Wednesday 17 February 2016

Solitary, not lonely



Solitude and loneliness- Aren’t they the same?  If you answered yes, I can see the cringe on your English teacher’s face from where I am right now. Or if you are one of those who know the literal differences in the meaning of those words, yet don’t comprehend their practical manifestations in the physical world, then this is for you.

Yes, some of us really do love and value our solitude. Yes, we do exist. And no, we aren’t ‘abnormal’ or deprived of company.  Nor did we have a troubled childhood. It’s just that sometimes we really do love be with just ourselves.  

I often get asked if I don’t get bored staying alone. Most people are astonished to hear that a talkative person like me thoroughly enjoys my time by myself. Or that I won’t hesitate to go for brunches on my own if none of my friends have woken up by when my tummy decides it needs to be fed. Mind you, I am the hybrid of a flaming dragon and a dinosaur in labor pain when hungry. The tummy gets what it demands, when it demands. Simple. While I have had wonderful roommates who have grown to be best friends over the years, there comes point in life when you simply aren’t ready to share your space with anyone other than your partner. After all, it’s easier to straighten out one’s own mess without having to bother about having eaten the other person’s dinner by mistake. Yes, it’s happened. Nope, it wasn’t intentional. This is a long story for another day.

Watching a movie alone is a treat as well. If you don’t count the glaring stares from others, that is. The piercing stares from the girl clutching her partner’s arm protectively for fear of me snatching him for company is something that shocked me at first, but now makes me burst into my signature loud laugh which soon turns into a snort.  Please excuse me while I savor my tub of caramel-cheese popcorn. I have no inclination to give you reassuring looks as promise to not steal your partner.

Late night reading, cooking or painting sessions are absolutely therapeutic. When you are immersed in the nuances of the characters in your book, trying to balance flavors to hit the savory sweet spot, or trying to get the perfect shade of pink in your palette, it is meditation. 

This painting was done on one of those Friday nights I did not feel like socializing

Isn’t it wonderful that you’d rather be with a person because you genuinely want to spend time with them rather than to beat being alone? And if you don’t like spending time with yourself, why would someone else want to? Till then, stay wondering like Wordsworth about this Solitary Reaper‘s tune.




Saturday 21 November 2015

Karma’s Slap



Yes, Karma is a bitch. I am sure we are all very well aware of this universal truth by now; well, time better make us wiser, if not younger. Karma slaps you or gifts you, totally depending on one’s actions or lack of them. But rarely does one such slap turn out to be one of the most treasured gifts of one’s life.



My relationship with my Polk is nothing short of this. Growing up, hatred, screams, tears, and most times, indifference is what we gave and had for each other. We are in almost all of each other’s childhood memories, but merely as a spectator, for we rarely had anything to share with each other. She was my sister’s confidant, and me, her brother’s. Oh! How we wished we could have traded siblings! Perfect win-win!

 Being a year younger to her, never was a chance missed to let me know how much she despised my existence, since my birth took away from her the much enjoyed position of being the youngest in the family! One of the perks being, I was our brother’s favourite, being the only one allowed to ride his tricycle scooter. And I hated how she and my sister would gang up against me with their big girl talks, smirking at me for being uncool-ly young.  I retaliated by refusing to call her chechi even after she threw a tantrum regarding the same merely because I did not want to. Period. We stuck to our guns. Our parents tried to intervene, but soon threw up their hands in exasperation.


Yeah, we do our own thing

Fast forward to 2011, the now not so little me had to move to Bangalore to be a big girl, employed and all. This is where she came in like my Shero in shining armor! She had finally decided that she liked having a younger one to pamper and call her own little pie. Yes, she did have her moments of ‘why doesn’t this girl have a favorite color for a bucket’ to ‘why on earth is she a vegetarian’.  But no, I wasn’t an angel either.  I fought with her for pressure cooker whistles while I was sleeping away to glory on a Saturday morning and she would lose her mind over me conveniently stealing her stuff I loved. Hey! Don’t judge me, I am the younger one, and I believe it’s the unsaid right of every young one to be able to steal stuff of the older ones, no questions asked. Well, we do need to make up for all those years of bullying!


From indifference to lou


Celebrating my first pay check and just a random pastry for my cranky TC



Well, if the shoe fits....

We had plenty of those typical sister thingies too- grading all her guy friends into 3 tiers. Tier 1 comprised of the guys I could turn to eye closed in case I was stranded in a no man’s land,  Tier 2- good guys, but will flirt with me, if given the chance and Tier 3- Escape!!!! All her friends soon became my friends as well, because well, I was her Vetal, tagging along everywhere. If she needed to avoid a gathering, Neema was sick and needed company.  Sticky situation, Oh that’s Neema at her pranks, nevermind. Unavoidable meeting with a person she doesn’t want to meet- Oh Neema is alone and cranky, had to bring her along! We were each other’s companion, excuse, strength and so much more and we still are! There was the other person at every beck and call and neither of us was ever left making plans for the weekend because there was never lack of a companion. Duh! Vetal, here. Most people did not even realize we are cousins; they just assumed we were best friends.


Vetal-ing dutifuly


When I moved to Mumbai, more than my job, or home, I missed her. I missed going crying and yelling to her when distressed to just throwing her off the bed when she pulled the blankets. I missed our late night talks and random all though the day texting. I missed eating out with her and I missed showing her how to shake her bum in the name of dancing. I missed yelling at her about not eating healthy while I hogged on the most sinful cheesy fries. I missed fighting with her but having to patch up soon, keeping our egos aside since we had more important things to share with each other. I missed just about everything about her. Of course, my wonderful friends in the city were always there for me, but a sister is irreplaceable.  After all, she is the only one I can fight with and have an absolutely serious conversation in parallel with! Hell, my sisters even sketched my love story before I realized it!



Trips, baking, taking over Vickyanna's bullet and simply just yapping the night away in front of our lappies, chasing my cab at the airport in filmy style to see me off!


Well, she’s in Pluto now, okay, Melbourne, not that it’s any closer than Pluto. And I miss her. I hate the time difference and I hate waking up on Saturday mornings and not being able to text her if she’s up and if we have any plans for the day. But yeah, technology does make it a wee bit easier. So fine, I am not complaining. I will just have to be a grown up and adult about it. Sigh.




 Since I don’t like posing, this is her idea of clicking my candid pics

Thursday 15 October 2015

To settle or not to settle for settling down


Age is just a number-Whoever first said that clearly hasn’t been at the receiving end of unsolicited concern from the aunty you shared a seat with on the bus. Oh wait! Not just aunties, but uncles, random passers by or even friends of the same age who got married yesterday. Also, age is a word! Sorry, the geek in me couldn’t resist it.

Now, I have no problem with people getting married, or not. I believe it’s one of the greatest joys of life to be able to spend your life with a partner you love. If marriage is not for you, then good for you! Go live your life! Have a dog or a cat or even a plant, if that’s what you like. PS: I have a money plant that I treat like my baby and religiously take care of. Now I am the proud mommy of a plant that has new tiny leaves growing and even has a name. Yeah, people! If you can go on about your babies, so can I.


Just don’t throw subtle or not so subtle questions at me regarding my plans to ‘settle down’. Or if you just cannot keep your nose within your business and ask me you must, at least please tell me what exactly you mean by settling down. Does it mean that you settle down at the bottom of the beaker like a precipitate out of solution? Mud at the bottom of a murky pond? Good heavens, the very thought gives me the chills! I think I‘d much rather be a colloid, happily floating around, never to settle. Isn’t that more exciting? And if you find a partner you are happy to float along with, then what more can one ask for? Two rolling stones will only keep the moss away!


Wednesday 26 August 2015

50 Shades of Being a Mallu

First things first- I use the term ‘mallu’ merely as an abbreviation for the parent word malayalee. Understandably, most mallus are offended by the term, since it’s often used in the most contemptuous manner. I shall take a few deep breaths and save this debate for another day since there are more important aspects of being a mallu that need focus at the moment.


I am sure it’s not just me, but anyone who doesn’t look like the fake-dark, dejected girl in those horrendous advertisements for fairness creams, whom no one wants to marry or finds worthy of being an air hostess, has heard from non mallus around them – wow! You don’t look like a mallu at all! Now I, personally take that as an insult, is it my lack of long luscious hair? Or is it because I don’t have nice big eyes like Mohiniyattam dancers? If you happen to say it’s because I am too light skinned to be a Keralite, then God save you. Not just from me, but from your sheer ignorance. Just like it’s not uncommon to find a dusky skinned Punjabi amongst the milk complexioned sea of faces, or a person from the hills who is not rosy cheeked, it’s not uncommon, rather it’s quite common to find people of all shades everywhere in South India.  Please keep that in mind the next time you say anything like this, lest your ignorance cost you your teeth. Thank you.


All of us gorgeous Mallu girls in all shades, shapes and sizes, but the same happy smiles!

Thursday 13 August 2015

Of Memories and Smells


The human psyche and smells have a very weird connection- something frivolous as a whiff of perfume from a passerby can transport us to a time or a person that now exists only in our memories. Being a biology student, I know that this is the amygdala and hippocampus of my brain asserting their importance in my trivial existence. But being the emotional fools that we are, these flood us with a plethora of emotions, good, bad and beautiful.

The smell of frangipani transports me to a time long bygone- of our grandma’s home, of fun times climbing the guava tree and swinging on the mango trees with our little feet dangling ever so dangerously over the ledge of the wooden plank that served as the seat of the swing. Suspended by nondescript yellow ropes, the wooden plank of a swing was a thing of great joy for us. We fought for our turns on it and we fell down numerous times from it, trying to fit two of ours’ little bums on the said swing. The house now sports a very different look, under fresh coats of paint and new flooring, with the trees being cut down due to its savage branches extending till the terrace, and causing a major safety concern for the tenants. But Frangipani is all those bitter sweet memories for me— of a happy, playful childhood with no cares to be given!


Figure 1: A frangipani I picked up while walking back home after dinner with my cousin

Cuticura talcum powder is something I’m sure we all associate with the soft comforting arms of our grandmoms. The age old orange and white cylindrical tin is like childhood in a container! Our grandma was a very plump and stern woman whose soft side she would only occasionally reveal to us, and this included snuggling on to her ample tummy cradling her arms. The waft of Cuticura powder would engulf us in absolute comforting bliss while we lazed around content on her lap, sometimes fighting for more space with each other. Today, none of us cousins will dare to pick a bottle off the rack (if it’s still available, that is!) for fear of all these memories gushing in and taking us in its inexplicable bind. Memories which we can no longer summon on a particularly bad day to cheer us up. So, we hold on to each other, forming the best links to childhood that we possibly can. And that according to me is a far better way to honor and relish those wonderful times bygone! J

Figure 2: Still as dysfunctional as ever!

Friday 7 August 2015

The Cupcake Theory



My bestie and I are complete opposites, so to say. If I am a raging dinosaur, she’s the Buddha in my life; ever so calm and peaceful, giving me her nuggets of wisdom and pulling the cheekbones of my hexagonal face( due to my lack of chubby cheeks) calling me her Nemoticon. Yes, that’s what she calls me, because according to her, due to the myriad expressions that my face can execute I do not need emoticons while communicating.

Figure 1: No other picture captures us better!

I am her baby, be it to take care of me when I am sick or to satiate my insane cravings, especially late night ones. Visiting her was nothing short of a vacation for me (we used to live good 17km away) during which I only used to sit and read in her balcony comfortably on her bean bag while she took care of the more mundane activities. During one such visit she took me to my favourite cupcake place (Cupcake Noggins, for you Bangaloreans) for dessert after dinner. It was this day that the cupcake theory came about. After devouring the absolutely yummy cupcakes ravenously, I cribbed to her about my cupcakes getting over. She looked at me with her Budhha like smile and said, ‘isn’t this how it always is? We cry over the cupcake getting over rather than being grateful for having had a chance to have the yummy cupcake in all its glory’ A cupcake! This was just a cupcake! And she managed to spin something which made such profound sense. This is our cupcake theory.

Figure 2: Never underestimate even the smallest of things or experiences

How many times have we cried and cribbed about a promotion at work gone amiss, a relationship not working out, that job interview we did not crack, a friendship gone sour? But have we taken even half the time to be grateful for having been blessed with that opportunity? Of the learning we were fortunate enough to take away from that incident? We often miss out these little joys of life in our search for the bigger, more important ones. Not every journey is undertaken in search of a destination; sometimes the journey is more beautiful than the destination itself. Let’s relish the cupcake before it’s over. Food for thought; from a humble cupcake, of course.



Monday 3 August 2015

When in doubt,take a leap of faith!



It’s said that a single moment is all that’s required to make any life altering change- a moment of recklessness, a moment of courage to walk up to the person you love and express it or a moment to quit your job and take a break!

For me, it was the break from work. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my work. We were a team of young scientists who were highly motivated by our super fun seniors. But when opportunity knocks your door, you welcome it; you embrace it and are grateful for it.

Most times we know what’s best for us, but sometimes our loved ones know better. For me, this person was my sister. The ace Bollywood choreographer, Shiamak Davar, who ran a prestigious dance school in Mumbai, had called for a nationwide audition for their intensive six months program. The thought of auditioning for it is not something I would have even considered entertaining. But as always, being the pushy parent that she is managed to convince me to head to Mumbai for the three day long audition process. I humoured her. After all, if I don’t make it, I at least get a three day break in the wonderful city with my long lost friends from various stages of life! And at that point of time, I really could have used a vacation! It was a win-win situation.

The audition venue was typical of what one would expect from the auditions of ‘Indian Idol’ or any such reality shows, minus the media coverage. We went in one by one to perform our piece and rejoiced when a couple of us got into the program directly after the very first round. It was exhilarating to realise that even after so many years, I stood a chance to get selected for this program amongst so many other talented people! But with this overwhelming joy came the inevitable question of ‘what next?’ This was an intensive training program spanning six months, to be held in Mumbai; which meant that I would have to relocate to the city, leaving behind my wonderful job and perfectly set home in Bangalore. And I had absolutely no clue what to do! Hell, I did not even think I would get this far! But of course, life has its way of always pointing you to the right direction. Sometimes you just need to breathe, trust, let go and see what happens. But sometimes you have to get up, roll up your sleeves and make things happen.  And since life doesn’t come with instructions, we just need to trust our gut on what to do when!


Figure 1: As Po from Kung Fu Panda said- Honestly, I did not think I'd get so far!


The decision was quite simple for me- I wanted to do this. Not because I ever intended to take up dance as a career, but because I knew that if I skipped this opportunity, I would regret this for the rest of my life. As someone who has been trained extensively only in classical dance, this chance to be trained intensively in over five dance styles by stalwarts on their own rights was a golden opportunity offered to me on a platter. And I wasn’t going to let that slip away.
It is at times like this that we realise the strength of the support system that we have been blessed with. Like any middle class family, my mom was initially quite apprehensive about me quitting the job that I loved and tried so hard to land as a fresher right out of college. But as always, she surprised me. On the day I was to formally put down my papers at work, when she called me up in the morning I couldn’t resist telling her how scared I was. I had no clue where I was headed leaving my cushy job and home and plunging into so much of uncertainty not knowing if it was the right thing to do. Mom told me not to worry and like everything else in life we would make sure this works for us and that we are strong enough for it! I was expecting her to tell me to rethink about resigning and here she was telling me to take a chill pill! Now how often does that happen! We often think our parents are old fashioned and ‘uncool’, but trust me, we just have to give them a chance!

Figure 3: Farewell from work- my ever so awesome team

Some people thought I was plain crazy to leave my job and invest six months of my life in something I did not intend to make a career out of, others thought I was doing the right thing and were excited for me.
To say that those six months were a period of tremendous learning, fun and gruelling work outs would be an understatement. I was staying with a very loving family friend to whom I was nothing less than a daughter, with kids half a decade younger than me who saw me as their new cousin. I had taken over their room and cupboards, but never did I hear even the faintest mutter of indignation from them. Weekends were always spent at my crazy friends’ places who ensured I do not miss home or Bangalore or anything familiar.

Figure 4: A great bunch of friends and family!


Since my classes were from 5-9pm, I had literally half the day to myself. Being an extremely talkative person I was scared this period would drive me crazy with no one to talk to and with nothing to do, my tiny little brain would rot. So, encouraged by friends, I decided to try my hand at some content writing to keep myself occupied. It was a pleasant surprise to know that there was something else that I was capable of doing.  I would read, sit in cafes and do my own thing or move around in Mumbai in the local trains to make sense of the city...And Mumbai did not disappoint me in the least! From random conversations with strangers in trains to a note on my table from an anonymous admirer at a coffee shop, to wading through the flooded streets to the railway station and back, to lying down on the promenade at Marine drive in the late evening with my bestie, Mumbai truly is an experience in itself. Every Bombay brat I have met would refuse to acknowledge the greatness of any city other than Mumbai and after living there for just six months, I completely understand why. Of course, being a spoiled Bangalorean I threw my share of tantrums about the sweltering heat of the city’s summers every single day, but the city’s charm won me over and I left Mumbai extremely heavy-heartedly. That’s the thing about the city; it slowly takes you on to its lap that you just don’t want to climb down.

Figure 5: Amchi Mumbai- from the dabba walas, to the impromptu show by some musicians at the bandstand, the infamous Berry Pulao at Britannia, a random kid and his dog I met in a train, at the Gateway and my attempt at tackling the Mumbai rains


Figure 6: The note left by an anonymous admirer! Does this happen only Mumbai or what!?


About the classes, I don’t even know where to begin! We learnt dance and so much more! We were an extremely small batch of nine highly excited and enthusiastic dance students who were just overwhelmed by the whole opportunity we were given. Our backgrounds and age was as diverse as it could have been, and this very factor taught us so much about each other and how much of the world exists beyond our comfort zones. At one point each one of us were going through major challenges on the personal front. During these moments, comforting hugs with no questions asked, a helping hand and just sticking up for each other cemented our camaraderie into friendship. We exchanged our innermost insecurities and profound learning experiences with zero judgement of the other person. Amidst the intense workouts, gruelling but liberating dance sessions and learning our bodies better, we lost track of how quickly six months flew by. We worked and danced in teams, as individuals and many times learnt by being the spectator. And that according to me is what art does to you. You learn to accept; you learn to broaden your horizons as a person and learn to welcome change!


Figure 7: SHP!! (Shiamak’s Half Yearly Program)


Most people don’t understand why someone in their right mind would want to do anything like this. But again, who exactly is a completely sane person? Don’t we all come with our bunch of quirks and craziness? The joy of taking time out to do what you love is inexplicable; the anxiety of moving into an alien city, even more so. But there is something extremely liberating about moving out of your comfort zone and catching the change by its horns. It’s scary, it fills you with doubt and uncertainty, but when you emerge out of it, you know that you are ready to take on anything else life has to throw at you.  I do not guarantee you to achieve nirvana and the likes, but you do learn to care less about other’s opinions and learn to live your life!