Sunday, July 23, 2017

Writing ?



How much can a writing take you?

Can it change something that exists or begin anything new?

What is the use of writing, if it can be erased, torn or burnt?

I always could write better, than I could speak. I am just saying in relative terms, not comparing myself to anyone else. But, when I speak, I feel I am a no opinion and spineless woman. This is not how I feel when I write. 

Is it because that not too many people write, but speak better? It could be that when writing, we think slower than when we speak. 

How many writing has made you better? 

How much of it has it saved the world ?

Don’t actions speak louder than words ; even if they are in black and white ? Did we bring about reforms in society using paper as a medium ? I have seen weapons of mass destruction and actions of human acts, but nothing on paper that changed us.

I don't even remember my parents teaching me life by putting things in writing. We all learnt on the go by seeing people act accordingly. Then, why are we insisting people to read more often?

Are we misinformed that pen is mightier than sword ? How has it been ?

I am beginning to feel writing will lose its form , and we all need to spring to action. But I am not sure, because I know nothing else than to write. The words on stronger on paper than from my mouth.

Tuesday, February 2, 2016

(Insert a lot of curse words)

I was never aware that I was capable of spewing this much hate. And yes, now that I know and see the diminutive atom like fireballs spurting from my every part of the body, I think I should do something about it. I am not happy. “About what ?”, you may ask. But this 1:100, brain vs body ratio doesn’t know. I have lost the strength to believe that something good is going to happen; but the only good thing that was happening was that the anger never subsided and I feel the same hate towards everything and everyone.

If you are in super positive frame of mind, I warn you to not read further. This is going to change all that and drag you to my frame, which isn’t good in any way. But, if you are feeling that everything has been unfair to you, I trust you with a company.

I was swimming in wrath that I had to vent it because I couldn’t kill anyone on sight. First thing I did was to drive my vehicle fast. No, not rash. I don’t know if I was because I wasn’t thinking. But I was definitely going at an admirable speed. A grandfather in TVS Champ scorned at me and it felt momentarily good. I wasn’t going to get the anger out of me. I stopped for no one, cared for no one. Then, I tried to imagine something good and that was when my alter ego grew immensely. By the way, she is Kwarkshi, a mix of Evil Father and Angel mother. For obvious reasons, she is very good for a while, very evil other times. This was the exact feeling I was having and more than evil. I let her curse people in my mind till I smiled a lot outside. It worked a bit, but I was running out of imaginations.

As soon as I reached home, I drank one liter carton juice in a single gulp. I just wanted to make sure that I wasn’t angry because I was hungry. Yeah, its happens. Sometimes.
I let the juice hit my stomach floor and checked my flare temperature. It didn’t come down and I concluded that my irritation was, indeed, genuine. I quickly did a research on the net for bringing down my volcanic eruptions.

Count from 100..till 1. Oh ! Yeah right!

Think of beautiful things. *Double* Yeah right!

Do yoga. Wait. Is this even a solution ? Move every muscle in your body to make you calm ? Touch your feet with your fingers? Isn’t there an organ called stomach in between the two ? And doesn’t it bulge?

I slammed my laptop close, opened it again quickly, to see for damages. It was my office laptop. I just had to be sure.

Thoughts flowed in my head, everything mad, negative and irritating. Every incident, word spoken. I felt betrayed, cheated and sad for myself. It was my mistake that I entered to the comfort zone and it was way too comfortable to make a move. I bottled up all this anger and stood silent.

What should I do ?

What can I do ?

That is when I realized I should harness all this anger and do something about it. First thing I did was write this article. No, it honestly has not made me feel better. I actually think I have written something utter nonsense and drowning in shamelessness. But, this is better than bottling it up inside and not doing anything about it.

So, I am going to be let this bulk-hulk mode on. Focus it all on something totally different and shoot it. Maybe it will turn sour; or for once, it will be for good. I am going to go there. And get it!

FTW!

 P.S., If you think this instilled anger in you, I believe you should share.

P.S., I kept it short. No, I wasn't hungry. Promise.

Saturday, January 30, 2016

The insignificant me

Some are creating records. Others are making double histories. And Most of them are half my age.

She won the Tennis Doubles again, Boy Band’s song is in the top of the charts consecutively for the fifth week, he fought the soldiers all by himself, they signed a pact and the stories alike. The insignificant-me can do nothing but ponder over what to write.

In 6 billion, how much do I matter?
To whom do I matter?
Why am I not a celebrity?
Why I am not talked about?

All these questions run behind my head while I wait at the cobbler’s place. His workplace is a tiny steel box to fit him and ten pairs of footwear that he had stitched together.

“How much ?”, I ask him with thoughts still lingering somewhere subconsciously

I don’t know what he said but I handed over a lot more than he asked for. I didn’t take the change and left the place with just a nod. I remember him trying to smile through his infected mouth and say thanks. But, I wasn’t in the right mind to take his gratefulness.

Am I not just another person going to work, making a livelihood so that I can eat my next meal in peace?
Wouldn’t I been able to something for others if I had more money or power?

I was doing a self-analysis in the middle of the road as if the pollution would spray answers into me when a mother, with a little child mounted on her scooter, tried to push her vehicle around mine. I just looked at her, pushed my vehicle behind and let her pass ahead of me. I remember the relief on her face and she explaining that the child was late to school. But, I wasn’t in the right mind to take her thankfulness.

The flickering orange light in my vehicle indicated that there was no petrol and this distracted me a bit. But, as soon as I saw a poster of a famous car racer above the bunk, I was back into my own world of self-destruction. I told the puny man over the machine for a tank full and he shot some instructions like zero which hit off my head. Suddenly, I was woken by loud honking by a huge white van, like it was the last day for all of us. I realized there was a coil of green pipes in front of the vehicle which my puny man was trying to push with his Popeye muscles. Being larger than him, with no second thoughts, I helped him and brought peace to the Petrol Bunk. He whispered something under his heavy breathe and folded his hands. But, I wasn’t in the right mind to take his drama.

Wouldn’t people look up to me if I was famous ?
Why was I not talented at all ?

Again, I was stopped on the road not by the lights but by the white shirt traffic police. He was signing hand signals to other side and put us on hold for the time being. He was glancing over my side. It had to be one of this; either I was so attractive that someone noticed me in the crowd or I was doing something terribly wrong. In split moments, I realized he was actually looking for his associate who was seated on the pavement with hand on his head.

“Are you ok?” he shouted at his associate.

“No, I have a terrible headache”, his associated shouted back.

As a spectator, I watched this like a movie on a screen while realizing I have a good stock of analgesic that I was addicted to. I pulled my bag, pulled out a strip and handed it over to him. He looked at me like I was offering an atom bomb. After full 20 seconds of blank straight stare, he blinked and accepted my atom bomb.  The white shirt traffic police signaled us to leave and I was on my way again.

It wasn’t until I reached my cubicle and opened my mails; I became completely aware of the surrounding. There were multiple mails from customers asking for lot of work to be done for the day. It made me feel that I was more important at my workplace and there were people reaching out to me.
 
When I resorted to solve my clients’ issues, I felt a lot more significant than the usual. At all other times, whose life is this insignificant-me making it easy anyway?


Thursday, September 18, 2014

Break the ice, fire and whatever

The clothing was more than necessary to keep her warm but she felt cold. There was linger of her perfume in his jacket and all she could feel were the goose bumps clearly appearing at every single drift of the vehicle. She put her hands into his pockets and his helmet turned as a reaction to it. She knew he was grinning inside. She wished that the whole world ceased to end at that very moment.

The above passage is the most romantic set of lines I could have ever come up with. Not that I have been trying to prove my caliber in romances but I had to break all barriers in the clogged head to come up with something. I am thoroughly lost in most parts of my life. And times when I am not, I have coffee and vada pavs to think about. Yes, pavs in plural form.

I had my birthday last month and am sure that I have not grown any wiser apart from few strands of white hair appearing. I do fear wrinkles appearing now and then and if I had to replenish every Vaseline cream stocks with Pond's ageing cream. But my pride doesn't agree that I am getting older uselessly. So, I had to come with a list of things that past year left me with.

Here it is, if it makes sense:

1. You need not have an opinion on every subject. Certain validations can be done only in situations and in other person’s shoes. It is fine to acknowledge and not accumulate it in your head. You need not counter argue every statement you dislike. Silence, some times , can be the best answer.

2. Being unmarried in late twenties is a crime. Be expected to be bombarded with suggestions and advices on all things related to the holy matrimony. This has been the reason that I never check my Facebook account at home. My page has to be declared in the Limca book of records for holding together hundreds of continuous marriage album in one stretch.  If not adorned, then there would be all honeymoon photos causing more heat in the layers of stomach (read ‘stomach burn’). I could send a missile to every country on the map. I just realized that this was the longest point in the entire post.

3. Terribly Tiny Tales page in Facebook is simply awesome.

4. How one gets closer to room mates, yet manages to keep a distance. I am sure this is the best kind of relationship I have ever experienced.  And I am pretty sure my roomies would never read this.

5. If one practices going to movies alone might find company a little strange and will begin to make assumptions even before the movie begins. On the contradictory, watching a movie alone frees one’s mind of any preconceived notions. The nachos and cheese dip at PVR are the best.

6. Money is very important. Especially, if you live in Bangalore and the last week of the month appears.

7. You can go to the same restaurant as many times as possible and order the same dish over and over again just because your friend loves it.

8. Birthday gifts are clear investments. You give what they want and ask what you want.

9. Becoming fat or thin is never in your hands. You are the unrecognized and misunderstood Indian Christian Bale.

10. All my travelling in the last year consisted only of wedding attendances.

11. I have clearly stopped writing and still finding a good excuse to lie to myself.

12. You are still not old to stop experimenting. Experiment with hair colours, clothes, lifestyle , outdoor events. Be it anything.


This is all I could come up with 40 watts bulb over the head and mosquitoes under the table. The year passed faster than what my minuscule brain could get it. I am clearly hoping for a more adventurous year ahead. Even more to a better writing.

Sunday, February 23, 2014

Quintessential of life



The spotted hyenas of African native demonstrate a peculiar behaviour known as the Siblicide. When a mother gives birth to 3 cubs, she leaves them at the den and goes to hunt. Unlike other animals, hyenas are born with sharp teeth and good sight. These cubs bite each other for larger parental space to show their dominance. The cub which is dominant gets more milk from the mother and the least dominant dies due to starvation. This competition among the siblings for mother’s milk results in 25% of all new born to die mercilessly. Apart from these Siblicides committed by the hyenas, other animals like the killer whales and leopards kill each other for survival and competition within the herd.

I took a glance at her sheet from time to time to ensure that the colours used did not avert anyone’s eyes from my painting. When she stroked the clouds in deep blue, I made sure that there were three more colours for the sky in my landscape. The sense of over powering was subtle at the age of 7 but the foundation was laid right there. Maybe it would have subsided eventually over the course of time with leg and back aches but witnesses to the situation didn’t allow that. The aunties lurched forward, tilted their heads and grunted cues to better our paintings. We both poured more paint into the palette and with simple compulsive nuances, grudges into our heads.

They told us that it was going to be all dancing and merry making. We had to choreograph steps to the loud DJ music and entertain the over expecting parents and relatives among the crowd. But, what they didn’t tell us was that we need to be better than all others to be noticed. It shouldn’t matter to a 13 year old girl whether she occupies the middle position or the side last unless she didn’t enjoy the music. But, every girl in the group craved and fought mind battles to win that position. Our bodies gyrated to the music, while our minds swayed to the pressures.

He erased the straight line drawn over the board and turned to face the class again. He explained the perpendicular line concept in a to-be-imagined 3 dimensional space. Most of the students in the class nodded in unison while my friend turned to me with a doubt. It was all readied in my imagination space and was making sense to me but when she asked, only the previous maths paper mark flashed in my mind. Nobody needed to teach a 16 year old about the folly of teaching another student something she knew because there were high chances of scoring more. These intentions didn’t come in a day or two but were carefully tendered seeds of thoughts spewed in the muddle of cranium and nurtured over stages of life. While both our shoulders shrugged with a sign that meant we didn’t understand the maths concept, our hearts knew we weren’t doing well to each other.

In every sphere of life, it has been in man’s ability to carefully think. These thoughts are not free flow like everyone claims. These were mastered with actions, sprayed with selfishness from the ambience and rolled with layer of non acceptance. We don’t look at anything as the way it should be. If something exists in the complex space, it must be put to use. 

I didn’t give a speech in the elocution competition because I loved talking. 

I didn’t act in the Christmas play because acting meant a world to me.

I didn’t write a summary of a novel just because reading gives me pleasures of something unknown.

I didn’t dribble across the entire stretch of Basket Ball court because it was a good exercise.

I did because I wanted to prove. I wanted to showcase things to the world that had limitless hunger for more. I swelled with ambitions that were beyond my reach and hopes that were not nurtured the way it should have been. I didn’t fall into the dungeon of opportunities but was dragged with weights that were intangible. 

Nobody told me that I had to win. There was nothing that instilled the competitive nature in my head. Yet, I was there, giving my best in everything I could, whether I liked it or not. I wasn’t thinking of the journey or the patience that I had to build eventually to see the results. I was running the race, blind folded and foolish.

What I fear is that someday when I have children, I would not be able to tell them how to savour the journey of life. 

How will I teach them to appreciate the less significant things and move forward in small steps to achieve larger goals?

How will I remove the cynic emotions towards the world and help them enjoy what they are doing?

I hope not to mold and unleash them to the world full of cut throat competition for my own ambitions. I will leave them to lend a deaf ear to all the noises that might change them. I will not let them look at the surrounding as I did. I will feed them optimism and trust at every walk. I leave it to God to give them the strength to face the outcomes.

Is the world what it seems to be ?

Those eyes stare



I must be one of those elite members in the book of travellers who shuttle frequently to Chennai to attend all marriage and my God works in odd ways. He makes sure that I use the train at the same time and on the same day of every alternative week. He adds to the convenience by placing me in a project which has a shift from late afternoon to night.

Not everyone will understand the emotional connect that I have with the Chennai Central station. The bond goes back two years from today when I discovered that there is a morning train which will land me on time to office. Since then, my routine has been the same; rush to the station exactly at 6 45 a.m. and halt at the Sarvana Bhavan counter. 

Yes, I am the stereotyped South Indian who loves her morning coffee and idli-sambhar. This reason makes the compulsive visit to the Chennai’s favourite Veg restaurant ‘Sarvana Bhavan’. The process for getting a parcel from this hotel is very simple, pay the money at a counter, submit the token and receive your package. But it isn’t as simple as it seems. 

It is a world wonder how at least 50 people make it to the same counter at the early morning flashing their money bundles and shouting the order. The probability I had practiced for 3 years hasn’t given me a solution for the  right time to go to the counter when the crowd would be manageable. Whatever be the rumble and hassle outside the counter, the man in greyish green uniform behind the counter snatches the money, gives the stare and returns the change monotonously. It happens every time and this expression hasn’t changed over the two years. 

For him, this must mean a serious business but to me, to get his attention was the utmost drive.
As everyone in this world teaches something, there have been 5 peculiar things that I have understood in this short encounter with the Sarvana Bhavan counter guy.

(1) I need women’s quota: I have tried everything to get the token. I have batted my eye lids, squeaked out loud, banged on the counter and everything that is in my power. But, he does his job meticulously; collects from everyone except me. One day, I could barge into the Railway minister’s house and demand women’s quota for every counter that is on the station. That way, my package arrives at least 20 minutes earlier.

(2) I definitely need to marry someone taller : What is with the designing of the counter that is exactly at my height that I need to tip toe to glance at my lover boy ? I do my stretching in the counter with the heavy back pack that finishes my early morning exercise. Now and then, a dancing step gets conceptualized in this ritual but he doesn’t give a damn. If my children, by any chance, get my genes of love for coffee and idli, a taller spouse is a need.  

 (3) I must revisit my Math concepts : I didn’t memorise the probability formula well. I haven’t fully understood the permutation and combination either. These are more essential than any x’s and y’s I had learnt. I should be able to calculate the right time to enter the counter, hand over the money and collect the token. For these, I must draw an entire chart of plan with that minuscule calculation like train timing and number of people roughly who love the SB. This way I should be able to save enough energy and time.

(4) My networking is of no use : I roughly have around 1300 friends in my Facebook account out of which, at least 800 must be from Chennai. And from these, roughly, say 300 are from Bangalore. Why the hell are they not in station at the same time? Why cant a super handsome tall guy just help me out here ? Yenn kaduvale ?

(5) Demand and supply curves : I rolled over the mud and bed to understand these demand – supply concepts in post graduation but I see real use only now. Whatever hell be the price of the idli, there is still demand for it. Who, in the right mind,is fine with buying over priced idlis at a station? But the demand is never less making it tough for every smaller mortal like me to strike a bargain with the counter fellow.

People have problems with the matchmaking aunties and nosy neighbours but I have an epic closeness with the hotel counter fellow. As SRK shrieks and shrills in the Chennai express movie, I would say the same: don’t underestimate the power of the common counter fellow. He could make or mar your entire day.

Though I understand the business profits and seriousness of the fellow with staring eyes behind the counter, my encounter fallacies remain at the worst every alternate Monday morning. Now, visit to the railway minister seem the only way out!

This is an entry for the #ConditionSeriousHai contest by Cadbury 5 star.