Saturday, 26 November 2011

The Kolaveri. ;)

Okay in spite of being a South Indian, a Tamilian, to be specific, I detest Kollywood and its creative songs; the typical 'dabangkootu' (hardcore) numbers, with the stereotyped mrindangam and dholak beats, not to mention the heavy use of nadaswaram. I am generalizing of course, but there are the likes of Rahman and Illayaraja too, who compose great tunes.

So here's to twenty-one year old debutant music composer, Anirudh Ravichander, whose song 'Why this Kolaveri' has grabbed my attention and also a cosy spot in my head, so that it can replay over and over again. Silly but funny lyrics, a catchy combination of acoustic guitar, piano, mrindangam and nadaswaram, sung by South Indian sensation, Dhanush (whom I really don't care about), it has definitely become a YouTube virus, receiving  over a million 'likes' within five days.

Kolaveri? A rage to kill. I have felt the kolaveri too.


Wednesday, 16 November 2011

The way I am ;)

As of now, I don't not know you.
But mister, whoever you are and whenever you decide to make a grand entry or may be a low-key entry into my life, just take me the way I am.

Tuesday, 15 November 2011

Whatsapp dude?

Okay. So I'm not an Android person, neither am I an Apple person, nor am I a Blackberry person.

I was a Nokia person once upon a time.

Now, I'm an outdated Samsung Corby person. I know it's not as brilliant as the above mentioned phones.


My father bought me a Corby Pro 5310 this year since my poor old Nokia phone was dying.
Yeah I did do my homework before buying this phone. I read about Androids. Blackberry and Apple were strictly a no no. An Android wasn't really expensive either, just 1K more than a Corby.

The world yelled ANDROID! But I settled for a Corby. It was an instinctive decision. Moreover, my dad had a point. An Android boasts of innumerable applications or Apps. Apps which I wouldn't require. I would only require 10% of the phone ; Messages, Calls, Camera, Music Player and a bit of Facebook thrown in. (Okay not a bit. A lot actually.) The Corby looked impressive with its red slider keypad, in spite of the lack of better Apps. (I bet someone is gonna read this and go, "Jesus.You bought this phone because of its appearance! Jackass!"). The Corby fulfilled the essentials, it looked good, it also had WiFi connectivity, something which my old phone lacked. I was satisfied. I still am.

The Android is ideal. I remember my cousin praising Google Maps on her Android. "I'm not kidding. Once I was inside Aarey milk colony at like 11:30 in the night all by myself. It was so scary. I used my maps to make sure I was going in the right direction! Go buy an Android!"

It imposes on my very humble Corby Pro which has a mediocre resistive touch screen (I feel so techy using such terms) and also lacks the App which is currently very popular - WhatsApp! I will now shift my focus from my phone to WhatsApp because, honestly speaking, my mind has been numbed by hearing all the praises heaped on this wonderful application.

I am not criticizing it. I think it's a cheap alternative to text messaging close ones, who live on the other side of the globe. But there is a catch. This fantastic and very awesome application is supported only by Android, Apple, Blackberry and the Nokia smart phones.The creator of this application obviously overlooked the poor old normal phone users. (Yes Corby is very normal. Very second-rate.) The application is not supported by the usual operating systems. We have been (normal phone users and I)deprived of the joy of WhatsApping our loved ones!

Facebook chat

Me : I haven't spoken to Christina in ages. She is so busy. Poor thing.

Friend 1 : Busy? Erm yeah she has been a bit busy. But there is always time to WhatsApp!

Me : What?

Friend 1 : Whatsapp? Don't you know what that is? It is the best ..
....I chat with her throughout the day at regular intervals.

Me: Oh.Great.I can download it too,alright.

Friend 1 :  You have a Corby right? Haha not possible! Your phone doesn't support this App.

Me: Are you sure?

Friend 1 : I guess so, that's what I have heard. Who cares I have my Blackberry!

All hope is not lost.

Friend 2 : Hey!

Me : Hi! Will a Corby Pro support WhatsApp?

Friend 2 : WhatsApp isn't meant for sad phones! No it doesn't. Why?

Me : Never mind.

At some point, I did wish for an Android. Herd mentality, they say.

I look at my phone and play with the slider. Whatsit sorry Whatsapp maybe awesome, but I love my phone way too much.

So much for ownership.

Sunday, 13 November 2011



P.S : I do not own him.


The expression on Taffy's face sums up what I'm feeling right now.


Saturday, 12 November 2011

The Lobby

I think I must have mentioned that I love to think, analyze and reminisce...

Took a break from my mundane books, went out for a stroll to gulp in some fresh air. It definitely awakened my dull senses and I felt much better. I retraced my steps back to my building, pressed the elevator button and waited as the elevator made it's way to ground floor, all the way from the eleventh.

As I stood in the lobby, waiting, it struck me that this was one place which had a thousand memories associated with it. The times when my friends and I used played 'Lock and key', 'Corner to corner', 'Grandma's footsteps' and several such games with quirky names! Those good old blissful days, when we were ignorant and naive. Our lives revolved around school, family, jumping and romping about with friends aka playmates.

A change of scene. The lobby knows most of my secrets. Though it has eavesdropped on every heart-to-heart conversation I have had with my best friends, it has never divulged the details to anyone. It knows about all my crushes, the boy-who-must-not-be-named, my deepest woes and worries. I remembered those quiet evenings, when I sat on the stairs, feeling troubled and sad. The lobby comforted me with its stillness.

What about those times when I was in great mood and began humming a random tune or singing a few phrases of the latest Bollywood number? "My name is Sheila, Sheila ki jawaani, I'm too se..." Oops. My voice reverberated off the walls of the lobby, making a thousand faces  peep down at me from various levels.
An old aunty, getting into the elevator would encouraging say, "Gaao beta! Gaao! Dil khol ke gaao! Gaana acchi baat hai!". Well that was more embarrassing than encouraging.

Fast forwarding to the day before my best friend left for Australia. The tearful goodbyes were imminent, but we munched on Kurkure, as we usually would, on any other day. "Dude, whom do I irritate now? I won't be able to send you SMSes from Australia." she sighed. "Right, you won't be there when I celebrate my eighteenth. Loser." I retorted. "Can't you cancel your fucking tickets?" I asked her for the millionth time.
"You never get tired of asking me the same question, over and over again, do you? I WISH I COULD!"
she answered, yelling almost. We burst out laughing. The lobby laughed along with us.

"Hey, what's that thing behind your bum?" she asked me curiously, on finally noticing the flat, cardboard box, which contained one of our best photographs, mounted on a beautiful frame. "Damn, I was waiting for the right moment to present it to you. Nevertheless, go ahead, it's all yours." I smiled. She ripped open the box, stared at the photograph. "Wow." she said slowly. As we hugged each other, trying to hide our tears, which wouldn't stop, the lobby cried too.

The elevator reaches the ground floor. The metallic doors open just as the way  Ali Baba's cave opened on the words 'Open Sesame'. I snap out of my reverie and walk into the elevator.

"Close Sesame."

I love you lobby. :)

Sunday, 6 November 2011

When time flies.

They say that children with working parents tended by servants or babysitters, to whom the child is nothing but a source of their income, face neglect. My parents, being exposed to the corporate world, had always been busy, each day being stressful, with mere Sundays for repose. It would be quite wrong to say I was neglected. I was never neglected, there was no dearth of affection. There were no babysitters, no maids, but paternal grandparents who spoilt me with their attention and care. They had always been in the limelight of my life. Life without them would have been quite different.

Thatha (grandfather) fed me, bathed me, cleaned my poop, put me to bed, lifted me, took me around on his back, spooned dirty horrible medicines into my mouth when I was ill, dropped me off to school, then fetched me, forced me to complete my homework, made me cry when I got Math problems wrong, cheered me when I stood first in class, bought me the best birthday presents, the list can go on. This man was more than a grandfather to me.

Patti (grandmother) was my favourite playmate, who made me the winner in any game we played, who never got tired of my tantrums, a storehouse of stories, who had the amazing talent to create her own tales and songs, who comforted me when I was low, who bombarded me with her persistent questions, who helped me get dressed up for birthday parties, who loved watching the latest movies in the movie halls and theaters, who ate ice creams with me, who loved clicking photographs with me in various poses, who, in short, was extremely fun loving. The kid within her came alive when she was around me.

The first nine years of my life were sheltered, pampered and shielded from worries. Hakuna Matata! It surely sums up those nine years. Friends weren't as important to me as my grandparents were. They were my caretakers, my best friends, my second parents besides actually being my grandparents.

My life has obviously changed drastically ever since I moved to Pune.

Initially I used to feel their absence in my life. I would eagerly await their monthly visits to Pune and likewise, our visits to Mumbai. I used to hate it when I had to bid them goodbye. Getting used to a new life was difficult, nevertheless it did happen, gradually.

Changes are inevitable, they say.

Being a pre-teen had its ups and downs. I could feel myself changing, physically and mentally. I won't deny it, I had a low self-esteem problem. I always underestimated myself. I could never picture myself as someone popular among her friends. Dad would constantly reprimand me for my changed behaviour, as an offensive nature had crept into my personality, which included a lot of back-answering and bad attitude. It's only when my grandparents visited us, that I got some respite from all the yelling and scoldings. After all I was still my grandad's baby.

Hardly had I become familiar with puberty and it's ways when  it was time to say hello to teenage. It wasn't really different, except that as the years flew by, friends grabbed the spotlight and my grandparents receded into the background. Some confidence was infused in me when I began nurturing my talent in music. And so it was, music and friends, not to mention academics. From calling from my grandparents every week, it was reduced to calling them twice in a month. "Hello thatha, hi paati, eppudi irruke?" (How are you?) . Some talk about studies, music , friends, etc. "Okay take care, talk to you soon, love you."
That's all.

Old age had set in a long time back, but the signs hadn't manifested in my grandparents. But soon enough, they made themselves visible. Gall bladder removal, spondylosis, arthritis and what not. Yet they made it a point to visit us, at least once a year and vice verse.

I noticed that I didn't feel the pang of sadness, the way I used to feel it a few years ago, while bidding them goodbye. "Is that a wrong thing?", I asked my mother. "You are growing up. It's not wrong. Not at all." was her reply, with a smile.

The phone calls reduced. The visits reduced. I became oblivious to the fact that my grandparents missed me terribly. Everything was at its peak ; I was doing well, academically, musically and socially. I didn't realise that my one phone call made all the difference to them, rejuvenated them and broke the sad monotony of their old lives. I forgot that they had been there for me when I experienced panic attacks before any examination, when I was ill and even when I was happy. Had I grown up way too much?

Realisation was still to dawn.

My grandad was detected with cancer early this year. Stage Four, the doctors said. It would be a miracle if an eighty year old man could cope with the horrible side effects of chemotherapy, which didn't promise a complete recovery. A lot of hassles at home, tension, arguments and tears. It was as if someone had burst a bomb in my happy and easy-going life. My grandad had always been there, irrespective of the fact that I hardly stayed in touch with him. The strong man. And now cancer? It was as if my worst nightmare had come true.

A flashback in my head. The good old times, the walk down to my school in Mumbai, eating ice-creams at our favourite ice-cream parlor every summer, solving Math sums, the tasty beetroot soup that awakened my taste buds when I was down with chicken-pox, watching 'The sound of music' together, Diwali shopping, sharing a huge plate of fried fish, every small memory of which my beloved grandfather was part of, ran through my head. The large lump in my throat, it was unbearable. Tears. Temporary relief.

I always pray when I am desperate. (Guess that's what everyone does? Apart from those who completely refrain from praying.) It was a day before my Physics examination. Newton, electromagnetism, electrical circuits,optics, laws and formulae - Bet these were things running through my classmates' minds.  Me? I couldn't care less. My grandfather's first ever chemo treatment was due the next day. And so I prayed.

Call it a miracle or God's mercy but Thatha has responded very well to chemotherapy. He has always been resilient, strong and practical. Faith and optimism helped him tolerate the bitter side of the treatment.
I now know what gratitude and relief truly means.

Cancer is unpredictable. It can resurface anytime and create havoc. Thatha hasn't recovered completely but he is in a much better postion than what he was in, earlier this year. Praying for his long life would be quite wrong.Senescence is never a boon. My grandparents have definitely crossed the 'ripe old-age' . A fulfilling, painless life without suffering is what my grandparents deserve. I couldn't ask for anything less. Or anything more.

Thatha's favourite spot is his bed, right opposite to the television. My day begins by having a cuppa coffee with him. He lacks the energy and breath to actually move around. He keeps himself content by reading the newspaper, by watching his favourite programs on the T.V, by having his meals on time and by sleeping.
However, what satisfies him the most is the time he gets to spend with me. My mere presence gives him all the support and a gladsome smile etches itself across his face.

It's end of the day. "Good night, Thatha." I say, with a smile on my face. The look of pleasure on his face fills me with warmth as he wishes me a pleasant night.

As I watch him drift into slumber, almost childlike,  his old, wrinkled face touches the tenderest point of my heart and moistens my eyes. I realise time has indeed flown past. :)

Tuesday, 1 November 2011

Not knowing what to do with yourself.

Okay I know I'm blogging like there's no tomorrow.
You have been advised.
From doing something.
Because your well wishers don't want you to get hurt.
But you don't pay heed to all that and end up getting hurt.
Now what?

"I won't wait for you." says time.

I have my University exams coming up within the next two weeks, but I all want to do is blog.
What about blogging when I have all the time in the world?
No inspiration. No ideas. My vocabulary goes into hibernation as well.

But time is running out.
And I better get started.