On my birthday

It's been a long long time since I wrote something. So I decided today is a good day for new beginnings. What better day than one's birthday to blow life back into a small metaphorical book that was tucked away deep under wraps, inside bundles of excuses.

So here I am, scaring away that silver fish which had found its home between my words. Shoo! there's no place for you here.

What should I begin with... Let me tell you about a beautiful thing that happened from the time I stopped writing to now. I met a new person, a little familiar, a whole lot strange.

All this talk of space travel, left me thinking. My meeting this new person was a lot like space travel. Before I knew it I heard a countdown starting in my mind - T minus 9, 8, 7....

I am very unsure how it feels in zero gravity. People and objects floating is as far as I have seen, heard or imagined it is like. My experience made me feel the exact opposite, just too heavy. Body and soul, all felt heavy.

You are on the way to this discovery all alone. There are people who come and check in occasionally or whenever possible. Like in the movie Gravity, (Big fan of Sandy B, by the way) where Houston chimes in for a visual or for the astronauts' "20".

You are all alone in this vast expanse, just waiting to complete the task you've been sent to complete, all the while monitoring the development of your little "project". Your eyes are on the beauty that lies a little distance away. You think to yourself this is just a small part of your life, soon this anxiety will lead way to that wonderful touchdown.

The pet project and its demons weigh you down at times, the ups and downs in your attempt to keep it together. I kept reminding myself aim for the touchdown, eyes off the meltdown and bad scenery.

All of a sudden that hope emerges, if this has to be done it's going to be you pushing through all the way. In my case, literally.....3, 2, 1.

I heard my very loving husband say "you can do it, you can do it" and egging me on, so I did it, if only to keep up the pretence of not being anxious in the least.

And finally she was here, my very own little angel.

Well after two years of her life she has clearly changed sides and opted to be her Dad's,  and he has unabashedly claimed that she's the prettiest girl in the world, so there goes..

Now that she's going to start learning, reading and writing, I thought I'll give her some material as well. Again, what better day than your own birthday, Happy Birthday to me!

See you again very soon.

Here lies the woman

I thought long and hard.

I couldn't summarize, nor did I find words.

It isn't so much a writer's block,

my muse was close at hand.

Right there in front of me.

Pretty, picture perfect, posing,

imposing an awkward silence.

I tried fencing the flutter,

before the thought left

each time I tried a rope, it fell apart.

I wiped that strange tear,

and started all over again.

Each time I tugged and pulled

I got weaker.

Like the spider she told me about several years ago

The one that weaved the web

the web that got destroyed

"the spider never gave up

it kept at it and wove it once over, again."

Keep at it, don't give up,

She didn't.

And now, The Eulogy:

'here lies the woman,

servile daughter, loving sibling

beautiful wife, strong mother.

She dreamt, wished, worked and believed

and the cosmos delivered.

Her sorrow was big

But I know she stood like that rock to the waves,

unwavering in joy and sorrow alike,

sheltering two of us,

and then many.'

'here lies the woman

who always had a smile to spare

even when she slept.

What did she dream of-

"Mother Theresa" she said once.'

'here lies my mother

far away from me in another world,

yet so near I could feel her

breath on my palm sometimes

may be from the way she kissed me when I was too small.'

'here lies my friend,

my coach, my mentor

who taught me the most important things in life

are Faith, relationship and love'

'here lies my philosopher,

the one who believed

in the power of man's will

while she knew that nothing could supersede God's.'

'here lies the woman,

my mother, my father, my brother

my comrade, my teacher,

my God in human form,

far away yet so near.

So very near to me'

Aavrita Padma

When in the circle

of the life of a lotus

the sacred flower

turns pink

not at its own beauty

but at the muddle that's around

the muddle that surrounds,

there rolls a pearl

down its pink cheeked petal

to hide inside

within the bosom of the padma.

To the world- it is shiny evasive dew

To padma- another bead of sorrow.

Then from the pink of age

to the aging pink it slowly droops

All the beads within

now catalyze the rot

then wilting

and then

slowly sinking

into the muddle

to start the circle over again.

Sometimes

Sometimes I'm unsure.

About what life means to me

About why I laugh?

About how a day passes without the "I" opening.

About when did I deserve, to stand where I stand?

Sometimes it's just me

When I don't want to see colors

When someone unnoticed notices

When I think I cringe

When I want to go "fast forward" or just "rewind"

Sometimes I care

To smile

To empathize

To make up

To improve

Sometimes I wish

For one day to exist

For the world to change, or perhaps just me

For a fairy tale to happen

For a butterfly to perch on me, the way it did on that flower

Sometimes, not always

But in life, sometimes you gotta admit that not everything will go your way

"I too had a love story"- a book that you have already watched

I never thought I'll write book reviews, or anything that talks about a book I've read. I didn't think that I'll ever read a book that really needed to be reviewed by me - a passive everyday reader, who buys books and reads them just for the sake of reading.

But what do I know, I'm just one of those many magazine buyers who happen to look through the "top ten books of the week" list and tend to stock up on books to be preserved for a good read sometime in the future.

And so it happened... based on a vague memory of a listing I saw in some blurred out magazine, I picked up "I too had a love story.."

I'm going to first detach the author from the piece. I have nothing against him, God bless his soul. Gentleman writer, the only bone I have to pick with you is that you let the book go to print without this statutory warning ( though you had that new pen in your hand that had too much ink): "Reading such books can cause headaches (making it look gentle with a mild word- check) to the reader".

I'll just talk about the "love story" which started with a phone call the protagonist received after a profile listing on Shaadi.com (Yay! someone just got popular).

The story starts in a typical Bollywood movie fashion with a reunion of friends, some point in time after college and after campus placements (yes, and the writer is not even Chetan Bhagat). This bunch of young achievers finds the perfect silent spot to discuss their future on the banks of the Hooghly in a very Bollywood way.

Subsequent to the discussion, they decide to find their future life partner through wedding portals (fair enough, my pedestrian self has been there and done that).

Then one day it happens - the beginning of a love story initiated by the girl calling the hero (The liberty to decide the bollywood stars who play the parts is all yours).

The excruciating pain dealt by reading what follows is what forces me to be in front of my blog today doling out a book review though I'm not a book reviewer. I am just a "do-gooder" doing good to others by typing away. ( dear author, I already did you some good by buying that book, don't hate me)

Shona and shoni as the hero and heroine refer to each other are like laila- majnu, heer-ranjha, to the present day buntys and bubblys that fall in love, with a twist- they talk over the phone a lot. What follows is they fall in love and talk over the phone, fall in love and talk over the phone, fall in love and talk over the phone some more..... the saga continues (you can even make a TV series of 300 episodes out of it ..)

I am now aware what makes those cellular companies spend multi-billion dollars on advertising offers for him & her. That's one mode of revenue generation everyone from soap manufacturers to car makers should follow (strategy fee = book price compensation.)

Anyways coming back to the love story, our protagonist is off to the US for a project and on his way makes a pit stop in Delhi to see his shoni for the first time. She lives in Faridabad.

The heroine (sorry don't have the patience or the heart to call her female protagonist. The character sketch of the lady has been directly downloaded from a Bollywood masala movie. For a clearer picture refer to any DVD where the girl has beautiful everything and the description from the tip of her hair flying across her face to the tip of the toe with the nail color on it.) Moving on, she takes the hero to her house - movie style - and introduces him to the family -this is where the song and dance can come in.

By now we know there has to be a rain scene. And the writer brings it in, it was 'carefully sown' into the story as "a heavy rain that lashed on the cab" submerged the streets leading to her house in Faridabad' just when he needed to get back to the airport and head for his flight.

And yeah, the heroine asking the hero to promise he'll never touch alcohol again- that's there too.

The IM element is there as well, because that's how they keep in touch after that. The hero comes back and they are all set for the band baaja scene.

Oh and then the heroine meets with an accident. Following which she goes to a better place (death of anyone - even this heroine - is never funny).

The hero is sad - and I lost patience to read any further.

This is that tipping point in my life which left me wondering as to:

a) Why Indian writing in English today is increasingly being written to constitute raw material for Bollywood movies?

b) Who approves them for printing and why such stories are published?

c) Who lists them in the top ten in those magazines?

d) The cover says "Simple, honest and touching"- N.R. Narayana Murthy - Sir with all due respect - who are you and Really?

e) The author has immense potential to write movie scripts.

I aspire to be one of the greats in this genre. How is this for the first line- "Dishoom, and he beat his enemy to the ground with that first knock on his head." 

Oh wait déjà vu.

Return my money ya filthy animal!

Green Room 1: Character introduction

Tribal 1: An irritating someone, elated by others misery, the actions make you want to scream. But instead you just swallowed the feeling and mumbled to yourself "Oh My God!"

Tribal 2: Grabs your chair the moment you get up-- "WTF?". But instead you end up saying "thats not good etiquette, you could always ask me before doing that."

Tribal 2: Asks you to share the food and at the first nibble followed it up by saying "Why don't you make your own kill?"

Female Tribal 1:Looks at the precious something someone gave you and has the balls (metaphorical) to ask you "did you get that for twenty bucks at those pedestrian shops?"

Female Tribal 2: Kept looking at you from the corner of the eye, looks so jealous of you that the moment you plan to break for a breathe- would promptly ambush you.

Animal 1: A jackass who just doesn't like you because you are his enemy's favorite.

The Crew: People who live and breathe slumming in this situation day in and day out.

Tribal King's Assistant 1: Has a bad day and wants to vent it out and walla you show up at the right time.

Animal 2: You tell him something knowing it is the right thing to do, but there is a conference of ass lickers called who are anti-you and would say that the sun-rises in the west just to keep the ass happy.

Tribal Rain God: You feel like banging your head against that wall because you are frustrated by the indecision and extreme furies.

Tribal Elder: Someone with donkey's years behind them and yet don't have the common sense to be contemporary and rise up to today's requirement.

Inter Tribal Sprint Champion: Someone who passes the buck at the speed of lightening--- even the olympic relay racers do not compare to that speed.

Animal 3: The Fat New Rooster, who perches on your head the moment you are courteous.

Business Class Aspiring Tribal: The avid emulators- who would copy you so much that you feel like you're looking into those mirrors that show you in different sizes and shapes at the Doll Museums, you won't like a single reflection yet there they are.

Look around Green Room 1-- all these people are characters from real life-- they just choose their own funny schedule to enter the stage / your life.

Green Room 1-- don't play on my stage and ruin my parade, I have only this one script and screen play to rule on.

Our Wish-- a different cast altogether.

"And then the curtain falls - the play winds"

What's with these Auto drivers in this city???

There's only one sub species among homo sapiens that makes me have no mercy, that makes me pull out my hair, that makes me snarl and growl, that makes me want to turn into a godzilla or a king kong and stamp, and stomp and romp around till their mechanical contraptions turn into tin pancakes - the homo sapiens autodrivers.

Seriously - what's with these auto drivers in this city?

Any instance where I have had to hitch an auto ride has been a disturbance to at least one neuron in my brain, let me quote the various instances and make my case:

Problem 1:

This sub species (because they are obviously a class apart from the rest of humanity) indulges in herding up and mooing out non-sense at someone pointing out that the amount they have quoted for a trip of two kilometers can be paid to buy and install 3 meters which would glare the right fare for this trip on their rickety ride.

Problem 2:

They use their rear view mirrors not to look at on-coming traffic but to size up the passenger in the rear seat.

Problem 3:

Any suggestion made on the speed at which they take you from A to B either falls on deaf ears or earns you the looks. They, like us, grew up with the dream to place some space shuttle like Discovery into it's orbit, the non-fulfillment of which makes them jet set on the roads till you brace yourself to the painted and rusted bars on the contraption and sing "Nearer my God to thee, Nearer to thee each day".

Problem 4:

The day you take the rick, you need to look deserving enough to pay anywhere close to the right fare. If you are sporting an attire modest by their standards, something that helps you blend and make you look deserving of their mercy, you might end up having some luck. It is as if they can sense the zeroes that followed the number which baffled you while you coughed up the amount you paid for those expensive- looking clothes, that expensive - smelling perfume, that expensive - looking make-up, that expensive anything. They make you pay up for your gross vanity and make you feel guilty that you sported one or a combination of those artifacts. You could pay up for those, why not for the extravagant fare on this marvel of modern living.

Problem 5:

They refuse to take U-turns; God forbid you need to reach the other side. You are better of walking, limping, crawling to the other side than requesting the omnipotent auto driver to take a U-turn.

Problem 6:

Peak traffic, One-ways, Night time. You think you are not responsible for the creation of any of these obstacles. But you forget you were the crook who voted (or refused to vote) the government into power which built the infrastructure on which are established the road traffic rules by the officials and the authorities that the government you elected are responsible for. Mea Culpa, Guilty again!! The subspecies makes you pay for that crime. And that beautiful rhyme "Twinkle, Twinkle little star" thats the only thing to give you company while you draw out straight hundreds to pay for a night-time odyssey.

Problem 7:

Not using the meter to charge you the fare. The device, fitted to each of these torments which shows the passenger about a fraction of the amount they end up paying for the ride, is reduced to an instrument to mock science in the face and make mathematics the butt of laughter by this greater sub species. The honest machine and the ripped passenger share the same haggard look once they are through with the ride. The honest passenger is left haggard by the mathematical equation that doesn't throw out a constant to link the number on the machine and the number on the currency notes. The machine is left in despair by how it's meticulous exactness (which in some cases has been thoroughly manipulated) in showing a cumulative fare, was completely ignored.

Problem 8:

The one of a kind mutation: homo sapiens honest auto driver. Once in a million rides you'll come across this variant who charges you the right fare and actually takes ten bucks less from the number he quoted because a new flyover has cut short the distance from A to B and he wasn't aware of it being open. This variant apologizes for his lack of awareness, and instead of taking you through the small lanes to make a one kilometre ride feel like ten times the distance on the time and space co-ordinates, actually sticks to the shortest distance between the two points- the straight line.

Why is this variant a problem- he rekindles hope that this super subspecies is actually not that bad. There are traces of the good crop left. With your belief in the super subspecies reinstated you take the next ride to realize soon enough that you had been spell bound by the mutation, you had actually forgotten the fraction- pay attention- that man was ONE in a Million. You'll have to take as many rides to receive the boon again.

With the hope that you and I will be blessed at least once in our lifetimes with the gift of a pleasant auto ride, and with wishes for a very bright and pleasant new year ahead, lets battle it out and face them with new grit and vigor!

God Bless - Happy New Year!!!

To my dad...

My neighbors just had a sweetest looking baby girl.

Each day I saw the Mrs. , prior to her delivery, I used to wonder 'isn't she curious to find out which parent the baby would resemble.'

This made me think about the thoughts my parents would have had when my mom was pregnant with me. I asked my mom, but she didn't have much to offer- either she didn't want to remember or that part of her memory was blanketed by an amnesia approximately the size I am today (read huge).

My dad passed away when I was about 5 or 6 years old, so that takes care of asking him about his feelings when they were pregnant with me.

Which reminded me, I miss my dad.

I often wonder what he would have done in certain situations that I encounter. It's hard to fathom his reaction because my memory of him is quite vague, hence to decipher his response would be even tougher.

I also sometimes wonder if life would have been different, had he been around today. May be, may be not.

Then I think about the people that have influenced my life to a large extent- the elderly, the younger ones, my mom's family, my dad's family, my friends- all of them do their part and blur away.

Amidst all these families that I've known since my childhood are dads, moms, brothers and sisters whose behavior I think might be similar to a family that I imagine as mine in my mind. Would it have been identical to my family - May be, may be not.

Well I take them as inspiration for many a short story, but when it comes to writing about my dad I lack the imagination. My mom gets teary-eyed when she talks about my dad. Her siblings don't talk about him to me, thinking I might miss him even more; my dad's family isn't much help either.

Hence to develop a character sketch of my dad would be impossible for me given the number of years that have clouded out any memory that I might have of him.

My sister recounts the dreams she has of my dad sometimes, I don't have much luck in that department either. I have no memories of having dreamt of him.

Then I think of father-ly/like figures, some elderly relatives of mine, friend's dad, granddads, some who patronize, some who try to patronize. If I draw a quality I like from each of them and try to draw my dad's character sketch it just doesn't fit. It feels like drawing pieces from different jigsaw puzzles and trying to complete a picture- just doesn't fit.

Each time I see a father teaching his ward to ride a bike, fly a kite, teach them driving, drop them to school, go for a college admission, recommend his child for a job, buy them clothes, do anything mundane to anything that shows he cares, my mind says "Why did I have to miss out on all this".

Sometimes in movies and sitcoms I see a few characters, extensions from our society on the screen, for whom being seen with their dad is plain ignominious. I want to just tell them out loud "dude you'll regret that when he's not around". If God gave me the opportunity, I would have felt privileged to have a chance to hang out with my dad. Wouldn't I?

I sometimes think I could have learnt a lot more from my Dad, who was an extrovert, than from my Mom, who's relatively too reserved.

I would never be judgmental of my mom, not in a hundred years. My mom's a diligent woman, and her perseverance has been one of the virtues that I most admired in her. At the risk of sounding cliche, I would call her one of those brave souls who made lemonade out of the lemons that life threw in her face. When it comes to her only the proverb gets older with age, her perseverance has never flickered out.

And just when I thought I can never derive a character sketch of my dad I found his diary.

It was a log containing the day to day stuff he did, his work schedule and things-to- do lists plus some details here and there.

He was systematic enough to jot down and remember that he had to send a letter to my mom.

He wrote down the names of movies he watched, his financial details. Other than this in his log he had listed out his work schedule, and, more about his work schedule.

Well so much for this treasure I thought I had unravelled.

My grandma once drifted,very briefly, to discussing my father and told me he had a zest for life.

So now for lack of better details this is what I imagine my dad might have been. A man who picked up the lemons life threw at him and was zesty enough to make iced lemon tea out of them.

Does that help?May be, May be not.

The only picture, that I remember my dad by now, is the silhouette of a man that lay still in a coffin many years back. A silhouette so blurred by my tears that I could never see his face.

Do I think he's still there for me? Maybe...

Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

There's only one piece of poetry that reverberates in my mind on all three national holidays in India. Be it The Republic Day, The Independence Day or Mahatma Gandhi's Birthday, one poem I learnt in school is the only thing that keeps playing in the back of my mind - Rabindranath Tagore's beautiful "My Country Awake".

My Country Awake

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;

Where knowledge is free;

Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls;

Where words come out from the depth of truth;

Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;

Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;

Where the mind is led forward by Thee into ever-widening thought and action;

Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

The story about the silver linings...

I'm overweight. I'm exaggerating, my BMI is actually 0.3 points below the overweight stratum.

The mathematical interpretation of which is that I'm not yet there, but with a little bit of help from a couple more cheese cakes, a little more chocolate mousse, a good number of dollops of that high fat Ice cream- Oh yeah! I'll get catapulted well within that territory.

I visited my physician, and when she pulled out my file, I was as stunned as she was when we both learnt that I had amassed 7 kgs since my last visit a little under 2 years ago.

Anyways, instead of suggesting rigorous exercise to torture that bad cholesterol out of my system, she was kind enough to suggest walking for 45 minutes every day.

This I liked, and whole heartedly welcomed. I like taking long walks.

Now my only problem was - where do I start and where does it end? 

My problem was solved by the magnanimity of the Electricity Board, which built it's outlet at some distance from our place for the convenience of God-Knows-who. 

Here's how they worked in my favor. (I know.... sounds oxymoronic, public utility in favor of citizens, I'm laughing as I type)

Our electricity meter has not been working since the beginning of last month. The meticulous EB professional who came to take our meter reading promptly noted that all the ceiling fans in our house were running but the meter, not so much. He asked me to take copies of the Electricity Bill Payment cards, draft a letter requesting a new meter and submit all the documents to the nearest EB branch. 

I do not know if it was Chennai heat or the meticulous EB professional's observation which made my blood whoosh to my brain. Frankly, I like a lot of other people, do not like the idea of going to any government utility office.

After about two years of being with my husband, my mind is somehow getting conditioned to think positive in the scene of adversity. I was already seeing pandemonium, so I started looking for solutions and those silver linings that I've been trained to look for.

Wallah!  My "walk for 45 minutes" was taken care of. 

The plan was simple. I walk to the EB office at stipulated timings, absorb all the "can't-do's", the "come-later's", the "not-in-stock-yet's" they shower on me. After a few futile efforts of reasoning with the customer service official (I know, I'm laughing again)-  I walk back. 

Who's smiling this time?? They bestowed the 45 minutes walk on me without their knowledge. Yehahhaha..... in your face EB...

But my husband being the "Man-who-wears-the-pants", "system-needs-to-be-fixed", "I-pay-my-taxes", "I-have-some-rights", "let's-think-of-solutions" guy - will in a few days, I'm sure, discuss-deal with-explain-call superiors-give them a ear-full  and solve the problem.

Thus, alas! I'll have to look for another somewhere to walk to. 

I know where; The internet connection has been acting funny as well. Guess who provides us that service? 

I'm smiling again.

What part of "NO" Doesn't make sense to you??

This is a question I've been wanting to ask the bigwigs of North Korea ever since they've started having trouble with South Korea again, or to be more precise ever since they've started this "hooliganism" of test firing their wares.

Hold this against me if you want to, but I do not like the idea of another war, doesn't matter if it is between North and South Korea, between terrorist and the tormented, between Naxalites and the government, for oil, for land, for ransom, for whatever man wants.

I am risking the criticism of those pro-defense people and of the paranoids, that we, in the name of X number of reasons, have created post 9/11's and 7/11's of the world. I don't even want to go to the world wars and the "mushrooms".

Believe me when I say I don't like the idea of running underground each time a siren shrieks, and I'm sure at least a handful of you out there would agree hands down to this proposition of mine. I only say "No war".

I don't want anyone out there to be a victim of a suicide bomb in Pakistan or Afghanistan. It is a nightmare to think of people practicing with some newly fashioned automated weapon, when they, at least in their subconscious know that the enemy is another human being.

I remember my mom telling me stories of the emergencies and wars she's seen during her college days in Ambala, Punjab, and about the black paper and blankets that were plastered to the windows, about the undercover candle lights and trenches into which they scurried each time a siren sounded and warplanes flew overhead dropping bomb shells on any signs of life that they sensed from their vantage points.

As if all the rest of the trouble in the world has already been sorted out, people have started bringing out spy satellites and flashing nuclear weaponry. Why, in God's name, don't they understand that all of us, irrespective of what part of the Earth we are on, will be on the receiving end.

And again, I read the story of another 3 year old kid in California shooting her one year old sibling to death with a .45 that the parents left under their bed. My first take on it was "Really? you leave a gun around the house within children's reach?"

Where will this end, when the last two survivors of the homo sapien species kill each other over some trifle which would anyways be off reach when the drama winds?

 

Life's a comedy, if you have a good sense of humor :)

My husband is a thorough believer of the "glass half full" doctrine. He feels nothing can deter you from seeing the silver lining, provided you are determined to look only for the opportunity that each problem presents. I cannot refrain from saying it's true, and it has worked in his favor in each context that he's applied it to.

Of late, I have been choosing to ignore both the cloud and the silver lining and take a different route altogether. I have chosen to give in and admire the completion of a larger picture.

This larger picture can only be a masterpiece. Each masterpiece requires it's own time to attain completion. Each color plays it's part and stays in oblivion or becomes obsolete at the end of the errand.

But a thought that refuses to let go is: Isn't there always another side to each story, another interpretation of each tale. Yours, mine and everybody else's.

I bet at least one interpretation would be in a lighter vein. 

I never thought death of a near or dear one could bring in tears of joy. Now here's what defined that aspect, a novel manner of looking at a loss.

A very close relative of mine, whom I dearly love, told me recently that she missed her mother terribly. Her mom had battled against cancer till 2004, her mom's body finally gave in to the illness.

Me and a lot of her well wishers were sad that she missed her mom. We couldn't go beyond consoling her and telling her to hang in there.

But she in her turn had an entirely different spin to it. 

This is what she said "Thanks guys, don't worry I am not sad at all I just miss her, I feel her in my life every day, my bro and I think of all the fun things 3 of us used to do, I am glad Binu and I were blessed with a great mother who gave us good values and who was very strong and very very funny, thinking about my mom makes me laugh more than get depressed... she was that hilarious :).. but thanks a lot for u r concern :)".

Need I say more and ruin this way of looking at such a huge loss. Each of us is a philosopher, it is the philosophy we use that counts.

Life's a masterful comedy, we just need to have a great sense of humor to appreciate it... 

In the driver's seat.

Today has been a great day for me so far. I got up early, coaxed into doing so by my alarm. I went to the ATM near where I live, it was working. I saw my bank balance, it was a huge figure thanks to my last employer.

It doesn't stop there. I achieved the unachievable after that. I negotiated and convinced an auto driver to take me to a place for the right price, without him cursing me or me frowning at him.

After that, I went to the RTO. I've been a licensed bike flyer (without gear), I wanted to add a new found talent to it, flying the car. Hence I stood in the queue for half an hour. After that a middle aged lady fought for me and shoved me ahead of the rest. She said "this amma has been standing here for long, please allow her to pay the fees." I paid the fees but they gave me the receipt in my maiden name. For a moment a scene whizzed through the spacious setting called my mind - that of me spending another hot and sunny day at the RTO to get my name changed. I quickly told him my surname had been mentioned wrongly. He, a government official, 'advised' me to get it corrected when the actual license got developed.

By the time I took the advise and jostled out of the sweaty crowd that was waiting to pay their fees, I got late. The candidature was already full for the day. The representative from my driving school asked me to go and get the signature from the inspector's office inside. I went to the inspector, after ignoring me for a bit he actually did approve my candidature for the test. Wallah! have I died and gone to heaven?

After that the actual test began. I see the car in which I practiced came for the test. This car is the peer of the first Maruti that Suzuki and Sanjay Gandhi wanted to launch in India. I knew exactly how to manipulate those extensions that dangle in the name of clutch, brake and accelerator in that car. The engine was already on, I just needed to put it in first gear and move it. Believe you me, somebody was praying real hard for me, the car started moving very smoothly. I maneuvered the steel contraption into second gear, again because of someone praying real hard, it shifted smoothly. The inspector looked at me then announced to the people in the back seat "this is how you need to drive."

"What, me, really? Oh! I had always dreamt of this day, I'd like to thank the RTO, the driving school, my driving instructor, who always scolded me in Tamil, and the entire driving fraternity for not driving on that stretch of 200 ft where my driving test actually happened." And just as the inspector had finished applauding me and was about to grade me, the car jumped slightly. I gave my broadest smile to the inspector and moved the gear to neutral.

Hey, but I was the best among the people who had come for the driving license test today, or that was what the inspector had just said. I proudly live by the compliment.

Then without much delay I went to take my picture for the license, which lived up to the standards of all government issued identity cards. I will not complain, because the photographer-cum- license document development personnel was willing to correct my name.

What the heck, I'm a licensed driver, and to me it means the government should stop constructing medians on the roads, or for that matter side walks: I have a natural tendency to go and hit medians and sidewalks. And for all those driving Audis, Beamers, Mercs and Lexuses -  yehahhahahaha (my evil most laugh). With the powers vested in me by the RTO, I shall try not to nudge your bumpers. And to all you who want to come and bump into the bumper of whatever match box I'll drive - WTF!!!

Hey, I could drive for 200 feet what more proof do you need from me, 'the best of the lot',  to brand me a reliable driver. 

Yes, the world will be a very different place when I'm in the driver's seat. (no puns intended)

I wish I could fly

"I shouldn't have stepped out of the house today. Damn this traffic. Why did I ever take this route? These buses. Can't they ask them to run on CNG instead of diesel? Can't they at least ask them to fix their engines? Look at this, here comes another monstrosity right behind me." 

These were my thoughts as I sat jammed between an ocean of buses on a weekday when I was supposed to attend a meeting in another 10 minutes.

"Oh my God! If you are around here somewhere, this is my wish for today, 'I wish I could fly'."

I decided to first lower and peep out of my car window and then step out to check what was wrong. Why was there such a huge commotion ahead of me. What is it all about?

I stepped out of the car and felt something I had never experienced before - "Zero Gravity". I started flying. I floated away and joined the rest of astounded humanity that was sky diving against gravity.

I said to myself "Great! should have asked for a billion dollars instead".

As soon as I reached the nearest person I asked " What's happening? Why is everyone flying? Was there some kind of warning about this on the news?" She smiled and answered " If there was one, I never heard it. I am enjoying the fare free flight."

I butted in " How do we all get back to the surface?" She looked to where my car lay crushed like a huge roll of metal.

I yelled "That one is going to court for this, my car is not even one year old. Damn these rash bus drivers ". She smiled and looked down again.

They were pulling me out, lifeless and full of gore.

I looked around there was no one else, just a light that hit and transformed me into a flying seed, and then I got caught up in a wind and got blown away to my next life.

Train to Chennai

This title reminds me of a legendary title by Khushwant Singh, "Train to Pakistan". 

The title or this post of mine has nothing to do with the gore and riot in Singh's "Train to Pakistan". 

This post is about my feelings and thoughts when I first came to Chennai.

My first trip to Chennai was when I had to attend a job interview. I really can't describe the thoughts I had in my mind. Did I feel nervous, was I anxious, was I scared? I cannot really put my finger and tell anyone what was it that swept my mind as I boarded my train to Chennai.

There are always a couple of young men who are bored, and, who always find a seat next to yours in a train, and who always talk to you though you don't. I would term it unwanted co-incidence. This time around the unwanted coincidence brought to me a young man who without any prompting from my humble self, introduced himself as a Naval Officer who was on his way to Orissa. He started telling me why he took this particular train, (in my mind I said "Why God Why?"), why he had to travel to Orissa via this route, why he was traveling to Orissa, who his parents were, where his family was, what the rest of his siblings were doing, why he likes the navy....... I do not know who trained him to converse incessantly, but there it was. There was no dearth of topics. Do not mistake me for the one who prompted even an article of this conversation. The gentleman went on talking while I read my magazine.

After a bit when I didn't respond to any of his questions, he looked at me and delivered the classic line "I didn't get your name". 

I am not the hottest desi girl in the world. I am an average looking commoner. If this is my plight, I can only sympathize with the rest of the fairer sex which is endowed with the looks to wow.

Anyways, in my attempt to shoo him away I told him I have an interview and I'm trying to prepare for it, so incase he didn't mind I'd like to be left alone.

And the story continued, he started asking me about the interview.

The next time I came to Chennai, it was to take up the job. I was full of anticipation. I felt elated, I was about to be a salaried individual. I was more fortunate than many others who had not made it. 

At a certain point when you are very close to Chennai Central station there emanates a bad stench. I'm not sure if it is from the factories or the handiwork of civilization, but it hammers your senses.

That is the feeler Chennai gave me sometimes. 

Each time after this bout, whenever I reach the stinking spot, there is this rush within me, which wants me to take the next train and go back home. 

I've been in Chennai for a while now, I'm settled here, but I still don't call it home. 

My home is a different place, it is the place where this train starts from. If we go back some 800 kilometers on the same railway track we'll come across a green expanse. A backwater logged somewhere, some chinese nets on the way, where small kids imitate movie stars, where a regional daily rules the thought process of an entire mass, where English is still alien, where people dream of going to foreign lands to bring back gold and wealth, where children go to school in crisp, starched and bright, white uniforms, where the muezzin calls, the church bell rings and devotees chant auspicious mantras. Where there are houseboats, sea-food, and small rivulets for amateur swimmers. Where there are sweets and delicacies and an elderly mother waits with love in her eyes to see her weary children come back home.

My home is where there are feuds, where there are flags: red, orange, white, green, black, where people laze during the day and go on strike to protect, or protest against, egos. Where there are paddy fields bursting with crop, but only demanding workers, who would do everything else but harvest, where work is considered torturous and contemptuous and people love living on another's mercy. Where quacks thrive, where bribery flourishes, where selfishness prevails and truth lives in silenced by - lanes. Where daylight robbery, murder and slander are not uncommon, such is my home.

God's own country.

Thats why I had to take the Train. The train to Chennai, which leaves behind home and hearth. The train which took me to the place where I earn my livelihood. The stench now reminds me of sweat, of toil, of hardships, of life.

In my mind I hear my mother singing a very old lullaby, and when the pitch surpasses the deafening roar of this mill that ages me, I'll return, wiser, never to board another train to anywhere.

what we see , what we ignore

I finally watched "Slumdog Millionaire". 

It came recommended by a friend, and I had to watch it because she said it's worth a watch. Now for all those who think its because of the hype created by the incessant rant of Indian media (which makes false, true and the trivial, news) at the movie doing an astounding round at the Golden Globe awards, or because Anil Kapoor jumped up from his seat enthusiastically when an award was announced for the movie, no, that was not the reason why I watched it.

There is something about movie making and literature about India which strikes me as strange, India's poverty portrayed in its disgusting originality is always award winning material. Don't get me wrong, I love the movie, I love Indian literature and I love another's perspective of India, but what really stands out is the poverty, the slums, the hunger, the struggle for survival, the violence, the corruption and the crimes.

I really needed a reality check, am I choosing to look at only some part of it and missing that part of India which comes under the microscope and becomes a big hit on big silver screens or becomes a bestseller across the globe? 

A small 10 minute  walk away from my place is a river, (or used to be a river, now it's mostly a drainage), there's a huge bridge on it (courtesy: the corporation or the British) and below the bridge are 6' x 6' x 6' shelters made of bamboo sticks, tarpaulin and plastic sheets, which serve as homes for a few members of homo sapien species. I use that name because they have the same physical form, exhibit similar physical processes, but their method of survival, their lives and their worlds seem to be dramatically different from the rest of us. They worry about their daily bread while those plying on the bridge are in a rush to capitalize on someone else's loss.

They live by the streetlights and cooking fires, the stinking river is the source of their drinking water. They bathe and wash there as well. I fail to fathom at what cost do they keep themselves from starving to death.

One evening as I walked back home, from a vantage point on the bridge I saw an India amidst those dwellings which I wouldn't like to remember, the India painted by the literary world. As I walked ahead on a dark by-road where there are only huge bungalows, a small distance away like no normal kid from the "civilized" India I know, there stood a girl probably 12 or 13, dressed gaudy, colorful clothes, face all made up with cheap colors. I saw her face in a feeble light, that of her expensive mobile, which she constantly monitored to check for calls. I walked past her. A motorcycle stopped close to where she stood, she talked to the person, got on his bike and rode off.

As I watched the movie, I had a sense of deja vu, I had seen this before, not to its entire extent or capacity, but in glimpses.It was from the India that we all choose not to see, to consciously ignore, India described by Rohinton Mistry and the likes of him.

*****************************************

On a brighter note, I felt extremely happy as I saw A. R. Rahman steal the spotlight for the beautiful music he rendered to the movie. I told my husband, "its kind of inspirational, his story." I would love to read a biography of his life. My husband says he must have faced his own struggles to reach where he is. But I feel he is gifted too, there's a talent, a creativity, which was required to make it to this stature.

The best I could get was his story the way Wikipedia puts it. But I cannot contain my joy as I read his birth date: 6th January, the same date on which yours truly made her whining entry into the world. 

Now I wave my hands over the crystal ball and gaze into the future to see if this magic number weaves magic for me :)

Archive...

I let the last year set on the horizon behind me, as I flew across the globe to another world altogether. 

I've had a great and very memorable year, a year with its own ups and downs. A year of smiles intertwined with frowns, but far away and in peace. 

The first thought that came to mind after landing on this part of the world is surprisingly a song

 "Seene mein jalan, aakhon mein toofaan sa kyon hai

  Is Shehar mein har shaks, pareshaan sa kyon hain"

Bad economy? Don't know. NY with all its losses still had christmas lights, 30 Rockefeller Plaza sported a fab tree, but this part of the world is glum.

I thought it was just a feeling, a concoction of my own mind, and then I met my accountant, who couldn't contain his joy as he spoke of New York, Central Park, Madison Square, and the one thing which we both fancied alike, the caricaturists' in New York. He didn't hesitate to switch from numbers and forms to the folder where he had archived his best memories of Manhattan. He smiled as he chanted the best things about the city, it's fast paced life and how people wouldn't forget to smile as they walked past you in a frenzied rush. I wanted to ask him, then why don't the people here smile at you, why do they only dash past you? Instead I wished aloud how great it would be if they replicated the Central Park concept in this city. He replied almost in the same breath, "you know they are trying to restore the area around the creek". I hope.

On the brighter side two people smiled at me today, one is an auto driver who wanted ten bucks more, and another one is the auto driver who charged me 100% more for another trip.

Lets just say in the last couple of days I have changed gears from near perfection to almost anarchy.

But when I think of the last year, I guess I couldn't have asked for more. It was like seeing an oasis, not a mirage, a real oasis.

I don't want to think about Mumbai or the Gaza strip, I don't want to remember the job cuts, the auto industry, the gas prices, the Exxon profits, Fannie and Freddie, Fritzl's of the world, Chinese milk and eggs, the Bush administration or the "hunk"administration that is to come. I run away from bureaucracy, red-tapism and auto drivers. Bad omen, all that.

I close my eyes and pray a small one - liner as I imagine the next year 

"Loka samastha sukhino bhavanthu"

And remember the smile from a little boy that I captured in my memory. He's just over one and a half years old, doesn't know a single word from the above mentioned important paragraph. He mumbles sweet nothings and smiles a million - dollar smile.

Thats the only note I hold in my mind in anticipation of tomorrow. No champagne, no celebration, no red carpet, no rich, no poor, no ritz, no glitz, no glamor, just a small smile, a prayer, and a wish that my friend who serves the Indian Navy makes it back safely after patrolling too close to Pakistani waters tomorrow.

And ya, most importantly, I'm not going to read the news until later tomorrow. Everything else can wait, the next moment and the year that follows is mine, to make another important memory, and later, archive. 

Thanks to Thanksgiving

My friend's son, who is 8, and I were having a discussion of sorts on the Turkey day, and he asked me "what is it that you are thankful for which starts with the letter "L"?" I wasn't very sure what answer he was expecting, without putting much thought to it, and lacking a better answer, I said "I'm thankful for my Life", I continued "How about you? What are you thankful for starting with the letter "L"?", he said "Oh I don't know, my Leg, maybe." 

I didn't expect great philosophy from an eight year old boy, but he did trigger the thought, how many times have you and I been thankful for this gift of life?

Before I get struck by Alzheimer's or Amnesia, I would like to record an event where my life was spared. That is what this post is about.

This happened when I was in my twelfth grade, when I was preparing for my Pre - Board exams. My sister was getting engaged in Kerala, and I could not make it because of my exams. Hence I was home alone, so to speak. My mom was slightly worried about leaving me alone and going to Kerala and hence she requested our neighbor-n - friend to send the Nanny who took care of

their kids to sleep over at our place for the duration that she was gone. Our neighbor- n - friend was kind enough to oblige.

I was glad that I didn't have to sleep alone for the few hours that I actually slept during the exams. (Yup, I was a 'last minute crammer', and I paid for it in full, by compromising my sleep).

Well, this was the first time that I had actually talked to the nanny. She was an elderly lady, I'm guessing in her late 50's, and was very friendly and talkative (what with the limited time I had at hand to cram in stuff for the exams). She asked me all about my family, my dad, what did he do? She told me about her family. Her dad and mom were no more, one of her brothers had also passed away. The only members of her family who were still around were her younger brother and herself. I sympathized with her for a bit and asked her where she would like to sleep. She happily lay down on the couch besides the table where I used to study. She kept gazing at my dad's picture for a while, and asked me questions. I answered them in short sentences (intermitted by my cramming).

I fell asleep on my book and then dragged myself to the bed and slept. I got up an hour or two after that only to discover that the nanny had not slept, in fact, she was wide awake and was sitting upright still gazing at my dad's photo. I asked her if she couldn't sleep because the place was new or because the couch was uncomfortable, she said "No, it's because in a couple of hours it would be time to send our neighbor - n - friend's kids to school." [I started rote learning stuff at full speed, because I had only a few more hours to go before the ordeal (exam)]. 

The nanny just dashed out of the house without saying bye. I was too busy to spare time for good manners (even after 12 + years of convent education, because when they asked me for formulas and chemical compositions in the next few hours I'd have to come up with really innovative out of the world stuff if I would have spared 2 minutes)  or to walk her to the door or to check if she safely reached my neighbor- n friend's house, hence I just continued cramming (Absolutely non-courteous ... I know).

That night the nanny came by, she looked perplexed. I felt guilty for not sparing enough time the night before (12+ years of convent education, it makes you feel guilty for a wrong- doing at the least). I started talking to her, asking her about her life, how much she liked Delhi on a scale of one to ten?, does she have any hobbies? about her childhood, she went on and told me she was single. A Keralite woman single, not a nun, thats unheard of. I asked her why she chose to stay single. (none of my business to know that, it came out in the sequence of pleasantries and I was shocked even as I realized I was asking her that). Well to my great comfort, she didn't look appalled at my audacity, and I was much relieved when she said she wasn't interested in getting married. ( In my mind : "hallelujah!! and please don't tell my mom that I asked you what I just did, she will get annoyed at my overly curious and extremely nosey question")

To my great surprise, she dashed out the same way in the wee hours of the morning again but this time I went after her and looked on to ensure that she made it safely to the neighbor-n-friend's place.

The next night she never showed up. I waited till it was really late, and then didn't think it wise to venture out. The next morning our neighbor - n - friend visited me very early in the morning and checked if he could borrow our padlock. I was perplexed, I asked him if the nanny was fine as I handed him the lock and keys, I told him she never showed up last night. Neighbor- n - friend gave me a troubled expression, and told me that the nanny wasn't well. The morning following the first night that she had slept over at my place, she came home saying she was very hungry and she ate a lot, when neighbor- n -friend expressed his concern at her over eating at her age, the nanny got angry and threw her plate away.

The morning following the second sleepover, when she reached the neighbor - n - friend's place she just picked up a knife and charged at him with no reason at all. He ducked the assault shoved her into the room and bolted it from outside. He stood by the door and asked her what was wrong. She never answered his question , she kept mouthing words that made no sense.

I didn't know how to react. I told him that she talked very casually to me on the two nights that she had given me company, but for the fact that she hardly slept.

I was rallying with the thought of her acting weird all through that day, that evening all of a sudden I heard a huge commotion, I looked out of the window and found the nanny being carried back inside the house. My curiosity got the better of me, and I rushed to the neighbor - n - friend's place to find out what the ruckus was all about. 

They had called a doctor to have a look at the nanny. The nanny was singing strange songs and looked lost and distant. She kicked and jolted her legs, and let out screams of pain. I learnt that she had jumped from the balcony of the room where she had been locked. I assumed that she might have hurt herself really badly in doing so, and the scene that followed was what I had witnessed from my window.

The doctor arrived, she threw a single glance at the nanny and said "I think she's suffering a mental trauma", The doctor examined her and tried to talk to the nanny. She announced that the nanny had a fractured hip and acute schizophrenia. 

She asked the neighbor - n -friend how he knew the lady, He told her that she was the nanny who looks after his kids. The doctor looked at him with wide - eyed bewilderment as if conveying with her eyes "are you out of your mind?"

She requested him to discharge her from her duties with immediate effect, ask her family to take custody of her and treat her for the fractured hip.

She went on to explain how dangerous the nanny could have been, had she attacked the kids. She asked if the nanny exhibited any exceptional behavior. Neighbor- n - friend, explained how she had suddenly developed a huge appetite and how she got aggressive when he cautioned her about over- eating. He also told her that she had tried to attack him with a knife and that's why he locked her up in self defense. I told the doctor that she had not been much of a restful sleeper the last couple of nights when she had been at my place.

The doctor looked at me and said young lady be glad she didn't do you any harm or attack you while you were asleep.

My breath got stuck somewhere in the rib cage when I heard the Doctor say that. She said people with the mental condition that the nanny is suffering heard voices in their brain which asked them to behave in a particular fashion. They tend to follow whatever their "inner voice" says. (Thank you "inner voice" for sparing my life, even after me not being too courteous).

When neighbor - n - friend called the nanny's younger brother, he discovered, that the nanny's dad and older brother were Schizophrenic too. They eventually succumbed to the mental trauma and killed themselves. The nanny had shown signs of the trauma and had been briefly treated for it. (the real reason for her being single). When she showed signs of recovery, she was shipped off to an entirely new place in the hope that she will be cured of the mental condition given the new environment. Well fortunately or unfortunately the symptoms surfaced, and she was sent for treatment after this incident.

At that particular juncture I didn't know what to do or how to react. Now, many years from that day, amidst the celebration and the aroma of a well cooked turkey and other delicacies, when my little friend asked me what I was thankful for, this whole episode played in my mind.

I'm thankful for my life. I really am. I'm not the First Indian- American lady president of the United States of America, but life has been kind to me, for the most part. I would have missed out on a lot of exciting stuff including my sister's wedding if the nanny would have tried to stab and kill me in my sleep.  

I'm thankful for thanksgiving and the little boy who reminded me to be thankful, even if it was through arbitrary conversation. I'm thankful to life for all the great things it has thrown my way, including this snow flake of an anticipation to look forward to a very white Christmas.

Fingers Crossed!!!

I went to School in New Delhi, the political capital of India. My school crowd was principally composed of north Indians. I didn't bother much about the differences in race or religion until one fine day a student who had joined newly, and was by birth a north Indian, came and asked me after the morning ritual of roll- call, why my name was so strange.

 I was surprised, I had studied in the school for more than a decade, no one - students or teachers, had asked me that question. I asked her "what makes you think my name is strange?" She answered,"I don't know what your name means." I said "Rosa, is Latin for Rose. What else is strange?" She continues "Why do you have a middle name?" I explained to her that Christians, from the part of the country I belonged to, have a name by which they are called when they are baptized (and explained what Baptism is, at the risk of being called a religious fanatic studying in a convent school trying to convert a non-christian). I told her that the middle name was chosen by my parents, and then the last name is my family name. 

She stresses "exactly my point why isn't it less complex, why can't it just be a Shivani or a Neha or a Pooja" (all common names in my class). I said "Ya it would have been a lot more easier if we all looked similar too, like the mongoloids, the uninitiated can't make out who is who?" That was my attempt at humor, which was mistaken for arrogance, and resulted in a lost acquaintance. 

My dear long lost school friend, have you heard the name of the new president of USA who is an African-American for crying out loud, "Barack Obama", It is nowhere to be found in the confines of the English Dictionary, my name is light years away in complexity to that one.

After congratulating Obama on his victorious dash to the Oval Office, McCain said 'The American people have spoken, and they have spoken out loud'. I am filled with jubilation as I see the American people raise their voices to bring in this much awaited change. Now it's the duty of the President elect to make sure this voice for change reverberates throughout the planet. 

And I hope that at least, some twenty years from now when someone who doesn't belong to the creme De la creme of the Indian society, who is educated (not just literate) and is an educator, who has the confidence and the insight to lead the country, asks India for their vote, they forget if he or she is a Shivani, a Jasmeet, a Harish, a Palaniappan, a Yadav, a Sinha, a Trivedi, a Nair, a Tendulkar, a someone from some part of the country, and vote for him/ her with the same enthusiasm that the American people have shown in voting for change and creating history.

And I hope that years from now, everyone wakes up in a world free of terrorism and war. 

And I hope that years from now, everyone wakes up in a world where they do not have to worry about going hungry for another day.

And I hope that years from now, everyone wakes up in a world where people don't have to hope that their jobs are secure each morning, as they set out for work.

Hope is the fuel with which I inject my train of thoughts to the future, I hope we come out with a fuel as clean as hope for actual transportation. I keep my fingers crossed!!

And before I take the fast lane to tomorrow, I have one question I want to ask out loud "Where the hell is George W. Bush?" and when he comes to the forefront I gloat after saying,

"You're Fired".

About what?

There have been so many thoughts racing through my mind in the last couple of days, I'm really not sure what the subject should be. 

Thought 1: Recession

I have been hearing endlessly about the slowdown since I landed in New York in January this year. Each time the Federal Chairman gives a worried expression to the media, Wall Street starts sweating in their Italian designer suits, and then that sweat wave ripples across the rest of the world starting with the sun rise on the Tokyo Stock Exchange. My limited learning of Macroeconomics has enlightened me on 3 steps taken during the trough, (i) Rate cuts, (ii) Central Bank pumps back money, (iii) Central bank buys short term debt. I've seen Ben Bernanke backed by the US government (or vice versa) do all three in the course of three financial quarters. What makes me sweat in my jeans and T on Main Street is the economic analyst on news at 6 who says the economies across the world continue to swoon. Then where are the tax payers' dollars? Whom did we bail- out or (to go with a better marketing term) rescue? Is it because the big shots at AIG blew a whopping 440,000 at a resort after the bail out? Yup, please continue to get your manicures and pedicures, we promise to continue paying for them.

Thought 2: The US presidential election

I am head over heels in love with the Obama - Biden ticket, If I could vote, I would vote for them. Why do I love them? a) I like people who give me rationalizations instead of bull crap. b) I haven't seen Obama throwing mulch to deface another presidential candidate during his presidential campaign. c) I would like to see how Obama, who comes across as a very reasonable man, would pull the whole world out of this financial catastrophe. What scares me are words like Ulterior motives, terrorism, how he got there from food stamps to a 1.5 million home at Kenwood? I am a believer in the "everything is for good" motto, and in my mind I pray that no nation sees another 9/11 ever. As for McCain I would like to quote Biden's words lifted from his Vice- Presidential Debate: " John McCain has been dead wrong. I love him. As my mother would say, God love him, but he's been dead wrong on the fundamental issues relating to the conduct of the war. Barack Obama has been right. There are the facts."

Thought 3: I have a dream!

Each time I see Obama at his campaign, the words of Martin Luther King, Jr., reverberate in my mind. I have a dream. I want to see if King's dream is fulfilled. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

Thought 4: I am bad at giving directions.

My husband would agree hands down to this statement. Somehow I am extremely challenged when it comes to this facet of existence. I cannot say "to the right" or "to the left", instead I use words and phrases like "here", "there", "that one", "that fly over", "this exit". Rest assured I will never steer a ship even if my whole life depended on it, cause instead of saying "iceberg ahead!" my words would be "iceberg over there", while the ship sinks and the desperate crew looks around to find what I meant by "over there".

Thought 5: I'm a Mac

I used to love PC's and I don't disregard them now. But my husband's Mac has sucked in my soul into itself. Why do I say that, I sometimes think to myself, how does this thing co-ordinate with me so finely. When I used PCs I used to get restless when it didn't respond at the spur of the moment. Use a Mac you'll know the difference instantaneously. I don't care if the whole world uses PCs and criticizes me for this, but hey - I'm a Mac and I don't care about being called a stereotype, or wearing glasses it's all about the user interface and the user experience.

Thought 6: Why do friends change?

I have a lot of friends whom I cherish. My husband asked me a very intriguing question one of these days, "Who is your best friend? Can you define what you mean by calling someone your best friend?". As I said I've had lots of friends and acquaintances till date, If you asked me while I was in school, college or my work place I'm sure at least one name would have popped up over the rest. Those people are still around, but where's that relationship now? I failed to find an answer. There's only one person who I cherish over the rest still. But when I bumped into that one, I found the same person but not the same friendship. I asked to myself why do friends change? 

These and a lot of other casual monologues race through my mind. My thought factory continues its process, it sometimes comes out with junk, sometimes with pearls of wisdom. So what should I pen down? and ...  About what?