The Illiterate Scribe

Choices

noreply@blogger.com (RukmaniRam) — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 21:42:00 +0000

Alamelu woke up. She realized she had woken up by herself. No alarm had gone off. No one had called her. No one had knocked on her door. She was surprised at herself. That too on a day she had decided not to go to work.It had been a tough week, especially on the personal front. Her father, whom she had been estranged from for 4 years now was trying hard to get in touch with her and make amends. He sent her email, photos, packages in the mail. She had disregarded all of them. She could not do it. She could not forgive him. He had been a good father, but sometimes an unforgiving one. It was in her genes, she thought.

At 26, Alamelu was the oldest unmarried woman in her entire extended family. All her sisters, cousins, and even most of her friends had done the right thing. They studied hard, got a good job, which they quit at 23 to marry some Iyengar boy settled in the US. That was not for her though. In college she had met and dated a fashionable Mumbaikar. And when she was about to graduate, she told her parents about him. It surprised and shocked everyone. Shocked people who had met her, because, she, Alamelumangai, with her long oiled hair in a neat braid did not look like someone who would do this to her parents. People who knew her well, were surprised because she, Alamu, with her strategically hidden tattoo was too much of a globe trotting rebel to settle down with a husband and kids. Yes, she had surprised them all. And surprised them even more by making that relationship work for 7 years across countries and timezones.

And that was why her father was reaching out to her now. He wanted to see his only daughter married. Even if it was to some Marathi boy. She had proven her love by making it last. And now she had her father's blessing.

That bothered Alamelu. She wasn't sure she wanted to be married. And certainly unsure about Rahul. No. She didn't think she would marry someone who would fit right in into a Karan Johar movie. The uncertainty was heightened by the new guy she had met. Tall and Turkish, he had walked into her office. When the shift ended at 9.30 that night, he offered her a ride home, during which mentioned that he found her pretty. Alamelu reflexively frowned at him. But upon reflection, realized it was just the thing she needed to hear. It also made her realize things had just ended with Rahul. That night she imagined how her father would react if she brought a new boy home. An Arab at that. Her thoughts took her to the first time she mentioned Rahul. Her father had blown a fuse. It was no surprise. It was the exact reaction she received when she told him she was going to major in Psychology and not Engineering. She remembered feeling guilty. She remembered graduating with a B. Tech.

And here she was again. At a place where she had to make a choice. All of her family and all of Rahul's family expected them to get married. And now she knew she didn't want to. She wanted to tell Rahul it was all over. But she could not bring herself to. Rahul cared about her too much. And there was more at stake than what she was feeling. Breaking those unspoken vows that had gotten them through those seven years had consequences. Of putting her parents and his through all of it. And immediately, again, she felt guilty. Guilty about making a choice that affected her life more than anything else- simply because to everyone else it was a given; there was no two ways about it. She was feeling guilty about making a choice because nobody had expected it of her to be making such choices. With a chuckle she wondered if she was Jewish.

As she lay there staring at the ceiling fan, vaguely following its low hum, Alamu wondered if all her decisions were affected by her need to rebel. She wanted to believe that it was outrageous to even think that; but she suspected that it might have a sliver of truth. Having been taught to be considerate of others feelings first, she realized she could not end it with Rahul simply because of what him and their families would go through. She could not date a Turk simply because she could not put her father through it once again. She remembered all the lessons she had been taught as a child; most important of which was that there were consequences. There were always consequences. When you made a decision, you honored it by following through. She did not know if those lessons were right. But she knew she did not have the courage to investigate them. With that realization, she called her father, asked for his forgiveness, and asked him to arrange for a weeding within the next three months.

Vaudeville is in the Details

noreply@blogger.com (RukmaniRam) — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 00:06:00 +0000

I thought crumpling freshly ironed clothes was depressing. Although that is decreasing.

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Defender bender: minor collision between two lawyers

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Being a conservative requires serious deliberating

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I don't like the only candidate for this post. I need to find a denominator.

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I am confused. I need a decider. Although, sometimes, I jut need cider.

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Some say all this new age technology has brought sloth. Would that mean that we simply need a device?

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If inflate is the opposite if deflate, is incision the opposite of decision? Does institute mean the opposite as destitute?

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How is it that part and depart mean the same?

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I wonder if witch hunts were started as a form of demonstration

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I am sure the antonym of assert is dessert.

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If you run uphill on a warm day, it needs to be followed by a serious descent

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Dottie was an unruly child. Dottie needed a despot.

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P.S: Jerry Seinfeld is coming to town. Me and Paprika quarrel about whether or not we can afford it. Unity in diversity is easier than unity in adversity.

Gaah

noreply@blogger.com (RukmaniRam) — Fri, 28 Aug 2009 05:16:00 +0000

I think I have earned the right to rant on my blog and vent out to strangers (most of) whose faces I have never seen. With school in session, and all the free stuff that comes with it (right now I'm wearing a shirt that proclaims that I belong to the class of 2013. And some people believed it. Highlight of my day) you would think my life would be better. More interest groups. More student clubs. More people. More work. More excuses. New apartment. New neighbors. Bigger kitchen. Cable. You would think this would make life more interesting. My school has a 'quidditch club'. Much fun. I wondered how they were going to fly high. Many ideas. Then they told me they only run around with the brooms. Life is still teetering on the perilously thin wall between meh and blah. The only good feeling I have is the "runners high" I get from biking my way to and from school. And that's just sad. What's worse is that I'm getting used to the distance and it'll soon no longer be strenuous enough. Also gaah is the realization that said bike is growing old and needs serious tune up. Or replacement. But it's the recession. People are no longer giving away free bikes.

Gaahd help me.

I... Miss India

noreply@blogger.com (RukmaniRam) — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 02:30:00 +0000

I'm... home... sick...

I'm assuming all you smart folks out there read those two lines right. Else, the previous statement should have made you.

I've been told a vacation to the des makes you feel this way when it's over. Even if you had been itching to get back midway during the vacation.. being annoyed with the powercuts, the heat, the crowds and the fact that to be connected to the internet, you still have to have a cord running from your computer to the modem. The last few days of the vacation are ofcourse, a totally different matter. With mommy asking you "oorku eduthundu poga enna panni tharattum?" ("what shall I make for you to take back with you".. read 'food') and daddy asking you if you needed cash. And that kinda tends to take the wind out of you for a while. And you begin to miss it all. Ok not all. Mum's maalaadu mostly, to be honest. But there are things that I miss terribly and often. Things that I don't have anymore. And not just because I'm in a different geographic location. But also in a different temporal location. (I'm writing a paper, ok. Deal with the geekese)

Like weekends and newspapers. They simply go together. When I was about ten years old, my school asked us to develop the habit of reading newspapers. And the max I managed was to read the 'Young World'. And fight with my brother for it. It was also around this time that I learned to read upside down alphabet. I figured I'd read read the newspaper as I grew older. But even then I simply graduated to the Sunday Magazine. (Yes yes, I favored The Hindu over any other newspaper. Even when in Delhi, and ToI forced itself down my throat through the Newspapers in Education program.) The only thing the main paper had to interest me was the center page - with the crossword pzzle and the op eds. And often, I saved them and read them over the weekend. And I don't have that anymore. I mean, I havent held a newspaper in this country. Unless you count the "Lifestyle" section that my coffee mugs came wrapped in. Yeah sure, with 24 hour newschannels, and the internet newspapers are rapidly becoming passe. But that's just sad.

Or the rainy season. It was the funnest. Sure, Delhi didn't have much of a monsoon most of the time, and Thanjavur simply succeeded in muddying my pants. But still. Running sopping wet through puddles and hearing your shoes squelch when you hit concrete. Or chai pakode. Those are things I haven't had in a while. Fall is beautiful and all, but it's no monsoon.

And oh, the radio. Specifically, AIR Delhi FM, and the Chennai stations. There's something about the radio playing in the background while I'm sipping tea/kaapi. The tea kadai effect, if you will. There's always something about music whose source I can't place... music that sounds distant.. music from another room. Ah, Jude Law... Er. Oh. Sorry. To try to reproduce the tea kadai effect to a close approximation, I play the Chennai radio often on my computer. Even at work. I obsessively searched for a website that would let me listen to it, but I just managed to find one that plays Chennai stations 7 to 9. So if anyone knows a place I can listen to it at night, let me know ok? It's not so much what it plays - I don't like half of it, and can't really place the other- but I still want it. For the fake radio voices, and the silly set ups. It's like what Sun TV used to be to my mum when we moved to Delhi. Something to ground her to Chennai, a faint link, that even though is mostly stuff we don't necessarily care about, is still about some place we would like to be.

It's not just the radio. I even obsessed about cable TV for a while. I don't even like the programming. Like they say about the superbowl, I just watch it for the ads. Face it, advertisements in this country are b.o.r.i.n.g. And totally unimaginative. Ok, I accept it's hard to sell prescription medications in a fun way. I also accept the fact that when I was in the des, I always made fun of the ads. But I now miss what I have lost. I spend innumerable hours on youtube watching ads. I want desi TV. Well, maybe if I moved to New Jersey...

And the potti kadais. I was in Chennai a while ago, and this potti kadai we used to buy bananas from is now just a shanty cabin with inches of posters on every inch of the surface. Maybe the person who owned it moved on to a bigger shop. Hopefully. It's not even just the potti kadais: I don't even remember one in Delhi. But just the street shops and carts, you know. Like bargaining for bhindi or haggling over a handbag (fake Fendi ofcourse). Shopping is just not fun without it. And grocery shopping is so much worse. While buying food, I want to smell its freshness, not see it's sell by date. And I want to pick from a cart, not drop stuff into one.

I miss the simple life. The vibrant life. With it's multitude of flavors and smells and colors. Now all is bland. Boo.

P.S: maalaadu = besan laddoo; Tea kadai = Tea Stall; potti kadai = small stall shop, usually selling stuff found in a convenience store, only at regular price.

Typocal Names

noreply@blogger.com (RukmaniRam) — Mon, 03 Aug 2009 05:59:00 +0000

Hello World.

When away from India, a name as normal an indubitably tam brahmish as mine becomes compliacated and unendurably long. (Ram in only the beginning of my last name. I know, I know there are people with longer names out there. I feel your pain. Don't flame me.) Yes, yes, all ye desis living in the vides, I'm talking about the involuntary but mandatory butchering of beautiful, exotic names. My name, now, is by default Rukmaahni. Even the single videsi who learnt to say desi properly (after days and hours of repeating daisy, I finally explained that it was pronounced theysee) couldn't get my name right. Forget the videsis. Even the desis mess up my name. From the deliberate "Rukmini" to the more tambrahmish "Rukkumani", I've seen most of it. But that doesn't bother me much you see. As long as my name is printed right, I really don't care. I've had worse names. Far worse than Rukaaamni.

But when you print my name wrong, it gets me. I don't know why. I guess it started when in middle school my name got misspelled as RUCKMANI in the class register and it took me over a year to get it corrected everywhere, and stop feeling like a rugby term. And when you spend as much time online as I do, and people are yelling your name all over cyberspace..... things happen.

Like RukmaniRan. I didn't know what I was running from, but apparently I did. Or Rikmani and Yukmani. I mean, "Excuse me, but do I disgust you *that* much?" How about Rukmami? Ok, I'm a tam brahm, and I definitely look the part. But please, the last thing I want to be referred to as is mami- especially as part of my name. Wait. That's not the last thing. That would be Ruknani. If I'm not a mami, I'm definitely not a nani.

At this juncture, I would also like to thank the soul, who I can only assume, as a prank, ordered in a subscription of "Working Mother" with my name and address. I appreciate the joke. It was a very innovative prank, seeing as I'm neither a mother, nor am I employed. Besides, it did prove to be a wonderful read. But I only wish it came to Rukmani instead of Rukman. I am enough tomboy without having to display it through my name.

And as usual, I saved the best for the last. Thanks to the one inglorious typo, I was rechristened Tukmani. That's ok. It's an obvious typo. No harm intended. But that singular, harmless typo, led to a newer nickname that stuck. Forever. So bad that when my roomie tried to wake me up, she used that name. It was almost on my birthday cake. I had to move cities and make a whole new set of friends to stop people using that name. Guys (by which I mean those who fondly gave me this name that would never leave me) if you're reading this: as much as I adore that I have a nickname, please keep it an inside joke. Don't run it in the comments!

P.S: To all those who missed me, and to the two persons who said so: I'm sorry. I was trying to live in the real world. Shame, I know. And I have learned better. I could not survive in there, and I have now come running back. Accept me please, won't you? I know you will.

Plisxcuse

noreply@blogger.com (RukmaniRam) — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 03:20:00 +0000

Mandatory Pimpance:

Presenting! Friend, fellow English enthusiast, and master wordsmith... Kindly be gracing with your presence

Indigenius

noreply@blogger.com (RukmaniRam) — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 22:38:00 +0000

Hello Hello

Finally back from a long vacation to the des.

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~~New glasses.~~

New _non nerdy_ glasses

Spend atleast 5 hours in SN market combing it for deals, spending quality time with the mum.

Drink juice at Shyam Juice Stall, SN Market

Eat Chat at nameless chat stall next to Shyam Juice Stall

Quarrel with the mum about what to buy at chat stall

Shop at an outrageously priced clothes store in Chennai and buy something that can be bought atleast 5 times cheaper in most Delhi markets

Drive dad's car

Ride the MTC bus in Chennai, and wonder about the distance they take you for the price they charge you

Dear old Elliots Beach

Visit dear darling Creche Aunty

~~Eat enough mangoes to make up for the lost 2 years~~

Don't get chubbier

Get tsk tsked by relatives about how mucher thinner/darker/ not taller you've become

"When are you getting married?" / "Not for another 3 more years atlest" / "Achacho. Don't talk like that. You will be too old by then. It should all happen in due time, no?

Finish work freshly assigned by Dr. Advisor

~~Replace battery in 11 year old Titan watch, and straps in 1 year old WalMart watch~~

Bring Titan watch with new battery with self

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A few things that weren't on the agenda that happened successfully anyway

# Acquire a morbid fear of death by road accident

# Come across as a very chamathu tam brahm girl.

# Spend a night at the hospital.

# Dad's mango milk shake.

# Eat at an overpriced restaurant and then observe that I could have made it better.

# Realize one can never "become" rich enough to shop at South Ex, you have to be born that way.

# Realize I'll never be able to buy property in the city. Any city.

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The Desi Vacation

Jollygood

noreply@blogger.com (RukmaniRam) — Tue, 26 May 2009 20:12:00 +0000

P.S: I saw that movie twice when I was a kid. I haven't seen it since. I wonder if anything new has happened since.

Phbbt!

noreply@blogger.com (RukmaniRam) — Thu, 07 May 2009 00:12:00 +0000

aka Please Holdon. Blogger Break Taking.

Last exam tomo. After which I have 3 weeks of extreme rigor.

The Illiterate Scribe - Now in xkcd!

noreply@blogger.com (RukmaniRam) — Wed, 29 Apr 2009 19:49:00 +0000

Complete with mouseover - text

P.S: Another blog post on an exam eve. Must be the caffeine. Or the idle mind.

P.P.S: The break is still on. Exams, you see.

Update- For those of you who do not know what or where xkcd is. Your non geekiness is forgiven.

Crosstalk

noreply@blogger.com (RukmaniRam) — Sun, 26 Apr 2009 06:21:00 +0000

Conversation with Violet, who has been sitting about 7 feet across from me

RR: There is a ballad in my salad, And a sonnet in my bonnet. There is an ode in my abode, And a jingle in my Monet. In my tune, there is a rune, In my wrong, there is a song- What felt worse before verse, was a poem all along
Violet:who rote it?
RR: i read it in another blog; it was quoted there
Vi: gessd
RR: i think its the height of being glued to ur laptop, when ud rater type long and fast when u can actually just open ur mouth and talk
.
.
.
.
.
.
Vi: ya.....
(And the conversation continued on)

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Me be taking a blogging break. It's just like a jogging break. (Ok, not so much, except for the rhyming part.) Too much vark, I say. I will leave you all with another of my little insights into life. (All true wisdom is found in my jokes, no?)

What is this world so full of care, there's no time to stand and stare. Except when you are window shopping, of course.

P.S: Maybe someday I will come up with something witty enough, and someone will finally love me

Image Source: xkcd. Like you didn't know

For Better or For Verse

noreply@blogger.com (RukmaniRam) — Wed, 22 Apr 2009 05:23:00 +0000

Bitter on my tongue
Chocolate and honey
Cold winter wind
Hot on my skin
A beautiful symphony
Ugly within
A vision mysterious
I recall nonetheless
A moment delirious
An iron lightness
Crushed by the blows
Weakened by the fall
Death over ache
But life above it all

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A languid summer dream
A ship in the blue sea
A delicate white moon
And yet she cannot see

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Scream a whisper
Shine the rust
Eternity together
But leave if you must

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P.S: I blame Dr. Advisor for unleashing "Magnetic Poetry" onto the sides of a sad little incubator (so nerdy, no?). Expect more such rhymes.

P.P.S: Also, are you kidding me?
On second thought, don't go clicking on it. Instead, click here

A Threadbare Taleored History

noreply@blogger.com (RukmaniRam) — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 05:51:00 +0000

He stared at the monitor without blinking. The email was form her. It said that she had moved cities, and it had her new phone number. His heart soared. It had been so long. And then his heart sank, when he saw that the email had been sent to everyone in her contacts. She probably did not realize that she sent it to him too. And he wondered if she would regret having sent it to him. They hadn't spoken in over 4 years.

He had met her 5 years ago, and was instantly interested. She was not pretty. Pudgy, dark and messy- there was always an unkempt air about her. But there was an energy and a vivacity about her as well. She was smart, witty and intelligent. And opinionated. Within days he had been smitten. Her sharp wit and unaffected sarcasm kept him on his toes. She excited his imagination, challenged his intellect. It took him a fair amount of courage to ask her out. It was only a drink in the tiny college canteen, but he wondered how he would react if she said no. He wasn't afraid of being rejected; he was afraid of being snubbed, and he knew that was more likely. But she went with him. Just like that. Maybe she didn't realize the intention, he thought. But then again, that was highly unlikely, and he felt a little stupid for having thought so. And just like that, he had his first "relationship".

She had talked about marriage once. That she never wanted any part of it. And that worked fine for him, he wasn't interested in it either- at that point. Throughout the six months of their relationship, she had been the dominant one. Where to go, what to do; whom to meet and how to act around them. It was tough to be with her, especially since it conflicted with his own dominant tendencies. With his ego. But he did not want to break away. She was daring and unafraid, and there were rumors of her being an outrageous flirt. To him, it was perfect - he would test the waters, take his time, and probably never have to make any commitment.

And then one day, she asked him to meet her dad. He was stunned. He tried talking to her about it, and mentioned how it was all too stupid. But she had kept going on about how much she wanted the two important men in her life to meet. Having no other choice, he went along. During the lead up to the meeting, he felt like he was being lured into a trap; a trap he was involuntarily, but consciously walking into. But when the dreaded meeting finally came to be, he realized she was simply toying with him. One look at the amused expression on her face told him that she had no intentions of saying anything about their relationship. He was relieved. Relieved that she was the same he thought she was. And then immediately, he was annoyed. Annoyed at himself for allowing to be manipulated like this. And because he realized he was actually falling for her.

In the days that followed, he became increasingly frustrated because she wouldn't take him seriously. He sat her down and asked her to make a list of things she wanted in a guy. And she kept saying things like "be well versed in English" and "Should not be a Chiranjeevi fan". It infuriated him, and his actions showed it. He progressively became irate with himself for letting this happen to him, and he realized it was irritating her. And then one day she said things were off between them. And just like that, he had said "Fine, you're just my classmate now". They hadn't talked since.

And now he had this email. Her phone number. And another chance. He had often wondered what it would be like if he had said something else. She would have simply laughed at him. He knew she had had "boyfriends" (oh, how she hated that term) before. And even when he was with her, he knew he wouldn't be the last. How had it happened to him? He wasn't some hopeless bollywood type romantic. He was cunning, ambitious and ruthless. He realized that it was all those things that made her stop being with him. It was a simple conflict of equals. The years hadn't mellowed him. But they had mellowed her. He wondered what it would be like to be with her now. He knew she had cared about him, even if she had not wanted to settle down with him. He wasn't sure if she still wanted to settle down, but he knew she had talked about 'life outside of work' and about having 'walked too fast through life'. He had heard that she was in a 3 year relationship soon after him. And he knew it had nothing to do with the guy. She was still witty and sharp, but not so snarky; still strong and tough, but also kind. It was no more a conflict of equals. They would now probably complement each other. With that singular thought in his head, he picked up the phone and dialed her number.

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P.S: Partially based on a semi-true story hastily written at the long-time-pending request of a once-was-my-good friend.

P.P.S: Pardon the substandard chick-lit.

Slumber Party II - The return of the Pjs

noreply@blogger.com (RukmaniRam) — Wed, 08 Apr 2009 05:31:00 +0000

A friend of mine sent over some pink underwear as part of the campaign. But the postal service returned her parcel. And she wasn't happy with the return of the jetti.

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I remember my friend who used to say "I'll go home and change" everyday as we got home from school. And yet, he remained the same

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I think the turning point in my life came when "Grad school woos" became "Grad school woes"

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When the going gets tough, it's time to buy some laxative

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I never understood the song "Rock On"... why would you worry about not having a rock on life dubaara (a second time)?

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I tried to make the days count, but it was very hard to teach them

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"History repeats itself". No wonder no one paid attention in class.

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If wishes were horses, genies wouldn't be half as desirable.

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If you have to keep your eyes on the stars and feet on the ground, imagine how tall you'd have to be

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I heard a nun say once, 'old habits dry hard'

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I know this has been long awaited... but I simply have too much work to write good jokes. So I went upto my boss and said "Dr. Advisor, you've just given me too much work. I have no time to focus on other things", "Like what" inquired Dr. Advisor "Like writing jokes"

"You're joking now. There."

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P.S: I almost called this post "Slumber party II - The revenge of the PJs". And then I realized that sounded very much like a teen horror flick.

Ponderous Box of Trouble

noreply@blogger.com (RukmaniRam) — Thu, 02 Apr 2009 13:30:00 +0000

These days, there are many nights when I can not sleep (due to the sheer lack of any activity to tire me, and the fact that I slept for most of the day) when I lie awake in bed, stare at the faded yellow lines the street lights make in my ceiling, and wonder.....

...if we would have lesser work if the bulb hadn't been invented

...which came first- the bikini or sunblock

...who put the alphabet (or the numbers) in that order, and why

...how people survived before coffee was discovered

...if the first musician knew if he was playing off-key

...if I'd ever have been late if no one invented the clock

...who decided that Sundays were to be off days
Or why Sunday is part of the weekend, when it's actually the week beginning

...if women wore make up before the mirror came into being

...why shops use the word "SALE" to attract customers. Isn't the stuff in the shop always for sale?

...how the first woman on heels walked. Did she fall? Of course she did. How the heck did they become so popular then?

...if american football evolved from rugby or if it was the other way round

...why all the comedy clubs have brick walls as the stage backdrop

...who wrote the first joke. Did people laugh? How did the person know if the joke was funny as hell?

...what happens if someone killed himself because he could no longer take the pain, and ended up burning in hell

Rich mon Dieu!

noreply@blogger.com (RukmaniRam) — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 04:00:00 +0000

The last good relationship was about 6 years ago. It was exciting. It was endearing. It was swell.

The next two were disasters. I cannot believe one of them lasted four years. The one after that lasted a year and a half; and was worse, much worse. I was lonely. I was suffocated. I was cloistered. I was deserted. The relationship had no life, and yet I endured it. It was awful- except for the brief, two day NYC affair. That was memorable. It was love at first sight; but even then I knew it was only an affair. I was bound elsewhere. Towards the end, I was almost a broken woman. I never thought I could love again.

And then I came to you. You were aloof. Not charming and quaint like the previous one, or rugged and rustic like the one before. You were cold and dark. A little intimidating even. But soon enough, you had my attention. I was always eager to see you, to feel you, to breathe you. I woke up each morning looking forward to seeing some more of you. I know I've only known you a few weeks, but in those few weeks you've had me more excited than I've ever been in the last six years. Except New York of course. But NYC wasn't meant to be. And I'm here, all yours. I long to explore your hidden sights, your nooks and corners. It'll take time, but I know I'll get there.

I can already see this relationship lasting a few years. I know I'm not going to be treated like a princess. I heard stories about you even before I got here. And since I've met you I've heard even more. You're not sweet. You're not nice. You're harsh. And you're going to cost me a lot. I'm already paying a heavy price for the little space you've given me. The luxuries, the safety and the security of the previous relationships are long gone. Not pleasing to the eye by any sane measure, but to me you are beautiful. You smoke. You stink. You're polluted. And I can see the walls all around. There are tiny little parts of you that are beautiful, really. But I have to look hard for them, and they are fleeting.But I have a habit of choosing your type. The type that has the diversity, the pace, the energy and the excitement. You're the biker women get excited about, but will never pursue because you are bad for them. You're not the 'settling' kind, but that's not something I care about now. I want to appreciate you for the moment. To appreciate being here. To the chance that I've been given after so long. I wondered if this was just a passing fancy, caused by the rush of excitement after 6 years.

But then it snowed, and I fell. I fell hard.
I fell in love with you that day.

Ragtag Tagliatelle

noreply@blogger.com (RukmaniRam) — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 07:31:00 +0000

I've been tagged... by Paprika.. on IM! Seriously, wth tags you on GTalk?
Paprika's response to above mentioned question: "Well, I tagged you on my blog, you didn't bother.. I tagged you on facebook, you didn't bother.. what else am I left with?" I wonder why a person who has known me for about 15 years now wants to know "random" facts about me. And what am I supposed to do when tagged on IM? Respond there? Apparently, not.
As a punishment for ignoring his tags for so long, I'm supposed to do it here, where people I've never met in my life will read random but interesting things Paprika wouldn't know about me!

The things I do for friendship. Sigh.

Random in Tandem

#1: For a really long time, I wanted to be an English major. I still do. And I often wonder if I should quit kidding myself with Science, and become an English professor after all.

#2: My English vocabulary is annoyingly large. Despite which I'm often at a loss for words.

#3: For quite a long time, I thought I was a Christian, until I discovered that Groucho Marx and Jon Stewart were Jewish.

#4: Contrary to popular belief, I don't enjoy cooking. I enjoy eating. But I'm a good cook. Honest. I just don't ever cook for others. Which is why, when giving someone my recipe (yes, I have my recipes), the last line usually says "...and eat" instead of "... and serve"

#5: Most of my insights into life, epiphanies and pjs are born while I'm in the shower.

#6: I think unnecessarily too much, and have often been accused of over analyzing things. I live most of my life inside my head. I don't regret it.. it's a pretty neat place. A little dusty, but it's the perfect size for one person.

#7: Some of the funniest things I've ever said weren't intended to be funny at all.

#8: I am alternatingly the worlds biggest slob, and the real world equivalent of Monica Geller/Danny Tanner. This prompted someone to suggest that I had multiple personality disorder. I took it as a compliment.. only a few months ago had the same person said that I had no personality whatsoever.

#9: I often wonder what people think of my What-you-think-really-doesn't-matter-to-me attitude.

#10: I don't identify myself as a tam brahm, a tam, a hindu, an indian, or a desi. But I often use them as excuses.. Like, I claim the reason I don't get a haircut is that it's against tam brahm culture for a dudette to cut her hair. When the actual reason is that I'm too cheap to pay for it.

#11: Despite what my long flowing tresses would suggest, I know zip about hair care.

#12: I like it when I'm the subject of peoples jokes. It flatters me that people would spend their sarcasm, non existent sense of humor and their precious little wit on me.

#13: People seem to think that I'm a person who enjoys the hunt more than the kill.

#14: A friend once claimed that I was a cynical romantic. I have no idea what that means. But I think she's right.

#15: I have been told that I have an ear for music. But I still suck at singing. Apparently, I'm not tone deaf, but tone dumb.

#16: I like it when people try to tell me about myself. Which is why I hang around people who believe in Zodiac signs, palmistry, tarot... and overly judgemental individuals.

#17: I heart chocolate. In fact, while in college, a teacher once promised me a bar of Dairy Milk if I'd turn an assignment in on time.

#18: On different occasions, I've tried to be a singer, a poet, a guitarist, a drummer, a photographer and a stand up comedienne. And the (non existent) records will show that I failed miserably at all.

#19: I often wonder who the forty odd people are who read this blog.. and I say 'odd' for a reason.

#20: I am socially inept.

#21: I develop strange affections for the watches I own. I've had one of them since I was eleven, and it has gone through multiple strap changes, battery changes and dial cap changes. It now sits in my draw idly, because the lady at WalMart said she wouldn't change it's battery. So I bought another watch for $4. That was a year and a half ago. The new watch is now held together by 2 stapler pins, a rubber band and about 5 grams of superglue. And I still refuse to part with it.

#22:For the longest time, me and my brother hardly ever spoke to each other. But we became rather chummy when I moved to another country.

#23: I have a brother.

#24: Most of my favorite actors end up dead soon after I begin to appreciate them- Raghuvaran, Amrish Puri, Nagesh. Which is why some top bollywood actor type dudes are now my favorite actors, and not Prakash Raj.

#25: I am a simple being. There aren't 25 random, interesting facts about me. I'm not as complicated as that.

P.S: My revenge on Paprika for inflicting this tag upon me is that he already knows all of this.
P.P.S: Since I did this tag, I should also acknowledge this. Thanks Vivek. Can I award it to every blog I read?

The Sari State of Affairs

noreply@blogger.com (RukmaniRam) — Sun, 01 Mar 2009 08:22:00 +0000

Being a Tamizh Penn, I'm often expected to wear the sari. And being a penn who thinks that a person only about 5 feet tall doesn't need to be swathed in 18 feet of cloth (plus the extras) I avoided it as much as I could. My father often expected me to wear one, and then it went to "wishing" and then a resigned acceptance of the fact that that was extremely unlikely. My mother though, was much smarter than that, and never expected it of me.

In many of the colleges in south India, and even more so in hostels, the women always dressed "up" in sarees for special occasions- all sorts of poojas, get-togethers, and oh, definitely for the many number of farewells. And there was the pressure to do it.. "ellarum podava kattikrom.. neeyum kattiko" (we're all wearing it, you should too) And having been a tomboy, anything that flowed too much was a no no. I have 2 saris of my own now. (And countless others that were bought "for" me, but now belong to my mum.) Along with the saris came the "accessories". My mum went against the tradition of thangam pavazham muthu vairam (Gold, coral, pearl, diamonds) and bought for me the regular colored stone studded jewelry from the convoluted alleys of Sarojini Nagar market. They had been in my possession for the better part of two years, safely stashed away in one large suitcase, that was in itself stashed in a second suitcase, which in turn, was safely hidden beneath a pile of cardboard, behind another pile of suitcases in the most stuffed closet of the house. Yes, I was using this as an excuse to not don this costume for the Diwalis, the Holis the Loris and other desi events.. and had succeeded.

Then came along Halloween, and a few days before then, came an invitation to a costume party. And the author was neither brilliant enough (or dorky enough) to come up wit a costume idea of her own, nor rich enough to shell out the dough it took to buy a child's Halloween costume at WalMart. But she was brave enough to pull out all the stops (literally, NOT figuratively) and unearth the sari. And she did the brave thing by donning it, and the whole incident was made even more commendable, by the fact that the entire thing was held together by no more than a single paper clip.. for an entire period of 6 whole hours. The author was impressed with herself (as should others be. With the author, not with themselves)

A little introspection after the success of the event gave the author significant insight into the reasons for the success. The usual uneasiness, discomfort and extreme self consciousness was absent throughout the evening. It was simply because there were no expectations from her for having donned the thamizh penn costume. The outfit was treated as what it was- a costume. It was not the embodiment of "Indian Culture". There were no expectations of lakshanam, acham, naanam, and multiple other such descriptors. It did not change who I was, what I thought or how I acted (except for the hobble-skirt restrictiveness)

I also realized that, often, it is not the action themselves, but the expectations that come along with those actions that affects whether or not people do things. And that each person's perception becomes their own reality.

P.S: As an aside, the blog is now officially one year old. In celebration, the author watched another Mahesh Babu movie, courtesy Paprika, who I may add, did not understand a single word. I, on the other hand, did. *Pats self on back for the progress*

P.P.S: Picture courtesy Cayenne, who sends me wishes through email this way. I am waiting to see what he would do for my birthday!

Love Birds

noreply@blogger.com (RukmaniRam) — Wed, 18 Feb 2009 21:55:00 +0000

Seriously. Why wouldn't you love birds? They're wonderful creatures. Except when they poop in your hand. Or on your bicycle seat.

So this is a valentine's day post that's not well in time (crappy rhyme courtesy Cayenne)

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So I've been asked what I did on Valentines day. By MANY. And then many more. Seriously. So in order to be civil, nice, and full of spice, I'll tell everyone else as well:

It started with chocolate cake at midnight, followed immediately by a walk in the cool, pleasant night, with just a little oh-my-god-my-ears-have-frozen-they-will-fall-off-any-moment-now biting cold wind. Followed by a long long oh-my-god-its-almost-dawn talk, followed by spending the rest of the day in bed, interspersed with lazing in front of the tv, followed by going out at dinner time, and then another walk.

I would, at this point, like to note, that the walks were with my female roommate, Violet; the cake was 4 days old, cost us $3 and came from the local mega mart; the day was spent in bed sleeping; the tv was just there in the room - and was not connected or powered; the going out was to school, to do work; and the other walk was again with Violet, except this time, while she was waiting for me to get out of school, she was asked by a random stranger if she wanted money.

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Some of my friends 'proposed' on the day. No, not the "I lou you, will you lou me back?" desi ishtyle, proposing to fall in love, but actually proposing to get married. (Now, if you think that's sweet, romantic, or any other such cloying adjective... don't worry, I'm not going to flame you. As it turns out, this juvenile, high schoolish MTVness is not that uncommon, and I've come to terms with it.) Some of my other friends spent the day at home, NOT alone. They had a warm dinner with their spouses. Man, my friends are getting married or already are. Meh. The only thing I'm getting is old.

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One of the ladies who got engaged is now selling most of her stuff. Apparently, man proposes, and woman disposes.

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So the only thing about this entire marketing gimick I like, is the fact that the day after, chocolates go on sale! And now I'm in hyperchocolatia. My other roomie (I have FIVE of them) recently had her birthday. It's fun, trust me- you get loads of chocolate.Truck loads of it. Good ones too!
On the downside, the balloons they bring for your birthday say "Happy Valentine's Day".

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P.S: So I now have this habit of starting my sentences with 'So'. SO not fun.
P.P.S: I'm still obsessed with Mahesh Babu. Meh.

OB sessions

noreply@blogger.com (RukmaniRam) — Sun, 08 Feb 2009 19:07:00 +0000

To those who freaked reading the title (the author acknowledges that more than half the readers of this blog are of the male gender)- Heh. Scaredy cats.

To all the tams who thought I was OB adichifying all this while - you guys are partly there.

To those who were wondering if I've been busy- yes. With this. And consequently I was introduced to this. And I've been obsessed with the song. It plays in continuous loop in my room, at work and in my head. My roommate is beginning to get annoyed, but I can't help it. Any advice or suggestions to help me snap out of this are welcome.

P.S: Actually, I've been obsessed with Mahesh Babu. To the point of having referred to him as the Prince. And adopting his punch dialogue from the movie. AND watching some of his initial, totally awful movies.

P.P.S: And as a consequence of the last obsession, I've been further obsessed with learning the golt language. Any pointers, tips there will be greatly appreciated.

Violet's update: This girl does follow the dialog: Okka saari commit ithe naa maata nene vinnu!!
Note to the non golts: That's the Mahesh babu equivalent of "Oru vaati mudivu panten na en pecha naane kekka maaten"
Note to the non tams: That translates to "Once I've decided, even I won't listen to myself"

Note to those who come here expecting pjs - they'll be back soon

neweeriesolutions

noreply@blogger.com (RukmaniRam) — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 01:44:00 +0000

When I am a kid (note: I still am a kid, so I cannot use 'was' even to refer to something that happened many years ago) I used to go along with the crowd a lot. It's easy when you're in Chennai, or Delhi, or any such big city. They are crowded. But what I meant was (as you might have rightly guessed in the first place anyway) was that I would do much of what the others do. And much like everyone else, I made new year resolutions. But there was this one time, when I wanted to be different, and I resolved to break every resolution I made. I also resolved not to make any resolutions.

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Someone wished me a good year. I also asked them to wish me the other parts of a car.

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Benjamin Franklin (I guess it was him) said "Be always at war with your vices, at peace with your neighbors, and let each new year find you a better man." In spite of settling for a one out of three, I've always been disappointed.

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I believe it was Oscar Wilde who said "Good resolutions are simply checks that men draw on a bank where they have no account". Account or no account, that is vandalism.

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Back in school, I was told, what you do on New Year's, you do all year round. And people still begin the year by screaming.

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"The object of a New Year is not that we should have a new year. It is that we should have a new soul and a new nose; new feet, a new backbone, new ears, and new eyes." said G.K. Chesterton. Can you believe how expensive that's going to be?

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Everybody wished me a happy new year. Then is it fair to expect happiness around about March- April?

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Sydney Smith said to "Resolve to make at least one person happy every day". Nothing was said about that person not being yourself, or that it should be a different person each day.

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Every year, people get a little wiser. But this year, a friend of mine beat us all by becoming superwiser.

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It wouldn't be New Year's if I didn' have regrets -- William Thomas

Metaphors be with you

noreply@blogger.com (RukmaniRam) — Sat, 27 Dec 2008 09:27:00 +0000

I've realized, that for some movies to become classics, all it takes is a line. A quote that goes down in time, that keeps the movie alive through popular use, and often, parody.

But I have recently discovered some of them in their virgin, original state.. and they aren't very impressive.

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Frank Lee, my dear, I don't have a ham.

Go ahead! Make my tray!

There is no place like Rome

Of all the gin joints in all the world, she frequents nine.

We'll always have Harris.

To read, for the lack of a better word, is good

One word: Gymnastics.

Mrs. Robinson, you're dying to excuse me.. aren't you?

I feel the need.. the need for weed.

I wear a wig! But the pictures show it all!

I'm talking here! I'm talking here!

Houston, we're dying of boredom

"Shirley, you can't be serious!" "I am. So take me to an ER"

There's no flying in baseball.

Those are all fish steaks Otto. I cooked them up

I beg your pardon, aren't you gonna buy chains?

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P.S: The one who gets the most movies right wins... well, nothing

P.P.S: Extra points for the title.

High Five

noreply@blogger.com (RukmaniRam) — Fri, 05 Dec 2008 18:30:00 +0000

I have been so high for the past 5 days.

I think I overdosed on Surya.
Or it could be the 27 cups of coffee I've had. Coupled with the 7 hours of sleep.

I am not sure which one I'd prefer it to be.

P.S: It could also be the 11 deadlines that I have crammed into the next week. And the effort that it took me to bring it to 11 from 17.

P.P.S: There's a reason they're called deadlines. You're dead by the time you get there.

Update: The author is suddenly very aware that her parents read this blog. and are nothing like Malini and Krishnan

Update

noreply@blogger.com (RukmaniRam) — Fri, 07 Nov 2008 08:57:00 +0000

Disclaimer: This post is in response to the person who asked why there were no posts. If you had the same question on your mind, read on. If you didn't, well you read this fine print this far, soothe your eyes by reading better print over the next few lines

A lot has happened in this time- Diwali and Halloween (and costume parties- for both occasions) came and went, an African-American (in every sense of the word, except he is American in every sense of the word) was elected President, the weather changed from thandha thandha cool cool to thandha thandha cold cold (and back again), and I ran out of the prescription for my glasses.

But with exams and homework; with programming, project-ing and procrastinating; it's all I can do to eat at a friends place.

There have been no updates in a while. All I have been having are down dates. I'll post again when I have any.

Till then, cheers!

P.S: Last pointless post, I promise

L+iFE

noreply@blogger.com (RukmaniRam) — Sun, 19 Oct 2008 03:22:00 +0000

Somewhere in my tiny high school library, on the shelf dedicated to the back volumes from the fifties, a tattered but bound volume of Readers Digest told me that life was like a game of chess. That at any moment, we have a choice of moves to make, but there is never an escape from the consequences. But having never played chess (with the simple intention of not hurting my ego beyond scope of repair), except for the time when my brother tried to teach me, I did not much like the analogy.

But sometime while in college, during a long game of high scoring scrabble I realized, life is like a game of scrabble. You never have total control. You are given a set of letters, and you try to make the best score. And even then, it's not all in your hands. You may have the resources to make a high scoring word, but you may not be able to, because of the way the board is spread, or because of another's play. All you can do is make the best of the options available to you. There's no control over the circumstances, only over how you deal with them.

And yesterday, someone told me, life is like solving a crossword puzzle. You always have the clues, but you may not always know the answer. You make the best guess you can, and move on. And sometimes, you know the answer. You know it for sure, but then you realize that it does not agree with another answer you guessed. And then, the best you can do is erase the guess, and then try again. There's no point holding on to a false answer; holding on to it simply because once you thought that was right.

And then there's this person I've known for a very long time who also thinks that life is a game. And there's no other point except to play it. Thinking about it is not going to take you anywhere.