Madhumitha's Blog

My dear independent Indian woman

2016-01-05T19:50:00.000+05:30

I am privileged to have met, befriended, and worked with some of the most kickass women in India. These women stand up as idols just by virtue of their strength and personality. I am not talking about women CEOs, astronauts or leaders. They are great no doubt. I am talking about your average Joe's. Women who have their shit together and do it all with grace.

I often wonder when I look up to these women, if I can ever be that person - They do it all so flawlessly. It must have taken so much grit, practice and time to be where they are.

So where are they? Are they happy where they are? I cannot imagine how they have a successful career, marriage, kids, extended family, personal interests and a life. Is it possible or is it just an unicorn?

Fortunately or unfortunately, when you grow up in India, you develop certain notions. A certain understanding of a gender specific role. There is a seismic shift in the role of a woman in today's world. A lot more things on her plate and a lot less sharing with her male counterpart.

In essence all I see in overworked women who are so grounded in India values but have eyes on global ambition. This is not wrong, if that is what makes you happy. Then again, here is my question - is the new definition of a modern Indian woman making her happier?

I generally feel stuck between what I want to do and what is expected of me. No prizes for guessing which way I tilt. I see the same happening with all my lovely women.

There is an age to study, an age to work, an age to marry and an age to give birth. Miss any one deadline, your life will get analysed by every psycho on this planet. Is that fair? Is there only one way to live? Should the formula just not be "Do what you want, as long as you are true." It would be a lot easier.

I see all these successful women who carry a mountain of serious issues. Most of them with no time or space to realise and resolve it.

I know I might be generalising here. I know that someone out there is happy with the way things are, cheers to you. But in my view, solution to a wall in not another one with a bigger diameter.

All that I want to say in my round-about rant is, do not typecast yourself. You can be really afraid and brave at the same time. You can be independent and sharing love/space. Don't waste your precious time on definitions and perspectives. Do not live up to the independent modern woman label. As it is just another stereotype. You are beyond that. You deserve more than that. Just be you! The perfect, true YOU!

Do you have darkness in you?

2015-06-02T21:31:00.001+05:30

What is the secret to success? Most people would say - hard work, perseverance and so on. All those things are good and necessary. But what gives that mad drive. Why do they stay up working for their dream while others rest?

The answer to that burning question is deep and sad darkness. Every successful person is like a phoenix. They come out of the ashes. There is a place in their heart for a deep dark experience they had. Something like highly critical parents, being dirt poor while growing up, sudden illness...

People often forget that sadness is just negative energy. Some brood over things and retain the negative energy. Others just turn around, give it a hard look and change that energy into something beautiful.

During the darkest moments in my life I felt a heavy presence. It was suffocating me, just watching me experience grief with a smirk. As I slowly grow out of it, I can feel this lightness, total power and supernatural powers.

I might be bad at explaining this but my idea holds water. Greatness comes out of great pain/misery. If you are happy all your life, there is nothing much to change. If there is great sadness, and you have the courage to channel it - becomes recipe for greatness. Sometimes greatness is subtle like a kick ass chole. Not all greatness should be worth millions. I can promise this: all acts of greatness makes life more worth while. Cheers to darkness!

Day 3: Let it go!

2014-07-23T23:27:00.001+05:30

Day 3 of meditation was about letting things go: Anger/sadness/frustration. No point in carrying around stuff you don't need. No point stuffing it inside your closet. Just experience it and let it go. Feel it ache in you, hurting you. Feel all the pain, collect all the bad thought. Do not let it out for 15 minutes and understand what it does to you.

I tried holding in sadness for 10 minutes. It was racing my heart and tightening my tummy. I let it do what it is supposed to do: hurt me. I stopped when I felt I have collated all my pain.

Then I lied down and let the tension out. I could sense my heart returning to normal. There was an ease in my existence. All this is 5 minutes of wishful deliberate thinking.

I am happy. I am just packing post war veterans and returning them. No use for prisons and hold backs. Just letting all signs of the war go. That was a war where I lost time and won wisdom. Learning to let go, learning to love.

My Secret 21 days Experiment: Day 1 and 2

2014-07-22T18:34:00.001+05:30

I have always loved Osho just for his thought. How can a man think like that? Different for sure, yet so right, so insightful. Of all my recent decisions, a really cool one was to take a 21 day online course on meditation by Osho. Here is the scoop from day 1 and2:

Love the calming music
Love it that it is short and sweet
The first day exercise given to us was about awareness. It actually worked. I was aware of what I was eating and I stopped stuffing my body with food. I am aware of what I am typing and hence lesser typos. I can feel the texture of the keyboard
I have never heard Osho's voice. Honestly I imagined it stronger and bolder. The man in my head sounded so. I am getting used to his odd diction and pronunciation
The second day was about love and relationships
I loved the distinction between love and relationships
There is a human urge to cut down chances of change and hence the need to settle down
Fear of unknown compelling us to settle for the known
There are 2 exercises for today: Love onself, love your partner
I will surely try the first exercise. After so many unexpected turns in my life I think I need it. I need to re-learn to love the new me. Me as I am. All 165 cms and 65 Kgs of me!

Really excited about day 3! :)

P.S.: The course is free, do join in if you want to make your own journey.

Averaged

2014-07-07T22:34:00.000+05:30

I remember so clearly, like it was yesterday

The day that my professor said:

“Is Average ok?”

With all the thoughts that were fed,

With all the inspiration I get,

I said: “No way!”

Little did I know, two years from then;

Average is all I want, it is all I need.

It made me feel cozy,

It made me feel good.

But I ran behind great, all so hazy.

I rarely slept and barely ate for I had a dream.

I did not dream of ponies and unicorns,

But of winning and winning some more.

Because winning gives you a high,

Even to the most sober of souls.

Enjoy it while it lasts as it is fleeting!

I do not know if it was the wishful look from fools,

Or your mind tricking you to believe you are better

Better than everyone else.

Not the best, mind you!

I am too humble for that.

Days went by and months went by,

And winning became my thing.

I looked for a reason to cry

To feel important,

To show others how I had overcome adversity.

All this just to say: “Look at me I am great”

These imaginary problems had not so imaginary pain,

This not so imaginary pain needed eyeballs and ears.

That pain was feeding,

Feeding and growing on all that did not matter.

“Oh I have dry skin”

“Oh I have gained 2 pounds”

“Oh everyone loves me too much”

Today I turn back and see,

I was always good,

Good at almost everything I did.

Not because I am gifted,

But because I never fought a game I would lose.

For then I had a choice,

Those battles were for castles made of sand,

If not this sand then the other.

Today I do not choose my battles,

They choose me.

For some odd reason too may choose me,

Am I winning?

Is this a contest of who attracts most ill will to oneself?

Is there such a prize?

No there isn’t, so why measure?

Why count your rifles in the war zone.

Yes, this is war and all I am fighting,

I have no army not many weapons,

I do not dream of winning the war,

But of seeing through today’s battle.

Each battle reminds me of my yester past,

The place where good was not good enough,

A place where average seemed so poor.

Sometimes I kneel and ask God timidly shouting,

To throw me a relief package of average,

Or just below that, for that would do.

He didn't say a word, He didn't even wink,

I can’t keep kneeling,

I have battles to fight, and a war to win.

If my life’s good and bad moments were summed,

With appropriate weights and averaged,

Would I be winning or losing?

Does it matter? I have battles to fight and a war to win.

Is There a Positivity Thermometer?

2014-06-16T23:49:00.002+05:30

We often hear requests from people asking us to be happy and cheerful. “Be Positive”, they say. And I am like, “Yeah! That is my blood group.” My poor jokes apart: “Is this Universe listening to you?” Wouldn’t that be a lot of noise?

I have comfort in think whatever I want as no one is judging me in my head. When someone asks me to be positive it is like I have a traffic cop in my head, diverting all the “Bad Thoughts”. This led me to thinking two things:

1. Who defined Good and Evil?

2. Does the Universe not go deaf with so many people emitting their thoughts to it?

Let’s take it one by one. The definition of Good and bad is a hoax. The truth is, there is no clear definition. Life is in shades of grey. Same thing is really Good at one instance and really bad at another. Do I sound confusing? Fear not! There is a simple explanation behind this. Unni (Lovely character in the book “The Illicit Happiness of Other People” by Manu Joseph) believed that there is no Good in this world. Good lost in a battle to Evil. Evil infiltrated to our world in 2 forms: Apparent Good and Apparent Evil.

Think about it for few seconds, it all comes to you. Are you closer to being a Good person if you are God fearing and trusting? Or are you just not strong minded to debate other possibilities. Why is being a Good person so difficult? See the ideals we have: Buddha, Jesus, Lord Rama and the 20^th Century’s Mahatma Gandhi. These are not stretched targets, it is just impossible. I love this book “The Difficulty of Being Good” (Gurcharan Das). Not because I am an ardent reader and read the whole damn thing (I did not, I promise); but because of the honest title. It is really difficult to be Good the conventional Good.

I surely do not know who defined Good and bad. But I do know this: It is a big bloody scam. You keep running behind this mirage like golden ideal, you forget to love yourself in that sprint. It is like Moral Anorexia, world full of Goodness models, wanting to be that perfect size zero (zero EVILness). We never appreciate the beauty of shades of grey. Each blurry line gives you a new possibility, a new destiny. It is like one of those books where you get to choose the next page and decide the story. If life were just black and white, it would be too easy. To do or not to do is a constant question.

We have established that we have no clue as to who came up with the laundry list of “Good and Bad”. This is a good thing. I would not eat food from the floor; God knows where it came from. So do not take hand-down morals too. Build your own. Jaggi Vasudev said that nothing is yours not even your thoughts, which is kind of true. It is mostly just old wine in a new bottle. Choose your wine and its flavor wisely.

Am I confusing you? Good, my objective has been established; because right here you should not trust me either. Trust is a great thing. But blind trust is necrosis of that relationship. Take your time figure out what you think is right and stand up for it. Do not keep thinking what others will think about it. Everyone is a hypocrite and we all love to gossip. Even if you were a saint according to current Goodness standards you would be called innocent and not shrewd. Stop seeking external pat on the back and march ahead.

Now that we are happy with question one (Yes we are happy. This is my wine, deal with it), let’s consider question two. Is the Universe listening? Mitch Albom is one of my favorite authors. In his latest book the Time Keeper, the protagonist is the man who first measured time and hence cursed us all into this rat-trap. Time and its effect on us can be saved for another day. The protagonist (The man who invented time) was curse to be immortal and listen to every scream by a person about time. Sometimes we scream that time goes too slow and sometimes too fast. The fact that he was listening to voices for millions of years (I do not remember the timeline, go with the flow already!) was his punishment for doing greatest harm to all mankind: finding time.

If you extend this theory, is it a person called Universe who made up negativity? Is that why it is cursed to listen to us wailing? Is there some respite it seeks with the positive thinkers? Or are they just pissing the Universe off?

Universe’s habit of eavesdropping could be aligned to the story of “Pandora’s Box” as well. Once all the Evil was let out, it was Hope that saved the day. Is the Universe trying to undo a dreadful mistake? Did it release all this pain and misery? Did it sprinkle optimistic people to balance out its poor job? We will never know. But it is fascinating to think, isn’t it?

In case you have slept in mists of my musing (for which I forgive you), here are the key take-aways:

1. There is no Good and Evil that is universal. You have a wonderful brain and hopefully a values system, please use it

2. Grey is in! As we are burning the planet down; understand that there will be situations of ethical dilemma. Throw out the ethics and think what you would do. Ethics is often misleading and too righteous to be implemented in real life

3. Trust Darwin! It is nice to be giving but not by chocking your own needs. Survey says that most religious men suffer from head ache post sex as their mind is conflicted. They had fun but God thinks sex is a sin. This conflict of ideas causes migraine. Trust Darwin, evolve with time and need

4. I do not know if the Universe is listening but by all logic it is as twisted as you are. If it were that Good, it should not be eavesdropping without your consent. Birds of a feather flock together

The beggar

2012-12-14T23:56:00.004+05:30

Something that I saw today made my heart skip a beat and my blood boil at the same time. That moment I realized that I am indeed very lucky. Every one else who is reading this post is equally lucky. Not because I am talented writer (would love to be one in the future) but because all of you have access to internet and in some way can afford the same.

What is this sight that affected me so much? Thinking of it even now gives me chills down my spine. I was in a restaurant having my evening snack (S, I do have the 4^th meal ;) ) that’s when I saw a man begging. I am very much against begging, especially if that person is physically fit. Mumbai as a city has a lot of beggars.

Most of them demand alms as if it were their birth right and my bondage to oblige. Many a time’s people are harassed at signals by beggars. I too have been a victim of that. This is one characteristic of the city that disgusts me.

Coming back to our beggar of the day, he was in rags and very dirty. Of all the people nearby he kept asking money only from one lady in the sandwich shop opposite to the restaurant I was in. The shopkeeper asked him to leave. He was shooed like a dog. That sight made my heart sink.

There was a point in which the shop keeper poured cold water on the beggar asking him to leave. All that while he didn’t move an inch, he just stood there, holding his hands out asking that lady for money. She was just too taken aback to do anything.

Finally, with the bottle of cold water all over him the man still stood tall. His hands were stretched out and he kept looking at the woman. The definition of persistence it is him. The lady’s husband held out change to the man. He held it high so as not to touch him even by mistake.

The coin fell on the floor and the beggar picked it up with delight. I could see his face glow. How much would that coin be worth, 1 or 2 or 5 at the maximum 10? But that brought more joy to his face than when I heard that I got my first ever job.

That moment I realized that all, my life I had a stereotype in my head: “All beggars are bad!” May be they are not, may be it is the situation that forced them into that life.Sometimes I feel that we all give up too easy. May be because what we want doesn’t mean much to us. Consider the beggar to be yourself and the shopkeeper to be the person who can grant you what you have dreamt of. Some will leave when asked to. They give up even before the cold water bites their skin. Some others leave when they are threatened. A few would with stand the cold water upon them. Probably a hand full would stand tall and hold their hands out for something they want despite all odds. The one who persists gets blessed by God with all that one’s heart desires.

This day taught me three things:

· Don’t stereotype people based on what they do.

· Persist on your efforts; stand tall against all odds and what you want will be yours.

· I am indeed very luck, may be I must thank God more often and appreciate it better.

Good night! J

How to win the pot of Gold at the end of a rainbow?

2012-08-18T13:19:00.000+05:30

One does wonder why some amoung us are great and others not so. Destiny, some might say. But God loves us all; He wouldn’t choose one over the other. There is no carrot and stick approach by God. Thus, it leaves us with that daunting question “Why some great and others not so?”

We all get up every morning with a purpose and a grand plan. Just that Bill Gates tells it to the world and most others don’t. We don’t tell not because we don’t know the purpose of our existence. We shy away in thought of what others might think. For example, I wake up every morning in hopes that one fine day I could become a writer. But I wouldn’t have voiced it out to many, because at multiple levels I doubt my purpose myself. Lack of trust in ones dreams; this is a pandemic.

The reason for all this is that all that we love to do or feel is the purpose of living need not be a good and dependable source of bread and butter. Maslow’s hierarchy rightly stated that only when you have the basic necessities of life will u even think of self-esteem and actualization. In this pursuit for basics we forget the supreme goal and the reason for our very existence.

So what does all this have to do with greatness? Trust me, it does. People are great by choice. They decided what they wanted and worked towards it. They didn’t work for the end result but for the joy that the journey gave them. Success was an outcome not the objective. There was a popular study (Marsh mellow challenge: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H0_yKBitO8M) which described how performance depreciates with increase in pay. When the external motivators such as money keep increasing the pressure to perform also increases and suddenly the work becomes less fun.

A good friend of mine jovially mentioned that the job of human resources department is all about motivation. It angered me at first. But he was in no way wrong. Laugh all you may but that is all there is to it. Simplest things are the most difficult to perform. It reminds me of a line from a poem that my sister used to recite, “Easy to say, but difficult to do.” So, how does one ensure that the employees of an organisation are all great in what they do? The answer is quite simple; choose people who love doing what they are meant to do. Don’t send a lion to do a dog’s work.

We all have dreams, they are startlingly different from our actual profession. This is the sad fact. Soon we all resign to our fate and perform our jobs for the plush salary and beautiful sedan. The hours in office seem long and painful. When you hate something so much, how can you ever be good at it? When good is not achieved, why even bother about great?

Another reason for lack of greatness is poor goal setting. If one has the skill to win Olympics and instead sets national level goals, the person soon loses purpose in life. Goals must be evolutionary. If you have achieved all that you dreamed of, please dream bigger and better. Success is the biggest depressant for most people. They reach a state where they don’t know what they must do next. Thus, to avoid this most people just don’t attain success. There was a character in a play, who wanted to go to a temple of Vaishnav Devi but never did despite of having all the time and money needed. He felt that if he went there, the purpose of living would be lost. We all thus keep running on a treadmill reaching nowhere useful.

If you want to be great here are the golden steps:

1. Find out what you love from within.

2. Don’t let your past decide what you future can or will be. Start on a clean slate.

3. Take steps towards your goal.

4. Enjoy every second in that journey.

5. Make many friends on the way up, they will hold you if you don’t reach the top.

6. Keep telling out loud what you want to achieve in life, even if it makes you seem stupid. It is others right to judge you and your right not to bother.

7. When you reach your goal cherish it but don’t rake in it. Dream gain, find a new purpose. Then go to step one.

I remember a poem in which the poet drew an analogy between ones heartbeat and the drum beats to ones own grave. It is morose but true for those who lack purpose. If you love what you do, greatness will come to you on its own accord. Walk over the rainbow of life with love and purpose and not with greedy eyes on the pot of gold.

The Hmmm Theory

2012-07-29T15:33:00.002+05:30

Two very good friends of mine, keep filling the chat window with "Hmmm". It lead me to think, am I so boring or is it a guy thing or may be both. If one person does it then it must be a person thing. It then struck me, most men say hmmm, most of the time! Unfortunately this was a pandemic thing.

This was like my "Eureka!" moment. I have made an observation but really still didn't understand the underlying reason behind it. All I could do was guess, but it was not good enough. So I decided to ask the source of the Hmmm theory: my friends. They were all happy to help. At the end of very though provoking conversations here are the results:

When in doubt say Hmmm: There are moments in your life when you just cant say a yes or no. Life is not always in black and white. There are shades of grey. Hmmm is the pioneer in grey shaded answers. I have a personal feeling that it originated when humans were cave men! Just think about it, this just might be one among our first few words. So when in deep sea say Hmmm.

When a No would kill you: The evolutionary theory says that human beings react to a threat by "Flight, Fight, Fright." It is generally a combination of the three. Hmmm is apparently an evolved way of flight due to fright. Honesty is loved and appreciated as long as it is all in good humour. Try telling your friend, "Dude, your presentation sucked!" or worse yet, "OMG! You wear too much make up." Before I continue, there is something I must confess. I have done no analysis as such, and what I am about to write is just my opinion. Here it goes, "Men take criticism better than women." It is just a stereotype. It does have some logic behind it. Men are programmed by the society to be bold and to try new things. Thus they learn from mistakes and are receptive to constructive criticism. However women are expected to be perfect, always. Mistakes are generally not tolerated. Thus they are not open as men would be. But times will change and so will these stereotypes. How is this linked to men and their Hmmm. Well, they would want to break their lady's heart, would they? (In certain cases their nose, if the lady is strong. ;))

To sound smart: There are moments in your life when you really have to say something but can't take the risk of being wrong. That's when "Hmmm" saves your day. Fill it when you face a tough situation. Makes you sound smart as well as covers up the fact that you have nothing meaningful to say. It is basically a God sent monosyllable.

Hence forth you hear a "Hmmm" dig deep and try to understand what it means. Who said that men are simple and women are complex. It is the other way round. There may be more interpretations and applications to the Hmmm. My dear readers are welcome to share their observations as well.

Need to please!

2012-06-07T10:43:00.002+05:30

It is a menace, absolute and acute pandemic: the need to please everyone, always. There thousands of books written by many people, swearing on and professing about the art of saying NO! But it makes me wonder if anyone in the world, at least one among the sea of such authors actually practices it for oneself. Is saying NO humanly possible?

One may think that I have let my mind run loose for my own muse. I have no concern for them; as they cannot see beyond the obvious. Everyone knows that what is blue is blue. There is no need for Einstein to verify the same. I am concerned about people who can see beyond the obvious and ponder about the fine print or even print it. For them I speak, they will hear me out and empathize with my words.

The art of saying NO, they say! Who are they is for you to figure out. I will give you a hint. They are notorious. They are like chameleons the blend into their surroundings. That makes them less obvious to untrained eyes. At times it happens to be oneself.

Humans are complex and intricate. They are like huge spiders, making their webs of confusion and mayhem. They do it in hopes of catching something good in their web. They want only 3 things to be caught in their web: love, money, knowledge (in any order). Those who make stronger and denser a web hold a better chance or so they believe. If by fate their web is all destroyed, they start again tirelessly.

What does all this have to do with saying yes or no? It does, trust me. A reader must always have good faith on the writer. And it is the utmost duty of the writer to test that faith. Let me give you an example so you can see what I want you to. Imagine you are this famous movie star in the west. You are rich enough to buy a castle for yourself. You have fans all over the world who will chant your name day in and day out. But will you buy a castle? The answer is a unanimous YES. Fact is that things tie you down. They are like this seductive and single mindedly obsessed spouse. If begs and pleads for attention. You give it more that it deserves. It feels good to feel wanted. Thus we all fall prey to the yes. Most of you would say, “Yes, I will buy a castle! I deserve one!” But the fact is that it doesn’t deserve you, your attention, your love, your time and you as a whole.

I pity those who have stayed in the same city all their life. They are tied down by the Yes’s they said in the past. The promises they made to things and people. In that process they are decomposing as they live. Their minds are turning off in front of their own eyes.

“So should I say no to everything and become a saint?” an angered reader might ask. The answer is NO. Think wisely is what I am trying to say. Don’t say YES to things just because it will make your spouse/ children/ boss/ friend happy or because it makes your enemy/ arch rival/ someone you hate sad. Think well before you say YES; for every Yes is a fibre in that intricate web you spin. People think that thicker the better. A word of warning! “One day you might spin yourself into the web and become prey for another spider. Beware!”

Every resource is non-renewable. If you didn’t want to be a doctor, why did you apply? I too was prey to this madness. I didn’t have the guts to stand up and say no then. I wasted a B.Tech degree seat. I did put in my best, but not all that I can. Till date I am a decent engineer but never will I be an awesome one, because my heart didn’t lie there. I then took measures to undo that mistake. I figured out where my heart lies and I am walking towards it, an inch at a time. A wise man once told me that a mile must be walked with paces of one inch at a time. I was wondering if a mile was divisible into perfect inches. He read my mind, I guess. He said that multiple of an inch is a mile.

That wise man also told me that I must be like a coffee bean. Realize that my purpose of existence is to impart color, taste and aroma to the milk and once my work is done, I must vanish from existence. This great vanishing act is possible only when you are not tied down by the complex web of unnecessary YES you said. The only person you are destined to please is yourself. It is your life. Stand up for it. Live every moment, take a few risks, suffer a little pain, suck in the moments of ecstasy, bear the stench of all the junk you accumulated in your web and most important smile when the fate cleans up your web.

For ages, saints renounced material things in life. It is the way forward they said. They were partially right. Renounce that which you don’t want, it’s just clutter. Learn to travel light, speak softly to yourself, embrace your contradictions and forgive yourself.

BFF!

2012-05-23T17:50:00.002+05:30

When you see some people you know that it was meant to be. I felt that when I saw you for the first time. I knew that we could be best friends for life and those miles of land in-between or years without a word uttered cannot undo it. I knew it then, but with time that faith took a beating.

I still remember the first time I saw you, my eyes were filled with tears and your mouth was curved with a smile. Irony I thought, while I cried you smiled beamingly at me. That smile made me realize the warmth in you. It felt like gentle morning sun in midst of a retreating monsoon cyclone time in east coast of India. It tingled through my skin make me feel that we were akin.

I can never forget the pride with which you introduced me to all your friends and family. You were drunk with pride and happiness, it made me so happy, but I never showed it on my face. I continued to act like I was asleep. I was naïve to understand then that I was ignoring my best friend for life.

You used to be my only playmate. I used to be your doll. I felt that it was my ceremonious duty to guard you as you cooked or rode by a bike to a nearby grocer. Irony was that you were taking care of me and not the other way round. We ate together, and spent every other second together, like Siamese twins. And the tantrums I managed to throw, oh, what a bother I was.

Then came a day when I had to leave you to stay with bunch of people dressed in the same way as me. In boring green and white pinafore and ugly ribbon too. I was secretly happy. At last people like me. Though I love you I must mention that we didn’t look the same. You were so big (and fat) next to me. But everyone else there was crying. I didn’t know why. I thought that is why we were there. To cry! May be it was a magical procedure to please the rain Gods. Trust me, we could use some rain. Some even jumped and shouted. I watched in amazement and eventually joined them knowing nothing better to do.

Time went by, I made few other friends. You still happened to be my best or one of my best. We would have our long conversations over lunch on the sofa. Of what happened through my day. It made me feel wanted, important-center of you world at the least.

Then out of the blue you became fat, especially around your stomach. Everyone asked me to stay away from you. I thought that you were hurt, honestly! Pinkey got hurt once and her head swelled like a balloon. I thought that you were hurt on your stomach, and bad one at that. But in matter of few months it became alright. But there was a new person in the house. She was smaller than me. I like that she was smaller. But I didn’t like it that she ate into my share of the lime light.

She was messy and didn’t even walk. I went away during the day. But you both were together always. I wanted to take her with me to show her to my friends and how small she was. But you wouldn’t let me. Soon I understood that we are together forever the gang of girls.

From that day on till today, I swear, I still remember the first smile. Some say I too have it. May-be. But never as beautiful as yours….

Plan B

2012-05-22T17:40:00.001+05:30

He looked into my eyes anxiously, with hopes of hearing a “Yes!” To his surprise I got up, eased the creases in my gray skirt and said, “Thank you, for the offer sir! But I have other plans.” He gave an uneasy smile. We nodded, shook hands and yet again I smoothed the creases on my skirt and I left.

I waited for the lift, wondering why he didn’t ask me what my “Other Plans” were. There he was hoping that I would take up the job as Marketing Head of the tools division in his company and I said no because of “Other plans”. Neither did he ever want an explanation from me, nor did he coax me with new and improved salary. May be he knew, maybe he sensed that I had a Plan B.

All my life I have travelled the length and breadth of this country selling everything from pins to ships. 17 years into marketing and sales can feel like an eternity especially for a person like me. All that grounded me was my lovely 12 yr old daughter, Aneesha.

It was for her that I had always post ponded my Plan B. It is hard to take care of a daughter as a single parent. But she was in all means thoughtful and aiding me in the uphill task. It was her choice to go to a boarding school, in hopes of better future. I begged and pleaded her not to. But she wouldn’t listen. She asked me for just one chance, to be by her own. I could see myself in her. I asked the same thing from my parents nearly 2 decades ago, when I got an admission from IIM-A. Time flies. Now my daughter asked me the same. “Give me a chance.” There is no point holding back when children are sure about what they want. I let her fly.

Ever since she left, my burning desire to follow my Plan B increased. When I was a little girl, I used to cut out articles about exotic places throughout the world from magazines and newspapers. I collected it all in a yellow cloth bag from one of the famous shops in town. My family taught me to aspire. My father would never buy fancy clothes for me or adorn me with jewelry but he would even skip a meal to buy me a book I was dying to read. Once in a while he used to take us to very fancy restaurants, not because he had cash to spare. He felt that by going there I can see the other end of life, the end where money grew on trees. Dad used to say, “Cultivate your own money-tree; nurture it with love, dedication and hard work. Live in its shade and be generous to invite those suffering from heat and rain. Remember; grow your own money tree.”

All my life, I worked for that tree so that my family would be safe. Sad! The tree couldn’t save my husband from that horrid accident. But it ensured that Aneesha and I were in its shade, safe from the heat and rain. Time healed the wounds. Now she grew a pair of wings and flew to test the air. I used to fret, what if the air is too hot or too cold? What if the bigger birds beat her up? Then I learnt that she had started work on her tree. That is when my desire to implement plan B grew to the size of a super nova.

I always wanted to travel all the places I used to dream of as a little girl. That was my plan B. Now that I have money and time, I wanted to follow my plan B. I would use no map, make no plans, just absorb all I can see, breathe in everything and live every moment. With a smile on my face I felt the building, called for a taxi and left to the airport.

Why Blue?

2012-05-22T16:41:00.003+05:30

I have often wondered why the sky is Blue. I knew later that it was due to scattering of light rays. The blue color of the sky is due to Rayleigh scattering. As light moves through the atmosphere, most of the longer wavelengths pass straight through. Little of the red, orange and yellow light is affected by the air. However, much of the shorter wavelength light is absorbed by the gas molecules. The absorbed blue light is then radiated in different directions. It gets scattered all around the sky. Whichever direction you look, some of this scattered blue light reaches you. Since you see the blue light from everywhere overhead, the sky looks blue. But why Blue? That question never died. Of all possible 7 colors from the VIBGYOR, why Blue? There is a reason for every creation of God. And yes, I still do believe in God and that the force created all that we know. Some say, everything came from nothing. Then, that nothing is God. I am not pious as I used to be but I still do have my long and soulful conversations with my creator.

In one such conversation, I asked him what matters more “Go to the beach with family or sit back and write an article for a competition? And yeah why Blue?” He didn’t say a word. It is a question that He smartly shuns away from. After continuous pestering He did give in. “Small things make a difference when large once fleet away.” I couldn’t get it then. But later it all made sense. The wavelength of blue light is small and hence it is absorbed and scattered. The wavelengths of other colors like red are long and hence are not absorbed. He meant more I am sure. Oh yeah, I went to the beach that day.

Bright Blue Bus

2012-05-21T16:20:00.000+05:30

I should have missed the bus,

I should have got up late,

I should have called a day off,

I should have taken a cab.

Of all that I could have done,

I came in that bus,

Ugly hideous blue bus,

Not to mention the bad seats.

The journey of 22 km,

Standing in the whole way,

On black stilettoes,

Hands over rusted rod.

My eyes stared out,

Yours stared at me,

Piercing through me

Hoping that I will give you the attention you deserve.

My hair flew in the wind,

As if grew a pair of wings,

Fluttering with joy,

Tempting you to grab it.

You stretched your hands,

In hopes to touch me,

You smiled and winked at me,

Lips frowned when I dint notice.

The attention seeker,

The cutest one in that bus,

With dimpled cheek,

You were a heart throb.

I did see you,

A little while later,

It was love at first sight,

I gave a beaming smile.

In the blue bus,

Of all sad and detached people,

You made my day,

You made me fall in love.

I too longed to hold you tight,

Watch you smile,

Fiddle with your hands,

And never leave your side.

But I quickly saw,

That you can never be mine,

Another woman held you tight,

With no intentions to let go.

I was secretly jealous,

And absolutely longed,

But to have,

A son like you.

Clear Vodka

2012-05-19T15:03:00.000+05:30

Her small yet heavy head was resting on the edge of a sofa. The pattern of the 3 seater was were boring and it faded with the background. There was a sweet smell of strawberries on it always, Meenal loved it that way. Her face wrinkled and she got wriggled like a worm on the sofa and hugged the quilt more tightly. She just couldn't sleep without a quilt. It was like a shining shield of a warrior heading for a battle. Her eyes opened mildly, enough to see the time. 10 am was just too insanely early for her especially on a Saturday morning. Just as she was to place her phone back on the table it rang.

On the other end was Meenal's sister. Begging her to get up and come home. Her baby was not well and she had the carpenter coming home. The list was endless. Meenal was not listening. The only thing that she understood was that she had to get up and drive down the street about 3 Km or so. She hated this. "Why can't people manage their life by themself? " She asked this with anger and hidden irritation to her family's dependence on her for everything small and big.

She took off the blanket from her and let it lie on the sofa. If was like as if the quilt was pleading her to come back and hug it tight, just like a kid begging for his mother to carry him. Her eye still couldn't open, may be it was the vodka from last night. She loved the way it mixed with orange juice, sacrificing its taste and sting for the sourness and mild sweet of the orange juice. At times she felt that she was the vodka and her sister the orange juice. Drinking may or may not be injurious to health. It is surely injurious to the thought process. Its like a mild storm in the otherwise clear sky.

She washed up as soon as possible. She shoulder length hair was dripping wet. She put on her favourite red Levis T shirt and navy blue shorts. She tucked her hair behind her ears as she saw her reflection on the mirror. She stepped out of the bathroom and walked towards the dresser. That's when she noticed the calender. It was 19th of May. The birthday of her ex.

That somehow made her mind unrestful and disturbed. He was no longer hers, he was Mr. Anitha. She preferred to call him that way just to remind herself that their 4 year long relationship was no more alive. It didn't hurt much now a days. Time can heal everything. Plus it was the most amicable split up of face of this planet. She had learnt that people don't get married if they were not meant to be. They were not meant to be. For the first time she felt comfortable with that fact.

She gathered all that she needed into her purple bag and left to the parking lot. She loved her green Spark. It was more a friend and less a car. She was wondering why she was happy and light after a whole year. She thought that she could never overcome that loss. She was just smiling, her brain attributed it to the vodka, but she knew that it was maturing and sense that had dawned on to her. After driving for 3 minutes she puled the car to the pavement side and called Mr. Anitha. The wait for him to pick the call was long and tense. What if he doesn't want to talk kept ringing in her head.

"Hello, Meenal!" said a voice that she felt was hers. Instead of tears there was relief. The truth had dawned upon her. We cannot own anyone or anything for that matter. We can be with people and use things for a while. Period of this relationship is uncertain. That is what made it more special. After a pause she said, "Happy birthday...". They spoke general things for a minute or so. She realised that she didn't know what to talk with him after that. She used to talk hours with him a year ago. Time changes everything. They said take care and hung up. It felt good, she didn't know why. After long she had gathered courage to talk something meaningful to him. She was over that loss and pain. The opposite of love is not hate but indifference and she had achieved it.

She continued to drive and reached her sister place. She parked and walked towards the gate. She felt someone hug her leg, it was her niece, Kangana. Meenal lifted her up hugged her tight and kissed her forehead just about the left eyebrow.

Footloose Devotee

2012-05-15T17:08:00.002+05:30

She ran as fast as she could, taking long and deep breath in between. It was an unusually hot morning of cool December in Chennai. The fog was visible, but not that beautiful. It was burdened with weight of dirt and particulate pollutant. It made her long for the clean air back home. It didn’t have such a beautiful beach but it indeed had a sweet charm to its own. As her feet kept pounding on the loose beach sand of marina her mind travelled to the moist brown sand of the paddy field back home. With a deeper sigh she continued to run.

She loved to run, some call her crazy, others call her devoted; she didn’t want to call it anything. Deep down she knew it was more than an effort to stay fit. It was defining her inner urge. All that Meenakshi wanted to do was run away.

Don’t mistake her for a second. She was not the brainless person in love who wanted to elope. She was a footloose person. She loved to travel. Name a place in South India and she would tell you an interesting tale about her trip to that place. It frustrates her when she stuck in the same place for long.

Being a journalist by profession, it gave her good excuses to run away, officially. She was a strong girl, unlike her siblings and family. It made her father proud and mother scared. She was a news correspondent for a major Tamil news channel based out of Chennai.

She could even miss breathing, but not the morning jog in Marina when in Chennai, never, not even for the world. It gave her sense and purpose of existence. It helped her kick start her day in the crazy media world. It is not all as glamorous as people think. May be for news reporters who are safe in the news rooms, life is easy. Meenakshi, she sees deaths, births, heroes and villains day in and day out. People say that you need a heart of steel for this profession, Meenakshi believed elsewise.

If you don’t have a heart when you tell news, the people never understand its seriousness. There is so much sad news in the world and people are so used to it that it no longer hurts or kindles the soul. A bomb blast is as ordinary as Diwali cracker as long as someone we love is safe and sound. Life is chaotic and we have learnt to accept it. This attitude irritated her. She doesn’t want a sentimentally weak population, instead emotionally aware and empathetic beings.

Meenakshi’s purpose was different. Her love for travel not because she had this checklist of places she wanted to visit before she dies or because she was nursing an ailing heart, but because she was a writer. Even in a busy schedule she finds time to write as well. She says, “Time is what you make of it not what you have.”

Everywhere she goes, she is not in search of the scenic point but honest and friendly humans who would give her a glimpse of their life. If news must have a human angle her book must have a voice and character of its own.

Every morning after a jog she sat down near the water edge, waiting for the sun to rise. It makes her happy as if the sun was coming up just so see her. Not many people jog that early. I made her feel closer to God. Being born in an orthodox Hindu family, God was something she couldn’t fail to believe in. For her God was in the men, women and children who went out of their way to help other things and people- moat to man.

After taking a glimpse of the rising sun she closed her eyes and prayed. Without her knowledge, tears came down her cheeks. It was uncalled for. Those who knew her well would say “Don’t be ridiculous Meenu never cries.” Being strong is not easy. Being strong always is impossible. She had a lot of friends but not a soul has seen her cry. For her, crying in public an absolute no-no. Her parents took pride in that fact. She was this solid person to whom you could go in anytime for any reason, she always found time for you.

Sadly, the whole process absorbs energy. Energy can neither be created nor be destroyed. If just get transformed from one for to another. Thus she was like this power reactor churning out love and energy in several million kW (assuming that love and care is measured in kW). But she is no God to create something out of nothing. It was this beach that bore witness to her joy, sorrow, fear and hope. It knew everything about her infact more than the best lover in the world. She felt like she belonged there.

She was conversing with the breeze and the tide, begging them to help her clear her mind. Her parents had come up with a marriage proposal for her. He was in all means a great guy. She was in all means straight and intended to marry a nice person soon. She didn’t have a boyfriend either. Frankly she didn’t have time for one. There was only one glitch. He was settled in Germany. She was in love with her job and intended to continue it. Yet again he was a nice person and she was 25, dinosaur’s age in her community. Her parents begged her to get married. But is he worth all the sacrifice?

She had no heart to leave her job or the guts to disobey her parents. She was at a fix. She wished that God would appear in front of her and tell her what to do. She got up washed her face with the salt water. It tingled and irritated her skin on the sun rashes. Most of her days involve intense exposure to the sun, waiting for a cricket star or reporting a strike, it all takes hours of exposure to the sun. She felt that the salt water cleansed her skin and cleared her thought. Though a good skin expert would shun such an act and give her half a dozen creams and even more lotions.

With the salty sea water her tears too mixed and were washed away. She walked towards her car. She was checking her mail on her mobile. She read for a while and smiled through most of it. She read and re-read it. When she was done reading she screamed out loud, not in pain but in joy. The joggers near-by stared at her as if she were from some another planet. She was too happy to bother.

She walked as if she was walking in the air. Frankly, if I were her I would have too. When your first book is going to be published and you are paid an advance for the next one as well why wouldn’t you? God did speak with her.

Epilogue:

Exactly 2 years later she was in the beach with her husband. They came to the beach before returning to Germany. They held their hand tight and started at the horizon. Meenakshi stole a glance of her husband and thought of how her life had changed all with a single e mail. God wanted it that way. She went close to him for a peck on his cheek and they waited for the sunrise.

Running around in circles...

2012-05-14T15:51:00.002+05:30

It rained cat and dogs; the city was drowning in the rain water. Sheetal stood by the window sill, staring at the rain battering the window in her cabin, high up on the 9^th floor of a sky rise in Mumbai. The cabin was filled with aroma of fresh and hot coffee, which she held tightly in her hands. She was holding on to something else as well- tears.

The city & her mind had a similarity that day. Both were drowned it its own sense. The former in merciless rains and the latter in, well you will know as you read along. She took a deep breath as if it were her last; secretly she did wish for the same. There are days in your life when you feel that nothing is right. And then there are others when you feel that the whole universe is conspiring against you. Today the universe was playing its naughty games with Sheetal.

As her name indicates, Sheetal was Ms. Cool. If she was perturbed one can safely conclude that may be world is coming to an end. So, was the world coming to an end?

When the mobile phone rang it was as if she came out of a trance. But now nothing mattered that much. Not after something so colossal. Her father used to say, “When there is a war of mind and heart, listen to the brain.” With a deep sigh she attended the call.

Life is mundane when you are all grown up and a job as a training manager, just personifies the same. She muttered something into the phone and headed out of her cabin. She had to address a batch of new trainees. It was not on top of Sheetal’s list of favorite things to do. Every time the same thing told just that the faces are different. It surprises her how batch after batch people have different faces, names, background but almost the same predictable nature and reaction. They always seemed eager to learn. She knew this business enough to understand that most people were acting like they are interested and the rest didn’t even take that effort.

Humans just hate change. It frightens the hell out of us. We may claim that we shift cities and countries in search of adventure. But it is just an attempt to run away from our frightening past. A past that we feel will die when we move away. Mind is the fastest transporter. It needs just nano seconds to travel to a parallel universe and back all this in middle of driving, talking to your boss and signaling your kid to wear the seat belt. So no matter how far you run and where ever you try to hide, the past won’t leave you. The good memories leaves you longing for it and the bad ones make you beg for it to die. So running away is no solution.

Sheetal learnt it the hard way. She too had tried to run away from it all. She ran 6,708 km and yet her memories followed her close like her shadow. She was born in Dubai, a shopper’s paradise. Her parents were the typical culturally confused NRI’s. She had done her UG from BITS in Dubai. Her first instinct was to leave the coup and head back to her country.

There were two reasons for that: her lust for India with its bizarre and free lifestyle. Next, she wanted to go away from the insane habitat that she lived in. For her the monsoons of Mumbai were never a burden, it was an expression of freedom that she enjoys. But soon the magic of the city was waning. Lust doesn’t last long, does it?

Past one week she regretted she childlike solution or leaving home. Just because you leave home it doesn’t mean that you have complete freedom. That is an illusion and if you believe in it then you are as naïve as a kid waiting for Santa on a cold Christmas night.

There was no great family bonding in her house. It was more like everyone fend for yourself. Lately, the fact was more evident. Her parents were in love and eloped to Dubai in search of new life when they were young. Love too dies, may be out of boredom or may be because it just has run its full course. The reasons seem complicated but it all fall to one point- boredom.

Man as a social animal was not meant for monogamy. God didn’t intend to make him that way. The social norms that are imposed on us shape us against nature. However cultured we might be at times the monkey in us rises. Her parents now did indeed seem like monkeys especially when they were fighting.

It was this fights that she ran away from in hope that when she goes back in a year or two their love would rejuvenate itself. But, she was wrong, very wrong. It so happened that the fights became louder and sourer, because the child was no more in the house. It came to a point in which they wanted to part.

Her parents were coming to India to apply for their divorce. They say that young minds are impressionable. After years of being nothing but a silent spectator to domestic unhappiness, Sheetal lost all faith in love or marriage or any such relationship.

With all this running in her mind, she completed the address to new trainees and answered the banal questions from fresh batch of eager faces. She tried to up her spirits to give the best smile possible and with a soulless all the best, she left to the airport to meet soon to split parents.

The Aroma...

2012-05-12T00:13:00.002+05:30

I walked aimlessly in clothes that didn't fit its surrounding. All frantic, and working up a sweat as I walked randomly. The level of sweat is directly proportional to my state of mind. Right then I was tensed. I was about to make a mark in my history, I was to enter the kitchen. Yes, you heard me right- "The Kitchen". Mark you not for a quick snack or a water. Right then and there on May 2, 2012, I started to cook.

To people who don't know me, it might sound strange and even utmost funny. But there is a small tale to it. I had taken an oath- "I will never master the art of cooking for I shall outsource the non core function." I never was inclined to learn it. The feminist in me always asked me to read the economist, travel, strike a good conversation with smart people, paragliding- in short just anything in the world other than cooking.

People say that a MBA degree is like a spiritual journey. You find out more about yourself than business at the end of it. There was and always a streak in me which begs me to be independent. I have never liked knocking on another person's door seeking help if I could do it myself. Some call it ego, I call it -taking care of myself. I am a puzzling concoction of of things that are in opposite ends. My mind begs me to take care of myself, heart longs for a loving soul near me. Am n't I a mixed bunch of things?

The combination of my wrongly guided feminist ideas and luck of having lived with some of the best souls on earth, I never had the need to cook. But luck too runs out. Hence with my newly embraced philosophy of independence and a deep sigh I was about to do something I have managed to push away for 22 years in my life and my deepest dread- cooking.

It's been ten days since that moment when I started at onions and thought of all the raucous that I made when my grand mother used to cut the same. Post a lip smacking upma that I made for dinner today, I am happy that I took that first bold step.

Frankly, it is a delightful activity. It makes you feel like an artist. Your mixing all these different colours and textures to make this wonderful and sinfully tasty food. It was tonight as I stirred the dish that I realised how badly mixed up I was. Feminism is not shunning the so called woman's work, but embracing all the work you must do from cooking to bike riding with pride and sense of purpose.

With the aroma of Rava upma and lemon pickle in my hands, all I want to say it: "It's ok to be mixed up at times and shun things without a thought. We all do it at certain points in our life. My only request is that we give it a shot. For I discovered the there is no smell in this world that can beat the smell of hot steaming aval upma (Poha for the Non- Tamilians) when your stomach is begging for food."

I am not great at the art yet but I sure have started learning and respecting it for what it is. I still remember what my mother said when I asked her help to gather all things that I need to cook (I mean ingredients not courage). She discouraged me and asked me to go to a restaurant instead for it is easier. May be I didnt want easier. May be I wanted to become this artist who could at the wave of a hand make food that kindles one to salivate and smell that invites everyone to dine. I was in love with food without knowing its origins. It felt more like a crush. Now, post my efforts to cook, I feel like I am this honest committed girlfriend of this simple yet charming skill.

Even as I type this, my brain is planning what to make for breakfast tomorrow. Time changes people. This a a change for the better. Still lingering in aroma of that upma. :)

FYI its roti in Sabji :P

FYI its bread upma :D

Hopelessly in love with Chaos

2012-03-12T20:09:00.000+05:30

City has a character and a spirit of its one. The first time I laid my eyes upon Mumbai, the first word that came into my head was CHAOS. People call it the city of dreams, I didn't understand what they meant. All that I could see was the ubiquitous filth and people everywhere.

The first person I spoke to in this city was a taxi driver on my way from the airport to Andheri. I had to listen to him abuse me for my poor Hindi and yet again I was the unwanted Madarasi. There are so many words in this world, of which some really sting. That one stings me hard, some ask me to take it in my stride. That is an art I am yet to perfect. The first few months here were not the best. I hated the uncalled rain which poured at its will with no mercy what so ever on me.

My relationship with Mumbai is like is like a typically Indian movie story. There is this boy who loves a girl, he might not be the best but love triumph all. The city might have its flaws it sure did win my heart. The last time I went home, I actually missed Mumbai. I felt like it is now my new home. It is odd how you spend most of your life in a city then in matter of a year, it is not your city anymore, just a visitor. Life changes and it takes you to places that are far away from home. Human mind hates change, thus it resits at first, finally it yields.

I once used to hate the local train. Now it is a part and parcel of my life. The blue/pink/red color lighting in auto (the rick as people here say), the buildings in Marine drive, the naughty monsoons, the list is endless. I love the people of the city. They seem more cosmopolitan and open. All these are reason that I thought hard to justify my love. I know that for somethings there is no reason or rhyme. I love Chennai because it is home. Home is where the heart lies. Why am I insanely in love with this city? I am able to love it despite its poverty, maddening traffic, crazy pollution and billions of other issues. True love is unconditional, effortless and many a times baseless. I love Mumbai the way it is, with all its glory and shortcoming.... Just hopelessly in love with the epitome of chaos...

A women's guide to types of men.

2012-01-29T01:41:00.000+05:30

Before I start I must say this is totally my take and I might be absolutely wrong. Any resemblance to real life characters is unwarranted and not intentional. So sit back relax and enjoy the post with least reservation what so ever. This post is very biased towards women, I m sorry guys! But you can read it and beat me up any time! (I don't mean it :P)

The cucumber: A women must love this guy. I mean who doesn't love a man who can smile even when a girl smashes his car right into a tree? But the sad part is these men are far and few in-between. There is a problem though. Since he are mr. cool they will never understand why we become angry. The poor soul will be left clueless. The ability to understand a woman's anger is a vital skill. The poor soul lacks it. If you don't really get angry often he is the one!

The winner: Behind every successful man is a woman or so they say. The fact is if a man is into a woman during the process of attaining success. If there was a woman in his life he would have chosen to be with her over his ambition. So its nice isn't it the big pool, swanky car and so on. But at what cost. Not all but most successful people who have not faced failure are the ones who set standards and live by the same. They have constant appraisals for themself. The only thing that matters is their success. Sadly the woman in his life is also set in par with his success. She is also measured and weighed. Its a trade off you must make my dear women- audi vs success driven scum.

The street-smart: You must love this one. He knows how to make you smile. He doesn't have too many fancy degrees following his name but he can make a lot more sense than a Ph.D. He knows how the world works and can make it work for you. He is just perfect if you don't want your partner to be that news reader types. He might have no clue about the trend in food inflation but he will know where to get best carrots at best price in the city. If you wanna smile all your life with no concern about details of the issue he is your type.

The moron: Sometimes if a donkey is well dressed it might pass off to be a horse till is starts to run. Listen hard girls! This one is a donkey! He is so full of himself. The difference between the winner n moron is that the winner has actually done something so he has the rights to be so. But this guy presumes that he is a hot shot somebody. The fact can be in the opposite extreme. He is a complete and total moron. Please stay clear of this one.

The water pots: Some say that men are strong and must not cry. I am so against them. To cry is but human, but there are few men who are so damaged. They are really caring and nice but the sad part is that they are emotionally very needy. They cry too often and you might need a lot of tissue. Still way better than the moron though. Take your call on this one.

The Mr. Perfect: If all the stars align in the right spot for you then you might meet this one. Smart, charming, caring and funny.. oops i missed HOT!. . . I know this sounds like price charming. But such people exist (what can I do I still believe in fairy tales ;)..) . This is a really rare breed and if you feel that you can handle him without developing an inferiority complex go ahead and ride towards the sunset.

The clueless cherry: Some men are just such darlings, but they are pretty clueless. They are full of if, buts and what ifs. They have their own ecosystem and everything that they see gets sucked into it and is see thorough their pink glasses. They aren't gay just because they like pink, mind you. They are nice at heart and generally smart too. But they see the world from their narrow view. So get used to it else life will be tough. They are worth the pain though, as sweet ans sour as cherry.

The party maniac: He is the loudest and the most visible person in any party. He knows everybody who is an anybody and is one hell of a dancer. Oh yeah he can drink till he drops too. He is the most out going person on the face of this earth. The question is are you ready to handle this attention seeking atom bomb? Think! If so, "Where is the party tonight?"

I think that i am done with the types. There are so many more unsaid but well understood. I have always felt that God gave women extra sensory perception. They can see beyond what is obvious. This is both good and bad. At times the perception might have been a meat trick by your brain. Whatever it might be, follow your heart for it never lies. I classified men for the heck of it. All my life I have met wonderful men in form of my father, friends, family, work, classmates, teacher and well wishers. Many of them cant be categorized ever.

The Man behind the headlines...

2012-01-21T17:35:00.000+05:30

On a Saturday morning, I had to push myself off the bed. The first thing I saw was my phone, it was very unkind to me. The mean phone showed a horrible 9am. I gathered my thoughts and got ready to tend to my very hungry stomach. I walked like a drone with my mickey mouse cup to have breakfast. It was nice to see a happy smiling face of my friend. I had breakfast with her. We noticed that everyone in the cafeteria were all dressed in formal n readily heading someplace. Then it hit us! There was a guest lecture at 9.15am. I wanted to go. I had a tough week and slept too much. I chose not to go and hence continued to sip my tea.

I have always felt that in all moments in my life when I take wrong decisions there is this inner alarm bell. It keeps ringing so loud till I take notice of it. It was life this tedious fire drill every-time I took a wrong decision. I felt it that day too. It was 9.30am I was on my bed wondering what was bothering me. My friend came in out of the blue and asked me to join her immediately for the guest lecture. I was in my night clothes with olive oil on my face. I just blinked. She just said "Chalo Chalo". Within 15 minutes I was running towards the auditorium in high heels. The inside alarm stopped the moment I stepped into the auditorium. I was late, very late. We were ushered into the hall and granted first row seats. (trust me its not a privilege, its punishment). Then there I saw this man, in blue jeans, sport shoes, thick framed Ray Ban glasses and white shirt (it was cool that he didn't tuck it in). It was none but the one and only Dr. Bhaskar Das (President, Times of India Group).

What a persona! Every word he said went right into my mind like an arrow from Arjunas bow. Suddenly the first row didn't feel like a punishment. I felt like this really crazy fan waving at her favorite rockstar. I have heard that to become a leader you need a flair, it must be in you. Well, I though it was crap. But he had this aura, I took him serious and he didn't have to wear a suit to make himself look important. It was not only the speech which made me surrender with at-most attention. Once his speech was up, he didn't sit on the dais with all the other important people. He walked right down to sit in the front row. Unlike the impressionable other people who we see regularly, he actually wanted to listen to the next speaker. He sank into the red cushion chair and stretched his legs. One would have passed him off as a fun loving careless student if not for his gray hair.

There were 2 other speakers after him. They were all fabulous in their own way. But it was Dr. Das who redefined marketing as we know it. He called himself as Philip Das and Bhaskar Kotler. I loved the level of comfort that he had with himself. I am at times amazed at the level of self consciousness we all have. That too as we grow up in the social ladder we have more eyes looking at us. Impression matters!.. But not for Dr. Das. He was clear about what he wanted to say and how to say it. He was simply in love with what he was(he seemed so). There are only 2 kinds of people in this world, the ones who keep looking at others to see their reflection and the other group who stand tall and show the world who they are. I mean who comes to talk about marketing unbound in blue jeans and white Ts to a B school? He did and I liked him better than all the other people I have ever listened to.He said that he knew that newspaper will be replaced by other online medium of news and called it as evolution. Most people stand up to defend their business. But he was not in a state of denial, I loved his "So what if that happens attitude?"

There are many guest lectures in which I felt there was a value addition. But only in few that I can actually connect with the speaker. This was one such a person. When you have high trust on a person everything uttered will enter the head and heart unboundly. I never used to read the news paper. I felt it was disturbing. Post taking up a MBA course I tried really hard to focus my energy towards such typical MBA activity. I started with "The Economic Times". I felt that the headlines were all berserk. But after I saw the man behind the headlines, I understood it was self expression. He made the paper stand out from the clutter of jargon filled business papers which intimidate me. He stood tall confident and smart in that blue jean and white shirt in the pool of the ominous black suits. Try to be yourself and success will make you the man/woman behind the headlines!

The sad demise of a Shopaholic

2011-12-31T11:04:00.000+05:30

As my feet touched the earth below, getting off the Pajero all I though off in that moment was "SHOPPING". It was like a sport. Every other day, surrounded by oceans of new clothes, shoes, toys, books and what not. Pure bliss to feel soft silk scarf, inhale the sweet smell of perfume in The Body Shop and to turn the pages of a new book. The possibilities were endless. I was in love. Love with the idea of shopping. The moment I was in a mall, all my worries disappeared. I remember drooling over a piece of jewelry or longing for that beautiful black stilettos.

But all that was in the past. Now shopping seems more of a mundane task to be done. It seems as bothersome as getting up in a Sunday morning during exam. From being a compulsive shopper to a person who thinks that is a necessity, it has been a great transition. When I turn around and look at the past, I wonder, want was it that made me happy then that is lost now.

I remember those days in Sea view compound in Dammam, after shopping for hours together the bliss one gets. Words won't suffice to say how lovely one feels to try out new clothes or to hug a new teddy bear. Some where down the line, I out grew all this but how? That is something that i have been pondering since Oct 2011.

I hit upon the all so obvious answer yesterday. The most evident things are the most well hidden; the mind thinks that answers to complex question must essentially be complex. The greatest truth is always simple. I sank into my heart, did some investigation. I followed it day and night inspected how if felt when it saw hoarding of new year sales. It no longer wanted to shop till it dropped. Some thing happened. Something that I never imagined. When I saw add for sale in shoppers stop, I was thinking about their marketing strategy and pricing. That was my moment of enlightenment under my table lamp (Sadly I can't find a Bodhi tree in Mumbai). I was indifferent now. I didn't feel that knee jerking reaction that compulsive feeling to head out and shop. Rather I began to search for the less obvious: sale? Why so? The answers that popped out were astounding it involved little of everything from accounts to operations to marketing (sorry, nothing in HR, odd though I must say). Even post shopping I missed that high I used to feel (May be its time to shift to boozing from shopping ;) ). Post shopping I was wondering why there were many women cleaning staff (here HR came to play, at last!.. Huff). While i was gobbling down morsels of the veg pulav I had got my enlightenment two.

Shopping had lost its shine. It could no longer be the problem to all my problems in life. My mother must be proud to know her daughter has given up this lust for material things. Mother knows best, her love was to get absorbed in the smell in incense sticks in a temple. Well I haven't reached that point yet, but I have lost that love for shopping. This must be a loss to lifestyle and long list of other shops.

I realized that curling up with a good book or chatting with nice friends or cooking up a spicy conversation with my mother gave more happiness than even a new Gucci purse can ever give (post seeing the price I decided the same :P ).

All this is great but why did it happen. Well for starters, for the first time in my life I am looking and the bill and paying from my purse (Dad's money but I do have a monthly budget). This brings in a sense of responsibility. I began to think many times before i take something to the billing counter. At last a sense of responsibility. May be I have grown up (God lord! Thank you). Even my sister was shocked to see my new found hatred for shopping. I guess a funeral is necessary to ensure that the shopaholic in me may R.I.P. for rest of eternity.

Heart wants what the mind cannot get.,.

2011-12-30T13:10:00.000+05:30

Since I have not been doing much lately I began to ponder, why we all chase after something always. As humans we tend to long for what we do not have. I used to think that it is a disease from with few suffer (including me), however recent findings indicate otherwise. Why is it difficult to follow certain rules and norms? Why is it that we love and long for certain things so much and after attaining it, suddenly it seems less desire worthy (spare me I am seriously suffering dearth of words). So what is this battle between your brain and heart.

Some might think that this post is utterly mindless and yet others might be smiling and nodding their pretty heads in approval. But the fact is evident and up the face. Haven't we all wondered why we rationally choose a better love life or career option yet look back at the past with a deep sigh. Do we actually miss it? Rationally speaking we made a better choice didn't we? Yet our heart is never at peace always longing for past pleasure or prospects of future joy.

All this is something all of us face day today in our life, sadly we have learnt to live with it. Some brave people have tried to fight it as well, but then what happened to them is another story. Most of them knelt down in front of the all powerful dichotomy and accepted defeat and of the successful lot most of them are saints. Is life long enough for simple people like us to put up a fight?

When we were young we wanted to grow up wear fancy clothes like mom (men can read it as dad) and be all busy. Now that we have grown up we gently glide our fingers over the album in which we were all so small and happy. Every one of us wish we had a time machine to get back, back to the moment when a small butterfly could make us happy and feel like God.

If its not loathing about the past its dreaming about the future. When we were children we wanted to be so many things, sadly most people who are reading this are just another engineer or an MBA grad (no offense but both seems far less jazzy in contrast to something as fun as astronaut or pop singer or dancer .. the list is endless). So, what happened as we grew older? Even now at early and mid 20's there are people with dreams, dreams of becoming a writer, a dancer, a singer, a photographer. What pulls us back? Most common reply, "Please be real, I have a family to support and singing is not really a career. It's just my passion." We all shun away from something we love. But why? Where is all the dream and courage we had as a 5 year old?

Life makes us all cowards as we grow up in the name of making us sensitized to the fact of life. Cross your heart and say haven't there been moments in which you have really cursed yourself for being too rational? So what am I getting at here? Shall we quit all rationality and just follow our heart. Well that doesn't work either. Trust me! I have tried it. Then what can we do? It's like as is heart is the sky and brain is the earth, they never met. May be in the horizon but as you walk towards it, it draws father away from you.

So what can we do? Shall we take a toss every time there is a dichotomy between the heart and the brain? Well that too doesn't work. We need to understand why the heart wants something in the first place. There are few logical reasons:

Everybody have it, so why not me? (This is your worst enemy kill such desire. I mean why do you want to be a everybody ;) )
My loved one said that if would be ideal for me. (Who knows you better than yourself. Dig deep and find out if you love it yourself or just because your loved one asked you to love it. Love inspired from an external source doesn't last.)
I love this because... endless logical reasons (Your is serious trouble, go get an scan and ensure that you have a heart. Come on love doesn't have too many reasons. If it did, one your cooking it up or two your just love with it cause it satisfies your egoistic brain.)
I really don't know but I totally want to do this. ( Now you are talking. Just do it. Don't think, trust me. You wont repent if you do something you love but cannot explain why.)

The heart has pride and brain has ego. Pride hurts and ego kills. So it is a tight rope walk. Listen to you heart, use it to draw up you visions. Live your life and make other smile on the way. Don't plan too much, dont be too nostalgic or dreamy either. Some people strike the right cord without being saints. I am working my way towards the same. It is tough but its worth trying. . . Right?

The case of Mistaken Identity

2011-11-15T14:57:00.000+05:30

All my life I have been an outsider. The person who is not from around here. I was born in Mayiladuthurai, a beautiful temple town. But most of my life was spent in Chennai. Sounds normal doesn't it? But my identity is commonly mistaken. Here goes my tale, where I am always wrongly understood.

When I was doing My first standard I went to Saudi Arabia. The first time flying experience is something I will never forget. In Saudi Arabian I was the unwanted and looked down upon Indian. Within the Indian community in that country I was a Madrasi. I have always been marveled at the term Madarasi. All people who belong to the 4 south Indian states are MADRASI for others above those 4 states. I was fooled to the point in which I assumed that it was a state and not a city(I was only 8 years old and my grades in geography were never great).

When I came back to India, the story didn't end. I had impeccable English flowing off my lips and not so good Tamil. Thus again I was again an outcast. Some though I was just an NRI. The so called rich kid who was so lost in India(I was not rich but I must accept that I was indeed lost).

It took some time before I could adapt to the local language and its lingo. Then came a new confusion. My name! Madhumitha is just too much of a Bengali name. That is what people said. I mean, common, do I look Bengali?

Next sassy mistake: "All vegetarians are Brahmins!" My God! Where did this come from? Only after coming to India did I know that a thing called caste existed. To justify my origins I said "I am a Pillai". Then the confusion became more complex. Suddenly I became a Malayali. Pillai is a caste name shared by a group of people in Kerala and Tamil Nadu.

It took time but I did get an identity and I felt at home. When I went back to my native for vacations I was the girl from Chennai again an outcast in the city in which I was born. Irony, isn't it? I ended up where I started and there I had lost my identity.

Then post my UG, I am in Mumbai. Here again I am donning the role of Madrasi. Every day is a challenge trying to learn and understand a language I had once despised. But I can see a vast improvement in the same. When I go back home for vacations I am sadly a Mumbaikar.

This is truly maddening. It leads me to wonder who I am. I would prefer to be the girl from Chennai. I think that my identity has been the most mistaken one in the history of time. In a way, I am proud. I to belong so many places, castes and assume many identities. I am happy to be this girl from from Mayiladuthurai who grew up in Saudi Arabia and Chennai, then went to Bombay. I am also happy to be from Kerala, West Bengal, Mumbai and Tamil Nadu(Madras) all at once. My life is a lovely paradox. I love being what I am.

The five people you meet in heaven by Mitch Albom

2011-10-31T16:34:00.000+05:30

So what actually happens after we die? I bet that most of you out there would have pondered about this atleast once. Well most of us are satisfied with the imagination of floating in clouds. But don't you think that there must be more significance to death than just floating around clouds with a harp in white clothes?!?

Well Albom surely thinks that there is more to it. The previous book of his was rather very moving. I expected the same out of this book. I was shocked, pleasantly. This book is a beautiful journey which is neither to dramatic for the emotionally shy and nor to dry for those with feelings.

This is a story of Eddie a 83 year old man who works in an amusement park as a maintenance guy. He dies in an attempt to save a little girl from an accident. After his death he meets 5 people. These people have in someway or another affected his life.

I have always believed that lives are interwoven into a beautiful net. Ever action one performs will have a profound effect on others, even the unborn. This story reflects this theme and in a way explains the purpose of heaven.

Heaven is not a to place to chill out. But it is a process of understanding ones life. There are many things one doesn't understand in course of the life on earth. This lack of understanding causes emotional stress and at times might lead the person to take wrong decisions. After death Eddie gets to meet 5 people who are also were very much a part of his life. These people revel parts of his life he never knew.

I suggest that everyone must have a read. Its small yet convincing. Not a sentimental tale, I promise! It is a nice journey through life of "Eddie Maintenance". In someways it makes one ponder about one's own life.

E Book link:

http://e-buks.weebly.com/uploads/6/4/3/3/6433110/the_five_people_you_meet_in_heaven.pdf