We are a resilient lot, us Indians. Things happen, we're shaken. And we get over it. This too, we philosophically tell ourselves, will pass.
People have died before defending the country. Why should it be any different just because its not at the frontiers? But do wars have to be only at the border? We have lost people who have voluntarily gone and faced death, so we might be safe another day. Safe? What is that??
So, people die. Someone out there has lost a relative, a friend, a parent, a sibling, a spouse. Today we don't know any of them personally. So why worry? Tomorrow if the tragedy touches us, and 'news' becomes a personal fact, we'll give it a thought. Till then we will be resilient. This too, after all, will pass.
But, you know what? People are getting tired. Wary. Today when I walk on the streets, I look back over my shoulder. I look at random people on the road and wonder if they have a concealed weapon. When I meet new people, I zero in on their ethnicity and cultural background (not that that tells us anything...prejudice still breeds) rather than their identity as people. When I dine out, I am constantly on tenterhooks. I refuse to take a seat near a door or a window, because I will be first in the line of fire, in case. I am afraid to travel by public transport, I am afraid to travel by a private vehicle. I am afraid to even be a passer-by. I am scared to walk past high profile buildings, I am scared to walk through familiar chawls. I am even afraid to go near the window of my own home, that's how a couple at Nariman House was killed in their own home. Everytime, a family member leaves home, I am on tenterhooks once more till they get back. I am scared to live. And I am not me, I am every Mumbaikar, every Indian citizen. But, I have to stay calm. I have to be resilient. Because I am alive today. Tomorrow, I may not be. And then, in my wake, others will have to be calm and resilient. And the story goes on...
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Disclaimer: My thoughts being as scattered as they are right now (and me feeling absolutely no urgency in collecting them), this post might be a little disconnected.
After another long sabbatical from blogging, a re-debut of sorts. This has become routine stuff now, so I won't bother with the regular explanations. Hectic month, festive season and all that jazz.
Was in Bombay for about 10 days. I don't know what it is with me and you-know-who, every time I come back, I land right in the middle of this maharashtrian-outsider fray. It's uncanny down to the point of...well...bizzare. And a little annoying. Okay, a lot annoying.
I have rediscovered tea. As in I have rediscovered tea as my comfort drink. A dusting of elaichi, smattering of ginger, a pinch of chai masala. It rocks my life. Really. It's the daal-chawal of beverages, seriously. It's another layer of homecoming.
I have also recently realized that you can have comfort zones in everything. Comfort-people, comfort-food, comfort-drink, comfort-music, comfort-clothes, comfort-reading, comfort-place, comfort-activity...
It's been cool here in Bangalore, in contrast to Bombay (I have gone back to calling it Bombay now- call it my comfort-name or my little way of protesting). Just the kind of weather where you can go for long walks and not feel spent at the end of it. It becomes dark sooner in the evenings these days, but the nights, they're not totally black-dark. The night sky is a beautiful blue-pink, starless on most nights.
Work is a little more loaded than usual, though still not as loaded as I would like it to be. Testing has well and truly taken a back-seat in my life, sometimes I wonder if our main job-descriptions should read 'travelling'. Okay, honestly, I travel much much lesser than most people in this city do, infact I work about 5 minutes from home, but now that I am on locum for Jyoti, perhaps that will change for the worse.
I think I have for the moment exhausted my ramblings. Or maybe not. Like the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle that you invariably find under the cupboard or pillow after you have packed it up, I'll probably hit upon more things to write about after I log out. Probably. There's not one of Murphy's laws that don't work on me.
After another long sabbatical from blogging, a re-debut of sorts. This has become routine stuff now, so I won't bother with the regular explanations. Hectic month, festive season and all that jazz.
Was in Bombay for about 10 days. I don't know what it is with me and you-know-who, every time I come back, I land right in the middle of this maharashtrian-outsider fray. It's uncanny down to the point of...well...bizzare. And a little annoying. Okay, a lot annoying.
I have rediscovered tea. As in I have rediscovered tea as my comfort drink. A dusting of elaichi, smattering of ginger, a pinch of chai masala. It rocks my life. Really. It's the daal-chawal of beverages, seriously. It's another layer of homecoming.
I have also recently realized that you can have comfort zones in everything. Comfort-people, comfort-food, comfort-drink, comfort-music, comfort-clothes, comfort-reading, comfort-place, comfort-activity...
It's been cool here in Bangalore, in contrast to Bombay (I have gone back to calling it Bombay now- call it my comfort-name or my little way of protesting). Just the kind of weather where you can go for long walks and not feel spent at the end of it. It becomes dark sooner in the evenings these days, but the nights, they're not totally black-dark. The night sky is a beautiful blue-pink, starless on most nights.
Work is a little more loaded than usual, though still not as loaded as I would like it to be. Testing has well and truly taken a back-seat in my life, sometimes I wonder if our main job-descriptions should read 'travelling'. Okay, honestly, I travel much much lesser than most people in this city do, infact I work about 5 minutes from home, but now that I am on locum for Jyoti, perhaps that will change for the worse.
I think I have for the moment exhausted my ramblings. Or maybe not. Like the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle that you invariably find under the cupboard or pillow after you have packed it up, I'll probably hit upon more things to write about after I log out. Probably. There's not one of Murphy's laws that don't work on me.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
-> The bouncer-like man with big moustaches standing outside Big Bazaar has now taken to asking me (and 'supposably' other female customers) to leave their handbags and purses with the security. I asked him last week if he wanted me to pay for my purchases with my kidney. He did not answer.
-> Hearing a lot more from my TY batchmates these days, Yay!
-> Have (re)read (almost) all Poirot books now...Thankyou Blossoms. Thankyou Christie. Thankyou Paper.
-> Noone's blogging. And, everyone's asking me to.
-> Anasua called. From the land of Oz. Down Under. Spoke with her after almost two years. So cool.
-> J is now back. Yay again. Welcome back, J...waiting to hear from you.
-> This is a makeshift blog. Till I have something more concrete to blog about. I hate that last month went without a post.
-> How do you pronounce supposably? (anyone who religiously follows 'Friends' can appreciate the gravity of this issue)
-> Still can't title blogs in English. And don't want to in Hindi. So there.
-> This update is inspired by K's comment. Certain people *sinister glare* are earning my wrath by making very politically incorrect statements. I dislike oranges. No more about that though.
-> Hearing a lot more from my TY batchmates these days, Yay!
-> Have (re)read (almost) all Poirot books now...Thankyou Blossoms. Thankyou Christie. Thankyou Paper.
-> Noone's blogging. And, everyone's asking me to.
-> Anasua called. From the land of Oz. Down Under. Spoke with her after almost two years. So cool.
-> J is now back. Yay again. Welcome back, J...waiting to hear from you.
-> This is a makeshift blog. Till I have something more concrete to blog about. I hate that last month went without a post.
-> How do you pronounce supposably? (anyone who religiously follows 'Friends' can appreciate the gravity of this issue)
-> Still can't title blogs in English. And don't want to in Hindi. So there.
-> This update is inspired by K's comment. Certain people *sinister glare* are earning my wrath by making very politically incorrect statements. I dislike oranges. No more about that though.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
यह क्या हो रहा है???
Okay, so this site still doesn't let me type in english. Atleast in the title space. I don't know how to set that right and it's bothering me. Like hell. Anyone with useful tips, your assistance will be suitably rewarded. No help, no reward. Get that?
Okay the up side of this is that a blog in July is happening after all. July has not gone by without a blog. I mean I know it has...but I apparently have the power to turn time back. I really, really do, check out the date of this one if you don't believe me.
So, a blog hasn't come to me (It really is like that...many bloggers would agree, that you don't sit to blog, a blog walks into your mind semi-constructed) in a long long time. Nothing new about that. I haven't had much to say even though the month has been a very eventful one. But now I realised that I do have things to say. And say them I will. So here goes:
To all the Bangalore auto-walas:
Do not, please, do not gang up outside malls and hospitals, eye people coming out with a vengence and accost them with "Elli hogbekka madam?!" I swear I will prefer to walk the additional half mile and take the non threatening bald little insignificant autowala's rick than climb into your monstorous machine. So if you want to come off too needy, be prepared to lose some serious business.
To pedestrians in India:
You smoke, you drink, you pee, you spit,
If you do it in the middle of the road, be prepared to be hit.
To all the two-wheeler, four-wheeler, eight-wheeler, sixteen-wheeler drivers in the city:
There are other creatures on the road. Really. If you opened your eyes a bit, you might even see them.
To the traffic policemen in Bangalore:
Show up. Please, we need you.
To Aamir Khan:
Make more movies.
To the saas bahu serial makers:
You might want to reconsider resource-utilization. After all the special effects, sound effects, and classic expressions of emotions ranging from wildly ecstatic to a catatonic stupor in 40 different people in the house, the only message you manage to convey is the lid of the pickle jar is missing. I'd call that shifty.
To the audience of the saas-bahu serials:
So Tulsi is changed again. Meera tried to kill Bani but she came back. And something has been happening between Anuraag Basu and Prerna for a really, really long time now. But outside of the idiot-box, time ticks on. And life goes on. Yes, it does. I promise you.
To the Indian Cricket Team:
Many modelling contracts, sponsorships, acting offers, and heatedly debated and speculated flings later, I understand winning is not an option. But is playing an option?
To the Aaj-tak and Star News people:
I understand why "Amitabh Bachchan ko thand lagi" would be breaking news for you. It means that the temperature is dropping to an extent that even Bollywood stars are feeling the pinch of it now. It means space ants are about to invade the earth in three months. Yes, no, I understand totally.
Yet again, to the media, specially the above mentioned channels:
Some news is not meant to be sensationalized. What your channel may be selling today might not be news but something else. You might want to think about it.
Okay the up side of this is that a blog in July is happening after all. July has not gone by without a blog. I mean I know it has...but I apparently have the power to turn time back. I really, really do, check out the date of this one if you don't believe me.
So, a blog hasn't come to me (It really is like that...many bloggers would agree, that you don't sit to blog, a blog walks into your mind semi-constructed) in a long long time. Nothing new about that. I haven't had much to say even though the month has been a very eventful one. But now I realised that I do have things to say. And say them I will. So here goes:
To all the Bangalore auto-walas:
Do not, please, do not gang up outside malls and hospitals, eye people coming out with a vengence and accost them with "Elli hogbekka madam?!" I swear I will prefer to walk the additional half mile and take the non threatening bald little insignificant autowala's rick than climb into your monstorous machine. So if you want to come off too needy, be prepared to lose some serious business.
To pedestrians in India:
You smoke, you drink, you pee, you spit,
If you do it in the middle of the road, be prepared to be hit.
To all the two-wheeler, four-wheeler, eight-wheeler, sixteen-wheeler drivers in the city:
There are other creatures on the road. Really. If you opened your eyes a bit, you might even see them.
To the traffic policemen in Bangalore:
Show up. Please, we need you.
To Aamir Khan:
Make more movies.
To the saas bahu serial makers:
You might want to reconsider resource-utilization. After all the special effects, sound effects, and classic expressions of emotions ranging from wildly ecstatic to a catatonic stupor in 40 different people in the house, the only message you manage to convey is the lid of the pickle jar is missing. I'd call that shifty.
To the audience of the saas-bahu serials:
So Tulsi is changed again. Meera tried to kill Bani but she came back. And something has been happening between Anuraag Basu and Prerna for a really, really long time now. But outside of the idiot-box, time ticks on. And life goes on. Yes, it does. I promise you.
To the Indian Cricket Team:
Many modelling contracts, sponsorships, acting offers, and heatedly debated and speculated flings later, I understand winning is not an option. But is playing an option?
To the Aaj-tak and Star News people:
I understand why "Amitabh Bachchan ko thand lagi" would be breaking news for you. It means that the temperature is dropping to an extent that even Bollywood stars are feeling the pinch of it now. It means space ants are about to invade the earth in three months. Yes, no, I understand totally.
Yet again, to the media, specially the above mentioned channels:
Some news is not meant to be sensationalized. What your channel may be selling today might not be news but something else. You might want to think about it.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Via TimeMachine???
It's 11:15 am. Or so my cell phone says. I however, have no proof of it. I mean, sure my cell phone and every other watch in the house says it, as does the laptop when I switch it on. Or the television for that matter. But how do we know...I mean know...that it is infact 11:15 am? How? Who first decided what the time was? Did time begin when it was discovered? Or when watches and clocks were invented? Or when the world began? It could be 83 o' clock for all we know. Who says the day gets over when the sky becomes dark? Who, indeed?
Anyway, (if we're to believe my cell phone) it's 11:15 am. There is an almost unnatural stillness in the environment. Someone in the next building is having some welding work done. I can hear the faint whirring of the machine, the very gentle 'thwack' of the heavy sparks falling onto the ground like fiery raindrops.
A lot of the disconnected randomness (isn't randomness always disconnected? or is it?) in my thought processes can be attributed to the movie I saw last night. Navin and I thought it might be good for us once in a while to catch some non-mainstream cinema. That, coupled with our inexorable faith in the acting prowess of Vinay Pathak and Rajat Kapoor, prompted us to give 'Via Darjeeling' a shot. The movie defies time like nothing else. It moves back and forth in time like a pendulum, creating the very real feeling that time is but an illusion. The movie is about an incomplete story with a few alternate endings (alternate cinema in its true spirits?). A supposed thriller, with an insipid story line. A failed attempt at recreating the mysterious charm of some oldtime whodunnits. The glaring effect of over fertile imagination with very very limited creativity (too m uch imagination and too little creativity is always a bad combination- like McDonald Burgers with Sambhar, stone cold Sambhar at that- Did I kill any appetites there? Sorry.)
So, as we walked out of the theatre, our senses numbed with disbelief mostly (and a little with overactive airconditioning), I began challenging the existence of time. Is it there? Not there? Or what, really? Space Aliens, Please Help!!!
Anyway, (if we're to believe my cell phone) it's 11:15 am. There is an almost unnatural stillness in the environment. Someone in the next building is having some welding work done. I can hear the faint whirring of the machine, the very gentle 'thwack' of the heavy sparks falling onto the ground like fiery raindrops.
A lot of the disconnected randomness (isn't randomness always disconnected? or is it?) in my thought processes can be attributed to the movie I saw last night. Navin and I thought it might be good for us once in a while to catch some non-mainstream cinema. That, coupled with our inexorable faith in the acting prowess of Vinay Pathak and Rajat Kapoor, prompted us to give 'Via Darjeeling' a shot. The movie defies time like nothing else. It moves back and forth in time like a pendulum, creating the very real feeling that time is but an illusion. The movie is about an incomplete story with a few alternate endings (alternate cinema in its true spirits?). A supposed thriller, with an insipid story line. A failed attempt at recreating the mysterious charm of some oldtime whodunnits. The glaring effect of over fertile imagination with very very limited creativity (too m uch imagination and too little creativity is always a bad combination- like McDonald Burgers with Sambhar, stone cold Sambhar at that- Did I kill any appetites there? Sorry.)
So, as we walked out of the theatre, our senses numbed with disbelief mostly (and a little with overactive airconditioning), I began challenging the existence of time. Is it there? Not there? Or what, really? Space Aliens, Please Help!!!
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Randomness
Am back in Mumbai. 4 days into my trip, I am still taking it all in...the places I have been so closely associated with during different stages of my life. Feels great.Had been to Siddhivinayak today, as I have been going for many many Tuesdays in the past. For me,Siddhivinayak is as different from other temples (with due respect to all) as spirituality is from religion. I distinctly had the feeling that I had come home to an old old friend and was settling down on the sofa for a chat with a hot cup of tea in hand. There is no respect, respect born out of fear of being condemned. There is love, unconditional and unblemished, affection, if you will. And there is respect born out of this affection. I feel at peace with the world outside and within me when I'm at Siddhivinayak- the place that has seen me through some of the most troubled days in my past. Homecoming has many layers, many meanings. This then, perhaps, is one of them.
On a totally different and musical note, I recently heard this song, that had me going bonkers about it. It's the song Kabhi kabhi Aditi from Jaane Tu...Ya Jaane Na.I'm so in love with it. I have it on repeat on my MP3 player. I listen to it about 19 times a day. I was trying to understand why I like it so much and zeroed in on one unique reason among many not so unique ones. The inclusion of the name "Aditi" in the song appealed to me a lot. I feel that there is no greater respect you could give a person than addressing them by their given name. It's also so much more personalized. Like the song is custom-written for someone. IT rocks. Very well sung by Rashid Ali, Amazing music by ARR. So, without further ado, I present to you the lyrics
Kabhi kabhi Aditi zindagi mein yuhi koi apna lagta hai
kabhi kabhi Aditi wo bichad jaaye to ek sapna lagta hai
aise mein koi kaise apne aansuoonko behne se roke
aur kaise koi sochde everything's gonna be ok
kabhi kabhi tho lage zindagi mein rahi naa khushi aur naa mazaa
kabhi kabhi tho lage hardin mushkil aur harpal ek sazaa
aise mein koi kaise mushkuraaye kaise hasde khush hoke
aur kaise koi sochde everything gonna be ok
Soch zara jaaneja tujhko hum kitna chathe hai
rotein hai hum bhi agar teri ankhon mein aansu aate hai
gaane to aata nahi hai magar phir bhi hum gaate hai
hey Aditi maan kabhi kabhi saare jahan mein andhera hota hai
lekin raat ke baad hi tho savera hota hai
kabhi kabhi Aditi zindagi mein yuhi koi apna lagta hai
kabhi kabhi Aditi wo bichad jaaye to ek sapna lagta hai
hey Aditi hasde hasde hasde hasde hasde hasde tu zara
nahi to bus thoda thoda thoda thoda thoda thoda muskura
Tu khush hai tho lage ke jahan mein chaayi hai khushi
suraj nikle baadlon se aur baatte zindagi
sun tho jara madhosh hawa tujhse kehne lagi
ki Aditi wo jo bichhadthe hai ek na ek din phir mil jaate hai
Aditi jaane tu ya jaane na phool phir khil jaate hain
kabhi kabhi Aditi zindagi mein yuhi koi apna lagta hai
kabhi kabhi Aditi wo bichad jaaye tho ek sapna lagta hai
hey Aditi hasde hasde hasde hasde hasde hasde tu zara
nahi to bus thoda thoda thoda thoda thoda thoda muskura
On a totally different and musical note, I recently heard this song, that had me going bonkers about it. It's the song Kabhi kabhi Aditi from Jaane Tu...Ya Jaane Na.I'm so in love with it. I have it on repeat on my MP3 player. I listen to it about 19 times a day. I was trying to understand why I like it so much and zeroed in on one unique reason among many not so unique ones. The inclusion of the name "Aditi" in the song appealed to me a lot. I feel that there is no greater respect you could give a person than addressing them by their given name. It's also so much more personalized. Like the song is custom-written for someone. IT rocks. Very well sung by Rashid Ali, Amazing music by ARR. So, without further ado, I present to you the lyrics
Kabhi kabhi Aditi zindagi mein yuhi koi apna lagta hai
kabhi kabhi Aditi wo bichad jaaye to ek sapna lagta hai
aise mein koi kaise apne aansuoonko behne se roke
aur kaise koi sochde everything's gonna be ok
kabhi kabhi tho lage zindagi mein rahi naa khushi aur naa mazaa
kabhi kabhi tho lage hardin mushkil aur harpal ek sazaa
aise mein koi kaise mushkuraaye kaise hasde khush hoke
aur kaise koi sochde everything gonna be ok
Soch zara jaaneja tujhko hum kitna chathe hai
rotein hai hum bhi agar teri ankhon mein aansu aate hai
gaane to aata nahi hai magar phir bhi hum gaate hai
hey Aditi maan kabhi kabhi saare jahan mein andhera hota hai
lekin raat ke baad hi tho savera hota hai
kabhi kabhi Aditi zindagi mein yuhi koi apna lagta hai
kabhi kabhi Aditi wo bichad jaaye to ek sapna lagta hai
hey Aditi hasde hasde hasde hasde hasde hasde tu zara
nahi to bus thoda thoda thoda thoda thoda thoda muskura
Tu khush hai tho lage ke jahan mein chaayi hai khushi
suraj nikle baadlon se aur baatte zindagi
sun tho jara madhosh hawa tujhse kehne lagi
ki Aditi wo jo bichhadthe hai ek na ek din phir mil jaate hai
Aditi jaane tu ya jaane na phool phir khil jaate hain
kabhi kabhi Aditi zindagi mein yuhi koi apna lagta hai
kabhi kabhi Aditi wo bichad jaaye tho ek sapna lagta hai
hey Aditi hasde hasde hasde hasde hasde hasde tu zara
nahi to bus thoda thoda thoda thoda thoda thoda muskura
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Nostalgia
Haven't blogged in all of MAy. This blog was just to wake up from the malaise and make sure that my archives don't read 'May(0)'. A lot has been happening, and needless to say I have been busy.
Am blogging from an internet cafe, its after AGES that I am visiting one of these. Makes me nostalgic. Reminds me of rainy, college afternoons, hot cups of coffees, sunlight filtering through the leaves of trees overhead, notes to study from, books to photocopy, a teacher who used to admonish us when we would say 'xerox' instead of 'photocopy', long muddy walks, inane discussions, streetfood, beautiful Mumbai evenings... Yes, I got *all of that* from an internet cafe. Don't ask me how. But I could be there right now. Back in time. Sitting by the window with a steel tumbler of coffee in one hand, a book in another, focusing on neither, but the sunrays, now mild and soothing, filtering through the leaves and the grill on the window...Chitra sings in the background...sings some of Gulzar's lesser known lyrics...
Shisham ke patto pe pani
boond boond bajta rehta hai,
Barish beet bhi jaye to
der talak tapka rehta hai.
Boondon se bhigo dena
barishon ki aadat thi…
barishon ki aadat hai….
Yeh bouchar guzar jane do,
kachche rang utar jaane do,
mausam hain guzar jaane do.
Its beginning to drizzle.
I let an unexplained, inexplicable feeling of contentment wash over me...
Sigh. Life's perfect. Touchwood.
Am blogging from an internet cafe, its after AGES that I am visiting one of these. Makes me nostalgic. Reminds me of rainy, college afternoons, hot cups of coffees, sunlight filtering through the leaves of trees overhead, notes to study from, books to photocopy, a teacher who used to admonish us when we would say 'xerox' instead of 'photocopy', long muddy walks, inane discussions, streetfood, beautiful Mumbai evenings... Yes, I got *all of that* from an internet cafe. Don't ask me how. But I could be there right now. Back in time. Sitting by the window with a steel tumbler of coffee in one hand, a book in another, focusing on neither, but the sunrays, now mild and soothing, filtering through the leaves and the grill on the window...Chitra sings in the background...sings some of Gulzar's lesser known lyrics...
Shisham ke patto pe pani
boond boond bajta rehta hai,
Barish beet bhi jaye to
der talak tapka rehta hai.
Boondon se bhigo dena
barishon ki aadat thi…
barishon ki aadat hai….
Yeh bouchar guzar jane do,
kachche rang utar jaane do,
mausam hain guzar jaane do.
Its beginning to drizzle.
I let an unexplained, inexplicable feeling of contentment wash over me...
Sigh. Life's perfect. Touchwood.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
The Eternal Dilemma...
The dusk has set in. I choose not to use tubelights today, I want a particular effect that is obtained in dim lighting. Three minutes into our meeting, we're plunged into a silence. Not a comfortable, companiable silence, but an awkward, uneasy one. Not a silence where one doesn't have anything to say. But a silence where one has just too much to say, but also too much is at stake in saying it all. A silence that is very open to interpretations...
I wait watchfully, to see who opens the conversation. Noone does. I feel the pressure of time ticking away on my wrist. If we don't get talking in the next hour, we wait for another seven days. And the last seven days, from the looks of it, haven't been good.
"Ok, Someone's got to start. I don't think this has been a good week."
That's the father. He always takes the initiative in these sessions. That is, when I don't.
"Why do you feel so?" I ask.
"Why don't you ask her?" He gestures towards his 16-year old.
She remains silent, glance averted, mouth set in a determined line. Something about that stance says "I so badly want to be indifferent to this drama, but I can't."
"Its your feeling. Why don't you talk about it first and then we can take it from there." I put the ball back in his court.
He explains that he was very miffed that his daughter was listening to music on MTV (which incidentally had a video of skimpily clad women) at 8 am instead of joining the family for prayers. He switched off the TV. She threw her coffee mug in the middle of the living room. They walked out on each other and didn't talk for the rest of the week.
Tension thickens. Emotions soar. Noone is willing to look the other in the eye. The mother who has been a relatively inactive participant in most sessions looks askance at me...as though she is willing me to mend the situation...or their daughter as the case may be for her. I call upon her to talk about it.
"She should sit with us and pray. These are family values. She should follow them. All we ask for is 10 minutes in the day." I suspect the coming up of a tirade and check it.
I look at the individual in question. Intelligent and outspoken in most previous encounters, she is suddenly rendered demure...as if in face of the number against her. She has an expression of one being teamed against. She looks up at me, carefully avoiding her parents' eyes.
"I don't believe in God. So what's the point?"
"Maybe its our fault. We should have taught her religion when she was younger." The father's voice filters into my subconscious, as I vaguely wonder if religion or faith can be taught. Perhaps it can. But can it, really?
"Its my decision, so will you stop blaming yourselves?" The girl sounds distraught and angry all at once. The anger is clearly one which is not allowed expression, nor existence. It's as though she wants to sound like an adult- independent, strong, firm and composed. The effect is opposite, she is on the verge of tears. She knows that the phase of talking her mind is only restricted to the session.
The father looks angry, but it is evident he is checking his emotions. "We are trying so hard to reach out, beta. Why do you have to make this so difficult?" Those words remain unspoken, but I sense them in the offing. I also sense that the reason they are unspoken could be that they may signify defeat in a way.
"So many people before us have been following these things. Are they all fools?" He asks instead.
"Why do you want me to do something just because you and your ancestors did it? Don't I have a right to a mind of my own?" She is in tears now. Angry, helpless tears.
"What is it that you want?" I ask her.
"I don't want to be forced to pray. I don't want to do things that I don't believe in."
"Is this really about religion? Is that what this is about?" I ask.
There is a pause. Long pause.
"Not really."
Another long pause.
" I don't want to be told what to do all the time." There is a finality in her tone that worries me, it makes me wonder whether we will talk anymore.
"Because..." I feel the need to lead her on.
Another long silence. A very pregnant pause.
And then an outburst.
"It makes me feel this small!" She holds up her thumb and index finger an inch or two apart. "Don't I have a right to think and decide for myself? Everyone except me knows whats good for me."
"Maybe you are too young to understand certain things. Your decisions in the past have reflected your immaturity. You want us to take risks with your future again?" The father says, also distraught.
"Maybe I wanted to make those mistakes, and learn from them!" That was a near-fatal blow. Now the parents look scared.
"You can't survive in this world making many mistakes. When you have wisdom and experience in front of you, why would you need to make mistakes?"
I quail. This is getting to be a dialogue. Not a conversation.
"Maybe because your experiences don't work for me, Dad! I'm a different person. I need my own experiences."
"Why can't you understand-" They stop in surprise. Both have spoken the exact same words at the exact same moment. And indeed, the crux of the issue. Understanding. Theoretically, the easiest thing to do. And practically, the toughest.
My mind applauds the moment. I look from one to the other. And hit upon a universal truth. Understanding the emotional needs of another person and responding to them accurately is a very very difficult thing to do. Even if you are bound by ties of blood. Or those of a client and therapist.
P.S.: I know, J this may cut close to what I read the other day, but couldn't help...I just had to post this...
I wait watchfully, to see who opens the conversation. Noone does. I feel the pressure of time ticking away on my wrist. If we don't get talking in the next hour, we wait for another seven days. And the last seven days, from the looks of it, haven't been good.
"Ok, Someone's got to start. I don't think this has been a good week."
That's the father. He always takes the initiative in these sessions. That is, when I don't.
"Why do you feel so?" I ask.
"Why don't you ask her?" He gestures towards his 16-year old.
She remains silent, glance averted, mouth set in a determined line. Something about that stance says "I so badly want to be indifferent to this drama, but I can't."
"Its your feeling. Why don't you talk about it first and then we can take it from there." I put the ball back in his court.
He explains that he was very miffed that his daughter was listening to music on MTV (which incidentally had a video of skimpily clad women) at 8 am instead of joining the family for prayers. He switched off the TV. She threw her coffee mug in the middle of the living room. They walked out on each other and didn't talk for the rest of the week.
Tension thickens. Emotions soar. Noone is willing to look the other in the eye. The mother who has been a relatively inactive participant in most sessions looks askance at me...as though she is willing me to mend the situation...or their daughter as the case may be for her. I call upon her to talk about it.
"She should sit with us and pray. These are family values. She should follow them. All we ask for is 10 minutes in the day." I suspect the coming up of a tirade and check it.
I look at the individual in question. Intelligent and outspoken in most previous encounters, she is suddenly rendered demure...as if in face of the number against her. She has an expression of one being teamed against. She looks up at me, carefully avoiding her parents' eyes.
"I don't believe in God. So what's the point?"
"Maybe its our fault. We should have taught her religion when she was younger." The father's voice filters into my subconscious, as I vaguely wonder if religion or faith can be taught. Perhaps it can. But can it, really?
"Its my decision, so will you stop blaming yourselves?" The girl sounds distraught and angry all at once. The anger is clearly one which is not allowed expression, nor existence. It's as though she wants to sound like an adult- independent, strong, firm and composed. The effect is opposite, she is on the verge of tears. She knows that the phase of talking her mind is only restricted to the session.
The father looks angry, but it is evident he is checking his emotions. "We are trying so hard to reach out, beta. Why do you have to make this so difficult?" Those words remain unspoken, but I sense them in the offing. I also sense that the reason they are unspoken could be that they may signify defeat in a way.
"So many people before us have been following these things. Are they all fools?" He asks instead.
"Why do you want me to do something just because you and your ancestors did it? Don't I have a right to a mind of my own?" She is in tears now. Angry, helpless tears.
"What is it that you want?" I ask her.
"I don't want to be forced to pray. I don't want to do things that I don't believe in."
"Is this really about religion? Is that what this is about?" I ask.
There is a pause. Long pause.
"Not really."
Another long pause.
" I don't want to be told what to do all the time." There is a finality in her tone that worries me, it makes me wonder whether we will talk anymore.
"Because..." I feel the need to lead her on.
Another long silence. A very pregnant pause.
And then an outburst.
"It makes me feel this small!" She holds up her thumb and index finger an inch or two apart. "Don't I have a right to think and decide for myself? Everyone except me knows whats good for me."
"Maybe you are too young to understand certain things. Your decisions in the past have reflected your immaturity. You want us to take risks with your future again?" The father says, also distraught.
"Maybe I wanted to make those mistakes, and learn from them!" That was a near-fatal blow. Now the parents look scared.
"You can't survive in this world making many mistakes. When you have wisdom and experience in front of you, why would you need to make mistakes?"
I quail. This is getting to be a dialogue. Not a conversation.
"Maybe because your experiences don't work for me, Dad! I'm a different person. I need my own experiences."
"Why can't you understand-" They stop in surprise. Both have spoken the exact same words at the exact same moment. And indeed, the crux of the issue. Understanding. Theoretically, the easiest thing to do. And practically, the toughest.
My mind applauds the moment. I look from one to the other. And hit upon a universal truth. Understanding the emotional needs of another person and responding to them accurately is a very very difficult thing to do. Even if you are bound by ties of blood. Or those of a client and therapist.
P.S.: I know, J this may cut close to what I read the other day, but couldn't help...I just had to post this...
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Misused Words Series #1
One word that I find is often used in the wrong context is the word "Psychic".
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Edgar Cayce (1877 – 1945) was one of the best-known American psychics of the 20th century and made many highly publicized predictions.In popular culture the word psychic (pronounced /ˈsaɪkɨk/; from the Greek psychikos - "of the soul, mental") refers to the ability to perceive things hidden from the senses through means of extra-sensory perception.
Many people however appear to use it in the context of someone being eccentric, or weird.
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Edgar Cayce (1877 – 1945) was one of the best-known American psychics of the 20th century and made many highly publicized predictions.In popular culture the word psychic (pronounced /ˈsaɪkɨk/; from the Greek psychikos - "of the soul, mental") refers to the ability to perceive things hidden from the senses through means of extra-sensory perception.
Many people however appear to use it in the context of someone being eccentric, or weird.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Painfully Krrazy...
The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Yes, it really is. I discovered this the hard way on saturday. The means of discovery? A full two hours forty nine minutes of pure crap.
Had been to watch Krrazy 4 (or however else the makers of the movie want you to spell the name). The movie, predictably enough, is about four 'crazy' people. There is a man who believes he is living in Gandhi's time (or something like that, it wasn't very clear). Another one whose diagnosis is unclear, but the only thing obvious is that he doesn't talk atleast until the end of the movie (not that I'm complaining). Yet another who's vaguely a Mr. Goody-Two Shoes. And then there's this guy with the mercurial temper.
I'm not about to review the film here. The movie seems to have a message that the makers are not quite sure how to communicate to their audience. And so we are left with a not very convincing speech about the age-old 'abnormality vs normality'issue, and some painfully unfunny (is that a word? well, it is, after this movie!) sequences. It hurts to watch people play through cliched ideas of giving some one electroconvulsive therapy to 'turn them mad'. Or portray it in such a crass, insensitive way. Even if it is the villian who is being *rendered insane*. To watch someone play someone with a psychological infliction in Hindi Movies is quite literally painful, because they all seem to believe that such people are always regressed, aggressive, climbing trees, doing meaningless things, and basically imbecile. Very few movies dare to try and understand the method in the madness...What makes people 'tic', if you will. Like 15 Park Avenue. Or Maine Gandhi ko Nahi Mara. Or Taare Zameen Par.
There was just one scene in the movie, where Irfan Khan's daughter teaches him how to draw a star...There's something very poignant about a child having to play an adult's parent.
Indian Cinema has a long long way to go before it comes of age. Atleast in matters of the mind...
Had been to watch Krrazy 4 (or however else the makers of the movie want you to spell the name). The movie, predictably enough, is about four 'crazy' people. There is a man who believes he is living in Gandhi's time (or something like that, it wasn't very clear). Another one whose diagnosis is unclear, but the only thing obvious is that he doesn't talk atleast until the end of the movie (not that I'm complaining). Yet another who's vaguely a Mr. Goody-Two Shoes. And then there's this guy with the mercurial temper.
I'm not about to review the film here. The movie seems to have a message that the makers are not quite sure how to communicate to their audience. And so we are left with a not very convincing speech about the age-old 'abnormality vs normality'issue, and some painfully unfunny (is that a word? well, it is, after this movie!) sequences. It hurts to watch people play through cliched ideas of giving some one electroconvulsive therapy to 'turn them mad'. Or portray it in such a crass, insensitive way. Even if it is the villian who is being *rendered insane*. To watch someone play someone with a psychological infliction in Hindi Movies is quite literally painful, because they all seem to believe that such people are always regressed, aggressive, climbing trees, doing meaningless things, and basically imbecile. Very few movies dare to try and understand the method in the madness...What makes people 'tic', if you will. Like 15 Park Avenue. Or Maine Gandhi ko Nahi Mara. Or Taare Zameen Par.
There was just one scene in the movie, where Irfan Khan's daughter teaches him how to draw a star...There's something very poignant about a child having to play an adult's parent.
Indian Cinema has a long long way to go before it comes of age. Atleast in matters of the mind...
Monday, April 7, 2008
I believe...
This one is for J. Happy happy happy birthday Jamuna. The instigator for my blogs (well, most of them anyway!) And on your birthday, I post the lyrics of one of my favouritest songs ever....I LOVE this song...And I DO believe...
I believe the sun should never set upon an argument
I believe we place our happiness in other people's hands
I believe that junk food tastes so good because it's bad for you
I believe your parents did the best job they knew how to do
I believe that beauty magazines promote low self esteem
I believe I'm loved when I'm completely by myself alone
I believe in Karma what you give is what you get returned
I believe you can't appreciate real love 'til you've been burned
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye
I believe you can't control or choose your sexuality
I believe that trust is more important than monogamy
I believe your most attractive features are your heart and soul
I believe that family is worth more than money or gold
I believe the struggle for financial freedom is unfair
I believe the only ones who disagree are millionaires
I believe in Karma what you give is what you get returned
I believe you can't appreciate real love 'til you've been burned
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye
I believe forgiveness is the key to your own happiness
I believe that wedded bliss negates the need to be undressed
I believe that God does not endorse tv evangelists
I believe in love surviving death into eternity
I believe in Karma what you give is what you get returned
I believe you can't appreciate real love 'til you've been burned
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye
Until you say goodbye
I listen to this once everyday before I get my day started...and once when I sleep. Its almost like my anthem.
:)
I believe the sun should never set upon an argument
I believe we place our happiness in other people's hands
I believe that junk food tastes so good because it's bad for you
I believe your parents did the best job they knew how to do
I believe that beauty magazines promote low self esteem
I believe I'm loved when I'm completely by myself alone
I believe in Karma what you give is what you get returned
I believe you can't appreciate real love 'til you've been burned
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye
I believe you can't control or choose your sexuality
I believe that trust is more important than monogamy
I believe your most attractive features are your heart and soul
I believe that family is worth more than money or gold
I believe the struggle for financial freedom is unfair
I believe the only ones who disagree are millionaires
I believe in Karma what you give is what you get returned
I believe you can't appreciate real love 'til you've been burned
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye
I believe forgiveness is the key to your own happiness
I believe that wedded bliss negates the need to be undressed
I believe that God does not endorse tv evangelists
I believe in love surviving death into eternity
I believe in Karma what you give is what you get returned
I believe you can't appreciate real love 'til you've been burned
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye
Until you say goodbye
I listen to this once everyday before I get my day started...and once when I sleep. Its almost like my anthem.
:)
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Aman
Life's short. And everytime we lose someone we reiterate this fact to ourselves. I am not sure about how short it is...I don't have an opinion on how short is short, but I have come to learn a lot of other things about life.
I met Aman in May 2007, when I first joined MHS as a psychologist. Aman was 18, full of life, wise cracks and armed with a winning smile. He was admitted to the Neuro-Trauma ward on the eleventh floor after complaints of seizures, difficulty in concentrating, reading and severe headaches. I was on my usual rounds, it was a sultry Thursday (as sultry as Bangalore gets anyway) and I was itching to get done with work as I had plans with Navin and a couple of friends that evening. Aman's cheerful face and apparent lack of concern about his being there caught my attention, because it stood out. In the midst of pain, there was joy. No, not joy. But peace.
I casually chatted with him while the doctors were going through his medical records. He told me that he was a PUC student (thats HSC for us Mumbaikars), studying science, fond of computers and wanting to do something in animation. He said he couldnt concentrate, his head hurt. He had time-lapses when he did not know what was happening. Blackouts, he called them. Then with a smile of a naive four-year-old, he asked me to steal the medical records form the doctors and give them to him so he would finally know what his diagnosis was. Even at that point, not knowing what was wrong with him, I felt for him very deeply. Not very psychologist-like, I agree. But my empathy was what took me down. I have been for miniscule medical work ups, blood tests and eye tests and incessantly worried about the reports. To be kept in the dark about one's own medical condition, in my opinion is nothing short of denying the person a chance to grasp his position and come to terms with it. I told him I'd do what I could.
Once the doctors left, I was handed his file by the attendants. The prescribed CT scans and MRIs seemed to indicate that the provisional diagnosis was glioblastoma multiforme. To put it simply, a malignant tumor in the brain. I could recall the "rock-in-the-stomach" feeling that would come with having to communicate an HIV positive diagnosis to an unsuspecting testee, where I was working before in Mumbai...
By the time I could get back to Aman, he had been taken for some routine tests. Neuro surgery was scheduled for the following monday.
I couldn't make it to work on friday as it was pouring with rain (Yes, Bangalore is weird that way). Saturday was half day in the wards and with a lot of out patients I couldn't go visit. When I went on monday, Aman's bed was empty. He had been taken for his surgery. The nurses in the ward spoke fondly of him, as they would of a cheeky-but-sweet younger sibling.
When he came back from surgery, he was a different person. I for the first time witnessed the personality-changing aspect of neuro surgery. It was scary and I prayed (rather selfishly) that noone I knew would ever have to undergo this. Aman couldn't recognise people, was incapable of producing or comprehending any level of speech or even gestures. For four whole days, his caregivers had to second-guess his needs and play by the ear, as it were.Occasionally his eyes would well up with myriad unexpressed emotions. On the fifth day he was able to communicate by holding up fingers. After that I couldn't visit him until the following friday which was my birthday. And also my last day at work.
Aman, who always addressed me as Ramya, unlike any other patient before (or after him) gave me a small bouquet and a 'thankyou' card. I have no idea how he knew. But looking at the trouble he had gone to, to procure them (which involved the terms bribing and wardboys), I accepted. With grace. I asked him how he felt. He told me matter of factly that the tumor was grade V and surgery had failed. "Three months" He looked right into my eyes as he pronounced his death sentence. He smiled sadly and said that he didn't want to die yet. He had never even had a chance to ride a bike, he told me. When I left that day, I knew I'd never come back. I was to leave for Mumbai the following week. And then for UK. For three months. For some of us, that's a vacation. And for some, it's a lifetime, it's all that they have.
Its been 9 months since then. I don't know how his story ended. Or whether, miraculously, he is still around. But I like to think he is happy where he is. Ironically Aman means peace. I hope his name lived upto him, didn't let him down and he really is at peace somewhere.
I met Aman in May 2007, when I first joined MHS as a psychologist. Aman was 18, full of life, wise cracks and armed with a winning smile. He was admitted to the Neuro-Trauma ward on the eleventh floor after complaints of seizures, difficulty in concentrating, reading and severe headaches. I was on my usual rounds, it was a sultry Thursday (as sultry as Bangalore gets anyway) and I was itching to get done with work as I had plans with Navin and a couple of friends that evening. Aman's cheerful face and apparent lack of concern about his being there caught my attention, because it stood out. In the midst of pain, there was joy. No, not joy. But peace.
I casually chatted with him while the doctors were going through his medical records. He told me that he was a PUC student (thats HSC for us Mumbaikars), studying science, fond of computers and wanting to do something in animation. He said he couldnt concentrate, his head hurt. He had time-lapses when he did not know what was happening. Blackouts, he called them. Then with a smile of a naive four-year-old, he asked me to steal the medical records form the doctors and give them to him so he would finally know what his diagnosis was. Even at that point, not knowing what was wrong with him, I felt for him very deeply. Not very psychologist-like, I agree. But my empathy was what took me down. I have been for miniscule medical work ups, blood tests and eye tests and incessantly worried about the reports. To be kept in the dark about one's own medical condition, in my opinion is nothing short of denying the person a chance to grasp his position and come to terms with it. I told him I'd do what I could.
Once the doctors left, I was handed his file by the attendants. The prescribed CT scans and MRIs seemed to indicate that the provisional diagnosis was glioblastoma multiforme. To put it simply, a malignant tumor in the brain. I could recall the "rock-in-the-stomach" feeling that would come with having to communicate an HIV positive diagnosis to an unsuspecting testee, where I was working before in Mumbai...
By the time I could get back to Aman, he had been taken for some routine tests. Neuro surgery was scheduled for the following monday.
I couldn't make it to work on friday as it was pouring with rain (Yes, Bangalore is weird that way). Saturday was half day in the wards and with a lot of out patients I couldn't go visit. When I went on monday, Aman's bed was empty. He had been taken for his surgery. The nurses in the ward spoke fondly of him, as they would of a cheeky-but-sweet younger sibling.
When he came back from surgery, he was a different person. I for the first time witnessed the personality-changing aspect of neuro surgery. It was scary and I prayed (rather selfishly) that noone I knew would ever have to undergo this. Aman couldn't recognise people, was incapable of producing or comprehending any level of speech or even gestures. For four whole days, his caregivers had to second-guess his needs and play by the ear, as it were.Occasionally his eyes would well up with myriad unexpressed emotions. On the fifth day he was able to communicate by holding up fingers. After that I couldn't visit him until the following friday which was my birthday. And also my last day at work.
Aman, who always addressed me as Ramya, unlike any other patient before (or after him) gave me a small bouquet and a 'thankyou' card. I have no idea how he knew. But looking at the trouble he had gone to, to procure them (which involved the terms bribing and wardboys), I accepted. With grace. I asked him how he felt. He told me matter of factly that the tumor was grade V and surgery had failed. "Three months" He looked right into my eyes as he pronounced his death sentence. He smiled sadly and said that he didn't want to die yet. He had never even had a chance to ride a bike, he told me. When I left that day, I knew I'd never come back. I was to leave for Mumbai the following week. And then for UK. For three months. For some of us, that's a vacation. And for some, it's a lifetime, it's all that they have.
Its been 9 months since then. I don't know how his story ended. Or whether, miraculously, he is still around. But I like to think he is happy where he is. Ironically Aman means peace. I hope his name lived upto him, didn't let him down and he really is at peace somewhere.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Testing Time?
Its April. March came, and went by with just one post (if that). But its been a happening month. And not essentially in a good way...mixed bag of sorts.
So, its first of April. The fools day, as some maintain. Me, I have always associated this month with exams...tests...agni parikshas of life. Every April, even after I completed my education, without fail, I have had an exam of sorts to answer. An interview perhaps...a challenging situation at work...something in personal life...but something definitely...
Am all geared up. Bring it on, life!!!
So, its first of April. The fools day, as some maintain. Me, I have always associated this month with exams...tests...agni parikshas of life. Every April, even after I completed my education, without fail, I have had an exam of sorts to answer. An interview perhaps...a challenging situation at work...something in personal life...but something definitely...
Am all geared up. Bring it on, life!!!
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Word Play
Was reading the Da Vinci Code for the nth time yesterday. Came across this part where Langdon and Sophie are discussing anagrams and Sophie remembers how her grandfather had told her that a simple english word like "PLANETS" had 92 words of varying lengths hidden in it. 92!! Imagine that!
So on a whim, I took a piece of paper and a pen, put the book aside and set out to do the inevitable. And guess what? My list has 70 words. And I am still not done...
I thought of Kripa...how we used to play around with anagrams...
So any of you people motivated to try this out, please DO let me know how many you got...:) Am as curious as the proverbial cat!
So on a whim, I took a piece of paper and a pen, put the book aside and set out to do the inevitable. And guess what? My list has 70 words. And I am still not done...
I thought of Kripa...how we used to play around with anagrams...
So any of you people motivated to try this out, please DO let me know how many you got...:) Am as curious as the proverbial cat!
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Eye-do!
A long long hiatus later, Yours Truly is well and truly back. It has been a long break, with just 2 posts in this month...I know I know...Shame on me! But I did have my reasons...Lot has been happening on the work front since I got back to Ban-galore. Work galore! And add to that family stuff, social stuff, travel stuff, health stuff, and some more work stuff- and you have a healthy amount of excuses for not posting in such a long time.
Anyway, today I had an appointment with an opthalmologist. Those eye-people. Now I know many who have this morbid fear of the teeth-people (yeah, dentists! go ahead, get all technical on me!). I do too...but its one degree worse if its the eye. And one degree worse than that if its MY eye. But, I digress...
So I had this (dis)appointment. Long overdue. I had to get my eyes checked and glasses changed since like...*months* back. But I shamelessly avoided it. Till yesterday, when I had some dust particle in my eye and I could no longer turn a blind eye (no puns, seriously!) to the situation. So armed with a cellphone to quell my anxieties, off I marched for my appointment. I was duly received at the reception (I don't believe I can ever associate that word with weddings anymore!) and told to wait until the 'junior doctor' was free. Which took about 35 minutes. I whiled away time talking to people I have been out of touch with since ages. India-Srilanka was on, and India was winning. Cheers!
Eventually I was called in. The regular reading test was an embarrassment in itself, by the time it was done, the doc was regarding me with a look that clearly said "Are you even educated?" Then they wanted to dilate my pupils. Now, I am extremely phobic about getting things put in my eyes, specially when people tell me "Madam your vision will be blurred from now" (I guess what she meant was for two-three hours, but language was a major barrier in our communication). Having no go, I got that done as well. And freaked out like never before when I couldn't see clearly. And was relieved like never before when I heard the doctor say "Your retina is normal."
The three-hour ordeal was over. And witha heart lighter than the sunlight rushing towards my retina through my dilated pupils, I concluded that eye-people aren't such monsters, really.
And all is well. There is a god up there, afterall.
Anyway, today I had an appointment with an opthalmologist. Those eye-people. Now I know many who have this morbid fear of the teeth-people (yeah, dentists! go ahead, get all technical on me!). I do too...but its one degree worse if its the eye. And one degree worse than that if its MY eye. But, I digress...
So I had this (dis)appointment. Long overdue. I had to get my eyes checked and glasses changed since like...*months* back. But I shamelessly avoided it. Till yesterday, when I had some dust particle in my eye and I could no longer turn a blind eye (no puns, seriously!) to the situation. So armed with a cellphone to quell my anxieties, off I marched for my appointment. I was duly received at the reception (I don't believe I can ever associate that word with weddings anymore!) and told to wait until the 'junior doctor' was free. Which took about 35 minutes. I whiled away time talking to people I have been out of touch with since ages. India-Srilanka was on, and India was winning. Cheers!
Eventually I was called in. The regular reading test was an embarrassment in itself, by the time it was done, the doc was regarding me with a look that clearly said "Are you even educated?" Then they wanted to dilate my pupils. Now, I am extremely phobic about getting things put in my eyes, specially when people tell me "Madam your vision will be blurred from now" (I guess what she meant was for two-three hours, but language was a major barrier in our communication). Having no go, I got that done as well. And freaked out like never before when I couldn't see clearly. And was relieved like never before when I heard the doctor say "Your retina is normal."
The three-hour ordeal was over. And witha heart lighter than the sunlight rushing towards my retina through my dilated pupils, I concluded that eye-people aren't such monsters, really.
And all is well. There is a god up there, afterall.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Maximum City Indeed!!!
I caught the first glimpse of the city I love so much yesterday after 2 months. Or a little more. I was in a flight. And even before I landed, I was already home!
My association with Bombay goes back many many years. My grandpa moved here when my mum and her siblings were really little. Mum studied here, and though she claims to be a Chennai person, I know that she belongs all here. My dad moved in here in about 1977, when post-marriage he got transferred to Bombay. My brother was born here, and so was I. And in the next few years, though we did travel quite a bit (thanks to dad's transferable work), here's where we chose to settle down.
They say home is where heart is. And I certainly know where my heart is. And it saddens me infinitely when certain people want to purge Mumbai of Non-Maharastrians. (Is anyone else reminded of Salazar Slytherin? Or is it just me??!)
Some of my closest friends are Maharashtrians. I can absolutely swear they have never seen me as an outsider in their home. Or in their hearts. And I am proud of this association. Now, dont get me wrong, I am an Indian first. Its just that I have learnt more from this city, than from any schools, colleges or universities that I may have ever attended- put together! Like during those ghastly rains, 3 years back...I was stranded and almost drowned, and the unknown hands that rescued me went unacknowledged in the fiasco. Strangers offered me and several others tea and biscuits, while I sat shivering in the only bus in sight. Anonymous shoulders escorted children back from school safely in the midst of all the chaos. Noone was looking to make profit. It was human life and misery that counted at that point, not money. Some people may say its humanity, and not just a Mumbai thing. But for me, I have seen it in this city. And I treasure the feeling. The Bombay Spirit! Amen to that!
Mumbai...Bombay...Bambai...who cares!!!
My association with Bombay goes back many many years. My grandpa moved here when my mum and her siblings were really little. Mum studied here, and though she claims to be a Chennai person, I know that she belongs all here. My dad moved in here in about 1977, when post-marriage he got transferred to Bombay. My brother was born here, and so was I. And in the next few years, though we did travel quite a bit (thanks to dad's transferable work), here's where we chose to settle down.
They say home is where heart is. And I certainly know where my heart is. And it saddens me infinitely when certain people want to purge Mumbai of Non-Maharastrians. (Is anyone else reminded of Salazar Slytherin? Or is it just me??!)
Some of my closest friends are Maharashtrians. I can absolutely swear they have never seen me as an outsider in their home. Or in their hearts. And I am proud of this association. Now, dont get me wrong, I am an Indian first. Its just that I have learnt more from this city, than from any schools, colleges or universities that I may have ever attended- put together! Like during those ghastly rains, 3 years back...I was stranded and almost drowned, and the unknown hands that rescued me went unacknowledged in the fiasco. Strangers offered me and several others tea and biscuits, while I sat shivering in the only bus in sight. Anonymous shoulders escorted children back from school safely in the midst of all the chaos. Noone was looking to make profit. It was human life and misery that counted at that point, not money. Some people may say its humanity, and not just a Mumbai thing. But for me, I have seen it in this city. And I treasure the feeling. The Bombay Spirit! Amen to that!
Mumbai...Bombay...Bambai...who cares!!!
Sunday, February 3, 2008
HaPPy PosT
Its been long since I posted ...the last two weeks have been very very hectic. The weekend before last we (family) had been down south (ok, further down south, then) to visit a few temples. Last weekend, ditto. And the days in between weekends seemed to fly, as appointments, work commitments, new opportunities and family stuff appeared to come all at once! This weekend was a relatively relaxed one after a long long time (I should say Sunday rather than weekend, as I work most Saturdays). But life at this moment is quite rewarding really, with all its ups and not-so-ups. Getting to enjoy being in this place, actually. I know things will change, eventually, but don't want to think about that now. I am good, life's good.
Will be back with some thing longer soon, but this is all I have to say at the moment. :)
Will be back with some thing longer soon, but this is all I have to say at the moment. :)
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Spit-fire!
I HATE spitters! Yes, I do! It is one thing that irritates me more than anything else in this world...well discounting a few things perhaps...
But, I digress...I hate spitters. People who in all earnestness believe that this world is their wash basin...For whom painting the town red takes an altogether new connotation!
Picture this....you are dressed for that all-important meeting at work, where you have a presentation to make. you have donned a crisp white, neatly ironed salwar kameez that you know will help that iron-cast impression you want to make. You get off the sweaty bus and try to navigate your way through a fleet of auto rickshaws...And SPLAT!!! someone from the window of the bus you just alighted from spat right over the sleeve of your pristine white kurta! Just how annoying does it get??
What is it about Indians and projectile displacement of paan and saliva? No, really, what is this urge to spit around all about? Is it about leaving a mark on the paths that you tread? or has it something to do with poor adaptation in the oral stage? Am I getting too psychoanalytic? Well, thats just how bugged I am!!
I hate spitters...And in case you have been wondering, yes, I have been spat at again this past weekend!
But, I digress...I hate spitters. People who in all earnestness believe that this world is their wash basin...For whom painting the town red takes an altogether new connotation!
Picture this....you are dressed for that all-important meeting at work, where you have a presentation to make. you have donned a crisp white, neatly ironed salwar kameez that you know will help that iron-cast impression you want to make. You get off the sweaty bus and try to navigate your way through a fleet of auto rickshaws...And SPLAT!!! someone from the window of the bus you just alighted from spat right over the sleeve of your pristine white kurta! Just how annoying does it get??
What is it about Indians and projectile displacement of paan and saliva? No, really, what is this urge to spit around all about? Is it about leaving a mark on the paths that you tread? or has it something to do with poor adaptation in the oral stage? Am I getting too psychoanalytic? Well, thats just how bugged I am!!
I hate spitters...And in case you have been wondering, yes, I have been spat at again this past weekend!
Friday, January 18, 2008
POintless POst...
Murphy, whoever he was, was definitely a distant ancestor of mine. He might even have been me in one of my past lives. Infact, I'd go as far as to say that he is one of my principle reinforcers in the faith of reincarnation. How else could you explain the long-standing, well observed (and sometimes documented) fact that his laws seem to apply so much more in my life than anywhere else?
Is it just me? Am I an error magnet of sorts? People who have been with me at any level know that I am ever so accident-prone. Put me in an empty room, and I will bang into nothingness and collapse into vaccuum. Totally fool-proof situations are not RAmya-proof...Anything..just anything can go wrong with me around.
No, I am not talking out of low self-confidence or even low self efficacy...it just so happens that I think rather highly of myself. In most other arenas. But this, it is true. And anyone who knows me will attest to it. I attest to it...and I have known me for 26 years...
Is it just me? Am I an error magnet of sorts? People who have been with me at any level know that I am ever so accident-prone. Put me in an empty room, and I will bang into nothingness and collapse into vaccuum. Totally fool-proof situations are not RAmya-proof...Anything..just anything can go wrong with me around.
No, I am not talking out of low self-confidence or even low self efficacy...it just so happens that I think rather highly of myself. In most other arenas. But this, it is true. And anyone who knows me will attest to it. I attest to it...and I have known me for 26 years...
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Where do we belong?
Its all over the news...Sporting world has been taken by storm...ICC and BCCI have locked horns and made peace more than once over an issue that seems to have minimal if any cricketing relevance. Yes, I am talking about the Habhajan-Symmonds "racial" abuse issue, the much talked about, printed and dissected event of the month. While I remain unsure as to whether or not it was a racial slur, it made me wonder about what a race is all about really.And about the number of groups that we belong to in course of our life and our varying attachment to these...There are just so many inclusive and exclusive groups...the universe is one, the world another, the two hemispheres may well be groups, as may be all those people who write with their left hands. But how much solidarity would you find in members of these groups? Some of these groups are defined by descent, by inheritance. Like your race, caste, family, religion (I'm a little ambivalent about this one, but that makes for another post altogther) Some are formed in course of life in an attempt to achieve a common goal. Like your school, college, workplace, clubs, teams and the rest. And some are a combination of both. Your country is a group, and so is your city. You and your spouse are a group too. But the question is where do you find your belongingness? Most people would most likely say family, but the dynamics I find are very complicated. And at some level spiritual. Because membership to these groups is on paper absolute, but psychologically varies in degrees.I find that I identify myself most with (other than family) my country. And then perhaps my city. I find also, that I don't offend so easily by what may be percieved as derogatory remarks made about my religion, not because I am lacking in faith in anyway, but because religion for me is not a groupism thing but a highly individualistic factor and very personal. Strange how it varies though, huh? Where do we belong, really?
Monday, January 14, 2008
Lazy day woes...
Today was one of those days where I had absolutely nothing to do, from morning till night. No appointments, no reports, no meetings, no work at home either. And the paradox is, when such a day does come along, after ages of being busy, your mind craves for something "productive" to do...And on the loaded days, when work often leaves you with no time for anything else, you want to laze around and sleep till late and do nothing generally!
I hereby resolve to enjoy every moment of lazing around that life affords me hereafter... :) plz dont take that away from me, God!
I hereby resolve to enjoy every moment of lazing around that life affords me hereafter... :) plz dont take that away from me, God!
The First Post
My first post!! Never thought I'd get here...Thanks, J, and all other friends, who have been pushing me to do this for a long time now.. (ok, stop rambling! its not like you have won the oscar or something!)
This space is about my worlds (yes, that is plural...I do belong to multiple worlds, as do most of us without realising it), my thoughts (as blogs most often are) and the random happenings in my everyday life. A note of caution: should my ramblings appear to you as beyond the realms of "normal" or "sane", don't warrant yourself any unnecessary distress over my mental status, I assure you this is how I have always been. Comments, counter-posts, and all other communication most welcome!
This space is about my worlds (yes, that is plural...I do belong to multiple worlds, as do most of us without realising it), my thoughts (as blogs most often are) and the random happenings in my everyday life. A note of caution: should my ramblings appear to you as beyond the realms of "normal" or "sane", don't warrant yourself any unnecessary distress over my mental status, I assure you this is how I have always been. Comments, counter-posts, and all other communication most welcome!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
