2014, A year that was

A Year that will be 

2014 was a year for discovery, for venturing into the unknown and to explore. It was also a year to leave the comfort zone behind.  

Beginning of the year marked my journey as an amateur writer for my office newsletter and running a daily mailer series for my team consisting about 50 members. I did it because it was fun and spiced up the mundane work. Enrolling into a journalism course was just a passing thought then and may be just a dream. I was drifting along. Then came March and with it the heat of summer and deadline for registration of ACJ. I registered. Then I went with my work accompanied by anxiety of possibility studying after a huge gap and being a software engineer for 4 years was drastic even for a person as impulsive as I was. I did it because I wanted a change and because may be because it was just right. I read The Hindu and Thugluk religiously. I started blogging and was surprised with the cult response to my blogs. I’m no usual rambler neither am I a philosopher but something between the two.

May dawned. I gave my entrance exam on May 11 and my ego took a severe blow for the question paper was difficult and felt I was out of my depth. I must have written well or may I just was better than the worst in the lot, I was selected for the interview process. The interview was scheduled for June 4. I hardly thought about anything else in the time in-between. There was nothing I could read which I had not read before nothing I could do which I had never done before. I decided to go with the flow instead of preparing. That was for the best. The minute I came out of the interview hall I knew I aced it. I felt I had given my best shot.

Never had five days seemed so long. I did all the usual work – going to office, cooking, reading and blogging – but I just couldn’t ease the anxiety. Though futile I kept checking the college website everyday hoping they would publish the results sooner than the said date, June 7. And they did. Sunday the June 6 the results were published and I got through. I knew then that I wanted to be accepted more than I let myself believe. That was a defining moment, may be a little stupid as some would call it later, because I was leaving the well paying job when I was in line for promotion and may be onsite to become a journalist. I was giving up the sophistication of AC room to run around the city sweating like a dog. I somehow quite liked the sound of it.

So I became a journalism student sniffing for news and poring over the papers looking for errors.

It’s December. I love this month of any year. It is cold, lazy and beautiful. For me every day that ends is a step towards that fresh beginning that is always around the corner. The future seems so bright and full. There is lesser room for doubts or uncertainties because that is always saved for the present. Endless possibilities and chances loom in front of us. Therein lays the magic of December.

It fills with you with hope, chance and miracle of a new beginning until next year!

Happy New Year!

My haven

I remember evenings the most. Receding sunlight breaks through the branches of a neem tree, birds returning to their nests after the day’s hunt, a group of five or six children including me playing hide and seek and catcher on a huge expanse of land that housed a Vinayakar temple under a Pippal tree and a Shiva temple at the center.

Once in a while there would be fine sand piled up on the ground for construction or renovation of houses. You would find small mud houses on them if it was there for more than a day. I learnt cycling there. The terrain with its coarse sand and rough stones was a home to millions of earthworms. It was a support to two neem trees, which was a sanctuary for crows, pigeons, owls and sometimes parrots.The place has seen people grow up from the time they were toddlers to the time they die. It absorbed sweat and blood, offered solace just by being there carrying the burden for decades or may be centuries.

Years went by, people came and left. Some looked and few talked but never really saw and spoke to the land that was their den during their childhood.

 Familiar rough sand and crude stones were replaced by strange fine cement. Majestic brown of indigenous land is now a road of sober grey. There is a huge water tank between the neem trees. There is too much unregulated vehicular movement that it is not safe for children to play. There are hardly any kids who come out anyway since most of them are glued to their smartphones and tablets.  Gone were those days when the only sound was squeals and laughter of children, chattering of residents and regular ‘ding dong’ of temple bells. Gone were the recklessness of that time is gone and with it its innocence.  

Dancing to the tunes of zephyr

Music glided through a chalet on a calm cloudy autumn afternoon. Music was a familiar classic. If someone who was playing, that someone must be quite an accomplished violinist.

The breeze was soothing and carried enough moisture. It would start raining anytime.

The branches of magnolia tree waltzed to the tunes of zephyr welcoming the rain goddess. Leaves giggled even as tiny droplets kissed them. Magnolia buds blushed at every brush with the drop. Soon, drizzling became a downpour.

There was no one except her on the battered boulevard. The lone chalet with its stone roof and no windows seemed as warm as a winter cold. Her flowing waterfall of black hair was wet. It was hard to tell the colour of her eyes in the slashing rain. She was laughing mirthlessly.

The music had stopped.  “Magnolia,” a voice called.

Then, there was nothing but the sound of rain. 

Can Temple run and life be any more similar

I was killing boredom with a game of temple run 2 at the dawn of another boring day. 

I ran. I ran further. I kept on running. 

I crossed the rivers and hopped over the obstacles. Rewards were aplenty and dangers bountiful. There were narrow lanes and fire coughing mountains, giggling rivers and dangling emeralds with a troll on the trail. Beefed up my sack with whatever I could for the end that would never come. I slipped and fell sometimes saved by a whisker and other times not so lucky.  

With the laden sack and fluid limps as I surrendered to the banality of journey, I realized it wasn't about winning or losing at all but about perseverance and chances – a chance to go on or die. It was a run in search a destiny that never exists but hoping it does. 

May be life isn't any different. 

All good days come to an end

Fluttering heart and incoherent speech is the expression of excitement in the anticipation of the weekend that promised sleepless nights and sour throats; hearty lunch and sleepy afternoons; late supper and lot of laughs.

The noisy platforms and milling crowd, anxious smile and the waited bait always spell home to the wandering soul.

Hugs and kisses followed by questions and more questions, a wave and a hoot, a chuckle and muffled laugh over the familiar scuffle between familiar neighbors. All good things rolled into one that never discriminates night and day until now. The day where the dream ends and reality kicks in.

Good bye never said without tears, hugs always with a longing. Train and people will not hold the same charm because they always seem say all good days come to an end.

My Orkut Days

The memories of the time when the internet was just another toy and mail that meant posting mails to many was gone in a jiffy.

It was an epoch where time stood still and days never rolled; it was a period of impulsiveness rather than rationality; it was a place where being stalked made you smile and a hello from a stranger was reason for yet another gossip story; the word privacy meant your physical private space and your own thoughts; it was a point in time when being in touch meant meeting face to face or calling up; it was a time where we found solace in our loved ones and needed a friend’s shoulder to cry.

It was a memoir of old ways and a diary for old flames. We stalked, we talked, we laughed and we loved. We reveled in the world that was new and enchanting. It was an era where people were unaware of the beginning of a new revolution; unaware that their beautiful canvas of life of that moment could ever be revisited.  

Good bye Orkut – Thank you for all those years that could never be remade and never to be forgotten!    

End, a connotation

The word has come to mean lot of things – a conclusion, a termination, a finish line. It is connoted in the way of walking away from a relationship, sense of pride in a purpose served or a finale. Though we recognize it in the only way we know we never accepted it, not in sense it is really meant to be.

We move on when a phase comes to a close; we cry over a relationship that ceased to exist; we regret even a minor lapse to win a race that would mean nothing. As we drift through life, day and night, over months and years, we hardly think about part of our lives that made us move on, that made us cry or the race we lost.

We close off a part of us that had meant so at one point. In the objective to move ahead we fail to retrospect what made us look forward in the first place.

Every ending is a story, for it reminds us what we have; lament what we lost; and most of all it tells you there is more.

An end of a semester or a month or a day – it is something to be celebrated and to be cherished.

To Let Go or to Give up

In the dictionary form, there is not much difference between the two phrases. But when you really look at it, they aren't same at all. There are things in life that don’t work out the way we want or anyone wants. Bruises and scars, we all carry them. The echoes of the past and the song of the future, we all hear them. The lost and found, the missed and the longing, the superficial and the profound we have been one of all these at least once in our life.

There is always an element of reality in every dream, figment of imagination in every reality, a grain truth in every lie and love in hatred. There is this thin line that separates one from the other, the same ambiguous line that discerns letting go and giving up.

No one alive can fathom the real meaning let alone follow it.

It keeps you hanging in the mid air, always afraid if you are one step too late. It makes you wonder if you have given up too early or not letting go even after it’s too late...

Madras, A way of Life

Madras is – women in 18 yards in the streets of Mylapore; ever crowded Ranganathan Street with its relentless shoppers; the ruffians of Royapettah and the sadhus of the south; the brave foot boarders of EMU trains and MTC buses; the tranquility of the Marina on a full moon night.

Madras is – divine harmony of “Arupathi Moovar” and chorus of the devotees; the chanting of Vedas in the dawn of Karthikai; the ragas of Markazhi and rhythm of “Salangai” (ankle bells); squeaking horns and the buzzing traffic; whistle for the “Super star” and the never ending scream for the rest of the movie; the sound of waves and the silence of the night.

Madras is – aroma of grounded filter coffee at the turn of every street;  ; the fragrance of jasmine on the hair of women; the tang of bajjis and the hot dosas in the “Kaiyendi Bhavans”; the odor of sweat after satisfied shopping in Pothys during “Aadi Thalupadi”; the smell of hard work at the sunset.

It is the epitome of tradition and the personification of the west. It is the reflection of the past and the hope of the future.

Madras is a way of life!

Whimsical routine

It wasn't a fine morning. The haphazard movement of the wind, cloudy yet warm weather conjured by the capricious climate princess. I could say she was in some mood today.

Human can’t afford to be erratic nor can they adjust to routine. But there are few things that will catch us unaware.

I always notice this well build man adorning a charming smile sitting alone in the middle of the food court in my office. He is always there in the exact same place at 2 PM in the afternoon having lunch, alone, for the past four months. In that short few months I had developed the habit of looking at him and what they say about habits – they are hard to break.

The afternoon was warmer than usual. My friend’s 3-year-old daughter was frizzled. I volunteered to take her around to give my friend some break. The 3-year-old was fond of chocolates, so holding her hands we proceeded to the shop in a food court within our premises to buy chocolates. The crowd had thinned down by the time we reached, which was around 3 p.m.

The kid slipped when she stepped on the wet floor and fell with her face down near the door. At the same time a man in open necked crisp white shirt and blue jeans opened the door exactly and stamped on her fingers. I’m by mistake.

No sooner his foot pressed on her little fingers she started wailing. I all but bundled her and was about to rush to the nearest exit when I bumped on the same man. He gave me an anxious smile that brought out his dimples. It made me uneasy and clouded my thoughts. It was the same person who I always notice. Apparently he was late today and may be not so good for me since I was unable to move. 

I couldn't think anything else but to wave him off and rushed to wash her hands in cold water. I kissed on the hypothetical wounds on her fingers which brought her to giggles when he came in. I carried her looking at him and made her sit on the massive shelf. He gave me an apologetic smile and turned to the giggling bundle. He could even make a 3-year-old blush. He entertained her with such an ease and quite competence that made me wonder if he grew up entertaining them. I enjoyed looking at them for they made quite a picture – Muscled hero with a 3-year-old and at the mirror. I found the reflection was even more appealing to the eye. It was a picture of handsome guy making a little girl smile and looking at the flushed woman beside with an intense eyes and a knowing smile.

Probably the day will not be so bad after all.         

Dreams and Reality at a Tug of War

I woke to the sound of rain thudding on the roof. The coffee  freshly brewed and morning rituals completed I set out to the porch that overlooked the junction. I set the coffee on a bench and sat on the swing ready to be amused by the world in general. The sky retained the color of dreary gray shattering the hope of sunlit morning. Men in rain coats and women in umbrellas hopped on the road to save themselves from the puddles formed on the path due to the unabated rain. A man in a black suit muttered curses as the car splashed dirt. The trio of girls waiting in the bus stop a little further from the intersection giggled when a charming young man in a red t-shirt smiled at them. Even as I smiled at the boon of adolescence my memories drifted to a place far away.

Midst the forest of purple flowers and trees with blue leaves, situated was a fortress built of black stones. The black castle gleamed in the morning sun. The tower was so high that it skimmed the clouds, reminding me the locked towers and magic. I was trapped in the charm of the land oblivious to the rider in a black cloak on the back of a white horse. The air grew heavy resonating with the each step the man took. I turned. I looked. His face was sculpted to fault. The eyes were the color the castle. His hair was a black waterfall that glided on his sun kissed shoulders. The lush cave of his mouth above the narrow nose curved into a smile at my utter infancy. My pulses hummed as he neared me, his black cape trailing behind.

Somewhere distantly I heard someone call my name. I felt the push from behind. I got up with a quick jolt just to see my father frowning at my drooling mouth. When the battle between dream and reality continued I yearned for the will to remain in the realm of purple flowers and trees with blue leaves looking at the man donning a black cloak.            

Oh how I wish!

When can Women and children feel safe?

Minor cousins’ gang raped and hanged in Badaun district of Uttar Pradesh, six-year-old raped in Bangalore by a teacher inside the school campus, Dalit girl was gang raped and killed in a district in Tamil Nadu. These were the news that made headlines in the news papers for the past few weeks.

Contrary to the popular belief, skimpy clothes and short skirts alone don’t drive the man to perform. The survey taken up by IBNLive.com provided interesting insights. The main causes that surfaced were the delayed and denial of justice, the absence of fear of law, insecurity and the deep rooted patriarchy whereas the exposed skin and provocation took a back seat.

We live in a society where the women are still seen as objects rather than for what they are, fellow human beings. Often it is forgotten that they do have their own opinions and emotions. I do not disagree with the fact that more and more women are coming out and are assuming a more independent role and standing up for the cause. But that alone isn’t enough.

Staying inside the house for fear of perverts lurking in the roads isn’t the answer either. Wary of each man we encounter and suspecting everyone who comes into contact will not help. But that is where we are heading, aren’t we?

Maya (name changed), a software engineer in the city whose work demands leaving office after sunset said,” Most of us women work late and we are past the age where we depend on the family for pick up and drop regularly. On one such night when I was walking in the busy road on the way home, I was approached by a man with a request for time and finally my number. He might have just been another decent guy who was genuinely interested and had honest intentions but my instincts were to run and reach home as soon as possible.”

Need of the hour is not trusting your instinct and running away, but enough courage to the face it.

The anti-rape amendment law that was passed after Nirbhaya incident in New Delhi pronounces death sentence to the perpetrator if the crime results in death or vegetable state of the victim. The evil shows no sign of subsiding despite the stringent law. The conviction rate remains at a poor 24.2 percent as per the 2012 reports. (Source: Wikipedia)

Rape isn’t a woman’s mistake; it is the result of a man’s insecurity and cowardice. The way she should be looked is with respect and not pity. If she had enough nerve to live through it she is brave enough to live with it the rest of her life.  I have no good words for the poor excuse of a man who abuse children sexually, chemical castration sounds better when I juxtapose.

Laws have always looked good on the paper than put it to any good use. My friend after looking at the cascading crimes commented,” Making them blind will do more good than putting them to behind the bars and sentencing them to death.” This is something we need to think about. At least this will instill the fear of law which is virtually absent.

When I was chatting with Chandini (name changed), an Indian researcher abroad, she very clearly pointed out that education is the key. Parents should be more proactive in teaching their children about sex, rape and love in India which was almost non-existent. This is where the change should begin in her opinion.

There is no illusion that rape has been happening for a long time but it was only now that they have come into light. Thanks to latest technology young people today 'see more and hear more' whether we like it or not.

It is a sad state of affairs that even the 6 years old cannot escape from the harsh realities of life. This is an era where the babies and girls are forced to grow up and worry for their safety where 20 years back the only worry I had was what chocolates to eat and which game to play!

A Quest

I woke up in the morning to sound of spring and murmur of butterflies. It isn't just another day. It is a fresh beginning in a place so foreign, the place I chose to be a part of; the stance that would mark my career as a journalist.

Ending a career and choosing another seemed so easy until the last day, until the time I preferred not to think too much about it. Now that everything that has to be done is done all that is left is to reason it out. Confusion that is ingrained in me had its say. Confidence the alter ego is resting in peace. Courage is the one that always elude me in time of need but it is already sneaking its way in. Divine presence which everyone seeks during emergency has already been taken care off.

I have pondered over it, for the better or for worse I’m going to see it to the end. It was a choice which seemed so easy and viable from outside but definitely did not look so when I actually live through it; the decision which came off as “Chasing a Dream” to the perceptive few might not be so wrong after all; the choice might as well be the chance to make the change I had always wanted.

It is a long road I’m taking with its own twists and turns. This is a quest which I know not the end for that is too far-fetched!

In the all too familiar Road…

Dusk for me best describes the best of the night, the men and the moon. It was dusk, the time between the sunset and moon rise, when I was traveling in the all too familiar road. It was special because it would be the last day I would be taking this road. I was ecstatic because I’m moving on. If I’m nostalgic and tears are yet to dry it was for the good and the bad times, for the miserable and the delightful experiences, the lessons learned and blossomed friendships; but never for regrets.

It was an amazing period. It brought me sophistication, taught me the language of spending, gave me the taste for freedom and spoiled me for everything else. Do I regret any of those, of course not; because it taught something else too, to strive for more. I came here as an amateur and I’m leaving as a professional hungry for more. I’m not going to say thanks because one can never be thankful enough for things that were give to you without demands. I have had my moments, the best of them right here.

There were few bumps on the road frequently traveled, I got hurt and might hurt others in the process. I fell down and I got up. Life hardly goes by without any of these. There had been boredom and there was salvation, sometimes they were interchangeable. I met a lot of people, some stay close to heart and many whose memories I cherish. I’m happy I found many such people here. As I leave this place the day after, which consumed a good few years of my life, as the cliched software professional associated with the ‘Big Tag’, I’m taking with me every second, every minute and every single year I spent here as memoirs, for they are the only ones that count and because they made me who I’m today; when I was riding in the highs and lows swinging between delight and despair, making friends and unmaking them in the process I managed to find my niche.

I’m big on sentiments and have always been a great admirer of goodbyes; because goodbyes for me always whisper of new beginnings and of hope. If the grapevines of goodbyes hold any grain of truth, we will meet again, until then…

Rain that muddles

Dark has the power to lure anyone. It was the one of mystery waiting to be unraveled. May be it is because of the dreamer in me, for it demands the mind to wander like a pendulum oscillating between the past and the future oblivious to the present. It was just half past four in the evening of scorching season of the extended summer. With a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and book on the other, I was starring far ahead through the French window, for the sky had darkened, onus on the summer rain. I couldn’t help but romanticize the sound of thunder and the lightening that split the now midnight blue sky. It was a sunny afternoon that indeed turned out to be a chilly but beautiful evening. I could feel the chill and I reveled in it.

It was another time, another place I was laying on the bed of grass under the ceiling of stars. That night had been beautiful too. With a fire to warm and the man to love, no one would have asked for a better night. There was a house, built of stone and cement, with a swing in the front porch that overlooked the hills. The simplicity that was so banal was enduring to the eye. There was rain and thunder with the flash of lightening. Suddenly everything was dark again.

I was sipping the cup of coffee by the window, seeing more than what the view offered, more than the men in the raincoats and women in umbrellas saving themselves from the puddles that were formed on the muddled earth. I had to smile for it was the clear sky I could see in the place far away. The water so blue and the grass to green, the bastion in the middle that was so enchanting. No, there was no sleeping princess but hopefully a prince charming. The murky clouds dawned over the tower pouring with a roar making the picture as nebulous as the muddled earth.

There were visions that spelled mayhem for it muddled the realism from the dream. There is truth beneath the chaos as there is a mask over the dark.

Yes the rain muddles the earth indeed.

Chick Literature, a Genre in itself

Chick literature, for people who don’t know it is the kind of books which guys avoid and the ones that cater to women regardless of the age. I’m not sure if you have heard of Mills and Boon publications or Nora Roberts or Debbie Macomber, who are quite famous authors of the contemporary Romance novella. (I see you now get the point why they cater to women). It doesn't matter that my favorite authors are Gabriel Garcia Marquez and the Bronte Sister. These are the authors who are the reigning queens in the kingdom of romance.

So you wonder what is it about Chick Lit that attracts women, I wondered myself. It is set in the most idealistic situation where the male protagonist in inevitably the handsomest man on town, exuding manliness, with the bad boy reputation. Needless to say more often than not he is stinking rich and falls in love with the most unlikely candidate who is our heroine, the independent and beautiful. In short a beauty with a brain. The man rough around the edges and the fierce lioness, experience this intense physical attraction, of course they are mutual so unlike the real life. One leads to another, fall in love and they end up getting married with or without the quick tumble between sheets. And they love and live happily ever after in the world where the possibility of them breaking is next to Nil. The money is never the problem for it is a given. The guy or the girl is mostly stinking rich come on. The man who is tamed by love of the purest form becomes a dream boy to every woman; to every woman who is reading the book giving enough reason to escape to the unreal.

Well I stopped wondering why quite a while ago!

Surge of Super Heroes

There have way too many takes and movies of numerous heroes in the roles of Batman and Spider-man which failed to impress us, that failed to linger. But off late we have been witness to the latest trend of these amazing super hero movies that enthralled us all. There was a time when the super hero movie was just an action packed "good guy kills bad guy and saves the world"; but not anymore. 

The trilogy which we all enjoyed, lived with, fought over and made peace with redefined the outlook of super hero genre. Suddenly it isn't just about hero saving the world, it was also about how and what brought out his super hero instincts. It makes us believe that they were human too and they are someone who we can relate to, appreciate and respect. All thanks to Christopher Nolan being the outcast and for keeping ahead of the trend. Christian Bale mostly unknown till then added weight to the role of Batman. I cannot imagine better person for that role. I'm sure anything I say about the legendary battle of Batman and Joker of Dark Knight fame would only insult the serenity of such an equation.

Spider-man aka Peter Parker, the orphaned kid brought up by his Aunt and Uncle somehow looks different in the lens of Mark Webb. He seemed to stronger and better when it is Andrew Garfield who dons the Spider-man spandex. Yes the new avatar Spider-man and the new makeover to the less famous (in relation to movies at leas) super hero in the line of Marvel Comics. The transformed Peter Parker has stronger sense of righteousness and a childish side which is adorable. Needless to say his onscreen chemistry with Gwen Stacy is steamier and more real than the one with Mary Jane. Personally I'm happy to be rid of the latter but sorry for the loss of Gwen.

With hell lot of super heroes in line, waiting to unleash the charm and play Good Samaritan, the time has finally come for us to see them for who they are - As human as the person next to us with the will stronger than any of us to make the difference; the will that made them Super Heroes in the first place.

Of old Pickup Lines and Unsolicited Advances

Weekends, they are the expression of pure ecstasy. The anticipation of a lazy weekend catches you like bad cold. So like so many others, I started home a little early from work to begin my weekend a little earlier. As I started my 15 minute walk towards home from the station through the crowded bazaar, a guy accosted me with the ostensible request for time. I don't claim to be naive but in the hurry to reach home, I didn't bother to catch the tone and failed to recognize the pickup line. So I gave my genuine reply and that was "Sorry, I don't know since I don't have a watch." (I seriously do not wear a watch and Who in this age asks for the phone number just like that to girl and using the oldest pick up line?)

No sooner it registered that this guy was not interested in time but in me, made even more obvious by the slight brush and small talk and desperate attempt to get my mobile number, I literally ran from there in the fear that he would have enough guts to follow me home. Believe me a girl knows the difference between a genuine attraction and a lechery, it was the latter though in a milder form.

In a crowded area, at the time say around 8.30, if he can make unsolicited advances and ask for a girl's number, I can only imagine what the cousins had to go through in the village of Badaun, around the same time only there was no one around. Only then it wasn't the phone number that was asked but it was their dignity and life that were taken. Encountering the leering though not something new, that one minute, all one could think was getting away from that place as soon as possible. And like so many other women, I just would have brushed it off like I had done in the past if not for the wake of unabated rapes. Even while penning this down, I have half a mind to just forget it and move on because these are pretty "normal" occurrences a woman has to face when taking a public transport. This is exactly where we go wrong. Things as small as these tend to give birth to bigger ones that ultimately claim the life of our sisters or should I say children.

Perhaps we women need to be stronger than to just run away.

May be time has come for us to redefine what is normal and what isn’t!