Upside Down

Here is a cheesy, forced-to-rhyme poem for people undergoing a mid-life crisis for the third time in a decade. 

When Wednesdays get you down,
And the love of your life is out of town,

What do you do to turn that frown
Upside down?

Mami

Mami. That's how we knew her, Nim and I. For ma and pa, and maybe the rest of the world, she was Mini. Our rock. Always there, soft when she needed to be, tough when you needed her to be.

I loved her. As all of us did in our own quiet way. I just wish I hadn't waited for the cancer diagnosis to tell her that. And even then, on text. 

Looking back on my childhood, I feel like she was my third mum. First was ma, then Nim, and then her. She was the one who got me hooked on to books. She gifted me my first Harry Potter, my CD of Simon & Garfunkel the year I told her I was bored of getting books as gifts. She shaped how I viewed my role in this world. A lot. She was the person who got my hair cut really, really short the first time. Dad stopped trusting her with my haircuts after that. She made the best mac 'n' cheese in the world, and the most comforting tomato & cheese sandwiches I've had. I re-discovered those too late last year, when I was missing her. I wish I had asked her to make them again for me. Or that I had seen her more often and I could have. 

As things stood, we found out about the cancer right about the time the pandemic started. None of us could go near her, hold her, kiss her or hug her, in case we unwittingly passed on a virus to her already frail body. I couldn't hug her throughout her sickness. I remember going to meet her the night before I was to fly out to Bangalore late last year. I wanted so much to hold her hand and squeeze it. All I could manage was a kiss on the hem of her kurta. Her kurtas. She made Fabindia cooler than it was. For real. Nobody else could have carried those cottons better than her. 

Mami was the coolest. She got me my first pairs of hot pants. If she said a book was good, you read it and told the world it was the best thing you have read. Because mami had said so. My awkward social self could only bring up book conversations with her. I loved my visits with her to bookstores. She introduced me to Pico Iyer. Who later introduced me to Rumi. Who then introduced me to Shams. I knew Rumi before it was cool to quote Rumi. Rumi knew a thing or two about loss. 

When news of her passing came out, lots of writers wrote in. Talking about Nandita the Editor. I felt I had barely known her. She left a big piece of herself behind, with different people, who knew her different than how I knew her. But she was just our Mami - Nim and mine. Nobody else knew her the way we did. 

Mami was smart, she was funny. Even hilarious. She corrected your grammar without batting an eyelid. She loved selflessly. Nim and I were just a couple of kids she happened to be related to. But she checked in, she looked out. Growing up, she shared her mom-love with Nim and me. We always felt like we belonged with her when we were together. 

My favourite memory of her is from the time she spent a day with me in Bangalore. She kept refusing a meal. I finally convinced her it's no bother, and that she should eat some lunch. She sat near me in the kitchen while I made some dosas for her. I think I saw a glimmer of pride in her eyes. She did say, in her typical mami-way - 'Wah!' I think she meant it. We had a moment there. I don't know what it was. But it was special. I wish I'd taken some pictures of that day.

I will always carry a part of her in me. I will have my mami-lens on when I am doing up my house, or walking into a Fabindia, or interacting with my own nieces. I will always think of her when I pick up an author she spoke to me about, or a song she recommended, or have somebody else's shitty mac 'n' cheese. Time will heal, and with time, I hope my memories of her grow stronger. 

Take off!

It's been a crazy few months. Karthik and I had been planning to move out from our apartment into another, more spacious one, where both of us could continue to work from home more comfortably. Karthik went on a crazy spree of checking out 8-10 apartments a week, and we finally arrived at 2 that we thought we could live in for at least a couple of years. (It's a big deal, both of us are kind of fussy about our living conditions).

We almost paid up the deposit and finalized everything when we started to think. Again. What if we don't have a home, and we just shuttled between different cities for some time and lived like locals? We are restricted by the places we can go right now because of time, distance and budget. What if all those concept were more fluid for us? If we no longer paid rent, that's instant savings that can be used toward Airbnbs. Forget the finances, but what do we do with all the furniture we've bought over the years? My beautiful Sheehan bed, my favorite accent chair? My head was already in overdrive as we were discussing the plan and trying to decide. Part of me started thinking about how we'd have to fight off the parents and convince them that this isn't a terrible idea. (I still pine for their respective approvals at the ripe age of 30 something). We took three days of this back and forth. Karthik checking off all my anxiety ridden questions with seemingly simple solutions. Me adding new baseless questions knowing full well it was just my fear of the unknown making me this uncomfortable. The patient Mr. Ramesh endured through it all, and lo and behold! On 13th of October, we spoke to our landlord, letting him know of our decision. And just like that, it was decided. 

The parents took the decision surprisingly well. They were excited for us, and said, yep. Best time to do this, you have to do it while you can. 

The boss (even more surprisingly) was also on board with the idea. All good. 

And that's when the stress and sleepless nights kicked in. We only had four weekends and extremely busy weekdays to do EVERYTHING. As alway, Karthik Ramesh was chill about it. Ek din mein ho jayega? What do you have to do that's worrying you? And yep, he was right. Ho gaya. Took us a full day of moving, and an entire weekend to adjust some of our things at my in laws house and set us up for their home for a few weeks. Long story short, we moved out, we stayed with his parents for a bit, I visited my sister for a month, stayed with my parents for a bit, and then, we left our nests on 31st December!

So far, we've covered two cities. But more on that later! 

And yes, happy new year to anynody out there reading this. 

Birthdays

Karthik Ramesh never wishes people a Happy Birthday. He always goes the long route and takes the pain to say, "Many more happy returns". It's such a mouthful. Even when he has to text his wishes, he will type out the entire bloody sentence as if that's normal. It bugs the pickles out of me.

What does that sentence even mean? What returns are we talking about? It sounds as if your entire life has been an investment and it's on this day that you wish you get some returns on it. The first half sounds about right, but you ain't getting no returns on this one, son.

His argument to the above rant is going to be, for that matter, what does "Happy Birthday" mean? We are happy you were born, so let's hope today, on the day you were born ages ago, your day is happy? All the other days of the year don't mean for squat? Sigh. He will be making sense if he says that. I hate it when the man is right.

Anyhoo, I hope you're getting good returns on your life and living happily each day.

Naina

Facebookers Anynoymous

Hi everyone,

My name is Naina, and I am a Facebook addict.

Sounds like a legit statement today. I have made one unsuccessful attempt to go offline, I think I succeeded 4 days before I was back. Pavan shared an interesting TED video with me today. It made me realise I need to write about this and speak up about my spiralling condition before it gets worse. I have a hundred things running through my head right now that I want to talk about, I shall try to keep this post as structured as possible.

Let's go back a decade. Facebook was the new thing in town. Nim introduced me to it, I coaxed a bunch of people onto it, Indian population on Facebook hit critical mass, and wham! Suddenly everyone was using it. Remember how cigarette smoking was cool back in the day, before scientists discovered its harmful effects? I am not hinting at anything here, but it just felt like an interesting thing to highlight. My own dad went from, "Beta, don't put up your pictures online" to "I have a political opinion and I shall share it with the world" in a seemingly short span of time. He has also begun sharing pictures of us on his profile. I am fairly certain he is not the only dad in the world to have undergone that transformation. My sister, the very person who introduced me to the monster, decided to quit the habit before it got to her. I think that's one of the few sensible things she has ever done in her life. (Even if she was doing a course in Corporate Communications which involved pieces of Digital communication at the time). I, meanwhile, went from an overly-excited-teenager-who-liked-to-share-all-pictures-she-ever-clicked (while avoiding emotional online outbursts), to randomly updating status, to seldom changing profile picture, to silently stalking PoI, to obsessing over my newsfeed while changing my profile picture once a month routine. Facebook was also evolving. It was taking in all of my habits, feeding it into a database, learning from it, and spewing out more stuff that would keep me coming back. I hate it. I wake up at 6.59 AM every morning like clockwork. I try to rest my brain to go back to sleep. I pick up my phone telling myself it's just to check the time. Before I know it, it is already 8AM and I am watching random videos on Facebook. Videos which now have ads. On my way to work, I promise myself I will make the traffic jams productive. I end up draining 50% of my battery watching random crap on Facebook. A year back, I would idle away time spent in a car looking out the window, taking in the buildings and eateries all along the road. Today, I hardly notice where I am headed. I have to force myself to look up, out the window. Whenever I have a few minutes to myself, I am instantly bored. I pick up the stupid "smart" device, and I innocently click on the Facebook button. I have stopped arguing with Karthik when he tells me I am addicted to my phone. I agree with him. I am an addict. In fact, I spend so much time on Facebook, that each time I open the app, only the first 5-6 stories in my feed are new to me, the rest I have already browsed a few minutes earlier.
I don't think being online helps you stay connected. My attention waivers each time I am out with people, my legs are shaking and my fingers fumbling around looking for my smart phone that is just yelling to be unlocked. I am not with the people, I am without them. 8 out of 10 items on my newsfeed are not even about people. It is sponsored content, recommended content or content from some group that I follow. I know exactly which people on my friends list hate Modi and which ones love him. I have stopped reading articles or comments shared by them sub consciously because I realise they are going to be biased. I hate taking sides in political matters. I don't have an opinion any more. I am convinced we are headed towards an Orwellian world, where Facebook, Google and Apple will be the Big Brothers. We have, to some extent already lost the freedom of choice, and will continue losing control over the next few years. Before that eventuality, let's live a little more.
Giving "offline" another shot.

Tell your friends what's on your minds, no more!

Naina

Usual Rant

There is something immensely satisfying about stalking random people on Facebook and trying to speculate about the juicy details of their boring lives. It's especially fun when the person being stalked is a know relationship cheater and you stumble upon a supposedly innocent conversation made public on their walls. I am not pointing at anyone, just saying. Merely indulging in a bit of early morning musings. The weather outside is beautiful. I discovered a flying (huge!!) cockroach in my bedroom and am a little scandalised as to what that means about the reach of this disgusting creature into my inner sanctum.

I hate cockroaches. A statement that JUST doesn't get said enough. If you guys have any valuable solutions, please drop me a message. I have tried EVERYTHING under the sun to get rid of them. They just keep coming back.

Anyhoo, roaches aside. Life has been pretty exciting recently. I am trying to start work on a proper work of literature, but I think the blog has sucked the finest out of me in it's first year. (Please don't be laughing at that statement, it would break my heart!). Or I just don't have any sadness left in life. It is said people express themselves better when they are sad or in pain. I haven't felt any triggers to write recently. Brain running dry.

I have been watching brilliant things on Amazon Prime and TV. Discovering a new side to the Fitzgeralds with Z, an Amazon Prime program about the life of Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald. I tried to read This Side of Paradise post that, I think I am going to give up on it now. I am now watching Genius, a National Geographic show about the life of Albert Einstein. If the series is to be believed, he had a genius wife as well, who got caught up in the life of a mum and housewife to do much with her brilliant brains. I just realised, both these series have the same theme. The woman giving up on her dreams because she fell in love with a guy and decided to settle down. These producer guys are trying to make the most of the feminist sentiment while they can.

While taking a break from This Side of Paradise, I finished reading Old Man and the Sea. And picked up An Atlas of Impossible Longing. All this while I thought it was another Arundhati Roy book. Turns out it isn't.

I should probably start getting ready for work.

Till something pops up in my head,
Naina

For Humanity

If the 60s were known for punk rockers and flower power, the 10s are definitely going to be known for the outbreak of the feminist culture. Only, it is going to be glorified to be the the beginning of a revolution that finally led to the emancipation of women and putting them on an equal pedestal. I don't get it. The moment you start yelling men are morons, men can't stand women being at the fore, men can't this, men can't that, you are essentially doing what Kejriwal does when Modi is sitting peacefully making decisions for the country. We need to stop generalising and start accepting that the world is changing, and has, in fact, been changing for a while now. It's like what Billy Joel says, "We didn't start the fire. It was always burning."

Now I am no evolutionary expert, but right since the beginning of time, there was division of labour. Men earned food, women procreated and took care of their families. You can see the patterns among animals, we know of it from our own recent history. We are evolving out of those roles and adopting new ones. What we need to understand is the fact that this transition will take time. This is centuries of ingrained thinking we are trying to change. Now I understand that there are some humans, who are pretty jerk-like about women getting all the good things in life, but that is a different problem you want to be solving. When our beloved piss-mouth politicians make public statements that basically sound like they wouldn't think twice before molesting or harassing a woman if she comes within close proximity, THAT is when you need to be yelling bloody murder. Pick the battles that you need to fight, women. Stop picking on a puberty-ridden boy because he goes red in the face because you want to discuss your menstrual cycle with him. Or that woman who wants to fast for her husband because she wants to.  Fight for the ones that actually matter.

In all of this, I love to see how our adverts evolve. The 60s typically showed women playing roles of homemakers, the 90s were all about swag and muscle power. I don't really know what the previous decade was about, but this decade is all about the women. From Zivame showing your next door neighbour who isn't typically anorexic in her smalls (and she's killing it too!), to Tanishq calling out how motherhood isn't just about sacrifices. In fact, the new Reebok ad campaign for Be More Human showcasing a little girl trying on her mum's various shoes led to this post. Turns out the Indian campaign is actually called #FitToFight. It kind of takes away the importance you attach to your own daily fights, doesn't it?

Just my 2 cents. Don't be yelling at me if you think differently. 

The Book List

It's been a while since a single book got me all riled up, either with its awesomeness, sadness, happiness or any other ness. Surprisingly, the last one year has had multiple books that came my way and made me feel all those emotions. This post is a tribute to all those books that have made my slow moving car rides worth their time.

First off, I cannot begin to tell you how easy reading has become now that I have the Kindle. It fits my little side bag, it carries the weight of 40 books without me worrying about doggie ears and it even allows me to read in the dark. I am reading more than I was in my pre-Kindle days. It doesn't mean I am a complete convert and have stopped reading paperbacks and hardbacks. They are still very much a part of my life. But considering how much time I have spent in airplanes and airports in the past one year, I cannot help feeling grateful for this invention.

Because these beauties still rule my life

I am going to begin with the first book of the year that left me high and dry. Manu Joseph's Illicit Happiness of Other People. It is about a lost father looking for answers in all the wrong places. I am not going to give more of the plot because I don't want to ruin the experience for you. I loved Manu Joseph's writing style. It is dark and humorous. He manages to weave a regular story with such flair, you don't feel like putting the book down. I was almost skipping words in order to find out what Chacko discovers next, a feat not many books have been capable of achieving. I have just discovered Manu Joseph's blog with TOI. I am probably going to spend some time going through it now.

Lust for Life by Irving Stone

I am going to cheat with this one. I love this book not for the way it is written, but for the subject that its 431 pages ramble on about. It is a biography of Vincent Van Gogh, woven together from the various letters exchanged between him and his brother. The writing feels blotchy and broken, but towards the end, it sort of begins to merge with the way Van Gogh led his life and begins to make more sense. I even ended up having a couple of Absinthe shots post this. And guess who's painting covered the front of the box in which the drink came?

I have been contemplating picking up his Agony and Ecstasy on the life of Michelangelo, but I haven't been able to convince myself to do it yet.

Cyril, thanks for this one!

The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman

My second Neil Gaiman after The Ocean at the End of the Lane. Made me glad I gave him a second chance. (I know you're a die hard Gaiman fan, but don't be judging me yet!) This book, is unlike anything else I have ever read. (Or maybe like something Japanese I may have read). Twisty and turny, I like how all the pieces fall together towards the end. You could call it a book for kids if you were one, but you could also call it a book for adults, if you are one. 

A Case of Exploding Mangoes by Mohammed Hanif

HO HO HO! This one, left me in awe! It was so dark, it was funny. The book is about the plane crash that killed General Zia. It comes with its own conspiracy theory. For a species obsessed with conspiracies, it is hard not to fall in love with this one. Needless to say, after this book ends, you will spend the better part of an afternoon reading up on General Zia and his Pakistan. I know I did. At the sake of missing sprint tasks. Of a product I owned. (Just kidding. Would I make it public knowledge if that were to happen?). I give all credits for me reading this book to Raghu. After making me read Twilight ten years ago, I think this was his best recommendation to me ever. Little brother has finally grown up.

A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman

(Disclaimer: I had no idea this book was made into a movie nominated for an Oscar when I started reading it. If I had, there is a strong possibility I would have never read it. It was actually a series of circumstances that led me to this one. First off, I read an article on Facebook where a lady spoke about the importance of sharing books with your loved ones. She explicitly took the example of this book to drive home her point. Secondly, thanks to Amazon, I found it for INR 49 the next day. Sort of just landed in my lap. (GOOO Kindle!)

Where do I begin with this one? I have no words to describe it. Hence, I shall call it cute. It is about an old man who has a routine. If I say anything more than that, you would hate me for spoiling it for you. All I am going to say is that this book made me gasp, smile, tear up and laugh out loud, all in a span of 300 pages. It's the sort of book that leaves you with a warm, fuzzy feeling after you have read the last page. It was also the sort of book that makes you not want to reach the last page. I think it has ruined me for other books for some time. I have actually picked up Sylvia Plath to bring me back to ground reality for now. I hope it was not too early to have moved on. PLEASE read it, especially if you haven't seen the movie. I don't know how  they could have taken such a complex character and put him inside a movie. I need to sit and introspect before I can decide whether I want to watch the movie or not. Meanwhile, read it.

Leave comments if you want to talk about any of the books above. I would love to hear your opinions!!

Naina

 

Battle of the Sexes: A Myth or Reality?

I wake up early morning to an updated Facebook newsfeed. It is amazing how useless, yet gripping this monster is. I keep smirking at some of the senseless stuff that gets shared and shake my head at all the opinions people have and think it necessary to make public. And then I found this gem [LINK] shared by someone on how Karva Chauth is all about suppressing the female counterpart in a relationship.

Now the writer, who, apparently has been married for 25 years believes she has all the right in the world to speak condescendingly to women who fast for their husband's health. While I understand her sentiment about being looked down by the mohalla wala aunties, her little quip towards the end of the article, about it being a "personal choice" doesn't really sound genuine. I know she is judging you for going hungry all day long.

Now in all this discussion over empowering women, people tend to forget one simple fact. That men and women, sometimes, when they care for each other, like to express their love by doing simple, silly things which may not mean much to you and me, but mean a lot to them. When you start telling someone their partner is trying to suppress them by making them fast (which, by the way, could be a choice the woman makes, with no encouragement from her partner), you fail to see that there is a human emotion behind all this which does not involve either party thinking, "I have to win this fight."

Every woman does not wake up in the morning hating every man in her life and with a mission to prove she is stronger or smarter than they are. And every man does not spend an entire day trying to figure out new ways of suppressing the women in his life. They both have, hopefully, nicer and happier things to think about and more pressing matters that require their attention. While I also understand that there are cases where some women are forced into it against their choice, I would not like to trivialise that issue by telling every woman who fasts that she is weak and meek for doing something she believes in or wants to do. I (genuinely) believe it is a personal choice and should not be commented on, especially not in such a patronizing manner.

Having said that, ladies who fasted, I hope you had a grand day getting pampered by someone who loves you. Even if it is just a man. (And before the feminist nazi bursts out, take a moment to realise that the pampering happens two ways in relationships. So don't be telling me "why does she need a man to pamper her?")

Time for work,

Naina

P.S. I just read the subtitle of the shared article: "It's nothing but a personification of a foolish woman who blindly does what custom dictates." Way to go, you just called the women you are trying to empower foolish in the title of an article, how are you different from the men you so hate in your head?

Bhaag Saand Bhaag (Run Bull Run)

I tried my hand at being spontaneous this weekend. Like one of those reckless kids who wind up having a lot of fun with a complete bunch of strangers in a new land.
I exaggerate.
I didn't wind up in a smokey room full of anonymous individuals making good time, I only ended up in a near stampede that really wasn't as scary as I am making it out to be.
I had just gone out on a lunch date with Mr. Ramesh where we decided to chill over a plate of chicken Xacuti and (oh my god!) steamed rice, along with an extremely ugly looking, tangy tasting, stuffed mackerel.

This scary looking mackerel from about town

By the time we were done with lunch, it was almost 3.00 in the afternoon. The heat of the day and place was making me extremely drowsy. We decided to hop on to the ever dependant Activa and head back home to chill with our legs tucked under our respective buttocks in front of the TV. Just as we hit the main road, a bunch of boys looking like they had other plans, began jumping onto their own bikes and scooters, shouting in some indecipherable language. We shrugged it off and continued down the road. After just a few kilometers, we saw this horde of men parking their scooters on the road before springing off into an open field. On investigating further, we saw a group of about 300 men gathered in the open field amidst much excitement. Curious, we asked a gentleman, who appeared to be a little calmer than the rest of the men what the hullaballoo was all about. 

 "Bull fight, bull fight."

Ooooo, something illegal. I admit, that was the first thought that came into my mind. We skittered to park the beloved Activa and see for ourselves what a bull fight looked like. Once in the field, I was surrounded by a sea of men, some holding betting money in their hand, some holding beers and cigarettes, each looking over the heads of other men in anticipation. Suddenly, there was a yelp, the air was abuzz with excitement. A few men were leading a bull into the arena. The curtain of people parted to make way for the bull and the men. Though I couldn't see very clearly, I could tell by the time it was taking the men to bring the bull to the front that the animal was showing much resistance. A similar scene was taking place at the other end of the field. The opponent bull looked much calmer and somehow, confident of its hulk and did not need much coaxing to be led to the centre of the field. Two men were washing the bull with water, for what purpose, I shall never know. Now, you have to understand that I am a tiny person of 5'4" and cannot see over the heads of grown men. However, when you are in a bull fight and you hear people scream "Run! It's coming!", you run. 

Without looking back. 

When I did, however, reach a safer location and look back, the animal was nowhere to be found, and people had begun to reassemble at the periphery of the field. After much insistence from me, Mr. Ramesh and I headed back to our spot. The bull was back in control of human idiocy and was being coaxed back to the battle ground. We, like others in the crowd were getting bored of all the waiting around and decided to head back on the road.  I saw some money exchanging hands and sniggered because I had seen something obscene that was supposed to be unseen. As we got on to the Activa, all signs of sleep forgotten, I started yapping about how I wanted to blog again. Mr. Ramesh, thinking himself rather witty suggested I name this post Bhaag Bhains, Bhaag after the Bhaag DK Bose song. I responded a little sullenly that I couldn't really do that since I didn't actually know what had happened. In order to provide fodder for my post, we decided to ask someone. My first investigative piece, if you may. *smiley face*.

Our interview lasted 30 seconds. 

"How often does the bull fight happen?"

"Very rarely."

"Is it planned?"

"No."

"How did so many people show up? How do you know it's happening?"

"Phone. Everybody comes."

"So may people with a phone call?!"

"Yes."

Man walks off.

We witnessed a bull fight that almost happened. I am not sure I would have liked it much if it had happened. 

As the Great Bard once said, All's well as ends well, I conclude this lengthy one right here and bid you goodnight.

Adieu

Naina 

Back to the Hills

It’s been a while since I felt like writing. Now that school’s out and I am sitting on a job offer and the only thing on my mind is to unpack Punjab and pack Bangalore in my overstuffed suitcases and cartons (how I hate all the packing and unpacking), I have taken a sojourn to the hills. While I attempt to find peace in the two cottages with the spectacular view in the depths of Hemingway, I can’t seem to be able to spend more than ten minutes at a stretch reading For Whom the Bell Tolls. Mum and I took an early morning walk, taking in the unusual freshness in the air with a tea spoon of chill that is omnipresent here. There were tiny little pink birds fluttering around, hopping on the mountainous slopes chi-chiing away without a care in the world. For a place that is supposed to be fighting incessant forest fires (as per our very dependable media), there seems to be nothing that could possibly disturb the peace of these little ones.  I get reminded of the sparrows back home that have gone missing over the past ten years. Clichéd, but sometimes, I yearn for those simple times when Nim and I would spend an afternoon giggling in bed, with mum fast asleep in the next room, listening to them sparrows outside with a bit of the sun trying to force its way in through the not-so-thick curtains hanging on our window. Back then, family vacations to the hills were frequent and in hotels, with daily walks to nearby spots, when I would try to outpace dad while pretending I wasn’t tired at all and could keep up with his stride forever. Today, as dad and I sit nursing aching joints, that pair feels like it existed in another time, on another planet. As always, Nim’s presence is being dearly missed.

While I sit on a couch contemplating what to write, I hear mum and dad fighting over who needs to bathe first. Neither budged.

It is now time to return to the present. I should probably take a shower and get dressed so we can head out someplace. My undying desire to find a grassy spot with the wind rustling the blades for a picnic remains unfulfilled. One day, I will find my spot, sit with a book and a picnic basket and enjoy a lazy afternoon in perfect company. Oh yes, I always pictured a red and white checkered sheet underneath me while I laze around. I think I read too many Enid Blytons as a kid. It has ruined my perception of reality as an adult. Anyhow, if school has taught me anything, it is that everything is possible if you put in the right amount of effort. I intend to make this picnic a success someday.

Back to the hills,

Keep calm and move on.

Naina

Rural Visit: An Interview with Keshav Ram, Owner of 16 Cows and Some Land

So, it's been a long time since I posted anything worthwhile here. I know it's not as if anybody is waiting to read the blog, but still..
This piece of work is not something I wrote strictly for the blog, but something I wrote for an assignment for my Rural Marketing course.
Thanks to Professor Harish Bijoor for compelling me to write this! I personally love the interpretation. :D

***

I spotted an elderly man squatting in the middle of a field run over by grazing cows. Another, much younger man, sat a little further off watching the cows as they lazily chewed on the browned wheat strands. As he saw me approach, he stared at me warily, wondering what a city girl like me could be doing in this part of the world. When I reached where he had been peacefully sitting, I greeted him and enquired after his health. He looked a little skeptical. When I asked him next what he was doing sitting there by himself, he looked a little reluctant to talk. He began asking me who I was and what I was doing there. Jaggi had to intervene to let him know we were only “researching” there. I don’t really know if Keshav Ram knows what “research” means, but the word of a fellow sikh seemed to satisfy him. He visibly relaxed a little and told me to ask what I wanted to know. I repeated my question to him. He told me he had come there to graze his cows. I had trouble understanding his dialect and had to ask him often to repeat himself. He began to enjoy the process of explaining what he was trying to say to me with loud hand gestures. Somehow, this routine made him more open and forthcoming and he began to look upon me with more warmth. I asked him what his daily routine was. He told me that he brought the cows to graze daily at around 7.00 – 8.00 in the morning and returned home by about 11.00. When I tried to probe him about what he did the rest of the day, all I could get out of him was bas, kuch nahi. It appeared to me that the man was very content in his life just sitting and watching his cows graze. He did not seem to have any needs or wants in his life besides the roti, kapda, makaan. 75-year old Keshav Ram had moved to this village from another village 2 hours away about 20 years earlier after his wife had passed away. He had been a farmer there. He has three sons who live with him, while 2 of his sons help him take care of the cows and the dairy, the third one goes to the shehr to work. While I was speaking with Keshavji, two of the cows suddenly decided to take off. Keshavji jumped to his feet with great agility after them. He had only bounded a few steps when the younger man, who I later learnt was one of his sons, took over and brought the cows back. Keshavji returned to his spot next to me and continued his story. Two of his eldest sons were married. There were five children in the house and each of them went to a government school that was located across their house.

The family owned a total of 16 cows that they used to milk and make money out of. When I asked Keshavji how much milk the cows gave per day, he said very simply in Punjabi, “the cows give milk depending on how you treat them. Sometimes, we get 10L. of milk and sometimes, none at all.” The men would bring the cows home by 11.00 am, after which point, the wives would milk them. Later, in the evening, the brothers would deliver the milk to households in the city. In case the quantity of milk on a particular day was not enough, they admitted to adding a little water to increase the quantity.  

During my interview with Keshavji, I came to understand that the man was probably not really contributing to the household activities in any significant way. The family probably made him take the cows to the field just so he would have a routine and some sort of “job” to do each day. From a city dweller’s perspective, I find it amazing that the old man was so content with his life and was happy being idle all day. When I asked him if there was anything that bothered him in the village, he shook his head and told me he had everything that he needed right there. He pointed out to the land that he was sitting in and said, “All this land is mine”.  When I asked him how much of the land he owned, he just spread his arms out and said, “All of this.” I figured this is what retirement probably looks like to the elderly in villages after they have spent their youth toiling away on agricultural lands. Keshav Ramji was perhaps flourishing in his solitude and inactivity.

The Journey

It's been a while since I last posted anything. I have some stuff lying in my drafts that need time and effort before any of it comes even close to being presentable. This tiny thing popped up during REM. Hope you like it.

The story of all our lives. My take on various relationships we form and break during an entire lifetime. Some last,some don't. I am thinking of G'n'R singing November Rain in my head right now.
C'est la vie.

***

We met,
We spoke,
We smiled.
We became friends.

We laughed,
We kissed,
We sighed,
We became lovers.

We moved,
We got busy,
We ignored.
We became distant.

We fought,
We cried,
We broke up.
We are strangers.

Naina 

Turmoil

Today I walked in your city,
You have no idea.
I walked the streets you've walked,
And you have no idea.
I am eating foods you once wanted me to taste,
You have no idea.

I met your friend you told me about,
Do you know yet?
We shared a frame on a camera,
Have you seen it yet?
We spoke about you,
Have you heard?

We've traveled so far,
We'll never reach where we wanted to.
Everything looks familiar,
The music resounds of you.
That stupid woman who sings,
Keeps playing on TV.

What am I to do with all the pictures?
Where do I store all the memories?
What becomes of our friends?
What of the hollowed greetings,
That will never be?

Goodbye, mon ami.
Someday, forgive me.

An Ode

For someone who hates to say goodbye, a one year MBA program is not the place to be. The frequency with which we have to bid farewell to out professors is higher than the frequency of Aravind Kejriwal's dharnas. Every two weeks, we give a standing ovation to a professor from one part of the world or other for delivering the last lecture for the class of 2016. I kid you not when I say the room is charged with emotions, I honestly believe some people secretly break down and cry later with all the energy that exists in that room. This term, we had Professor Katalan taking Decision Making and Optimization for half the term. He is a truly remarkable man. The kind of insight he brought to the classroom with all his understanding of different industries and weird trivia was awe inspiring. I don't think I spent more than 10 minutes of sleeping time in any of his lectures. (Not counting, of course, that one lecture that I slept through because I just could not bring myself to get out of bed.) And then there was dearly beloved little Professor Croce with his little eccentricities and perfect sense of humour. After his sixth lecture, I honestly regretted sleeping through the first five. He made economics fun. I find it hard to believe that I am saying this, but global economics is actually quite interesting. And just like the rest, they are now gone. To be heard from no more. Just two of the fourteen who have been with us in a span of three months. C'est la vie. our paths shall cross if they have to, or maybe they won't.

In another world, another one of those psychometric test reports has called me arrogant. I don't get it? I think I am the nicest person in the whole wide world. How can anybody call me arrogant? I disagree. Just stating my opinion out loud.
Neha is now waiting for dinner. I should scoot!

Another time,
Naina

Through History in Heels

So, I finally got to watch Jurassic World last week. I thought it was well made. Yash Raj would be very proud. They even took the effort to make Rahul Gandhi's strain of "women empowerment" a reelity (That was  not a typo). Apart from the cliched kissing scenes and the over hyper pre-teen, the only thorn in my side, (or should I call it the stiletto in my side?) was the five inch heel Bryce Dallas Howard was wearing through the movie. I don't care if those are Jimmy Choos or never before heard of shoes, here is a fact. Heels break. And I don't just mean the ones attached to your shoes. Here is another fact, Pressure = Force per unit area, which is to say, if you be walking on mud, your heels be sinking in deep. No way you run like a chicken whose ass is on fire like that. So Missy, unbuttoning and rolling up your sleeves is not how you compensate for your choice in footwear. Slipping out of those pretties, gently picking them up and throwing them far far away into the deep blue artificial lake behind you is the only way to go. And yes, you might want to consider putting on a pair of running shoes. Bare-feet ain't getting you anywhere either.

So much for the anti-sexist movies. Would it kill you if the actress doesn't look perfect (read sexy) at all times?

*Spoiler below*

Q: How do you outrun a T-Rex with a flaming torch in hand, pretending to be Anya Major?

Ans: You don't. But when you do, make sure you do it with panache in a pair of stilettos you've been running marathons in All Day Long.

*Spoiler over*

I don't want to get into any meninist/feminist arguments over this. I am just pointing out a big fat blooper in a big fat dino movie. Read it, and let it go.

And yeah, Go Girl Power!

Naina

OCD

How do I make the deaf hear,
How do I have the blind see?
Perhaps the greatest human folly,
How do I learn to let it be?

A fish outside of water,
Or a bird in a cage.
One struggles to breathe,
The other struggles to be free.

What really beats within,
Nobody wants to know.
Not you, nor me,
All we want, is peace.

One day the fish will die,
And the bird fly away.
The struggles will be lost,
And no peace shall prevail.

****

Let me know what you think. I have no idea what it means.

Braino-O

I feel like writing today, and as always, I don't know what I want to talk about. I am having an extremely tough time getting back to studying. I spend five hours reading two pages of text. And then I need to get up and move around a bit. I figured I'll poetize about it.

Brain-O, 

Don't be a pain-o.

Focus,

Else I'll be a mess-us.

It's easy,

What needs to be studied.

Just be a pal,

And we'll do it all.

After all,

We are a genius.

***

This is bad even by my standards, but there, it is out there now, I'll put up something more substantial some time when inspiration strikes.

Till then, I shall go and study some accounting. What DO all the numbers really mean!?

Adios, Chen-Chen

It has been five days since I got back home to Delhi and the fact that I am not returning to Chennai any time soon has not yet sunk in. My bags are still packed. I have effectively managed to put off unpacking them just the same way I kept putting off packing them in the first place. The whole process of packing and then unpacking has a touch of finality to it. The one thing that kept running through my mind when I began packing over three weeks ago, was, how the hell am I expected to fit three years of my life into two miserly suitcases? That would require leaving a whole lot of extra baggage behind. Now that I have to begin unpacking, my 4X7 ft. cupboard somehow feels much smaller than the one shelf that I owned in Chennai. C'est la vie, oui? Fortunately, the multiple visits to the bank and the extravagant planning for my new school are keeping me going. Nim returns to India in about four hours now, my added distraction. (She would hate to be called that, a distraction).
I wrote her a poem last week, which she hates as well. But for the benefit of all my Tamil speaking friends, I shall share it here.
For those of you who don't understand the ways and language of Tamils, you need to look up malli poo.

Nimpoo,
You ain't no malli poo.
But I still love you,
And will always do.

I probably made cummings or the others turn in their grave with this. But I laughed out loud when I came up with it.

There is so much to write about, but for once, words fail me. I keep thinking about all the people I left behind, some of whom I may never meet again. I am beginning to understand that attachment is perhaps the greatest of all human flaws. It ties us down to places and people, and prevents us from moving on. The fact that my luggage while returning home was 20 kilos over the prescribed weight limit speaks loads about what attachment can do to humans. It makes you pay for extra baggage. Things will get better with time. The old may not be replaced, but they will be remembered with fondness and acceptance. And who knows, our paths might just cross again. Let's hope that when they do, we remember each other the same way as the day we parted ways. I know I'll be seeing the girls again, some bonds are harder to break than others. And I hope we can still go crazy like we used to on Friday nights.
And yes, if anybody out there understood the point of Conrad's Heart of Darkness, please shed some light. I have no clue why I spent three weeks reading that book. It made no sense at all to me. I have cribbed about it on every possible platform that I could, yet, nobody has come forward to offer an explanation.
An hour and a half left for us to go get Nim from the airport. I need a new distraction to pass the time till then.

P.S. My last one year paid off. I got into the school I wanted to. Onto new things now. And that I only mention by the way.

Au Revoir, me looveelay.

Nighttime

Die
Mosquito,
Die.