The Path to the Matter

#1

2011-11-30T22:23:00.001-08:00

I wish I knew something about everything, and everything about something.

Home.

2011-11-30T03:24:00.001-08:00

There's always something about going home. Every single one of us who lives away from the place we call home, ache to go back to it constantly.

When people move away from home, it's always for one 2 reasons- education or an awesome job. However, there is always an underlying reason- a need for independence. Whether you accept this or not, we all know that this is true. Every one of us who has moved away from home has reached a stage in life where you want to do the whole "living alone thing". Assert your independence. Stand on your feet. Suffer it out. Make your own rules. Keep your own deadlines.

We create the opportunity, and move out. Less than a month later, we realise it was the stupidest decision ever. Now, we can't go back, can we? That would mean telling our parents that they were right, and smashing our monstrous egos into smithereens. "No, no. Let's not do that. Let's continue our suffering", we think.

How do I know this, you ask? I am one of you. One of you stupid nincompoops who thought living away from home is the best thing ever. Who believed that somehow, if you lived on your own, you'd miss food from home, and magically learn to cook. Who imagined that away from home, you'd be comfortable living in a dingy area, with a dripping tap and a floor mattress. Who justify their lack of a maid and a washing machine with the need for exercise. Who oh-so-stupidly disagree when that tiny excuse of a brain that you have tells you that your parents are probably right because they are so much older than you and have so much more experience.

But, no.

Our egos are so much more important.

And then we crib, crave, cringe and cry. Crib that we're out of money. Crave for some food cooked by our mothers. Cringe when we realise we have no clean underwear for work and cry because we're lonely.

Times come, in our distance and separation, when we get to go home, to re-live those years for a few days and suddenly it seems like the best thing in the world. To walk a familiar neighbourhood, to be around loved faces, to lie in a well worn bed, to have your food slathered with ghee, to have endless meaningless conversations that are so much more important than world politics.To feel at home.

All you need is your family.

One more of those

2011-11-29T06:41:00.001-08:00

I stopped listing myself as a "blogger" in the about me sections of social networking sites a long time ago, because , to put it simply, I'm not a blogger. There are many like me on the internet, i assume, who in the years of their free, and useless time decided, they too would put their "writing skills" to the test and, type down their thoughts.

I belong to that category of bloggers, whose posting frequency can somewhat be compared to men masturbating. It starts with the discovery, when you find so much joy in the orgasmic pleasure that you overdo it. Sometimes 6 times a day even. Because you have the time, opportunity and knowledge. Also, just because you can. As age takes over, it slows down, often fuelled by porn.

Then you discover other things, like sex, beer and 9gag. And suddenly, masturbation isn't all that important. You do it once in a way, for fun, and also cause that's what everyone is doing. Sort of like staying in the game. One day you realize nobody cares and you stop. How it goes from there is anybody's guess.

Where I am on this frequency meter of masturbation is in my late 40s, not getting any sex, but with a life so dominated by the internet minus porn, that I'm too lazy to masturbate even; this is one of those posts where i shag to remind myself that i still have a penis.

Which is pointless.

Whatever. *fapfapfapfap*

My Life Before Twitter

2011-07-06T02:52:00.000-07:00

I had to stop and think about this one.

It all started when someone on Twitter, claimed I was dependent on the site for a daily existence. At first glance, anyone could say that. Look at my timeline: some 35-40 tweets a day, following 200 odd people, a follower count of 2000+ and an obsession with contributing to conversations I know nothing about. If that wasn't enough, I have this need to tweet every random thought that crosses my mind.

"While I spend so much time in my bathroom, I realise my floor has 251 tiles"

"Oooooh....A car just ran over me,I'm in excruciating pain, and I might even be dying, but wait, let me Twitpic that for you!"

So. Yeah. at a glance, I'd say I was dependent too. But my ego, which generally competes with Pam Anderson's silicon valley in terms of size, didn't let me accept that I am of course, dependent, on the site, and thus, I ended up accepting the challenge that was extended to me.

In true Khatron ke Khiladi style, minutes after I accepted said challenge, said challenger revoked the challenge leaving me with decision that could change humanity. OK. Maybe not humanity, but me at least. I took one of those famed *deep breaths*, rolled my eyes, gave one of those cinematic "I'm doing this for myself" speeches, and, well, decided to stay off Twitter for a month anyway.

I found out, that I'm not dependent on Twitter, 2 days into the challenge.

Yay. (I'm saying this "yay" in the most disinterested, non-enthusiastic, annoyed manner ever, so you better imagine it like that.)

Of course, I also discovered, that it was the Worst. Decision. Ever. You'll find out why, shortly.

How did I achieve this immortal task of finding out about my non-dependency on Twitter so soon, you ask? No, no, I don't have any super powers. It was very simple, actually. OK, wait, it wasn't. If it was THAT simple, it'd have taken me 10 minutes. The reason it took me 48 hours was because I asked myself the million dollar question:

"What did I do, before I joined Twitter...twitter...twitter?" (yes, yes, echo effect and all)

"Well, that's simple, there was Facebook, with Farmville, and Restaurant City,and Pirates vs. Ninjas. vs Werewolves and Crazy Taxi and...and...and...."

"No, no, MUCH before that!"

"Ohhh yeah, there was Orkut and Blogger and StumbleUpon!!"

"Er... Before that."

"Hi5?"

"No."

"Yahoo chat?"

"#facepalm. Before ALL of that!"

"I was too young to use the Internet. Or we didn't have a computer. One of the two. Also, I had school, and homework, and games class and Library period, and...and...and.. (cue Bodhi tree lighting effect and spring water sound effect) .. A LIFE!"

Instantly, two things became clear as brand new Saint-Gobain window. One, is that I'm not addicted to Twitter, I'm addicted to the Internet. Two, I had a life before I discovered the Internet.

So, remember I was telling you about taking a Twitter break being the worst decision ever? I have recently started working in a new job, which most people I know would testify as the coolest working environment ever (Non-restricted Internet, Free food, Awesome work timings and more), and well, I have nothing of great importance to do here, and thanks to my resonating stupidity, I can't tweet. I can't bore my timeline with tiny details of how empty this room is, or annoy them with explanations of how awesome the food I had for lunch was. Of course, asking me to break my Twitter break would be like asking Baba Ramdev to eat for peace. Either that, or I'm terrible at analogies. Hence, to make up for time lost by not-tweeting at work, I'm writing blog posts like this one. Only one problem. I can't pimp this blog post on Twitter and get more comments than I normally would. Sigh.

Excuse me, what is the procedure to get a life?

Cheers. To my canine.

2011-04-04T10:31:00.000-07:00

Get a dog. You'll never regret it.

Three years ago, on this very day, somewhere in a dingy house in Kodambakkam in Chennai, a pug gave birth to a litter of five. Three males and two females. Exactly a month later, I was sitting in that very same house, with the three male pups- now 30 days old- wobbling around me, sniffing my fingers. One of the little guys was extremely wobbly, falling asleep every three minutes. The second one was a rascal, refusing to stand still. The third was a lazy, ever hungry, tiny thing who kept trying to find his mother. I had less than 10 minutes to pick which one I'd want to take home 10 days later.

I picked the rascal. He was aggressive, noisy, and had unlimited energy. He seemed to find crevices very interesting and often tried to squeeze himself through them. I lifted him off the ground. He peed on me. The chemistry was hard to miss.

"He the unique one in the litter, saar" , said the breeder. With a white nail each on three paws, we needed no markings to identify him when we came back for him. I had waited 8 years for the day my mum would agree to get a dog. 8 years, in which not a day went by without me convincing my parents about the need for a dog. 8 years. And I couldn't wait 10 more days to make him mine? I did.

Armed with a cardboard box that formerly held 12 bottles of beer, a couple of towels and tissue paper, I stepped into that Kodambakkam residence, 10 days later. He slept through the journey home. I couldn't take my eyes off him. Then the most important question arose,"What are you going to call him?"

I can't say I hadn't thought about naming him. In fact, that's all I'd thought about in those ten days. Google searches had helped a lot. I had a list to choose from. A list of 23 names including Foosa, Rooney, Mr. Pickles, Rambo and Yoda. We decided to try all the names for a day each. Nothing stuck. A week passed, and the Kennel Club Certification had to be done. A name, was needed. I zeroed in on NaNo. (yes, spelt like that too) . That morning, he was registered as NaNo. By the evening, I had started calling him Sumo.

Ironically, that was the name that stuck. He came to be known as Sumo (Somasundaram, in Tamil). Sumo Prasad, who came to live with us three years ago, peed on every piece of furniture in the house, and snores to compete with my dad. Sumo Prasad, who turns three today.

On this special day, I have a few things I want to tell him.

Dear Sumo,

As you turn three today, I must thank you for the many things you have given me and I have not been able to return. Thank you for showing me the meaning of unconditional love. Everyday, you teach me how to love without expectations, without demands and with all my heart. Thank you for being patient when I forget to feed you or take you on your walks on time. I try to, I promise. Thank you for sleeping on my used jeans when I'm not around. It makes me realize how much you need me. Thank you for coming to the door to bark when I leave home. I know you want to let me know that you don't want me to leave. Thank you for wagging your non-existent tail and licking my ears whenever I come home. I would never know how much you missed me otherwise. Thank you for cuddling up next to me every night. It makes me feel special.

You will always be my little angel.

Happy Birthday.

Love,
V

Of Cricket, History and God.

2011-04-02T12:42:00.000-07:00

2nd April 2011

"Tendulkar has carried the burden of nation for 21 years; It was time we carried him. Chak de India!" - Virat Kohli

This is a day that will be written, taught, spoken, read, and fantasized about, for generations to come. Books will be printed, recounting every minor detail, schools will make it part of their history text books, lectures will be given about the greatness of this day, and if you are reading this, you too someday, with tears in your eyes, will dramatically enforce every enthralling moment of this day on your grandchildren, or as @techrsr said, at least someone's grandchildren.

It wasn't war, or calamity that brought this nation together today. It was religion. The glorious religion of Cricket. And how. Some of us watched from our televisions at home, some at pubs with complete strangers, and the blessedfew, from the Wankhede Stadium in Mumbai. We watched as Dhoni graciously agreed to a second toss even though he knew he'd won the first one. We watched, as Sreesanth made souls cringe with his bowling. We watched as Mahela Jeyawardane guided Sri Lanka to a position from where they were ready to challenge India. We watched the terrible advertisements that hogged valuable replay time. We watched Sehwag and Sachin walk back to the pavilion, and lost all hope. We watched Gautam Gambhir and Dhoni put runs on the board. We listened to Ravi Shastri ,Manjrekar and Ganguly spew out cliches. We watched Dhoni end it all with a sixer. That moment we knew, that we had just been a part of history. We had just witnessed India win the World Cup in 2011, after 28 years.

Like many others, I followed this event on Twitter mostly, and the experience has been unparalleled. You would know, if you'd been there. I could almost hear my timeline scream, every time the ball made it over the boundary. Caps Lock meant a lot of things- anger, enthusiasm, excitement, shock, outrage and more. Puns and jokes flew around like bullets in a war field. And we bonded. Bonded over the opposing teams' no-balls, the commentators' dress sense, the fours, sixes and wickets we took, the facepalms every time a mis-fielding happened, the victories and most of all, we bonded over one man-Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar. We are all believers. Theists of the religion of cricket. And Him, our God.

We don't just glorify him, we worship him. In sickness and in health, in loss or victory, in form or injury, Sachin Tendulkar is always the winner. Even when Cricket loses, Sachin Tendulkar still wins. I'm far too regular a person to even praise this man for who he is. Yet, I find myself basking in his glory, which he so humbly and gladly shares with the nation. If there was ever a reason to win this World Cup, it was Sachin Tendulkar. And they did exactly that. "For Sachin.", they all said. Yuvraj, Raina, Kohli. They did it for him. For a man who has every accolade that Cricket can present under his belt, except a World Cup victory. Until yesterday. And this is the cherry on the icing. A billion people unite in celebrating a well-deserved victory at a sport that is possibly the glue that holds this democracy together. That is a crowning achievement for this nation. But, the bigger accomplishment is that the world celebrates the presence of God in the Indian Cricket Team. The very same team that has lifted the World Cup in those magical hands.

Remember this day, for it has created history. History that is worthy of praise for eons to come. Remember that you were a part of this history.

Quick Eats- Simple Bruschetta

2011-03-24T21:38:00.001-07:00

One more quick recipe for all the lazy wannabe chefs out there. A simple home made bruschetta. This definitely isn't the authentic recipe, but surely can satisfy the taste buds and is really healthy.

Simple Bruschetta
Serves one

You will need:

2 medium sized tomatoes, halved, deseeded and roughly chopped
1 large clove of garlic, finely chopped.
A few basil leaves, finely chopped
Some fresh coriander leaves, chopped
2 tbsp olive oil
A small chunk of mozzarella cheese, crumbled.
3 slices of whole wheat bread
Freshly ground pepper
Salt

Method:

Combine the tomatoes, garlic, coriander, basil and cheese in a bowl and add 1 tbsp of the olive oil and salt and pepper to taste. Mix well and let it sit for 10 minutes.
Use the remaining olive oil and coat the slices of bread on both sides. Toast in a toaster, or bake the bread in an oven for 10 minutes at 200 degrees or until golden brown and crispy.
Remove the bread from the oven and spoon generous portions of the mixture over the bread.
Serve immediately.

Quick eats- Pasta siciliano

2011-03-22T21:32:00.001-07:00

Often, the most tedious task for most food junkies is cooking complex dishes to satisfy their taste buds. So it is great relief to know that some extremely tasty dishes can also be rather simple to make. I love experimenting with pasta. I'm not much of a cook, but some of my pasta recipes have delighted a few.

I made a customized version of Pasta Siciliano for lunch yesterday and it turned out really well. It's a quick fix. Especially for those who live alone and cook for themselves everyday. So, here's the recipe for you.

Pasta Siciliano.
serves one

You will need:

Ready to cook pasta (either penne, fusilli, farfelle, or macaroni)
3 cloves of garlic-crushed
2 tsp red chilli flakes
1 medium tomato- finely chopped
1/2 small capsicum -finely chopped
3tbsp olive oil
2tbsp roughly chopped black olives
3tbsp lemon juice
A small chunk of mozzarella cheese
Salt and pepper to taste

The method:

Boil the pasta in sufficient water, with half a teaspoon of salt and a few drops of oil, till cooked. Drain and rinse with cold water and set aside.

Heat the olive oil in a pan. Add the crushed garlic and saute till a golden brown. Add the chili flakes and lemon juice and stir. Add the olives and tomatoes and cook on a medium heat. When the tomatoes are done, add the capsicum, and season with salt, to taste and mix well.

Add the cooked pasta, mix it well, cover and simmer for 2 minutes.

Transfer to a serving dish, garnish with pepper (freshly crushed, preferably) and grate the cheese on top. Serve immediately.

The End of the World, As I See It

2011-03-11T03:00:00.000-08:00

The first news that I read of the Japan Quake of 2011 was via a link my cousin posted on Facebook. At first I was inclined to think, "Just another earthquake. Nothing to feel bad about, since quakes are oh-so-common in Japan". Then, I logged in to Twitter. My timeline was FILLED with condolences, questions, theories, updates and what not, about the Japan Earthquake. #japanquake they'd tagged it. I instantly knew that soon this would be a trending topic. I decided to check out the news, and hit the BBC site, where a live feed was being shown. I just *had* to be the first person to tell my mum, so I did. She switched on the TV, and we compared notes about the coverage of BBC and CNN. The news channels are trying to get the juiciest facts- predictions for the next tsunami hits, lunar relations, etc-, the most off-beat experts- Oceanography professors, Lunar Theorists, and more- and of course, the most relevant visuals, in the war to be the best news channel. To simply put it, they're exploiting a tragedy to increase their TRP. As always.

Then, it struck me. How shallow are we? Pretty shallow, I'd say. And this goes for every one of us. We use someone else's misery to our advantage. Even all the folk who tweet "condolences" to #japanquake , probably did cause they wished to be a part of the "awesome folk" who are in the loop about news. The ultimate aim, is of course to hope that your tweets are retweeted, and to get more followers. Am I just accusing you and pretending to be puritan? Definitely not. I am equally shallow, and this is merely a realization. I mean, look at my reaction to the quake. All I wanted to do was be that person who knew much and more information about the situation in Japan. I even cracked a few jokes at their expense.

If, as theories state, the world is going to end in 2012, THIS is the beginning. What did you imagine? January 1st 2012 will come, the earth will split open and swallow us all into its fiery core? Whoever is in charge ain't gonna end it THAT simply.

When I discovered that this tidal wave is going to travel all around the world, causing a destructive pandemonium- like the Bachchan family on tour- I honestly wasn't surprised. One of the theories that flew around my house with outrage was "You tamper with the earth, God isn't going to let you get away with it". I'm not much of a Theist myself, and God supposedly being all forgiving, I don't buy that theory, but I do believe that this is a repercussion of all the damage we've done to earth. We hunt and kill, chop down trees, exploit limited natural resources, pollute, invade other nations and do much more damage without worrying about the balance of nature. Of course, there is no lack of organisations gunning for world-peace, eco-friendly lifestyles, save the trees, save the tigers and what not. But the truth is all our so called leaders are sitting around in their smarmy conference halls, giving rehearsed speeches, washing down the praise they don't deserve with alcohol, and postponing the actual "doing" to the next meeting. The few people who actually "do" are powerless in the face of society and the government.

Earthquakes and Tsunamis have been around for as long as we can remember, but so has man. So is it safe to say that man has brought this devastation upon himself? A tidal wave that is behaving like a Mexican wave, galloping across the Pacific with the intention of destroying everything in its path cannot be taken lightly. This quake is reportedly Japan's biggest quake in 140 years and the news channels even claim that the tidal wave is bigger than some of the Pacific islands. Which means if hit by this wave, these islands can disappear from the map, and rewrite Geography and History in one shot.

And all this is discovery within the limited knowledge of man.

THIS, my friends, is the beginning, of the end of the world, as I see it. There is nothing we can do about it except sit back and watch it happen, and hope that our deaths are quick and painless.

The Cry of the Unborn Child

2011-03-05T11:33:00.000-08:00

“No!” she cried, “ I cannot do it! I will not agree to this!”

…

The day had begun perfectly for Natasha. She had woken up unusually early. It was understandable she was unable to sleep long. Only the previous night she had discovered something that would change the way she and Craig lived. She had meant to stay up and tell Craig the previous day, but her exhaustion overpowered her, and she’d fallen asleep before Craig could return home. Still, this day was going to be perfect the way it was. Craig was still asleep, and being Sunday, she didn’t want to wake him. They would have to go to Church to thank God for his ways, but today- just today- Natasha knew God wouldn’t mind them dropping in a little late.

Natasha’s life had changed drastically, from the moment she met Craig. Their story was right out of a romance novel. He saw her outside her house, fell for her instantly, chased her down and made her fall in love with him too. And just like any romance novel would have it, Natasha’s parents were against her marrying an orphan, who had only completed his B.com. He also wasn’t good enough because he was Goan, and didn’t belong to the same caste as them. Her dad would rather pay dowry to some wealthy Malayali family and have his daughter’s future and her husband’s fortune secured. He was a ruthless man, and was willing to go any lengths to eliminate Craig from the face of this earth.

The decision Natasha took was much more than bold. She ran away with Craig, and they had a little church wedding in some village in Kerala. She broke ties with her family when she ran away and hadn’t spoken to them since. Rumour had it that her parents had found out about her wedding and disowned her, just as “honourable families” did. Craig and Natasha’s wedding was nowhere near grand, and neither was their life. Craig’s job had nothing to do with what he’d studied, and it gave him less money and more work hours. Times were tough, and the couple struggled while Natasha tried to find a job for herself. They lived in a little room with a bathroom and a makeshift kitchen in Trivandrum, and Craig was desperately trying to find a job in a bigger city like Bangalore, where he had a chance of getting paid more. Ends couldn’t be met, and many a day the couple missed a meal or two. The once dusky, curvaceous and gorgeous Natasha was now pale, sickly thin with matted hair, dark circles under her eyes and detergent charred hands. Yet, her smile hadn’t faded. She loved Craig for who he was and what he was doing for her and that made her smile every day. Less than a year had passed since they’d been married, and Natasha had finally found her first day of untainted happiness.

Her perfect day was getting more perfect by the minute. The little coffee she made for herself seemed extra desirable. She held the steel glass in her hand, and walked up to the floor where Craig was fast asleep. He seemed a lot older, all of a sudden, the stress graying his hair and wrinkling his forehead with lines. She smiled, and wished he would wake up just then. Her wish came true. Craig flipped and opened his eyes to see Natasha smiling bright into his face.

He smiled back at her. “Baby, it’s Sunday. We still got time before we wake up!” he said, pointing at the little Chinese digital clock that lay on a box.

“Wake up Craig, it’s a beautiful Sunday. There’s so much we can do” she chirped.

“What’s up with you baby?” he asked , his eyes twinkling with mischief “I’ve never seen you this happy!”

“ You go tidy yourself up and come and have some coffee and eggs with me and I’ll tell you what’s up” she responded, with the widest grin on her face.

~-~

She took a deep breath.

“I’m pregnant”, she declared, unable to contain her own happiness.

Craig was thunderstruck. So much so he suddenly stopped chewing on the eggs in his mouth.

“You’re pregnant?”. Craig was barely audible. It was as if he was trying to push words out, and only air came instead.

“Oh Sweet Jesus! Yes! Baby, I’m pregnant! We’re gonna have a kid. Maybe a boy! Maybe a girl! We’re gonna be parents!” Natasha exclaimed, jumping up and down in joy. What she didn’t notice was how shocked Craig was. Beyond belief.

~-~

“No!” she cried, “ I cannot do it! I will not agree to this!”

It was normal for her to act this way, for any young mother with the hopes of raising a child to act this way when someone suggests an abortion.

“I can’t kill my child!” she sobbed.

Craig had nothing more to say. One sentence that he’d uttered had caused enough chaos. He wasn’t willing to risk another. But he had to say something. He had to comfort her. He held her gently to his chest and let her cry for a while

“Baby. I want you to understand how important….”

“NO! Why don’t you understand for a change! How can you be so cold-blooded, wanting to kill your own child!” she screamed, her eyes red from crying.

“Calm down,” he requested “Look, you know we aren’t exactly in a very good financial position and we can’t afford to have a baby. What? You think I am a cold-blooded murderer? No, I just want our first-born to have a wonderful life! We’ve just begun ours. We need time to adjust, understand, settle-down, we need time for each other. There’s no place nor is there any money for a third member in our house…”

“That is no excuse to kill something that is living and a part of your blood! That is no reason to kill something which is now dependent on us for its survival! We must try and adjust not only with each other but also with our baby. Craig, ten months from now we will definitely be in a better financial position than now, we can survive!”

“With a malnutritoned, unfortunate, unhappy baby? Possible, quite possible. Come down to reality Nat! What if we are not in better financial position? I will not have the heart to dump my child in the dumpster then. I’d rather not have this child now when I can’t see it than later when it’ll be smiling into the face of its father!”

She fell silent. She turned around and walked away. Suddenly, she stopped, turned around and raged, “I will not abort this child come what may!”.

Natasha left the room.

Later when she had calmed down, she went back in and sat against a wall staring into nothingness, lost in deep thought. Craig came and sat down next to her. He lightly placed his hand on her shoulder. It triggered another downpour of tears from her eyes. She turned and looked at him and he hugged her tightly, “It’s going to be ok. We can have another baby soon.”

She changed into her nightgown and splashed her face with water. She looked at herself in the mirror and stroked her stomach. You couldn’t tell there were tears. She was regretting the decision she had made. Lying down, all she could think about was the new life inside her. In a few hours it would be gone. The very thought sent shivers down her spine.

Why me? Why Lord, why? Did you have to do this to me? Though she looked at the ceiling, she stared much beyond it into the sky. My baby! Lord…. I can’t let it die. I can’t kill it! I can’t imagine what it would say if it knew its own mother was going to kill it!

The tears put her to sleep.

She woke up with a start. Natasha could tell it was morning already. She had no watch and turned to ask Craig for the time, but the place on the floor next to lay vacant. Her eyes darted to the window. The sun was breaking the horizon. The day was breaking her heart.

“Awake already?” Craig’s voice shot her back to reality.

She slowly nodded her head. She turned to look at him. “I can’t do this…” she started

“Shhhhh…” he interrupted “Let’s not talk about this. It’s rough for me as well. The less we talk about this, the easier it is going to be for the both of us. Understand?”

A tear made its way down her cheek and went dry as it reached her chin.

...

It’s strange how fate plays,
Life’s game in many ways
And chose it’s field on my life.
And like ritual magic
It is indeed tragic
That I had to be a sacrifice.

I never had expected
That I would be rejected
For I found out something so sad!
My mother didn’t want me
And so, she disowned me
And now she’s turning very bad.

I wish I could tell her,
What in life I would prefer.
To live or to die? She didn’t ask!
If only I could live,
My talents I would give
And soon in wealth I would bask!

I don’t have a choice,
But at least I have a voice
To tell anyone who will hear-
How it feels like for me to know
That I will not live anymore
And not be able to shed a tear

I hope you’re listening
Mom, I hope something rings
When I try and tell you this:
”Inside your womb
Mom, don’t build my tomb!
The joys of life I don’t want to miss.”

Rise from the Ashes.

2011-03-04T07:02:00.000-08:00

When I look back in to the life of my blog, I realise I have killed it several times, then repeatedly tried to revive it, always failing at that attempt. Formerly called "Beyond Expectations" , the blog eventually left people with no expectations.

I did not want to delete my blog, but close to 200 posts held several memories that I would like to distance myself from, and thus this decision of wiping out any traces of those memories. The only things that are retained are the writer and the blog address. Everything else has changed. I have however, kept 4 or 5 of my posts from my old blog, just to remind me that memories can only be faded, never deleted. And also because I didn't want an empty blog.

So here's hoping that this new start will have something in store for all of us!

Who Let The Politicians Out

2011-03-04T06:53:00.001-08:00

This post was written in October of 2008 w/ regard to the refusal of the government to give pay hikes to employees of the Armed Forces of our nation.

-------------------------------------------------------------

It's very simple. A military coup, that is. One collective word is all it needs to convert this nation from a democratic country to a progressive economy with martial law.

The armed forces will take over the nation, and no one can do a thing about it. Not the police force, not Manmohan Singh(=Sonia Gandhi), not A.K. Antony. No one. A movement will arise so suddenly and with the fury of a raging tsunami, that it will rewrite India's future, inject discipline in the blood of every Indian, unscrew unopened bottles of potential and terrorise the intestines out of those who dare to oppose them or irrigate the minds of others with vile thoughts. Corruption will be eliminated 90% and progress will double. Indeed, the souls of our forefathers who fought for real freedom, will rest whole-heartily under this military control. Ironic, but true.

The question here is, why won't they do it?

Let me tell you what bothers me. I am the 19 year old daughter of a retired government servant, an army officer to be specific (note the 'Servant'.. absolutely true in case of the armed forces)

My father, who retired as a Colonel, is not a reciever of the PVSM, AVSM, VSM, or even the VC for that matter. He was a part of the army, served an ordinary Colonel's role, did not jump in front of a bullet to save his men, or plan an intelligent strategy to capture some enemy territory. He was a part of both major wars with Pakistan and China, returned without being a decorated war hero, served in regiments in both borders, saw extreme weather conditions and backward technology and most importantly, he enjoyed and took immense pride in doing all this and serving the nation.

Yet, I feel my father is a greater man than many 'greats' in this nation. Shahrukh Khan, or Pratibha Patil,to begin with:neither of them have sacrificed more than a sleepless night or compromised on their Saturday morning sleep for the nation.

I don't blame you for saying, 'Oh, she's an army officer's daughter, obviously that's why she's biased'. I don't deny it. It is true. I am biased. And I want every single person in this country, if not the world to be biased. I can only tell you what it is like to have seen these people up, close and personal, to have heard true incidents of bravery and selflessness and then know they're are being paid peanuts, to sacrifice their lives without hesitation for the nation.

When I was 16, my family took a holiday to Arunachal Pradesh, to the regiment where my father had been in command, more than 20 years ago. From a scenic , quaint little town called Tenga, on the banks of a gushing river, we travelled to a snow desert near the Chinese border called Bumla. Here, in the middle of nowhere, one could see a small board stuck in the ice reading 'Welcome to India'. For as far as our eyes could see in all four directions, there was nothing but snow. Beside that board stood a guard, probably of south Indian origin, in 6 layers of clothing, a giant wind-cheater and the heaviest pair of snow-boots imaginable, against constant rapid winds, endless lengths and immense depths of ice, pacing an abandoned minefield from the 1962 war, looking through a telescope at Chinese vantage points to track enemy positions and moves.

He didn't opt to be there, but when he chose the forces as a career he knew what he would be facing, and he faces it with valour, for he has the patriotism that you and I and many of our politicians lack. Tomorrow he may die in battle, but I know for sure, that no one who has joined the forces will ever regret taking up that profession. If he dies in an act of bravery, he will most probably be awarded a VC or PVC medal for the same, posthumously. Then the government might give his family a lump sum and/or a measly monthly stipend of Rs.850 to Rs.1500. I ask you, is that all this man's life is worth?

What about a serving soldier? He mostly hails from small areas or rural backgrounds with an uneducated wife and 2 children back in his village alone.Typical, but true. This man, who has time in the forward areas only to eat, sleep and watch the enemy, hardly sees his family. His entire salary is sent back home to his spouse, who faces the brunt of yet again uneducated parents-in-law ready to blame her for anything that happens to their son. In such a situation, a soldier's wife receiving the pitiful salary of her husband will be left an orphan in the middle of the road, simply for the lack of money.

Then, these war heroes, and martyrs are forgotten within minutes, no, wait, seconds of their death. No one forgets to come for the Republic Day parade ,or to place that wreath they didn't order on the grave of some memorial they don't know was built for what om Independence day. Just because it is protocol. Protocol to 'remember' (or forget?) these people on these 'days' meant for our nation, to 'remember' them for the 30 seconds it takes you to read patriotic forwards and messages in your in boxes on email and on your cellphone.

Like a 90-year old war veteran said, I guess it's the forces who are to be blamed. Right from the 3rd pay commission-who screwed up royally- the three forces have always put the pride of serving the nation over money. I guess it's their fault they didn't demand it then.

My father and I have been discussing this issue for a while now, and my blood boils, every single time I see our so-called Defence minister Mr.A.K.Antony defending his stupidity on a podium which he does not deserve. Have you for a minute stopped and thought about why you at home are able to enjoy your evening spent listening to your iPod, or watching a DVD on your 42-inch LCD? It is because you live in India, where the borders, threatened by invasion every second, are guarded constantly, by the watchful eyes of some 27-year old son of a mother who sits far away in a remote town, praying consciously every second for the safety of her son. If that guard decided to look away for even a minute, he would be dead, within seconds, and there would be an invasion leading to chaos everywhere. Soon, India would become a replicate Iraq, pandemonium prevailing,where you would need the permission of your invaders to even use the toilet, which under normal circumstances would be your birthright.

Sometimes it's scary, how something so simple and routine is linked to something so complex and out of hand. From all of you who saw these reports of the military's peaceful war against the government on television, some of you changed the channel since it didn't concern you, some saw the report and took it in as general knowledge, and some burnt rage over it for a few seconds. Those whose blood still boils, would be the ones who have actually some patriotism left in their blood.

Am I being too philosophical for a nineteen year old? Most of you might say yes, but I say, why not? You would too, if you saw the fire in the eyes of these people the way I do.

And what is it, with Mr.Antony's comment on discipline? I'm sorry Mr.Antony, but you politicians, who hit each other with chappals, and microphones, use unparliamentary language in the parliament, come half an hour late to a meeting, and do not know the words of the national anthem, are talking about discipline.Please, don't make me laugh.Or with the panel that is enquiring the pay commission having IAS officers in it!? Why don't we have a separate pay commission for the Military like most other countries do? Why do we have to put up with a cock-eyed system? Why does a DGP get paid almost twice as much as his equivalent in the forces? Why does the army have to replace the fire-brigade, police force and everyone else, when it is specifically mentioned that the forces are only for training during peace and attack during war. Why does the government involve the forces in flood relief , earthquake relief, tsunami relief, and more recently, rescuing of children fallen in pits? Then to put the cherry on the icing, you pay them in a pay scale adopted in 1948?

I have faced and will face a lot of criticism for my views.As some of my friends say, we do get good rations, accommodation and cheaper FMCGs and alcohol. Rations and accommodation -anyone in a decent government service gets that. Cheaper FMCGs- The least the government can do is to remove the taxes off the MRP of many products and make it available to the average soldier, who in return is willing to pay the price of his life for his nation. Cheap alcohol- yes, a bottle of rum is relatively cheaper. Why don't you spend one year of your life to replace a soldier in snowy altitudes, in nothing but a tent or in the blistering heat of the Thar with the only wind bringing sandstorms along with it or in the jungles of Nagaland with the leeches sucking your blood out and I'm sure ANY soldier you replace to give him precious time with his family will gladly give you all the rum he can ever get in his life, simply so you don't die of exhaustion and depression and actually live to tell your tale.Simply, so you can survive.

Let me remind you (non)patriotic souls, that the life of a person in the armed forces is one filled with dignity and pride, and I believe it should reflect in how much s/he is paid, for glamour and corruption rule the roost today, and that bias will take our country nowhere.

Hoping for the best to come for our brave men and women.

JAI HIND.

The Other Side of Gravity

2011-03-04T06:50:00.000-08:00

A short story

_____________________________________________________________________

Foreword: This story was inspired by a little game session we had in English class in college on 7th June 07. The concept of the game was for the class to create a story, each person contributing one line at a time. The only clause was that the first sentence should begin with the alphabet "A" and the next sentence with the alphabet "B" and so on and so forth. Yours truly was asked to begin, and the idea that followed, is in story format below.

Given the limitations, please do excuse the grammatical correctness of this story. I've done my best to make it and continuous and interesting as possible.

_____________________________________________________________________

A few hundred years ago, Sir Isaac Newton, a great English mathematician and physicist, sat under an apple tree in his garden, when a bright green apple, fell on his head.Being hit by it, he looked at it and wondered why the apple had fallen on him. Carefully, he picked up the apple and ate it up. Digestion soon became a cause of worry for Newton. Even though his stomach ached terribly, he climbed the tree and ate more apples. Full up with apples and suffering from a severe stomach ache, he decided to pay a visit to the doctor. Going to the doctor, shouldn't have been a problem, except that on the way, he spotted his dream girl sitting on a bus. Hurriedly, he ran and caught the bus and sat in the vacant seat next to her.

" I love you, and I want to marry you," he said turning to her after a while. Just as soon as he said that,his heart was pounding and he didn't know what to do. "Kiss her," his heart urged him, and doing exactly that, he got slapped by the girl.

"Leave me alone!" she screamed, as she got off the bus in disgust. Most men, at this juncture, would've been heart-broken, but not Newton.Newton, au contraire, was still smiling.

"Oh, what the hell man! Women, women, women;I better go to the doctor now," he thought to himself. Promptly getting off the bus, he was about to enter his doctor's clinic, when unanticipatedly his stomach ache vanished. Queer he thought, and decide he'd go home. Reaching home, he went straight to the kitchen to get a glass of water, when the sight of an apple in his fruit basket got him thinking. Suddenly, his thoughts were shortstopped by a sound. The doorbell had rung.
Unwillingly he walked up to the door deliberating about who it could be. Vexed, he opened the door ,to find a salesman smiling at him.

"What do you want?" barked Newton.

"Xylophone for sale, sir. Would you like to buy one?" enquired the salesman,

"You idiot, I'm a scientist, not a musician!" scream Newton and slamming the door on the salesman's face went back to sit on his chair and ponder over the apple.

Zip , Zap, zooooooooooooommmmmmmmm; the next thing we know, we're in Physics class, learning about gravity and the rest of the story is lost.

The day ... I slept. 11/30/07

2011-03-04T06:41:00.000-08:00

It was a bright sunny day. The hard rays of the sun peeped in through the window and lit up the graffiti scribbled on the desk in the last row. I dropped my heavy bag on the seat that fell near the sunny side of the bench and shoved it to the other end while simultaneously sitting in its place. I looked at the time. The little digital display on my cell phone screen looked blurry and I could not read the time. I grunted, and tapped P on the shoulder, interrupting her interesting conversation about god-alone-knows-what with S, and bugged her for the time. Living in an age where the cellphone replace watches, calculators, calenders and alarms, for the average college student, P absently glanced at her wrist, then dawning upon the fact that she did not have a watch, gingerly slid her phone open muttered "7.53". I mumbled a perfunctory "thank you" and still feeling groggy, calculated backwards.

2 hrs.

Thats all I'd slept the previous night.

White Chicks kept me clocked up till 2.30 AM, and meaningless gossip with the sister-in-law, while making sure my niece fell fast asleep, took till 4 AM. At that juncture, dormancy was in no mood to make its presence felt, so I decided to call A. A and I had a rather short conversation, and before ten minutes past four, I was done. I lazed a bit, loitered a bit more and eventually at 4.30 went to bed to get some shut-eye.

I had been rudely woken up at 6.30 AM, in the middle of a dream, that involved Santa taking classes, by Dad, who mercilessly made sure I got ready and left for college. It usually doesn't take me more than ten whole minuted to get ready, 5 minutes to eat breakfast and 10 again to drive down to college, so technically, it would be sufficient if I woke up at 7.15 AM, but as drowsiness is a key factor in this situation, I'm granted an entire 50 minutes to perform the same tasks.

So that was that, and here I was, sitting, soaking myself in the abundance of Vitamin D, singing to myself, when suddenly I realised... first hour=economics. I couldn't! It wouldn't be possible ever! Not even on a normal day when I've had enough sleep! So I made up my mind: To fall asleep before the lecturer arrived, so I could bring up the excuse of being sick, instead of falling asleep mid-way through her lecture and insulting her. I agreed to my brains commands.

...Soon I was in dreamland, seeing chickens dancing, stars floating, chocolate melting, colours popping, people I love playing ringa-ringa-roses, terrorists having their balls chopped and more such pleasant sights, while others listened to the dull drone of the lecturer explaining the government schemes for the poor. I was drowned in a pool of fatigue, overcome by a tiresome feeling. I slept on my arms, my mouth half open, when a chorus of bimbos also known as "my class", woke me up with a loud "Thank you ma'am".

Ok...so economics was done with, but the sleep-a-thon wasn't over yet! That absurd male guest lecturer would be coming next. I consider him as the appropriate lab sample for boredom. Since, I didn't quite care about him, and also since it was his last lecture of the week , I decided to do him a favour, and fall asleep.

A good half an hour into the lecture I was woken up by a crude pain in my cheek. Said cheek was numb from all the pressure. It was time to exercise the other cheek. I began to open my eyes for a brief fleeting moment and I heard the same manly voice talk about Stem cells. I was momentarily puzzled about what Stem Cells had to do with the constitution of India, but sleep was more important. I faded awa....

When I woke up again, the male lecturer had also left, and everybody in the room, overlooking the fact that I was asleep continued to make noise. The present position began to ache. I wanted to lie flat. I toppled over onto my stomach and lay flat on the bench and was knocked.

I did not know how many hours had passed- at some level it felt like days- but I had never slept so peacefully in my life. Not even in my bed with air conditioning on. I woke up because I was done sleeping, completely refreshed and ready to tackle a wild boar. Of course, the beauty of the situation was that there was no wild boar. The class was completely silent. Believing that someone of importance may be addressing the class, I looked up to find no one.

Then why was the class so quiet. I rubbed my eyes a little more to clear my vision. I looked around, and my class was empty. Instinctively I checked the time. It was 5.30 PM.

Yes. I checked with them the next day. The left me to sleep, because I looked so peaceful, and they didn't want to disturb me.
Then....

Lost.

2011-03-04T06:25:00.000-08:00

I woke up, with the warm rays of the sun heating my face. Before I opened my eyes I wished he was there by my side. I made myself a cup of coffee and took some cookies. After a mug of coffee, I left for the gym , and as I drove on the empty roads, I pictured him driving instead and me sitting by his side. The gym was nearly empty. As I methodically increased the speed at which I ran on the treadmill, his favourite track came on.I finished my workout and was on my way home when it started to pour, and I remembered that he liked the rain a lot. It was time for me to go to work. I got dressed and looked at the mirror and combed my hair. I pulled my butt-long hair back into a tight ponytail. Then I remembered his compliment on my neatly brushed open hair. So I pulled off the band that held my tresses together and brushed my hair down, grooming it the exact same way it was that day. I smiled at myself and walked out of the room. Quarter to nine. He would leave to work then too. Mid way through my day I ate lunch at his favourite restaurant took the rest of the day off.

As I entered the elevator in our apartment, Jatin, my neighbour joined me. Exchanging greetings and small talk, I waited as the steel doors of the elevator parted on Jatin's floor. Jatin bid me goodbye and passed me to exit the elevator. I caught Jatin's scent. Ferrari Red. He wore Ferrari Red too. I got off the elevator 5 floors later, still savouring the lingering smell. Moments later, I was on the couch, skipping channels just as he would. News. Football. Cricket. National Geographic. I lazed around till late evening doing all the things he would, with a neat whiskey in my glass. Just the way he liked it. With a perfect day behind me, I went to sleep, because I knew I'd see him in my dreams.

I understood him better than anyone else, yet I never understood one thing about him. I knew everything about him, yet I did not know one thing. Whether he loved me.

I only wished I knew.

~~~

"Tell him!", she said when Mantra had first heard about it ,"Walk right up to him and tell him!You have nothing to lose!"

"I might lose his friendship if he says no!", I replied sadly

"He's an idiot if he says no!"

"Thats his personal decision. Each person has their own taste.I can't force him to like me!"

"If he's smart enough, he won't let go of your friendship"

" I still am not convinced"

"How will you know unless you try?"

"I don't want to risk it."

"Damn, you're missing out on something..."

"We'll just have to wait and see!"

"You can wait till the cows come home!"

I opened my mouth to react, and before I could, Mantra had walked away.

There I was, standing on all that sand, smelling fish in the air and quietly following the footprints of my best friend walking away, with my eyes. He loved the beach so much.

~~~

Shlokha's eyes were wide with worry. "You're obsessed," she stated, her voice soaked in fear.

"I am not!" I opposed automatically, even though I knew every word of that statement was as true as the fact that every keyboard has a space bar.

"You're obsessed," she repeated, choosing conveniently to ignore my statement. Her eyes were watery and still wider with worry and now they were staring deep into mine. I had freaked Shlokha out. "You...you..won't do anything stupid, will you?" she stammered, her eyes now screaming out loud in fear.

I laughed. For thirty seconds, I laughed like a maniac. Then, I realised, that I was the only one laughing, and fell silent.

Shlokha was still staring into my eyes, her expression was just the same. She looked like a still from a horror movie, where the heroine recoils in fear, and the frame freezes into a photograph."I'm serious," she added, "Please don't do something stupid."

She needs more reassurance in life than I do. I held her hand, "I won't", I promised.

"I don't think you should tell him. If it is meant to be, it will happen." she suggested. Her voice was no longer scared, but her eyes still were.

~~~

I took a deep breath, counting backwards from five. I picked up my cell phone and scrolled through the phone book to find his number. I knew his number by heart, but scrolling to find it would give me more time. More time to reconsider my decision. My thumb lifted. There it was, in the middle of the screen, right below his name, 10 digits that determined my fate. I pressed the green telephone symbol on my phone and heart rapidly increasing pace, I placed the phone to my ear.This was it. There was no turning back. I heard the phone ring, and wished he wouldn't pick up. But as fate has it, Murphy always works against you, and within seconds a bright and chirpy "Heyy.." shot up in my ear. My heart skipped a beat and I tripped 10 years backwards. I felt 16 again. It seemed as if my high school crushes were all coming back and puppy love had become a reality.

We spoke about the weather, life in general, work politics, common friends, politics of the nation, cars, football and then finally, we spoke about marriage. We spoke about each of our families, about how our lives were going with our spouses and how married life was so different from the time we had last spoken: when we were single. And that was 3 years ago. I hadn't spoken to him for 5 years, hoping that every little thought of his would fade away. I hadn't even called him for my wedding, nor did I attend his. I thought with passing time and my wedding, I would forget him completely and carry on with my life. How wrong I was.

I was lost in his thoughts, even after my wedding and it took me three years of married life to realise that it was time I told him the truth. So I did.

"... I just told you, because I needed to take it off my mind"

" Why didn't you tell me earlier? We could have worked it out!"

"It wasn't meant to be"

Then, I heard the words that would fill me with regret for the rest of my life

" Two people never fall in love because it was meant to be. They fall in love because that's what they want it to be. The only people who could have have decided if we were going to work, was us. And sadly, you never asked me"
It was at that moment, that I was truly lost.

Boulevard of crumbled tar...

2011-03-04T05:54:00.000-08:00

I love the roads of Madras. uh-huh. You did read right. LOVE. Pure plenary love. I was in an auto the other day, travelling on one of the jillion roads, when the auto dipped into an exotic ditch on the road, causing my body to indulge in a vertical movement towards the roof of the vehicle. Wow. That was fun! Yay.... where's the next bump on the road??Now I can successfully think of many reasons why the corporation shouldn't do anything to make the roads smooth..

Reason #5

Rainy season = mud puddles!

What greater joy in life than prancing from one mud puddle to the other in the damp, cold weather??

Reason # 4

Relative theory of bad roads

The more your vehicle rattles on our roads the faster your vehicle gets damaged>>> equation 1

The faster your vehicle gets damaged, the sooner you get a new vehicle>>> equation2
...adding equation 1 & 2...

Conclusion: The more your vehicle rattles on our roads the sooner you will get a new vehicle!!!

Therefore... Bad roads = New vehicles every now and then

Reason # 3

...continuation from reason #4

The faster your vehicle gets damaged, the more durable vehicles companies will produce.
Bad roads=Durable vehicles = saving of money

Reason #2

Bad roads = good for health[Image]

Research will prove and recommend that travelling by auto at least once a week on Madras roads is extremely good for health, as all the jumping up and down causes your organs to shake up and be active and healthy. This would be especially true in the case of those who don't use their brains. Bad roads will also prove to aid digestion :)

And the most important reason....

Reason # 1

Bad roads = Pure fun

Why pay Rs.500/- and go to VGP and MGM to ride on that silly Roller Coaster??? Free bumpy rides, with special features like road of death and near reality accidents now available for free on the roads of Madras. Just take out your vehicle and ride fast on the roads!!!! Conditions apply**

THERE..... now... I'm sure even you love the roads of Madras. So please stop writing those Letters to the Editor complaining about bad roads. Enjoy the fun while you can!!!!!!!
Go die MGM Dizzee World.... Roads of Madras Rule!!!!!

** The above not applicable on certain roads in Chennai like Poes Garden, Mount Road and Nungambakkam High road. For a full list of good roads please travel more frequently.For extreme pleasure, travel in the suburbs and outskirts.

Changing Room Blues

2011-03-04T05:49:00.000-08:00

I dread clothes shopping.

Yes.You read that right. I DREAD clothes shopping. Yes, I know I'm a girl, and thats probably the most fascinating thing on earth for a woman,but, I still dread it. You know why? Changing room blues!!!

A changing room is a disaster, especially when you on the higher side of the weighing scale....like me. The changing room is like a courtroom, you are in the accused stand and you're charged by the Government of Healthy Bodies, where Justice Mirror says you are guilty of eating too many fried stuffs, having too many ice-creams, not exercising and most importantly looking like a pig with the evidence of huge arms, flabby stomach, thunder thighs and unwanted fat hanging from many locations on the body. You are sentenced to a term of "best-clothes-will-not-fit-you" .

It's quite complex......this whole changing room process. I mean the body that looked fine in front of the mirror in your room, looks like a body of an extra from a old tamil movie! T shirts in you're wardrobe that say "L" fit you beautifully, while their counterparts at the store are 2 sizes smaller! Jeans of your waist size, in the store hardly fit and even if they do, they look as though you've worn them and then stitched them!!!! You curse as loudly as you can, swear you'll lose weight, jump up and down the room just to make the clothes fit and come out of the changing room all flushed and red, hair all messed up, sweating like crazy,panting for breath like you've fought off a crocodile. By the time you find the right dress to wear, you're half dead and throw all the clothes on to the billing counter and almost trip out of the shop.

Well, if you're wondering what inpired such a post, it has to be my recent shopping bonanza with my cousin D. We were at the Pantaloons factory outlet, where size 28 is never size 28 and it's risky to buy without a try. Try I did, shirt after shirt after pant after pant after shirt..... ok you get the idea.... and my fitting specialist? D, who always picked clothes HER size instead of mine (considering she's half my size, it isn't very convenient.). Not only that. In order to escape from the eyes of a salesman in the Pantaloons store, who was keenly bird-watching her, D took refuge in one of the only two changing rooms in that store along with me, while the other one was occupied by a score of different people. In the bargain, I had to adjust in an already stuffy changing room with this woman, who was trying to help me in and out of clothes half my size, while muttering quite loudly about how much thinner I could get. While I suffered in agony and pain and suffocation from all the clothes changing, D stood and watched and laughed. Laughed like a mad woman. She indeed had a good laugh that day.

As if that was not enough, every dress I tried seemed to make sure for themselves that I would not be able to fit in them. Finally, after a tremendously irritating session of costume rehearsal, accompanied by the occassional shouts from D about dirtying the shop's clothes and about standing too close to the door in fear of a foot fetish that some stranger outside might have, I finally found a capris I comfortably fitted into. Dissatisfied I went on to look for more stuff. Again, I went through a session of trial and error with the clothes till I finallyn decided that apart from that one capri, Pantaloons was not for me......

Mum seemed to have picked up a lot of stuff, so we quickly billed everything, and still out of breath I headed home, with mum and D.

I'm never going to clothes shoppin with D again. Ever.

More Moru Please...

2011-03-03T13:02:00.000-08:00

As Summer approaches faster than normal,(the meteorological department failing to do their job as usual), the time also comes, when South Indian households welcome the heat, or rather beat the heat, with the pure gift of God........ MORU!!! Moru, more commonly known as salt lassi to our Northie counterparts and buttermilk to the rest of the world, is indeed the real nectar of life. This delicious milk-turned-curd and water based liquid beats any.... I repeat...ANY drink available on earth! A glass of chilled Moru is, to prepare, as easy as making Tang, is way cheaper than all other drinks in the market, AND is, you guessed it.... HEALTHY! Yeah, that's right, Moru is not only filling and yummy, it's also healthy! Moru, is a brilliant digestive, making it a perfect end-of-meal drink. Talking of meals, Moru, can also be mixed with saadam, to make yet another wholesome and delightfully tasty meal- Moru Saadam(Which, for non-tamilians is buttermilk rice), which goes well with any spicy gravy, curry, pickle, or just a raw green chilli. Preparing Moru, though extremely easy, is an art by itself, and over the years I have mastered this art(I think....). So here it is, my recipe for "Special Moru", which I prepare at home, much to the delight of the taste buds of everyone....

SPECIAL MORU

You will need....

For moru..
1 cup curd
4 cups water
1/2 green chilli, washed and chopped.
1/2 inch piece of ginger, washed, deskinned and crushed.
4-5 fresh curry leaves washed and chopped.
4-5 fresh mint leaves washed and chopped.
asafoetida...to taste
salt... to taste

For Tampering...
1/2 teaspoon cooking oil
1/2 spoon mustard seeds

Method....

1. In a vessel, put the green chilli, ginger, curry leaves, mint leaves, curd and water and mix well with a wooden churner till its froths up and all the ingredients flavour mixes with the water and curd and the liquid is whitish and watery.
2. Drain the liquid so that it is seperated from the green chilli, ginger, curry leaves and mint leaves.
3. Add asafoetida and salt to taste and mix well
4. In a small iron dish heat 1/2 teaspoon oil over a medium flame and add mustard seeds. When the mustard seeds start crackling, remove dish from flame and pour contents in the moru.
5. Serve chilled and enjoy!