Rain

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?

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

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....

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

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..

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)

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