Back on the track? Again off it??

Hmmm... I ve never been so confused before! I can only think of things I dont want to do. But I cant strongly put my energy into things I want to do. Weird! I hope to take a first step towards it today!


Call for some drastic changes... Another hope to pursue my dreams. All it needs is a little determination and will power. Ive lost both somewhere along the way!

Anyways, will start again today!


Cheers!

In quest for normalcy

What I write in my blog today is of great importance to me. Ill/hot/bad/short tempered is what I have been all week long. Chinna thatha had come down from Madras to my place. I know for a fact that he’s an old man. I also know frm experience that old people get lonely and depressed more. They long for company and an amicable atmosphere. Above all the only thing they ask for is a small minute fragment of your time and for you to listen to them patiently. Having known all this I behaved rather despicably! I ve been like a grizzly bear. I got irritated every time he asked me a question. I didn’t want to stop and answer. I sat in my room and sulked all week long. I walked out when he was telling me his travel story –yet another time. I haven’t been spending enough time with mom, dad, grand ma and pa. I think the root cause for all this goes a month back! I know exactly what the reason is. My altruistic streak…! Hell, who am I kiddin – My “cant mind my own business” streak! Got consumed by someone else’s problem so much that I started thinking of it as my own. I have to start putting things in the right perspective again. Re-organise my state of affairs and move on. Moving on is the key. Occupying my mind with something worthwhile is a challenge. I have wasted four precious years cribbing about the fact that what I was doing wasn’t exactly what I wanted to do! Don’t want to prolong that state of agony. Living in the past or in the unknown future hasn’t helped me one bit. I have always been in a hurry. There’s been this strange restlessness to move on. But I have no clue for what! I ve been planning and planning relentlessly. I have planned how my day should go, what time I should wake up, what I should, how I should do it etc etc. The planning was impressive alright! But sadly, nothing materialized into action. Not one thing. There was always an obstacle. Distance, laziness and internals. Its funny that I must include internals… cause I cant remember the last time I sincerely studied for one. But it was a big impediment –gnawing pain in my head – a reason for not doing what I wanted to do.


I remember reading this mail long time back – about six years back I think. The mail talked about how careful when we deal with strangers. We always greet them with a good morning, make small talk, answer their rather obvious questions, be courteous and put on that smile for them. But when we come back home we are so flippant with our loving family. Gone are those impeccable manners, gone are those wishes, a perpetual frown adorns our face and we get irritated when they ask mundane questions about how the day went etc etc. Why do we do that? After all they matter more to us than those strangers do. Yet, we go out of our way to please them and don’t even bother to acknowledge the fact that we have hurt them. I plan to set a few things right during the course of this week and bring back a semblance of peace into my otherwise restless life!

Cheers have a nice day

Inspired from Guess what???

Ashes from Ages

I am ‘The Hall’. I can hear a polite, almost apprehensive voice, tentatively questioning “Egotist?” and another squeaky thin ignorant voice asking “Egoist, miss-spelt?” I have passed the stage where I have to reply to these mundane queries. My history speaks for itself. Yes, I am the hall of Howard.

The freshman year here is only one of its kind. The chief warden of the hostel works out a real complex equation and puts the most brilliant Physicist with a funky modern arts student. Interestingly, they become the best of friends for life.


Year 1925:
Freshman day is carefully chosen. It is usually a bright sunny summer day when the exuberant youth dare to match the radiance of the sun. I play host to the most exotic among the human species. All the first years are present and it is the most important day of their young lives. The huge windows let in streams of golden sunlight, which warms the souls and envelops them into the vortex of its brilliance. The first years cast a cautious look over their shoulders wondering who among them will be the next president, Nobel laureate, the most acclaimed musician and after all a Howard graduate can’t be anything but a success. A few shrugs and shivers pass through their spine as they wait with baited breath as Sir Powell walks up the red carpet to address the gathering.

I am interested in the first row of students – Dani Rossi, oddly proportioned fellow, short and sparsely built but with the broadest of shoulders and long musical fingers was ready to set the stage on fire with his piano. Tom Clark wore the same blazers as his counterparts but he hunched his shoulders and hid his face with a large matching hat – On closer observation his blazers had a clever patchwork on it. Sara Caravan has brilliant blue eyes, keen and observant. Tom and Sara between them had mastered Latin and Greek literature –“The incredible duo”. Andrew Eliot was the only one in hall who was unsure. He had a House in Howard named after his ancestors. He was here not because he was Andrew but because he was an ‘Eliot’.

Sir Powell gave a speech that enthralled and captivated the brilliant minds and the papers lauded his effort and commented that it was the best speech that he had given.

25th reunion:
As the years flew and turned into decades, I weathered the cold and heat alike and I still stand tall and proud. The reunion day is also selected with great care. The mathematician strikes a delicate balance to see that year doesn’t come too early or too late and it is always on a misty winter morning.

Stylishly cut suits, expensive rain gear, baldheaded and aged drooping shoulders, walking sticks fill the ground outside my door. They lined up for one last time. The tall windows let in the fine mist and the gloomy lull. The whistling breeze drowned the hushed whispers and incoherent murmurs. They looked over their shoulders apprehensively and were shocked to see a few vacant spaces -Spaces, which were once filled by dynamic young men and women.
Dani Rossi the most successful musician of the batch lifted his hand in flourish to pay a musical tribute to those who were not amongst them and a mild tremor passed through his hands. His tired mind acknowledged the fact that he would not be able to play anymore. He had a rare neurological disease. Tom and Sara stood as far apart as they could. They were both strong contenders for taking over as the Head of the History department. Tom Clark stood tall and he wore the most expensive suit . Sara’s blue eyes were clouded and dull. All the three of them found themselves in the book of honor. There was a surprise inclusion in it. Andrew Eliot did not stand among them. He had an exclusive place on the podium. His name was the first on the honor list and next to it his achievements were highlighted. He made the single largest donation to the Howard welfare fund. He shuffled uneasily… Eliot was the successful one on stage and Andrew was still lost within Eliot.

Sir Powell’s framed photo occupied the center stage and his last words echoed-“Look up high to see only the light,
And never look down to see your shadow
This is a wisdom that man must learn”.

As tears flow from the eyes of grown men, the curious freshmen peep discreetly through the dark windows and move away in bewilderment , shrugging and I stand there just as before listening and watching.

Padmapriya.S

A slice of tea and a cup of bread!

A Slice of tea and a cup of bread

I try to open my eyes but I just cant. I feel that my eyelids weigh about a ton each. I have a nasty taste lingering in my tongue and the atmosphere around me seems serene… too serene for my liking. I try opening my eyes again and succeed opening it half way through. I find that I’m lying on a crisp white hospital bed. Am I dreaming? I close my eyes again in shock and in pain. I try to think hard as to how I came to be admitted in this hospital. It’s coming back now… slowly. I remember going to work on a Friday morning without breakfast as usual. I also remember feeling a little unwell. But that did not bother me… I wonder why. Ten years… I sigh. It is ten years since I fell ill. Surprising but true. Other than a few mild attacks of cold and cough I did not have a single health hazard. I have actually forgotten what it is like to fall ill. I remember vaguely that the peon on finding me delirious with a high temperature had called an ambulance and I was brought down here.

But then it’s ten years since I did so many things. Work is like an alcohol it consumes you, addicts you and kills the person in you. I now realize how much of this is true. The last time I was genuinely joyous was when I got through a job interview. I gave my friends a good party that lasted all night long. Friends… how alien this word seems now coming from my mind? I haven’t a clue as to what happened to any of them. I never returned any calls initially and then when I shifted my residence did not bother to inform. I open my eyes again to see a handsome doc in crisp white with his stethoscope. I wonder why this doesn’t stir me any more. I paint that smile on my lips again. It is something that my work made me an expert in. A smile that never touches one’s heart but just lingers on your lips. I started working first for the sake of job satisfaction, then for money and then for power. Now I don’t know why I work. I just feel it’s a natural compulsion from within. My routine since ten years have been machine-like, very precise and by the clock. I don’t know who my neighbors are. I just know there is a dog next door… because I can hear it bark at nights. My only unknown companion, a sign of life around me. I rise every day at four and prepare something that could be called breakfast, pack the same for my so -called lunch and by 5:30 am I’m out of my house. a I pay a visit to a gym, work out for a couple of hours and then rush to my office. I stay locked my in cabin with is furnished with great flourish and sometimes I become so involved with my work that I forget to eat.

I hear the pitter-patter of the raindrops against the windows and I open my eyes again. The aroma that the first rains of the monsoons evoke is an exquisite one. I find a few bouquets standing on a table near by. And guess what I just realize that the people at work can’t even be original. All of them have a foot -note attached and they are all exactly the same… except for their signatures. I can think of hundred other people working to get into my position. Strangely it doesn’t worry me now. I want to reflect on the times that I lived as a human. I was a totally muddle- headed teenager with my stuff thrown all over the place. I used to love trekking and I can still remember the great times I shared with my friends, sitting by the bon fire talking about everything… dreams, fears, joys, sorrows and some of us did not even know what we wanted to be then. We were in paradise blissfully happy and happily ignorant that the harsh world was waiting for us just around the corner. My parents were such wonderful people always supportive, loving and caring. My mother never mumbled when I kept searching for things or didn’t clean up my room. My dad was a great inspiration always urging me to do what I wanted. I was totally secure in a blanket of love and youthful exuberance and confidence. Now I wonder where is that happy teenager in me now… or was it really me then. I just think that the person in me is now lost… buried deep beneath the rubbish of sophistication, obligation and a host of other adjectives spelling nonsense.

It’s three and it’s visiting time… I see my boss and a couple of other colleagues walking through that door. My mind is now made up. But then my plastic smile gets painted again… may sound like a cliché old habits do die hard. I receive their greetings with as much grace as possible and talk about general nothings and I’m definitely glad to see the back of them at the end of one hour and forty-five minutes. I thought their visit would do me good. But no, it’s only made me realize and acknowledge the fact that there is absolutely no one in this world who cares for me. As these sad thoughts linger I realize I’ve started to sink in a deep hole of self pity and depression. I ask the nurse for a scribbling pad and a pen and write out a carefully worded resignation. The kind nurse even offers to post it for me. I heave a sigh of relief… I am well enough now to move about. I explore my surroundings for the first time. I realize I’m in a private nursing home and I find that it has a lovely little garden. I look around to see whether there some place to sit and I discover a stone bench. I go back to my room, pick up a couple of paper backs and my walk man and return to this heaven. Phew! What a relief…


I watch the sky change its color like a chameleon… a moment golden yellow, deep orange and then watch the darkness creep through and engulf the sky. As I gather my things and begin to walk back I notice the handsome doc with another doc … one difference though the other doc is a woman. I can only see her hair thick, long and flowing. I can remember only one other person who had such lovely hair- my best friend and closest pal… Rhea. I approach her rather tentatively and I wonder whether she will recognize me now and if she recognizes me would she accept me as her friend again. She recognizes me immediately and to my obvious delight hugs me tight. She takes me inside and we have a long talk about the time we spent together and what we did with our lives. I found out that she had indeed achieved her cherished goal to be doc and was now a practicing cardiologist. I tell her my story and she immediately offers to share her apartment with me. The day after that I find myself discharged from the hospital and also find a car full of flowers and old familiar faces. I’m so thrilled that I have no words to express it. I hug all of them and they all make me really feel wanted. It’s almost as if I’ve never been away. I thank God for such wonderful friends and I see a rainbow in the sky… I remember a school song-

“Every rainbow in the sky, every pretty butterfly
Tells a fascinating news to those who dare to hope….
That God still, still loves the world…”

I do understand that I can’t stay without working for the rest of my life. But I do need this break, a breathing space to rediscover myself, my joy and happiness moreover I need to rejuvenate myself. I will work but only to keep myself occupied and I will never again allow it to occupy me and consume me completely. I guess everyone wants to go forward in life but there are some people who would do anything to take a couple of steps backward and stand and watch for sometime. In my case probably it’s my good old muddle-headed self, peaking out just a wee bit. I feel a little better already. My books are spread out in my room, the local FM is playing all my favorite songs, my friend is making me some hot chocolate and I feel like dancing. Next time you see me standing in the rack and putting my walking stick to bed or asking for a slice of tea and a cup of bread don’t fret… I’m as well as anyone can possibly be.

As far as my friends are concerned I can say only one thing…. God Bless their lovely souls!

Padmapriya Sridharan

A journey to remember,,,!

You think three years is a long time to get used to the fact that you don't have summer holidays anymore… But Alas! These three years have only highlighted those yester years underlining the striking contrast and the melancholic underlying irony…The last trip that Nith and I took is still fresh in my mind…It's one of the last few summers of the late 1900 (!) April 10th and the end of exams…Nith and I board a rather rugged looking bus headed towards Kalpakkam – there is just one bus that heads directly to that place.As usual I take the "window-seat" and Nith starts her excited banter and her elaborate plans that clearly state how she is going to spend every single minute of her time there. As the bus crosses the choked boundaries of Bangalore, the fresh breeze of the country side beckons you to look beyond those dark mystic contours cast by a fantastic camouflage. The little stations bustling with activities dotted with "tea- kadaies" and the huts on the highway still lit with dying oil-lamps through the wee hours of the night and the chanced sighting of a lone glowing bulb amidst the blanket of thick darkness is absolutely fascinating. To cut the free flow of such thoughts that transit you to a poetic land … the human angle encroaches your paradise- loud and noisy. A drunken brawl and a conductor is quite a scene to catch in the middle of the night. The conductor wins the last round of the wrestling match and leaves the two stranded in the middle of no-where.Now Nith who is quite a Betram Wooster with her definition of people adds valuable inputs to her already full guide book. This one she says underlines her betramness in judging people… A person sporting moustache, beard with blood shot eyes is definitely an escaped convict . She thinks she ought to be careful about such people and there is no way she will ever play Pip…( Whose Pip eh? Dickens… Junta!)Amidst this high drama, dark scenic unfathomable depths of country- side scenery the bus trots along, surprisingly fast and reckless towards the destination. Its 4:30 in the morning and the excited banter from the passengers suggested that the destination is close. The very first thing that catches your senses as you reach the outskirts of Kalpakkam is the fresh moist salty sea side air wakening your senses and the sight of the various varieties of palms (sad palm vocab..) swaying in the breeze to the rather pleasing music of the tides. All of them disembark on the outskirts and Nith and I are the only ones to clear the security point. The conductors curiosity is now aroused… He has been driving in the same route for the last 30 yrs and knows everyone and now he wants to know our link to the place. Before I naively start answering the very sleepy Nith is now fully awake.. She gives me a nudge and hands out her rather long convincing story and some part of it goes on to say that we are two budding scientists who lost out on the Nobel prize due to dirty politics!As we clear the last check point to enter the quarters after exactly three jerks over the reinforced steel bars we reach a place that has a board that reads "Bus stand". The bus actually stands there waiting for us to disembark. As soon as we bid adieu to the conductor, out of no- where we hear this hell shaking sound exceeding the decibel levels of the morn by a large margin. We see about 20 of my cousin's friends screaming and waving in a rousing reception. They were all mounted on their bikes (bicycle for the ethereal Junta…) and there were two empty ones for both of us. We put our luggage into some jeep and mounted our bikes and we were on a trail that they called "The muddy trail" for more than one reason… This trial ran along the beach from the bus-stand to my cousin's (whom I will refer to as J) cottage.PART –2 … will continue


PS: part two never got written! This was written abt two yrs back!

Lamenting the loss of skills!

“Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Scorned” – This is an expression that’s been haunting me. I have seen it quite a few times over the last few days. What does it imply I wonder… Sonia Gandhi??? Or is the kali yug God a Woman???


Over the last six years I have lost a few vital skills I believe I possessed in my formative years.


Skill 1: My way with words

Well, why am I putting this first…! I just read my prev post. I think it figures somewhere between a piece of pathetic writing and random musings.

I have always fancied that I have a way with words. Words that can help me weave a magical fabric of accurate expressions. But the right words seemed elusive yesterday. I was left groping for words, for expressions to convey the right feeling. I failed in that attempt! A way with words, command over the language is something a human being must possess. To convey thoughts exactly the way you perceive it requires a certain amount of skill, a certain talent…! One need not have pompous phrases to communicate but the message has to be clear!. There was a lot of joy, child-like innocence, unadulterated fun, a sense of energy, a compelling sense of “being” in those days that I failed to convey.

Thinking back, its been a while since I wrote anything- I’m a little rusty perhaps. Maybe its one thing that I ll gain from this blog-ing experience… - My words again!

I like a writer who sends that shiver down your spine when he’s describing a gruesome scene, who sends that feeling of warmth when he describes a fire place…


A good writer should be able to convey more than just thoughts- He must be able to translate words into an experience….

You are in a cold place and you see a candle burning far away. The first thought that penetrates your numb cold mind is warmth.. Its funny coz the candle is too far away to actually affect you! Then you are drawn to it with a sudden intensity like a moth… You go a little closer to the candle and you can experience the glow that it exudes. It fills that need of warmth in you a little more. The glow encompasses you - Its like a hug. You go closer to the candle and its heat feels like a fire place at home. Its an exaggerated warmth as the candle cant in all reality give out that much of heat. But in those circumstances its equal to a fire place and more. When you hold out your palm just above the candle… the heat permeates into your body through your palm and fills you with warmth. Hold it a little more closer, a little longer and you’ll experience a tickling sensation on a very small area of your palm. It starts off as a tickle but then the feeling grows stronger and culminates into a burning sensation. You hold on further and your reflexes take your hand away from the candle automatically. That’s what I look for in a writer…! A way with words… !



Skill two: Being present!

Hmmm… over the last few years I have a feeling that I’m lost! I live in a world that I have created for myself. I think too much about the past and the future. I have not been living in the present. I can remember many instances that are a standing testimonial tot his lost skill. I have absent mindedly left my things in the lab, picked up some one else’s things so on and so forth! I have even left my mind to wander freely as it fancies. In class my thoughts have lingered. I can kid myself saying that those lectures were bad – sure most of them were. But I have also sat through a few good ones without having any clue what actually went on! That’s scary… Cause I believe that if some one is telling you something that can help you , you ought to listen. Its vital! The old me was attentive. At the end of a lecture I used to know exactly what went on and it would be there in my brain for a long time. Now I have no clue.


Right now this will do… will continue this later!

Aeons ago....

There's something complusive about places and impressions.... Specially the haunts of your childhood! Their aura, their " being" haunts u for the rest of ur life. Our brain has this uncanny ability to muddle up the past. It tends to mix up impressions, opinions and blends it with the facts.


Tirupati - Its the place where I was born. Right infront of the famed Govinda Raja Temple and right beside the ruins of bugga madam. The house was considered to be a sort of residence for krishnadevaraya whenever he wanted to stayover to get the darshan of Lord Venkat! I remember that the house was built primarily out of teak wood. I've only seen the part my grand parents occupied. I dont remember having ventured to see the rest of the house. I remember the twisted staircase that held to the first floor that they occupied. It didnt have railings and the staircase gave me a few creeps in my dream- Dizzy creep!

The house looked like a stage propped up! As soon as we entered we saw the huge mahogany desk . The house had one huge room, a big kitchen and a sprawlin unconstructed area we called "open". A lot of evenings were spent in the open. We used to play there. Look out for monkeys and watch out for buses whose head lights glowed like tiny stars traversing through the dense mountains. I remember counting those buses for hours together....! I remember Saroja pati [my maternal grand ma] sitting in the center of a huge circle comprising of all my cousins, nith and myself.. captivating us with her rather uncanny ability to spin a tale about raja's, mantra vadis, seven seas and so on...! She is a great racanteur! As she gave us typical hot gongura sadam and thoheil we ate it with great relish, listening to her story, cracking inane jokes and laughing together....!

These memories linger....!


The temple had a role to play. I was always awestruck by the size and beauty of the gopuram. We used to go through the "sanidhi veedi" and shop for small things. Standing beneath the gopuram was fascinating. I often visualised the yonder yrs of the king and the bazaar filled with precious stones! Then, the haunting voice of the "suprabhatam" always disturbed me during the first few days of my stay. The pranganam of the temple was huge. The tourists didnt come in such large numbers back then. I remember pausing by the entrance to listen to pati recite "The Aadi mulame " story engraved in bronze on the temple door. Then, I remember the times when we simply ran around that place playing games....! The feel of the stone beaneath our feet there was different from running on a play ground. It felt different... Nice!


There was a huge "kuppai thotti" and a man hole right in front of the temple. The man hole was covered by a stone that wobbled when one stepped on it. During the rainy months the rain water gushed into that area and many unsuspecting passers-by would be the source of our giggle and entertainment when they stepped on it! Just next to out house there was this building in ruin... "The Bugga madam" It shared a wall and we could jump from our "open" on to its terrace. It appeared like a haunted, abandoned house that appeased our childish curiosity. I used to be considered naughty back then. I remember climbing up a high wall and jumping across to that place mighty pleased with myself as if I'd accomplished a rather huge task!

There was a temple kolam (pond)... Dirty and unkept. It was full of fishes though! A girl called valli decided to take us on an outing to the temple and I was intrigued by the fishes in it. As I peered to get a closer view I slipped and fell into it. I remember a lot of screaming and finally a man jumped in and got me out. It was like getting out of a ditch. I remember my mom refusing to wash me down in the bathroom.. I was subjected to a rather embarassing clean -up while they poured buckets of water over me in the "open" while my chittapa's and aunts had a good laugh sitting in chairs watching me being washed and reprimanded. Poor valli was shocked and seemed to be in tears!

This is as far my memory takes me... My first impressions of the house and the surroundings!