I'm so bored,...

My mouth's constantly open because i'm yawning.

I'm sticking my nose close to the CPU's fan so dirt can get in my nose and i can spend time getting it out.

I have finished two bottles of water from morning so i can spend time in the loo.

"Hmm" is the only response to anything anybody says to me.

I alternate between sitting up straight in my chair and skulking.

I could conduct a long conversation with a colleague i don't particularly like.

I've exhausted 80% of tests on Tickle.

I'm misspellling words while typing so i can hit Backspace and retype them again.

I feel like throwing up. Just for the heck of it.

Bleagh.

I could bore a hole 200 feet deep in the earth.

How not going to the gym shot up my endorphin levels.

Shitty day at work. Siiiigh.

*Beep*
Message from N: Jazz at 7 today at Allians?
Reply: Sounds like a plan, but my gymming will go for a toss. (Sad smiley)
N: It's 7-9.
Reply: Oh fish. When's the latest i can let you know by?
N: I'll be there only. Come when you want to.
Reply: (Sad smiley) Okay.
N: Now what? (Or something to that effect.)
Reply: You don't care if i come or not. My heart's broken. Sniffle. (Sad, sad smiley face)
N: !(#(&$+&^$&^***!@(*@*!#
Reply: Okay, okay, i'll let you know.

5: 45 p.m
Should i , shouldn't i, should i, shouldn't i...
CS woman to my boss (while shooting dirty looks to me): Oh wow, these are great lines, fabulous, aswesome, wonderful, oh wow, oh wow, i thought you'd forgotten, oh wow, oh wow wow wow wow...

Dear God. I need something to soothe my nerves. Jazz it is.

6:15 p.m
Me over phone: "Byaatch! I changed my mind, i'm coming over to your office and we can go to Allians from there."
N: "Oh. Okay."

7:30 p.m
Me to N: "Will you please hurry up with your work??????"
N: "Ya, ya. Let's go. Oh, wait! We have to go pick up foreign man (M) from mall! He's an American, won't know roads and all."
Me: "Woman, i know GWB is president and thereby all Americans dumb, but i'm sure he can understand simple instructions of walking ahead and taking the first right!!!!"
N: "Yaaaa, but he's American, he'll get lost."
Me: "Whatever."
N: "Oh, and R is also coming, so i'll ask him to pick up the passes."
Me: "How many more people haven't you told me are coming?????"

7:45 p.m
The Brown Indian Band or some such thing playing. Hmm. Not bad. But this isn't jazz, this is fusion!

8:15 p.m
"Okay, let's get out of here. NOW."

8:30 p.m, Millers 46 Steak House.
N: "Should we order the chicken wings? It's got winga sauce."
R: "It might be too much to order, the steak portions are quite big too."
M: "I want to have the cheese fries. I'm really curious about what cheese fries here mean."
Me: "Maybe we should try the Millers Mixed Platter."
R: "It might be too much to order, the steak portions are quite big too."
Me: "Ya, but i'm sure we'll manage between us."
N: "You want to share main course?"
Me: "Okay."
N: "What do you want to eat?"
Me: "You decide. If i don't like it, we'll change course."
Me: "So, are we going for the Millers Mixed Platter?"
R: "It might be too much to order, the steak portions are quite big too."
Me: "Excuse me, oneMillers Mixed Platter please."

Cheese fries arrive.
N and I: "Excuse me, could you please cancel the Millers Mixed Platter please?"
R: "I told you we'd be ordering too much."

Five Haywards stouts and two Bloody Mary's later...
N: jaw hitting the ground making weird dying-goldfish faces.
Me: "What? What?"
N: dying-goldfish, still.
Me, looking around: "Oh. Oh. Oooooh. Aooooooo!"

Me: Hmm... Dhoni's looking quite hot with his new hair cut.
N: "Yeah, even R.P.Singh's quite cute man."
Me: "Who's the woman next to Robin Uthappa?"
N: "Must be girlfriend."
R: "Hey, if you're going to take a picture, i want to be in it."

Me, thinking: Hmm, i wonder what it is about celebrity spotting that gets us so... excited.
Me, to N: "Dhoni saved you woman."
N (Two stouts down): "Huh? Oh, oh yeah! I'll make choking noises and he'll come save me!" Me: "Uh...no. I was talking about Dhoni saving you from getting beaten up for making me miss gym and dragging me to a fuckoll, pseudo-Jazz thingie."
N: "Oh. Uh."
Me: "Yeah."

Life. Explained through...

English.
What i judge most men by. Superficial, but i discovered to my chagrin that it's true. Oh, and i forgot to mention other checks - like whether they're wearing socks or have long eye lashes (no, i'm not gauging length).

Hindi.
B***** ke, M****c***, B***c***, L****, Maaki...

Kannada.
Gets you around among the middle and lower strata like money does in the upper one.

Physics.
Gravity. The reason why fat accumulates so (motioning towards the anatomical section) on my hips. The lard that can't slide down below the hip mark gets deposited in layers till it reaches the top-most level, nicknamed 'The Pamela Anderson Stage'.

Chemistry.
It takes a touch to set off fireworks. Not to mention alarms ringing in your head.

Mathematics.
2000 + 350 would be...umm... yep, it would be just about enough money to spend in one shopping day.

Biology.
"Mmm. Nice ass that man's got."
OR if you had to get all hair-splitting, then:
Botany.
Why the fuck hasn't anybody sent me flowers till now??? I mean, i'm a passably nice person.
Zoology.
Eeeeew, Mister Automan, tuck Junior away and pay attention to the road instead.

Social Studies.
The broken marriages around me.
OR if you had to get all hair-splitting here too:
Civics.
Mob Rule - why R and B and C got hit by autowallahs while trying to protect P.
Economics.
The priciness of autowallahs pampered by North Indians who've infiltrated Bangalore through software MNCs, and who find everything to be cheaper than their goddarn cities, so are willing to shell out as much as anybody wants. Hmph.
Geography.
All that's left is right, all that's right has left.

Bheemeshwari? Hey Eeeshwar!

So it's supposed to be a nice place and all that. And it is. But nobody warned us that Bheemeshwari was Cauvery Fishing Camp. Like idiots, we went searching for the latter. And to be able to go to CFC, you need bookings. Or pay a whopping 850 per head.

Yeah well, anyway, we had a good time. It's like they say, any place is nice when you have friends with you. And it was fabulous to drive on the highway on 5th gear at over 80. Sort of a treat for two-month old Red, who's completely tired of city traffic and crawling the roads at 40 max. Not to forget the chip sandwiches and Shuklaji's tree-climbings. So i'm happy.

Photos: http://www.flickr.com/photos/7610705@N04/2064266713/in/set-72157601860250751/

Remembering Freud.

I've been having these series of bizarre dreams for the last two weeks. Nothing to do with snakes and spiders and stuff, but just very arbid technicolour renditions of situations i would love to avoid. True to the Freudian spirit, i've tried to 'interpret' them in any way i can, but the logical conclusions i come up with are something that i'm already aware of, so it's not like my subconscious is telling me something new.

Take for instance, a night-long dream i had this weekend. About a woman i absolutely dislike - for the only reason that her attitude goes through an almost imperceptible change with certain persons around her. Imagine living through seeing her acting up, for a whole night. And like that wasn't bad enough, i dreamt of her in the constant company of somebody i'm very close to - a sore point in real life as well. I already know i disliked that situation, so my dream had no surprises in store for me.

Last night i went to sleep, worrying about maggot-infested dreams because i'd just thrown a half-decomposed dead rat out of my room. (That's distasteful enough, so i won't go into further details.) Thankfully, i didn't have any such visions, but i did have something completely out of the blue: missing a train to Mumbai because of a slow-poke ticket-counter woman. My dad's with me and, surprisingly, i'm carrying just a mid-sized backpack. So anyway, i'm waiting for this woman to issue my ticket, and she takes her own sweet time. I miss the train, and i have to catch a different train to Yeshwantpur so i can get onto the Mumbai train from there. Best part is, despite all my efforts - daring last-minute train boarding stunts et al - i miss it, i miss the darn train. And i'm just left feeling completely helpless on the platform.

Now, it's been close to a year since i last went to Mumbai, and i have been intending to go for a while. I just haven't been to because i'm in my probation period at my workplace and i refuse to go to Mumbai for anything less than 10 days. I know all those things, and again, my dream didn't reveal anything out of the so-called ordinary.

So i wonder, if Freud were alive, what psychosexual interpretation would he have got out of those dreams? Considering neither of them are even remotely sexually symbolic? Unless you think of the train and my wanting to get on it and... Eeeyuuu, i don't think i want to go there.

(P.S: I wonder what he would have made of the colour i've used?)

Initiation into the Art of Cooking Biryani.

I needed:
1. To get off the phone so i could give all my attention to what had to go into it.
2. Somebody to clean the chicken before i ventured to touch it.
3. Plenty of patience, especially since my mother - who cooks Biryani in half a blink of an eye - was tutoring me and was constantly hurrying me up; and i like enjoying the process as much as the end product.

Every Muslim baby is taught to make Biryani even before it learns to babble. [And this i say, is irrespective of the sex of the baby, because i constantly see my Dad coming into the kitchen and dropping little in(or un, depending on the way you see it)-valuable tips into my Mom's already red-with-the-heat-of-cooking ears.]

Sadly, i was not one of those babies.

For me, it took being 24, and being driven out of my mind with vegetating at home for four days to give Biryani-making a shot. It's not like i was venturing into the kitchen for the first time, yet there was that mixture of anticipation and anxiety - shame on me if i screwed up on Biryani. It was an inherent part of being a Muslim, as precious and vital as the air one breathes. Thinking that my initiation would be ostentatious - not to the extent of having drums and shehnais in the background, and women throwing flowers on the path that led me to the kitchen and all, but just something like using the finest of ingredients, being dressed for it, and things like that - i instead had my mother shouting instructions to me from the bedroom, asking me to use the vegetables that Dad had purchased from the kaaka-angdi on the main road. (Yes, we DO use vegetables in non-vegetarian Biryani!)

Like a pro, i diced tomatoes while talking on the phone precariouly balanced between my left ear and shoulder. The onions proved a lot tougher, so i had to hang up and give the bulbs all my attention. As well as my tears.

That done, i marinated the chicken (and yeah, i ended up cleaning it and making faces worse than Calvin at the dinner table) with the basic masalas. Meanwhile, Mom shot instructions like pygmy darts and i scrambled all over the place getting the things together. The result was that there were packets and packets of ingredients strewn all around the stove, and my Mom tutted and told me that i'm so messy, i must have my father's genes playing dominant in me. I must have his tactfulness too, because Mom skipped two steps to making Biryani and told me that that's how it was done, and i thought it safer for my health to let it pass unnoticed.

We were finally down to the cooking. This couldn't afford to go wrong, so Mom was standing next to me by now to monitor everything i was doing. I didn't know onions take a really long time to turn golden brown, so every five minutes i was yelling out false alarms that they were so golden, they were giving Halle Berry's sepia tones a complex. Apart from that little thingummy, everything else went off as planned, and the Biryani was done in 20 minutes. Easy-peasy.

The three of us (Dad included) sat down to dinner. My mother beaming with pride at having taught me how to cook Biryani, my Dad sort of skeptical (this morning he asked me if i had a stomach upset, just because he had one) and me completely nauseated with the smells of cooking. I didn't have a choice, though. I had to eat, otherwise they'd think i was scheming to kill them by feeding it to them or something.

And so it was that we took our first bite, savouring the subtle flavours of the garam masala, the tenderness of the chicken, the aroma of ghee and fresh coriander and...umm... did someone forget to add the salt?

(P.S: The salt bit was just for effect. The Biryani turned out juuuuuuuuust fine. I'm hoping i'll be able to do it on my own the next time. Minus motherly supervision.)

To, My Nemesis.

Dear Nemesis,

Although i'd prefer to call you by your real name, i will refrain from doing so. 'Nagging Bitch' might not go down well with you at this point, when you've completely overpowered my sense of fair play and my non-judgemental, humorous way-of-being. Consequences might just be that you'll turn me into you, for posterity.

Why do you have to show your not-so-charming face so frequently? I know the circumstances that give rise to you are often and plenty, but sometimes i'm able to squash your form back into the depths of my dark side. How do you know when i'm most vulnerable? Do you smell the weakness and know the time is ripe to resurface and wreak havoc?

Like, i knew The Call wasn't coming last night. I knew it, it seldom does on a weekend. My not being able to hear The Voice thanks to the many other voices around it, was something that was as real as your parasitic existence in me. And yet, yet, i let myself get vulnerable. Weak. You MUST have smelt it, else i wouldn't be waking up this morning and finding your features in the mirror. It was you who let steam off at The Voice. You, my Nemesis, who threw all those hurtful things at it, saw the pain in The Voice resonate with the pain i felt when The Call (and several others) didn't happen. You, my Nemesis, who makes me lose control and unleash my terror on The Voice, succeeding only in driving it further away from me. And when you're done, Nemesis, you lie back exhausted. Spent. Satiated.

I, on the other hand, am left holding rubble from the battle ground, scars on my soul, and the heavy silence on the other end of the telephone line.

Leave me alone. I beg you.

Yours,

N.

Gimme Red!!

For someone who's pretty obsessive about her new (not brand new any more, Red celebrated his first month on October 21) Zen Estilo, better known as Red ("Guru Prasad, please change gears gently"... "Daddy, please don't bang the door too hard"... "Guru Prasad, that's not how you switch off the stereo"... and to the Wilson Garden servicing place, "You call this a touch-up job????? What kind of a service centre are you???"), i have hardly written after that first post, with a picture showing off his sleek (and now, touched-up in places) bod.

Yeah, well, injustice. But i've been so stressed concentrating on how my driver drives and changes gears and how my dad behaves with him, and my trying to not be irritated with everything my dad does when he's in the car, that i've hardly run my hand lovingly over Red in the last month. Let alone run a post on him.

Yesterday, though, after a really long time - two weeks, i think - i took Red for a spin. Not a quick one, either. I reversed Red in the narrow space that my lane provides, and ventured on to the main road for the first time! Can you imagine, the R.T.Nagar main road, with crossroads hurling traffic onto suckers like me! So anyway, i managed to move Red along unscathed.

The 'L' on his tinted front and back windshields had come off, so our first stop was a shop to pick up red insulation tape (pun unintended) and stick it on. Just in case.

From there, i went to Dinnur Main Road, turned right before Munireddy Palya, hit the Radhakrishna theatre road, turned left on the road to Mekhri Circle, took him on to Mekhri Circle (!), turned towards TV Tower, went to Anand Nagar, dropped in at P's mom's place to say hello, met Ananya, and drove back home. Without getting a single scratch on Red! (Well, there was this instance when i took him through a just-about-fits-a-car road, and thinking i was being very experienced, drove Red on without realising there was a mother-of-a stone on the left side. Nothing, thankfully, came of it but a loud CRRRRRUNCH.)

Red was positively purring by the time we got back home. It was such a pleasure to drive him. And my clutch-accelerator co-ordination was gooooooood, Red hardly stopped. I didn't get nervous when he did, either. Besides, i was much, much, much more confident taking him on the main roads this time round.

I think i can handle driving him around the city now. All i need is my goddarn license to become a reality.

Cocknut Oeel and Lungi Lifters - a journey.

It was 9 'o' clock on a Friday night, and nobody had turned up yet. Silenty cursing myself for listening to P, i bided my time in my ex-office, with Khats keeping me company. 9:30 came and went, and still there was no sign of anyone. 9:45, 9:5... My phone rings. P is downstairs with a couple of friends. Phew.

I go down, meet the rest of them. Shouting, screaming, Machcha, Vatta, and plenty of laughter. Captain comes from the party he was attending, R arrives on his Enfield and with him, the guy whose send-off party it was. The minibus meanwhile circles M.G Road and reaches office. There's some more screaming, shouting, exchanging news and gossip, till we decide to put a stop to it and make a move instead. So we board the minibus - 7 of us. And we start our journey to Kerala.

Thrissur, more precisely. Where beefeaters are on the loose, toddy is as free-flowing as the little springs on the forest-covered mountains, and the men are mighty horny. No matter, P and I had been through worse; besides, we had plenty of men in our friend circle to keep us out of trouble. Men who were primarily Mallus themselves, men who were both calm and agressive depending on the situation, men who were protective of the women who were with them, men who were...smashed out of their skulls right now and utterly incapable of putting a sane finger to their foreheads. I decided to get to sleep after a while, considering that the next day we were going to explore Thrissur, its little toddy shops and authentic delicacies. My last thought before falling asleep was that tomorrow morning, we would be meeting the rest of the gang at the hotel where our accomodation had been arranged.

Fat chance.

I woke up at 6:30 the next morning to the news that Calicut had a bandh going, and no vehicles were allowed to get through. No four-wheelers, that is. We stopped at a chai shop in Sultanbathery, had a glassful of sweet tea and coconut biscuits (i should have guessed its ingredients were harbingers of what was to come in the following days) and discussed our woeful situation. The bandh was going to be on till six in the evening, and any vehicle attempting to move around then was being stoned. Depression hit us hard as the bus moved on so we could try our luck anyway. Mountain greenery whizzed past us, rubber plantations with plastic bags pasted on them to collect the adhesive stood tall and silent, tea and coffee plantations smiled their fresh leafy smiles. But none of it could cheer us up.

Abruptly, we came upon a clearing. Curiosity made us look out, and the beauty of it left us gasping for air.

Spread out in front of us was an endless sea of clouds, enveloping all land in sight. Mountains peaked out here and there, creating tears in the white fluff. Like an army marching forward, the clouds moved on slowly, reflecting the little rays of sunshine that could penetrate the layers high above. It's the kind of thing you see when you look out of an aircraft window, not on a road trip. But it was beautiful. A quietness embraced the entire place, the only sound coming from the rustling created by monkeys jumping around on the trees lining the slope.

We would have stayed longer and marvelled at the phenomenon, but we had to move on to try our luck at getting past Calicut before the bandh started.

Just as we reached the beginning of the road that led to the town, we were stopped by a bunch of very serious-looking men. Uh oh, trouble. But they were only warning us not to go further. We did, though, and got stopped again. It was the story of our lives that day, being stopped multiple times. Finally giving in to circumstances, we headed back the way we came to eat breakfast at a hotel in Kalpetta. Feasted on dosas with masala curry, puttus, idiappams and fish curry at 7:30 in the morning. Authentic Kerala food. Delicious. Deciding on exploring Wyanad (more out of force than choice), we headed to Pookod Lake. Pedalled around a bit, was fascinated by the dragonflies in various colours, tried shooting a very attractive water snake, gave up and went to eat lunch. For the first time in my life, i had fried rice and omelettes made in coconut oil. Uhh, no comments on either.

It started raining cats and dogs, and we sent up a silent prayer. The torrent meant that all those hooligans blocking the road and stopping our progress would be seeking protection from the lashing. So we could try our luck again.

And we did. We got stopped a couple of times, but that was it. The worst part of it was, the guys who were stopping us were not a day older than 25 and absolutely clueless about what it was they were doing. It was fun for them to threaten vehicles with huge stones in their hands all ready to be hurled at the windscreen. At one stop, the boys were in their early teens, and that much more aggressive in their youthfulness.

We were able to reach Thrissur only at 7:30 in the evening. The effects of alcohol had all worn off, our tushes were sore from sitting, our faces shrunk and our state-of-being positively uncomfortable. P and I were allotted 206 at Hotel Casino. We met with the rest of the gang in 312, freshened up and headed to K's for dinner. There were still eight strangers, there to attend K's wedding, and i don't think i spoke to any of them that night.

The party began at K's place, and continued at the hotel but i wasn't part of it - the desire for sleep outweighed all others. Sunday was going to be a long day. And a longer night.

We missed the main part of the wedding on Sunday, and reached in time to witness the endless chanting of prayers by the bishop and pastors (or were they fathers?). It was 3 before they decided to take pity on us standing-upright souls and wrap up for lunch. The food was great - there was appam, fish in coconut milk, fish in spicy-sour gravy, beef, pork, baked lobsters, salads, avviyal, rice and for desert...black forest cake with ice cream.

In a state of inebriation, we headed back to the hotel. Some wanted to hit the bed, others wanted to hit the beach. The latter bunch won - i guess it was more so because us women were quite adamant about it, and nobody had the strength to argue. Fixing the time of departure to the beach as 5, we headed to our respective rooms.

P and I were all charged up and couldn't get to sleep. So in the true (but warped) spirit of "When in Kerala, do as the Keralites do", we took some really cheap Mallu magazine-kind pictures, and made crank calls to 312 - where A, A, R and S were trying to get some sleep. Once in Kannada, once in pseudo-Malayalam, and once in a husky-ho voice. They gave up, they did. And came down to our room to have some chai, and then leave to soak up some sun.

Except that there was no sun. We reached the beach at 6:45 - by this time it gets pretty dark in Kerala. How we stumbled all the way up to the water in the dark, i don't know. But once there, we went berserk. I was at a distinct disadvantage - being short, overweight and half-blind. The result was that i was really slow to react, so constantly in the firing range, sometimes even surrounded by five people trying to semi-drown me. Like the women in Pirelli and KF calendars, we posed for some 'sexy' pictures. In the dark. The waves broke the ice for me, and by the end of the beaching, i was pretty familiar with the eight people whom i hadn't spoken to till then.

The next question was: Stop at a family BnR or get back to the hotel and party? We were smelling of the sea - an odour that smells pleasant only in dreamy novels and our imaginations - and coated in a thin layer of fine-grained sand, so the choice was pretty clear.

Back at the hotel, the party started at 9 and went on till the wee hours of morning. I was a madwoman that night, probably the maddest ever. But i had fun. And a cussing match with H, who i think was pretty stunned with my ability to hurl abuses with such ease. (Well H, to tell you the truth, i was sort of stunned myself.)

I had to wake up three hours after i got to sleep to attend another wedding. This one was in Kochi, and was going to take me 1 1/2 hours to get to. At least, that's what they told me.

Two and a half hours later, i was still on my way to the wedding. I was pissed with myself, the car driver, the day (it was Monday, and everybody was in a mad rush to get to work, schools and colleges), the whole world basically. I experienced a feeling of Deja Vu when my tushie started hurting. When i finally got to the wedding hall, i had missed the wedding. Great.

I saw the garlanding ceremony, and was part of the welcoming party for the bride and groom as they entered the mantap for the garlanding. I was highly embarassed because i had reached late, and Ash - the friend who got married - had taken great care to see that i wasn't left alone in the sea of strangers, and was fed and kept company. She also fired me a little for being stupid enough to leave my luggage back at Thrissur and not bringing it along because the airport was half an hour away from the wedding hall. Thankfully, it was her wedding and she got distracted quite easily from giving me any more grief.

So it was that i stuffed my face rapidly and embarked on my journey back. I was even more pissed now because i had just screwed up, true Nabila style - i had rushed to the wedding, i had rushed through the wedding, i had rushed out of the wedding and had still not managed to say bye to A, A, R and S who had a 3:30 p.m flight to Hyd. My flight was at 6:15 and i was still on the way to Thrissur at 2 'o' clock. And i hadn't packed before i left for Kochi in the morning.

I managed to make it back to the hotel by 2:45 and pack. Now it was time for Rush Hour 2 - i went to J and M's room - where M was trying to induce vomitting so he could bring down the alcohol levels in his body. J was panicking on my behalf and calling up the rest of the guys who had gone for a Kerala Ayurvedic Massage, to ask them to come back quickly so we could leave and i could catch my flight.

Poor guys, i quite rushed them. But they had their bit of revenge...at the bakery!!! Banana chips, that's all they were. But you should have seen these guys go at it - as if it were El Dorado, and they had to pick a sample of each and every gold nugget they could. They mused over which packet to buy: the 250 gram one on the left or the 250 gram one on the right? Siiigh...

4:30, and we were about 10 kilometres away from the airport. I was sitting coiled like a spring, while H beside me tried to make me feel better by saying, "Don't worry, you'll reach in time. I always rush in the last minute too, chill."

I didn't let them stop for toddy even. And good thing, that. Because their flight was delayed, and while i rushed to check-in and get my boarding pass, they zipped off in search of 'refreshments' without even saying bye. Except for J, who joined me at the check-in counter and then left to meet his cousin.

I landed in Bangalore exhausted but full of funny memories. Every minute was worth it. Here's a list of some of the things that have stayed with me:
- The sliced pineapples, raw mangoes and amlas soaked in salt water with chopped-up chillis. Very yummy.
- Coconut oil omelettes. Still can't get over it.
- Palam puri - sweet bananas chopped in half, coated with maida batter and fried. In coconut oil.
- Urli vada - onion pakodas, excpet they were flat as a mini-chapati and quite different in taste. Was it the coconut oil?
- Lungis everywhere - all males, except for the self-conscious odd young fellow, wear lungis which they proudly kick up and fold (sometimes) high over their knees. Doesn't leave much to the imagination. (Apparently, the lungis are colour-coded. As in, Hindus from different castes wear a particular colour of lungi, Muslims wear coloured ones, Christians wear another colour, and so on and so forth.)
- The clouds covering Calicut, the ones we saw from one of the winding roads at Wyanad.
- K getting married. I still can't believe it.
- The madness that happened at the hotel on Sunday night. And some.
- The new bunch of friends i made from Mumbai, who'd come for K's wedding. Surprisingly, we all got along instantly. No frills, no frowns, and best of all, no snobs.
- Kochi Airport. Everybody's so... chilled out. Even the security check people. They're all smiling and nice to the people flying. Even the air hostesses seem friendlier.

I'd love to go back again. To explore everything that i didn't have the time for in this trip.

Blooper consequences.

He called back! He called back just now! Phew!

Oh no. No no no no no.

What did i do? What did i bloody do????? I just called him after years, and i feel like scum!!! I shouldn't have, i shouldn't have! Blame my passport application for it!

I turned my room upside down, inside out last evening in search of my degree et al certificates, and found a couple of things from a phase of life that has never actually left me. It got me thinking yesterday, for the first time ever - how did i manage to do something like that? Where did the courage to do those things i did all those years ago, come from? And as always, i wanted to find out what he'd thought i was like then, what sort of an impression of me had i left with him. So i got to office today and shot out a mail to him.

Like that wasn't enough, i had an urge to call him. So i did. And his wife picked up. And it was awkward, not so much because well...it was a woman calling, but because it was a strange woman. Strange, since he didn't have my number stored on his phone!! I don't even know if the phone belongs to him or his wife!

He came on the line (i heard whispers in the background, something like him groaning at the thought of having to talk to me) and i could hear the place echoing, and a bit of traffic. So he comes online and says, "Hey i'm in traffic. Can i call you in some time on this number?" Oh God, it was so awkward. So, so, so awkward. I feel like the earth should split and i should get swallowed right now. I'm thinking his lie was fairly obvious, thanks to the echoes and the pause during which his wife communictaed to him, his voice replying in the distance. I'm taking it that he doesn't want to talk.

I feel miserable. More like, ashamed. I think i have this sado-masochistic streak in me that makes me do these things.


(I generously copied this from a friend's blog. It is exactly what i feel like right now.)

A for Abuse. (Statutory Warning: Parental Supervision required for people below 18.)

Isn't that something most of us have experienced in our childhood? Things that we repress for so long that they feel like a figment of our imagination? And that come back to us one day as we dwell and dwell on an incident of the past for no apparent reason?

I have been through abuse quite a few times in my growing-up years, and those times were pretty traumatic. They were all by complete strangers; in time i learnt to treat each as just another episode in life, and move on. These experiences are not something i am proud of because they have taught me something, yet i think about them from time-to-time as a third person would about a friend who's been through it. It was during one of these sessions that it came to me that i had experienced one such incident in all its severity when i was...oh, a toddler maybe. Around 3 or 4 years old. And my neighbour had put me through it.

The funny thing is, i never told my parents about it. Because it didn't feel like abuse then. I wasn't even old enough to think such thoughts. We moved out of that house and i met the guy 12 years later at another neighbour's wedding. Let's just say he completely avoided me, and by then i knew why. Even then, i never told my parents about it. What was the point then?

I was reading a book - Listening Now. I don't quite know how to describe it, but it's full of thoughts of female characters who play different roles - mother, wife, lover, daughter, daughter-in-law, sister... and the funny thing is, each one of them has been through some form of abuse or the other. All, in their formative years. Some, after they have turned into full-blown women. I think that's when it's the worst - because you feel the shame, the pain, the hurt and the desolation in full force. It's not something you can talk about then, because you will be held responsible for everything that happened to you. As a child, it's easier to deal with these things because these emotions are not fully formed then, and yet those incidents have an uncanny ability to taint your perspective about certain things forever. Like a dear, dear friend of mine was telling me.

She's been through some in her childhood, and she never realised these things had happened to her till she was in her late teens. They came back to her in her sleep. The night it struck me, she said, i cried till morning. After all those years, i couldn't remember anything except that this man took me to his room and the lights were switched off. I guess i understand now why i hate being touched. The good thing is, those scars have been blunted by the passing years, and she's been able to carry on with life.

Not so with another friend who seems to have had it very, very bad and refuses to talk about it. What rankles about him is his attitude - 'I have been through so much, i have seen so much' - a sort of justification for everything he does. Or doesn't do. To him i have just one thing to say - Buddy, move on. The severity of our experiences might be different, but when it comes to feeling violated, torn and dirty, we all sail the same hole-infested boat. We just chose to swim when the time came to get out of the flotsam. You should too.

Us abused but moved-on-in-life ones still have mechanisms to avoid further incidents - mechanisms that i shared with a friend yesterday, and discovered - to my amusement - that they were quite common. Like spotting a man walking the other way on the footpath, and moving as far away as possible; or slowing down to let the man behind you pass up to get ahead. Little, comforting security measures. My young cousin had one too. She'd just begun to feel the weight of womanhood upon her slender shoulders. When she walked, it was like she would cave in to stop people from staring at her sprouting chest. It distressed me, because she was letting the world get to her - a man's world, a world created by society, by everything her elders held sacrosanct. So i did to her what a man i completely love to this day did to me - told her on the face in all frankness that she coulcn't help what was happening to her, or what she had. So why not be proud about it? I remember it worked wonders for me, and i think it did for her too - i've never seen her slouch after that. I'm hoping that this incident sort-of broke the ice for her to come and talk to me whenever she feels like something wrong's happening to her. And that it helped her feel better about being a woman.

I do have plenty of other growing-up cousins too, many of them girls. And i constantly live in the fear that something might happen to them some day, and they might not be able to talk about it. I constantly worry about what i can do to make it easier for them, how i can watch them always without intruding on their privacy or their life, protect them. And then i think, i'm being a parent already. And i understand, for once, why there are so many rules and regulations garrotting a baby girl's growth into a woman.

P.S: I'm okay with talking about incidents from my life because i'm able to distance myself from them. They are extremely personal, yes. But they are used in this piece in an effort to reach out to all those who've experienced things of this sort, and to tell them, you're not alone.

...

Hunger's playing tricks with my mind. HELP!

Meet Red.

His innards show that he was conceived quite some time back in a Maruti workshop in Shivajinagar. But he was delivered on Friday, September 21, 2007.

He's christened Red. And i love him. Absolutely love him.

Seeing Red.

I have absolutely no respect for people who taunt or pass snide remarks for no reason.

In the past twelve hours, i have had such remarks thrown at me not once, but twice. And i must say that i'm fast losing respect for both these people. But that's really not what's bothering me. What's got me livid is that their words found their way under my skin - while they have no right to do it or basis for it, i'm assuming they feel churlish enough to say things that actually hurt and make you feel like scum from the bottom of Ulsoor lake. I can understand one's insecurity and the childish barbs that result from it, but i cannot understand the other's sarcasm. The sarcasm is still alright, the barbs are not because those digs have been happening for a while. I've ignored them this far but i can't anymore because they are really, really pissing me off now. So much so, that i have to get it out of my system so i can get down to finishing some work.

I could get even by getting down to their level, but i don't want to grow immature in the process. The satisfaction and pleasure of slinging words where it hurts most would soon be overshadowed by an overwhelming sense of guilt, and it's the guilt i can't live with.

Maybe i just need to talk to somebody about it. Maybe i will. But sweet heaven, if they try that thing with me again, it won't be long before they experience hell. Bloody, bloody hell.

Baby on board!

Sometimes you're just so glad things happen the way they do.

I didn't get an auto even after half an hour of waiting outside office, appearing to all and sundry on the roads like i was waiting to offer my 'services' to the right one who came along. Desperate, i thought of everybody who could possibly take me home safe, away from prying eyes. N's name popped into my head and i called her. Got an auto easily enough to her office. I told N about S being in town, and how i had been trying to get in touch with her. What ensued was a long-drawn phone call to S, where she claimed she didn't care if i bothered to meet her now, i 'didn't really matter anymore' etc. etc. And that's how we came to meet her last night.

S is close to eight months pregnant with her second baby. As we sat and caught up - S giving me these 'i-know-what-you're-upto' looks once in a while that and N adding fuel to the fire - S gave a start and said, "Hey, you want to feel the baby move?"

I can tell you, it is the most freaky sensation ever. Surreal. I could feel the little one's heartbeat go dub-dub (yeah, i know it's supposed to be lub-dub but what the heck)... feel her kicking furiously against mommy's belly, like she was practicing karate with her little feet. It was lovely, lovely.

I sort of know now why those macho men make those puppy-eyed 'awwwwwww' faces in the movies when they feel the bloated stomachs of their pregnant wives.

Alone in a crowd.

The story goes that one day, a poor woman was left behind by her out-of-town friends who watched a movie she was dying to watch too, without her. Sentimental psychopath that she was, the hurt at not being part of the foursome pricked her and rather than sit around and mope, she decided to do something about it.

Which explains how she ended up at a theatre on a Friday afternoon to watch the same movie. Sans company.

It was a completely new experience for her - she'd only dreamed about doing things like these alone, never actually done them. Having excused herself with some lame explanations from the place she was supposed to be at at the appointed hour, she rushed to the closest mall to buy herself a ticket to the movie. With two hours to kill before the drama started, she decided to do what she did best: eat. So she headed to the steak house in the mall and dug into an... omelette. Rather, an apology for one. From there, she headed to the only bookstore around and bought Lemony Snicket's 'A Series Of Unfortunate Events - Book 2' and perused it to kill some more time before the show began.

Undecided whether to buy popcorn or slush or nachos or Pepsi, she went with the option she was second best at: spending time in the ladies' room. Here, she clicked what she hoped would be one of her many entries into the Tasveer exhibition.

There done, she headed to the screen at which the movie was being played and prayed that the chairs next to her wouldn't be occupied. More so by men. Poor, poor woman, her prayers went unanswered. A bunch of pimply, lanky, college-going students filed into the seats beside her. I can handle this, she thought. They're just kids anyway, I'm way older than them. 20 minutes into the movie, she jumped out of her seat and scooted to the row above where there were plrnty of empty seats with a fabulous view of the screen. Sighing with pleasure, she parked her tush into the seat and watched the movie in solitude - laughing when she wanted to, shifting sides without worrying about disturbing people on either side of her (because there were none!), eyes agog at the slick transformations of the Cybertrons.

As the movie came to an end and the people spilled out, she couldn't suppress the smug smile of satisfaction at having done something so...ridiculously unlike her. It sure beat depending on others to watch a movie with, though. Besides, she enjoyed the alone-ness.

As she got into the auto to head home, she decided she would do this more often.

I love my Sony Ericsson K750i.

Unfortunately, i couldn't paste the SE blob on the title - that would have made it more in keeping with the campaign. (Alright, sorry, sorry!)

I started the day deciding that today i would transfer all the pictures i had taken with my K750i camera onto my PC in the office. Man, am i impressed.

The photographs have come out really nice. The resolution and picture quality is ass-kicking. The night mode isn't all that great, the pictures turn out quite grainy. Or maybe it's how i clicked. Anyway, this is a sample picture. (2.5x optical zoom, the max i could go. I was trying to take the eagle perched right on top of the tree.)

If you'd like to see more of these, follow this link to my flickr page: http://www.flickr.com/photos/7610705@N04/sets/72157601854312750/

Cloud Nines and Seventh Heavens...

I got back from Hyderabad half hour ago, after six days of rain-soaked, shot-glassed, palatable, super sonic, blissful pleasures.

We took the rains along with us the day we left - A, Amb and I. It poured non-stop for two days and the weather was absolutely gorgeous. What added to it was the locality and the home where i was staying - open, quiet, very residential. I bonded with cousins, visited relatives, got plenty of sarees, lazed. Moved bags to Secunderabad on Day 3 and the madness started. Dinners, lunches, UNO, Moksh, paya soup at ITC Kakatiya, Dublin - with a kick-ass DJ, for whom i even left a note, Lifestyle - where i picked up sexy shot glasses for A, Deli 9, office and its terrace, late-night TV, a chance rendezvous or two, blood-shedding fights...Woo hoo, it was one maniacal roller-coaster ride.

To top it all, i could take pictures on my return flight (i went berserk with my phone camera) - i saw complete fantasy parks in the sky, dinosaurs, giant turtles, men at war, the works.

Sigh. I regret getting back to work, but i return a happy woman.

Urge.

I want to get back to being who i was.
But then maybe i can't because this is who i'm supposed to be.
But then i'm not happy with being this,
so where does that leave me?

O Weekend Wonderful!

A good weekend after a long time. Good because i had a lot to do, and i enjoyed every minute of it - even the 'M' word comments that my aunts kept inserting subtly into our conversations.

Let's start with Friday night. I finished early, hung around waiting for an auto, spotted two colleagues going into Casa's for refreshers and joined them. (Warning: Only if you have a really sweet tooth must you try the Chocolate Marble Cake.)

Got home, dragged dad to a store that sold mobile phones. Bought a Sony Ericsson K750i (that too, after two hours of procastination on the 750, 790, 810, 20,000 blah blah...) and i absolutely love it. AND it has a camera!(Of course, my battered old Nokia 33 something is still my first love.)

Saturday i bunked gym. (Yes, i feel awful about it, but the back-to-back Salsa-Bellydancing-Jazzfunk classes today will be my redemption.) Went for Chak De India with chilla pilli in the evening, brought the theatre down with hoots and claps - esp. when our sobby SRK says, "Woh kya hai na, humaare hockey mein chakkey nahi hote." Lovely, one more cricket-hater. (As an aside, SRK's acting was commendable. The role suits his age more than the sloppy necking scenes with Rani in 'KANK'. Ugh. Oh, which reminds me, Kunal Kapoor is such a sloppy-wet on-screen pucker-upper - you have to see the trailer of 'Laga Chunari Mein Daag' to know what i'm talking about. Eeeeyuuuuuu, just thinking about it gives me the heebie-jeebies.)

Sunday had it's own list of things to share. Get a little presentable to receive Aunt at the doorstep (there was no way i was getting up early and going to the station to escort her family home), meet Mota-Langda (it's a joke R, do not take offense) and Langoor before they left for Hyderabad, go over to Ri's place for K's send-off session and sleep-over. The sleep-over was super fun. Not to mention some really creepy, crazy videos we caught on V and my (!!!) phone cameras.

Verdict: This is what great weekends are about. Although i don't recommend Sunday night glugging unless there's a holiday on Monday.

Coming up next weekend: A trip to Green Valley.

Midnight among the mountains.

It was midnight and the rocks were taking a break. They were wind-worn, moist with fog and tired of supporting the flora and fauna around them. Like that wasn't enough, men had peed on them through the day, rubber-soled shoes had trampled on their rocky surfaces (they got their revenge though, turning slippery at places) and the behinds of many a human had mooned them. Just as they breathed their relief at having been left alone, what should they hear but the srcunching of wheels on gravel in the distance.

Two mini-buses full of over-enthusiastic midnight trekkers had just arrived!

They were filing out of the bus, forming a circle and...wait a minute, what are they saying? "Dangerous Deepu, Smart Sreeni, Jolly Jason, Gullible George, Perfect Pallavi..." this wasn't making sense. And why were they moving their hands towards and away from their chest like that, was it some sort of self-stabbing exercise? And, OMG! What was that funny hip thing they were doing??

*-*-*-*-*

I refused to move my butt in the Juguju (my dance instructor's term for it is 'Rhonde', and elegantly so) and stayed put, watching the others in the circle: K shivering slightly - her wind cheater was brand new, smart, but highly lacking in providing protection from the cold; GK smoking on the side, his bulky backpack resting beside him; A with his camera; S laughing silently... and on the other half of the circle, all the techies trying to be cool trekkies. They wouldn't have been half as bad, if it wasn't for the fact that i heard two of them cracking Tiger Defense 101 jokes in the mini-bus - "What would you do if a tiger jumped over you? Catch its balls! Ha ha ha ha ha!"

We walked a kilometre on a road made of red soil to get on to the hill christened Kalwarbetta - one of the highest and steepest climbs in the Nandi range. At one point, it felt like the beginning of the Blairwitch Project - flashlights encountering void because they weren't powerful enough to penetrate the air to hit the hills on either side, fences made of dried, thorned bushes and sudden cave-ins of the road. To add to it, just before i left home my mother got weirdly emotional and asked me not to go because she had had a bad dream about me a few days ago.

The moment of ascent crept up slowly on us. It began innocently enough and i was thrilled to bits about actually doing it. By the first break, i couldn't catch up with my own breath, leave alone the rest of the fellow trekkers. The view behind was worth it though - much like the view key-jangling man in ET gets when he stands at the edge of the cliff/mountain. Two minutes later we were climbing again. I think it was at this point that i really began to lose it - my body began protesting, quietly admonishing me for not having gymmed that day so i could be prepared for the pain and shortness of breath. (K was humming songs all the way up. Kickboxing thrice a week must be much tougher.)

My vision blurred, my lungs gave up and i could only see darkness around me. (Duh.) A ray of light pierced the darkness and i heard the oracle speak, "Hey, are you okay? Do you want water? Sip it, don't gulp, you'll only get more tired." She was a vision of strength, stamina and motivation. Ashamed as i am to say it, i didn't let her leave my side through the rest of the trek. Her left hand pressing into the hollow of my back kept me moving throughout. In between, i lost my balance real bad and would have tumbled God-knows-how-many feet, but she was there to propel me forward. In short, i was a complete sissy.

Three-quarters of the way up, somebody shone the light on the oracle's face, and who should i see but Anita, a classmate from college! The rest of the trek was easy-breezy (!) because i had somebody to talk to. (P claims to know my year book by heart, that's how much catching up Anita had to do from me.)

After all the huffing and puffing, it was sort of an anti-climax when we reached the top of the hill because it came so abruptly. The once-erect fort of Tipu Sultan lay scattered in ruins, grass and lichen growing over the stones. It looked haunting and gorgeous. At least what we could see of it, because the fog was descending rapidly. We had three hours to kill before sunrise, and no tents or bonfire to keep us warm. Temperatures dropped so much that any minute Dementors would come flying at us out of the castle, wearing armours and crying "Tipu Sultan! Zindabad!". K sat huddled in seven layers of clothing (alright, five), P and GK constantly smoked, S was just standing and A for the better part of it was one among the circle of people who were playing games. I was walking around, giving K and P a hug (none for GK and S - the latter i didn't know too well, and the former was the 'mard ko sard nahi hota' types because he gave his jacket away to K), avoiding getting whammied by the wind and constantly thinking that i was possessed because i was seeing people where there weren't any.

Five 'o' clock came, and with it a strange vision of white floating cloth. As it approached us, we could just about make out the boy-man under the shawl asking us if we wanted water or biscuits. Five in the morning, in the middle of nowhere, selling water and biscuits? He was either a ghost or demented. The fog was still so thick that we could have happily cut ourselves big pieces of it and eaten it up. Which also meant that our chances of seeing the sunrise were next to none. Ouch, i thought, considering i was the one who'd told these guys about the 'full moon trek' and the 'magnificent sunrise' on Kalwarbetta. The guilt weighed me down along with the fog.

Six fifteen, and the sun still refused to make its presence known. Reluctantly, we started our descent. This time, i was exhausted but didn't give up. GK had said that the uphill climb would be terrible, but it would seem worth it when we started down. He was right - the world looked like something else from up there - virgin greens and browns, giant white fluffs moving in the sky casting shadows on the ground, water bodies sprinkled randomly... a part of Bangalore that was more hill station and less IT city.

Surprisingly, the downward journey seemed much, much longer than the climb. When i reached the base, i turned around and asked GK who was walking behind me, "F***, we climbed that much?" He went, "No." Pause. "We climbed much higher." Oh freak. Not bad at all.

In the mini-bus, our heads nodded off as our brains tried to shrug away the numbness. K was sleeping on my shoulder and my head was buried so deep in my chest that if the bus had jerked, it would have snapped and rolled over. I must have been snoring, because I felt somebody tap my shoulder - A, sitting next to me, half-asleep himself, did an imitation of brail and asked me to use his shoulder to sleep on.

Ten in the morning, i reached home, well-spent. Would i do a trek again? Yeah. Maybe. In a thousand years.

*-*-*-*-*

"*&!&#!@^$&^$&^)(!#%$%", cursed the rocks. Thank God the intruders were off, especially the fat-assed woman constantly panting and whimpering like a little child. Her name was just apt for her - Nitwit something. So thinking, the rocks and trees and earthworms relaxed a little, letting the early morning dew cool their temper. But the bliss was short-lived. Hordes of vehicles arrived, bringing with them some people, plenty of food and a bit of alcohol. Oh God! Would they do the hip-thing too??

Life is beautiful.

A papercup full of hot water mixing with tea leaves mixing with sugar cubes mixed with plenty of crisply fresh rain mixed with some Desert Rose. Heady, heady combination.

I wouldn't trade places with anybody else right now.

Reality bytes. (Dedicated to Kaykay.)

It was pouring last evening - like nature was dealing whiplashes to all of us on Earth because we deserved it. Every single auto we (K and i) asked wanted 150 bucks and more to take us to our destination. After much hunting, though (thank God, PK had a car and we just had to roll down the window) we found an autowallah willing to take us. I decided to not act like the aggressive woman i am and quietly got into the auto.

Two things struck me - one, that the driver had made no demands for any extra money while everybody else was trying to capitalise on the rain; two, he made a conscious effort to avoid puddles and not splash all three of us (him, K and me. Duh!) with dirty water. So imagine our surprise when, close to Cunningham Road, an impatient boor zips past in his car (a Maruti van too, not even a Swift or a Merc) and leaves in his wake three victims soaked in yucky water. K and i escaped with little damage, but the autowallah didn't. The right side of his uniform (and his face) was dripping. He cussed all the way - just because the boor had a car, didn't mean that he could do what he wanted; there was no cause for him to be inconsiderate and do what he did. In a way, what the autowallah said made sense. I felt sorry for him, riding in the cold rain with his uniform offering him next to no protection.

About a 100 yards away from my dropping K off, the auto broke down. Some clutch problem. So our man got out - bare feet - in the pouring rain, and got to work trying to fix the problem. I felt like a heel, sitting there cocooned while he ventured into water. There isn't much i could do, but that didn't stop me from feeling the way i did. 20 minutes later, he came back, gave me a smile, said that the clutch was broken and started the auto. I didn't pay too much attention to what he was saying because i was aghast at his state - it looked like he had just got out of a washing machine without the tumble dry feature!

As i sat there, feeling worse by the minute (no it wasn't my fault, but i felt terrible for the chap), i counted my blessings. Each and every one of them. It would be uncomfortable to live like that, and i'm grateful to God for having made me who i am, for giving me all that he did. It's like Kaykay used to say always: we sit and crib about little things like work, and how little money we're getting, life sucks and blah blah. And then when we look at people like the autowallah, their living conditions, the fact that they manage to smile through it all, and then we can't help but feel like the scum at the bottom of the pond. Makes us wonder who's the better off of the two. Us or them.

P.S: Yes, i do seem to be bestowed with the power to communicate fairly decently with auto drivers - that's provided i get to sit in their auto first. Struck up a conversation with him, found out he used to do welding work. Fell off from a buildign where he was working and hurt himself badly enough to discontinue the labour. Chose to ride an auto instead because, ironically, he thought it was less work, and his body can't take much strain. 30 years old, married with three children, was planning to give up riding and start a business of his own (I think starting a business without money in your pocket is a bad, bad idea, but i didn't tell him that). He didn't ask for an extra pie (sceptics would say that after the sob sorry, he wouldn't need to), and for just that i gave him a 100 rupee note. Better spent on decent drivers who don't ask for it than the goddarn leching, pompous pricks who do.

Senses.

No bellydancing on Wednesday. My instructor's dance company - Tarantismo - was putting up a theatrical dance show at Alliance Francaise. Yesterday was the first of a series of five shows, and i was there. (So were some of the Page 3 people, but they're not my concern.)

I hurried through my gymming like the world was on fire, and reached just in time to be shuffled into the hall. Five minutes of shifting seats from one row to another, and we were ready for 'Senses' - the name and theme of their performance. PK -who's going to be part of the troupe soon - was in charge of sound, lights and music. Her name was mentioned in the brochures being passed around - with a spello, of course. So her surname was actually printed Katari (In a sort of rustic hindi, it means knife). We couldn't stop laughing.

The show started with a brief narrative by A, with the rest of the troupe on stage. It's amazing how different people look with make-up and shimmering gold bodysuits on. Like the name of the show suggests, the dancers took us through the five senses - sight, touch, taste, smell and sound (not in order).

I found the concept extremely interesting. For 'Sight', the dancers performed blindfold. Perfect co-ordination, flawless dancing and formations - despite the temporary impairment of their vision, they didn't once falter or lose their place on stage. It was quite remarkable. 'Touch' was the longest piece - exploring same-sex love, broken relationships, the bond between a woman and her just-born, sexual abuse and man-woman happiness. 'Taste' could have explored plenty such situations and emotions as well but they stuck to food. 'Sound' was good fun - a melange of belly dancers (waistbands with coins and mini-cymbals in the hand), bharatnatyam (ghungroos), dandiya and a junior shivamani (!)

Smell was probably the most dramatic, and perhaps, horrifying. Of this, there's only one thing i remember feeling - a chill creep up my spine as A ended her narrative with "The aroma of lust, and the stench of a dead animal."

Entertaining evening, on the whole. I'm looking forward to more shows of this sort.

danah boyd.

I was sent this link today to browse through. I might sound unintelligent saying this, but being unintelligent is a choice i've made: she's brilliant. And not coldly so, if you know what i mean. Most people who are brilliant are estranged from the basest of feelings (Sex and hunger drives not included), but not her. I guess that what makes her breed of brilliance - the exceptionally high levels of emotional intelligence combined with what all of us refer to normally as IQ.

She has done so much, so much in her life so far - the list is quite endless. Makes me feel quite worthless. In one of her posts, she speaks of whether all of us have the opportunity to travel and learn but eliminate it because of our lack of interest, and perhaps she strove to avoid falling into the trap, hence she is what she is - well-travelled, an authority on virtual social networking, etc. I don't know about anybody else out there, but i felt like she was talking about me - i am one of those people she refers to. I could have travelled, i could have learnt. Rather than leverage my thinking capacity - which, i know without trying to sound pompous, is way above average - i decided to let it go. I could have been anything i wanted to be, i could have been as perfect as i wanted to be. But i decided not to.

Most people don't understand this about me, this desire for perfection. It has nothing to do with professional ambition, and everything to do with personal satisfaction, peace for my own soul. I don't intend to compete with anybody, i intend only to challenge myself. And keep challenging, till i know there's no more i can do. I want to be the person i can look up to and never find fault with. I don't know if that makes sense to anyone.

I've been a coward innumerable times and have given up just too easily on a number of things that i could have been great at, if i had just pushed myself. And reading danah boyd's blog just brought it all back with such incredible clarity and force that i'm feeling quite vulnerable right now. And there's nobody to blame for that but me.

Right now, i'm wishing that i could go back to doing all those things and carrying the same zest for life i had years ago. But i know that if i sit still for a while or find means of distracting myself, this feeling will pass. I'll be back to being the coward i am.