A New Beginning. Not exactly.

Moved my blog to WordPress.

https://akprowling.wordpress.com/

The thing is I don't have the heart to delete my first blog. It has helped me grow, or rather, helped me observe myself grow out of a emotional wreck of a teenager to someone who is level-headed (maybe)?

I did my homework on importing my old blog to WordPress. In my previous rant, I did mention something about starting afresh. So here are my attempts;  this, to me, does feel like a change.

I will try my best to be more positive henceforth and be less of a bitchy, dissatisfied, confused young adult, as they call my peers.

Do follow me!

Cheers.

Another ramble

I was all set to write a great post on my less-than-a-week-old trip to Bhutan, which has successfully surpassed our previous international trip (refer to my earlier post) to Paris-Switzerland, in terms of fun, sightseeing and a truckload of memories. Well, whilst each country has its own appeal, Bhutan has allured me with its old-world charm, its postcard perfect landscapes, and its people whose happiness is infectious and whose smiles are a part of their attire.

I was all set to write more about it. But I'm not able to.

Sorry, this one is going to be a bit of a downer.

It's almost as if returning to Pune has drained us all off the excitement and zeal that was quite rampant in our house, two weeks ago. Of course, this would easily pass as a chronic case of holiday blues, but weirdly enough, methinks there's more to this.

I sit here, procrastinating once again, when I should be reading up on topics for my final semester project. I detest social media for getting me addicted to this screen, as I refresh that damned Facebook page every now and then, keeping my eye on the notification bar. Occasionally, I scroll down my feed, often encountering numerous, pointlessly profound quotes on love and sex, or Narendra Modi memes, or posts on dogs ridden with cancer, or worse, status updates that are akin to NDTV's banal updates about the sickening scenario against women in our country.

I am disgusted at how negative I sound. Surely, there's more to life than scrolling down one's Facebook feed.

I'm scrounging for notifications because I am eager to get more response on my first ever travel documentary that I uploaded two days ago. No points for guessing this one; it is based on Bhutan.
I get a feeling that I made this film only to garner appreciation and praises, and not to get feedback. I can say this with conviction because the other day when Mum tried to suggest some tips on improving my video, I got mad at her. Lately, I have been getting irritated with her for no good reason and I know I'm going to regret it, sooner or later.

The comments have been more than satisfactory, but there is this particularly genuine and sweet comment that keeps playing in my mind, yet bothers me. My close friend considers me as an inspiration, because according to her I'm multi-talented. I write, sing, play the guitar, click pictures and now, film videos. Her words make me feel warm from within. It makes me realise the extent of under-estimation and self-scrutiny I put myself through, all the time, everyday.

It makes me realize that undergoing complete personality transformation is a load of crock, honestly speaking. Deep down, I'm still that kid who occasionally suffers from performance anxiety, and mild self-esteem issues. How can I change that? The only probable answer to it is acceptance, and just moving on, really.

I'm also, extremely afraid of envy being directed towards me. More that once, I've sensed myself showing-off way too much and that maybe I'm going overboard with my creative side.

Some days, when I wake up, I tell myself that I'm going to delete my redundant social media accounts and start afresh. I was actually contemplating on starting a new blog on WordPress, deleting the so-called photoblog on Tumblr/Flickr/, and creating a fresh account on Instagram, but I can't bring myself to do it. I don't have the guts to deactivate my Facebook account either. It's like some stupid yet ironic lifeline. It has become my ritual to feign determination and tell myself that I'll chalk out some sort of a career plan, but it all goes in vain. Why, just yesterday I felt happy with the course my life has taken, but today I'm back to feeling purposeless. And no, it's not PMS.

For now, I guess I'm so steeped in negativity that I probably need to get my eyes off this screen, and indulge in something that makes me happy. It has almost become a reflex to pick up my phone and click photos of the food I cook, the pictures I paint, and the stuff I write on paper. It's like I'm living my life for a virtual world with virtual friends;  yep the ones I would awkwardly encounter in a mall or something. Ugh, what the hell.

Anyway, here's a pointless end to a pointless post. Gotta go inform my friend that I wrote a new post today.

Bye.

Coming to terms

It's been a long time.

It's been a long time for various reasons.

Today I have decided to complete this post after having contemplated on finishing it two months ago.

Today I have decided to forget that I'm a student pursuing a gruelling post-graduate course that usually eats up my Sundays.

Today I am not free.

I wrote my previous post sometime in December. I  know that unlike the past two years, I did not bother to come up with my usual year-end ramble about how much 2014 meant to me, my experiences that year, etcetera,  etcetera .

The reason for this exception isn't anything very special -  I'm still trying to hold onto the past year and the much-deserved warmth it infused in me. I refuse to accept that 2015 is another new start as every year has always been, or rather, has claimed to be.

The one thing I miss the most is the summer of 2014, especially our whirlwind trip to Paris and Switzerland. Out of the two destinations, Switzerland felt more like home to me; a second home that I had previously been unaware of, a home that had existed all this while, quietly, amidst snow-capped peaks and lush green meadows. This time we decided to deviate from the usual hotel accommodation, and chose to spend three days in a chalet owned by an old Swiss couple. Why did I fall in love with a locale and setting as humble as this? There are answers to this question, of course. I could owe it to the balcony overlooking the Alps, or to the contentment of letting words run in my diary whilst the mountains gave me company, to the wisps of smoke arising  from my coffee one particularly cold morning, to the wooden flooring, to the joy of wearing winter clothes and boots after a winterless year, to the winding streets of Grindelwald that led to an old station which could transport you back in time, to the snowman we built, to being overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of the rugged yet kind nature that greeted us everyday, to being a part of the quaint surroundings - oh the list is indeed endless.

Every minute spent in the country that wasn't my own, counted, and more so because I knew what awaited me back home. I wanted to push away my anxiety and worry regarding academia, temporarily.

Though the holiday blues took a long time to fade, the year turned out to be a great one. What I have been left with ever since, is a dull craving to somehow experience it all once again, though dejavu will never be the same.

I have been asked to, or rather, been telling myself to stop myself from clamming my head with too many questions and expectations. I find myself wondering if I would have indeed done better, had I left this city to pursue my academics elsewhere. Would I be still loathing myself for being so dependant on my parents for everything? Would I still be that person to whom everything comes easily? A good university within the city, a fabulous vacation, good grades, a steady relationship with a good boy,  good food, and good friends. I'm probably jinxing everything good in my life by flaunting it on social media but the fact is everything good doesn't guarantee one hundred percent satisfaction.

I have gone on severals rants bout my dissatisfaction, and I have noticed that it's one of those things that lasts temporarily, fades away, only to sneak into your routine sometime later. And folks like me express it through words whilst there are some who find other mediums of venting it out. Also, I can't help but notice how stoic I sound.

As much as I would like to deny the fact that it was change that made the whole international experience so memorable and that it's the lack of change I have been sensing all this while, I have to come to terms with it. On one hand, it scares the s*** out of me on the other hand I guess it's the only thing that can guarantee some peace. My close friend told me that living on my own is a lot harder than I think. It will be really hard but I guess that's what I need. Change comes with a price.

It's turning out to be a long post, but who cares, I'm amazed at my train of thoughts. 2014 was a great year, because at some point it seemed like a year different than the rest.

It's time I acknowledge this year and appreciate it for its worth.

I have two examinations due this week and I'm not free. Coming to terms with that isn't so hard. 

New-food love

Disclaimer : I do not apologise for the usage of tongue twisting Tamil vocabulary in the following post. Pronouncing "zha" may be seem a bit daunting, but I promise you will get there. Yes, you shall. My dear non-south indian buddies/foodies, I hope this post enriches your knowledge pertaining to Tamil cuisine.

I am not sure if everyone will relate to this but of late, my taste buds have re-discovered comfort in food I used to detest as a kid and a teenager.

As a kid, I was not too compliant with food. I was a notch higher than a picky-eater and there were instances when my Thatha would threaten to shove food down my throat if I continued to make a fuss. This spelt hullabaloo, followed by tears and my Paati valiantly trying to defend me from her intimidating husband. "Aapudi bezhamuduthandengo! Paavum kozhandai." -  "Don't scare her! Poor child." And of course most of my relatives correlate this to my weight, even now. "Sappudata epuudi weight poduva!" - "How will she put on weight if she doesn't eat!".

As I grew up, this practice began to fade gradually. I learnt to appreciate the characteristic tanginess of rasam and sambaar.  As a six-year old, there were times when I would slurp rasam sadam (rice) from a mini-plate with gusto, just to see a smile of intense satisfaction spread across my grandpa's face. Honestly, I loved exaggerating the slurps at times. Not only was his grin satiating, but also the whole slurping experience was fun. The adulation I received  for merely finishing a meal was undoubtedly encouraging. "Kuuthu! Innu Kuuthhu! Mmmmmmm!"  which translates to "Pour some more! More!" Soon, I could proudly tell everyone that potatoes were my among my favourite vegetables. Garam masala and onion-garlic paste were mandatory in most of the sabzis. I developed a taste for omelettes and scrambled eggs. Restaurants began to hold meaning for their gastronomic appeal rather than for their air-conditioned ambience. Though meat was taboo in our household, Thatha unscrupulously introduced me to the world of seafood and tandoori chicken (and I haven't looked back ever since). Moreover, watching my baby sister happily guzzle mango pulp made me all the more curious about this fruit that had initially seemed revolting. By the time I was nine, Mum had introduced me to paani-puri and chaat, albeit with extra meetha chutney. All said and done, food definitely began to seem more appealing.

However, apart from the enthusiastic slurping of rasam, the Tamilian in me hadn't been stirred completely.

In our meals, rice, rasam, sambaar, kootu (vegetable stew), curd, urrugai (pickle), uppuma and yes, idi and dosai have always been regulars. Moreover, greens were, have and will always be omnipresent in every South-Indian preparation. Keerai (spinach), Pushanikai (Ash gourd), all types of beans, dudhi (bottle gourd), vendekai (ladyfinger),vazhakai (raw bananas), you name it, and it's bound to be there in our cuisine. I had never been too fond of kootu and greens prepared in this style always eluded me. To put it in simple terms, kootu is a dish with minimal spice, predominated by a single vegetable. The taste of kootu is such that if you were to be subjected to it frequently, garam masala cravings would take over your taste buds. I could hardly understand the relish with which my mother ate keerai kootu, and I'm pretty sure her sensitivity towards my disdain was mutual. 

In addition to this, I used to consider rawa uppuma to be the most lacklustre breakfast dish ever (to know that it was THE winning dish in the Masterchef UK finals was disappointing). Idlis weren't exciting, and after a point I lost interest in the good old dosai as well. Pongal was reserved for blocked noses and dormant taste buds. I didn't understand the point of eating food from a banana leaf, whilst managing those rivulets of rasam and sambar that formed along the veins of the leaf. Whatever happened to the good old steel plates?! Plus, eating a combination of cucumber raita mixed with rasam with traces of paysam (kheer) had never been a palatable experience. Consequently, I never looked forward to Tamil weddings. My elitist food habits probably earned me the reputation of being the posh Tamilian in my family. Much to my friends' shock, I felt South-Indian dishes were far from exotic. I was subject to questions such as "Dude how can you get bored of Dhosas?"  *cringe* I had even gone to the extent of eating chana-masala from a fast-food joint  in Chennai.

All this lasted till I was nineteen. This I say, owing to a change in my food habits afterwards. The change wasn't overnight, definitely. It was gradual, and the earliest I realised this was when I ended up eating lunch at five in the evening. Little did I know that lemon rasam could actually quieten my stomach's guttural tones. I couldn't believe that I had actually enjoyed a  humble home-made meal without onions and truckloads of masala. But then again, hunger is blind. I presumed this to be an once-in-a-blue-moon occurrence, only to be proved wrong again a week later, when a whiff of bhindi-do-pyaaza (one of my favourites) put me off instead of having me salivate. I was feeling ravenous after a day's worth of hard work, but the only thing I could visualize was a crispy cheese dosa, sitting regally on a steel plate, surrounded by a bowl of sambar traced with jaggery, and coconut chutney so smooth that even the world's best bhindi-do-pyaaza wouldn't do justice to it. I was probably being unfair to bhindi, but at the point I couldn't care much about it.

There were, of course, many such episodes of sambar/dosa/vada cravings that followed, some of them being fueled by chance encounters with South-Indian cooking shows on the TV.  I partly owe it to them chefs for their minimalist choice of words to describe the process, in their Tamil-tinged accents. "Ippo namba molgai podi podlaam, slight-a, summa konjum colour kahai" - "Now we shall add some chilli powder, slightly, just to obtain some colour."

However, I achieved a milestone when I helped myself with 3 servings of beans kootu  and avial at my aunt's place. The impeccable taste and texture of these dishes will be forever etched in my taste-buds. So technically speaking, I owe it to my aunt's magical cooking for helping me discover the delights of our cuisine. Soon after, I began to look forward to Sunday meals, much to my mother's relief. I learnt the art of eating out of a banana leaf, much to everyone's amazement. Curd rice and pickle were reliable on lazy evenings and on bloated stomach days. In a nutshell, the graph of my food tastes began to show a significant rise with time.

I guess I have changed as a person over the past few years..and this is by no means a prelude to a long rant. What I want to say is that, my food tastes have evolved as well, simultaneously.  I do not, by any means, consider myself to be an ardent lover of my regional cuisine. But I need it after a weekend of experimenting with oriental stuff, or on days when the pungent odour of bhuna masala ambushes my nose. Yes, THAT.

A quote from a favourite short-story comes to my mind - "The asparagus appeared. They were enormous, succulent, and appetizing. The smell of the melted butter tickled my nostrils as the nostrils of Jehovah were tickled by the burned offerings of the virtuous Semites" (The Luncheon by Somerset Maughum). Five years ago, the idea of asparagus had seemed totally revolting but now the aforementioned analogy serves as the ideal salivary stimulant. Mmm. Quick, serve me some asparagus.

Untitled.

What began as an attempt to reorganize my blog, change its look and start afresh with bubbling enthusiasm fizzled out to be a long sabbatical from writing, not to mention a writer's block being the most convenient excuse to spout.

For starters, I deleted the Facebook page that I had created for my blog. Why? Because my neglect towards the poor page began bothering me to such an extent, that I began to feel like a hypocrite who had initially promised to blog regularly with fancies of hitting 500+ likes within weeks. No, that page didn't deserve my neglect, and nor did my blog deserve to anticipate audience.

Moreover, I recently read something in Derek K. Miller's blog (archive), that instantly struck a chord with me. He says, "... I can't not write, but I've never been able to keep a diary, because I've always wanted an audience. I write my blog for myself, of course, and as something for my family and friends, as a record of my thoughts. But deep down, selfishly, I also want an audience of strangers, people who know me because of my writing, and who find some value in what I publish on its own merits, not because they are my friend or my relative."

For the longest time, I had wanted to pen down something along the aforementioned lines, without making myself seem like a pompous idiot, mind you! And I'm grateful to Mr.Miller for making it easier for me.

However, in retrospect the page was a reminder of my overambitious tendencies. Not only this page, but also my Soundcloud and Flickr profiles serve as classic examples of my habit of biting off more than I can chew. Followed by vehement denial on my part to massage my ego, of course. Interspersed with spurts of devotion. I realised this when my blog page popped on my newsfeed after what could have been months, the latest post dated around January.

I'm pretty sure you readers (if at all, there are any), might go all deja-vu on reading the previous paragraph. The same disappointment,  the more-than-frequent lapses, the same rant, all over again. It is but ironical that I'm only answerable to myself at this point, and not a so-called audience. Because,

a) The so-called audience resides in my mind
b) The whole purpose of a hobby is misplaced whilst trying to please this imaginary audience.

I consider myself as another victim of the Jack-of-all-trades disease. I write, I sing, I click pictures. But, can I proudly flaunt any one of those with conviction? Probably not. I sense that my quality has deteriorated in the process of focusing my energies on my unknown spectators. Let me just talk about writing. I realise I have been restricting the content of my blog in order to be appreciated by my friends and other fellow bloggers. Previously, I had to force myself to come up with inspiring posts, when all I wanted was to whine about the weather, or vent out my frustration, or talk about my break-up, or probably just describe a delicious mango. And here comes the weirdest bit - I wasn't obliged to do so actually; the Facebook page just amplified the need to popularise my blog.  Good riddance, I suppose. But I feel sorry that I couldn't stick to it.

What have I been upto over the past three months? Well post an unforgettable whirlwind trip to Paris and Switzerland, I unhappily returned to the oppressive Pune heat only to get neck deep in a college hunting process. June was worrisome considering I had nightmares about not making it to a good institute to pursue a postgraduate degree in Bioinformatics.I had to eliminate some institutes from my list and additionally appear for a couple of examinations. I was subjected a lot of why-don't-you-go-abroad and what-about-that-college conversations, plus feeble don't-worry-it-will-work-out reassurance. I had to run around from one office to another, and likewise make my poor dad run around to procure a Domicile Certificate, an unnecessary document to prove my residence in Maharashtra. My admission in Pune University, depended on that damned piece of paper. After dealing with nerves for what seemed like eternity, I was finally offered admission in the said institute which had always been my first preference. College resumed a fortnight ago, and I have been happy and occupied, ever since. Besides a good campus, crowd and staff, there's a coffee stall next to my department. What more could I ask for...

On the downside, I haven't been writing, playing my guitar, or clicking photographs that often. It bothers me. Classical music has taken a back seat; the playlists on my phone are craving to be updated. The persistent rains have draped a blanket of gloom on the city. Plus, Pune tops the list of India's Worst Public Transport Systems (I just made that up, but you can imagine), and commuting obviously sucks. Moreover, I joined the Teach For India volunteering service, only to withdraw from it because of my (already) hectic academic schedule. Also, saying goodbye to some of my oldest friends who moved out of the city recently, has affected me to an extent.

As of now, my motive is to be consistent in all my endeavours. I don't want to be that person who turns to her blog only when "shit happens".  My blog is indeed a solace during rough phases, but it deserves better. I am also contemplating on deleting my Flickr account and switching to a daily/weekly photoblog. That way I can concentrate on writing and photography, simultaneously.

On a lighter note, I will be turning 21 in two days. I don't feel excited as of now but I hope to, by tomorrow! My resolution for my 22nd year is to hold onto my resolutions, develop a thicker skin, and write more. At this point, I can only wish myself luck.

Thank you Akoustik, for standing by me through thick and thin.

There is no Secret

I never wanted to believe that book.

First of all, I love the comfort of staying in denial (well, who doesn't?). I applaud myself, as I type this because I swear, I'm not too comfortable with confessions. But then, I'm barely the person I was last year, who preferred basking in illusions. So hey, here's to self-awakening. Cheers.

For long, I have been trying to evade the law of attraction mumbo-jumbo. I must say I still disagree with it sometimes, especially its implausibility in certain scenarios. However, as much as I'd love to deny it vehemently, I think it's pretty fail-proof.

Oh man.

I'm not worried. I'm not. I'm not. I'm not..I'm..

Of course, I was worried. Worried about not getting into a good college. Worried about being subjected to a miserable social life. Worried about being in anyone's bad books. Worried about getting into a bad relationship. Denying simply brought me more grief in the form of anxiety attacks.

And it just attracted more worry. It still does, at times. I ask myself, what comfort did/do I cling to by perpetually floundering in a sea of unease? I suppose the answer lies within me. Oh, I tend to get intense, once in a while.

As I type this, I try to unwind or 'chill' (I loathe that word). But, anxiety is a loyal friend, that strives to stay as long as it can. I have tried or rather, am trying to abandon it with the help of my faithful Fender, or an occasional bottle of Old Monk (though I may add, this is hardly the weather to relish rum).

I think at this point, I'm drifting.

I don't remember what I intended to write in the first place. All I know is, I actually had no intention of finishing this post when I began typing and deleting word after word, two weeks ago. That was when my examinations were successfully on their mission of zapping my enthusiasm. But, strangely enough, I kept convincing myself that I was going to finish typing something that day, maybe spout some deep-seated wisdom that I usually reserve for myself and my moody conscience. Of course, that was a farce. I hope I manage to finish writing something, today.

I told myself I will steer away from romance (the sort that allures a girl on the brink of twenties, portraying itself to be rational) and the ephemeral rosiness it brings along, during my final year of undergraduate studies. I told myself a lot of other things like I'd blog more often. That I'd complete all the unfinished music, that bothers me till date. The fact that I had to constantly make a note of such things, makes me realize that I had always wanted to do the opposite. And that's why I ended up heading towards the opposite.

I entered third year, love struck. I now exit feeling blank.  I blog once in three months. My music lies unfinished in a virtual closet. Because, this is precisely what I wanted. I don't know why. But I think I do.

On the lighter side, the one thing that I did finish is my project. My final semester project was successful, because I wanted it to be so. And that time I didn't need to make notes, and set up reminders.

The book says the same. I don't follow the book. It's bullshit.

But I know I do. Subconsciously.

There's no secret. You get what you think.

Of opinions and Bollywood.

Here's the thing. It has probably been ingrained in every upper -middle-class Indian's head that Bollywood is the epitome of mainstream, and that it's meant to be detested. The invariable conversation starter, and the final resort to save a lifeless not to mention an awkward confabulation - Bollywood. And I'm referring to the new age plethora of forgettable Hindi films.

"Oh she just can't act!"

"Can't stand him. Kaise ban gaya actor?"

"I think that film was a total rip-off."

"The movie had some potential but the story fell flat. Pch."

Though these are a few snatches from a typical house party banter , I think the most pathetic one till date is the last one. It saddens me to hear to constantly hear the word potential tagged to Bollywood movies. On one hand, a banal plot line (or the lack of one, usually) can hardly qualify as potential. On the other, there are those films that just seem to have it all - a good plot, a good cast, good dialogues - technically speaking the film is right there, waiting eagerly to be appreciated, but that annoying yet extremely significant X factor seems to be amiss. That's when 'it is' turns into an 'it-could-have-been'. It is tragic, considering all that potential slowly fades into oblivion, only to be known as crap.

You seldom find a  Bollywood film, that makes you want to sit and ponder long after the film is over. Or one which makes you sigh in the end with the thought that three worthwhile hours of reel have finally come to an end and that it's time to greet the real and cacophony instead of background music. Even if one does come long, it usually gets lost in a sea of mind numbing mediocrity that includes many  Munnis, Sheilas, Dabaangs, Gundaays and the like.

Ah well, I'm done with my preamble. I finally managed to watch a movie that sort of defies the above said things. "Highway" was a breath of fresh air, with the perfect blend of simple yet excellent cinematography, a minimal yet great cast, soulful music and above all moments that were poignant enough to replay constantly in my head long after the film was over. I'm not here, however, to delve into details and provide an in-depth movie review. I think there are way too many of those on the internet. But of course, if you were to sit and analyse the script, there would be flaws, as it seems from the lack of a staunch plot. However, the film itself is along the lines of an introspective journey, which isn't about reaching the final destination. I suppose the whole point was to just enjoy various delightful aspects of the film, rather than being a Freytag stickler for a good story-line.

My sister and I barely spoke on the way back home. It took a while for me to come back to the ennui of a hot February afternoon. Right then, I got a call from a friend, and I'm still figuring as to what exactly got me all choked up on the phone instead of sticking to my customary "What's up?". I guess it was a classic case of post-movie feel. In that case, hats off to Imitiaz Ali, the director of the film.

I'm glad that there are such Bollywood films to look forward to, bordering along parallel cinema. There is going to be an eternal bunch of ravenous critics of course, waiting eagerly to pounce on every blip and glitch in a film, and probably write it off entirely with the paradigmatic use of "the plot falls flat" phrase. Well, each to his own.

If you happen to be one of them, do take this one lightly. "Highway" has made use of all that potential, collecting dust under the red carpet.

Cheers.








 

Pictures in my mind

There are times when I open my blog feeling inspired, but then end up staring blankly at this box because inspiration seems to have disappeared in the blink of an eye, or isn't there to begin with because it probably must have been something I imagined.

Frankly, I'm not inspired to write today. I am writing because I feel like I should, and I am hoping I will get some inspiration along the way.

The year has begun on a tedious note, with academics and more academics, and one messed up entrance examination for a Masters degree in IIT (something which I had been looking forward to since the past six months). I know I'm beating myself over it;  I feel regretful and disappointed. I should have worked harder. I should have done this. I should have done that.
And these thoughts run a vicious cycle.

Sometimes, I wonder what is it that attracts to me to this institute. Is it the prestige? Its grand campus? Or the course structure? The crowd? I can picture myself studying there, but does the picture truly hold any meaning? Is it another chunk of my whims and fancies? I would like to say I don't know because it's convenient, but I do know. Let that be a secret.

Three months ago, I indulged in a counselling session with Mum. Yes, she was the counselor, and a good one that too. For those two hours, it wasn't my mother who addressed me. It was a counselor who had a third person perspective regarding my career and interests. We spoke about what worried me the most. I remember talking about dropping Biotechnology as a career option, and instead opt for a media-related field, something along the lines of photojournalism. And then began the tumult of questions.

"Why are you confused?"

"What appeals to you more?"

"What made you think about this?"

"Have you jotted down the pros and cons of both options?"

"How do you picture yourself in each field?

"Do you see yourself enjoying the field you've chosen?"

The first three questions seemed pretty straightforward, but the latter got me thinking. Imagining. Picturing. Maybe, the picture I had in my head wasn't going to be the real thing. I mean, it felt great (it still does) to see myself as a photographer, waltzing with a camera in hand and clicking pictures on-the-go . The flip side being monotony, extensive travelling, low stipends, and lack of creativity on a daily basis, was hard to picture. Not to mention, unpleasant to analyse. And yet the real thing is a mix of both. I just liked the former.

I had a stereotyped image of a career in biotechnology. I think I still do. I'm not too fond of wet labs, and research is something that doesn't appeal to me. On the other hand,  I haven't explored the field, and sticking to the stereotype seems to be a more convenient option.

I find myself asking the same question each day. What is it that I really want? Am I scared of flip sides and cons? Do I expect too much out of everything and everyone? Or do I just prefer seeing those pictures that I want to see?

One reads stories, hears rumors, swallows what the Internet has to say,  absorbs opinions flying around, or probably gets influenced by others, that invariably creates a slideshow of scenes in one's head. What are these scenes? Do they reflect the actual circumstance? Probably not.

Then again imagination always runs wild. It maybe positive. It could be negative. Rationality is something else altogether. And where imagination is, illusion exists. Illusions are unidirectional. Almost dreams.

"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.” 

- Edgar Allan Poe 

Whatever

Whatever is my favourite word.

Because it seems to sum up everything that I'm unable to articulate appropriately. Does that even make sense?

I am feeling quite disappointed today. As a matter of fact, currently I'm more than disappointed. I'm angry. I'm upset. I'm sad. And I'm Whatever.

Let me keep it simple and say that all the wonderful plans I had for December (with folks, of course) have gone kaput. Moreover, I can't seem to conveniently hold anyone responsible for my disappointment, and that's the icing on the cake (which has been burnt black in the oven). I could blame it on the situation, but, situations are unfeeling, heartless entities that decide to change their minds on a whim.

Life seemed to have been stationary, and pretty much humdrum a while ago (I just read my previous post). I'm glad that I enjoyed that phase while it lasted.

I have a major entrance exam coming up, and I'm nowhere close to finishing a syllabus that is easy yet endless enough to keep me flabbergasted all the time.

I shouldn't keep time for whatever. Whatever, is out of question. Whatever needs to be replaced by focus, books, and more focus.

Maybe a little party and good wine could be thrown in. After all, 2014 is round the corner. Though, I'm unhappy that 2013 is already on her way out.

I'll be off to Munaar for a week's getaway. See you soon. And a Happy New Year.

Or whatever.

Untitled.

Hi.

I could copy paste the first paragraph of my previous post, but in simpler and more blatant words, writing has taken a backseat. Probably the backseat of a bus headed to Timbaktu.

I should be studying for an examination that is due on Saturday. But, I'm spending time with a friend called Procrastination as of now. Friend is partially to blame for my sluggishness and couch potato-ness. Should I apologise?

I'm not dissatisfied or unhappy or frustrated, or anything of that sort. Strangely enough, everything seems to be stationary. Sometimes, I tend to forget which day it is and important dates such as birthdays. Sometimes, when I look out of the window and observe the sky, I feel as though the clouds haven't really moved. They're all still. Two pigeons visit my balcony every morning, and Mum has conjured a harebrained story about them being reincarnations of my late grandparents. My day is incomplete without filter coffee, "Romedy Now", "Lost", books, and my very faithful cellphone, not to mention social media.

The only things that are liable to change are my shower timings and sleep pattern. I have also been munching on 'Little Heart' biscuits. I haven't had time to explore new places for photography. I think I'm going to the railway station on my own during the winter break and capture various scenes out there on my camera.

Music hasn't been exactly forgotten. I anticipate some worthwhile jamming sessions with a friend. So that's good.

As much as I would love for some spice or masala in my seemingly mundane routine, I think I'd like to secretly savour the monotony because I know deep down that routines are liable to change, and that I might not be able to get this time back. I feel like some major change is imminent. It's like the lull before a storm, but,\ this time the storm may not be a storm. It could be something pleasant.

I think I'd like constancy for a change. I hate pigeons, but if they are supposedly my thatha and patti, I don't mind indulging in their company.

Cheers.

Mistakes

Hello.

How long has it been? A month? Or more maybe? I have been blatantly ignoring my blog, and writing to be precise. I have reasons to validate that but let's not get into that. "I have been busy," could suffice for now.

(Or maybe the lack of solid inspiration, who knows.)

I woke up half an hour ago, with the sole intention of writing something in my favourite blank box again. I have forgotten how much it has helped me get through stuff, happy and sad.

Have you ever felt like a mistake? I am not talking about having committed one. I'm talking about having felt like one. Your career, your college, your hobby, a decision - these tend to qualify as mistakes at times. But, the fact that you as an individual could be a mistake in someone's life, is something that doesn't pop in your mind very often. And when it does, it makes you contemplate, and just worry.

"I should not have been her friend," or "He shouldn't have gotten close to me," - as though you are the root cause of every problem, as though you are the one causing all the inconvenience.

The tiny voice in your head shouts "Be rational!" but all the rationality it tries to enforce upon you can be pretty useless, once your emotional side has taken control. You try to seek comfort in some sort of an assurance in your friend and that tiny voice as well , but it seems shallow as a puddle. And yet there are times when there is no one to guarantee you anything.

And when it comes to someone like me, who is as sensitive as a thermometer, this thought is food for further absurd analysis.

Something like -

If that person had his/her life's data stored in a computer, that needed periodic cleaning up, I would probably end up in the recycle bin, sooner or later.

Or maybe I was destined to be an Error 404, after all.

"Anyone who has never made a mistake, has never tried anything new," said one great guy.

I'm starting to wonder that I was some good after all.

The Old Man Down The Road

He was an old man
He must have been young
Just like yesterday
When I wrote a song
But I'd like to think of him
As the old man down the road
But not too old

He used to think
A lot
And pen down
His thoughts
On paper of course
He called them Physics
No wonder, I find them
So cryptic

He wrote, he read,
He thought some more
Unlikely for a student
Deemed so mediocre

Soon the word spread
That he was nothing less
Than an extraordinaire
With a love for numbers
Quite obviously a flair
I wish I had

But, not really

"You're the best!"
"The ultimate!", they cheered on
The old man with a brain
Everyone craved to have  

A downpour it was
Of awards and prizes so fine
Enough to put him on cloud nine

But, not really

The lonely old man
From day one
Said,"Bye friends, wives and sons!"
They left, all forlorn

And he lived and died on his own

I remember him wondering (aloud),
"How would it be,
To be that plain old man
Who lives down the road?"

My take on the therapist's point of view during one of his sessions
with Einstein

For One More Day

^ I read this book. I'm not planning on writing a book review. Somehow, the words 'touching' and 'beautiful' or even 'heart-warming' aren't enough to describe it.

Wistful, probably. At any rate, I found myself answering the question Mr. Albom asks, "What would I do if I had one more day with someone I’ve lost?”

I would have said my grandfather, without a blink of my eye, because my grandfather was the most  important man for me. But, I pondered for a while. My answer would be my grandmother. I would like to spend one more day with her, if I ever get to.

'My father once told me, "You can be a mama's boy or a daddy's boy. But you can't be both."

I would like to modify this a bit. I have always liked to be identified as my grandfather's girl. I have his temper and his ego to some extent. I can be scornful like he was. I have his practical bent of mind. I'm good at Maths.

To Patti (grandmom), I was always her girl from day one. But, to me, I became her girl only after my grandfather died. She had always been a significant part of my life, undoubtedly, but it took me a while to realize that. By then it was too late.

I could get away with yelling when she would bombard me with her childlike questions, which seemed so irrational and pointless to a teenager returning home after a long, yet useless day in college. Or when she wouldn't let me watch my favourite episode of "How I Met Your Mother" without having described her day.

I would promise to play carom with her each time she visited us. I guess I broke them all the time and she being the soft soul that she was, never minded my forgetfulness. Mere words were enough for her. During her last days, I told her I'd play Rummy with her. I never did.

She loved Bollywood movies and slapstick comedies. I can count the number of times we watched movies together. I was lazy enough to not walk to the nearest DVD library and rent a DVD for the weekend.

Almost 7 out of 10 times, I preferred spending time with my grandfather over her. Was that wrong? I don't know. I probably ran out of patience explaining stuff to her.

And yet she didn't mind. She swallowed my rudeness, my irritation and annoyance at her ignorance  about the so-called worldly things.

Because I was her girl.

For all those times I did not stand up for her, she stood up for me.

I probably didn't realize or I shrugged her away, hence that, was the one time I majorly let her down I suppose.

So if I do get one more day with Patti, I would spend it by playing carom, watching stupid movies, eating ice-creams, gossiping about our old neighbours, and answering her every question in detail. I would like to have that one meaningful conversation with her, that we should have had ages ago, but never did.

For one more day. That's all.

Upside down frowns

I am happy.

Happier than I have been in a very long time. This summer has probably been one of my best so far, and not in terms of where we, as a family, went holidaying, but in terms of how things have shaped up for me so far.

I must admit, the whole guitar and music scene has suffered a bit for me, considering I decided to pursue my recent-found love for photography. Yes, a Digital Single-Lens Reflex Camera. I joined the DSLR cult.

I need to figure out a way to balance both. And, a way to control my ADD tendency towards my hobbies. I have begun to multitask way too much. I know multitasking is good, yet, not really at times.

Hobbies can't make one happy, alone. Or maybe they can. I don't know. I haven't really made new friends as such. Just maintained the old ones, and probably realized their worth. However, I may have become familiar with people who were strangers a few months ago, to an extent where their presence has become a refreshing part of my mundane routine.

I sometimes wonder what happiness really means. When you're plunged in the depth of your worst nightmares  and when the world is an epitome of melancholy, happiness becomes an eclipsed entity, an idea that becomes so obscure that its existence is almost as good as gone. That's when one scrounges for it in every nook and corner, and probably assumes it lies concealed in rings of cigarette smoke or submerged in a bottle of liquor. Or maybe it could be stolen from someone and be unleashed through pure sadism and malice.

But at least you feel happy at the end of your pursuit.

 What about the time when you step out of a never ending dark tunnel and step into sunlight? The rays could be from a warm summer's sun or probably from that of a cold winter, but, it's sunlight all the same. It makes your path visible. It's a far cry from despair, and its bound to fill your heart with zeal. That's the sort of happiness which is well deserved. The kind of happiness that makes you want to gulp it, breathe it, and fill your lungs with.

Then again, happiness could mean reading Murakami's book one morning with a cuppa filter coffee and a plate of cheese sandwich. Or it could mean climbing a not so high hill, one rainy afternoon, with a dear one you meet after what seemed forever. Or it could mean just going to bed feeling content.

Who knows?

I'm scratching my head right now. It doesn't have a definition. Or maybe it has a multitude of them.

 I am happy :)

Another Blog Award!

Firstly, I apologize for having replied so late!

And of course, THANK YOU LISA! :-)

These awards sure do make me happy. And inspire me as well. Yay!

The Leibster Award is for those blogs with less than 200 followers. I'm sure my blog (which has made it to a meagre count) has managed to please my fellow bloggers and friends, and heck yeah, I'm grateful! :)

The rules of the Liebster is to answer questions from the award giver and then pass it along to other deserving bloggers.

I'm ready to answer Lisa's questions!

Why do you blog?
Ah, well. I began blogging on a random impulse to cope with this rough patch I faced, two years ago. So it would be appropriate to say I used my blog as an outlet to release my pent up emotions. But, things are different now. It's not just about rambling pointlessly. My blog makes me happy. My blog makes me realise I can write and that I'm good at it. So yeah, I blog to feel happy.  :)

What is your advice to someone overcoming adversity?
Think of feeling relieved at the end. I firmly believe every adverse circumstance is followed by relief. Cliched or not, optimism has always helped me.

If a movie was made of your life, who would play you?
My sister. 

If you could have high tea with anyone living or dead, what kind of tea would you drink? (Caught you off guard with that one, didn't I?? ;)
Jeez. You sure did. :P Ummm. Ginger tea. We call it adrak waali chai in Hindi.

In one word, describe your feelings at this instant.
Chirpy

If you and I found ourselves in jail, what would we be "in" for?
For stealing books, definitely.

What is your favorite kind of donut?
 Chocolate glaze!

Mine is an apple fritter. Will you bring me one?
I will, only if you share it with me :P

If you could be any kind of athletic ball, what kind would you be? Why?
I would be a ping pong ball. Because I like the name. And ping-pongs are robust. :P

What's your favorite form of exercise?
Early morning brisk walks with good, good music :)


I (apparently) want a parrot named Pooter as a pet, what kind of pet do you have/want?
A pup named Swami and a kitten named Charcoal

And now, I would pass on this award to some of my favourite bloggers who post great stuff.

Amruta at Iamamruta
Kanika at Sensitive Chaos
Sangita at Skaypisms
Saudamini at BeingSoda
Uttara at Billions of Blue Blistering Barnacles

And here are my questions !

1. Is your blog an integral part of your life? 
2. Do you regret having posted anything in your blog?
3. Do you get embarrassed reading your initial posts?
4. Crayons or paints? (because I felt like .. :P)
5. Which is your favourite book character?
6. If you were a musical instrument, which one would you be? And why?
7. Your favorite day-dream?
8. Which is that one song that has been stuck in your head of late?
9. A stupid movie you watched recently?
10. Which one of these inspire you to write - beaches or mountains? Why?
11. Name a song that would have suited the most poignant moment of your life so far.

Don't forget to follow the rules - Pass on this award to 5 of your favourite bloggers (with less than 200 followers) along with eleven questions!

Thanks Lisa, once again!

:)

Purpose, again

I have reinforced my faith in the fact that purpose kills plans.

And right now I'm enveloped by disappointment, irritation and menstrual stress.

I don't believe in coming up with pointless three-liner blog posts. But, right now, beliefs can take a backseat.

Purposeless posts do exist.

Purpose

Okay, I think I'm in a mood for one of my philosophical rants. It's been ages I know, for I have gone through my old posts. When was the last time I had actually sat down before this blank box with the purpose of unleashing a reflective verbal diarrhea?

For some reason I feel my attempt at that might fail today.

They say purpose is the key to achievement, to success and you know, all that. It is, but true that purpose does keep you unfazed through the nasty surprises hurled at you through the course of a  turbulent trip to *insert destination*. Nasty surprises have always followed a repetitive pattern of appearing during some of the fantastic phases of your life. Stephen King puts it quite aptly, SSDD - Same Shit, Different Day.

However, there are days when I dedicate an entire weekend to recording a new piece of music I have composed, but the whole attempt is a waste owing to an unfortunate process of recording, getting dissatisfied, deleting the track, re-recording, getting my hopes up high, discovering faults, getting frustrated, and so on. It's a futile consequence to a purposeful endeavour.

On the other hand, there are days when a sudden inspiration urges me to grab my microphone and guitar and I end up with a satisfactory rendition of my composition.

Purpose leads to expectations, and the latter are fickle minded when it comes to making one happy. What about a well-organized party turning out to be average with a low guest count? What about a trip planned way in advance with the ideal itinerary, that gets screwed up? You go well prepared for an examination and that turns out to be your worst one till date. You intend to deliver a well-rehearsed speech at a gathering, but one look at the audience is enough to drench you in cold sweat and incoherence. In fact, preparing posts prior to the A-Z blog challenge did no good either; I gave up, quarter way through.

Does this mean that being prepared, purposeful and expectant is wrong? Course not. It's just that one  diverts so much energy towards the positive outcomes of his intention, that the other alternative gets sidelined; the alternative of a failure. How can it go wrong when I'm ready and all prepped? No way, it's going to be kick-ass. And, that's where one falls short.

What about all those times when I picked up the first dress I saw on a mannequin, just an hour before a big party, that earned me several compliments? When my family planned a surprise trip to Thailand? When I delivered a heartfelt speech for my music teacher after a successful show? And when my friends and I threw an impulsive yet memorable party, a few hours after the very idea culminated in our minds?

None of us bothered about outcomes. Spontaneity aided us, and god alone knows what made our efforts tick. Technically speaking, we hadn't even given our efforts a thought. Come to face it, that party wasn't supposed to set tongues wagging for days to come or encourage Facebook statuses. But, it did.

Sometimes, it just depends on your luck, on the time, the situation, and the people around you; the appropriateness of everything at that moment which ultimately benefits you. Yet, sometimes it's just on how much we relax our ideals. The I'm-gonna-plan-my-summer-so-damn-well dogma could zap your energy, and before you even realise it, you are left with a forgettable vacation, not to mention scorching.

Moral of the story - I have come up with a abstruse post that may or may not be relished by you readers, but nevertheless leaves me feeling contented.

I am sorry

I'm sorry I had to end Heroes-R-Us so abruptly.

Firstly, I had a writer's block.

Okay, that's no excuse.

Secondly, I just felt my posts were forced and not even remotely humorous.

I never give up challenges. I hate leaving things undone, but this time I would have to swallow my words.

I am sorry. A big thanks to all my readers and fellow blog mates for having encouraged me so far.

And all those sporting superheroes who  helped me come up with something that would qualify as decent.

Meh.

Stay tuned for some interesting posts in May. :)

Happy Summer!

Harvey The Hyperventilator

26/3/2013

Featuring Harvey Hyperman aka Hyperventilator. From top to bottom - Harvey after watching 'The Scary Movie', Harvey after finding ten bucks on the road and Harvey after spilling a pint of beer.

Harvey remains unavailable for further comments. We wish him luck for his future endeavors.

Gertude The Gossiper

How does it feel to be a part of Heroes-R-Us, Gertude?
It's great. I was told I wasn't going to be a part of it though, is it true? I'm sure Deb spread that rumour. She hates my guts.

Uhh..Deb and you?
You will never believe it but Deb was actually my best friend. I would get my free supply of candies every month until I found they tasted different after a while. I complained about it to Deb of course, but maybe it didn't go down too well with her as the candies stopped coming in. And she began to ignore me at parties. I bet she didn't want me to share the limelight with her.

Your superpower is the mother of all controversies in the film fraternity. Is that true?
Gossip's in my blood. Actors wouldn't thrive without my support in their so-called fraternity. Controversies may seem to be the bane of their existence, but it keeps them buzzing. People remember them because of ME. Gossip comes before films, always. 

There has been a lot of talk about the Babble pills,lately. Enlighten us.
Babble pills have been funded by me. It suits introverts and people who are unable to make small talk. One pill can make you prattle  about almost anything for at least two hours. And trust me it won't be just gibberish. You end up engaging the listener as well.

Earl the Erratic has been AWOL for the past one month. You may have an idea considering you know him well, yeah?
There has been talk about Earl getting into drugs. He seems to have been hallucinating a lot of things including a mysterious White Woman and snow. Earl has been talking to himself rather than me. I'm pretty sure I saw him talking to the air, yesterday.

People say your words should be taken with a pinch of salt. How true is that?
True, you could also take it with some lemon and tequila.

Your weekly editorial, The Grapevine is a rage among young adults. How do you feel?
Why thank you it feels great. The Grapevine talks about topics that are close to the young heart including beauty and health tips, relationship advice, celebrity news etc. It also features a column where individuals can speak their minds. It promotes arguments and debates as well. The latter have increased its rating.

Thanks for being a part of Heroes-R-Us. A few words to conclude..?

I'd say the one with a sense of rumour is hard to find.