The Prodigal Daughter

Yes I am back in the mean world. How else do you explain the fact that I am blogging from my training? :p What's the point in attending training if you can't bunk the morning off and then spend the rest of the afternoon sleeping, playing cards on your comp and blogging your boredom.

I have a comprehensive exam on Monday and on Wednesday I need to give a presentation on J2EE. For all those who find the very idea of yours truly teaching J2EE as a travesty(Now that I am entering the business world, I need to throw jargon), you should listen to me wax eloquent on the topic of SQL. The Mr is still recuperating from that shock :)

Yes! I am the black mark on the horizon of Neverland.
But this too shall pass. Or not.

Let me get back to my daydreaming.

Happiness is a Myth...

So claims Karla, a character in the novel Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts.
Before I say anything more, I would like to make it clear that this is NOT a review of the book. I am not good at writing reviews esp not when I am emotionally tied to the book.

From the first chapter when we meet Prabhaker, the Bombay guide with a really BIG smile, to the last chapter when Lin falls at the feet of Kishan, Prabhaker's dad, the book is riveting. There is no turning back on this journey. Nowhere do you find Lin glossing over the faults of India or poking holes at its many-layered culture because that's not how we work. Behind our need to know what is cooking in AptC and whose daughter is married to whom, there is an undercurrent of love and belonging which is evident in this narrative.

And that is why I love the book. The author and the protagonist surrender to the phenomenon that is India and there is no other way to live in our country. Yes we have our faults, yes we are hypocritical at times, we fight, lie, steal, kill and walk aloof when someone suffers but we also know to love, treasure the simple things in life and smile...smile even when we have no clue where our next meal is going to come from.

The book made me so homesick, I just wanted to run home immediately. Who cares about dishwashers, online bills, Survivor or Dunkin Donuts when I can visit Amma for hot cup of coffee, take an auto to roam the entire city?

One needs to be crushed in a busy train compartment to savour the breath of fresh air as you step outside; one yearns for the flowerseller's smile as she sells you jasmine strands and tells you to grow your hair longer; one longs to see the shopkeeper smile with his teeth clenched when you drive a hard bargain for a bunch of coriander.

Yes I miss all those quirks coz that's what made it home, a place where you grumble the most and are treated the best. I love Shantaram coz he brought the crowd - the smells, the noise, the songs and dance of an Indian life- into my living room in a country where I will always be an outsider.

Sometimes, one needs to be lost in a crowd to feel oneself.

P.S: Apparently Johnny Depp is gonna play Shantaram. Please, pwetty please if anyone knows anyone who knows someone working on that film, can you recommend me for a role? Even the role of Radha, Lin's neighbour in the slum who dies of cholera is more than enough. Please :)

SuperWoman Returns

In style :)

Superwoman has been in some kind of weird training since monday.
Training for a job she might make, if Uncle Sam does indeed grant her permit. Sigh!

Anyhoo, Superwoman today woke up from her monotony induced dream, made coffee, cooked lunch, washed vessels, managed to pull Mr out of bed, and get ready for office all in a matter of 45 minutes :D

The letter that was never sent

Dear God,

I have no clue why I am writing this letter, especially in a public forum. But sometimes there's safety in numbers, even among strange numbers. Among the myriad faceless whispers and shouts, I hope you'll read this and I wish you would respond, however far-fetched it may sound. We both have our quirks; you like to play deaf and I write letters that you barely scan.

Ours wasn't/isn't exactly an ideal relationship. We had our troughs and crests and though I prefer to blame you for all those troughs, I do understand I have my share of responsibility in a few of them. Ok fine, most of them. Still, considering the world's definition of you as someone more than just a friend, one wonders why you let those troughs exist. Please don't say it is to make me appreciate my moments of happiness coz that is complete hogwash.

I care two hoots about my happy moments when I can distinctly remember the tear stains on my pillows. Have you ever sat on a beach, with your feet covered in wet sand, closed your eyes and let yourself go? And in that moment between complete relaxation and fitful restlessness, the first image that you see is that of a bird with broken wings; of unfulfilled desires. And that is what I hold you responsible for. That moment in space and time continuum, when my heart forgets to rejoice in the bliss of silence and longs for another world.

I know you've been trying to reach out in the past one year but I have rudely pushed you away. Your room in my home is dusty, filled with cobwebs and if you do visit, you might have to make do with those dirty seats. And I know, if Amma was to see it, she'd feel hurt and want me to trust you more. I do trust you and I do love you but I don't want to talk to you no more(And no, two negatives do NOT make a positive). Not till you give me a sign that you indeed listen to me.

That you know what I told you as I made egg biryani two days back, that you remember what I whispered on the way to school 10 years ago, that you do understand why I smile in the few moments before the alarm shrieks. Yes, I want you to repeat all those conversations back to me. Verbatim.

I am not asking for much. Just a sign. Any sign. Please.

Love,
Me

Ode to New York City

Never knew what I missed,
Till I walked into
You.

The kiss in your eyes
Burnt my skin
As I held your stare,
deep and all knowing.

We danced with passion
Under lights;
Stilettos clicking
To the latest tune.

Like the caress of a past lover
Felt in a new dream,
You awoke the beast in me,
a beast lost to shadows.

Now alone I sit
In aching darkness,
Fingers searching my empty world,
For a sign of that pulse.
Of Life.

P.S: Written after my recent trip to NYC, spent in the company of Her Highness Princess Duck. We had tons of rillocking fun and it made me realize, "Once a city girl, always a city girl." I miss Chennai!