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.

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.

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.

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.

Clueless

Sometimes you feel you aren’t cut out for Something but for Something Else. Something Else is what you love dearly, without which you can’t imagine your life being the way it is. And hence you decide to screw Something, deviate from it’s path and move towards Something Else. But then, you realize Something Else comes with its share of responsibilities and baggage, most of which you were blissfully unaware of. And Something Else suddenly seems a bit too much to handle, though your love for it hasn’t diminished.

And now you feel pretty lost and clueless because you don’t know if you were cut out for Something Else in the first place. Weighing its pros against  cons isn’t a solution anymore.

Life comes to a standstill. Your brain seems to have flat-lined.

Eye don’t know how to

Wear contact lenses.

That’s it I’m a klutz.

I was at the eye clinic today. My fourth sitting, as I valiantly tried to practice wearing contact lenses. She hates me, that doctor. It seems so and I know for sure. It’s like she wanted me out of her stupid clinic.

“Arrey baba why are you blinking so much?! Anjali, even if you come here for ten days you are never going to get it because you keep blinking.”

Then she smiled diabolically, simultaneously summing me up as a clumsy freak.

I felt foolish and totally self conscious as I tried in vain to pull the eyelids of my right eye, the way she had demonstrated, trying to insert the cup shaped lens balanced on my right index finger, onto my eye.

It was trembling. Don’t blink, don’t blink! That’s it you have got it..almost..yes..
My lens was moving closer towards my right cornea.

And then there it was.

Hanging for its life from my lashes.

I had blinked again.

The doctor sighed. “Children learn this in 15 minutes of their first sitting. Anyway I will see you tomorrow.”

a sad yet scornful smile plastered on her face. She just wanted to me to scoot.

I could feel my eyes stinging. “Oh shit I’m not going to cry for something as silly as this! C’mon!” I scolded myself inwardly. I tried to maintain my composure as I walked out of her clinic, in some sort of a dignified way.

I couldn’t maintain it for long though. I came home and burst into tears. Mom tried to hide her amusement and she comforted me.

“I’m such..an..id..idiot. All my friends who wear lenses would have never faced this problem!” I blubbered.

Mom showed me a few demonstrative YouTube videos about wearing contact lenses for the first time. She scrolled down to the comments. I couldn’t help but feel good after reading them.


There was this one that went like this -
“Thanks for putting this video up. I died at the doctors office trying to put one in for 30 minutes, and when I got home I died taking them out for bed. Haha. I found that the easiest way is to look directly at the lens and just stick it on even though it feels horrible, it’s much faster… At least for me…”

and this

“i cant do this! im sucha pussy man!!!”

So Eye’m not the only freak after all.

The Late Latif

It's never too late - never too late to start over, never too late to be happy.

- Jane Fonda

 I had a sudden urge to put down a cliched quote. So there.

My summer break is coming to an end. I went through the syllabus for the third semester. Pretty interesting. So yeah, I'm kind of looking forward to college, even though it's the onslaught of monsoon which invariably means mucky bike rides, bad hair days, abstinence from street food (Damn!), potholes, torturous traffic jams, and probably occasional colds.

Yes I know,  I'm one of those weirdos who doesn't think monsoon is awesome.

Still going to college doesn't seem to be a bad idea.
 

Summer wasn't that eventful. Yet, I notice there's been a spurt of sudden optimism within me to make the best of all the time I have in hand. 

 

 I just feel like time is running out. I'm going to turn twenty next year, and I'm ignorant about a lot of stuff. Basic stuff.

I have always been late when it comes to learning anything. Almost. I was late when it came to -

• Cooking; I should have started that a year or two ago
• Managing finances. I just learnt how to operate my debit card. (Never mind)
• Watching How I Met Your Mother. I just started watching the whole thing from scratch, two weeks ago.
• Downloading the Red Hot Chilli Peppers' latest album, that was released last year.
• Watching Inception, that was released two years ago.
• Going in for a wardrobe makeover. (I was stubborn.)

Especially when it came to realizations...

• All my close friends are NOT my best friends.
• Nobody has the time to hear me ranting miserably. Narcissism creeps in inadvertently, and they start comparing their problems with mine.
  
  Me : "So yeah, I'm really messed up. I don't know what's wrong. Do they hate me?"
  Friend : "I know what you mean, exactly. There was this time when I felt the same way. I argued with my boyfriend and..."
  
  
• There's a life beyond dating and relationships.
• I suck at being a wannabe.
• Not all boys are jackasses.
• I have turned into a couch potato.
• I'd feel happier splurging my own cash.
• I like peanut butter
• I wouldn't want to get drunk. I'm not curious either.
• Excessive gossip has a bad effect on me. I get grouchy and bitchy.
• Depression kills my appetite. 
• I need to meet new people. Depending on my old friends all the time for company hasn't helped me much.
• My mom is really cool.
• My sister is really awesome.
• My dad is fantastic.

The biggest realization - I need some change.

I'm changing as a person. I know it. I can feel it. It's probably due to the grave circumstances that had plagued my house a while ago. The somberness is still conspicuous, the only difference being that I have learnt to deal with it. Those things that really affected me earlier - a break-up, minor arguments and misunderstandings with friends, and being single - seem trivial now. I don't feel like wasting my time, getting upset over petty incidents. I don't feel like pondering. I just feel like learning something new everyday. I like working on my own. At the sane time, I desire to meet new people and visit new places. I want a taste of independence.

Wow, I know it sounds like an awe-inspiring speech that ought to be backed up by an intense realization-dawning-upon-me background music. But I mean all of it.

Sometimes, I get a complex thinking how sheltered and ignorant I had been all this while. But I guess there's still time to perfect myself, and to gain more experience.