Appappa

I miss you. I miss the mischievous glint in your eye. I miss the way your eyes crinkled up when you smiled that cute smile of yours . I miss your smell. I miss the loud way you would kiss me. I miss the way you call out to me as “Kunju – the little one”. I miss the little white lies you loved to tell everyone. I miss your quiet, slow ways. I miss my MTV and Betty Boop tshirts that you loved to wear.  I miss the tiny wrinkles across your face. I miss sleeping next to you. I miss the way you used to “steal” coconuts from the fridge in the night, scrape them out with your knife and eat quietly hoping you wouldnt be caught. I miss the way you used to laugh at your own jokes. I miss the way your big tummy would shake as you laughed. I miss you. Very much. And I love you though I never told you just how much.

White Paper

Newness. Craziness. Opinions. Uncharacteristically impulsive decisions. Hope. Joy. Relief.  Freedom. Short-lived. Want to dance for the joy of it. Some miniscule regrets. Greenbacks. Less of them. Wondering what that means to my life. Working from home. Grumpy. Smiles. Everyday. Love.  The Big Chill. No more “local” journeys. Delhi. New. Learning how to pronounce “Gurgaon” correctly. A heart that leaps every three minutes. Farewell Emails.  Nervousness. Nail-biting. Wondering what the future has in store. Disbelief. From others. Why. What about the 5 lakh year-end bonus. Screw the 5 lakh year-end bonus. It’s paper after all. What the fuck is competency modelling. Oh shit, I havent taken MCCD. Will I like it? Small fish, big pond. Big fish, small pond. Cliché after cliché after cliché. Big fish, Big pond. Small fish, Small pond. Blue fish in a white pond. Blue fish can’t fit in in a white pond. Blue fish leaps out. Hopefully, blue fish wont die. Grey, grey, grey hairs. Black and white minds. Frogs LEAPing from the big white pond. Look before you LEAP. Laughter. Big brown cardboard boxes. Stuffed with clothes. Endless packing. Booking flight tickets.  The big black suitcase filled to the brim yet again. Yet another journey. Into the unknown.

Why I am lucky to have The Tubby One.

Refer to the post Lucky Bitch below.

The Tubby One is the awesomest hubby ever. (Tubby Hubby …wink, wink, nudge, nudge..get it? get it???) Yeah, yeah – I’m totally great at alliterative humour.

Here are a few reasons why the Tubby Hubby (TH) zimply rocks:

1. TH is not a Tam-Brahm.

2. TH is not an IIT-ian

3. TH is not a Double-MS from the University of Philadelphia

4. TH does not work for Texas Instruments. Or Microsoft.

5. I cant make tea. Or Maggi. Or anything else even remotely edible. TH loves cooking. And TH makes awesome pasta.

6. I love olives. TH hates olives. ( cough, cough! Yeah, yeah, we all get the HIMYM reference)

7. Both TH and me are foodies.

8. I think TH is intelligent. TH thinks I am *cough, cough* intelligent.

9. I am getting a tattoo from Goa. A weird one. On my shoulder. And TH is okay with it. In fact, he helped me choose the design.

10. I cant dance for nuts. TH cant dance for nuts.

11. I get drunk easily. TH dosent get drunk very easily. (OK Guys, let’s forget the Banana Club story for now 😛 )

12. I like sleeping. TH likes putting me to sleep. (Well, hopefully not in the veterinary sense.)

13. I like shopping. TH likes shopping. (!)

14.  I love me. TH loves me.  What a coincidence.

15. I am highly materialistic. So is TH. Neither of us are in pursuit of the solution to our existential angst. We dont have the time.  We are usually busy in pursuit of Old Monk.

16. I am tone-deaf. TH is an awesome guitarist. (Ehhh?? How does that make sense?)

17. Okay – maybe this sounds better: TH belongs to Bodhi Tree. I belong to Cactus Tree. (matching matching :D)

17. TH is not a Tam-Brahm (Did I mention that before?)

18. TH’s shorts are just long enough to be comfy pyjamas for me.

19. TH thinks that we should go to the nearest zoo to catch a glimpse of a few big hairy “karikkus“. He also thinks we should go to the nearest coconut-seller and buy ourselves two “karadis“. The variety with lots of water inside.

20. TH does not make fun of my mallu accent. Not even when I say Hundaai Saandro.

*to be continued*

The Jigsaw Killer

There was once a huge jigsaw puzzle that I put together piece by piece. It took me long days and weeks to put all the pieces together. When I did, what emerged was a miracle so beautiful, so flawless, that it was almost unbelievable.  It was complete and perfect for the longest time. Until someone decided to dismantle it piece by piece. And then callously threw the entire puzzle on the floor playfully once. Some of the pieces of the puzzle got lost that day.  I didn’t realise they were lost until I started putting all the pieces back together. Again and again I tried. Looking for that complete, perfect picture that had emerged earlier.  Then I saw that the pieces didn’t fit in together any more. Because a few of them had gone missing. And without all the pieces, the jigsaw could never be complete again.

Clichés

Opaque, neverending sheets of rain. Sunny interludes in between. Damp green grass. Startlingly blue skies. Billowy white clouds. Little girls in shocking pink and gold frocks. Tall, swaying coconut trees. A playful breeze that constantly plays hide-and-seek. Bright red “chembarathi” flowers. Shiny foreheads smeared with golden sandalwood paste. Maroon dots on meticulously straight hair partings. Little men effortlessly sliding up tall, tall trees. Glossy black hair with coconut-oil shine. Long beaches with pristine white sand. Old grandmoms with huge gold hoops on their dangling ears. Meandering waterfalls gushing over round rocks. Glassy lakes with silent ripples. Mysterious, misty purple-green hills.  Colourful food on long green banana leaves. Starlit skies without a trace of cloud.  All clichés. All Kerala.

Lucky Bitch.

I think I am unimaginably lucky. I know very few people think that about themselves. But in my life, time and again, I have always, almost eerily, managed to get things that I didn’t really deserve. And it happens with an uncanny frequency. So frequently that it scares me sometimes. I stop and wonder – things cant go on like this for ever. I cant always be this lucky.

Yes – sometimes things go wrong in my life. But these seemingly “wrong” things eventually lead to things so beautiful that I feel thankful in retrospect that the “wrong” things happened when they did.

Yes, it sounds like such a cliché to say that things always happen for a reason. Because they don’t. Bad things often happen to good people. Bad things often happen without anything inherently good eventually coming out of it. But not to me.  I am the Big Guy’s (God or the Noodly one or the Non-Existent one, depending on your perspective) Blue Eyed Baby. Only awesome things happen to me.

Sepia

The past is like a photo in black-and-white. Forgiving.  Always highlighting only the subject’s best features. Cleverly toning down the flaws. Giving a dreamlike aura to the subject. Even the most ordinary things look extraordinarily breathtaking. You look at the black-and-white photo and sigh “Once, I was so beautiful”. You look back at the past longingly and think “Once, things were so beautiful”. You smile. You reminisce. You wish you could go back in time.

The present is like a face on HDTV. The good things are SO alive and complete. The bad things are magnified to ten times their actual monstrosity. And it’s usually the bad things that catch your attention.

As the present fades into the past, the HDTV image dissolves away into a soft focus black-and-white photo. All the horrors that you saw in the present are airbrushed away. You only see the sublime beauty of it all. And you long for the same past that was once the present that you hated.

And the cycle continues..

Alice in Malluland

Scene 1:

Girl (G) dressed in full-sleeved salwar-kurta complete with dupatta held together with safety-pins, walks down the street. Her body language is taut and self-conscious. She looks down as she walks, her head bent low. There is a distinct stoop to her shoulders. She is trying to be invisible.

Three young boys (B1, B2, B3) are sitting on a low wall by the side of the road. They suddenly sense female presence and turn to look at G.  G is a plain looking girl – but she is female – that is reason enough for B1 and B2 to get excited. B3 is feeling a little sheepish but joins in just to appear cool.

The following conversation happens in Malayalam. The voices are loud enough to cause visible embarrassment to G. Apologies for the literal translation into English 😀

B1: Eda, what a hot piece of cargo. (Eda, idhu enthoru charakku aanu)

B2: Look at the structure, Slap-Breaking! (Structure kandille, adipoli)

B1(singing a Tamil song tunelessly at G): Style style it is, super style it is….style seeing peacocks are dancing

(Style style than, super style thaan, style kandu mailu aadudha)

Scene 2:

Conversation in the office of an MNC in Trivandrum between a well meaning male employee (WMME) and an embarrassed female employee (EFE) from a metro.

WMME: Listen, I’ve been meaning to tell you something

EFE: Yes, tell me

WMME: You know, you shouldn’t wear such modern clothes. People will say things.

EFE (looking confusedly down at her loose cotton high-necked kurti and white churidar): Errrrmmmm… what do you mean?

WMME: You know, the guys in office keep discussing you. Why do you want to attract attention by wearing such clothes?

EFE: Such clothes? What’s the problem with what I’m wearing? I’m covered head to toe!

WMME: Yes, but you are not wearing a dupatta over your kurti.

EFE: So?

WMME: Well….that attracts unwanted attention. So, next time wear a dupatta too.

EFE: OK, whatever….

Scene 3:

EF (Employed Female) is walking back home from the bus stop 2 minutes from her house. It is 6.10 pm, just past the females-moving-around-alone deadline in Trivandrum. EF clutches her files close to her chest and walks self-consciously. A number of Vella Men (VM) are staring at her long and hard. EF obviously deserves to get stared at because she dares to roam around alone after 6. She must be one of those loose working women.

VM1 to EF (in a mocking conspiratorial tone): Where are you going all dressed up, alone, at this time of the night? (Engotta pogunnadhu rathri ketti orungi…?)

Scene 4:

Average Looking Chick (ALC) is walking down the road in the afternoon, dressed in jeans and a full-sleeved kurti. People are doing double takes as they see her walk down the road. ALC dosent know whether to feel offended or flattered. She is getting just about as much attention as Aishwarya Rai would get in Mumbai. And she dosent have the faintest clue why.

Young College Going Guy is driving (YCGG) down the road on his bike. He suddenly sees ALC – A FEMALE IN JEANS (!) and does a double take, just like everyone else on the road.

Screeeeeeeccccccchhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. (bike swerves wildly just missing the lamppost)

ALC smiles to herself.  Game, Set and Match Alice.

I love making lists!

What’s the easiest thing to do when you have writer’s block and cant think of anything earthshattering to write about? Of course, make lists. Preferably bullet point ones. And preferably lists about yourself.

Here’s a list of some of the things I wish I could do right now:

• Be unemployed
• Go to Italy and eat thin-crust pizza
• Dance without feeling self-conscious
• Be able to explain the concept of “amortisation” properly to a huge crowd of onlookers ( Will write the story behind this strange wish another day)
• Have another Eltop night full of madness, random shady jokes,  pretend sword-fights, writing rude things using Zippo fluid and setting it afire, music and the warm feeling of knowing that I’m bunking tomorrow’s 8.30 am class
• Give a “karadi” hug to the Tubby One.
• Meet up with Arathi, Akhila, Anita, Tavi and Sheefu and discuss the origin of the term “silicon valley” 😀
• Share a  “Gu” chocolate cheesecake with Appu
• Be able to book New Years’ Eve at Cavala 😦
• Sit on JLT with Devika, Sinha, Sugga, Riti, Divya, Anuradha, Bipinosky, Bharath, Anvith, Sutta and Grumpy (Aravind, Ramki and Benny – if you guys are reading this, dont feel bad – you guys NEVER sit on JLT – boring people!) with my warm plastic glass of 5-Star Bournvita, on a sunny Jamshedpur winter afternoon.
• Go to sleep late because it’s a Friday night (unfortunately it isnt! 😦 )
• Figure out the one thing that I’m good at and which I truly enjoy doing ( stop thinking shady stuff – I meant it from a career perspective!)

Writer’s Block.

The last time I really wrote was probably about 8 years ago. The words dont come as easily any more. It’ll take a while, I guess. In the meanwhile, I’d like to attribute my current state of being linguistically challenged to writer’s block. Subtly implying that I am a writer. Ha!

As a hormonal, moody, pseudo-depressed, pseudo-intellectual (not to mention, butt-ugly) teenager, I found it easy to write. My life was the stuff that miltonian tragedies were made of (or so I liked to think). I loved wallowing in self-pity. I liked feeling depressed. I thought being depressed and suicidal was romantic. I liked thinking I was searching for greater meaning in life. I felt cool being an atheist. I liked to think of myself as non-conformist. I knew the meaning (and spelling :O ) of words like “hippopotomonoistrosesqueipedeaophobia”. I read Plath, Marlowe and Neitzsche. So, all these attributes of my teen self meant that I’d never run out of topics to write about. And when all else fails, write abstract poetry. I used to randomly string together words like “shadows”, ” dark”, “meandering”, “strangulating”, “past”, “misty”, “hues”, “labyrinth”, “existence”, “life”, “death” etc., and lo and behold, my cool pseudo-intellectual, pompous piece of “literature” was ready.

It isnt so easy now. I am not suicidal any more. In fact, far from it. I am still moody. I am hardly ever depressed. I have decided that I enjoy being an anti-intellectual more than being a pseudo-intellectual. I am hopelessly materialistic and do not think there is any greater meaning in life any more. I enjoy reading Harry Potter and Terry Pratchett. I am blessed if I know the meaning of words like adoxography. These days, the most “difficult” words that are part of my vocabulary are daiquiri and kahlua. I am as conformist as they come. I have reconciled myself to the fact that I’m boring and that there are no hidden layers to my personality.Period. Now, what do I do? What do I write about?  😦