Memories of childhood

My earliest memory is of Saroja - not a coherent picture, merely a wisp of an image of a smiling person I adored. I was apparently 2 years old then and Saroja was a maid in our house. I don't remember anything till almost a year later, in a different city, I remember running between rooms in a long corridor shouting meaningless things trying to sound impressive to my uncle and aunt. I especially remember very clearly the puzzled expression on my uncle's face. I was later told that they had just had their first child and I now wonder if the bewilderment was actually fear that their daughter might also terrorize unknown people with meaningless statements some day. I also vaguely remember a boy and girl from some house nearby who would occasionally play with me downstairs around the house.

My clearest memories, when I became aware of myself as an independent entity seem to be after I started school at the age of 3. It’s as if from then on, life acquired color and texture and form. I didn't even like school very much. I remember crying every day, every single day about not wanting to go to school, hating it, protesting, screaming, sobbing, dragging my feet on the ground. I remember the kindly face of Mrs. Emmanuel and my desire to impress her. I remember writing meaningless things like the alphabet without knowing what they were or why they were needed. I remember walking from home to school accompanied by my grandfather mostly, but sometimes riding on the bicycle with my father's peon Srinivasan. Sometimes my mother would give me a mint lollipop as an incentive for me to go to school. I still recall the sheer joy of the moment - of motion on the bicycle and of the minty sweetness of the lollipop. There couldn't have been a happier girl than me then.

I remember Meenakshi the huge menacing servant maid who was sometimes sent to escort me to school, standing and peeing behind trees enroute, while I was made to wait. And when I protested, she would step on my toes hard, really hard, squishing my toes till I screamed with pain and couldn't think of anything else but the pain. I hated her so much. And yet I was powerless and sent to school again and again with her. I remember playing with her daughter though, a lass a few years older than I, making idlis out of dried red mud.

Another memory - a friendly watchman in a big rich looking house located on the way to school. I remember the house too - a house covered with colours and colours of Bougainvillea. Every time I waved to him, he would give me a bouquet of the pink, orange and red flowers and this was truly a highlight of going to school.

Of the school itself I remember little, except a vague feeling of terror at being caught not knowing English; or being caught not knowing to count beyond 100. To me, numbers like alphabets were another strange concept that meant nothing beyond the rhythmic chant of repeating them in sequence. I also remember being hit on the knuckles, being asked to kneel down on the table, and even worse, standing upright on the table for an entire hour because I didn't do my homework or answer something right. Among all subjects I remember Moral Instruction the most, because Mrs.Monto the instructor guaranteed us that we would all end up in a sea of tea - or thats what I thought. This possibility was intriguing and caught my imagination as I imagined myself floating along in cardamom scented sugary syrup. Later I came to know that she meant 'Thee' the Tamil word for fire, and not Tea. I don't know what kind of person threatens first graders with burning in hell for eternity, but I am very glad for the Thee Tea misunderstanding.

I even begin to remember individual classmates at this point - Durga Devi, Singaram(who always said Rhesus when he meant urine), Javed (the curly haired spectacled boy who seemed to know everything) and Kavita (the most popular girl in class). How does one become popular in first grade at the age of five and acquire a following? I guess some people are truly born leaders!

Poem of the day

Read this today and found it hilarious! I mean, really.. songs for fathers of female infant girls? How wild is that?

Ostrich

One advantage of reflecting internally endlessly or being distracted by the outside world - You conveniently ignore the things that need focus: the immediate crises and the dangers outside.

A planet facing environmental disaster and entire governments that do nothing about it.

A planet ridden with conflict and violence in every corner of the world.

Increasing poverty, homelessness, disease and sorrow in all parts of the world.

Increasing corruption and callousness among politicians who cannot see beyond the tip of their nose or the balance in their bank account.

Oh yeah... the world is falling apart around me! What can I do?

Try to make a difference in EVERY way I can.

Or

Give some token donation to organizations who claim to make a difference and then feel good about having saved the planet.

Or

Get drunk on my own little life and its details and forget the planet!

I know what I am going to do! Do you?

Creation

In an attempt to try something different, I've decided to move some of my posts from here to another blog. Of course, in the end it does not matter much. The frog still stays in the well, regardless of its thoughts.

I am pretty excited about the house, although we've not unpacked and organized it as yet. I am also slightly nervous about the whole mortgage thing and changing my work hours thing. Why do I feel so guilty about trying to do what I want to do? Because this is pretty close to a free lunch and as we all know there is no such thing, is there?

Anyway I'll take heart from an excerpt from Preethi Nair that I've pasted below. Not very poetic or inspiring at first sight, but read it and you'll see why I liked it!

'I will also tell you another thing about the magic of hopes and dreams: at any point along a journey, the day you decide to take back responsibility for your actions and put your trust and faith not in fear but back in yourself, those hopes and dreams will come flooding back and the belief and the energy that charges them will take them forward to a place that is home.'

Shyness

"Shy people live too much in their heads, obsessed with the past, the future, or both. A shy person in conversation is not apt to think about what is being said at the moment, but about how past conversations have initially gone well and then deteriorated--just as the current one threatens to. Says Zimbardo: "These are people who cannot enjoy that moment because everything is packaged in worries from the past--a Smithsonian archive of all the bad--that restructure the present."

Source: An article from Psychology Today, Dec 2004

That completely explains me and all my neurotic internalizing, doesn't it? I am shy!! Like I didn't know that?

What this woman really wants

“Once you make a decision, the universe conspires to make it happen.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

My husband suddenly mentioned this quote today during our evening walk, and since it tied up with things I've been thinking about recently, I decided to include it in this post.

What do I really want? Is it really truly what I wrote a couple of posts ago, with the SFO et al?
Or was that just a list that would look good on paper/screen and make me appear noble in front of family and friends? 'Oh she wants to have her own business! How adorable!'
Well, obviously having my own business wouldn't hurt and being in SFO wouldn't hurt either, considering its one of my all time favorite places.

But in that burning deep way that happens when you really want something, what do I want?

1.) To write a book - a good read and get it published
2.) To somehow integrate more writing into my career
3.) To lose like a million pounds and get my health back on track

I am trying a different way of eating for life, but so far Iam pretty impatient for it to start working (and it hasn't, at least not in a big way yet).

As for the other goals, I am working on them. I do wish I had the luxury of having more time to devote to them though.

This Emerson is a pretty cool person. There are tons of his quotes floating around online, but here are a couple more I liked:

“For everything you have missed, you have gained something else, and for everything you gain, you lose something else.”

(I've always beleived this!!)

“Make the most of yourself, for that is all there is of you.”

(How true!!!)

bleaaah

Just one of those days... When I seem to question everything about my life, but don't really have the courage or willpower to change anything. Something is wrong for sure - internally or externally is the question. I really wish there was someone I could talk about it with, but everyone has their own lives to question and be busy with..

Its funny that the person I consider my dearest friend now talks only on 3 occasions with me: My birthday, her birthday and New Year. My life is changing and she doesn't have a clue, and likewise I've no idea whats happening with her anymore. It stems from her basic belief that her life is too crazy and that she doesn't have time to keep in touch with people. What she doesn't realize is that life is ALWAYS crazy and that time must be made..

My posts do seem more angst ridden as time goes by. Its strange that when I blogged as Suchangst, my posts were anything but angsty (well, except for the initial few) and now all I can write is this stuff...

And it seems like all I can read without getting depressed is light fluffy chick-lit stuff, to escape from my own reality and briefly occupy someone else wonderful life where everything falls neatly in place. I always did like fantasy and sci-fi stuff, but at least I read something that challenged my mind and imagination. Now, I am just dumbing down the whole experience, since I cannot be bothered to make the effort to even imagine!

It must be a common problem though. Why else would these books be written and published and sold in millions?

Disclaimers

Careful what you wish for... I've heard this so many times and yet, does that stop me from wishing for weird things?

I wished in my previous post to be still and do nothing. I didn't really expect it to come true so fast. I had a devil of a migraine headache yesterday. So all I could do was be still and do nothing and my head still hurt! So should I add disclaimers to my wish .. 'to be still and do nothing, while being in perfect health and possessing the ability to move and do anything' or 'to be still and do nothing, by choice, while in fact being able to do the opposite' ..

Should I merely negate my wish and be thankful that today my headache is gone, and I can in fact do a lot of things?

Recent news

Too much time between my last blog and this one.
Too many things have happened as well. We did find a house and we are moving in next month. I am quite terrified about the whole process though. Maintaining an apartment has been challenging enough for me, a challenge I constantly fail at that. Now the realm of my responsibility increases to include a yard, a lawn and a whole bunch of other things I've no idea about... How do people live in houses? How do people live?

How DO people live? Thats what I wonder on some days when I am exceedingly tired. My dream is to be perfectly still and do nothing .... the inertia heaven. My mother on the other hand, cannot be still and just vegetate in front of the TV for instance. She constantly has to do something as she proved in her recent visit. Is that the normal way to be and do I just have a work ethic gene that got misplaced somewhere?

Went to Vancouver recently. Beautiful beautiful absolutely gorgeous city! The city is so alive and vibrant! The architecture downtown is not just a series of dull boxes, although they do have their share of that. But its the ones that are not dull grey or brown boxes that give the city life. I never realized how responsive my mind was to good architecture and design around me, till I went without. Its like my hostel days in college. I was so accustomed to eating disgusting watered down crap at the mess, that when I went to a restaurant after 4 months and ate good food, I started weeping. The feeling is the same... the instant realization of what you've missed and how much you've missed it and an outraged feeling of having been cheated. I would defintely move to Vancouver if I could.

Some of my other favorite places where I'd like to live if I could:
1.) Ernakulam, Kerala (incredibly beautiful)
2.) Goa (duh!)
3.) New York city (yes, inspite of the muggers and all)
4.) San Francisco (although I've not seen enough of it yet)

Risky business

The past couple of weeks have found me stressed and worried about finding a house.
Not a calming activity in any scenario, but particularly stressful considering Calgary's economy and our lack of knowledge.

Luckily there is the internet! So we're able to see the listing, map the areas they're in and estimate the distances to our relative workplaces. The internet has also taught us about the different types of furnaces, the different types of siding & shingles, the different kinds of whatever you want to know and how to waste an incredible amount of time, learning about absolutely irrelevant things.

Still its a great tool, this internet. What a pity it cannot also tell us what the option with least risk and greatest profit is! It is the business of weighing one risk against another that is probably the most stressful. What are we willing to live with?

We threw away a perfectly good place in a wonderful unpolluted scenic neighborhood and a posh interior because it was too small for us. Now we're searching 'bigger'. But at what cost? A longer commute? A not so great neighborhood? Continual traffic noise from the highway? A much higher price? Something's gotta give, and I don't know what. Maybe we'll just give up!

Snow and our city

We had a ton of snow dumped on us today - 23rd Feb. "We" as in who? On a macroscopic level, all of Calgary and most of Southern Alberta. On a more personal level, "We" is my husband and me. How easily and naturally I've fallen into "We" mode. My husband would point out at this juncture that we're not newlyweds anymore for me to be analyzing thus. And perhaps he is right. At a year and a half of marriage, I feel like I've been married forever... and I mean this in a good way... mostly ;-).

Just yesterday I was talking to a co-worker about my car which was stolen 3 years ago. "We thought maybe the car had been stolen for the parts!" We? I didn't even know my husband existed then. So who is the "We" I talked about? Not content with my husband being part of my present and my future, was I incorporating him into my past as well?

Okay, that last sentence sounded a bit Carrie Bradshawish. Or would that be more like "Was I dragging my Future to be Present in my Past?" If you've no idea what I am talking about, go watch 'Sex and the City', on on some channel somewhere most days and definitely on TBS Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Its one of my favorite shows. There, I've admitted it shamelessly!

Remember Lee Fiora, who I spent hours reading about and identifying with? Apparently a lot of people don't like her and even cheered when she got slapped by her father. At least thats what Curtis Sittenfeld says in this article:
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/02/12/books/review/12sittenfield.html?8bu&emc=bu

I wish there were a way to go tell Sittenfeld how much I LIKED Lee and her story. I am sure there are people doing that as well, but it can never be enough... and I speak from personal experience.

God, I really am waiting for her next book. Judging by its subject though, do I really want to read it??

A mini post (better ignored than read)

Just some keywords to include in this page - just in case someone searched.
Sundara Aravinda Vikaasa..
Ajik Ijik Lekha... (SAP, NASA, Bhai kadai, Anna Univ)
Surely there must be other bloggers out there who share my alma maters. I couldn't find 'em. Hence the keywords in this blog.

Vivaaa Las Vegas!

Does that show a lack of taste?
People seem to either hate Vegas or love it. I've not heard one indifferent response yet "Yeah, we went to Vegas. It was alright..."
So far, upon telling my coworkers that I've been to Vegas, I've either been inundated with questions and tales of their own trip(s) to Vegas, or I've had people screwing up their face in disgust 'What a phony place!". Nothing in between.

I think the ones who hate Vegas haven't really seen all that Vegas has to offer. Or maybe they've seen it all too many times. Or maybe all their enjoyment is passed thru a filter before it is experienced... Although, coming to think of it, which one of us does not pass his/her experiences through one filter or another? For any experience to have a subjective value and become good, bad, unpleasant or whatever in a person's mind, it needs to pass through a filter.

So without much further ranting, I guess I'll just say that I enjoyed the sights and sounds of Vegas. It was a treat for the senses. You don't have to gamble to enjoy Vegas (although that helps). I would love to go there again at least one more time... to see all that I could not see this time. Of course its all fake, but thats the charm of it. The grandeur, the lights, the colours and the obvious but endearing fakeness of it all!

(photo of Parasol Cafe, The Wynn)

Viva Las Vegas!

Prepped.

Lee Fiora is a 14 year old from South Bend, Indiana, who goes to a snobby boarding school in New England. I am twice her age, stayed at pretty much the same school in my hometown in India when I grew up, and am now old and married. So what do I have in common with Lee?
Nothing, it would seem on surface... and yet, so much, judging by how much I loved the book - 'Prep' by Curtis Sittenfeld.

Lee is me in high school, shy withdrawn, painfully self-conscious, always wondering what people are thinking about her, worried that her parents may embarass her in front of her friends, worried that she may be saying too little or too much, not knowing what to do or how to behave but terribly lonely nevertheless, wanting a friend and longing....aching for a boyfriend. She has a crush on her classmate but she is too terrified to ever take it beyond the realm of her imagination on her own initiative. That was me... other girls in my class went around with boys, but me.. I looked and I longed but never said a word.

Lee has a reason - she was not weird in Indiana. She became this way, because she was a poor hicksville girl in a school filled with rich sophisticated people. She did not fit in and she desperately wanted to. What was my excuse? I've been trying to come up with one, but honestly, I don't know. I know I did not fit in, but I don't know why.

The book ends with Lee finishing school and leaving for college. She ends with the note that college and life thereafter was not as difficult and in fact seemed boring compared to her travails at boarding school. I wish I were as lucky! This time in a strange city (Madras seemed pretty posh to me), away from my parents in a hostel surrounded by seemingly hostile seniors, and my posh well dressed classmates who listened to English music, at least I had more reason to not fit in. Just like Lee, I had maybe one or two good friends. Small incidents like a word of praise for a poem I wrote made me feel weirdly dangerously happy and I felt most alive then.
Lee feels happy whenever someone acknowledges her existence since she is pretty certain that no one notices her (when she is not busy being terrified that everyone is noticing her). I know exactly how that feels!

And of course I fell in love in college, an obsessive love just like Lee's, that went nowhere beyond the confines of my diary and my mind. She went to school games for a glimpse of her love. I would visit the coffee shop everyday, for a glimpse of mine, if he by some miracle decided to have coffee that day. Sometimes he would smile - not a proper defined smile, but merely a wisp of a smile, granted to someone that he knows is from the same department as him, but knows little else about. That one shadow of a smile forgotten by him the next instant, could feed my imagination for days on end and I would smile again and again everytime I thought of that smile.

However, I didn't really need to be like Lee to have liked the book. I liked Sittenfeld's introspective style of writing with her startling but so true observations about people and about life. I am definitely looking forward to her next book due this summer. I started reading this book under the impression that it was a teen read ( like 'Harry Potter' or 'His Dark Materials' meant for teens, but appealing to adults like me). While some teens might read this book, I believe an adult would appreciate it better, having had some time to look back on their own teenage years and reflect, as I did.

Happy New Year everyone (If anyone reads this site)! One of my new year resolutions is to read more. I've made a booklist in my local library website. 20 books - mostly fiction with a smattering of non-fiction, mostly lifted off the NY times bestseller list, with a couple of books from John Wyndham thrown in for good measure. Hopefully I will manage to read them all.

Paranoia and other good things

'Hello, hello, hello, good-bye, good-bye, good-bye, good-bye,
That's all there is. And the leaves that are green turned to brown'

(Paul Simon, in case you wondered). Nothing really got unblocked. This post is as difficult as the first.

Too many sweets at work today. Liquor filled chocolates, cake with cherry filling, a donut from Krispy Kreme (who refuses that!)..Well at least I refused the cookies. Christmas is good for my soul and bad for my everything else.

I don't know why this is difficult. This isn't my first blog ever after all. My previous stint at blogging was a couple of years in another blog site where apparently only kids with serious suicidal tendencies wrote. My rants about today's music and raves about Illayaraja went unheard amongst the 'I cut myself today and watched the blood slowly dripping down.' and 'I hate you. I hate me even more'. Jeez, are kids today really so depressed? Or is it just an effect thing? But if so many people are writing it, who do they intend to shock? Or maybe they feed off one another. And of course they all hate their parents, especially their mothers.

I guess I hated mine too about 15 years ago (wow, has it been so long?) for no reason really except that I could. She nagged me about my marks, about my appearance, about my friends, my TV watching and almost everything else under the sun. I had to finish school and move to college and to a hostel before I realized how much I loved her and her carrot poriyal. So maybe it is a fashionable thing to hate one's parents. People do grow out of it, don't they? I did (except during the couple of years they nagged for me to get married). I miss them. I even contemplate moving back to be closer to them. And that's the thing - All these years I've taken them for granted, ignoring them, running away from them to a different continent, doing pretty much exactly as I pleased. Now suddenly on the verge of having a family of my own and trying to plan for an uncertain future, I find myself thinking increasingly of their mortality; of their frailty. Everytime I go to India, it is always a shock to see how much more my parents have aged.

Don't get me wrong; my parents aren't old geezers in their 80s or something. They're in their late 50s..which is still pretty young. But their transition from being superparents who were always there to bail me out of financial or any other kind of trouble, to being human and having ever-increasing aches and pains and difficulties is hard to accept. I know.. I know...They were always human and that it is my perception that has changed. But, there is a reason for a shift in my perception - the physical evidence of their aging.

Enough morbidness for today. Someone said that to love is to be afraid. If no one said that, someone ought to have. I find myself always just a little fearful about the ones I love - the most recent addition to this list being my husband. I worry about them: Not in a huge overwhelming way, but in a constant everyday way that exists somewhere in the background of my mind. Is this normal or is this being paranoid? Who knows!

Sweet dreams.

bibitee bobitee boo

The first post is always the toughest I think... Once you get past the blockage, maybe the thoughts flow more freely.

I tried to think of a theme and a tone for this blog. Obviously I cannot write about world politics or economics, when I am not even familiar with my office politics or my personal finances. In addition I am incredibly lazy, so setting a tone and following it in a constant way is difficult as well. At this point, I have to wonder - why write? Because I can; because others do; and because I am the proverbial koopa mandooka believing that my life is the centre of my universe and nothing else really matters... except for an appreciative audience.

Also, because this is an experiment - an exercise if you will, of clearing my mind, channeling my thoughts and then maybe someday....

But that's all a dream. What is real is the tayir saadam I am eating with the carrot poriyal. That is wonderful! It probably doesn't appeal to everyone. It takes a certain kind of person to appreciate carrot in a poriyal or even a kootu. I guess I am that kind of person and luckily so is my husband. Someday if we have kids, I hope they will like it too... but I am dreaming again.

So what is real? There is my life and then there is how I perceive and deal with it. It may not always make sense, in fact it almost always never will. But thats the essence of this blog.

Welcome to the well. I, the frog will show you around.