Forget Me Not and Bluebell song

 A few months ago, my dear darling music teacher from school, Ms. Nellita, made a Facebook post asking her ex-students to post names of songs that we all learnt at school. We had truly fun filled, beautiful songs taught to us, some made by our teachers - Ms. Nellita and Sir Joey themselves. I knew every song that my schoolmates posted, I sang to myself and smiled like a schoolgirl again, all those musical memories coming to me.

But one song, which many of them seemed to know, I didn't know. Someone posted a video of it that they found on youtube. It was of a mother and child singing together, just sitting comfortably and singing sweetly, no background music. It was a beautiful song with a moral, just right for little kids, just perfect for my 6 year old daughter. But for want of perfection when I taught her, I looked for another version of the song. I was expecting a professionally done video, with a background score and all, but I found nothing at all! It was unbelievable! No one else knows this beautiful song? What if this mother daughter duo in the video got some words wrong? After sulking for a while, I decided to make do with whatever material I had - lyrics, tune, a tiny 2.5 octave keyboard and my little girl who was already humming.

It didn't take her long to learn the song. But I wasn't able to play the song on keys to rhythm. it needed a background score, a karaoke. I went through my contact list and pinged all my musician friends. Not a single one of them knew the song. Asking them to make time and create a background wasn't fair. So, I taught myself to play the song. A very amateur background was created and we left it at that. Only when a school singing competition was announced did I go back searchung for the background recording I had done, so she would have SOME basic namesake karaoke to sing to. We only had 3 days time to submit a video and so I had no time to beautify my keyboard playing. 

The final product, I uploaded on YouTube. Here's the link.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=UyObuqDb0wA

 I hope someday, some musician makes a proper karaoke for this song. 

Unicorns and other lies

My lovely little kindergartener is extremely sad today. I broke the truth about the existence of unicorns to her.
She accepted the fact with great shock, disappointment and anger.

The truth about Santa and tooth fairy? Her reactions are going to be worse after 5 years.  So... that responsibility has been handed over to the husband. 😁

The day after 26/7: Part IV: Home, while I was away

The final and concluding part of the three most eventful days of my life is here. It was almost as if I did not want to recollect the traumatic incident to reproduce it here. But some very dear friends managed to coax me into completing it. For the first three parts, you can click here - Part I, Part II and Part III

28th July, 2005. 1pm.

My mom opened the door and loudly announced without a smile, "She's here." My brother came rushing to the door and gave me an angry stare and told mom, "Give a call to Kurla Police station."

I walked in wondering where all the welcome hugs and smiles went.

"Where is your phone?" Brother charged at me.
"It's here with me but it isn't working." I started clarifying.
"Get it out, give it to me, let me throw it away. If it's of no use during emergencies, then it's of no use at all!"
"Whose clothes are you wearing?" He finally asked the question I was expecting to come first.

Mom was busy at the phone, "Let me call your dad first", she told us.
"Where's dad?" I inquired cluelessly.
"He's out looking for you. Do you have any idea how the last 30 hours were for us? Do you have any idea what your dad went through?"
Huh? Dad!? And I told Lini's family my dad would be cool while my mom panicked.

Mom managed to talk to dad over the phone and informed him that I was back.
"You go and pick him up. He must be weak from all the things he saw there," she told my brother. He left from home almost instantly.

What did he see there? My mind was getting overly imaginative. I had so many questions, but no one seemed to be in a mood to be calm with me. 

But mothers cannot stay angry for long. "What happened after yesterday's early morning call?" she sat me next to herself.
"After that call got cut, I got your call again. The phone rang but the answering button wasn't working."
I then narrated my wet adventure in great detail to her.

Ours was one of the very few lucky landline phones that were working in the locality during those flooded days. The news of me missing had spread like wildfire and my mom had been answering calls of friends and relatives from all around the world. Each call must've just added to their worry.

Mum told me how worried everyone had been ever since I got out of touch on 27th morning because the last thing I told them was that I had started walking in knee deep water holding hands of strangers. She told me how restless and sleepless dad was the previous night and kept asking mom the time so that he could set out looking for me and she kept trying to keep him calm. When it was crack of dawn, he had set out to look for me.
She added, "About 20 minutes before you rang the bell, I made a pact with God." That is probably when the taxi driver decided to bring me home instead of the man who was already in it.

While we waited for my brother and dad to return, I tried to call Lini, but in vain. The phones in her area weren't functional. I went and took a much needed bath. It felt good to be home after an unexpected, long outing.

The doorbell rang. Dad was back. It was time to show him how very alive and fine I was AND time to find out what he saw there.

"First, you give a call to Kurla Police Station," he told me.
"Police Station? Why?" I was puzzled.
"Just call them, tell them your name and say that you reached just now."
I took the number from him and did as he said. It was a very short call and the person on the other side sounded glad. I went back to dad, eager to know the details. But he wanted details from me first. So, I narrated my tale first. Then he spoke.

Since he knew I was in Kurla, he went there in the morning and looked for open manholes. He did not see any. Then he spoke to the locals. They told him that everyone in the locality was helping in giving shelter to stranded people. After asking around in a few places, he went to the police station. The policemen were very kind and polite to him and he wondered why. They added my name to the list of missing persons. Then one of them asked dad to go with him.

Try visualizing this part ...

The policeman took him to a heap of dead bodies. I try not to imagine the stream of emotions that he went through while he looked at all those bodies, hoping not to spot me. New carts (those vegetable vendors' carts) were coming into the police station, each with a dead body on it. My father had to look at each of those lifeless faces. Most awful moments of his life, I know. But he had to look, just to make sure and because he was determined to find me...

And then his phone rang. The voice on the other end said, "She's back home. She's perfectly fine."

What a moment that must've been for him. He waited at the police station till my brother reached and saw everything that dad saw, but with completely different emotions because he knew I wasn't in there.

I sat beside my father, listening to the tale of death, hiding my shivers when I realized how lucky I had been to find an angel called Lini among those hundreds of stranded people to keep me safe till nature's fury died down!

We decided to pay her family a visit and we did, when things in the city had come back to normal.
We also informed our relatives and my dear friends who looked for me in buses that were shown on news channels.

God had blessed my family when so many others had lost their loved ones.
Today is the death anniversary of hundreds of fellow Mumbaiites. May their souls rest in peace.

 

 

My daughter's ears

Everyone seems to be wanting to take ownership of my daughter's ears.

I've been staying at my hometown with my parents for a few months along with my daughter. I go out with her twice a day on an average - once to school and once to the children's park where she meets many kids of all ages during her circus like activities and I meet many parents. We both have a good time. When we meet parents for the first time, we hear,

"Hi baby! What's your name?"
"How old is she? Is she going to playschool?"

That's the information they'd like to get.
Sweet, comforting and friendly conversation. In fact, it's during these conversations that I made the wonderful decision of enrolling her in a nursery for the few months that I was there. She loved it, had a lovely time and became more social and interactive because of school.

Then I went to my native place and stayed with my in laws for a while. We visited friends and relatives. During my entire stay, we (my daughter and I) only heard unwelcome complaints,

"Oh! She's so thin! She should be just a little more plump."      WHY? EYE CANDY?
"You haven't cut her hair?"      DO YOU WANT TO SELL IT?
Me : "Oh yes I did, many times"
"Oh (scrutiny continues) maybe you should cut a little more here and here"
My mind yelled : Why don't you just go and style your own kids' hair? 

AND the most common, "No earrings? You haven't got her ears pierced?"
Me : No.
They : WHHHYYYYY!!!????
The way they asked 'why', it sounded like I was being questioned for not keeping my child clothed!

I wanted to tell them, "My wish! I am the boss here and I will do it when I feel like it. Why are YOU in such a hurry?" but instead I just shrugged and said, "Later"

Some people keep telling me every time they see me that babies don't feel the pain of piercing.
What a dumb myth! Babies are crying anyway. Another bout of tears makes no difference to people around. Piercing at a time when a kid remembers nothing that happened to them an hour ago, is done just so that they don't tend to fidget with their ears.

I want my daughter to remember this ritual, the pain and the joy that follows in spite of the pain. This is my decision for my daughter and I wish people would stop interfering.

Kindergarten girlfriends

I was friendly with my cousins during my school days. We got together during vacations and played kiddie games. Then they grew up. So, we stopped mingling much because only they grew up. Soon they were talking about state politics and cracking jokes that I did not understand. I wanted to talk about cats and I wanted to play. It was as if my cousin sisters and brothers were suddenly my aunts and uncles! So, we kinda drifted apart.

Then facebook came. I had a good number of friends - mostly new friends that I had made after school. I did not want to get in touch with my school friends because I assumed they too must've grown up like my cousins.

Then whatsapp came and the chit chat began. An old friend told me there was a school group and that she'd get me added to it if I wanted to. Just because I'd sound rude if I said 'no', I consented. I got into the group and saw all those girls there whose friend requests on facebook, I had left pending. They were talking about old incidents, teachers, students... there was so much nostalgia, my fondest memories of my wonderful school life came flooding back.

NO ONE in that group had grown up. Maybe students of the same school grow in a similar way! We were birds of a feather and flocking together and that was giving me so much joy.

Memories from eleven years of school life, Sr. KG to 10th, came rushing back into my head and I'm going to get it all out into this blog.

But because of my OCD, I want to follow chronology and will first narrate a tiny incident that happened in my nursery school. I was four.

My nursery school, 'Babyland', was in my colony itself. The girls' uniform was a yellow frock with a brown collar and belt and brown pipings. Our teachers were Poppy and Sheela. We called them Poppy teacher and Sheela teacher.

One day, we were being taught how to write numbers and I apparently did something really funny in my book. Sheela teacher started laughing. I did not like her response and gave her an angry stare! That made her laugh more and that in turn made me angrier! I rolled my eyes at her and said very sternly, "I'll kill you!"

WHOOOAAAAA!!! 

Her guffaws only got louder. She went in and called Poppy teacher, "Come here, see what Shruti has to say!" Poppy teacher came to me and said "What did you say?"

My innocent anger repeated in the same stern voice, "I'll kill you!!"
At age four, I couldn't understand what was so funny about getting killed! I don't remember what happened after that. Maybe they told my mother that I threatened them and maybe my mom threatened me never to threaten anyone, but all that just faded away :)

A marriage that totally pissed me off!

I heard about someone's wedding today and was shocked as hell. I almost puked. The guy was marrying his sister!!! Well, almost sister, someone he saw as his sister for 20 years, ever since he was 4 years old.  He was marrying his maternal uncle's daughter!
Bleddy sister-f*er! (read saala BC!!)

How the hell did this happen? No, they weren't in love. Their houses were close to each other, so the families were close; and while they were looking for a bride for the guy, the girl in our story was preparing to stand as his sister for his wedding since the guy had no 'real' sisters. The parents searched for a girl for years, but in vain. And THEN came the suggestions of the education deprived, illiterate old women in the family. Why not get this girl married to the guy? What's the big deal? Our grandfathers were sister f*ers, why not make our grandson one too? Haha effing BC son of ours!

Grand-illiterate-ma managed to brainwash the minds of 4 foolish parents and out they set with 2 horoscopes in hand, to an astrologer!!
Horoscopes match!! Yayyee!
12 boxes pedhas please! Make that 13. Let the soon to be wed brother-sister feed each other one box. It might make them fall in lurrrve!

And then began the long and difficult process of making the children say yes. He's not your brother anymore he's the man you have to make babies with.

And the couple I'm talking about finally agreed and got married.

Eeeks! I shudder wondering what their first night was like..

Aji sunte ho, bhaiyya... oops!

Life as the home minister! :)

Happy birthday to me! ;)

I have successfully completed one month at a new home, a home away from homeland, and the place sure is cosy! ^_^

I'm having a fun time here, living the kind of life I've been dreaming of ever since I got engaged! It feels absolutely wonderful living as a small family - the husband, the kid and me - away from elders, away from supervision, interrogation and comments. I don't have to please people or smile when I don't feel like it or follow time tables. It feels great to be finally out of the microscope slide. Aah!

Every married couple must live like this, independently. I wasn't really scared before coming here, but since cooking was not a part of my daily activity, I was not very sure how well I'd manage. I had to come anyway because - one - the daddy was missing out on a lot of bringing-up-the-baby fun and two - I was missing out on bringing-up-the-baby-with-her-daddy-around fun! But now, after one month of feeding my husband, my baby and myself, my confidence has increased and now I know I can manage a home :-) Oh it does feel SO SO awesome!! :-)

When you're living like this, you can sing aloud whenever you want, you can have lunch at 3pm, you don't have to panic if you forget your pajamas when you go for a bath, never worry what someone might think if you do what you really want to do right NOW... like writing this post while the baby is next to me trying to murder the vacuum cleaner.

I think it's high time now that the elders accept the fact that two mature individuals are running a home with a baby and it's something that is not happening for the first time in the history of the earth.

I can feel the true joy of feeding my little family, the true joy of looking after my baby <3 p="">THIS is the kind of life everyone must live! It makes us independent, responsible and confident (AND very patient too)! Oh the joys of such life! Touchwood!

Burp! Overate chocolate cake for birthday, See ya'll!! Lots of baby posts coming soon!

Happy New Year 2014 !!!

Yay! 2014 is here! :-)

2013 was by far the most eventful year of my life. After all, isn't going from being single to married, the biggest event in anyone's life? Hey! Don't say I did not tell you. Did I not tell you at the end of this post that I was caught up with life transforming procedures? And I also told you at the end of this post that I decided that a good looking, scarred statue was not enough to keep me company all through life.
Yeah! Slippery me! Heh! :D

Marriage is a concept that I ran away from, for uncountable years. I've had innumerable arguments with elders about how it is not necessary to get married and how they must stop forcing a mentally unprepared me to get bound in an irreversible situation. All this, in spite of knowing at the back of my mind that someday it was bound to happen. And it did happen almost a year ago. So that's what makes 2013 the most eventful year of my life so far. :D

I think I've been deprived of exciting events in my life for a long time, so I don't want to stop here. Maybe I'm greedy for adventure but I forgive myself for that harmless greed and I hope hard that more awesome events come my way.

And I wish all of you a very Happy New Year 2014 and pray that the year brings you lots of joy and fulfilment.

Teacher haters - the most unfortunate people

"All teachers are like that. They're all a wasted, pain in the neck."

Ever heard someone say that? I have. And it totally pissed me off. I have my reasons.

The above quoted words of dislike are clearly spoken by someone who has never had a good teacher during their school and college days. It is indeed a very sad story for them because half of our childhood is spent in schools and if we don't like the big, grown men and women who walk in and out of our classrooms trying to make us believe things we've never heard of, then half our chilhood is spent in boredom and spite.

 I, especially, pity such people genuinely because I come from a school that had young and energetic teachers who were smart, skillful, efficient, interactive, empathetic and understanding. During junior college, I had a panel of teachers who made us go through five-hour lectures without making us feel the pressure. Their lectures were that enjoyably enlightening. It is highly improbable that I am one of very few people who have been lucky to have a fun journey with teachers. I am sure there are a whole lot of them out there.

Ahem! Now for some trumpet blowing...
To add to my beautiful student-teacher happy journey story, I confidently add myself to the list of teachers who has made a lot of students happy. It is not what I think of myself but what my students conveyed to me anonymously during the faculty-feedback procedure that happens in college every year. Being rated 'outstanding' for three consecutive years, I believe, is not a coincidence.

These observations bring me to the conclusion that this person who badmouths all teachers of the world must be someone with an abnormally low attention span, hence not being able to catch up with the other kids of the class and getting severely reprimanded by the teachers, or was extremely unlucky to unfailingly, always get a bad teacher to teach him.

I thought writing this post would calm me down. Guess it'll take a while.

The day after 26/7: Part III: My struggle to reach home

It's been ages since I wrote the first two parts of the story of my date with death in the dirty waters when Mumbai overflowed. For those who haven't read, and others who want to take a quick look through it, here are the links: Part I and Part II

According to Lini's instructions, I took off my mobile phone's battery cover and battery and allowed the insides to dry. In the meantime, I went to take a bath. Lini gave me clothes to wear. Getting into dry clothes after so long was a relief. Since there was no electricity, the water pump wasn't functioning, and the residents had to carry water from the tank to their respective houses. But for now, there was enough water in the house. After Lini also got fresh, we had breakfast. I was eating after 19 hours and acidity had begun to act on me. A skipped meal usually gives me a killer headache which responds to no medicine whatsoever, and goes away only after I throw up. Now, a headache had begun, and I sure did not want to create a scene. Lini's aunt gave me a Crocin and I prayed that I'd be silently cured. Lini and I then went to bed, tired and famished, for a much needed sleep. I was woken up at 3pm by excited voices of men talking.

The relatives had returned. Thank God! They were alive after all. Unlike Lini's aunt assumed, the men had NOT stayed back at office. They were stuck on some flyover. Good place to get stuck in the rains. At least it doesn't get flooded over there. I realized later that my headache had gone and I had not thrown up. And I hadn't even caught a cold after so many wet hours! Miracles!

The day went by slowly, while I kept thinking about mom. How worried my mom must be! As if reading my mind, Lini's aunt came to me and said, "Your parents must be worried, no?"
I looked down and nodded. "Dad will be cool. It's mom that I'm worried about. She gets tensed very fast", I said and wondered how much my brother must be contributing to the emotions at home.

Night fell, finally. I really wanted the next 12 hours to go by in 12 minutes. It was surprising that in spite of all the apprehension, I slept like a baby.

Day 3: 28/7: The struggle to reach home

I woke up only when Lini shook me. The first thing that came to my mind was that I could only think of going home to my worried family if the roads were clear. I rushed to the window and stared with wide eyes at what I saw.

There was no water, there was no rain either. Yippie! I could now go home!!

Lini and I had our breakfast; I thanked and bid farewell to her family and then the two of us set out to find out whether taxis and auto rickshaws had started commuting. Also, since my phone wasn't working and everyone else's phone batteries had been discharged and landlines dead, we also went searching for open public telephone booths so that I could call home and tell my parents that I was alive.
We learnt that people, like us, were only beginning to explore waterless lands in awe. But there was not a single public telephone booth. So, we went to Lini's friend's house to see if we could get help there to make a call. No luck!
Next, we went to look for transport. Something had to take me home. If I could walk, I would. But it was too far and I did not know the way.

We saw a few auto rickshaws and asked each driver if he could take me home. When they heard where I wanted to go, they said, "You better wait before you go there. Too many landslides in that area. The roads are blocked and it's not safe. I asked them to take a different route but all of them kept refusing. Couldn't blame them. They loved their lives too!

Just before we lost hope, we spotted a halted taxi. Even though there was already a passenger in it, we asked the driver if he could take me home. He first hesitated and said that he already had a customer - a man. But after a few seconds of God-knows-what-went-through-his-head, he told the passenger, "Your location is nearby. Let me take this madam to her place. Please allow her." And the passenger willingly stepped out!

HUH? Doesn't this guy want to go home? Do I still have "HELP!!!" stuck on my forehead?

I was happy and wary at the same time. Why would this driver suddenly bend the first-come-first-served rule and offer to help me instead? It was no time for suspicion, but it is always safe to be sure. So, I took out a pen and paper and in a tone that was audible to the driver, I told Lini, "Here is the taxi's registration number." I copied it from the number plate and gave it to her saying aloud, "I'll call you when I reach home. If I don't call you even after one hour from now, you know what to do. You have the taxi number." I winked at her and I know she understood. (Her landline was dead but the driver didn’t know that.)

And there began my journey home. It took 20 minutes of driving through clear roads with hardly any vehicles commuting, to reach home. I thanked the driver and paid him more than the meter fare. I was full of apprehension while I climbed the stairs to my house. I could imagine the hugs and words of relief that would be showered on me by my family.

I was at my doorstep. I sighed home sweet home and rang the bell. Aha! The bell rang, there was electricity at my place!

My mom opened the door and loudly announced without a smile, "She's here." My brother came rushing to the door and gave me an angry stare and told mom, "Give a call to Kurla Police station."

...to be continued...

*** For Part IV, click here ***

Guitar string's weak point discovered!!

I discovered a phenomenon on my guitar today. I have sore fingertips while typing this out because of the sudden excessive time I spent experimenting on it after a long hiatus.

My findings are such. We all know that unless the string is pushed down to touch one fret, the sound made is not clear. The sound kind of loses itself into the solid body of the guitar and into our fingers. When we touch a string slightly and strum, there is again a lost note, a non-sustained sound.

What I discovered today is that, for each string, along its length, there is ONE point where the light placement of our finger produces a soft, sustained note (even though we aren't pressing); as if we were gently strumming while pressing the string down on one fret. Also, the pitch of the sound we hear at that point is very nearly the same pitch that we would hear when we press the string down to the fret exactly below the point where our finger is (and NOT the pitch that we hear if we strum when the finger is not on the string). Oh it's so amazing!

The phenomenon occurs only at one point along the length of each string. I don't know if anyone has noticed this before!!

'Foreign Body' by Robin Cook

I finished reading the book.

Being a Mumbaiyya, I have got used to seeing filth all around the city. There'd be vegetable remains acting as  slimy carpet in the crowded marketplace, human excreta and plastic bags full of waste thrown across railway tracks; all this was regular sight in my daily life. It's normal for a Mumbaiite.

But such a sight, I have understood from the words used in the book, must've been a sore to Robin Cook's eyes when he came to do his little tour of India while writing his book 'Foreign Body'. He has described the overcrowded buses and people traveling on the roofs, dirty, barefoot children running around on filth and begging in front of five-star hotels. He has also described the stink and dirt in the holy city of Varanasi.

Such a shame! He has tried to be as nice and respectful as possible during these descriptions. If it were me, I'd add a line that said, "How in the name of God did people manage to live in so much stink and muck!?"

Another book's on it's way!

Hangover Part III. And a book.

The Hangover Part III releases today and I have prepared myself for it by watching the other two parts in the last two days. I have hence watched two of the craziest nights that a trio could possibly have! When the ending is happy, we mostly tend to want ourselves to go through such incidents. But the adventures I have seen in these movies? Oh! I'd never EVER want to be a part of that!

To add sanity to my day, I am back to reading. It's been a while since I got my hands on a novel. My genre has not changed. I still stick to fiction. Ever since I read 'Coma' by Robin Cook, I've been wanting to read all other his medical mysteries too. The reading flow has begun. I have started with reading Robin Cook's 'Foreign Body'. Unlike before when I barely notied, I have now started appreciating the research that the author has put in, to write this book. A large part of the story is based in India and to explain the culture, practices and geography here, is surely not a piece of cake for someone who has spent all his life in various parts the United States of America.

In case anyone's wondering, I quit my brain-gnawing, nerve-racking job a while ago and I feel like a normal human being again, not having to smile at faces of men that add terror to my day or women who love to act that they wish me well. I feel safe and secure out of that place.

Cats and Dobes

I became an animal lover when I was in the 7th standard. It was almost sudden.

A cat walked into my house and got instantly adopted. It walked in with not just lady luck but also with loads of confidence. So it not only got adopted but also instantly inherited the throne and became the head of the family. Isn't that what happens when you become the centre of attention of the head of the family? He was our first pet and mom named him the most obvious name - Puss.

Luckily for Puss, I was the only one in the family who was scared of cats. So he stayed. But my fright was mere lack of experience. I too relished the fantasy of cuddling a soft ball of fur that had life!

Only a week had to pass before I had myself gleefully running around the house with Puss around my neck.

In case you're wondering, yes, Puss DID get into dad's boots!

After Puss got stolen after a year and a half (that's the reason for his disappearance that we'd like to believe), we were cat-less till dad surprised the rest of us one day with a quarter sized white kitten. I thought it was a male that got fatter by the day, till one day she gave birth. Only then did I realize that it wasn't obesity. Just pregnancy. That was the first time. And then, several deliveries later, my house had almost a cricket team of cats.

Aah! It was a cute, furry world with cats of 3 generations running in and around the house. While mommy cat licked herself clean in her bed, her older kids would be out in the balcony sunbathing after a heavy lunch and her younger children and grandchildren would be busy finding their way up to my thighs while I struggled to complete my drawing sheet. True story this! Cute story. I have lots of permanent cat-scratch and bite marks. But, who's complaining?

No more cats now at home (reason at the end of the post).
What my family now has is a black Doberman. A she-doberman (doberwoman would be easier to say).
Maggi is not the perfect replacement for all those cats, in the physical sense. I can't pick her up and put her at the back of my neck. I might crack my spine. I can't have the fun of feeling a prickly tongue cleaning the curd off my palms. Mag's lick is smooth, silent. And she doesn't fit in my lap.

Maggi loves to be petted, just like my cats did. She is a great mood enhancer too. Isn't that what we all need our pets for? Oh, we youngest-in-the-house people have another reason too. When we get scolded by all the elders, we can scold the pet.

Now here are the other differences between Mag and my cats. Mag treats us like Gods. I'd like her to be more respectful about herself but she just acts like... like a dog!

And the other difference? Mag won't elope.

Julie and Julia - yet another prospective inspiration

Watched this movie called "Julie and Julia" starring Meryl Streep and Amy Adams. It is based on the lives of two people- Julie and Julia. They never met. They lived in almost separate eras.

Julie wasn't too fond of her job; and just so she could do something that she liked to, she decided to cook. To motivate herself, she created a blog and published about giving herself a deadline of 365 days to complete all 524 recipes in Julia's book. Julie posted about her daily cooking fun and fiasco. The movie shows how she started getting readers slowly and then started getting comments till the point where she got interviewed and published in the newspaper. Julie then went on to publishing a book on cooking.

It's not the cooking in the movie that caught my interest, with less than a minute of camera time for every recipe shown to us, after all, its part of a published book; what caught my interest was the blogging part of it. And now I am inspired to set a deadline for myself and get into serious, fun regular blogging. The difference being that Julie used her blog to keep up her deadline for completing the 524 recipes and I am using one blog post to make myself blog. Ha!

I miss being the spontaneous writer I used to be. I won't force myself into the blog marathon's a-post-a-day rule because overdoing that for two consecutive months in 2009 is what killed my spirit and passion for writing. Till before that, blogging was fun. Then, it became like a job. It was a challenge and I didn't want to lose and look like a fool. I want fun again. I am going to set a very easy target for myself so that I don't end up getting pressurized by my own blog. 2 posts in two weeks, it's going to be. That way, I won't have to take obvious efforts to make time to write a post during a possible family vacation.

The rule is that I can make 3 posts in two weeks but that doesn't let me write only 1 post in the next two weeks. So, it's more like- "At least 2 posts in 2 weeks"
Yay! Deadline! Been a while since I knew the terror of having one.

Pre-marriage confusions

I was going through the list of my blog posts. It wasn't nice to see that I had more drafts than published posts. I have always been a victim to abruptly ending thoughts. I start writing when there is a gush of thoughts and then I get easily distracted. "Save Now" And forget. That's what kept happening.

Aah anyway. I found a gem that I had written in 2011. Pasting it with no modifications at all. Here goes--
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Saturday, October 1, 2011

I want to marry a tall, dark and handsome baldie with a scar. That would make a rugged sight for the rest of my life. I wouldn't get bored watching...

On second thoughts I'd have a tall, dark, handsome bald, scarred statue, keep it in my bedroom and marry a guy who earns well. That would give me eye candy as well as a good life.

Ack! That isn't a good idea either. I know what I must do. I'll keep the statue. The earning is something I can do myself. I'll just marry a musician. Now THAT would provide me some lifelong entertainment.

Eh? Entertainment? Okay, correction! I don't want to marry a television. I'll earn and keep the statue. I have a good musical quotient too! I can learn whatever I want to and make my own music. I'll just marry a.. what do I need to marry for?
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Heh! As stated here, I have undergone life transforming procedures and most of you probably know what it is. And for those who don't know, well, I decided that the statue wasn't enough ;)

"We help you die slowly"

I found this promotion post on facebook today. It was a post by 'PHD-Party Hard Drivers'

and it said-

 "You drink. We drive. And you get Rs.100/- off and a free pint from Doolally! Sounds like a good deal! :-D"

It wasn't very surprising for me to see that people 'liked' the post and gave good, happy comments. Everyone is advised to never drink and drive. No one ever put up hoardings asking people not to drink. I think they know there isn't any point in doing so.


"You drink. We drive" is euphemism for "We'll help you have a slow death."
Organ damage and organ failure is waayyy slower than an accidental death after all.

The day after 26/7: Part II: Homeward journey continues

Continued from the previous post... (I really did not mean to delay this post so much. I was just too occupied with other things.)


To go or not to go was the question. I had no time to stand and analyse. I wanted to reach home fast. Very fast. But my common sense knocked hard at me, or so I'd like to believe, and told me to believe in the majority of people who were coming back from the deep water warning us not to go any further. BUT I was being ruled majorly by my fear of the dark. Water or no water, I was sure as hell not walking into pitch darkness. Nah! I told them I'm not going any further, did not wait to see their reaction and like a few people around, got into the first bus in the line. It was a double decker and there was no place to sit. I saw there were some seats where a third person managed to squeeze in. I did the same. I saw a seat with two females, asked them to shift just a bit and tried to fit in there.

There was knee deep water all around and I was glad to be out of it for a while. Called mom and told her the situation. She agreed with my decision of spending the night in the bus. I was quite comfortable in my seat after a while of shifting and adjusting. The rain did not stop. The lights in the bus were on- by public demand. Every time the bus driver put the lights off, there'd be a loud 'AAAEEYYYYY!!' and the lights would be on again!

At around midnight, I noticed a Maruti 800 parked just outside the bus. The water had reached about 2 inches below the window of the car. That was my reference level for the night, to check how much the water level would change. I kept dozing off through the night. Mom called many times to make sure I was safe. I often checked the car window. Not an inch difference in the water level all through the night.

Day 2: The day after 26/7

It was 5:30 am when it was bright enough for anyone interested to start walking or swimming. I was wide awake listening to people's discussions about what they were planning to do. Many of them formed small groups and left the bus. Someone tapped on my shoulder. I turned around to see a girl who seemed to be my age.

"Where do you have to go?" she asked me.

"To the suburban side."

"Are you coming with us? My friend and I are going to start walking. We stay in Kurla. You can go ahead after that."

"Walking? In so much water? No, I rather wait in this bus for the water to recede. You carry on. Thanks! *smile* "

*no smile* My my! The girl was serious! "How long are you going to wait? You think this water is going to vanish? It’s going to take very long. I'm telling you. Join us."

She sounded convincing, but I wondered why everyone wanted me to go with them. Did I have a 'HELP ME!!!' written all over me or something? I called mom and we decided that I should go with her. Well, mom knows best!

I was sort of dry by then and shuddered at the thought of walking in water again. We stepped out. The water was sooo cold at that time of the morning. But we didn't step back. And there, once again, started my journey back home. We were about 6 or 7 people in the group. We held hands so that no one would fall and die... unnoticed! On our way, we met a man in his fifties and asked him the way. He was a local and had come to help people find their way.

"There is a short cut from here. Follow me."

"Uncle, is the water level high where we're going?"

"No, no, there's no water anywhere ahead," he assured us.

Yay!! We smiled at each other happily and followed him in knee deep water. It was still raining, but thankfully, not too heavily. After a while of walking in knee deep water (I can't really estimate right now for exactly how long I walked), we reached an area where the roads were just wet - not even any flowing water there. How very happy we were! After all, local uncleji was right!

Further ahead we walked, water rose, and this time we were in waist deep water. Felt so icky and funny walking in that!

Such a wavy road it must have been.

Knee deep - no water - waist deep - no water - chest deep - no water - neck deep - no water - knee deep again... and then... we saw a crowd of people ahead of us. And there was a lot of shouting and screaming too. Something was surely wrong there. We went ahead. (This time, only 3 of us from the group were left - the girl who called me (Lini), her friend and I. The others had gone their respective ways) As we neared the crowd, the men turned back to look at us.

"Females can go back. You cannot go any further. Go back."

!!! Go Back?? Ridiculous!! That's what I feel now. Back then my thoughts were: I have to go back. Must look for another way to go. Or will have to wait here till the water is all gone. I was so scared and sad at that time. I was so emotionally weak.
My brave companion came ahead. "Why can't we go?"

"You are short. There is 6 feet water here."

Even if I want to go, I cannot. 6 feet!!! Good lord!

"The men here aren't that tall either," she told me. "Let's go."

The men who were discouraging us were suddenly supportive and helpful. There were many locals out there who had come just to help people reach their homes safely.

With every step I took, I could feel myself getting submerged a little more. Soon, the water was touching my chin. We were on the tips of our toes trying hard to keep our noses above water. I was actually concentrating more on keeping my mouth above all that dirty water!

"Madam, chhaata bandh karo na!" (Close your umbrella)

Isshh! That's when I realised that I had my umbrella open all the while. As always, I did the best I could, to not catch a cold!

"Oh Jesus, oh Lord Jesus..." Lini kept chanting.

We were so worried, almost in tears when the water was just below the mouth. That's when someone yelled, "Hold the ropes" and then told us, "Here, here, hold this."

I held on to the thick, horizontal rope and as instructed, kept moving my legs in the water when I could feel my legs getting automatically lifted. We were made to hold bamboos too. I couldn't feel the ground for a few minutes there. It felt good... as if it was a swimming crash course. I didn't know how to swim, but still I managed to stay afloat. It felt great!

Soon, I felt my toes touching the ground and then I was walking on earth again and the water level kept decreasing. I was alive :) They had asked the females not to go further, and we had managed to cross that barrier. That was one part I really loved. Before going any further, I turned around to see where the bamboos and ropes suddenly appeared from.

Aah! That was a good arrangement they have there. Bamboos were fixed to the ground at about 20 feet from each other and ropes- very thick ropes- had been tied to them forming a link. There were people holding the bamboos to keep it in place. They even held some bamboo sticks horizontally. The purpose? To help people less than 6ft of height keep their heads above water!

"Come on. We're reaching. My house is just around the corner." Lini had already convinced me that trying to go home would be very dangerous for me and that I should stay at her place till things were manageable. I turned and we started going ahead. After a few minutes, we reached the last dangerous spot of our journey, where we all had to walk in a curve, follow the person just in front of us and not step to the sides. There were invisible boundary lines. Anyone who stepped to the sides were slipping and falling. Of course, the locals were there too, positioned and ready to help people out of any danger. Last barrier crossed successfully :)

We were again on a road with only ankle-deep water and reached Lini's building's gate. The compound was at a lower level than the road. So, through knee deep water we waded into her building. Inside, we saw the wet building walls and realised that the ground floor was totally submerged on the previous day. Lini stayed on the first floor.

She pressed the doorbell. Silence. No electricity. Knock knock! A smiling lady (Lini's young aunt) opened the door.

"Aah... you're the first one to come back. No one has reached yet."

"No one's back? Where are they?"

"They stayed back in office itself."

"Oh! They told you that?"

"No. I'm just assuming."

Assuming??? Good lord! Bring them back home, whoever they are!

After a few minutes of introduction and explanations for why the hall was full of things from the ground floor house (it was because the ground floor was submerged), I fished out my phone from my wet bag. Blank screen. Click click cluck cluck.. Not working. The last I spoke to mom was at around 5:35 am. Lini's phone? Blank. Landline? Dead.

Mom is a bag of worries. I just HAVE to let her know I'm safe. Have to find out if dad and brother reached. Hope that Lini's relatives will reach. Alive.

...to be continued... 

The next post is going to be really delayed because I'm caught up with life transforming procedures!)

*** For Part III, click here ***

The day after 26/7 : Part I

Coming up is a long narration - an account of the 26/7 floods in Mumbai, that almost killed me. I don't want to cut it short and miss details, so, I wrote it in parts. Each part is NOT one day.

Day 1: 26/7

It was around 4 pm and I was on my way back home from college. College is almost 50 kms away from home (rail route). It had been pouring since morning. I normally travel by train, but since it was flooded at most areas, the tracks were under water, and trains had stopped running. So, I had to take a bus home. Slowly and not so steadily, after reaching less than halfway, the bus stopped behind an uncountable number of other vehicles. Nothing was moving beyond this area. I was in Kurla, one of the most low lying regions in Mumbai. Guess the time. 9:30pm! Yeah, that's how much time it took for the bus to travel a distance it would normally cover in less than an hour.

As we all sat there wondering when the bus would move and praying hard that things would be normal soon, a well dressed, sensible looking young man climbed into the bus from the front door and made an announcement.

"Buses are not going to move till 12 noon tomorrow. The roads ahead are flooded, so vehicles will not move and trying to walk is very foolish and dangerous. So right now, you are in the safest place. Those of you who don't have place to sit, you can try the buses ahead of this one. There are seats vacant in there. Try calling up your people at home and tell them the situation. But remember, right now you are in the safest place possible."

He stepped out and walked to the bus behind. That was nice of him. But what I heard was not nice at all. 12 noon tomorrow??!! I was hoping to reach home by 10 pm. Today!

Dolphin (MTNL) network was still good while Hutch, Airtel and others did not work. I was a Dolphin user. So, for the next couple of hours, there were lots of people in the bus trying to call up at their homes from my cell. Some of them succeeded. I spoke to mom. She was at home. Our landline phone was one of the very few phones that worked in our area. Magic or God's grace - whatever you like to believe. Dad was on his way back home from work and my brother was walking back home in knee deep water with his college friends. A few people in the bus started getting off saying there were many more people walking and crossing the Kurla bridge. They called me too to join them. Now these 'people' were younger that the young announcer, not well dressed and not a bit sensible looking. But still, I saw a ray of hope. Reaching home was the only thing on my mind.
Once I cross Kurla bridge, I'll get a bus home. That would be fast.

So, I got down and followed these people. Bad crowd. Scary actually, thinking of it now. Walking, we reached the bus that was first in line. No vehicles ahead of it. Only darkness and lots of water. And oh yes, there were people, walking towards us as if they just came out of the water. All they had to say was - "Don't try to go ahead, water current is strong. Anyone could be pulled in. That's why we're coming back."

I wouldn't dare! I can't even swim :-(

"Come with us, we can try. All you need is to cross the bridge. Come with us."

Why do these people always have things to do, which everyone else is advising them not to? And why do they keep calling me with them? And why did I listen to them the first time? What should I do? Maybe they have good intentions? To go or not go to - was the question.

...to be continued...

 *** For Part II, click here ***

Happy Birthday Reena Ma'am :')

It was 15 years since I had hidden my passion in the interiors of my hesitant vocal cords. It often tried to push its suffocated self out of me when I was alone; but I only allowed it to come out as a hum. I accepted the long arrest of my passion and took it for dead.

Till one day the push was so hard that I headed straight to this place that taught music. There I met the friendliest face I had seen in a very long time. She wanted to hear the range of my voice and asked me to sing the classical notes. Under normal circumstances, I would shy away. But my arrested passion threatened aloud from within me to commit suicide and so I sang. The friendly, fresh faced lady sitting across me said she'd take my first class on that day itself and we began. I sat facing her.

Reena Ma'am. My first music teacher. The person who was going to make me sing again. The person who had made it her responsibility to free my singing voice from its lifetime imprisonment.

She encouraged me by appreciating when I was doing well and corrected me whenever I was wrong. She never rebuked or criticised. Her way of teaching was different. She taught me the way my mother used to teach me when I was in school. While her fingers ran across the harmonium, she sang along and soon, that hidden part of me had happily come out to hug the person who had lured it out ;)

To her kid students, she is a sweet mother, to the bigger ones, she's a friend. With the 1000 Watt smile that flashes a perfect set of pearly whites and a laughter that can make a crying baby smile, she is the bright sun of my music class. She is someone I'd always want to be in touch with, whichever part of the world life's journey takes me.

Today is her birthday. I wish this carefully and beautifully made creation of God, a wonderful day and a year full of joy, peace, good health, music and love, in and around her. I wish her innumerable happy moments. After all, achhe logon ke saath hamesha achha hota hai <3

Love you ma'am! You're such a sweetheart!! ^_^