No ticket for me !

I usually have to drive past a school to get to work. As usual me and rocky were on our way just 45 mts after noon. I had a meeting at 1pm so I wasn’t sparing any time. But driving past a school also means that I had to drive slow. At the same time, from my rear view mirror, I spotted a cops car behind me, and reluctantly put on my seat belt.

Just then like some old world charm, he started flashing his light at me, and I was nodding my head in denial and pulled over.

This was the first time ever in PA that I was stopped. The other time was in Chicago and that incident was so funny that I’ll have to blog seperately. Anyway, I had zillion things on my mind so i didnt have any energy left to "act" cautious.

The cop heads over to ask me “Do u know why u were pulled over.”
Before I could say “Was I speeding?”
He broke the awkward pause by saying “Your registration sticker is from last year, u need to change that”. Then he goes on to ask me for my driver's license, registration...the whole thing basically.

I grabbed my huge purse from back seat and looked for my wallet, grrh…I couldn’t find it, shoot, not today ! I looked again, no luck, and so without choice I sheepishly told him i changed my purse this morning and i forgot to get my wallet with me : (

I guess as any man with a lady in his life would know this situation, he nodded, and said dont worry, just give me ur DOB, Name and last 4 digits of ur social. And I did. I was sure he was going to give me a ticket in the next few minutes.

As any suspense thriller unfolds, i had to wait tapping my finger on the steering wheel while he went to his car to run by my dl.

He returns in few minutes and says well everything’s fine, just put the sticker, and this time I wont give u the ticket. I did a small victory dance in my heart. It’s that time of the year with magic in the air, even cops kinda take it lil’ easy I guess.

Then he continued that “Tell your husband his DL expired 16 days ago, if he gets cited his DL will be suspended, all he has to do is go to DMV and renew it”.

I was like what ! why did my husband’s DL is being discussed when he pulled ME over. Anyway, I politely thanked and headed back to work with rocky.

Ho Ho Ho !

Last Thursday (12/21/06) at work, while I was giving a present to someone I really look up to, another colleague asked “so where’s my present”. I replied Santa hasn’t finished making his rounds in India, once he finishes that, he’ll bring ur’s too. He responded in a very bah-humbug way, that there is no Santa, (so much for imagination, huh). So, I told him yes, there is and I could prove it to him. He said fine, let’s see what u got.

In a bizarre spirited coincidence, the next morning when I was reading news I saw a picture of Santa being given a speeding ticket by the Indian cops in Ahemdabad !

Just as I said : )

Peace with God

My two darlings, ammi and baba left for their hajj trip today along with my mama & mami. I pray for their safe trip. We've been talking about this trip for a while and now the day has dawned on us, and i feel terrible that i'm not with them. I take comfort in the thought that I helped them pack, at least that. I’ll miss talking to them on a daily basis, but I’ll be with them in spirit. Love you both…

Lagee kya…

I love creative ads that tickle ur brain and heart. Like the Corona beer’s ad, simple yet with clear message. Anyway, I recently came across this one in India, where a little kid is enjoying his chocolate under the tree, while a cabbie is reversing his car with the tree in the back,
The oily haired pan chewing cabbie turns around and asks “oye, dekh lagee kya”
the kids says “nahi nahi, aajao”
so he backs a little and asks “oye, dekh lagee kya”
the kids looks again and says “nahi nahi, aajao”
so he backs a little more and hits the tree and looks at the kid angrily
and so kid replies “haa ab lagai”

With his eyes naughtily smiling, he returns to peacefully sitting under the tree and unwraps his remaining chocolate. Some simple pleasures just cant be interrupted.

Kabul Express at 4.15 on Sat

After few loads of laundry and one in the washer, we decided it's time to take a break and headed to see Kabul Express in Doylestown, PA. It's about 45 minutes drive and hmm...i'd say about 45 miles away. The movie was into 3 minutes when we got there. But loved the rest of the story.

Picture courtesy of Wikipedia
Spoiler warning: Plot and/or ending details follow.

My fave part about the movie apart from Arshad and John was Hanif Hum Ghum. He adds the "regular Afghani guy who's seen it all" kinda character to the movie, he's someone you'd love to meet in real life.

The power of gun, the fear of death, the love of Indian cigarettes, common ground of Md. Rafi, longing to meet families, and not to forget the localites prank of donkey on travellers...drives these people to understand and tolerate one another. The movie almost humanises the face of one of the talibs but the responsibilities the journalists and reporters carry on their shoulders is enormous.

There were few shots i really liked, one's in the car where the talib says, at gun point to Arshad that "thumhari duniya alag hai". Meanings to such sentences come to life only in such situations. The stark difference in the preciousness to life and no fear of death between these people is amazing to notice.

Another shot is when the talib is doing his wazoo before namaz, looks at this american female journalist. You'd think that he's looking at her with bad intentions but as the movie goes on, you'd know that he sees in her what he'd have seen in his daughter. This is a must see movie, it briefly touches the politics of war but takes us into the journey of 3 journalists, one driver of Kabul Express, and the talib who meets his fate in the hands of his own country men.

You walk out of the cinema, wondering who to blame, if u see a quality of a friend in ur enemy, does it make the enemy your friend, who really is your enemy then?

Buick in green

It’s cold and rainy here, so the familiarity of the Buick green car that I came across in two days was something I couldn't pass to mention.

The first time I saw it, I liked his bumper sticker, which subtly stands out to say…

“No one died
When Clinton lied”.

Way to go, Buick in green. Aren't we all living the verities of war in one way or the other.

Yaootza!

I wanted to say just that, before heading to india, so post my 3 weeks vacation, I'll say that again - yaootza with a bang. From the time, I caught my flight in New York to Hyderabad and back, all the series of events are imprinted in my memory as a string of bookmarks. Maybe i should change the title of this blog as tale of 3 cities, Philadelphia, Hyderabad and Rajahmundry. All three very close to my heart that i have a undying patriotism to them.

I thoroughly enjoyed the thought of direct flight to Hyderabad, since I had taken the route via Bombay the last few times and hated it. What amazed me most was the sight of a father traveling with his toddler sans the mother. An interesting thing about being an Indian is there is no guesswork necessary, by the time I came out of the immigration line in Hyderabad, I knew that his wife didn’t get the vacation since she’s a contractor in CA, and since his parents never saw the 3yr old kid, all the family, relatives everyone are waiting to see the toddler and are at the airport to receive him, so that’s why he’s changing the clothes of the child. The father was even keeping an eye on the other kids in the plane who were traveling only with their moms without their pops. One guy, I saw in the flight went to the extent of taking the liberty to leave his duty free bought liquor with me while he can go and do more shopping, in a state of dumbstruck I first accepted but later spotted him making a call in fursat, so I gave him a small gentle piece of my mind and got back.

The echo of sounds and sights of heavy traffic, the incessantly ring of phone at home, the brightness of the light switched on by the maid in the early hours, my mom and dad’s bright voice and face while I climb down the stairs, the sight of street lights with the back drop of vendor’s banners lining the walls of the big buildings in the dark of the night, all this was riotously surfing my heart. I’m unable to shake the feeling of that familiar eeriness that I so love, and though with my body I’m here, my heart seems to left behind in that very heavy traffic streets, and in the homes made of people.

The noise and people talking is so engaging that you don’t even need to say anything. I remember this one situation, I was asked to write something in the comments section for a school book, but then everyone was reading behind me what I was writing, of course they were kids, but in the echo of my very own words that they were reading aloud, I lost the flow of thought I wanted to convey. In other situations I felt the same way… In my brother’s living room, a friend and all of us were talking but I was just being washed with the words that were coming out of their minds. I didn’t say anything, I felt as if I was an onlooker. I compared all this to the deafening silence we all feel in our very living rooms in US. I’m not saying the life in US is not good, but the standards are high, the freedom in your cocoon is highly regarded that it isolates the core of our living. The non-sensical movies, the imitating kids, the prestige hungry wannabe people, I came across all of them in India. But what stuck to me most was the love and warmth of a mother, how she chose to perceive a same situation that, she and I, both witnessed at the same time. The love and affection of close friends, the family treasons, a TC’s amazement, the loneliness of a parents with kids abroad, sight of four kids going through rubble playfully with such innocence, the stark difference in highways to Eluru and Kakinada, a chef’s professionalism in River Bay in Rajahmundry, the face of the waiter who served us dinner in Priyadarshini late night, the drive thru OU to get biryani from Bawarchi to home and then not liking it, the comfort of making a quick turn instead of going through another exit, the palatial temple of Iskon in rjy, not to mention the food at Alex Kitchen, I believe bobby’s cousin in now the host, the guy at gujari’s who was dropping hints for us look around the store while he can start his lunch was utterly disappointed that we were done and we need to wrap up and go.

All I can say is this trip made me look at myself in closer, made me grow a bit more in my own skin. I met up with my old school friends at Zaafron, it felt so f*****g darn good, we all were chattering like there was no end. What I loved most was the fursat-ness in the daily life, really, nobody is in a hurry, there isn’t a drive to get things over with, when the 5 minutes of wait turns into 1/2n hour, u’ll never know. Now that I’m back, I cant come out of that fursat ness, I’ve slowed it down, but I know life here will catch up with me and shake it off of me. But until then I’ll enjoy it.

As I was standing at the immigration line in New York, I started to miss home terribly. The abundance of facilities in order, the plush wall to wall carpet in the airport, the non-chaotic lines, the orderliness seemed very odd to me. I felt like I was in different age and time. I dint seem to like it. While vamsi drove I slept in the car, as I reached home and removed shoes the very touch of my home’s carpet on my feet felt…I don’t know I cant describe it. With much deluge, I headed to work the next day, I felt like I was in another surreal world. The sight and touch of my cube, the same place I spend most of my time, felt pointless. All this felt like a world I can’t touch but somehow living through in small bits. I’ve always carried a thought that all our life we slowly discover a bit of who we are, we’ll never completely know who we are, since situations evolve a new personality in us that we aren’t aware of. This trip was one of them for me, nothing extraordinary happened, but many ordinaries came together.

A what face ?

While being plopped on the couch and watching TV, I bumped into Reba on Lifetime.

Alright, alright, we know women like to watch Lifetime but so do men.

Anyway, there is this Barbara Jean character who in a gripping situation unveils that her husband has put on a lying face in-front of his ex-wife and other people.

For obvious reasons this bloke is disappointed that, his current wife gave away how his lying face looks like to the rest of the crowd. Now that he cant use that face anymore, he’s stumped. That right there got me thinking…darn ! I’m sure we all have faces, of different emotions, a surprising face, a sad face, and a happy one and on and on, but how does your face look like when u r stating something that is not completely true, well I mean when u lie!

Sure…we all lie…say white lies here and there that are completely harmless and inconsequential. Like the time you call in sick to work, just to relax at home and do a plenty of nothings, or the time u tell ur girlfriend / boyfriend/ husband/ wife that they don’t exactly look fat, it’s just the wrong outfit.

Should we wonder how our face looks like in such situations.

Is this a grim reality we face for being adults or can we get by without a lying face. It’s a catch 22.

I couldn’t eat!

Since Vamsi is in Chicago for the past 2 weeks, I was tired of my own hand cooked food and the sight of piled dishes in the sink wasn’t getting me anywhere near the frame of mind to cook. So, I dialed in to my fave or rather ex-fave restaurant, Wave Noodles for delivery of some Shrimp with Basil and hot & sour soup. I specifically told her, missy, I have no cash on me so charge the tip as well on my card.

Half hour later, after my shower and few minutes into channel swapping, the bell rang. I’ve heard or read somewhere that for a single girl, it’s always good to be on the phone with someone when u r answering the door. So, with my phone as a weapon, I opened the door, and the guy gave me the credit card bill to sign, I did and thanked him. Then he looks at the bill and with his typical Chinese accent he continues to say that he drove 6 miles to get here and deliver and I didn’t tip him enough. I was like “what!”, but I asked that girl to charge me and I went on to say that I had no cash what so ever, I had dimes and nickels for all he cares and few quarters in sight. He just nodded, and walked away, I doubt if he understood a thing I said. I was like helloooo! First a feeling of guilt washed me, cursing that I should always keep cash on me, then after few minutes a mysterious rage took over me, how could he just walk away like that, aren’t I the customer here. I had given good tips whenever I go for lunches there. So for the first time I asked them for delivery and the lady forgot to charge the tip on my card and I take the brunt of it. It seemed so unfair, so, I called them again, to tell her to charge it on my card again, well no, she just didn’t get it, get what I was trying to explain and it was well into my dinner time, so I hung up. By this time I lost my appetite to eat too and made a mental note to drop by tomorrow to withdraw cash then go to the restaurant and give that guy his tip.

All this for not making my own dinner! Next time, i should just make Maggie noodles, darn, I was pissed.

To all the Questions

the numbness of the mind drips like red
in the flames of life we find
the soulless faces
the sting of the needles
the dust of the wind
we stand bare searching
hoping the answers will find us

Ripple effects….

An unknown face with his fate haunts me in the most unexpected moments…couple of months ago, a student in Sri Kakulam was "ragged" by his seniors, for sexual favors. He succumbed to their threats and gave in. After that horrific abuse he reported to the cops who realized that those god-forsaken seniors are absconding. Later in the progress of events, this guy with his father went to report this to human rights activist. By the time, they returned home, the mother of the abused boy, was found dead…she committed suicide !

All this was accounted over a period of 2-3 days. This line of events brought a lot of questions to my mind, in such an unimaginable state of affairs of this guy, who’s lost more than he bargained for. This guy had shown sheer braveness to bring attention and possibly fight for justice, instead of suffering in silence.

But the mother chose the easy way out, instead of supporting him through his ordeal, she gave him more to grieve about. It’s established once again how the reputation and societal norms coerce a person to chose the extreme alternatives.

I can’t help but wonder what would this kid be hauling with him for the rest of his life. Would he be blaming himself for years to come for bringing the black and white starkness of life to such tragic reality, would anything be ever normal to him, will he ever be able to cope with the rage he would feel towards his “seniors” or understand his mother’s choice to die, to that matter.

Instead of trying to brush it off as a depressing matter to think about, please take a moment to think of how ‘we’ as a part of the society contribute to the thought process of sexually abused victims and their families.

How we voice our thoughts and imply situations, affect the delicate minds.

Maybe a kind thoughtful word from her spouse, neighbor might have made some difference to her and eventually to this kid too.

WSID

Does it mean anything that twice within a time of 10 days you get a pang of strong feeling that you are not doing what you have always wanted to. Though you don’t know what exactly is it. But the people you are working with, the “mahol”, the pettiness in the rat race and everything just doesn’t seem to click and you are standing there alone in this huge room looking from up above at yourself from a third person’s view and see your thoughts fly, your shadow running away and a meaningless sigh depicts many burning illustrations.

Thick twice before u call

your kid “clever” !

BBC News : Teachers should stop calling bright pupils "clever" for fear they might not be considered "cool" by classmates, a union has been told.

Wow! I don’t have kids yet, but I know at some level of my conscience, it doesn’t seem right. No matter how u r considered by your classmates, roomies, u can never escape from being who you are, and what you turn out to be. If any, we deprive them of the recognizing that uniqueness each child carry within themselves.

The society seems to be evolving into this police of sorts in our schools, streets and living rooms. I’m all for the kids who need protection from the harm brought on by adults and rightfully so we should protect them.

But these idiosyncrasies turned regulations, to say “hey beware of being nice to your kid, you might just jeopardize his/her social life”. C’mon, I think we need these superficial crises to fret over our superficial problems at that tender age, so that when we grow up into complicated adults, we’ll know how we beg to differ.

What are you ?

An interesting way of looking at things...just a story i came across

A young woman went to her mother and told her about her life and how things were so hard for her. She did not know how she was going to make it and wanted to give up. She was tired of fighting and struggling.

It seemed as one problem was solved, a new one arose. Her mother took her to the kitchen. She filled three pots with water and placed each on a high fire soon the pots came to boil. In the first she placed carrots, in the second she placed eggs, and in the last she placed ground coffee beans.

She let them sit and boil; without saying a word.
In about twenty minutes she turned off the burners. She fished the carrots out and placed them in a bowl. She pulled the eggs out and placed them in a bowl. Then she ladled the coffee out and placed it in a bowl.

Turning to her daughter, she asked, "Tell me what you see."

"Carrots, eggs, and coffee," she replied.

Her mother brought her closer and asked her to feel the carrots. She did and noted that they were soft. The mother then asked the daughter to take an egg and break it. After pulling off the shell, she observed the hard boiled egg.

Finally, the mother asked the daughter to sip the coffee. The daughter smiled as she tasted its rich aroma
The daughter then asked, "What does it mean, mother?"
Her mother explained that each of these objects had faced the same adversity: boiling water.

Each reacted differently. The carrot went in strong, hard, and unrelenting. However, after being subjected to the
Boiling water, it softened and became weak. The egg had been fragile. Its thin outer shell had protected its liquid interior, but after sitting through the boiling water, its inside became hardened. The ground coffee beans were
unique, however. After they were in the boiling water, they had changed the water.

"Which are you?" she asked her daughter.

"When adversity knocks on your door, how do you respond?

Are you a carrot, an egg or a coffee bean?

Think of this: Which am I?

Am I the carrot that seems strong, but with pain and adversity do I wilt and become soft and lose my strength?

Am I the egg that starts with a malleable heart, but changes with the heat? Did I have a fluid spirit, but after a death, a breakup, a financial hardship or some other trial, have I become hardened and stiff? Does my shell look the same, but on the inside am I bitter and tough with a stiff spirit and hardened heart?

Or am I like the coffee bean? The bean actually changes the hot water, the very circumstance that brings the pain. When the water gets hot, it releases the fragrance and flavor.

Are you a carrot, an egg or a coffee bean?

May you have enough happiness to make you sweet, enough trials to make you strong, enough sorrow to keep you human and enough hope to make you happy.

May we all be COFFEE.

- Maya Angelou
Pics courtesy of Google images

Cast Away

So last night, I had set auto tune for TNT's airing of "Cast Away"...I finished all my chores, dimmed the lights, had the volume set at right level and embarked with Tom Hanks on his journey of survival. I think I should preface all this by saying that the feeling of claustrophobia engulfs me when i think of being under water, but to seek peace with that fear I watch movies like Jaws, The perfect Storm, Cast Away and such. For the first time I was watching this movie in full. I know "where was I, huh". At the fear of sounding generic, I want to say that I loved the movie.

It slaps onto you the inherent fear we all subconsciously carry. We don't avoid oceans, planes and all that stuff for the benefit of avoiding an accident, but we all have come to accept it in the threads of our daily lives. But when we do face such tribulations, the daily demons we so ferociously face seem trivial and pointless. There are few scenes when there is absolute silence, the serenity of the time and the rattle of the moments leading up to there...is quite something. The blend of love, irony, nature and mostly the sanity tom finds in the most deafening moments on the island makes you wonder...what would you do ? who would be your "Wilson".

A doc with power's !

The power to heal or seal a woman's fate for a mere Rs. 5000.

Where were we...

My blog, sure does looks deserted for the past 2 weeks…my excuse is whenever I could sneak some time out I’d swing by and see if I could think of something to share. I did, I do…but my mind failed me and my fingers wouldn’t move, they declined! so I gave up…..and stared at the clean white ms doc which was filled up with my thoughts that I wanted to share…. In my head it looked like a hotchpotch of words, thoughts that were clashing as sentences, and stories crossing paths. While I’m untangling all those train of thoughts…read on these lines of poetry…ofcourse I didnt write it, but I came across.

* The Invitation *

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting
your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking
like a fool for love, for your dream,
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow,
if you have been opened by life's betrayals or
have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain,
mine or your own,
without moving to hide it
or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy,
mine or your own,
if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us
to be careful, be realistic,
to remember the limitations of being a human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own
soul.
If you can be faithless and therefore be trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty
everyday.

And if you can source your own life from it's presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure,
yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!"

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or
how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after a night of grief and despair,
weary and bruised to the bone,
and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the
center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls
away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments

Should I have gone anyway….how many aye and nay’s !

Past many many weeks, on a late saturday afternoon, the warmth of the sun was tad bit high, there wasn’t a soul on the street, just cars lined on the curb…the curtains of my windows were gently moving to the breeze from the fan and I’ve just finished zipping songs and almost was ready to doze off, listening to the songs. Then I hear my husband of 7 years hollering from downstairs… what are you doing !

Me: nothing much, why!
Him: What shall we get for Mr. K’s daughter for her b’day party?
Me: What party?
Him: Didn’t I tell you, must have skipped my mind. It’s at 7pm tonight.

I put my hand on chest and swear dear all, I live with a man who’s memory has failed him more than he’ll admit to. He shrugs with a simple devious smile, I forgot!

I refused to whip out off my lazy mind at the nth hour and made up my mind not to go.

But rumor has it that few such declinations later, “not so important” acquaintances have gone beyond repair, I’ve been labeled a snob, a “no-show” for selective parties. Maybe I’m, maybe I’m not, depends on who’s talking.

These state of affairs reminds me of a email tag a close friend of mine uses, “I do not have an ATTITUDE problem, people have a PERCEPTION problem”. Added to people’s perceptions, I’m a victim of an forgetful spouse. Blame me…for all the social crisis we are facing !

Here we come, Talahassee

We have a tradition, once a year, a bunch of us meet to do a lot of nothings and laugh our cares away....

And this year, a gang of six mobbed a cozy place called home in Tallahassee, FL for the Labor day weekend. This home belongs to 2 very special friends, the poet and his inspiration ; ) So met the 8. The world was forgotten and time just bared some of the fun moments for the days to come.

I once read in a Paul Reiser’s book that u’ll know it’s the right person for you when u hold hands and your fingers are entwined in a perfect weave, which feels comfy - not too tight or loose. You’d know it feels just right.

It’s a metaphor that I’m implying that it was like holding hands comfortably for the rest of the days. The chronicles of our nothings began from our--

++ pit stop at Waffle House where the waitress didn’t bring Pavan’s “Just Coffee”, until the rest of us finished eating our hearty b’fast.

++ Our drive to Talahassee, when Pavan was driving and we were hoping he’d take a break from talking to Vamsi and listen to Veer’s directions.

++ Our warm welcome at the Vijay’s home with hot steamy food waiting for us after a drive of 2 hours. Pallavi gave us a quick tour of the beautiful home, it’s an open space planned home in contemporary style, which would make Vern Yip pat his shoulder in pride.

++ While, the people with tired old bones ate and relaxed, Tillu and I went to her office, she had to submit her timesheet. Since it was after 5pm on Friday, we thought it would be ok for her to give me a tour of her office too. She works at DEP. Not knowing one of her super’s was around, she went on mention how she hated “wash parties”. We doubted later if he heard it : ) Before u wonder what wash parties are, let me explain – this happens when a few scientists, gather in union to wash all the delicate glass equipment, which are used to analyze algae’s and other pollutants from the precious lakes and water resources of FL. I just loved that term – wash parties, aieh!

++ We barbequed chicken & corn that night and went on talking into wee hours of the am. Since Rama was new kid on the block, it was her time to pay the dues and swear into fraternity and sorority club. We “teased” (to mildly put it ) and asked embarrassing questions, but she did good. First impressions were revealed, some came out with flying colors and some on shaky grounds. Aaanh ! First impressions have many chances, right ! In my opinion, I think Pavan was completely misread…

++ We moved on to waking up late, lunching mexican food and heading to Wakulla Springs to do some bird watching.

++ I loved it. In the balmy heat, we fanned with brochures and took the boat. We spotted Alligators, Manatee’s, Spanish moss on the trees, fishes of zillion kinds in that clear deep water, the sea weeds swaying in the water, birds and ducks, (names that I cant even pronounce), but that I took pics of, the boat moving ahead in the shadow of the old trees with long limbs for branches hanging loose in the sweet breeze. We said “aye aye Captain” and stepped out of the boat.

++ We headed to FSU, which brought back memories of my days at university.

++ After shopping for gifts for the new home buyers and newly weds, we headed to ….yup…Panama City. Though we reached late and made Vamsi run...and after lounging lazily at beach restaurant we played beach volley ball. After a slow start of missed serve’s and ball volleyed out of the court, we gave the amreekan’s and Brazilians a good run, took a long walk on the beach, then few of us got drunk like sailors, blared music from the car and sang loud, and headed home.

++ Then Channing Tatum happened to us in “Step Up”. He is …well check it out yourself. To put it in the best way without hurting anyone's feeling's..he's got some moves to show and darn cute and ...never mind. Just see the movie.

++ The reference of "Dost"....

++Finally, I got to record on camera only the last bit, of our conversations, Vamsi asked the newbie about her first crush and then everyone followed. Jeez, that did it, everyone was on a roll...to tell thier share of stories. It was memorable, everyone telling secrets in the dark, under the moon, with a dim soft light, and the fan blowing to keep the few mosquitos at bay, the sound of laughters followed with silent heart breaks which were all put out and made fun of…ha ha ha. Poor thing, the guys didn’t have much to say :) Vj would reveal all the secrets and Vamsi would try to cover up with masala's and Pavan would break the bubble for them.

Did I tell that Pallavi is an awesome chef ! She did a fine job of displaying her recently acquired talents ; ) Amongst all this, the highlights were the impromptu poetry of Vj, the quick witted jokes of Vamsi, the fave prey for guys and girls – Pavan and Veer the nicest guy in the room. The shared common hyderabadi language was like honey to the ears. Pallavi and I were branded as badmash's, Shalini as "reserved only at first", and ofcourse Rama the "nice, friendly gal".

It’s hard to forget the faces of these four friends stepping back into the airport after one last cigarette together. We girls chimed at the same time, how long and cloudy their faces looked like.

It's always hard to say "good-bye", so in our own ways we hugged and for few a tear escaped our eyes.

While in a small corner of the world, 8 friends lost track of time and were taking one day at a time, the FSU was cheering to have Seminoles win , which they did for the first time in six years, Steve Irwin passed away while doing what he loved best and Bush came out of the closet! nah not that closet but to “acknowledge the existence of secret CIA prisons and said 14 key terrorist suspects have now been sent to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba” (quote bbc.com)

These are just few of the many things that were unraveling for those 5 days. If the mob is reading dont feel shy to add what was the best part for you.

Is it good to be back !

Wow! Our vacation to Tallahassee was a blast, with a capital B. I’ve so much to say, so much to share, I don’t know where to begin, who to start with and where to finish. Right now, in a numb state of mind, I yawn…looking at my lifeless monitor, a cold foam cuppa tea, and an empty creased wrap of my breakfast bar are all staring back at me, wondering if I could be any more humdrum… woof! see now I’m imagining things talking back to me…..all I wish is some more of all that we had and have.

As we speak, I think the helpdesk is working on my SAP login issues. They can take their time, coz I’m in no hurry…tune back for more, y’all, I ain’t done even beginning.

With your guards down

In a less obvious moment we do things that we cant fathom to do in company. While driving and on some not-so-dull moments while waiting for the traffic light to turn into green, I noticed these from my car’s rear-view mirror.

? People screaming, whispering and talking on cell phones. -You could tell the difference.
? Couple looking out in different directions – r they working out a scuffle.
? “Soccer mom’s” with van loaded with screaming kids – desperately hoping for a much needed vacation
? A single parent with the kid listening to their mp3’s. – hello ! talk to ur mom, and avoid the paying the therapist later.
? People making out as if there’s no tomorrow – get a room, people.
? Two women in a deep conversation – catching up on stuff.
? Car full of family with resounding silence – try talking.
? Huge trucks with men in deep vacant thoughts.
? Young girls syncing their lips to the songs and playing the invisible guitar in the thin air.
? Boys drumming their heads to the rap.
? I have even spotted people with a tear running down their cheeks.
? Women doing their makeup routine….trying to get that last dash of lipstick / mascara.
? The gross ones are people picking their nose, men trying a hand at electric razor.
? People enjoying a bite of their b’fast / lunch.
? Women reading directions and men looking closely at name of the street.
? People with blank faces just waiting for the light to turn green.
? I have even seen a mini fan, screwed to the dashboard, don’t ask how !
? People like me, looking at their rear view mirror.

The new verb

Just when you think, Oxford Dictionary has officially finished publishing it's new version to add "Google" as a new verb to mean search, a new website has emerged to give us more choice in our searches. Maybe the next word in dictionary will be GahooYoogle

How I met the maestro…. Ustad Bismillah Khan

I was at a wedding ceremony in Vizag, a daughter of my dad’s friend was takingthe vows and we were all there. We were almost ready to wrap up to go, and I overheard few of my dad’s friends say, "oh! The father of the bride is playing all these filmi music." Thankfully, it was sparingly not too loud, but with the backdrop of lush gardens, with lotus flowers in the nearby pond and the splashes of water fountains, beautifully laid shamiana’s, fragnance of basmati whiffing in the air…somehow the music wasn’t justifying the esteemed presence of all highly acknowleged poets and artists. Then I heard my dad say, only the shehnai of ustad bismillah khan would be the cream of this décor.  In a hurried state as if it was forgotten, the father of the bride, somehow managed to get the tape. Within minutes, the tunes and melody of the great maestro Ustad Bismillah Khan’s shehnai started to waft in that balmy air. While I was sitting there as a child no older than 9 or 10, I was converged with the rhythmic notes he was creating with his shehnai. Subconsiously, i hung on to this memory, and thought maybe i should do this for my wedding too...

Few days ago, this memory dashed to my mind, while reading some article somewhere. There was also a picture of the young maestro in his humble abode, cross legged on the floor, in his white kurta and pyjama -- you could see that with his eyes closed his heart was pouring out of the shehnai.

But today, as I opened deccan.com, one of the headlines said “Shehnai’s purest note dies”… at 90 with cardiac arrest, he bid goodbye, he rested doing what he believied in … I continued to read that he didn’t celebrate his 90th b’day (quote DC) “as a mark of protest against the Varanasi bomb blasts.” My eyes swelled at it. Here there are people with such hatred for other communities, and here's a man trying to bridge his love for his land in his own way. Unfortunately, we lost this great mind on 21st of August, 2006.
 
I’ll always remember him as a simple person who created grand music that’ll always linger in the air.

Pictures courtesy of www.rajatgoyal.com

Refuge me!

After an exhaustive day at school (St. Francis) deciding if I should take French or German for my second language, and practicing school dance at Shivani’s home and with an almost empty wallet, I was waiting for my bus ‘1A’ to get home from Secundrabad. This was pre-kinetic days.

The bus stop was full of college crowd, since all my friends left already, I was looking at the bustling street ahead of me, longing for the bus to come. Then in the scorching heat I felt a chill, an icy slice of something clutching my feet slowly….

I let out a small cry and pounced in fear and looked down to see what could it possibly be. What I saw is a little girl, in grime, scruffy hair and torn clothes, must be 10 or 12 years old. She just looked at me with her palms wide open, I have never felt a persons hunger in such an up-close manner. Her icy hands were passing the tide of her state to me and I couldn’t understand the drain of energy. I gave her whatever I had in my wallet and hailed for an auto in a rush and started home. All through the ride, the thought of the chill fingers were giving me the frights.

I’ve heard people talk about poverty and I’ve seen poverty very close too. But feeling it on my skin was just very threatening to all that we build around in our safety net.

As I was splashing water on my face at home, the mirror looked back at me with a superficial emptiness of our lives and the powerlessness of the poor soul in me. A small part of me died in those little girl’s cold hands.

Need we say more!

In the picture perfect copious look alike back roads of America, this one stop sign said it all. I couldn’t control the urge to go back the next day to capture it. Another one down the lane said “STOP WAR”, but that was cleaned spotlessly, by the time I got there!

As I drive past the “STOP” sign, my soul torments me with myriad thoughts...can the minds of evolving world be ever uncontaminated! How many “Cindy Sheehan’s” does it take for a point to make? how many Abu Gharib incidents have to be repeated ? How many silent tears have to be wept by the orphaned kids, widowed wives, grieving parents and despondent men before this or any war stops….

Is peace worth the effort if such blood is shed for it! 

With a grim reality in face and a vain anger I drive past the sign to make peace with my day.

No, thank you !

In the dark night, your tired mind drifts away to a vacation, on a misty morning, you land on a patio on a B&B, with a cup of tea, feeling the breeze in your hair and a smile spreads on your face.

In a sudden turn of events, you are tightly wrapped in this dark gear, and you are going down and further down, the pressure in your head is building up, the uncertainty of life is catching up with you and then you are whisked away to a lodge under sea…WHAT! Hold on! That cant be true, did you have a rough day that you are hallucinating things. But wait, no, I’m there….you are there…we are in a lodge under water. http://www.jul.com. - made this a reality for a lot of people. The windows exhibit the sashay of under-water sea life all around you, there are no long queues for checking-in the room. You are with the element. For now, I wake up and shake the thought, this is no joke for claustrophobics.

A fair aisle

Does anyone wonder how your words might impact others? …do we make a difference to strangers or friends with how we choose to respond? Can we contribute to a level where people stand corrected.…can their or our opinions change.

In an everyday moment that happens countless times in our lives, an incident emerged which made me wonder that way. I always shop at Giant near home, but due to unforeseen circumstances, that day I found myself in the canned vegetables aisle of another supermarket in King of Prussia (a near by town). Unaware of where things are placed in this store I was pacing left, right, back and forth many times looking for this and that. In that routine, I noticed a middle aged, African American lady dressed in a beautiful salwaar kurta (a dress worn by women in India). Commending for her choice to wear clothes of other origin, I moved on. But we bumped next to each other in that “Canned Vegetables” aisle. I couldn’t pass the opportunity to tell her that she was looking pretty in that dress. She gracefully said thank you and asked me if I was from India. Obviously, my skin tone and dark hair gave it away : ) Anyway, we moved on to get sucked in the daily grind. Incidentally, we came across each other in another aisle, she then approached me to chat.

In matter-of-factly way, she mentioned of her recent trip to a hospital, where the nurse (another African American lady) spotted her in the same dress and complimented her. So this lady asked the nurse how did she know what country this dress was from, and the nurse replied “oh ! my daughter in law is a Indian girl”.

While saying this her face clouded with thoughts and she said, “I was surprised that a Indian girl married a African American guy. I know that Indians don’t like marrying into African American families” and with brows high in pensive mood she was moving away.

This is “wrong”, I couldn’t let this lady go on feeling this way…at that moment I carried the burden of speaking on behalf of my fair thinking fellow country people.
I stopped her and gently said, maybe what you feel is an old school thought and that doesn’t hold true anymore. I cant vouch for all but I know a distant cousin of mine who married a African American guy, and you wouldn’t find a happier couple like them, they have 2 kids to prove it too. If I wasn’t happily married and was asked out by good-hearted African American guy, I’d go out. I wanted to say more, but that was not a moment to go on a spiel. With a glimmer in her eyes, she gently patted my shoulders and walked away smiling and nodding her head.

At that split of a second two people from age, culture and thoughts apart were standing together as one with the same thought. We struck a fair balance.

The hours into the day continued to unfurl but my mind didn’t stop wondering, “Did I make a difference, would her opinion change the next time she sees a girl from Indian Heritage!”

Tone it down

As in the work culture across the world, my office laid the same stage for us in IT dept to wear “Business Casual”. Business casual is the new black of office couture for the past many many years. Everyone looks alike with the same Black or grey slacks and plain or striped shirts on Mondays, plaids and khakis on Thursdays, with occasional formal attire for a “high priority” meeting.

But when is it ok to tone it down, further….

The East of West is tempered with sky-high hot temperatures for the past few weeks. On one such simmering day, a colleague who reminds me of Bruce Wills, but much taller, with a goatee and husky voice, with a strong build, who must be at least 69 if not more, came to work in Khaki shorts. Hmm…..it doesn’t matter to us, since the HR is in the other bldg, nobody is going to hunt him down to read the rules. By the way, just to set the record right, he almost always is dressed in the best form of “Business Casual”.

Anyway, I overheard a conversation where he was saying maybe I should wear a board across my neck, which reads “yeah ! I’m wearing shorts”, so that nobody asks me, if they missed a memo to wear shorts on Tuesday. To that I thought “at this age if he can’t do what he wants to work then it’s a shame ”.

But the next hour, I was contemplating on that thought. Why does age relate to that level of being and expressing who we are. Are the stakes low, is there less to prove…could he carried away with his nonchalant attitude in his career forming years.

Why as “Dilbert’s” at work, do we care less or not as much, once the worth is proven.

And when is it Ok to tone it down…and why?

A girl with 5000 messages

My life was happening right in front of me and I was living every bit of it, straight out of college, working in a cool place, riding my kinetic to work, meeting new people, going out with old friends, parties, movies, concerts…et al.

One such day, my dad anxiously announced that the application process is completed and I’ll be heading out to Griffith university in Gold Coast on Feb 3rd, aieh aieh aieh… I had something planned for that day, and it was my dad’s birthday, how could I possibly go.

The next few days went puff in the air…my mom is either shopping for me or hollering at me to shop for this and that, meanwhile in the background instead of helping me do whatever that needs to be done, my brother would teasingly sing “tu kal chala jayega tho main kya karoonga”. My sister who recently got engaged was busy giving me words of caution of how to manage, how to behave like a grown up.

The day of my departure, dad faxed a letter to inform my uni’s of my arrival and to have someone pick me up at the airport. My dad briefed me for the 100th time “don’t go anywhere”, “stay put at one place”, “don’t wander, be careful with your passport and luggage”. I was leaving India for the first time and neither my family nor I was ready to let go. I couldn’t keep things straight let alone all the advice that was coming from left and right. He gave me US $ as I’d need it for stuff. Wasn’t I heading to Australia!

From Hyderabad >> Madras >> Singapore >> Brisbane >> I reached Gold Coast. I patiently waited for 10 full minutes at the airport. Since it was Sunday, I wasn’t sure if the uni’s coordinator checked my dad’s fax about my arrival. But each waiting minute was only gravitating against home; the stillness of the situation was too much to bear. Before I knew I was sitting in the back seat directing the cab driver to take me to uni. He was like “yeah ! I know where this place is…” and I silently hoped that he did, bcoz I didn’t : )

The novelty of the place was almost getting to me and I was absorbing the city, the endless blue water, the yachts floating on bay, streets brimming with life, surfers heading to the beach. Meanwhile, my rational personality was reminding me that I wasn’t in a city with familiar alleys and nooks like Hyderabad, the night when my brother yelled at me for driving back home late in the night was coming to my head. During this fight of personalities, I realized that the cab was slowing down to the point of halt and the pager on the dashboard was beeping with messages.

The cab driver excused to make a call and I braced myself… though my thoughts were going haywire. The cab driver returns to ask me “do u know what just happened!”, and with my adversity creeping up on me, I said I’d know if you clued me in.

With his thick fingers and tattoed hands he showed me his pager, which read, if there is a young Asian girl in your cab heading towards university, please call this no. He continued saying that my coordinator didn’t find me at the airport and is getting worried ! aye lo ! and sent a msg across all the cabs. He just got off the phone with her and now she wants you to come to this address instead of the university. My practical side of personality was still in mild conflict, but the chirpy side won! We then headed to the residential address.

In a reflective mood he shared this was his first time in his cab driving expereice that one msg was relayed to all the 5000 cabs at the same ditto time and I smiled pondering that it was a first for me too.

After a long haul of 20 minutes, the cab stopped right across a beautiful spread beach. As I climbed down the cab, I was soaked in the warmth of the new sun, and I found myself at the entrance of a white fence of my new abode.

I tried to pay the cab driver but he smiled and said he takes only Australian dollars….

Baday dino kay baad....

The letters for the room mates were left on the kitchen table, going through that stack of mail, the emotion of randomness in finding a letter with your name on it, is not something we experience these days with email. The click of a button does it….before email era a letter from home would stir up a sensation of .....of the way, you’d open the door and find a long lost friend at your door step.

One such day, a letter arrived from my mom. I grappled the moment, made tea, closed the door and tore open the letter…. and to my surprise all there was in the letter were the lyrics of Pankaj Udhas’s song “baday dino kay baad”... my mom also wrote -- remember how we use to listen to this song, in the living room watching chitrahaar and use to wonder how did the singer wrap such strong sentiments in few lines….

As I was reading the letter, I realized i wasnt alone, I was in that living room with my mom, sitting casually with no care in the world.

Many years later, one day while driving back from work, i heard on a FM show that Pankaj Udhas will be in town, so i pulled over and jotted down the contact no, got 2 tickets for me and vamsi. I couldnt wait for the day to dawn any sooner. On the day of the show, an idea struck me, wouldn’t it be nice to tell Mr. Pankaj Udhas how his song influenced me. In case i meet him, I thought I'd give the note to him and so I penned down my thoughts.

Two hours before the show, Vamsi called to say he cant make it as he is stuck at work. It was too late for me to think of canceling the show, so i pulled out my rocky (my xterra) and drove to this far out town. Meanwhile it started to pour, it was 7.30pm on dark cold rainy night. After many missed exits and bad turns, i reached but sadly the show started, that didn't waver my enthusiasm to enjoy the show.

At break time, i went backstage, but met him only after a silly indian lady wanted to get his autograph for her soon to be son-in-law! The way she asked him was what irked me... So, my turn came and I gave him my note, exchanged pleasantries and returned to my seat.

An hour into the show, I looked at my watch and wondered maybe I should head back or it’ll be too late and i had to stop at a gas station too. Just then Mr. Pankaj Udhas announced that the next song "Chitti ayi hai" will be his last for the evening. He also added that "i want to dedicate this to 2 people here in the audience, when i call names please do stand up". First he said, he wanted to dedicate this song to his friend who organized the show and second for the young lady, Imtiaz, who gave me this beautiful note, it's for both of u, who gave life to the meaning of the song…

I was dumb struck, could it be true, it was unreal, while we stood, the whole auditorium rang with the resonance of claps and whispers and i cant tell u how profoundly this moment had stuck to me since then. Then he sang....that beautiful song and I as I looked around, I realized that the grand concert hall was transformed to my living room, where me and my mom were watching the song on tv and sharing a moment...

I found my Murari Lal !

 here's the thing, people who know me, know that I love my rocky ! well, it's kind of offbeat but it's the name of my SUV. I know I know...everyone who rolled their eyes, just bugger off...

People who drive yellow-xterra's share a thick kinship of unexplainable overbearing pride, kinda like Harley-davidson clan's, or so I'd like to continue to think. So, whenever a yellow xterra would drive past me, I'd give a quick nod or wave my hand to show my respect for the same taste.

V would see me do this and say nobody really cares, they are driving at such a speed that they wouldn't even know, I don't know why you keep doing that, and on and on. But I knew deep down in my heart, that I'd find a person, that one person, who shares the same respect and return the good faith gesture.

So, one fine morning, rocky, me and V took a drive to the near by book store and after a cup of starbucks that ran deep into our blood and woke our souls, we picked the books we wanted and started our drive back home.

There I see a shining yellow xterra closing the distance between us by inches, and v looked me and said no ! please not again, cant we just go, without you doing all the charade, so I disapprovingly cast a glance at him and while I was saying whatever, my comrade, the one person I was looking for gave me the wave and nodded even before I did.



Vamsi smiled and said finally you found your friend ! and i quoted rajesh khanna in the movie Anand....mujhey mera murari lal milgaya, babu moshai...mujhey mera murari lal milgaya, babu moshai...


My search ended.

Meeting on a Friday afternoon ?

it's Friday afternoon...on a humid sunny day... we all know what Friday afternoon's mean in the work life. It's the high point of the entire week, u are this close to being out, u r this close to having an almost perfect weekend ( dream on !), anyway, my crazy team lead mentioned something to my PM and he called for a "Meeting". Don't be worried now, we have a application upgrade and it was to go over who's doing what, who's calling whom and what's going to happen at what time.

Anyway, the dreaded meeting was scheduled from 4pm to 5pm. As soon as I received the invitation, I was like "what the hell, not on a Friday", well it's a unwritten rule, almost like a unspoken declaration that everyone hates late Friday meeting, we all wanna prove that we have a life outside of office, we have it or not is another question. But as a rule of thumb we don't like being here after 4pm on Friday. right ! rye...t!

So, while confirming my invitation to my PM, I just included my comments as "4-5 pm ?" I was secretly hoping he would get the hint. Lo! he did....

He rescheduled it for 3-4pm, well my life can go on now. I confirmed the meeting with a reply of thanks. As soon as we entered the conference room, my PM saw me and said, oh ! Tia (I'm called that at work BTW) was going to have my head off if I wouldn't change the time of the meeting.

I was almost embarrassed but heard the laughter in the room ! That broke the ice in the room, everyone started cracking up laughing and agreed in union that somebody finally voiced their thoughts, it was a moment of glory, a silent war that I battled on behalf of the people in the meeting and I / we won.

The meeting was over in 20 mts.

My first blog !

Hi...this is my first blog...even as i'm writing this, I can feel the creative juices flooding into my head to write more, write something, write what i feel, this is my space, the lightness in my heart is so compelling that i cant consume myself to think further. I'm going to ramble a lot...hope you ( who r u !) get the drift of my blathering drivels !

By the way, you are most welcome to add your comments !