An ode to my Abba

I too had a grandma; a strong noble lady; a maternal figure to look up to. A lady who brought up a brood of 8 kids almost single-handedly, the youngest of them just into teens when her husband (grandpa) died. She worked in the paddy fields, weaved coconut leaf mats and did odd jobs to feed her kids.

She did not stop short of selling off vessels, any articles of value or pawning jewels to give education to her youngest child. Even when her older children, some of them fully grown men by then frowned at her for wasting good money in educating this girl child, she stuck to her single minded mission.

Why the preference to this one child? Well she was the youngest and dearest to grandma’s heart and also the only one who had shown a keen interest in studies. While her siblings were content with going to school for the sake of it, this child desired to study and excel and grandma made it her mission to see that it happened.

Years went by and 6 of grandmas 8 children had moved away; the guys with their wives and children and the girls to their husbands houses. The youngest child had finished college and had started working in a tutorial as a tutor while pursuing a Masters course. The household situation had slightly improved with many sons and the daughter earning.

Grandma’s favourite child meanwhile became a lecturer in a college. Grandma had fulfilled her dream; got this child married, got the youngest of her grandkids.

Grandma left us for good one day, on one of these youngest grandchildren’s 17th birthday. There was nothing anybody could do about it but it left her youngest child and the unlucky grandchild heartbroken.

Not that the unlucky grandchild showed or expressed it. In fact this grandchild came under flak for having no emotions, in spite of being grandma’s favourite grandchild. Grandma’s youngest child chided her daughter, the unlucky grandchild for having been ungrateful for everything grandma had done for her and her mother. The sorrow and the resultant frustration had found a target!

But as the unlucky grandchild writes this blog today she has nothing but sorrow weighing her down. Every birthday is her secret mourning day; mourning for her dearest Abba. This day for no reason she has been overtaken by memories of Abba and the warmth associated with that word.

I dedicate this blog to my Abba and her memory.


A hair raising story

My hair in the glory days...Sigh!

There is some kind of thrill in throwing reason to the winds and doing the unexpected. I specialize in getting into bizarre self-inflicted predicaments. How else can I explain my love for weird hairstyles?!

I derive immense pleasure in chopping my tresses and denuding my kopfe of its glory. First I plastered an ugly brown colour on my hair in the name of streaking and bleached it of its natural colour permanently. Now I have gone one step ahead and bobbitized my lovely curls.

Sure it is a makeover according to my stylist and a few others and yes it looks different (a politer version of weird) but I am left pining for my mane. Gone is the delightful weight of the head, the fuzzy warmth against my neck and the adaa I could throw with a flip of my hair. Sigh and it cost me money too!

Now I do not say there aren’t any advantages of short cropped hair. For one there is definitely a chance of a summer without having to punish one’s hair in ponies and knots to stay alive. Then there is the remote possibility of looking younger than you are ;and if you ask me the latter is reason enough. ;P

Well after all the repenting will I stop short of yet another suicidal haircut? No. Never. After all it is the risks that make life worth living a’int it?! 😀

When the super moon looms

“Is the world coming to an end?” my roommate asked me when I returned home from work today evening. Well this is not how our conversations usually start and I was naturally taken aback. My roomie who is generally disinterested in current events seemed to have been told by our land lady that there was something wrong with the moon and that the world was coming to an end in 2012, the precursor to which would be the Armageddon facing us on this March 19th in the form of the Supermoon.

Now I am not a superstitious person and I am also not a total non-believer in the mystical powers of nature. Some of the disasters that have taken place in the world in the past decade or so, the latest being the 2004 Tsunami and the recent Japan quake, being testimonial enough to what mother nature is capable of doing to punish her wayward kids.

But I could not help being amused by this “something wrong with the moon” theory. It is surprising how the suspense related to the apocalypse will interest even the un-initiated, set tongues wagging and the gossip mills running. So that is how I spent a good one hour this evening explaining to my roomie the significance of the Supermoon, 2012 and the ancient Mayans and Nostradamus.

At the end of it, this lecturing session has left me wondering whether there will actually be some disasters related to the supermoon. Other than some tidal waves will there be any untoward calamities?! Well the tidal waves are scary enough especially as I have my native home in a coastal town and my family lives there, with the sea being just a couple of kilometres away. But will the romantic moon turn into a destroyer?! I do not think so. Well but I am no Nostradamus. I can just hope…especially as I want to be celebrating Holi on the 19th!

20 reasons why I LOVE being a GIRL

1.      I have the power to do something that Guys will never be able to do. Well go on scratch your head but you will still be confused. This reason is simple but much ignored, it being:  I can carry a life within myself and give birth to that little innocent life; a thing any guy in the world can’t do.

2.      I have the power to turn heads wherever I go however ugly I look. Because till there are men in this world there will be straying eyeballs. 😀

3.      Life is all about variety and I have variety at my fingertips. Whether it is dress or makeup or accessories, there is always variety. If I wear a salwar kameez one day, I can wear a skirt the next day, followed by a trouser on the third day; a LBD for an evening, a mini for a night out, a sari for a wedding and shorts to the beach.

4.      I have infringed on the boys’ right to wear pants but they haven’t as yet dared to wear a skirt (both connotative and denotative puns intended).

5.      I can get away with mischief. Even when I and my gang of gals broke the classroom window the Principal never for one second suspected us but took to task the poor unsuspecting cricket loving guys near the building. The devil wears Prada you see.

6.      Where there is a cleavage there is a way.

7.      I am born to multitask. As a kid I multitasked with dolls, brother’s cricket and imitating mom coo baby sister to sleep ; today I multitask with a job, friends, shopping, pardeeing and boyfriends; tomorrow I will multitask with a career, housework, husband, kids and hobbies. A thing guys rarely do.

8.      Bored with the long train journey or the wait at the airport and some men in sight? All I have to do is swish my hips, flip my hair and pout and lo I am entertained by the buffoons.

9.      Who has said a smile can’t move mountains?! Leave it to us gals. If we ever find Atlas, we will get him to do that too. If we can move ahead in supermarket queues and get unknown men to carry our groceries with just a smile we can do the mountain part too.

10.   I can wear any colour, sport any hairstyle, do my makeup and accessorize fearlessly without the danger of being tagged with a funny word such as “metrosexual” or being called a peacock! Looking good is my right.

11.  I can always go up to men in a bus, sitting in the so called “ladies seats” and pull them out, but they cannot do the same to me even if I am sitting in the non-ladies seat which must be the “men’s seat”.

12.  I or rather we galz are the rightful owners of chocolates and all things chocolaty in this world. God created chocolate to soothe the female taste bud.

13.  I can dare cuddle a teddy bear or coo a kitten without being called retarded!

14.  I can afford to cry in public without being called a weakling. Letting out the pent up feelings and stress with no fear of reprisal is a boon to enjoy, a boon which guys lose as they grow up from boys to men.

15.  When god created the earth, he threw in a goody for all us girls in the form of a precious element called gold. Gold is a woman’s toy.

16.  I being a girl have the power to melt the toughest and the strongest willed men and give them goose bumps and sleepless nights.

17.  I will always be daddy’s li’l princess at no matter what age.

18.  I will one day go through a ceremony called a marriage, orchestrated to show me off, my clothes and jewels in countless videos and photographs with my husband playing prop. Sigh I don’t exactly like the idea!

19.  I can live through countless hormone changes, blink back my tears and still manage to smile to make my loved ones happy.

20.  I am the epitome of care, affection and sacrifice: a woman

You might also like The Diary of an Indian Feminist.

Dance baby Dance

I have never been a good dancer. Forget being good! I am terrified and self-conscious of dancing in public. Being a person who can give applause worthy presentations and even speak on stage, this is a weird phobia. But there it is! Put me in a night club and I will dance away to glory in the dimmed lights. But the moment I am asked to dance in front of spectators, I freeze.

So it came as a surprise to everyone including myself that I dared enrol at SDIPA, the “happening” dance school run by the celebrity choreographer Shiamak Dawar in January this year. Okie I will admit to being a copycat and doing it on cue from my “happening” ex-classmates. But there I was, enrolled for a Beginners Batch at SDIPA and having unstoppable butterflies dancing in my stomach.

The first class was disaster. I rushed to class- late- from a movie, clad in jeans and jacket expecting just an introduction. I had just defaulted on three counts: 1 coming late, 2 un-appropriate dressing and 3 underestimating the type of training. My batch was a mix of 8th graders, homemakers and working professionals like myself. (Sadly no hot guys: one of the reasons I had joined- socialising and dating being high on my list of priorities in the New Year)

Then I got to see the trainers: shapely things in tight slacks and a wiry MJ like guy. The butterflies were at work again. What followed was trauma, fun and one helluva experience all rolled into one sweaty journey of unlearning and learning all over again. If aunties could dance why couldn’t I?!

I overcame: my pride, my inhibitions, my Dodo-like dance steps. Dance can heal I came to realise. A bad day can be set right by dance, an “I feel alive” feeling can wash over you. My days and nights were being filled by dancing dreams.

After 2months at the institute, the jerky movements still remain, but I am learning to enjoy; finding unexplored grace in my body, to sync with team mates. It is a worthwhile experience. So here I am, one shame of a dancer, contemplating joining another batch at SDIPA.For the thrill of it and to give another shot at finding a hot guy!After all life is full of hits and misses isn’t it?;D

When the love bug bites!

“At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet” said a great Greek philosopher ages ago. How true! When the love bug bites people are known to go blind to the realities of life.

I have had the un-fortunate experience of being bitten by this fatal bug and walking through the day in a dreamy stupor, un-conscious of anything other than a weird airy lightness in my heart and a tendency to giggle at everything.Not only did this bug make me stupid enough to venture further on the bumpy roads of love but also hypnotised me into overlooking the obvious short comings of the person responsible for the bug bite!

The bug made me like weird slow motion songs that would otherwise have not interested me. The world looked prettier, the upma tasted better, the mirror became my friend. Beauty routines became the order of the day. My heart beat became errant and gave a skip every once in a while.

The bug bite then worsened to a rash bringing in the fever of longing in its wake. Breathing became difficult with that sinking feeling in the pit of the stomach induced by pining for the un-attainable. I sunk deeper day by day; friends feared for the worst.

No remedy worked. Doctors despaired. One year ticked by.

And then one day I woke up in a cold sweat, my mind clearer than ever, all the bug’s after effects washed away. The wound had healed but the scar still remained.

Yeh Saali Zindagi…!

I am feeling happy. Why do you ask? Well that is how you will feel after a tummy filling and yummy dinner followed by a Gold Flake King supplemented by nerve soothing music and a glimpse of my new pink baby of a laptop… :p

Yehsaalizindagiiii the singer is crooning over the sax. Well that is life isn’t it…?! A bitch of a life! Man proposes God disposes. We make plans, work out the details and life drops a bomb shattering all the plans and with it the dreams to smithereens. And there lies the irony of life. We are only puppets in this great mystery of a life.

Well that is not an excuse for pessimists amongst us to rejoice. All the bitchiness of life considered how can a human being with enough bile in him/her (or as said in south-indish: having eaten uppu-kara) go down without putting up a fight?!

So there my friend is our sorry excuse of a reason to go on with our lives of getting up every day to get ready to bear traffic to get to offices to get ripped by clients/bosses and return home drained!

Ahem ok, I have missed the wide variety of food that can be eaten in the middle of the confusion, the fine and bad specimens of mankind whom we encounter along the way and be-friend/love/hate, the beauty of nature to behold and new thrills to seek!

Okie so life is not so dull after all. The bitch has a heart too :p

P.S: Why is life called a “bitch” and not a dog? Hmmm food for thought and for another post 😀