The Midget Diaries

Postcards from Chennai - 1

2008-06-29T12:44:00.005-04:00

For Vee :)

All amateur chotos (li'l niece can't say 'ph'. Now neither will I :p) taken by yours truly while taking Maya out for a walk.

The only reason the pictures look remotely pleasing is because, it rained last night.
Everyone looks lovely after a shower. Even Madras :)

Wanted immediately

2008-06-24T01:14:00.003-04:00

A Boeing Jet

to transport The Littlest Princess' Family Circus :)

Home is

2008-06-19T10:39:00.001-04:00

where the other 'green' can take us :)

And then they stopped listening...

2008-04-17T23:12:00.004-04:00

Last November this blog crossed the third year mark. A day to be fondly remembered and celebrated was eclipsed by a tummy. A really BIG tummy. After all, one does claim to have a real life, right?

Er...um...yeah.

Truth be told, this blog was more an escapist's refuge than an artist's studio. I wasn't anonymous, so I didn't really bare it all. But at times, under layers of fiction and verse, a few home truths did peek out. Some of you might have read the undertones but most of you decided to keep your thoughts to yourself. I thank you wholeheartedly for it.

It made me reconnect dots to form a newer, better picture; it provided a laugh track for my lame jokes, a punching bag for my rage, a sponge to soak up the tears and open arms when silence said it all. This blog turned out to be the best friend, when my best friends couldn't be by my side at that moment. Well, why shouldnt it do so? After all, I've been wonderful company too, right?

Ahem.

Unfortunately, I shared only my disappointments and delusions with the blog. When things were stressed and beyond salvageable, I wrote funny stories and depressing verses. When things were sunny and joyful, I was outside living it; the blog a figment of my imagination. Why should I justify myself to a blog? It doesn't really exist, right?

Wrong.

The other day, I found myself free of chores for a couple of hours. A gold mine, under the given circumstances. But instead of taking a nap as I should have, I sat reading through my archives. I laughed, cried and laughed some more and I thought to myself, 'Darn it! This woman writes really well. At times.' (Well, i don't fish for compliments. I just dish them out myself :)) I can be a narcissist in my own blog, right?

Right.

Thanks to this blog I made some really wonderful friends. Most of whom I haven't met but who I know are just as wonderful, beyond all this ether. Thank you. You know who you are, so I am not going to list names. (Truth is I am scared in my current sleep-deprived mode, I'll miss someone and they'll stop visiting the blog to write lovely comments). I also thank the the few invisible friends who drop by now and then.

Most importantly, thanks for supporting me all these years. In this age of 15 minute fame, 3 years of virtual existence is a huge milestone. Especially for a little girl who refuses to grow up. I've dusted the bike for a whole new ride but it's going to be shaky start. Hoping you'll stay with me even if I meander a little bit.

Here's to another edition of The Midget Diaries.

Mistress of the Basket

2008-04-13T22:38:00.003-04:00

Nothing ever is the same once you've jumped off the cliff. Or picked up a wailing baby. The Man felt no different. Princesses may appear magically but sadly there's no magical way to satisfy all their needs.

The entire kingdom was turned topsy-turvy the moment Princess Maya arrived. The best carpenter in the kingdom was beckoned to build the sturdiest and yet the most wonderful looking cradle in the world while the Royal seamstress was asked to weave soft sheets of silk.

The Man paced outside the nursery with the baby as The Little Princess tried to create a whole new world inside. The baby in his arms crinkled its eyebrows and The Man could sense a cry forming. Princess Maya let out a soft whimper. Just when he thought he couldn't hold off any longer, the door opened and he stepped into the nursery.

The Little Princess and her bevy of helpers had truly outdone themselves. The cradle was a masterpiece crafted in rosewood, and the sheets were as soft as satin. The Man softly laid Princess Maya on her bed.

The moment she touched the bed, Princess Maya wailed. The Man held her tight; the Little Princess rocked her back and forth but no avail. Princess Maya just couldn't be pacified. The Queen and The King rushed in to help, but all the lullabies in the world weren't enough to soothe the tiny baby. The Man and the Little Princess looked bewildered.

Then The Man rushed in search of the Royal seamstress. Maybe cotton would be softer. The Little Princess ran to the Royal garden. Maybe a nightingale's song would quiet the baby. The King walked up and down the room, nodding his head as that's what he did best. While they each tried to find a solution, the Queen held Princess Maya and tried to rock her to sleep.

Minutes passed into hours. But Princess Maya hadn't slept a wink. The Little Princess slumped into The Man's arms, unsure of what to do. The King was snoring in a corner, next to a broken basket. The Little Princess used to play with it as a kid. An exhausted Queen slowly placed the crying baby in the old basket and flexed her arms.

After a few minutes as she bent down to lift the baby, she found Princess Maya fast asleep, her tiny hand tightly clasping an old blanket. The little one had drifted to sleep in the comforting smells of old wood and worn down wool.

Little Princess smiled at The Man. Raising a princess wasn't a new tradition to be learnt. It was simply forgotten and need to be remembered.

Who makes the mundane, magical?

2008-04-09T22:57:00.003-04:00

You

Image Right

2008-04-02T22:55:00.010-04:00

Hidden in every fold
is the reason
to live another day.

Through the third eye

2008-03-26T23:27:00.004-04:00

We got married in 2005, right around the time when Anniyan hit the theatres. You know, how most poignant moments in movies have something dramatic associated with it to not-so-subtly point out its importance; like waves crashing against rock, thunder or 100 violins screeching nonstop.

Well, our married life didn't have any of the aforementioned. Though at times I think thunder and rain would have suited it quite beautifully. The only music CD I bought as I crossed the Atlantic was the Anniyan soundtrack, especially since it had a song to my name. Everyday after The Mr went to work, I would sit with a plate of toast and omelette and watch Becker re-runs on TV. Right after Becker, I would pop the Anniyan music cd, get into the kitchen and cook lunch. A simple meal of dal, rice and beans would take me a good 2 hours to cook as one had to spend 30 minutes between taking the dal and placing it in the cooker, reminiscing about Madras to an invisible husband.

It's less than 3 years since we've been married but The Mr claims it feels like 30. Can't blame him. When you're married to a woman who speaks dime to dozen any given minute and now you have a 3 month old who takes after her mom in that aspect, every second seems like a lifetime.

I digress. Anyway, the point of the post is, i don't have many photographs of our life in that one bedroom apartment. There was never an urgency coz there was always a lifetime to click snaps. But whenever I listen to Anniyan songs or hear the soundtrack of Becker, I feel myself looking in on our life then, as a series of snapshots in sepia tones; of a starry-eyed girl lugging 2 pounds of sugar and 2 pounds of flour up a steep climb to bake her newly-wed husband a birthday cake, waking up to the sound of birds and The Mr walking in with coffee, cuddling up on the bean bag, sitting on the floor and watching 'Anniyan' on the internet...so many moments made lovelier by a wonderful soundtrack.

Our voices.

Identity Crisis

2008-03-20T22:29:00.005-04:00

I've been trying to write a blog about me for the past 2 hours. A post that does not talk about Maya, my motherhood or sleep-deprivation much less in the same sentence. All I could manage was that first line.

I've always wanted to remain Kumari. I told The Mr pregnancy doesn't take away Kumari. Motherhood is just another facet and it shall not rule my life. Or my blog.

The toothless smiles, the gurgles and the coos, soft kicks of her tiny feet, the way her little fingers hold onto my dress as I try to place her in her crib, her beautiful eyes and the way they light up when I pick her up, her cries for me....she is mine. All mine.

That is why this post makes no sense. Coz I realise, there is no longer any me left. I am all hers. I am Maya's mom and that's who I will be. Now. Always.

And you know what, it's wonderful just being her mom.

One Giant Disappointment

2008-02-14T13:02:00.003-05:00

Well, I couldn't get to it any sooner. Not when one is mourning the end to a 'perfect season'.
The Superbowl came and went. Gosh! I still can't believe we didn't win it. The pressure and strain of going 18-0 finally took its toll. Damn the perfect season.

This so reminds me of the tortoise and hare story. But I guess deep in my heart, I just knew this was coming. Especially when you see I-have-no-idea-what-to-do Eli Manning pull a Bradyesque 47 second drive before halftime to tie the game against Cowboys, you just know Superbowl isn't going to be a walk. It wasn't as thrilling as their regular season matchup and if I wasn't so invested in the Patriots, maybe I would've enjoyed the game. The Giants brought everything to the table and were truly deserving winners.

The NE Patriots lost to the underdog by 3 points. The irony of it is not lost on me.
Aah well, maybe next year we would go 18-1, with a 4th Superbowl title. Till then I shall watch re-runs of Moss and Brady touchdowns :)

A Teeny Tiny Adventure

2008-01-11T18:25:00.000-05:00

The Man and the Little Princess were pretty content in their little kingdom. But content doesn't make for excitement. Being the adventurous kind they went looking for it and found it in the words of the famous magician Asillem,

"Deep in the jungles of Rubalo lies The Magic Diamond which can grant wishes. The diamond hangs around the neck of a parrot which is in a golden cage atop the Banyan tree. The only catch is the tree is invisible. However you can see the tree if an animal or object would ram into it at great speeds. Ofcourse, I can only tell you where the tree is expected to stand but to make an invisble tree appear depends on your smarts"

On the outskirts of the kingdom they ran into a small donkey which offered to carry them to the jungle of Rubalo. As payment the Little Princess was to give it three drops of her blood every night. The Man was sceptic that such a skinny donkey can carry both their weight. But with no one else to guide them, even an overambitious donkey was a help one didn't want to lose.

Armed with nothing but their wits and a donkey that claimed to understand incomprehensible directions, the couple set out in search of The Magic Diamond. At their first rest stop, the Little Princess gave the donkey three drops of her blood as promised. The group fell asleep in a run down shed, each one caught in their own dreams.

Sunrise found The Man staring at a sturdy mule instead of a donkey. Looking at his bewildered face the mule answered, " Well this is old magic. The Little Princess' blood will transform me to aid you in this adventure. Trust me, we'll reach Rubalo soon." Every night, the donkey drank three drops of blood and grew into a bigger and stronger animal by morning. After weeks of travel they finally reached the jungle of Rubalo, sitting on a huge mountain elephant.

The elephant staggered its way towards the glade where the invisible tree's roots were and stopped. The Man asked it to run to the glade at top speed but the elephat just shook its head.
"Run headlong into a tree I can't see? Sorry Your highness, that wasn't part of the deal. I only offered to carry you to Rubalo not break my head."

For the next 55 hours The Man and the Little Princess prodded, poked, pushd, cajoled and begged the elephant but to no avail. The elephant stood its ground and refused to budge an inch. Crestfallen and tired from the effort of pushing an elephant, Little Princess sank to the ground; disgusted with the turn of events The Man flung his sword at the glade and sat next to the Little Princess.

As the sword flew into the glade, it hit something and fell to the ground with a thud and a huge Banyan tree sprung to life before their eyes. Wonder and happiness writ all over his face, The Man looked at Little Princess and they both hugged each other in silence. Leaving her side, The Man slowly climbed up the tree and came down with the parrot in its golden cage. The Little Princess slid her little hand in between the bars of the cage and removed the diamond from the parrot's neck.

The second her hand clasped The Diamond the parrot spoke,
" As you both know this diamond grants wishes. But both of you need to wish for the same thing. You cannot tell each other what your wishes are. If you wish for different things, the diamond will break in two and the magic will fail."
Saying this the parrot disapeared from the cage. The Man and the Little Princess made their way back to their kingdom on the elephant.

Sun rays caught in the Diamond grinned back at the two expectant faces. The Magic Diamond lay on top of a silk cusion in the palace. The Man and the Little Princess looked at each other, closed their eyes and made their wishes. Was it a second or a timespand, no one can tell. Silence in the room was like a heavy blanket. And piercing the blanket came the wail of a little baby.

The couple opened their eyes and found a beautiful baby girl lying on the silk cushion; an heir to the throne. Little Princess looked into The Man's eyes and smiled. Magic was not in the diamond but in two minds that thought alike. Magic is the smile on the littlest princess' lips.
Magic is Maya.

Snowy tales of nothing

2007-12-15T23:13:00.000-05:00

Sometimes it is just not easy to write...not when you want to tell it all and yet wish all could be said in just a word.

Tired? That's a no brainer.
Happy? Most of the time.
Breathless? Hell yeah!
Hungry? ALL the time
Sleepy? One loses sleep just trying to turn the belly around.
Excited? You betcha! Just 20 more days to go.
Restless? Aaaaargh... 20 LONG bloody days to go!

Why do moms and kids live in diferent timezones? As a kid, I made every working day for Amma tortuous with my extremely slow reflexes and crazy demands. Amma had to go through a minimum of 5 stories to get me from my bed to the gates of the Daycare centre.
Best part : She could not repeat any story.

I've blabbered nonstop to my kid; from fairytales to crime thrillers, sang lullabies and peppy numbers dangerously off-key, recited my entire day, complained about The Mr, even threw in a bribe of a trip to Australia to meet her Aunt ~D. No change in status. Darn it! The little brat refuses to budge. My eviction notice is gathering dust on the coffee table while the trickster keeps kicking and head-butting me from within.
Note to baby: Oh! you are so grounded from the minute you're born!

Anyways, I am off now to spend the next 30 minutes in finding that elusive "Comfortable" position to sleep in. Irony of it is, the minute I find it, I need to use the bathroom :(

Notes on a Diaper -2

2007-08-14T20:45:00.000-04:00

Month Two

By now the Calvins and Harry Potters on your book shelves have sold their prime real estate to pregnancy books written by condescending doctor-moms who just want to bore the living daylights out of you. Every page has an advice specifically written for the mother, so you make it a point to go to the nearest bookstore and buy the lucky husband his own copy of “So you’re going to be a Dad”. Then you spend the rest of the night reading it and laughing your head off while the husband snores till kingdom come.

As for hint #1, it still hasn’t made an appearance. But fret not, there’s always hint #2 to make life sexier than ever before.

Full length mirror - $20
Sexy Black Dress - $35
The Look in the smitten husband’s eyes – Priceless.

Sigh, just when you thought you could actually handle this pregnancy thingy, in walks Ms.Obnoxious Nausea, wearing 5 inch stilettos [the ones that you can’t manage to crawl in much less walk] and with an evil laugh that stays with you throughout the day. Your sense of smell increases exponentially that you can give the bomb squad dogs a run for their money.

And that’s when you realize that making out in the kitchen can no longer be steamy…not when you can smell the coconut oil you poured down the drain a month ago.

Notes on a diaper - 1

2007-08-12T23:39:00.000-04:00

First Month

The second you find out there’s a little life growing inside you, you want to get up on the rooftop, do cartwheels and scream at the top of your voice, “I’m pregnant!”. But of course, since such shenanigans aren’t really appreciated by all much less by the belly-resident, you settle for a meek “Yippee!”

The next second you want the baby. I mean, if Kunti can just mumble a few words in sanskrit and have a baby, why shouldn’t you? Apparently, giving birth without blood and pain ended with Karna. So much for miracles of science, bah!

Anyway, common sense and familial pressure insist you wait a minimum of 15 weeks before you paint the neighbourhood with pictures of your growing belly, but seriously who can wait that long? So you spend the rest of the month coming up with creative ideas to break the news to people in as subtle a manner as possible.

No! Wearing a bulky sweater inside a shirt, in mid-May is not entirely a bright idea. Nor is rubbing your flat (well, almost flat) belly in a crowded subway.

P.S: As I found out, writing subtle blogposts on colour Blue also ain't really a hint :p

Who Blue my Life?

2007-07-31T17:53:00.000-04:00

Some people claim to know the precise point when their life turned topsy-turvy; the poignant moment in time-space continuum that is the mother of all life-changing moments.

But I don't.

Was it the moment I met you? No, it can't be because the only thing I remember from that day is the colour of your shirt and my saree. Maybe I do remember the conversation, and the tears that followed but i prefer to act dumb now. I remember just Blue.

Was it the moment we celebrated my birthday? Naaah. You forgot to buy flowers and a card but managed brownie points by walking in with a chocolate cake. But all I see is turquoise blue skirt twirling in my mind's eye and a blue bowl of potato pancakes batter.

Was it the moment we celebrated our anniversary? No, it can't be. We almost weren't going to until I reminded you the date was not a week away. The blue-green shirt and the blue saree partied under a bright blue sky. Maybe I do remember the taste of oysters and lobsters. Then again, maybe I don't.

Some people claim to know the decisive moment when everything in life made perfect sense.
I don't.

Maybe it was when my world turned Blue.

Graffiti on the wall

2007-07-16T16:22:00.000-04:00

One "Oh @#*%" is enough to screw up a 100 "Atta Girl!".

Sigh.
Wish I didn't have to learn this the hard way :(

Hero Hero...Heraadhi Hero

2007-06-20T12:21:00.000-04:00

Disclaimer 1: I - am dark skinned, wear flowers in my hair, am comfortable in sarees, like Kamal, adore RAJNI, consider Madras the best place to live, speak and live Tamizh. If any of the above doesn't make sense to you, don't read further. Thank you and have a good life!

Disclaimer 2: This is not a review. If you want a good one, please read Balaji's, KayKay's, Filbert's or HawkEye's.

Staro Staro Nee SuperStaro!

Sivaji rocks big time! There is no other actor, and I mean NO ONE who can carry a movie with such style as Rajni does. Every frame is lit by Thalaivar's charisma and style. When he does his signature walk with the helicopter in the background, man it is just mindblowing! I almost lost my voice screaming "THALAIVAAA" throughout the movie, much to the amusement of The Mr who sat quietly and watched the movie.

Digression1: I still can't fathom how he can sit like that. The entire theatre was rocking as if a jolt of lightning hit them and screaming hoarse for the Teakada scene and this man sat quiet as if he was watching the ocean. Reminder to self: Said person is husband! Forgive him :p

Mottai Boss is the sexiest and handsomest I've ever seen Rajni look after 'Thambikku Entha Ooru'. My biggest gripe with Shankar was he didn't give Mottai Boss more screen time. Seriously, he just rocked the scene.

I loved the movie. One of the cleanest movies in a long time and it provided wholesome entertainment. Just the "Athiradee" and "Style" songs & Mottai Boss covered the ticket price, the rest were bonuses :)

If I wanna take cudgels against anyone, it would be Shankar and Sujatha for the screenplay and script. Who ever told them Rajni movies don't need a strong story? You don't need a complicated story yes, but even a simple story of revenge of a woman scorned can be elevated to Himalayan heights, if only it is water-tight and solid. Like Padayappa. And seriously he could have done away with that silly truck fight scene and it would have made the movie a li'l crisper in the second half.

But then again, I got to see Thalaivar in his most STYLISH avataram yet and I will definitely thank Shankar for that :) I can't wait for this weekend. The Mr promised to take me to the movie once more. The movie is worth watching multiple times just for Thalaivar's Ishtyle!

Enna thaan sonnalum, Rajni padathula irukkara gethu vera entha padathukkum kidayathu.
If I may plagiarise Kamal's dialogue in PKS, "Rajni padam partha anubavikkanum, arayakoodathu" [If you watch a Rajni movie enjoy it, don't analyse it]

My life is not your news to share

2007-06-06T20:00:00.001-04:00

Fine!
Don't talk to me. I mean I know I left you in the lurch, ignored you citing many reasons half of which were not true while the other half could be true, if only you would look through my glasses. No, I haven't found anyone else. Except The Mr but he is out of town now.

No that is NOT why I am here. Seriously! I am capable of so much more than that.
Err...no I didn't mean that. Nope, not that either.

Anyhoo, you see 'Life is Beautiful'. Aaargh! I am not talking about the movie, i am saying my life is beautiful. Yes, technically i should share it with you, what with you being my soul mate even if you are in a public domain. No, I don't think you are the reason why people judge me as insane. They knew I am one even before they decided to meet you.

No I am not embarassed by your lack of wit, or by your silence. I understand you're troubled by my lack of sense and obscene idea of 'keeping in touch'. I will change. Err, is that really my 123rd promise? Sorry, I am a li'l weak in Math.
Ok, fine that is indeed a lame attempt a humour.

Will you please forgive me? No I can't write a poem now. I have to go out for dinner. Yes I am having a ball of a time with The Mr out of town. Yes I miss him. But he is hogging at Red Lobster, Orlando right this moment, so I have a right to have Upma and Sambhar at a friend's place while watching 'Devil wears Prada'.

Yeah, I need to crib to you about a few collagues, coupl eof bad movies and also talk lots of a few lovely books. Not today. Maybe tomorrow. Or this weekend.

I love you. No one else. No The Mr won't read this. Hopefully not.

P.S. : The title is what I wanted to tell this guy at work who was talking about what is happening in my life to someone else when I was not around. And the come right back to me and talk as if nothing happened. Anyways, I tell myself am TOO HAPPY to bother :)

In which I try to rhyme...

2007-06-06T19:43:00.000-04:00

Deep in the jungle of Grandma's lore,
Loud and wild was Rhonda's roar
In a twist of quirky fate
Rodney was away on a trip of great taste
Leaving Rhonda to do many a chore!

Now Rhonda ain't no mean girl
She can make many Rodneys, around her paw, twirl.
While The King is away
The Queen has the lair in her sway
She is indeed The Jungle's Royal pearl.

Disco beats were heard far and wide
Out came the jungle, in feathers & hide
Everyone was on the dance floor
From Trendy Gef to Lefty ,the Boar
While Rodney sat in conference, eating his pride!

And then there were more...

2007-05-21T20:12:00.000-04:00

Writing posts as bullet points makes for a fun timepass.
The desire to write is inversely proportional to the time allotted to it.
I claim I am insanely busy, but in retrospect I realise I am just insane.
Sometimes I wish they would just postpone 'Sivaji' release to September when I will be in Chennai and can watch it with 'like-minded' citizens :)
The Mr plans to disown me for that movie as I want to stand up and shout "THALAIVAA!" in my loudest voice. How else can you watch a Rajni movie, pray tell? :D
Miss the 80's..wish I never grew up :(
The bliss of buying a packet of roasted peanuts for 50 paise, sitting on the cement doorstep of your house and watching the world pass by is unparalleled with all the luxuries of a first world country. Or a progressing third world country which easily forgets its past :(
I miss Madras, even more Tirunelveli.
Life is beautiful. I can't agree more. But I miss home, I can't deny anymore.
"Baleilaka' is one song that makes me smile and cry at the same time.
I miss Inji morappa in Virudhunagar station, Guava at Sattur, Kovilpatti Kadalai mittai, Nellai Town Iyer hotel kuzhal puttu, Rajeswari Amman koil pujari splashing theertham on my face, Friday Santhoshimatha poojai prasadam, running barefoot chasing your cousins, wearing pavadai-thavani, one strand of jasmine flowers, sitting under the hand-pump for a bath, kootanchoru, susiyam, thoothuvalai dosai to cure your cold, Athai's Thai Segu& Sodhi, Soma Akka's Egg curry, Kumaresh Anna's bus stories, Megu Periamma's Ulunthan gali, Achi's kanji & Inji lekiyam, Jeya Periamma's cauliflower fry, Jan's beautician experiments, Raja's Chilli Chicken & Chicken Fried rice thrust through the bars of a moving train, Vasu Periamma's murukku, Karthiga's vengaya pakoda, Thalavai's Sundakkai story, Amma's Maida burfi & murungakkai theeyal,Appa's attempts at coffee, Sankari chithi's rava upma, Raji's kadi jokes, Nambi's wisecracks, Kala chithi's puli kuzhambu, Kavi's nakkal, Manicka Chithi's sambhar & avial, Ranjith's paintings, Maavadu, Neer-thanni, idli upma, thengai mittai, son-papdi, feeding cows that come to your doorstep, Sornachi's booming voice, early morning padhani in palm leaves, Nongu, Koozh Vathal batter, puli thanni & pori-kadalai thovaiyal, Garlic rasam, Ratna Talkies Murukku, Kothu parotta & Salna...
I want it All. I want it Now.
Note to Self: Grow wings but don't grow up!

Love in Sweltering heat

2007-05-21T13:45:00.000-04:00

Love is beautiful. It sounds contrived but seriously, it makes so much sense to me, especially now as I find myself lost in her. Some say The One is the reason for my existence but they are folk who haven't seen her. To me she is The One; the beginning and end of everything.

She has one of those wonderful smiles that lights up the entire space. No wait! That's another one of those contrived sentences picked up from a book. I looked over the shoulder of a girl reading a novel the other day and the line caught my attention. Why does Love make me so happy and light yet brings out the worst of my poetic self?

How long have I been in love, you ask? From the moment she smiled at my antics I've been smitten. Last week, I pushed a lock of her hair, more a tease than a taunt. She smiled indulgently and pushed it back behind her ear. On some days when I am at my naughtiest best, I pull her dupatta but the second I see her biting her lower lip in a struggle to wrench it from me, I give up. She looks so vulnerable it pains me.

And I know she misses me if I am not around. Take yesterday for instance, it was the hottest day in Madras. Not a soul was out and nor was I. I did have my duties to attend to but I preferred cooling my heels inside than venture in that unforgiving heat. But she was out, my unlucky angel, draped in a cotton salwar which unsuccessfully did nothing to ease the heat. Her eyes, usually bright and lively, were dull and looking towards the distance, as if searching for someone. Who else? Me, of course.

For a moment, I thought I should go and swoop her in my arms and relieve her stress but my work was not in that area. If someone knew I was working places not in my schedule, I would be in serious trouble. So I stayed at my spot and just looked. Tomorrow, I can meet her. Oh! How I long to surprise her when she least expects me.

I couldn't sit still all night. I roamed the streets, singing and dancing, making the neighbours smile in their sleep. Somehow in Madras, noone ever begrudges my singing or dancing! The day finally dawned and I ran to the bus stop to meet her, knocking a couple of bicycles on the way. I'll treat those kids later. As I arrived closer to her, I stopped dead in my tracks. She wasn't alone. And she wasn't looking out for me either. She was holding hands and laughing with another man. My angel with another man?

I stood rooted to my spot and stared at them. I saw the silly boy take out a letter from his pocket and give her. That's when something snapped within me. A mad rage filled my mind and I charged towards them and snatched the letter. "Nobody gives a letter to My Love", I snapped and rushed away.

As I walked away, I heard my angel shout, "Aiyyo, somebody catch hold of that paper please!The wind just blew it away". I turned back and watched as they tried to grab the paper from my hands. I smiled.

Incomplete

2007-04-18T10:28:00.000-04:00

It's been raining incessantly here and I don't know about you, but rain always makes me mushy, sad, nostalgic, happy, silent and whole...all at the same time. Which is ofcourse why I write poems on incompleteness :)

Little slips of paper
Floating wisps
Of life;
A bridge across never
for you & me

Black & brown eyes,
Deep, dark wells
Of emptiness;
A streak of light
across every scar.

Liquid Sunshine Showers
Downpour of lies,
Excuses and shackles;
Silent whispers
Of a parched life.

From the dust-laden shelves

2007-04-09T17:54:00.000-04:00

Ever since it was destined that I should spend 1.5 hrs in the train, I've been reading. Nonstop.
There's nothing that a whiff of the pages of a book won't set right, esp if the book is 'Shantaram' or 'Pride & Prejudice' :)

Reading Lolita in Teheran – Azar Nafisi

A beautiful book of memoirs. Freedom is not free and not all revolutions bring about a welcome social change. With the Iran Revolution as its backdrop, this book brings to light the quality of life under the new regime. And she does that simply by discussing books – or the length to which one has to go just to read a good book. I loved the memoir because it made me feel as if I was part of her clandestine book group, reading those banned novels and trying to form my opinions on morality and like.

This one definitely needs to be re-read as I had not read most of the authors she talked about. I just finished ‘Washington Square’ by Henry James and I need to read the others from the class before I pick it up again.

The StoryTeller’s Daughter – Saira Shah

‘Twas the season of memoirs and this is a pretty neat book on how Afghanistan just disintegrated. The fact that no one really knew what was happening inside and how the rest of the world didn’t really care is well brought out in this book. I like Saira’s narrative, her longing for that homeland which coloured every story her father told her, her reluctance to accept that the Afghanistan of her stories didn’t exist and the brutal reality of what is now Afghanistan.

American Chica: Two Worlds, One Childhood – Marie Arana

This is my favourite memoir of the lot, maybe because it didn’t deal with so much futility as the other two did. It is a happy memoir and Marie’s refreshing style of narration made it all the more interesting.

Cellophane – Marie Arana

This is a hilarious novel by Marie Arana. Her style is like this breath of fresh air on a hot humid day and you just don’t want to put the book down lest something interesting happens while you’ve been away. You are one with her characters; you live in the hacienda with Don Victor, you float over Amazon when he does and when the characters fall in love, so do you! Pick it up, you will not regret it.

Sleeping with The Devil – Robert Baer

If you are someone who loves political intrigue and if you liked the movie ‘Syriana’ then you must read this book. When I finished the book my only thought was, “Man! America is the only nation to blame for most of the evils that plague us now”. Now I need to pick up his other book, ‘See no Evil’.

Washington Square – Henry James

Brilliant prose. Excellent characterization. This is the first novel of his that I read and I definitely like his style. Of course, the nice thing about reading in the train is striking conversations with random strangers. This woman who sat next to me proceeded to talk animatedly about the movie based on this novel and how much she liked it. Like I said before, I need to re-read Azar Nafisi’s book to check if my interpretations match with any of hers.

Life of Pi – Yann Martel

This is a nice book. I mean, I liked it upto a point but then somewhere towards the end I got detached from Pi Patel. I liked his metaphors a lot and his descriptive narrative was quite good. And I totally loved Richard Parker, I don’t know why. But all that philosophy towards the final chapters put me off [I agree the philosophy strain is there throughout the novel, but in the end it got my goat]. This was one of the few books The Mr and I had in common, so after a long time was able to discuss/debate about a book with someone.

Since Wiki talks of a plagiarism controversy, I am searching for the English translation of Scliar’s book.

Love, Pain, and The Whole Damn Thing – Doris Dorrie

This is a collection of 4 short stories by the German filmmaker; stories with a quirky sense of dark humour. You should give this book a shot. I am trying to get hold of her movie.

Brief Encounters with Che Guevara – Ben Fountain

This book is a collection of short stories set in countries in the midst of a social upheaval/civil unrest and has nothing to do with Che Guevara. Except maybe one story about a person who knew someone who was a lover of Che. Interesting setting for stories and that seems to be the undoing of this book, at least for me. I didn’t like all the stories and I didn’t complete a few because the ‘story just didn’t move’. Guess one needs to be in an Utopian frame of mind for this one. You can read it once.

Interpreter of Maladies - Jhumpa Lahiri

I absolutely love this book. There's a beauty to the way she introduces the characters and leads us through their stories. Every story is just a snippet of their lives and makes one long to know more. I tried to read 'The Namesake' but the same narrative that i liked in this book didn't click in the other. Or I was reading too many Lahiris in one shot it made me withdraw from Namesake. Maybe another day.

Undomestic Goddess - Sophie Kinsella

A li'l mediocre compared to the Shopaholic series. It has its moments but they are few and far in between. Yet, it is the quintessential chick-lit to balance some heavy reading, so I won't complain much :)

In between all these, I also managed to re-read Potter 5 & 6 for the Nth time, Malgudi Days and few more chick-lit that are better forgotten :)

If you do pick up any of the book I've talked about, do please ping me for a discussion. Muchas Gracias!

Writing Workshop - X

2007-03-29T21:26:00.000-04:00

I've been fairly regular to the writing workshop since January this year. I guess, I definitely needed the job to channel my ideas :) I have atleast 4 stories to post here but I want to start with the one I wrote tonight. Everyone liked it and also I loved writing this one :)

Prompt: "What's the most you've ever paid for something you didn't want?"

This should be fun, I told myself as I picked up The Pocket Muse. It was a small hard bound book in blue-grey with a black spine. 'Endless Inspiration' , the caption claimed. Considering how little I had written in the past few weeks, I felt I could do with some outside help.

"That will be $30.99, Ma'am," said the cashier. Man! It sucks to be in Canada*. I went home, cleared the coffee table and placed The Muse on it. Now it will beckon me everyday, willing me to write instead of being a couch potato.

Two weeks passed.
"Aren't you going to atleast open the book?" asked The Mr, amusement writ all over his face.
"How do you know I haven't? You're anyway never home in the mornings," I countered, though I knew he was right. I've barely gone past the spine.
"I need a new notebook and a fountain pen. I write better with fountain pens." With that I picked the book and moved it to the study. who ever writes sitting at the coffee table? Plus he rarely walks into the study. I can write undisturbed.

The next evening when The Mr entered the study, I was at my writing desk with a beautiful green fountain pen and brand new Van Gogh leather journal by that famous boutique. He stood over me as I calligraphed(is that a verb?) my name - 'Pon. Chidambarakumari'.

"Looks like your name will need a new book all by itself," he joked.
"Very funny," I smirked.
"So how much did all this cost?"
"$10"
"Really?"
"Plus another 20 odd dollars" I mumbled under my breath and then added, "Creativity is priceless," my voice a tad shrill.

The Mr smiled an all-knowing smile and walked out. I opened The Muse. The 'About The Author' section ran for some 4 pages. What? Who cares about her? Show me The Muse, woman! Realizing this wasn't going to work, I closed the book and re-opened it on a random page.

Page 82: 'Second Follow Up Notice from The Department of Procrastination Prevention'.
I wrote it down neatly in my journal. I shifted myself in the chair, draped my legs over the left arm of the chair, closed my eyes and just sat there. In Anticipation.

The next thing I knew there was a loud noise. I opened my eyes and found the journal on the floor. I must've fallen asleep. I picked up the journal and looked at the prompt. What kind of lame ass prompt is that? And they paid her to publish this? I arranged the journal and The Muse neatly on the desk and walked out. I needed new cushions for the chair.

A pair of silk cushions, a new Feng Shui book, Art for the wall, 2 CDs of inspirational Bach and a box of cookies later, I was back where I started. The Mr greeted me with a raised eyebrow, as I entered the living room. Darn it! How does he do that?
I cleared my throat and announced, "I am going to be a painter."

* Writer's License.
The Missus says: Treat piece as fiction.
The Mr says: Fiction? What about the Muse which is gathering dust since last year :D And the incomplete 'paintings' piling up in the corner of our study?

The Intellectually Snobbish Bitch

2007-03-26T14:41:00.000-04:00

I hate to be judged. More than that, I hate to be judged wrong, wrong by my standards. If you have to judge me, please to look into my ‘Personal Guide to Judging Kumari’ and pick the adjectives I have marked in Red.

Seriously.

I know I am a bitch. Or an intellectual snob, if you please. I can make polite conversations to you about the weather, the global warming, the shameful exit of the Indian Cricket and on why it is morally wrong to throw stones at them for the same reason though deep down you just know that even stones aren’t enough.

So as your colleague, I can make those customary grunts, fill the pauses in your monologue and nod in agreement when you cry, ‘Death to BCCI’. And when you proudly claim, “I don’t read. I just can’t sit through 100 pages’, I don’t know if I should laugh or cry.

How can I talk about the bloody cold and unpredictable New England weather for the entire tenure of my job? How can you work in a prestigious educational institution and NOT read? You don’t have to have read Henry James but darn it! You must’ve read Chandamama or Indian Folk tales.

Ok, so everyone needn’t be an avid reader. You could be interested in something else. Sports? Politics? Movies? I can discuss anything but I will not entertain arguments for the sake of arguing. When you judge me as a difficult person within 2 minutes of a conversation because I ignored your provocation to start an argument, I only find it funny.

Being a Tamizhian does not automatically make me anti-Hindi but talking to a North Indian who harps on it at every lunch definitely makes me want to be one. That is what I call myself now. And No, just because I understand Hindi will not make me answer your questions in Hindi. I’d rather use a language common to both of us. After all we are not in the heartland of India and not-speaking Hindi is my birthright as much as you claim it is yours to force it down my throat.

When my husband cooks and packs lunch for me, I do not automatically become a ‘Lucky woman’. Does anyone ever call my husband a lucky man just because he gets home to a clean house and a sparkling toilet? We both work and we both share responsibilities. It’s a relationship. Not drudgery.

Nowadays I avoid the Desi gang at work during lunch. I realized it is impossible to make conversations with people who haven’t really moved out of their little rooms in India. I am not stereo-typing Desi men. Hell no! The Mr is a Desi man and he is miles apart from all this and I am not saying this because I am married to him.

Yes, I devour 10 books in a month, from poetry to philosophy to chick-lit. The Mr finds it funny and awesome in the same vein. He doesn’t read so much or so often. He calls me the book worm but he also listens when I recite Frost’s ‘Fire & Ice’ and quotes it back to me on a different occasion. This from a man who has to be reminded of his own wedding anniversary :) He sits with me on the grass to listen to the Jazz Quartet and absolutely adores their rendition of Maya Angelou’s ‘Phenomenal Woman’.

Like him, there are so many other Desi men and women who’ve made an effort at something new, gave it a shot and then made a decision. You don’t have to read Shakespeare but you have to read something, just anything to get ahead. Else all that will be left is fluff.

It’s not that I am incapable of liking people who don’t read. But I am definitely incapable of making conversations last. The people in my life, who don’t read but I still adore are the family I was born into and the friends whom I knew much before polite conversations mattered.

When I meet new people, on the T or at work, there should be a common point for us to go ahead. For me that common point is ‘interesting conversations on Life’ not about the latest sale in Macy’s. Though I agree that would be classified as informative: p

So what I am trying to say in this highly convoluted manner is, ‘not reading’ is not something to be proud of. Hey, if you have something else up your sleeve, I am okay with it. I give you the benefit of doubt and will sit and listen. But I am not weird just because I can read something other than requirement specs.

Like Oscar Wilde says, "All of us are in the gutter but some of us are looking at the stars." And that my friend, makes a huge difference.