The Melodious sound of Happiness.

I had mentioned here that I had fallen love with Rajasthan recently. Here is the main reason behind my falling in love at first sight with that beautiful place.

The first thing I noticed when I got off the train in Jaipur was the incredibly cold weather. I expected the place to be cold but not 'I can't see what's in front of me' cold (Spectacles got fogged). We took an auto to the guest house, and what a terrible mistake had it been not to take a taxi. My hands were numb and I couldn't feel my legs after going through the fog for almost 15 minutes to reach that place. And to our further dismay the caretaker fellow was still asleep. It is 7'o clock for heaven sake. We had to bang the gate and shout ‘bhaiya bhaiya koii hai’, for a few minutes until a half asleep guy showed up. I am pretty sure I had icicles hanging down my nose by the time I got in. Guess what, more good news, it seemed that we could get the rooms only at 9'o clock. That fellow left us in the lobby saying he would see what he can do, which translates to wait in the lobby for 1 and half hours. I was totally disappointed. First the cold and now this.

Amma tried to brighten up the mood by pointing out that the fellow was at least preparing food for us even though we had woken him up so early. I questioned her how she knows that he has not gone back to sleep. She told me that some noise which sounded like kettle/cooker was coming from the kitchen. But I felt that the sound was coming from outside. And the first thing I noticed when I stepped out to investigate the noise was of course the cold. I ran back inside (just in case something like the last scene from Day after tomorrow happens), wrapped another shawl and stepped out in the fog again. The sound was definitely coming from right in front of me. The fog slowly lifted with a flute interlude. Lo and behold, on the branches of bouganvilla were hundreds of sparrows chirping. I called my parents out. And we stood there in the cold mesmerised in the beautiful beautiful sound of these sparrows. We could only spot a one or two even though we could hear hundreds. They were all well hidden in the canopy of bouganvilla.

Sigh! How long it has been since we had woken up to sound of these cute little buggers here. Rajasthan doesn't need a house sparrow day to remember these tiny creatures. Let's do our bit in saving the dwindling numbers-http://www.worldsparrowday.org/ 

Hey Goodbye Nanba..

Trrriiinng!! I would hurry out pushing my way through the mob and manage to make it downstairs only to remember that I had forgotten my lunch bag under my desk. I would beg the auto uncle to wait for 2 seconds, and I would rush upstairs grab my lunch bag, shouting bye to my friends for the second time (The first time would have been before the bell rang) only to get in the auto just before he starts. And I would be home before 3 (School ends at 2:40p.m).

This was My Life till 8^th standard. But my dream finally came true in 8^th. Amma let me to go to school in a Bicycle (had gotten postponed for 3 years because of my stupid wheezing problem). My parents got me a Brand New BSA Ladybird (I was using my Brother's rusted old cycle before this).

Going to school by cycle redefined my freedom. I no longer needed to rush out the minute the bell rang in fear of being left behind (It took me a few days to get used to this). I need not pack my school bag or check if I had left something under the desk 15 minutes before the bell (Not that I listened in class). No need to tell tata to everyone quietly (i.e. without getting caught for talking during class) before the bell. I also got to show off my Brand New Shiny cycle and a brand new shiny key chain.

The Best of all was that I got to chat with my friends as long as I wanted. Okay not as long as I wanted since I was given a deadline. Amma would panic if I don’t make it home by 3:30. But still that was awesome. Home was only 10 minutes away so I had more than half an hour to spare. However 15 minutes would be lost in trying to get my cycle out of the parking without any scratch. Another 5 minutes in packing the luggage (school bag) securely on the carrier. After all this we would all say tata to each other and everyone would go in their way, leaving the four of us behind since we have to go in the same way. So V, B, R, and I would bid goodbye to Kiruku(only if her van was still there by the time we come out, which happens once in a blue moon), then we would go to our favourite petti kadai and discuss how to not finish our homework over boomers. V would take the right turn to her home and the 3 of us walked till B’s turning. After that R and I would cycle for a few yards and then go our separate ways home. This was our routine for 3 years.We used to have kiruku or someone else also in the petti kadai chat every now and then. And for a year we also had another girl with us who lived just few streets away from me. Sridevi alias Meena joined our boomer sangam. For the first time I had cycling partner. We used talk all the way home and get blasted by autowalas for that. We never found out why it bothered them when we cycled and talked. She left the school in 9^th. So in the end it was just the four of us and boomer.

Cycling to school also had its share of problems. For the first few months Appa followed me till school to make sure I reached safely. Thankfully no one but a few close friends knew it. And it wasn't blown into full scale kalaichyfing material. Every now and then there was a “he he he doesn’t your father follow you till school every morning? “, and I would always have some retort or the other saved up for this occasion.
I had all my lifetime savings of shiny Disney cartoon stickers stuck on the already shiny cycle. Almost all of it disappeared when I checked my cycle during lunch hour on the very first day. I spent a few days patrolling the cycle stand during lunch time and scream at any kid who dares to get near my cycle. But I found a better solution to this problem. Parking it a space where it would inaccessible to anyone. Wedge it in between the pillar and some old rusty cycle. No one would be able see my cycle beyond the rusty mess called cycle.

After 10^th I changed school and went right back to the phase one. This time I had to go and return in school van. Appa had dropped be off before the cycling days in the old school. But now I had get up early and get ready faster and rush to gate when I hear the horn. I missed cycling to school very much. I managed to make it up by cycling to meet up with my best friends N, V, and B.

After School I got the chance to use my cycle again. CA classes. I didn’t realise then that it would be my last 6 months spent closely with my best friend of more than 6 years. I got my very own scooty in February 2011. That marked the beginning of the end of an era. I only took the cycle out once in a month. I felt very guilty about killing the spirit of my cycle like phoebe here. I kept promising myself that I will use it every day. But the scooty proved to be a good competitor. It slowly replaced my cycle in every place. I took the scooty out to CA classes, to visit N, V, (B is not in Chennai now) Kiruku etc. I begged my parents not to sell. Water works did the job first time. But it doesn’t always work. I had to bid goodbye to it today.

I will always remember my cycling days. My Scooty can never ever replace the joy of my ladybird. I hope it is in good hands now.


Oh and all the kitties would like to say something too. " Meow meow meow. Purrr meem eeoow purrrr. Meow meow meeeem. Meow purrr."
Translation- " You were our favorite hangout in the whole neighbourhood. Our human calls herself a cyclist because of you (shouldn't it be humanist?). So we should be called catalist (adhan typist, terrorist, vasoolist andhan list la varra catalist). It makes us very sad that the present cat generation wouldn't get to know the awesome you."

All of them agree that the cycle was their best nap time place ever.

Jingles, Salem, Alice, Billa.

Jingles and Billa feel that this was better to play with than any spin of yarn.

Salem wants to mention that it was his favorite bath tub too.

Center fresh and Sour grapes

‘One thing about trains: It doesn’t matter where they’re going. What matters is deciding to get on.’- The conductor, The Polar Express.

I love travelling by train (preferably 2nd class). The sounds, the colours, the wind, the people, the rush. Best of all the scenery. Nothing can beat the feeling of wind in your face while standing near the door watching life speed by.

It’s been years since I travelled long distance via rail. Making up to it I went on two trips in the last six months. It was a 2 days trip to Tanjore in August and a 10 days trip to Rajasthan this month. More on Rajasthan (my latest love) in the upcoming posts. This one is solely for the journeys.

You see I was forced to make the first trip to visit my paternal grandma with Amma. And hence I didn't enjoy it much (even though I had packed up six fat books for the journey). The co-passengers just made it worse. It was either oldies or stupid noisy messy school boys who threw garbage out of the window. If there is one thing I can't stand not only in train but generally in public places is people littering. So one mean Jurassic park look kept the boys away from me.
I spent the time finishing off the books and texting my friends, asking them to pray that something like Source Code (Jake. Sigh) should happen to me. While polambifying we came up with theories on why there is no guy (forget good looking) or even a girl of same age in the same coach (forget compartment) in which you are travelling.

Me – ‘It happens in movies only. Not just the same compartment but opposite seats. In reality everyone takes the flight.’
Kiruku – ‘They travel not only through air but also by rail. But they just don't travel when we do.’
DL – ‘The reason for travel plays a role. If it happens to be collateral for romance, you will meet good looking ones. For example if you are travelling to see your lover or something like that then you will meet someone in the train. But if you happen to be going to see your grandma or something, you will meet oldies only.’
And I was going to see my grandma. So it was pretty much texting, reading, and watching scenery.

However my trip to Rajasthan was a vacation, so I kinda hoped to have decent company in the train (apart from my parents). So with such great expectations I scanned the list in my coach and to my absolute delight there was one Mr.A aged 22 travelling in my cabin till Jaipur! My source code dream was finally coming true. Anyway I had one hour to kill (Amma likes to be in station one hour before the train leaves) so I roamed around the platform in boredom when a gentle breeze disturbed my dupatta. As I tried to calm down my dupatta, I saw him. He seemed to be walking in slow motion or so I imagined. 6 feet, well built, great moustache (like Imran khan here) tik tak complexion and great hair. There I was waiting for him to walk past me when he stopped right in front of me. Our eyes met for a second (I almost melted in that spot) and he got into the coach. Only when I came out of the trance I realized that he is Mr.A. I couldn’t believe that a more than decent looking guy is going to travel with me for one and a half days.
As the train started, Appa asked all those useless questions one would usually ask. He is A.Chowdhary from Ajmer, almost finished M.B.A in some college in outskirts of Chennai, now going home, and will be back in May to submit project. The rest of the evening was uneventful.
The next day I woke up to find him buried in his book, Appa in newspaper, and Amma still half asleep. I spent the morning finishing off Rahman’s biography (A.R.Rahman the Musical Storm by Kamini Mathai), occasionally reading out interesting paragraphs to my parents (and him). Every now and then Appa did small talk with him, I tried to chip by offering him a center fresh but he politely declined. I had moved on to some Paulo Coelho book in the afternoon when he asked if he could borrow Rahman’s biography, I silently nodded and handed it over to him while I had fireworks going off in my head. Eventually I got bored of Paulo, watching scenery through window, counting tunnels with Amma (and the fact that nothing ever happens to me), so I went to watch the sunset from doorway.

I got lost in bliss as the sun went down behind the fields, lakes, trees, hills while the wind played with my already messy hair. I was so lost in the rhythm of the train that I actually didn't notice him until he commented on the chilly weather and told me that I shouldn't stay in the wind for long unless I wanted a headache. I was startled to see him standing right beside me. I couldn't avert my gaze away from his soulful eyes. I must have blanked out for god knows how long and landed back on earth only when he cleared his throat. I tore my eyes away from his and tried to remember what he had just told me. I managed to compose myself and the butterflies in my stomach and replied (thankfully without stuttering) that the headache is the price I pay to see the gorgeous sunset. He told me that this is nothing compared to the beautiful sunsets and sunrises that I will get to see once I get to Rajasthan. I inquired more about Rajasthan, and he patiently told me all the must see spots and the need not see places. The conversation moved on to Chennai, Books, Rahman etc. I don’t want to bore you with the details. The sunset was forgotten in the long conversation.

Did you actually believe that? Hello! Wake up. What did you think this was? Another Before Sunrise /Sunset movie? Only the center fresh conversation happened.
Me-‘Would you like to have one?’
Him (with a smile and in a really nice deep voice)-‘No thank you.’
He had asked my father if he could borrow the book, and I had watched the sunset alone while he was in the cabin with my book. The train reached Jaipur around 6a.m the next day, he returned the book to my father and hurried off with an ‘enjoy your trip’.
Well who wants sour grapes? He was reading a Chetan Bhagat book! I mean which self-respecting individual would want to be caught dead with a Chetan Bhagat book? Ugh, not my type.

On the way back home, we had the cabin (first class only, didn't get second class since we booked really late) for ourselves. And my Before Sunrise dream remains a dream. 

My Hattori Hanzo sword

It was pitch black. I couldn’t even see myself. You could say it was as dark as Gaptain’s face without make up. As I was trying to figure out where on earth I was I realised there was a constant buzzing noise in the background. It sounded like hundreds so insects were in the room or wherever I was. I panicked. I wanted to run, but what if they attacked me. That is when I noticed that I had something in my hand. It felt familiar. It couldn’t be. Light slowly dawned from a corner of the room (yes I was in a very large room). I could see! The room was filled with not just any insects but mosquitoes. And they were just flying around not attacking me. I looked around to find the corners of the room lined with batteries in case the power in the thing in my hands ran out. Yes you guessed it right. I had a pink Kosu bat with me in a room filled with kosu which weren’t biting me.
Just when I was about to swing the bat and kill them I woke up with a start. It was just a dream. I had been dreaming of kosu bat heaven.

You may think that I am so obsessed with kosu bat to dream about it. Amma is worse than me. She always has a kosu bat by her side as long as she is inside the house.
A few years ago if she hears the sound of something breaking she will shout (without even coming out from wherever she is) ‘Was that the remote you broke? How many times will it survive?’
A couple of years ago it was ‘Oh no, please tell me you didn’t break the cell phone.’
Now whatever I drop, Amma would come running to me and ask ‘Enna achu kosu bat ku? Did you drop it? Is it broken?’ She would only calm down after I show her the remote pieces on the floor.

I am not that obsessed with that thing. For me it helps greatly in anger management. Aim a kosu, imagine that as the person whoever I hate at that moment and hit it. My hatred instantly gets reduced and also one kosu less in the universe.

And every time I hold it I feel like The Bride A.K.A Black Mamba A.K.A Beatrix Kiddo with her Hattori Hanzo sword. She kills the kosus of society with it and I kill kosus in my house with mine.

Birthday! When?

Birthdays seem to come and go without even giving me time to realise that I am getting a year older. They aren’t as exciting as they used to be. People wish me at midnight, ask for treat at dawn and I get gifts in return. That’s it. The rest of the day is the same as every day.

As a kid, I had soo much to look forward on the special day. The one day in the whole year when you get to show off your brand new ‘colour’ dress in school. And then there are chocolates. I remember one birthday when I dragged my dad from one supermarket to another in quest of Cadbury diarymilk’s eclairs crunchy.

The day would usually start with a ‘Happy birthday’ from either mom or dad while waking me up. I would be fully awake in seconds and start getting ready for school. The phone would start ringing soon, and I would blabber thank yous to cousins and aunts with mouth full of toothpaste. Amma would have made my favourite breakfast and lunch. Sometimes she would have also made a beautiful colour kolam especially for the occasion. The best part of course was the day in school. Even unknown students would smile and wish me. The whole class would sing ‘happy birthuday to you’. My friends would try to get as many chocolates as possible from the dabba while I would chid them saying ‘hey wait till I distribute it to everyone then it is all yours’. Even my worstu enemy would smile and wish me in hopes of getting extra chocolates. Then the ultimate dilemma, I get to choose only one of my bestest friends to accompany me distribute chocolates to all the teachers in school (and bunking first period). And I never did homeworks on birthdays because I knew I would be excused with an ‘Oh it’s your birthday. Alright submit it tomorrow without fail.’
And evening it would be either tip to temple and dinner at hotel which translates to kaima idly (and sometimes ghee roast) at Hotel Saravana Bhavan or cake cutting with cousins and neighbour kids. The day would end with falling asleep in front of television waay past bedtime. It would have been a long and eventful day.

As I grew older, I had cut down things one by one. No more colour dress to school (decided this in 8th) thinking I am too old from that. No more temple trips, I am too cool for that (no idea when this happened). No more strangers wishing me (no would know it is my birthday unless I tell them). No more looking forward birthdays just for the sake of it and not for gifts. Now birthdays aren’t as long as they used to be. Nothing exciting ever happens on birthdays. It is the same as every day except that I get my favourite food and gifts from friends.

Lost and Found

Amma has been telling me to clear the table for months, but when I say Nan padicitu irukan so aporam panran, she leaves me. Now Appa has started bugging me about it for a few days. It’s not that easy escaping him.

Cleaning or organising my study table or wardrobe is something I hate doing. What helps me survive is the unexpected things that I find in unexpected places.

I find my long lost pink sharpener which I remember searching for weeks together; answer sheets from school with humiliating marks; nail polish hard like rock... Okay you must be thinking what this girl is saying these things are unexpected. Even I have tons of answer sheets with a big red F (I meant fail) under my bed, and this girl is saying like it is a huge thing.

Well you want unexpected, here you go. Once my dad found a lizard egg in the wardrobe which I thought I could grow as a pet. I even came up with a name – Norbet or Norbeta (Yup, I’m a huge HP fan). So I put the egg in a fast track watch daba (for which Amma later scolded me for wasting such a pretty daba) and waited for it to hatch. After 5 seconds I got bored, so I put the lid back with a small gap and checked it for every 10 minutes. Half hour later I lost hope and decided to check it once every hour. This went on and eventually I completely forgot about it for weeks (even though I had kept it right next to my table clock which I check every 5 minutes to see whether half hour has passed since I kept the text book on my lap).

I discovered it only when I cleaned my table and to my surprise it had hatched! I decided to set him free into the wild because that is where he/she belongs (but my mother’s version of the story is different. What she says happened was that when I was looking at the baby lizard and awing at its cuteness, it suddenly made a leap out of the daba trying to escape and that I had dropped the daba and ran for my life. However you don’t listen to her that is just her imagination.). As a true animal lover I know that the lizard doesn’t belong to me or to anyone else for that matter but to the wilderness. Hence I released her into the wild (my backyard).

Coming back to finding things, every now and then I find a single earing. I would search for the lost one for hours and then throw the one I have thinking I had missed its pair outside the house (of course only after the Ultimate finding champion (Amma) fails in the mission). It is really frustrating when the one I had thought I had lost was there right next to the one I had thrown away.

And I often end up finding at least one Reynolds Grippy each time I organise the table. It is my policy since school days to have one ink pen and use that and that only but I lose one almost every month. Till 8^th standard it was the famous Hero pen. And in 8^th standard I fell in love with Reynolds grippy. Every time I lose it I buy a new one only to find the lost one while cleaning the table inside books or pouches or pencil boxes which I didn’t know existed. The longest I ever had a pen without losing it forever was for three and half years (from 9^th standard till 12^th half). An orange and brownish Reynolds grippy. I had guarded it with my life. And it was equally faithful, I must have dropped it million times but it always ended up writing better than before. But on the million plus 1th time it broke along with my heart. It was so full of memories in fact most of my ink pens are, well I would have to write a separate post to talk about them.

The best thing about cleaning my table is finding my black pouch. Well not exactly finding because I would never lose it. It is safe in the very back of my table cupboard. I only open it when I finish clearing up my table. I also call it my nostalgia pouch, for it contains bits and pieces of my school day memories. Some of them are the only tangible things through which I can remember my old friends whom I have lost contact with. Each piece has a story to tell, memories to be remembered. The oldest thing in the pouch is a pink ball shaped eraser and a green elephant shaped pencil cap cum eraser given to me by Buneet kaur (my bestest friend) in 2^nd standard. She left to Dehradun in the beginning of 5^th standard. I always hope I find her someday. I had imagined it a million times. The scene would be like a Ramesh Suresh 5 star advertisement.
I would be in a shop or somewhere looking at the eraser and suddenly it will slip out of my hand and roll and stop at a girl(with long hair)’s feet. She will pick it up, look at it and then me, then it and I would say ni ni Buneet?
She would say ni ni mi..? (Okay I don’t think she will remember Tamil but it is more dramatic in Tamil so bear with me).
Nan Meera.
MEERA!
BUNEET!
We would hug and I would scold her for not calling me from Dehradun (she had my number which is still the same). And I would call up everyone to tell the story.. Well you get the drift.

Now I have to go think of an excuse for skipping table cleaning (suggestions are welcome).
Dreading and looking forward to eventually clear it up.

Blues

Lost. That’s state of my mind for last few weeks. Feeling lost at what I'm doing, Lack of motivation for doing it and Uncertain of why I am doing it.
'When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.' But what if I want chocolate milkshake and not lemonade?

Chase your dream they would say. But when does one recognise one’s dream? Even if one does manage to, is it feasible? If it turns out to be feasible, would it be acceptable? Chasing your dreams becomes a dream which you want to chase. I wanted to be a detective reporter like Tintin when I was little, then changed my mind and wanted to be a writer inspired by Enid Blyton. As I grew up it kept changing every now and then. Even the phases of the moon are less compared to my phases. If not writer it was a mathematician or a cartoonist like Disney. And when cable TV came into my life when I was 13/14 years old all I ever wanted to be was a Discovery channel host. The list goes on. I still would be happy if any of this happened. These still are my dreams.

Childhood was blissful. I didn’t have to worry about chasing dreams; I only had worry about copying the assignment from my best bud before class starts. Growing up might have been easy, but being a grown-up isn’t. The sudden addition of responsibility was and is scary. The constant reminder of it wasn’t helping. I was eager to shed my innocence; little did I know that I’ll regret it. Happiness vanished along with it. Everything has a story behind it which you didn’t know before. You realise that in life there are no free lunches (or breakfast or dinner for that matter). Every morning seems like Monday morning. I dread waking up to day same as yesterday and tomorrow. Falling asleep and waking up has become a difficult task. Gloominess and loneliness is taking over me.

I turn to Hobbes for wisdom
'Calvin - I say what kind of future is this? I thought things were supposed to improve! I thought the future was supposed to be better
Hobbes - The problem with the future is that it keeps turning into the present.'