Wednesday, November 13, 2013

Django... chained to my heart



The year 1992, my first Christmas as a bride and it was the peak of coffee season in the estate, which translates to "too busy to breathe".
We had been in the estate for a month and were going down to Mangalore for Christmas with the family. Anil goes off one morning to a neighboring estate and returns with a black ball of fur and says, Christmas gift. Was a beautiful moment as I was least expecting one.

In a little basket was this little black pomeranian pup with liquid eyes and he was enchanting. I used to scour the house for books and found a stash of Westerns and I loved J T Edson's books and 'Dusty Fog' was my favorite character. Add to the fact that we had just acquired a Dish Antenna and were privvy to satellite television and channels galore, we would watch M.A.S.H with a passion and movies of course. Since I was enthralled with cowboys, the movie Django appealed very much.

Without much ado, the little pup was named, Django! We had other dogs as well in the estate and Dandu was until then my favorite, but they were housed in kennels as the house was off limits to them. The thought of keeping little Django out was painful but had to be done and he was safely ensconed in warm blankets near the hearth where we cooked rice which had coal and was warm. When we went to Mangalore, Django accompanied us and would sit on my lap in the open Willy's jeep that we drove those days. Dogs apparently have only one master and give that person their unconditional love, Django gave me that. I can very confidently state that he loved none like he did me.

The journey up and down the Charmadi Ghats would take us about 4 hours and Django would accompany us when he was a pup. Those days, my father in law had 3 daschund dogs in Mangalore and Django promptly befriended them. It's another story that he fornicated with them and their offspring turned out be freakishly cute. The roost in Mangalore though was ruled by a male daschund called Calypso and he was a super intelligent and smart dog with an attitude. How Django managed to frolick with the female daschunds was a mystery since Calypso was terribly possesive. Anyways, the deed was done and Calypso was none the wiser.

1995 when Amanda was born, Django stopped accompanying us to the estate, he lived in Mangalore with my in laws. In July 1996 my beloved father in law passed away suddenly and we were left bereft, confused, an almost abandoned feeling and I left the estate to live with my mother in law in Mangalore. Somewhere during the chaotic days following my father in law's death, Django disappeared from home. We searched the surrounding areas, roads and everywhere we could think of but there was no sign of him. The grief in our home was worsened by Django going missing. I remember those days as being the saddest ever.

Time ofcourse began it's healing and the pain of losing him wasn't as fresh but everytime I thought of Django, I would be assailed with sadness and guilt. Did my neglect push him away, was he alive, if so how was he... A year passed and we had organised a memorium for my father in law. It was another emotionally charged day as we walked to his grave and offered Mass in his memory and had organised a luncheon with family and friends. We re lived the sadness and once the function was done, drove home.

Each of us in the car were struggling hard not let the tears flow and I was busy looking out of the window... and my eyes met another pair of eyes standing in a small by lane. The cars for some reason had slowed down and I looked into those eyes and the recognition was instant, I felt it deep within my heart with a certainty that was unquestionable and whispered, 'Django' and the eyes answered, by then the car had moved ahead and I screamed, "Stop, Stop Stop Stop". I was fully pregnant with Alder and everyone in the car thought I had delivered then and there, I'm sure.

Like I said it was a very emotionally draining day and I was incoherent, all I could say was "Stop". I jumped out of the car and made my way back towards the lane and I could see that a little girl was being pulled by black pomeranian who was trying to make his way onto the main road. I stood there and said "Django" and he came running towards me. All the tears I had suppressed now flowed freely, it seemed like he was crying as well. I remember kneeling in the middle of the road and sobbing my heart out and Django wouldn't let go of me either, he just stayed clasped in my embrace. I just picked him up and hugged him for dear life and took him home.

This story isn't about this, it's about the little girl I left behind. Apparently the owners of the house had a jeep as well and Django in all probability crept into it and slept there 'cos his best memories were in the jeep we commuted in while he was in the estate. A little girl of about 9 years who lived in the house found him and cared for him and he was hers to love and keep. The Django who disappeared from our home was thin but the Django who returned was well groomed and healthy. It was obvious that he had been well cared for. The little girl had lavished her love and attention on him and it showed.

I cannot begin to describe the joy at finding Django, and that too on that particular day and I walked away without sparing a glance at the little girl who nurtured him. My emotions overwhelmed every rational thought and made me blind to her feelings. Django died 3 years later in the estate he loved so much and is now a beautiful memory, especially of love but it's a double edged sword, I cannot think of him without remembering the little girl and my guilt embarasses me.

I should like to thank her, wherever she is and God Bless her for being my Django's saviour and keeping him safe for me. When I think about it, I wonder, if I wasn't so emotional would I have done it the same way? or would I have been more considerate? How would I do it if it were today, I'm older (not even going to mention the W word), would I have looked into the little girl's eyes and have her keep Django? Pendulum like, my thoughts... swaying back and forth... right and wrong... just and unjust... altruistic and uncharitable.

My Django... unchained. But my heart all chained up...

Thursday, August 15, 2013

What it means to be Indian...


All my friends know that drama queen is in full flow today. I only need a reason to egress into my DQ avatar and 15th August has become one of those days, especially now that I do not live in India.

I was reading today's Gulf News and the front page had this gory picture of a half burned human body, political riots in Egypt. The inside pages had pictures in similar vein from Syria to Pakistan. I always wonder what it takes for a human being to disregard the fundamentals of his conscience and butcher another for reasons which to me seem silly like territory, religion and politics. Largely. We are ready to kill for reasons like language even, so I'm not dwelling on the cause, just the action.

And then I hear the Jana Gana Mana or the Vande Mataram and the goosebumps appear, my shoulders square, I feel my chest tightening, throat constricting and the tears desperate to fall. At this particular moment, if someone has to ask me to do or die, I think I will!!! and happily too...

As always, my own split personality and thinking confuses me and I feel like a freak.

Although I live in another country, home is India. No matter how many years I live away from and what Passport I carry, my identity will remain India. But I don't like what I see. One of my favorite people has this famous quote, "there is no reverse gear in life". I have mentioned this in a previous post about Mangalore, that I cannot really recognise it now, not with all the communal and moral policing.

The same can be said about the country as a whole. The spate of violence towards women is distressing. I'm sure it's not a novel phenomenon this brutality. I heard someone comment that ever since the Delhi medico rape case made news, people are aping it. I don't think so, my personal opinion is that rape victims and families are more open to making public the news and the increased reportage is just a reflection of it. What you do not know cannot hurt you, it is said. We didn't know it was rampant as it is and now that we do, it shocks us.

Then there is this uber cool society where gen Y is living it up in cities. I rarely watch TV, but when I do if the program 'Emotional Atyachar' is playing on the telly I watch it. You know I get my kicks from cheap thrills. :D
It never fails to amuse, amaze and antagonise me, these young teens who say, "we got intimate", very matter of factly, as if stating something inevitable like the weather. That too with people they had just met in school/ college/ social gatherings. It doesn't take much I see and I'm not being judgemental. Just comparing how some sections of society have advanced and how the others are doing Micheal Jackson's moonwalk.

Who will marry the two extremes of Indian society...

Like everyone else, I want my country to be a haven, safe and secure, an investment for our progeny and our own little paradise on earth. To me, the essence of being Indian was already penned out years ago, in 1910 to be precise and this stands true, 103 years later. Kinda sad isn't it that it's been a century and we still harp the same tune...

Rabindranath Tagore:

“Where the mind is without fear
and the head is held high,
where knowledge is free.
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls.
Where words come out from the depth of truth,
where tireless striving stretches its arms toward perfection.
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost it's way
into the dreary desert sand of dead habit.
Where the mind is led forward by thee
into ever widening thought and action.
In to that heaven of freedom, my father,
LET MY COUNTRY AWAKE!”

Ok now all of you can wake too... it's a long post I know!

Monday, August 5, 2013

Sur...really?


Was asked to read Haruki Murakami and was given his collection of short stories titled, "The Pink Elephant". I read about 9 stories but couldn't figure them out, although there was one I really liked. The rest made me want to groan, tear my hair out, beat every cat I came across (the man is obsessed with dead cats) and yell louder at my new neighbors.

Aristotle, in his "Poetics", which is the earliest-surviving work of dramatic theory and the first extant philosophical treatise to focus on literary theory said "The aim of art is to represent not the outward appearance of things, but their inward significance."

As a student of literature, I learned that every work of art, poetry and prose included needs to have a goal. Umnn... am I going foot in the mouth here... I hear that my blog isn't really easy to comprehend. But seriously what is the point in writing stuff that sounds fancy but doesn't make sense. I like stories to have a beginning and an end and something decent in between.

Murakami is a surrealist and has won the Kafka award. I enjoy Kafka and have even referred to his "Metamorphosis" in an earlier blog and Albert Camus's "The Outsider" is one of my favorite books. I do fathom and enjoy absurdism and surrealsim but I couldn't Murakami.

So... I wrote this piece to check if I confuse the @#&* out of anyone who reads it.

The door bell rang. Insistently.
Was I going to answer it. There was no one I was expecting.
There is always someone I wish would come.

Languidly I stretch out my fingers and peer at them through half closed eyes. My fingers are fused. They haven't been busy. I separate them almost reluctantly. They are divided into two parts. The first three move one side and the other two move the other. That's my window.
I'm looking out.

Yesterday she walked on the beach. The sand clung to her bare feet. Singularly. She's got tears in her eyes and the wind has blown them across her cheeks and the corners of her eyes have hair sticking unbecomingly. Why doesn't she wipe them off. Laziness is my blanket.
I don't share.

If I can move and walk to the door and open it to see her there. I would. I wanted to. I did. Honest.

A soft laugh escapes and I let the dream end, the window close and the door bell ring.

I feel absurdly idiotic...

Sunday, July 7, 2013

Refreshed...


It's been 2 weeks since I returned from a fabulous holiday in Switzerland and I'm still on a high.

This was our first ever family holiday "abroad", that is Anil, Amanda, Alder and myself, we have never been outside of India or UAE on holidays by ourselves. At the beginning of 2013, we thought Amanda would be going away to University and so I wanted a "bonding" time with her, with all of us.
We're so busy doing everything else and being immersed in this life that the focus on the really important things, the little things that keep and sustain us is meagre. And so germinated the idea of taking off together, a new place to explore, experience and embrace. Europe was the natural choice but Switzerland became the obvious choice, not just because the Chopra's made it famous for Indians but because of the variety of activity it provided for each of us with our 4 different personalities, likes and dislikes and for the one goal of us bonding. The choice was also made easy by the fact that the place predominantly embodied that which runs in our veins... verdant and lush green mountainous landscapes.
I have in an earlier blog about Mangalore been not very polite about the beauty of the Alps... I hope you can hear me gulp furiously as I eat my words in haste. I refuse to compare the mountains to my beloved Charmadi ghats but the Alps are breathtaking, majestic and awe inspiring. It may sound that the experiences I have are individual to me but the family confesses to feeling like I do too, so I'm not alone in feeling that my soul healed somehow, maybe as we walked by the lake and fed the swans and ducks, or maybe when we trekked down the snow clad mountains or maybe as we rode up the mountains in magnificient cable cars and trains or in the lovely conversation we had with Frau Maria or the impossible flowers that grow abundant, maybe in the quiet serenity of the cobblestoned pathways of the old city... I don't know.
The Swiss are so amazingly organised and efficient, I have begun to appreciate the benefits of orderliness and do hope that I will transform. All those things you hear about - that travel is supposed to do for you, is so true. I found that all of us are very similar in nature, some of us are sophisticated in etiquette and manner thanks largely due to the society we live in and others are just getting there. The Swiss society though is far advanced than Indian society for sure, the engineering they adopt and the mature yet simple way of life is a far cry from ours. Both our cultures have a rich heritage and an ancient history and culture and yet their society is far more progressive in all aspects.
We stayed in Lucerne and spent a day each in Basel, Mount Titlis, Mount Pilatus, Mount Rigi, Interlaken and surrounding areas and in Ballenberg.

In subsequent blogs, I will give a day by day summary with pictures. The entire experience was great though and I am one happy cow... Indian that is.

You live... uninvited.


In the interim space between breathing and exhaling
those microseconds when the air inhaled has mated
In the grains of sand I have picked and let go
the tiny space as they slithered off

In the blink of my eyelids as they close for a split second
the almost brush of the lashes against each other
In the smile that escapes and the tiny gasps
the involuntary parting of lips

In the length of my strides as in their shortness
the gap between my footsteps
In the curve of my back, the arch of my hips
just before its comes in contact with the bed as I lay

In the folds of the wrinkles I smooth out every night
every line that I cream out gently
In the silences of the mind when the mouth is too busy
as I am still inside when talking endlessly

You live... uninvited.

Saturday, May 18, 2013

Shall I compare thee...


No this is not Shakespeare's 18th sonnet, it's about our favorite pastime.
The word compare means to liken to, estimate, measure or point the similarities or dissimilarities between.
We're constantly searching for, analysing and calibrating what we have with what we percieve as someone else posessing.
Apparently, if you are satisfied and content with what is yours, you do not aim for that higher goal.

Whenever I hear such arguments, it simply wears me down, depresses me. Contentment is an easy road for me, don't really need much to warm this soul but then the external forces that try to drive a wedge into this sublimity aren't easy to subdue.

Comparisns are something we have in our DNA I guess. I've noticed that even little children who arent taught this unwelcome trait, have it innately within them and covet the toy or bauble other children have and display desperation to acquire them.

Like I always say, as we grow into adulthood, we are able to mask these feelings behind sophistication and guile but the inherent and elemental in us cannot squelch and vanquish these innervations. Comparisns are two fold, one that we ourselves endorse with our own person and those that we involve others in from children to friends, spouses to neighbors.

It is the most lowdown thing to revel in, measure the precious relationships and people in your life to someone else. It is very demeaning and de motivating to everyone involved, including ourselves. The minute I have negatively compared my child with another, I have delivered a severe blow to the child's own self confidence and maimed him in ways that are not apparent immediately.

When I have weighed my friends strengths or my spouses weakness with someone else and have been critical of it, I have inadvertently conveyed my contempt and this cannot help anyone, especially myself. It's a double edged sword, while I have used it, with whatever intentions ( I have heard that when you compare you give the person a goal, a hero to live up to and emulate... sic!) not only do I damage the other person's confidence and psyche, I also jeopardise my own relationship.

Relationships are precious and need to be nurtured, they are fragile and need nourishment. The word compare has the 'pare' in it. Pare means to reduce, prune, trim, slash and scrape among other synonymous meanings.

I know in my naivete I probably have been guilty of all of the above and I sincerely apologise for being insensitive and stupid. But I also promise that I will never lessen the value of any relationship by ever likening it with another.

Each being unique, special and complete in itself.

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

The back end of a camel...


I was a terrible student I guess. Atleast it was made out to be that way. My memories of school are at best painful. I entered ST. Agnes School which was Mangalore's best all girls convent school, (apparently) in kindergarten. My parents had relocated from Bombay and were new to Mangalore, my cousins were studying in this school and were doing well and I had to study there too...

Getting admissions were not easy and through my uncle's good office, my parents managed to get me admission and I was always reminded of how fortunate I was. For years I would hear this oft repeated sentence that there are so many girls who will do anything to be educated in this school and only the 'chosen ones' will get through.

My mother says I was a good student and that kindergarten was a lark for me. Somehow that changed in school. I remember grade 1 and grade 2, somewhere during the end of grade 2, I had become another person. My school work was tardy, late, incomplete. I hated home work and would not do it most times, in fact always.

The third standard completed my metamorphosis into one of the most hated students of all time. Paradoxically, one of my all time favorite teachers, Sr. Veronica taught me in grade 3. The downslide was furious grade 4 onwards, I would only rebel. I was beaten continuously, punished regularly and insulted all the time, every time. In a while the teachers realised that my skin had grown rhino thick and no matter how much they tried to break me, I wouldn't change and conform. And they began ignoring me, except when they would PMS I think, because there would be days they would pick on me for something I didn't do, never have done, common knowledge that I will not do it no matter what and take my case.

And... I seemed unfazed, it was like I was emotionless since I could take all that they dished out to me, including physical and mental abuse. My marks in examinations were pathetic. I have failed every subject except English. Those were the days when they would detain you if you failed in the final exam and I had many classmates who had failed a class four times in a row even. But I was never detained nor repeated a class, maybe simply because the teacher couldn't bear the thought of having someone like me in her class for another year.

I was successful in my display of nonchalance but I yearned to be selected for school plays, tableau's, choir, dance and many of the activities that the school planned. It was never to be. My teachers made it a point to choose other girls and then tell me, "See, it's all because you do not do what you are supposed to. Girls like you will never do anything in life".

But... in grade 6, my luck changed (or so I thought), Sr. Florina our Music teacher selected me, ME!!!!!! to be part of the Christmas Tableau. I will borrow heavily from My Fair Lady and break into song here, " I could have danced all night, And still have begged for more. I could have spread my wings and done a thousand things I've never done before." I walked around in a daze for days. The euphoria was marvellous!!!

The rehearsals for the play had begun but I wasn't called yet, I kept wondering why, especially since Sr. Florina had told me that despite my being such a terrible person, she saw a ray of hope and her 'christian' duty prompted her to "give me a chance". Believe me, for those days, I did everything I could to prove her faith in me right. I would do my home work, shut up in class, not make faces at teachers, study hard, complete my pending impositions of the past 3 years... (stuff that got me in the dog house) and be a 'good' girl.

It was almost Christmas time and I had not been given my part yet... I began to worry... panic even but lacked the courage to go and ask Sr. Florina, what if my question ticked her off and she decides that I am not worth the part... it was an unbearable thought! A week to go and Sister calls me and I run with all my heart. I know that all the major parts have been taken but I was hoping I would be a shepherd at least, angel I could never be anyway neither the demeanor nor the mug justified the part.

Sr. Florina peers at me through her glasses and says, " Remember, you dont deserve this part, I have fought with Sr. Paulina (the Headmistress) and told her that you will be a good girl from now on and my reputation is at stake because I have stood my ground for you." I almost converted into catholicism and pledged my life to and the nunnery then and there.

She takes me to the stage and says, "I didn't call you till now because you are in the last scene of the nativity scene." Immediately I begin to glow, I will be one of the Three Kings methinks. I hear the wonderful words, " You are part of the Three Kings". Tears fill my eyes and before they can fall, I hear her say, "You are the back end of the camel".

When I began writing this post, I was choked up, very emotional. Felcita, my beloved classmate had just pinged me and we were reminiscing about school and I told her about my wonderful part in the play. As I kept writing, it was as though vale of tears would make an appearance... but now, I'm grinning like an idiot. It was funny, really... The frikkin camel was one girl who stood straight and the other girl had to place her arms on the camel's shoulder and bend over. Anddddd.... this contortion was covered in the dirt brown saree worn by the nuns. Of course I was the 'bend over' bit.

Hahahaha!!! And... I was given the task of making sure the back end swayed in rythmn.... Jeeeeeeez...!!!
The complete faith that was invested in me was awesome. I never outgrew it, it was the first time I was told I could do something, even be the back end of a camel and I haven't stopped swaying!!!

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Shades of grey... not 50 please...!!!


No, this post is not a reference to those terrible books by E. L. James which I swore to myself that I wouldn't even bother commenting on...

Good people and bad people... do they exist? Is someone, wholly good and is the other completely bad? We are disappointed in relationships, in our interactions with people who we know well, and those we those we know superficialy too.. Most of this disappointment stems from our expectations. We think very hard and expect people around us to behave in a certain manner that is pleasing to us and are quick to push someone off the pedestal when they fall from grace.

Labelling people as good, bad, nice, mean are easy and we do so consciously and unconsciously, it's almost as though we were born with a gavel in hand. We do so with people we do not know very well either. We lose friends and acquiantances on the journey of life simply because somewhere deep inside of us we had some expectations of that person which were not fulfilled, whether it is justified or not, doesn't seem to matter.

The older I grow, I am quite sure of who I want in my life and who I'm glad to let go of. And this isn't because I am mindful of having only 'good' people around me and discarding the 'bad'. I honestly believe that there we are both in equal measure and please, I refuse to open Pandora's box here by defining 'good' and 'bad'. It's perception and so be it.

We are all many shades of that in between, indescribable hue. Just as someone who dined at your table doesn't attain sainthood because he sent you flowers, so should you not condemn to eternal damnation because he forgot to thank you.
We have to accept that all of our friends, relatives, children, partners and above all, ourselves- we are all part of that ambiguous tinge and just as we give ourselves margin for being so, we should give people who matter that leeway too.

Sunday, May 5, 2013

"But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die". Genesis 2:17


One of the first 'stories' that we were taught as children and which has been harped on endlessly, is the fall of grace by Adam and Eve. I think it is one of the saddest stories I have ever read or heard of. History and Literature has given us great and tragic love stories.

I shudder in my chadds when I use the word 'love' for the sure reprimand that will come my way from Anjali, but anyways the more tragic the story, the better it captures our imagination. Successful love stories don't possess the charisma of a failed one. Maybe that is why I have been moved by the story of God and Adam. To many people and the varied interpretations, the story of the Beginning is largely narrated to display the grandoise and magnificence of God and his creation and secondly as a reprimand to all of us who believe that the pleasures of the flesh are pleasures indeed. I can go on about the stigma of sin attached to it and what it does to our psyche and the guilt trip we fly into the sunset with... but that is another post at another time!

So... God creates Paradise and gives Adam everything he thinks Adam needs but withholds from him the Tree of Knowledge. Hmnnn... the prostitute (protestant!) in me has always balked at this what I have considered as mean and unfair. Why dig up a carrot and dangle it tantalisingly and say hands off??? (Bugs Bunny is nodding in vigorous approval), to which the answer has always been that there are some things you are better off not knowing and that all knowledge is not good. Prostitute is all up in arms!!! How can you say that... What do you mean... Let me learn what there is to and then decide whether that is true or not...

Hasn't taken me too many years to do a U-turn on this. Ever since I became a mother I began believing in this adage and have used it endlessly with the kids. "Mum... what is xyz?". Although flummoxed that the question is thrown at me I look and behave nonchalant and brush it off with a "You don't need to know now, you're too young for that". Now as they are older and are probably more knowledgeable in various fields ( I'm not even going there!) I'm having similar conversations about substance abuse with the kids and I tell them that "some things you are better off not knowing and all knowledge is not good".

The internal prostitute weeps.

Life's all about U-turns and eating your words faster than they got out of your mouth. Kids make you do that. I guess that's one knowledge we should all have and pass down to all. That we really should be careful and mindful of what we say, because we may have to eat them one day!

And... do I concede defeat now and say I was wrong about knowledge... :)

I bow down as gracefully as I can... People who know me will know why I used 'graceful' and simply say... He who made me knows Best!!! Knows what's right for me and what's not and know's what I need and when and He makes All things beautiful, in his time...

Ended rather dramatically didn't it... Mother will be proud (if she ever discovers this blog :D)



Sunday, April 14, 2013

Charm...


I've always been attracted to charming people as most of us are I would guess... almost all children have an innocent charm which makes them endearing and attracts us to them, as they grow, they lose that glow to the mundane and necessary act of growing up and becoming clones of other grown ups.

Very few people retain their innocence and those who do indeed are looked upon with disdain, pity, tolerance and are objects of ridicule. It really is quite impossible to retain that innocence, life grows us up.

Does our charm depend entirely on innocence then? Of course not, the charm of innocence has its value but the charm of a personality is quite something else. One of my favorite quotes on charm is by J. M. Barrie, who said, "Charm- It's a sort of bloom on a woman. If you have it, you don't need to have anything else; and if you don't have it, it doesn't much matter what else you have."

Well, I'd like to say that charm isn't limited to women alone, its a unisex attribute, both men and women can be and are charming. We do not place much importance to being someone who is able to make another person smile or feel good about something around them, about themselves, about the world in general. How eager we are to display our intelligence with well measured words and carefully constructed sentences aimed at exhibiting our knowledge of the world around us.

I have the opportunity of meeting many accomplished and successful people in my place of work and I love to watch the by play of human nature, its cause and effects and the many role plays that people are busy indulging in. I have to admit that irrespective of a person's education, professional capacity, designation and profile, the ones who leave an impression are those who had that something special about them, that quality which made you feel good, a lasting impression that is above and beyond the trappings that surround us.

To please someone, to be delightful has no bearing on the physical appearance of a person, I will not harp on beauty, been there and done that in one of my older posts in this blog. It would be ridiculous to think that charm is the preferential and licensed property of those in possession of good looks. Anyone can have the charisma and pizzazz... or can they...

There is a parallel argument to this too... that if you are taken up by someone's charm, you are a fool and are naive, being exploited somehow by the exhibitor of that grace and magic. You are truly strong and rooted when you are not swayed by another's magnetism and appeal, you are so self contained and mature that the fringes of another's chemistry leave you unfazed and it's a spell you dont fall under. All because you are this oh-so-smart-and-intelligent person, silliness isn't your forte.

We pass through this life, in this shape and form, just once, or so it is said! How lovely it would be if we were charming, pleasant, of cheerful disposition and made a few people smile and feel good about themselves, not paying anyone lip service in a fake manner but genuinely, from the heart... I guess we would have fewer woes and more joy if we are able to fascinate others just being charming...

Irrespective of who we are.... we are all attracted by this special quality... no matter how much we digress...

“It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious.”... Oscar Wlde.

Odious, tedious or charming warming.... a no brainer huh!

Thursday, April 11, 2013

Mangalore Chronicles 2...


I recieved this message from my cousin Hannah today, and said out each of these words and expressions loud, in total delight and as 'Kaaaat-ly' as I could and am thrilled to bits...

Have to share this with my Mangalorean friends and non Mangy's too...


1) Irrespective of whether you are 15 or 50 years old, your parents will always refer to u as their baale.
2) Nobody knows why Kapu is written as Kaup and Vittla as Vittal in English.
3) Danembe is our version of Wassup.
4) You may forget your friend's name, but never his father's name.
5) Private bus drivers are qualified F1 drivers.
6) No matter how much we eat, we always have space for Paayasa.
7) 90% score is below average.
8) Out of 7 days in a week, you will eat dosa for 3 days in breakfast
9) CET is bigger than AIEEE and hence you have to crack CET.
10) SAAV is the most common word in the tulu language.
11) If you are a Bunt, you are known as Shetty even though your surname is Rai, Alva, Hegde.
12) Every street has 10 Engineers and 5 Doctors.
13) Outside Mangalore, everyone says, 'I am from Mangalore', even though they belong to Puttur, Udupi or Kasargod.
14) If you can drive on Mangalore's roads, you can drive anywhere.
15) Ammer police-aa? is a famous dialogue, used by all.
16) Saav ninna is a valid comeback in almost every argument.
17) When somebodys marriage is fixed, the first question asked is - madime vol? Sanghaniketan Hall, TV Raman Pai Hall ijja TMA Pai Hall>
18) Everyone either studies in St. Aloysius or has a friend who studied in St Aloysius.
19) Bevarsi is not an abusive word. Its the tulu version for MC BC.
20) Rampa jokes are more popular than sardar jokes
21) Every love story begins with - Aal ninan toovondu ullaal ya, and ends with - Alna saav ya.
22) Mescom is always called KEB till date.
23) Reaction of every student coming out of exam hall is - <b>Yenchi thigalda katta paper ya saav
.
24) No banquet is complete without curd rice for vegetarians and kori rotti for non vegetarians.
25) All cars in the family will have the same registration number - for generations. If not - RTO daayen darpuga maga.

Glossary of terms -

Baale- baby
Kapu/ Kaup- name of a place
Vittla/ Vittal - name of a place
Danembe - What man/ Wassup
Paayasa- a dessert made with coconut milk, rice, lentils and jaggery, similar to kheer\
CET- CET are common entrance tests mainly for state level engineering and medical entrance exams
AIEEE- All India Engineering Entrance Exams
Dosa- pancake
Saav- WTF/ go to hell/death
Bunt- name of a community of erstwhile nobility, feudatory and gentry from the region of Tulu Nadu
Ammer police-aa? - is your father a policeman?
Ninna - yours
Madime - marriage/ wedding
Vol - where
Ijja- or else
Bevarsi- bastard
Rampa- a much loved, eccentric hotelier from Mangalore
Aal ninan toovundu ullaal ya- She is looking at you man
Alna saav ya- her death man/ to hell with her/ she can FO
Yench- which
Thigalda katta - gut wrenching/ something that holds your heart in a vise
Kori rotti- chicken gravy with crispy rice flakes, special only to Mangalorean cuisine
RTO - RTO is an abbreviation used for Regional Transport Officer. Regional Transport Officer is licensing, registration, taxation authority of that region.
Daayen- belonging to
Darpuga- break/powder/hammer/destroy
maga- child


Monday, April 8, 2013

Bobby...


That's what I call Leo currently. Like I said before he has a new name every time I find a word that I like using.
What's in a name after all. If I was not Melita, would I not be the same me? Does my name add any value to me as a person, does it alter my personality in any way and am I better off/ worse...

Most people are very sensitive about their name. If you dont get the name right, it is a serious affront and quite unforgivable too. I consider myself a pretty chilled out person but I have to admit to being guilty of losing it when some poor bloke couldn't get my name right. It was incomprehensible why a name as simple as mine with only 3 syllables couldn't be pronounced. I was assertive, adamant and pushy untilI was satisfied that I had imprinted my name on the unfortunate soul whose native language had limited RP for sure.

As always when I mulled over the incident, I felt foolish (sigh....!!!! it's a state I'm in constantly) and wondered why I reacted as strongly as I did. Oh! And..... my name already has so many variations, Mel... Melli... M@lita... Melta... If I can be accepting of them, what is all the fuss about.

I guess its the egoistical me that reacts when my name isn't said like it should be. I believe that most unpleasant and stupid actions are driven by our need to feed our ego. It has to be that I am happy, that I made a point! That..... I was able to 'put someone in his place' and 'taught someone a lesson'.

:( what a depressing thought... who am I really.... in the grand scheme of things and in this whole wide world that holds/ houses and nurtures gazillion living things... who am I really.... to matter?

Ah..... to be Bobby.... who doesn't give a damn what he is called, he responds lovingly to anything as long as the tone is affectionate!

Now that doesn't mean you can call me Melly flew ass, no matter how sweet the sound...

Saturday, April 6, 2013

I missed the bus...


I missed the bus...

Like candy bars stacked on a shelf
The gleaming buses neatly arranged
Waiting with mute impatience
Ready to flag off to predestined shores

I strolled with seeming nonchalance
Without looking to appear askance
No plan or design or providence is mine
Find myself climbing a bus that I know not goes where

She fills up in stages
Some zip in with no baggage
Others carry their load of burden
Then there are those who float aimless

As with the lethargic and slow
Content to be, exist, to live
No plan in place, nor ready for the race
Unarmed and naive, ambling along... there went me

That was the bus that did catch I
Sandy shores and verdant green
Stark desert and gleaming steel
The bus chugged hiccuping alone

Sometimes I felt the compass was in me
Other times I knew that the directions were askew
But now I know crystal clear
Truth it is... I missed the bus


Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Are you a Christian or a Prostitute...


One of the funniest questions I was asked was whether I am a Christian or a Prostitute, maybe about 28 years ago and I haven't forgotten it, it still makes me chuckle! And of course Anjali keeps refreshing my memory...

One of my schoolmates had asked me this in all innocence and a helluva lot of ignorance I guess. What she meant was, am I a Catholic or a Protestant. To most people it doesn't matter but we from Mangalore have to know which religion one belongs to and which bloodline also, so it's a non-offensive question. Mangalore has the Catholic community as a major among the Christians, and they are known as ‘Romans’ (because they belong to the Roman Catholic Church) and Protestants are known as ‘Germans’ (because the Protestant church in Mangalore was set up by the German missionaries from Basel, Switzerland). The Catholic and Protestant churches never acknowledged each other except in derision and I suppose this was a norm followed by the faithful of either church.

It's only when the VHP, RSS and Bajrang Dal began persecuting all Christians in Mangalore equally, (poor things didn't distinguish the prostitute from the christian, have to hand it to them, they are fair, no discrimination there) that it dawned on the two churches that they are better off together than alone.

I hear that even St. Agnes, my Alma Mater (I don’t have the luxury of a smiley here, if I did it would be a sick smiley!) now admits Protestant students into catechism classes. When I was in school, I was sent for Moral Science classes because I wasn't Catholic and Thank GOD for that, I hear catechism is torture.

It's funny how perceptions and attitudes change, even those built with great care over years. Disdain and discrimination undergo a dramatic change when a threat is posed to the existence of its being. How quickly self-preservation sets in, even if it means consorting with the enemy.

At least now I guess, no one will be asked in Mangalore whether they are Christian or Prostitute… and funnily enough we have the Bajrang Dal to thank for that!!!

Thursday, February 7, 2013

Quote hanger...


I read this quote this morning and it has been playing in my head ever since, "There are three types of people in this world: those who make things happen, those who watch things happen and those who wonder what happened." Thought I should look it up on Google search, and discovered that it's a quote by Mary Kay Ash, an American business woman.

Although this post originally began about this quote,(about me belonging to which type and all...) I came across several other interesting ones by Mary Kay Ash and have now lost my train of thought, just posting a few that I really like:

Everyone has an invisible sign hanging from their neck saying, 'Make me feel important.' Never forget this message when working with people.

Everyone wants to be appreciated, so if you appreciate someone, don't keep it a secret.

Those who are blessed with the most talent don't necessarily outperform everyone else. It's the people with follow-through who excel.

A good goal is like a strenuous exercise - it makes you stretch.

People are definitely a company's greatest asset. It doesn't make any difference whether the product is cars or cosmetics. A company is only as good as the people it keeps.


Wednesday, February 6, 2013

PMS... the interpreter of all maladies...


If you asked my mum what PMS means, she probably will say it means, Personal Mail Service or something similar (this is based purely on assumption and in the faith that she doesn't read my blog :D) 'cos I have never heard her use the word to describe her moods, the weather, the political situation or the economy, unlike us today who use it as a comprehensive blanket for all problems and in all situations.

Alder keeps using the word with alarming frequency to describe all of us, especially when he is at the receiving end. It has somehow become acceptable that any deviation from the 'normal' is a direct consequence of PMS. It cannot be that women today are afflicted by this particular blight and our mothers and their mothers were not.

So what do you think they took refuge under or what envelope did they hide in...

Monday, February 4, 2013

Whoever says loving is easy needs to be shot... preferably where the sun don't shine


All we hear and read and is told to us, is that loving is the easiest thing in the world and that it should come naturally since it is the most exalted of all emotion and that it makes us pure, better than we aspire to be and is a gift in itself.

Ah no... I don't think it's as simple as that (the first person to raise her very beautiful eyebrows at this post will be Anjali for sure, I've been questioned after the last post about my harping on the theme of love). Anja... you know, you and me are damn cynical about most things, love included... yet I believe that deep rooted in this cynicism is an unshakable faith and hope and trust in love and now Shut Up and let me get on with this.

Yeah... is loving easy? Is it really as simple as that... in the first throes of courtship and love, it comes easily enough, when you hold your new born in your arms and as they grow into toddler's... it's a lark... The real test is when we are 'old' in a relationship and when the kids are in their teens and growing. The similar analogy can be used in any budding relationship, at work, with friends and pets even.
When it's new, it's magical!

All those poets and writers who spoke of love being easy, obviously spoke of early days... either they stopped writing as it got older or began writing ode's to inanimate objects, or they kept falling in love over and over again, maybe with different people or maybe with the same person.

That, I think is the secret, to fall in love repeatedly, with our partners, friends and children and all of those that we have loved. Falling in love is seeing things in new light, a new perspective and with fresh eyes, like dew drops in the early morning breeze as they capture the first ray's of the rising sun in their little crystal droplets which sparkle like tiny diamonds. That feeling of warmth and unbridled joy is intoxicating and those who have experienced this mania will always remain devoted to seeking it... This love negates every flaw, overrides all handicaps and overcomes all strife, infusing new life into the relationship, splashing it with new color and embellishing it with fresh flavor.

So fall in love... 'cos every time we fall, we rise a little bit above from the ordinary, ordain ourselves with magic dust and that is real exaltation in it's truest form...

Thursday, January 17, 2013

Investments...


In finance, investment is putting money into something with the expectation of gain, usually over a longer term. This may or may not be backed by research and analysis. Most or all forms of investment involve some form of risk.

All of us make investments, and I'm not talking money here. As children we invest in the dreams our parents have for us, when we find a partner we invest our future in them for being the ones who will be our anchor while being our wings and as parents we invest in our children's future.

All of these investments are of faith, hope and love. While these are the broad classifications of our relationships, there are very many other vital alliances and affinities that we develop and cherish, with people we know and even with complete strangers, some who we do not see even.

When I drive, for example I am investing my faith in the person driving ahead of me, behind and alongside and in all the people on the road, cos' one accident means road blocks/ delays and full bladders (been there, done that!)

Every day and in a myriad ways, we invest either our faith or our hope our love... unmindful of the risk... and we hope that it's the ones we love who will ensure that it is mitigated and nullified.

The Holy Bible, in 1 Corinthians, chapter 13, verse 13 says, "And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love".

Love grows with faith and trust...