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.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
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
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
Monday, October 09, 2006
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".
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".
Friday, October 06, 2006
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
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
* 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
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
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 !
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 !
Friday, September 08, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
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.
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.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
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
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
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
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
Monday, August 21, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
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.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, August 07, 2006
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!”
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!”
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