too was crying - at the lack of story, the pathetic dialogues or the lack of them ( really, after every 2.5 dialogues, the actors burst into tears...Boy, YRF sure stocks a lot of glycerine)...But wait, not all was downhill with the movie - the saving grace was Vinay "maccccccccchhhhho" Pathak who delights with his comic relief act. He's really become comfortable with comic roles. OK that's enough...now back to where we were...yeah movie-bashing...so I would really like an explanation as to how a wife doesnt recognise her husband after a really not-so-dramatic makeover...rab to aisi jodi na hi banaye jisme wife husband ko pehchaan hi na paaye...and the very predictable ( monotonous) end literally brought me to the end of my tether "ji"...So, my new year resolution is very obvious just like a SRK-Aditya Chopra movie end - NO MORE SUCH MOVIES FOR ME.
Adios
nikhita

Not your rolling wheels...part I

2009-01-17T16:48:00.004+05:30

Lines from " I am the highway".

This is one of my favourite numbers by Audioslave, however it has nothing much to do with this post except for having stirred my imagination to write something remotely related to it. So as I listened to this number pensively, I realized how much I admire the sweet lord for giving us humans; legs.... Yes, because I have learnt to rely only on those, having been through some unfortunate incidents early in my life.

( Though I must say that later when I pondered over them, I was guffawing all over the place)

So it happens that the child learns about the faster means of travelling and I was introduced to my very first tricycle.

I managed pretty well. Ofcourse everything was right about it.( supports et-al) My legs too would touch the ground incase... Nothing much happened around it with the exception of some scrapes and bruises which again was because of my rash driving( It's true, It's true. Children pick up all this wrong stuff at a very tender stage).

Next came the bicycle and I did'nt like it much. I was shedding silent protest tears when my father removed the supports from them.

( And probably I will branch off just a wee bit to tell you that when it comes to" modes of transport" practice sessions with my dad..It is terror unleashed. He however maintains that this grim look makes the children learn.I wonder whether he still thinks that when I execute the crashing sessions)

So the practice arena for the bicycle was ; oh my god; nothing short of the skateboarding ramp.I still remember vividly the road outside our house in south Delhi, so hilly! you could actually fall off the edges. And everything goes fine till my father has an eagle's eye over me. Once he leaves it to me(groan!!)...( this is the last day usually, for all practice sessions).The worst wound of my life( it scarred my knee) was when the bicycle whooshed down the slopes to nearly kill me. My hands and legs flailing in mid-air, it managed to dump me off in a thicket before continuing on its free spirited ride.

As I wiped off the tears pouring down my muddy face, I resolved to conquer that wild spirit.

And so it was done.My final practice session crash made me a pro( humble apologies for my modesty) at cycling.

The story however continues....

Till then

Mallika

What Up?!

2009-01-17T14:06:00.004+05:30

If the title of this post did not ring a bell in your mind, I suggest you read no further - just for the simple reason that you won't comprehend the emotions stuck with this phrase...and for those who do recognise this phrase...well, all i can say is that you're LEGEN-"wait for it"-DARY...yup, I am talking about that fabulous sitcom of all time - How I Met Your Mother...And for all those Friends lovers , I just have two words for you - Barney Stinson...there is no character on any sitcom which comes even close to this fella...He really is a class act - his nonchalant attitude, his "on-the-go" wisecracks and of course his never-ending obsession with...wait for it...HIMSELF makes him truly endearing. And moving on to his friends, Marshall and Lily ( and let me say this for the last time - Marshall is way more intelligent than dim-witted Ross) - they make a sweet couple without all the overt emotional brouhaha; Robin (a favourite with the boys I'm sure) - she portrays the character of the professionally inclined woman with that "missing ingredient" in her personal life with ease...and finally we come to Ted Moseby - yes the oh-so-cute guy-next-door ( do i hear the girls go "awwwwww"?). Together, the six of them create a LEGEN-"yes, i know this is the third time i've used it in the blog" - DARY show which never fails to crack me up - and for all those of you who are still stuck in the Friends mode- rise and shine folks, this really is the 21st century...no seriously I'm not kidding- its time to stop watching the repeats...I mean really, i hate to burst your bubble but mugging Joey's lines isn't going to get you a girl ( im sorry if that hurt :P)...and Phoebe's inane acts and dialogues aren't cute - I'm pretty sure they indicate a negative IQ...so all i can say is- get a grip on reality and go watch the "Barnicle(TM) treat" - you will really be doing yourself a huge favour. As for us long-time fans, all we can say is WHAT UP!!!!!

PS: Well, since I need a new identity to sign off ( so that I don't get ripped off by the other "contributor" to this blog...talk about creative plagiarism)...I guess I'll keep it as....nikhita (surprise!!! OK i know that was a bad one...)
Adios Amigos

The Legend that is LOTR

2009-01-12T18:30:00.004+05:30

LOTR - The mere mention of those 4 syllables bring a wave of excitement, wonder, amazement and other indescribable feelings upon me. The Lord of The Rings is without doubt my favourite movie till date. I know that it is very difficult for people to mark a particular movie as their favourite but for me LOTR is the exception. I simply can't find anything wrong with the movie. For starters , it has an amazing story - thanks to the incredible power of imagination of Mr. Tolkien. But, for me, the real magic of the movie lies in the way that the movie has been brought on screen - its like a portrait on celluloid. Peter Jackson is one hell of a director and has done a commendable job with LOTR.The movie has been flawlessly executed. The cinematography is breathtaking and its like all the characters of the movie come alive on screen. Even the most unimportant of characters has been dealt with perfectly , and Mr. Jackson's attention to detail is simply astounding. Also, despite all the special effects the movie boasts of, the larger-than-life landscapes, the seemingly unreal premise of the story in today's context - the movie manages to harbour a lot of simplicity, thus making it all the more beautiful. Its a simple tale of friendship, love and honour and the fact that all the special effects and other "distractions" do not take that away from the movie is an evidence of the film-making prowess of the director and his entire crew. Also , the actors in the movie are outstanding. Everybody has done a phenomenal job but my personal favourites are Sam, Aragorn and Gandalf. Sam's friendship ( which is bordering on devotion) with Frodo is highly touching and the last 30 minutes of the Return of the King always manage to move me to tears. Aragorn is honour and chivalry personified - a resplendent figure on the battlefield with wild, flowing locks of hair, armed with nothing more than a sword and hope in his heart ( and of course , he looks HOT) - he evokes emotions in me which are of too complex a nature as to be specified in words. And then , Gandalf the Grey - the beacon of all things good - never once does his age manage to overpower his zest for saving the world. LOTR truly is a phenomenon and will never cease to be - it really is the epic of our lifetime.

I Had A Dream...

2009-01-12T13:33:00.004+05:30

"Sapnon se bhare naina, to neend hai na chaina" - These are the first few words of a song from the movie "Luck By Chance"... The song is indeed beautiful, with a very strong Indian classical influence and has been rendered exceptionally well by the extremely talented Shankar Mahadevan...Anyway, I'm not going to talk about the acoustic aesthetics of the song here. The afore-mentioned phrase just sort of stuck itself somewhere inside the depths of my subconscious brain and continues to force me to evaluate the status of the dreams that I once had... And on that particular list, I seem to have accomplished nothing and the funny thing is that its not because I haven't been able to fulfill my dreams but because I've somehow managed to forget what they actually were...I know it sounds cliched when I say that we had loads of ambitions and dreams when we were kids - some unrealistic, some highly impossible - yet we were dreaming...we were evolving. But now, my life is stuck between the Networking lecture I have to attend today and the Compiler lab assignment I have to submit tomorrow and and Physics test next week...So where is the time to dream? Or have i stopped dreaming to stop myself from being disappointed when those dreams fade away like words on the sand? We are supposed to be engineering which in literal terms means to innovate...to imagine...to dream. So, is this rut of assignments that I'm stuck in really engineering? Because if it is, I'm sorry to say it really is a fruitless pursuit. I know for one that my intellectual prowess has, if not diminished, stagnated. I once read somewhere that "Dreams are not those that you see when you sleep...Dreams are those that do not let you sleep"...poignant words those. So, maybe my brain has gone into "slumber" mode without my realising it.

Prayer...

2009-01-09T02:13:00.005+05:30

I pray, pray with so much of faith, for my grandfather; to get well soon.One of my greatest idols,my life without him will be bleak.And I am scared to admit that I am scared.I hope that my hope sees its end.I pray for his will to make him pull through.May courage never leave us and our prayers be heard.

I love you so very much, K.Ramachandran, my dearest 'Thatha'.

Words

2009-01-06T15:53:00.003+05:30

Maybe I have been reading too much of fiction or the cancerian(read: dreamer to the limit) in me has become effusive; for a few days back I was thrilled to find a small yellowing piece of paper with five lines in the most lucid and ornate cursive.

With a liking for antiques and sometimes,as a child having dreamt of finding something long and forgotten in some dusty volume; the very thing happened when I stood on tiptoe to take out a '64 edition oxford dictionary from the bookshelf.They were written nearly thirty five years ago by my uncle.

These are those lines:

Watches tick the minute away;

Clocks strike the hour;

With the sands of time running out fast;

One day,we hope to sit back and think;

"Of a life well spent,in sweet content."

Words touched me.Words failed me.

And the mundanities continue....

2009-01-06T13:16:00.003+05:30

So the' first ladies' got hooked and booked by their respective first men.And probably following that they are being cooked or cooking their respective spouses...(bang: back to square one where kitchen centric terms relate to the assumed boring life of a married woman; yuck!) .Ok maybe I am still not in that phase( and may never be) to appreciate the way so many, like my mother think.

These celebrity wives on the new talk show by designers Abu and Sandeep are starry- eyed and gush over being the perfect subservient wives to their ultra successful husbands and accompany them in glittering society do's. That's not the end of it- I was scandalized when my mother expressed a desire to catch Oprah and her never ending' agony aunt' tales a few years back but maybe my mutinous and 'rolling of the eyes' look stopped her short( Thank god for that!).

The usual flicking of channels made me come across Gtalk on Mtv and five minutes into the show blew my brains out ( great,giggly,girly..oh please spare me the agony!!).

And as I found out last night that my soon going to be married cousin has changed his status to 'committed'; I wondered about this hooking business..the rhetorical popping of the question? majority of women in the shadows here too.Turn the tables (women emancipation?) what say?

As for me I am determined to hook and book for myself

and the women saga shows continue....

The Last Second

2009-01-06T01:02:00.009+05:30

I am staring at the page....I am still staring at the page( I have been absent from the writing scene for quite sometime now;read: lazing around or no umm maybe my fingers just became numb from the extensive cold wave that has hit the city).

And so another year creeps in.The night of revelry, this time, made no difference to my cold and cough and pms ahem, ahem(no, I will not lose my optimism) and in between the advertisements( oh yes! I was tucked away cozily into my blanket watching Jack Sparrow sorry Captain Jack Sparrow live up to his eccentricity. He has been by far my favourite actor ) I retrospected on the tumultous year that just went by before the clock hands joined and rockets shot up to the sky.( I just realized without much concern for the fact that I rhymed back there)

The acerbic tone comes from the fact that I was stuck and maybe exhausted of being the mascot for singlehood(peer pressure does get to you sometimes) and I was getting stagnant creatively( which happens at most twice a year). The trauma of my debacles throughout the year and also it's really really cold ( and the lazy being that I am..) made me sink into the depths of my blanket.

And when the last second had struck my brother leaned over and hugged me .I tweaked up my nose and felt a cringing pain at the corner of my eyes and before I could howl away to glory, some small little part of me deep down inside bid goodbye to another year, another month, another week, another day, another minute, another second which had brought an immense difference to my life.

And maybe more terrorism will be seen in the coming year,maybe the Israelis will go on more of their bombing spree and maybe the recession will not land me a job...but as I sit expecting the unexpected ( before howling over my brother's shoulder as I hug him); I expect(along with those unexpected expectations) a little more change with every second, by every life, to bring about a little more sanity into our world.

And now my fingers have become numb...returning to the warm gloves.

however I will write the P.S. before that

P.S.-' thought' for my new year( I am not a serious one for resolutions) -staying single for as long as possible;.... atleast not this year.

Happy 2009 ( ahaa.. ..adds up to 11 and then to 2....makes no difference to me whatsoever).

(wink) .

What's in a name anyway?

2008-12-17T00:04:00.010+05:30

It is not my favourite novel but somehow on those " 10 minute flicking the pages of a book mood" days,its the only one that I reach out for. I find the movie based on the novel interesting too.Good direction,good performers and good story though for the fact that the novel wasn't a huge success.I feel that The Namesake tells the story of every Indian and I reconnect with the book as soon as this topic of discussion comes over at dinner table.

The Sridhar family dinner involves everyone's involvement( It bewilders me how we manage to get a morsel of food inside us when all that we do is talk).So as my dad calls Mallu and Juja(snigger!!) for dinner I reason with him the way Gogol did with his dad....

Ok fine; Mallu!; I can bear with it but Juja ?How does Gautam not get embarrassed about it?

And my dad with a twinkle in his eyes lists off the numerous names that he likes to call me as- Mal,Mallak,Mallik, etc etc, and adding that I was really lucky to have so many fond names when my poor brother has only one.

To add insult to injury my mother laughs and tells me how I was going to be named Aashima( you see how much involvement the book has in my life).My uncle stopped her from doing so( she was heavily influenced by buddhism at that point of time) for he felt it rhymed with arshi mav and dosai mav (rice batter and dosa batter in tamil) and would become a topic of joke later on in life.

He saved me a great deal ,but my ordeal continues.

I'm pelting out great numbers,the band supporting me totally rocks,the crowd is mesmerised with the music and once the curtains fall and I begin to exit the stage,I hear those familiar sounds which make me feel like crawling to the depths of the earth.The ' Mallu' rantings and cheering which form a part of my wildest dreams come true here.The same happens as soon as my theatre act gets over.
During submissions when friends 'accidentally' address me as 'Mallu' in front of the professors who look around in a bemused fashion for the person with the funny name and the concerned has vanished out of sight.
No wait! the name is not restricted to friends,classmates.batch mates,professors,wardens or practically the entire college. My friends' boyfriends call me as such and as for their parents, they don't even know what my real name is!
The cute guy checking out scenario is full on and just when you feel that, well ; maybe you are getting the attention, it is busted up, as your pal shouts out 'Mallu' at the top of her lungs for the entire place to hear.The only thing that strikes you at that moment is to stare at your knees and avoid the bewildered,funny and scandalized glance of that cute guy.End of seduction one-o-one as Gogol rightly puts it.

and I am not the only one who faces this. All those who have the 'u' suffixes attached to their names- the Divu's,Nitu's,Deepu's,Neeru's,Adu's,Siddhu's etc etc. or all those who have purely laughable pet names like Ladoo( the poor guy had a smug expression whenever he was addressed as such) or Pappu( my dear cousin who always got irritated when his mother called him so. His brother got back at me by calling me Malli- Palli(lizard in tamil)) or well, Golden( yes it's hilarious for a guy.I would have cried my eyes out had it been me).A man of my grandfather's age introduced me to his middle aged son,as Duku(though his name is Ganesh).Since then I call him Duku uncle.
...and so the saga continues for many.I don't know whether they like it.I put up with it.The only fond name that I am so fond of is the one given by the person who gave me my name - my grandfather.I love it because he always calls me' Mallika' and I love it when he calls me his Chum Chum .

Of Snores and Chuckles

2008-11-22T08:38:00.002+05:30

I chuckle as I write this and I chuckled last night as a grumpy looking Gautam( my brother) got up and squeezed into bed with my mom amd dad(???????).Upon interrogation by my very sleepy mom he mumbled...mama(mother's brother) is snoring too loudly.As for me, I was sitting and poring over my books or rather 'trying' to, while the different sounds of the night world droned into my head.Especially, as I was sitting in a very centrally located room of my home and the sounds from the three bedrooms were so proportionately directed towards me.( have got my head so full of engineering stuff,the stress is probably reflecting here too ;) anyway at first I was amused and shrugged it off but then later it was hard to ignore.Worse,all the snores of the four men in my home had a certain rhyming fashion,as if they were conversing through their snores or moreover a song sequence was going on with varied frequencies and tones.And all of them went breathing one after the other such that it was hard for me to even catch in a word out of my books between the intervals(if there had been any!!)
As I usually sleep like a log( yes! even the earthquake does'nt wake me up) it hardly makes a difference when I'm in a deep slumber but times are really difficult when I am awake and Gautam is asleep.Most of the time I'm just leaning over to his side of the bed and plugging his nose or writing on his face( haha I know I torture him a lot).This really does get him as then he mumbles off abuses and gives the " see what I do to you when you sleep" look.And somehow my mother seems to brush off the whole affair when I tell her about it.Says that he has a history of bronchitis which is the reason why he snores...Any excuse!!
So when today we were just discussing about the sleeping arrangements and Gautam refused point blank to sleep in the same room as my uncle,so did I,then my mother subtly put it across to my uncle about his snores.He gave the lamest excuse ever- of him having deviated septum of the nose which made him take the air through only one side.This just made me burst out laughing.
And so starts the the age old denial by men when they are confronted with their snoring issues.
My dad denies it point blank with a sheepish grin on his face( I wonder how I am going to put up with it as tonight I'll be sleeping in the same room as my dad and brother).
And when I cuddle up to my grandfather and listen to stories, he tells me how some people snore mildly( he is a mild one) and some so loudly that it sounds as if someone is whistling .He then remnisces and chuckles to himself.

Rekindled

2008-11-12T00:46:00.010+05:30

I am an ardent fan of The Beatles...That was the first band ever that I had heard as a kid ( all day long till the cassetes almost got worn out and I panicked and reduced the frequency) but over the years i have listened to such a wide range of music that The Beatles just got lost in the crowd of my music collection,a mere ghostly rememberance,something I felt bored to play.
This post is dedicated to my rekindled passion for the band which happened a few months back.I just don't know how this transition came about but I have really felt good after reconnecting with the music and the band that I adore so much (and well I will put it that my first baby crush was on the bassist,George Harrison and I still find him uff...Hot ..sadly he is no more.This is for you Nikhita....Okay laugh on at my dead guy crush and fine!!!! at the coffin joke too and so here it comes especially for you )....

A pic of George Harrison at his very best when he connected with India

some of my favourite numbers are, While my guitar gently weeps, Hey Jude,Yesterday,Let It Be...and its so difficult to choose i seem to like even their worst senseless lyrics numbers(Get back is an example)...

Imagine

Imagine there's no heaven

It's easy if you try

No hell below us

Above us only sky

Imagine all the peopleLiving for today...

Imagine there's no countries

It isn't hard to do

Nothing to kill or die for

And no religion too

Imagine all the peopleLiving life in peace...

You may say I'm a dreamer

But I'm not the only one

I hope someday you'll join us

And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions

I wonder if you can

No need for greed or hunger

A brotherhood of man

Imagine all the peopleSharing all the world...

You may say I'm a dreamer

But I'm not the only one

I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one

One of the best works of John Lennon...there is one pic of theirs too which was taken for the 'sgt peppers lonely hearts club band' album.

For all the passionate listeners of The Beatles.......(Div for you too ;)

FRIDAY........

2008-11-12T00:37:00.001+05:30

I always look forward to ‘the’ day when I can breathe a sigh of relief from work and just flop down on the couch with a novel or close my eyes to some soothing melodies while a sackful of books and assignments lie in some corner of the room to be tackled on Sunday night. The sense of exaltation that engulfs me as the day arrives, which makes me think that I have to stop thinking. As my faithful friends put it for all of us“bas pad jaana”, that’s what happens to us on this day. This is the beauty of Friday (after work).

Friday(at work) is like the final blow of death that any student can get(a student of third year, entc dept at my college).The design of the time table is such that the slow torture continues for the entire week with Wednesday, tsk tsk Wednesday of all the days when college starts at 10 and gets over at 3.The day when there are no pracs, lectures which should be bunked and a potential day to scurry off for a ‘matinee picture’ as our not so ‘sarcastic’ professors politely put it. Couldn’t the day be a Friday? Well no, because the sadistic brain behind the planning of the timetable just cannot bear the poor tormented souls who just want some moments of happiness in their lives…(this para is especially dedicated to Nikki Koul, champion criticizer, who will slowly form an acknowledging smile after reading this..Something that she would have definitely said and proud of the fact that this remark is coming from me)

Anyway coming back to Friday, its two heavy duty practicals in a row starting at 8 so that means submission of two journals that day and two lectures after which coming back to a dim curtained room and an inviting bed with fluffy pillows is definitely an enticing sight.That is why most of the Fridays, as soon as I come back from college and rest my head on the pillow I go into a sweet stupor so deep that my friends have to shake me awake to accompany them for dinner. And I eat on,with my hair all ruffled and sleep dripping from my eyelids and still dreaming of going back to my comfy bed and definitely not thinking of the assignments which I would not start until Sunday night. This is how my Friday goes, when I’m recuperating from a very hectic schedule.
And Friday night after dinner is so much fun. The hostel is alive and buzzing with activities .The night when students have ample of time to get hooked on to the phone with their special someone.
As for me this is one night when I can create a ruckus in the hostel. The night when me , Nikita, Shipra and Anu just scream out songs out of the window loud enough for the entire complex to hear, when we have our fist and ‘hair pulling’ fights, or shout away while playing uno. This always makes the warden arrive in her scary white nightgown, hair open and cold eyes that give us the ‘I will rusticate you tomorrow’ look..but some things never change and the story continues every Friday night...sometimes we enjoy a quiet movie or else just cook maggi in the middle of the night and talk for hours galore as if time had stopped...
Wish time did stop…for I find myself waking up on Saturday with wonderful memories of the Friday that went by…

Written over!

2008-11-11T19:52:00.002+05:30

This was something that i had jotted down on a piece of paper in class,frustrated and bored with the droning lectures.So basically it had been formulated a long time back and i will just 'type' it down again for my post(thankfully its just typing and you will soon know why i am saying so)

"I pick up my pen and open up my notebook.I stop and stare stupidly between the lines.I find myself stifling with the heat in the room and the voice of the professor is just boring into my head like a drill. I look down at my hand which is furiously clicking away at my pen but I am still not able to write.I knew what i had to jot down but then the complexity of the problem was how? when i am not sure of the basic thing that is required by me to write-my handwriting"(yes its true, it takes me minutes to configure later on whatever i scribble and well its a' painful' task)

So this brief interlude of my thoughts in class has a long story behind it.It started when I was four and got my first writing lessons.My mother, a staunch supporter of the cursive writing had to slap her way through to make me cross my t's and loop my l's.My dismal four lined notebook,frequently rubbed and nearly torn used to fetch me a meagre B at the end of the day.My mother with grim satisfaction carried out her daily ritual of making me write one page of writing till the time I came to third grade.
I admired my new best friend's writing a lot.It slanted towards the left.I started learning how to write again.She taught me,Both of us sitting at the last bench and scribbling away to glory, and myself carrying out the complete act of defiance to my mother's painstaking efforts.What followed after this with my mother,I don't remember(or maybe don't want to if rightly put).It was traumatic. I had guessed it from my mother's narrowed down eyes and pursed lips when I had questioned her about it in my later years.I managed to write left for two years when a little trick was played on me.She hurt my little ego by praising my uncle's artistic writing and my cousin's prim and neat one.It was then that I could take it no more and was introduced to my first ink pen.I started slanting my handwriting to the right now.It was painful, emotionally and physically.The end product? ahem...was neither prim nor artistic.It deserved only a grimace.Nevertheless I didn't stop writing and kept on at it till it became better and I started getting little praises for it.I was elated when I was told to write certificates for the school function.I started imagining all those students staring fondly at their names on the certificates, written in my handwriting.
So school got over,mother was happy and I too.College saw me jotting down lectures and writing in exams at top speed till all the beautiful cursive beacame completely blurred and none of my friends and professors understood what I wrote.Worse!one of them said my letters danced like in Eshaan Awasthi's of Taare Zameen Par fame.My marks in exams drooped to a miserable low and finally after blaming my brains,my ill luck,my destiny,I thought of more realistic things.It was again a blow to my ego and a sad submission for my mum to whom I explained that the inevitable had to be done again.So my handwriting has changed again.I break my letters now( to which my dad offhandedly remarked without realizing that I was already so distraught and irritated.." Why dont you try writing straight now????") and hope that the examiners are able to understand it.My mother fondly looks at my old writings and says that she hopes to see me writing like that again.

What I pray and hope is that besides my signature,I have to do all the written stuff on the computer.Thank God!!!!!! sorry Bill Gates for Microsoft Word.

The Beginning

2008-10-27T00:41:00.000+05:30

Okay,so I have finally managed to start a blog...but yes before that I would like to express my humble apologies for shaking the very foundations of the English language, in which I am going to express my thoughts (or pondering as I may put it) by naming myself as the 'retrospector'. A name that I came up with to sign off..a salute to my meditative spirit!..laughing out loud( hope it is not sounding too obnoxious) or put more aptly by my friends as being the perfect' lost world' character they may have had the chance to encounter.
Anyway, I think I am returning to the writing scene after one and a half years. People had actually given up on coaxing me to write.Me,the lazy person that I am had a list of excuses lined up,my favourite being-the inspiration just doesn't seem to come.So initially I was quite apprehensive before embarking on this blogging experience as I feared that the blog would eventually die a slow death and I have been ignoring every one's suggestion for more than a year now.All the more, I was not very fond of the world wide web.For purposes of study ( and to download music and check out the lyrics of songs) it does have its uses there,rest I had others creating mail id's for me particularly the one that I am using to manage this blog( my college placement cell was embarrassed by it..yes its true,ha ha... I am well past 18 and cool???????)
So here ,as always , I liked to feel blissfully unaware of the Internet advancements(read: no access to the net for a very long time) was prejudiced about the blog concept(waste of time blah blah),but my urgent need to start writing again made me resort to it.
Hmm.. I am at the beginning of my blogging journey and well this is for you, my grandparents,my family and friends and readers..hope I don't disappoint you(sorry I wont be able to write poems..can't rhyme my words at all..will try though).
signing off for now.
retrospector(wink)