An Ode to the New Year

This is a year of hope and joy,

Of brighter smiles and peace.

It's a year of promise and love,

Of fearlessness and belief.

'Tis a year of seeking friends

and rejoicing in family cheer,

New sights and vibes, and lovely times

with kindness far and near.

A year to cherish the blessings,

A time to hold to heart

All the mirth that comes by,

as woes start to depart.

That I may share the bliss that comes

in life this beautiful year,

With all my fellow wanderers

and each one close and dear!

Why its awesome to have younger siblings

1. They are your earliest sub-ordinates to run errands and delegate work to.

2. They are the best source for free downloads, especially after you have moved out of college.

3. Need to spy on parents? Who better than the innocent looking kid in the house?

4. You get to eat from their share of chocolates, long after people have stopped giving you any.

5. They make you feel important - especially when they ask you for advice and you can show-off ;)

6. They indulge your kids to no end.

7. They are the only ones with who you can share the memories of your parents.

8. No matter how old you are, they make you feel like little kids all over again.

The Happy Cafe

How happy we were in Mumbai! We both had high-flying (read well-paying) jobs on weekdays and friends and family to get together with over weekends. It was a place we grew up in and absolutely loved. And we both looked forward to settling in the city of dreams for a long time. Then came the day when Ravi got his promotion. There were subtle hints at taking up a bigger role and before we knew it, he was asked to move.

I was almost in tears the day he left. We had spent a good deal of time living away, traveling over the week and this movement was supposed to be a cakewalk. I had planned to shift my base and move in with Ravi in a month's time. I took two weeks off to pack and prepare for the move. Those were depressing days. I missed him terribly in every place I went and everything I did. And the non-stop rains added to the gloom. Finally one evening, the downpour stopped. Even the rain Gods need a chai-break once in a while.

I decided to take a walk around the block not knowing this was about to change something in life. It was one of those moments when Destiny takes control of your life and resets a few applications, closes down some long running ones and changes the wallpaper. But I did not know this. I pulled up my sneakers, put on a windcheater and trotted off down the lane. I walked for quarter of an hour and it became cloudy again. Fearing a downpour, I took a hasty left and started looking up  for a place to park myself for some time. 'The Happy Cafe' it said. "I had not noticed this one before", I thought pensively as I stepped in. It was empty save a couple of tables and a smiling lady behind the cash counter.

"Did I carry my purse?”, I wondered as I looked at the menu placed before me.

"I'll have a glass of water", I said with a nervous smile praying that the waitress does not guess my predicament.

"A cup of lemon tea will be better", chirped the waitress with a smile. "I recommend it in this weather. It makes you happy".

 I nodded with a hint of embarrassment.

I fumbled in my pockets for a while hoping there would be at least one bit of currency left carelessly somewhere. I found five. At times like these, I do not resent anyone being disorganized or sloppy. 

As the waitress went behind the counter to brew my cup of tea, I gazed at her. She was in her mid-forties, or late forties at worst. She had a frizzy mane of salt and pepper and the wrinkles around her eyes and lips had begun to show. She moved her stout frame slowly behind the counter, almost as if preparing for a ballet, while humming a tune I did not recognize. Soon she got me the cup of tea.

"Enjoy your tea", she said with a smile.

I smiled back. I wondered why she was so happy serving me tea. As I sipped the hot concoction, I shot an anxious glance around. Had I had entered a lunatic's lair? I had watched enough movies to believe that this is possible and happens to good, unsuspecting people all the time; more so on a rainy day.

But people around looked quite normal. There was a group of three teenagers at a table chatting happily. It looked like a long awaited reunion. There was a young couple at the table in the corner talking nervously. "Arranged marriage", I smirked. That brought an end to my unwarranted suspicions. "I watch too many movies", I told myself admonishingly.

"Happy place, isn't it?" I darted at the chair next to mine. The lady from behind the counter had seated herself near me albeit surreptitiously. My nervous twitching resumed.

"I always like to surround myself with happy faces. That is why we called this The Happy Café. My husband started it 20 years ago". 

I smiled. "Here comes another story", I sighed inwardly as I braced myself to endure another sob story.

"My husband was very fond of this place. You see, it belonged to his grandfather. He had a very happy childhood here. When we inherited it, he said to me, Suzie, I want people to be as happy here as I was. And so we decided to start this cafe with our little savings. We did not have any children and it gives me joy to see kids like these come here. On hot summer afternoons, many kids from the college nearby gather here to write their assignments. How boisterous they are! And I feel so lively watching them laugh. Fali would be so happy if he were here".

At this point, she wiped an absent tear from her eye.

"Are you new to this place? I have not seen you around much", she pressed on.

I had hoped to nod through this conversation, wary as I was. But here was a question I had to answer.

"I live a few blocks away", I said cautiously.

"I’m glad you came today. I am shutting this place down, I can no longer afford it", she said. "The movers might be here any minute”. She looked at the window.

"You must have some more tea, you are almost shivering", Suzie went back to being the gracious host.

"I sure could", I replied. It was true.

Suzie got up and walked over to the couple. She poured them some coffee, said a few words and laughed aloud as they smiled at each other.

"Do you kids want anything?" she asked the reunion members with a genial smile.

I felt a strange sense of warmth. While Suzie brewed another cup of 'Happy Tea', as she called it, I looked around the place. It really did have an old-world charm to it. I could imagine the young couple struggling hard to set up this cafe, finding solace in each other's company as the day ended and spreading good cheer in a world where worries and anxiety are ubiquitous. Suzie got me my tea, we chatted pleasantly for a few minutes before the movers started coming in. I pulled out my 100-rupee note.

"I don’t have any change", I said. Suzie shook her head.

"I am sorry, but I don’t have any change".I repeated.

"No, no", she said. "No money. We don’t charge anything."

Now I was really shocked. Suzie sensed my amazement and went on.

"You see, Fali's grandfather also left him a lot of money along with this place. It kept us very well off. But not anymore, that’s why I am moving on".

I was truly touched. I had never seen anyone go to such lengths to spread cheer on a gloomy day. I shook hands with her warmly and walked back home with buoyed spirits. It was true; she had made me a happier person. All my gloom of the past few weeks had receded and I felt confident of taking on anything in life. I walked around the block for another hour thinking of Ravi and all the happy times we had spent together. Life was so beautiful.

I was humming a song when I turned the key to the door.

"Oh good you are back. I was worried", my mom-in-law quipped. "Singh Aunty from next door just left. She was very upset. You know their Happy Café? Part of their Happy Singh chain of restaurants? It was robbed today evening".

I stared at her.

"Singh Uncle and Aunty had returned today from a 3-weeks Europe tour to find that the thieves had taken everything. There were only some used plates and cups on the tables. The rascals must have had a tea party after the robbery". 

I started laughing nervously.

Definitive guide to a great vacation

Everyone dreams of a vacation. Don't we bring it up almost every week - the much needed break? It is funny how the idea of a vacation has crunched down to 2 weeks a year, 3 if you are lucky or getting married. Whatever happened to those long vacations we had during school? They were really times for breaks, a series of fun activities envisaged for the whole 2 months.

As I got back to work on a Monday morning, the only thing on my mind was a vacation, not a 5 day break, but a 6 months long vacation. Its a wishful affair, but hey, you never know when the Gods smile down upon you!

So here's a definitive guide to things that you must do if you get a 6-months holiday.

1. Travel

Not a quick, round-the-world-in-5-days kind of trip, but a leisurely 4-5 weeks spent in one or at the most two locations. Leisurely trips give you a glimpse of life that a tourist usually does not get. It gives you time to settle down to the place, savour its local life and get to meet and know people as one of their own. You have more time to explore the eating joints, hang out at the local watering-hole, revamp your wardrobe to the prevalent styles and meet a whole bunch of new neighbours. You are no longer the tourist that they make money from. You are more of a fellow human sharing their life.

2. Unwind and rejuvenate

From beaches to mountains, family gatherings to quiet walks, make these a part of your life for the next 2-3 months. It gives you time to break the monotony of worry. You will be surprised how few your problems are if you merely slacken the pace of your life. Go for long walks with your significant other. Spend time with your kids and parents. Meet friends, visit your old haunts. Just sit back and watch the sunset. Spend the day without a schedule, without timelines and deadlines.

3. Do a technology detox

This is perhaps the hardest to do. Whatsapp comes naturally to us, so does checking emails and sharing pics. It is hard to imagine a holiday or family get together without the customary uploading of pics and sharing of comments. I tried it for a week, or rather was forced to. A week of no calls from work, and from anyone else, no social media networking. The only person to talk to was the one present with you. It surprised me how much mindshare we give to our little hand-held devices inspite of sitting across with loved ones. So a tech detox is a must-have for vacation. Try reducing your exposure to technology and savour the little things that life brings. Spend time more creatively, with the nagging worries now quietened.

4. Serve

Help someone in need, go teach or volunteer for some charitable cause. There are so many people in need of help and we usually  have plenty to give. The very act of doing something without any benefits attached is a liberating feeling. It makes you feel noble and above the breed. You will start counting your blessings. In the process, you might discover what you are really good at, what you like to do or rather want to do, and what difference you can make to the world beyond.

5. Document

This is as important as the others if not more. Not all of us are good at writing, so we prefer the pictures. Write it down, if only for yourself. All that you did, all that you felt. If and when you go back to you work and your world as you knew it, there will be times when this document will remind you what your life is and what it is worth living for.

If you have done something great on your vacations, share your ideas in the comments.

Under the Stars

It is a strange day. I am supposed to be happy, but I am not. All I think of is the imperfection of my life, how chaotic it is and how things don’t go the way I want them to. I decide to walk. One of the self-help books I had read long ago recommends walking as a sure way of alleviating anxiety and sadness. The walk takes me through a canopy of dense green trees. As I walk on the path strewn with bright leaves and pretty red flowers, I stop and take a deep breath. I stop worrying and then start again. I feel guilty of not worrying at times and pretending that life is good. I keep walking on, my head hung down, gazing steadily at the road. A few minutes of walking brings me to the end of the road which opens up on a beach. The sun is about to set. Twilight is the time when old memories pop up, the mind is restless with uncertainties and fears, and one dislikes being alone to face them.

I sit on the beach, my toes wriggling in the still-warm sand. It is very reassuring. I take a deep breath again. The smell of the sea captivates me and the sound of tides crashing on the shore calms my sore nerves. There is no one around.  I decide to take a break from my routine of worry and soak in the moment.  Soon the sun sets, giving way to a thick blanket of stars. I lie on my back and look up at the starry sky.  It is a beautiful symphony on the pitch black background.  I gaze at them and feel the earth slipping off. The stars beckon with their music and glory, and I am drawn toward them. As I stare into the night, I find myself relaxing. My mind is surprisingly thoughtless and I like the tranquility in my head. The Universe unfolds before my eyes and I feel silly about all the things I fret over. I smile. I came here with a trembling heart, worrying about how messed up my life was. And yet, as I sit under the stars, gazing at their infinity, I am amazed at how I am no longer worried. Every nagging thought, every anxiety is miles away. At this moment, I feel blessed. I want it to last forever.

Mango

She remembered Appibai. Every summer when Abha visited her grandmother, she also visited Appibai, the hunch-back old lady who lived next door. She was cocky and foul-mouthed, but there was a huge mango tree in her backyard. She piled Abha with the mangoes every time she went there; and that was all that mattered.

Appibai had two sons and seven daughters. All had moved out for work and settled with their families. Abha had never seen them around the house. Appibai's spiteful tongue had a role to play, or so her grandmother would say. This made Abha wary of the old lady. She never spoke when Appibai was around. She would silently eat the mangoes, praying that Appibai would not notice the mess she was creating. After eating the mangoes, she would wash her hands and arms at the well and walk home.

"It was a long time ago, I must have been all of five then.", thought Abha. She stared at the note accompanying the box of mangoes on her dining table. Every year she would receive a box full as was bequeathed to her. "Did Granny send mangoes Mama?", squealed her 5-year old daughter in delight. "Yes love", said Abha, as she wiped her tears.

 

On 'The Fourth Protocol'

It is great to read a book and then watch a movie based on it.

I favour the order particularly. A book is an insight into the writer's mind. It is full of details, explanations and a great deal of elaboration. The writer has the liberty to proceed at any pace that the reader finds suitable.

A film maker on the other hand is constrained by time. He has to use pictures and actions to convey the same emotions that a writer uses words for. The idea has to be evident to the viewer without any elaborate explanation.

A book leaves a lot to the imagination of the reader. Though writers do create the entire setting, it is all upto the reader to imagine the place, the exact features, the clothes, the emotions, the colors! And readers generally do a good job.

A film on the other hand constricts the flights of the mind by forcing it to accept things as they are portrayed. There is very little work for the mind, except perhaps listen to the dialogues carefully.

I recently was watching the movie 'The Fourth Protocol'. I absolutely adore the way Forsyth has created a web of mystery around the story of a middle-aged MI5 agent versus a suave KGB Illegal. So a comparison with the book was inevitable.

There were no Jim Rawlings or Billy in the film. The brilliance of the theft in Berenson's apartment loses its charm in the film. All the details of how Rawlings works with the skeleton key, works his way with the alarm system, of Billy's excellent work the previous evening and the use of CLC and water as the shock absorber vanish in thin air. I am sure anyone who has seen the movie without reading the book has missed the relish of a mind-blowing robbery.

Then the excellent ferrreting in Pretoria to discover Jan Marais, constructing the nuke by breaching the Fourth Protocol, the entire stint of tying the goat and waiting for the tiger, they all vanish into ether in the film. Michael Caine is good, so is Pierce Brosnan, but the flavour of the book is lacking in the film.

A ten-rupee note

I was shopping for groceries with Mom one Saturday. It is the local vegetable market. Unorganized and yet organized in its own way. The vendors spread their offerings on gunny sacks in neatly piled heaps of french beans, cucumbers, beetroot, carrots, onions and coconuts. Men and women haggled alike to get a good bargain. People moved slowly from one vendor to another, enquiring about the prices, picking up a potato here or a cabbage there, checking if was worth its price and moving on with a this-is-so-damn-expensive pout. It was a welter of humanity with its myraid forms.

We stopped to buy vegetables from a lady. She had her son besides her, a lad of five. Crowded as the street was with people, vehicles played their role in adding to the commotion. BEST buses, cars, autorickshaws, and bikers trying to snake their way through the traffic, were aplenty. As we were sorting and picking up cauliflowers, a car crawled behind us. I did not pay any heed, but the little boy perked up. 

"Can we ride in it?", he asked his mother. 

"Hmm", said his mother very passively, as all mothers do when they see a tantrum coming. 

"What does it take to get a ride?", the child went on, "only money, no?". 

"Yeah", said his mother with some irritation as she tossed the cauliflower in our grocery bag. Life had perhaps taught her the hard way to avoid day-dreaming. But her son went on.

"Is a ten-rupee note enough? That thing is not as big as a bus!". 

I smiled. It was innocence at its best.

Flights of Life

An airport is never a dull place. Though it may not be a great idea to reach an airport 3 hours early, it certainly is a great time for a study in human behaviour. If you are lucky to be in a good mood inspite of the long queues at the ticket or check-in counters, you may well be surprised at the sheer variety of human species around you. There are people of all kinds - seasoned travellers, novices, well-behaved gentlemen, snooty aunties - they all add their own shade to the canvas.

There may be times when a gentleman in front is filling in for his entire family of 8 with tonnes and tonnes of luggage. Strangely deceptive, one may feel, while one spends the next quarter of an hour waiting for the aunties to sort out which bag will be checked in and where the bottles of achar should go. While it is the perfect way to a foul temper, a detached soul can smile at the predicament of the hapless head-of-the-family as he tries to fend off the embarassment and bring some order to the setup. Straight from one of Wodehouse's pages!

Move ahead to the check-in counter and one may encounter a long queue. There always is someone who has a bottle of cough syrup neatly tucked in the bag for her kid; or the lady who forgets to take her boarding pass out of the handbag before she checks it in. Then comes the long wait for the flight. One may be seated next to a Chilean family, not understand a word of what they are saying and yet know that the mother is scolding her daughter for not sitting still while she braids the kid's hair. One may see an old couple waiting patiently for their flight, silently grateful that they have each other for company. There are professionals who scream into their cell phones while pacing near the doors; and parents who have a tough time ensuring their kids do not wander off.

Humans. This grand prologue to the travel makes the flight itself pale in comparison. Its best to catch up on some sleep.

Romancing with Heels

As an ardent lover of flats, I never really understood the magic of heeled footwear. Flats are so comfortable, they are easy on the heels and toes. And so much more lower-back-friendly. I always found heels difficult to walk with. I had a pair that an aunt had gifted me. They were pretty, black, pencil-heeled shoes. I wore them the day I got them, strutted across the drawing room and crashed after a few steps. I sprained my ankle and could not wear my usual sneakers for a week after that. And the laughs my cousins had were even more painful. Since then I have been dead against heels. I would almost feel like a bohemian when I would fervently articulate the hazards of heels during discussions with my girls' gang.

But after almost 25 years of resisting, I finally fell for them. The temptation of heels was so overpowering, I was just drawn into the welter that I so hated. I must admit I was apprehensive when I gifted myself a pair of heels. The first day was very difficult to manage. I feared I would trip at every step. The distance from the road felt weird. I was extra-cautious of the uneven roads and kept a tab on my speed of walking. The second day was better. Though my knees hurt a bit because of the shift in weight, I found myself managing better. By the end of the week, I pranced as if I had walked about in those shoes all my life.

I love them. They have a charm of their own. You feel you are on a pedestal. There is a sense of power and confidence that a good pair of heels inspires. Most of it is psychological, but who cares. As long as it feels good!

Garba Nite

Garba and Dandiya - things that describe a true-blood Gujarathi. After jalebi and fafda of course!

My best friend Nikita is getting married this weekend, and she had organized a Garba yesterday instead of the traditional Sangeet. I was there for around 3 hours, dancing most of the time. But in that span of time, I got to know almost all of the 40-50 people assembled there.

For those of my friends who do not know what Garba is, here is a brief history.

It felt like a whole new way of learning about human beings and their behaviour. The evening started with catching up with old friends. The traditional Gujarathi songs felt good and few of us could resist hitting the dance floor. The good part of Garba is that it is a traditional dance form which has evolved over the years with the incorporation of more liberal and complicated moves. Yet the age-old form of clapping to the tune and moving in a circle is still as relevant. So even Uncles and Aunts who were on the other side of 40 could participate as easily as we did.

They say the best way to participate in Garba is to get on the dance floor as early as possible. The enthusiasm is infectious, and soon people start following your moves. So we took the lead and started off. Easy steps at first. It felt like a warm up. There was plenty of space here, unlike during Navratri, when space is at a premium and everyone jostles each other for a little more room. Soon Nikita's relatives joined in and we were dancing like a big, happy family. I love the free-style dance at a Punjabified wedding, but the Garba, with its disciplined layout, has a charm of its own.

After an hour or so, we switched over to Dandiya. Its an extension of the Garba, only with the addition of foot-long sticks in both hands. Dandiya is generally played in pairs, people keep moving and pairs keep changing after every set of 5 beats. It was an eye-opener for me. Each person had a unique style. And the way they played said a lot about their attitude. Some were shy or reticent, some were enthusiastic, they exuded a warmth with their smiles. Some were outright arrogant. Some were patient, some were not. I realized even 4 year olds knew how to play the Dandiya, (and I need to revise the steps each time I start playing). It was as rudimentary to them as learning the alphabets.

After 2 rounds, I knew almost everyone there. Atleast, I knew what their nature was. I still have a few more encounters till the wedding to know them better. The way you dance for an hour says all about you that even a week of conversation would not reveal. Its not surprising that Navratri is so popular for scouting prospective soulmates :) Gals are you listening?

Why do we need friends?

1. To tell us what is missing in our life. The new dress on sale, the new cell phone in the market, the new car that he bought.

2. To help us judge our social standing and success. It feels good when we earn more than our friends.

3. To gossip to and gossip about

4. To listen while we crib. About topics ranging from parents and bosses to the latest stock market crash.

5. To dole out advice to. On food and looks, life and love, so that we feel all good and smart.

6. To stay over with, when we have a fight at home.

7. To pamper our mood when we are feeling low. Throw a party, order some icecream.

8. To take care of the kids when we want to go to the movies.

9. To make us feel that single (or committed) is good. We all are in it together.

10. To pamper our egos. To read the silly stuff that we come up with at 1 am and tell us that its a creative genius.

I guess we all are selfish when it comes to friends, though we hate to admit it. That is what makes friendship so cherished - we can all be selfish together, without feeling guilty about it.

  

'A'typical Girlfriend

Sia loved the journey back home from work. It was around 2 in the night when she finished her shift. The cab was ready to leave by 2.15. Anusha was seated comfortably near the window. But Richa was late as usual. She came rushing down the stairs, balancing herself precariously on six inches of heels. "I'm sorry, lets go", she said. The driver eased the car out of the basement parking lot and breezed towards the highway.

Sia looked out of the window. Both Anusha and Richa were busy with their cell phones. Sia looked at them and sighed. "What do a gang of girls do when they get together after work? They call their boyfriends.", she thought. The thought of her boyfriend brought a smile to her lips. She loved Arun dearly and was proud of him. They had been dating for a year now, and he had never given her a reason to complain. He had always been caring and supportive. He respected her fierce attitude and complemented it with his patient temperament. And she prided herself about being the perfect girlfriend. "If such a species exists", Arun always joked. But Sia knew in her heart that she was not the typical girlfriend. She never nagged, never demanded a lot of attention and never cribbed. She was always independent, spent a good deal of time with her gang of friends and always let Arun have his space in the relationship. She never acted like a GPS around Arun's neck, calling him every few hours to check on his whereabouts.

But today Sia decided to call him. It was rather late, so she settled with texting him. She was delighted when she got a reply, but the smile soon faded. Arun was not well. He had a bad cold and was trying to get some sleep, he said. "Will call u 2moro". Sia understood perfectly well. "Any other girl would have been suspicious, but not me", she thought. "What are you doing now?". Sia heard Anusha shouting into the phone. "Why dont
you stop eating those oily bhajiyas? Your will put on. And the cholesterol is not good for your heart." Sia smirked. A typical girlfriend, she thought. She went back to her window and gazed at the moving world outside. Suddenly her eyes widened in alarm. Did she see Arun at the end of the road? It was a blurred figure in a green t-shirt and very far away. As the distance between them closed, Sia stared in disbelief. It was Arun! What was he doing there? There were three friends with him. And they all looked drunk! Did that mean Arun had lied to her? She was too stunned to answer that.

Arun woke up the next day to a bad hangover. The sound of the doorbell made his head ache even worse. He slowly made his way to the door. The sight of Sia surprised him. She smiled sweetly and came inside. Closing the door after her, she sat down at the dining table. "This is such a pleasant surprise", said Arun bending forward to kiss her. She turned her head away. She would never have done that. "Where were you last night?", she shouted. "You told me you had a cold and were too busy to meet me. And I see you in the middle of the night, dead drunk with your stupid friends. How can you lie to me?", and Sia started sobbing. If Sia's visit had surprised Arun, this was a jolt out of the blue. He was visibly stunned. He tried to offer an explanation, but she would hear nothing of it. She kept sobbing and flung all the cushions on him that she lay her hands on. "I hate you", she kept saying. After a minute or two, she stormed out of the house. Arun ran after her, but she simply brushed him aside and left. 

The next two days were living hell for him. He tried to call her, but she did not answer his calls. He tried to meet her on her way to work, but she refused to acknowledge his presence. It took two weeks and an endless trail of phone calls and emails, visits to coffee shops and one to Swarovski to finally get Sia to forgive Arun. Its been twenty-five years since then, and Arun has been absolutely honest to Sia.

How do I know this? Because I am twenty and have been dating a nice guy for a year now, and when I told Mom today about him, with the customary maternal advice, she added "Dont behave like a typical girlfriend, though I once did,". And told me this story as an afterthought. So fond of proving herself smarter than Dad! A typical girlfriend!

P.S: This is a totally fictitious story churned out by the writer. There is absolutely no resemblance to anyone :)

Skimming through life past

It is a strange feeling when you read your own diary. Revisiting the nooks and corners that defined the way your life has taken, smiling at all the fears that shuddered you then, smiling even more at the happy moments that braced you.

You know that you have grown and improved, that you have learnt and are wiser now, that your are stronger and have more patience, that you have faith in yourself, that you still treasure those friends and the time you spent with them, that some people have left an indelible mark on your life, and that nothing can ever go wrong in life again. The most important thing that you realize is the number of people you have forgiven - the friend at school who taunted you over grades, the snooty professor who troubled you with an assignment, and all those people who had made life difficult for you. It is sheer nirvana when you traverse all those episodes again and realize the wounds no longer bleed.

And then there are times when you mentally start filling in the missing details; the ones you deliberately left out because they belonged to you and nobody else. Guilty secrets, if I may call them. Some make you smile, some make you sigh, but most of them remind you that those were in fact the best moments of life.

As you complete the journey down memory lane, you are reminded that not all memories can be frozen in a frame or captured in words. Some are best left wafting around the mind and lingering in the heart.

A time to stand and stare

I remember my first day at the Sathaye college library. I was a new entrant into FYJC and college life on the whole. In fact, I think I was in the library to avoid being ragged by the SYJC seniors (It was later that I realized that students in SYJC do not attend college :D).

I cant recollect what I was reading. I'm sure it wasnt anything to my liking, because most of the time, I was listening to the discussion two FYBSc girls at my table were having. They were trying to solve some maths problem. I remember one of them. She was dark and had long hair tied in a neat plait. Her spectacles gaver her a nerdy look and she kept saying 'If G is abelian, then...'. It sounded all wise and fancy to me. 'Abelian' is a nice-sounding word. Then she said something that made me take notice. "What do we do now?", the friend asked when they got stuck with the solution. "Now we stare at it.", the girl said. And they both just sat and stared at the half-solved problem, till something struck them.

'Stand and stare'. It is such a powerful way of solving things. It forces us to slow down and watch the problem from a distance. And it is amazing how much better it is to be an outsider to all the chaos. The mind is clear of clutter and we can think more clearly. And that is when the solution strikes.

Stare-at-the-problem-till-something-strikes has been one thing I have oft done since then, albeit subconsciously. And whenever I do that, I am drawn back to that rainy afternoon in the library.

Hey, don I speak English?

I had read about England and Englishmen in the works of Wodehouse, Forster and the likes. I knew all about their stiff-upper-lip, their love for the evening tea, their lack of panic (or emotions) in situations of crisis.

But yesterday, when I met a real Englishman and started conversing with him in his mother-tongue, it suddenly struck me how different our styles are. To start with, I greeted him as 'Hi FirstName' instead of the customary, 'Good Morning Mr. Lastname'. I am not sure how it struck him. All through the day, I found myself using short sentences, incomplete ones too (which is grammatically incorrect), dropping syllables like silencing the 't' in 'dont' and the 'f' in 'of course'. I felt I was using a drawl, which stood out against his crystal-cut accent.

And that is when I realized how all those years of interacting with Americans in the IT industry, all those movies, and the attempts to sound cool and trendy have profoundly distorted the so-called Queen's English that we leant in school. It is now flavoured with the American accent, tempered with its grammar, particulary the verbs (Brazil are a great team/Brazil is a great team), and seasoned with a dash of American slangs.

Do I regret it? Not one bit! Because language should always evolve to survive. It is only when new words are added to it and new intonations get associated with its words, that a language stays relevant. And that, I think, is the very reason why English has such a wide acceptance.

N that reminds me, the next book on my wishlist - 'We are like that only'!

An 'Unconquered' Dilemma

It was a Saturday afternoon, and I was busy doing what I love the most - reading. And this time, it was Somerset Maugham. The short story was titled 'The Unconquered'.

Maugham narrates the tale of a German soldier, Hans, who is posted to a French village near Soissons, after a hostile takeover by Germany. In a state of drunkenness, he rapes a farmer's daughter. He keeps running into her quite often since then, and tries to strike a rapport, just for fun. The farmer's daughter, Annette, is a school teacher and a true French patriot. She loathes the Germans, and particularly her perpetrator, with a fierce passion. Her hatred causes Hans to become more obsessed with her. Eventually, he realizes that she is carrying his child, and that she could not rid herself of it.

The thought of the child evokes a strange tenderness within Hans, and he offers to marry Annette. By this time, the farmer and his wife are won over, but Annette refuses and remains stubbornly firm. As she gives birth to the child, her mother sends the message to Hans. Hans rushes over to visit his child. When the farmer's wife goes to fetch her grandson, she realizes that mother and child are both missing. As panic strikes the room, Annette walks in through the door and tells Hans that she drowned the child in the river. Hans screams like a wounded animal and rushes out through the door. And Annette feels proud that she has remained the unconquered.

As the narrative closed, I kept asking myself whether it was right for Annette to kill the child. Does a mother have the right to decide whether the child should live or not? What motivated her to take such a drastic step? Was it revenge against her rapist, patriotic feelings, societal norms against a child born out of a wedlock, or pure egoism?

On P.G. Wodehouse

There is a charm to the way PGW writes. He has the most eccentric characters I have ever known. His protagonists range from disillusioned lovers to dog-biscuit salesmen to obsessed earls. His characters have an earthly flavour that makes them all-humourous, all-endearing and all-so-timeless.

What amazes me is the humour that he manages to concoct out of everyday occurences. It is marvellous what a random thought can transform into. Use of irony, toungue-in-cheek humour & good grammar can translate a drab idea into an interesting read. A mundane incident becomes the most loved story and 'Plum' becomes one of the most popular humourists of all times. That is the magic of Pelham Grenville Wodehouse!

On draping a saree

I recently had a conversation with a friend over draping a saree. And as I pondered over the origin of my proficiency in draping a saree, my mind drifted off to those oft-quoted-oft-missed childhood days.

I always used to watch my mother get ready in the mornings. Mom would thrust a glass of milk in my hands as I would dreamily stare into nought, battling the overweight sleep that would swing on my eyelids. What else can you expect a child of four to do when she has been woken up at 6 in the morning to go to school? After raising her voice to get me to drink the milk, Mom would start her daily routine of getting ready for work. She would comb her hair into a neat plait, tuck a flower into it occasionally.

And then she would pick up the saree that she had chosen for the day. This was be the moment that always toppled sleep off my eyes.

I would watch with rapt attention as she unfolded the saree. It was an act of magic. Six yards of fabric - silk, chiffon, cotton, just about anything - draped with such elegance! I would watch her turn the saree around, fold it into neat pleats, tuck them without creating a single extra crease. A gentle tug to align it, a pin there to hold it in place, a glance in the mirror to make sure it was perfect, and she would be ready, neat and pretty. A mere five minutes of activity would leave me awe-struck every morning. And I would yearn to hold the surreal six yards in my tiny hands and create my own magic.

On tweeting

It is amazing how social networking is blurring the boundaries between the common man and the ones in power. If my local MLA is on Twitter, I can reply directly and instantly to his tweets, and he cannot ignore them. Twitter started off as a tool to keep in touch with long lost friends and acquaintances in an easy, hassle-free way. It helped do away with all the book-keeping associated with an email. It was quick and the restriction on the number of characters ensured it was crisp. But the benefits soon started growing as people discovered better uses to this tool.

Today it transcends networking. It helps build brands, voice opinions, start a movement and much more. I was recently tracking the initiatives by Vir Sanghvi and Pritish Nandy around the Padma Awards controversy. It surprised me how convenient it is to garner support through the social networks. And there is a sense of rawness associated with tweets. The recent tweet by Gul Panag about the COAS is an example in point. You end up saying the things you really mean without much fanfare and fancy around it. The shroud of diplomacy is out.

Every person on Twitter is his own brand ambassador. There are articles which tell you how to increase the number of your followers, what kind of users to follow, how to use the bio space to the best and how to choose a theme picture for your profile. Twitter has become one of the best ways of disseminating information quickly. I find following the ET tweets better than reading the newspaper itself.

As one of my friends joined Twitter after a lot of reluctance, I could not help but realize that love it or hate it, no one can afford not to be tweeting. Even as I write this, I see three new tweets on my twitter tab :)