My WOW Diwali

I got married! Yes, I did! Well from my previously writing you all must have understood that I had issues finding the 'right' guy but as destiny dictates, it happened!

Now that I am married, the most wonderful memory I have is of my last Diwali. Being a South Indian and raised as an NRI, my husband shows no understanding of the Diwali festival. Though he understands the historical significance of the mighty festival of light, yet the deep rooted love for the grand festival which is wide awake in Indians who have lived a short or a long while in India escapes him. Down south of the country, the festival is celebrated in an entirely different way and method hence to speak the grandeur is not clear to many as it is to the Northies or Central Indians. This factor is one of the greatest additions of living in a country like India where it is popularly said that language and water changes after every seven miles.

Coming back to my experience and memory attached to a picture, which is the topic for writing this WOW, I would like to say that this Diwali was one of the best indeed, even without the crackers or without the huge light hanging over the balcony!

As I stood in my dark, gloomy balcony (was comparing it with the neighbourhood which was exceptionally lit up and was shedding more than an ounce of the fairy light pleasure as witnessed back in my childhood days) I was pretending to talk to myself with the internal motif to make my husband hear how desolate and depressed I felt about the dull Diwali we were having.

I even went to the extent of mimicking him when he mentioned that next Diwali will be different (poor thing was trying really hard to calm my newly wed spirit). Then like raging fire, as if like a hero who's sister has been raped and he is buring with revenge and marches towards the vicious villian's den, he got up and came close to me. I was so sure that this Diwali will surely have some crackers falling here and there, but he came and stood close for me to see him clear and polite face. He took my hands in his and gently said, "Let's go out!" Though it was not enticing to go out at the moment, I oblidged (still afraid of the raging fire which was not to be seen- thought it was the calm before the thunderbolt and lightening!). He locked the door, and signalled me to walk. I pensively waited for the lift to reach my 2nd floor apartment and quitely went down still holding his hand.

We reached the car park, he opened the door and asked me to sit. He got in as well and started driving. We reached a mall and he quickly parked the car and again we took the lift to a floor I had never been to before. What I saw there made me instantaneously all smiles... It might sound a bit odd and funny and inappropriate for this Diwali write-up, but the floor was filled with wigs- yes, you heard me right! Hair-wigs. Well, it's not the case that I have no hair but I always had a facination for different kinds of hair-wigs. Kill me if you think am being an idiot but I always wanted to change my hairdo everyday to work or even when I was in college.
I had the most fun during the hour that we spent there, in the wig section. He clicked my pics in all kinds of wigs secretly avoiding the vigil eyes of the customer service representatives and it almost felt like reliving your childhood where you do some mischief after so much planning and preparation only to be caught by parents at the end!

Loved this Diwali, laughed out loud for the rest of the evening and really got to know my guy even more.... in a very different way though!

This post is a part of <a title="WOW" href="http://blog.blogadda.com/2012/09/28/write-over-the-weekend-wow-indian-blogs">Write Over the Weekend</a>, an initiative for <a title="Indian Bloggers" href="http://www.blogadda.com">Indian Bloggers</a> by BlogAdda

Review of Ashwin Sanghi's 'The Krishna Key'

Hello Everyone...
Apologies that the review on Aswin Sanghi's 'The Krishna Key' took longer than calculated. It just been a busy bee month for me and I can't wait to sit down, relax and rewind with a glass of chilled wine.

Hoping (fingers crossed) that, that day would come soon. I ♥ my work and there fore transform into the world's most pathetics workoholic kinds once I have something work-related on my mind.

So, without further delay, here it is...
The review on Ashwin Sanghi's 'The Krishna Key'

Ashwin Sanghi's Krishna Key is a gripping who-dunnit crime-story, perhaps modelled on Dan Brown's best-seller 'The Da Vinci Code'. Ashwin Sanghi's tale fantabulously captures the mystery surrounding the legends of Krishna's birth and death. In this volume of 108 episodes, Sanghi very confidently links the mythology and the modern to hypnotise his readers to start believeing his narration. Though claimed as a work of fiction based upon sound research, the narrative details of places and times are so convincingly  analysed and portrayed that the reader is persuaded to apply a 'willing-suspension-of-disbelief' and accept the narrators construct. Sanghi succeeds in relating the various influences on the Indus Valley Civilization to the Mughal Period to the present times.

But as the incredible narration assisted with symbols, signs and slokas comes to an end, the reader is able to distinguish between thruth and illusion, reality and fantasy. He realises that Taarak Vakil is only a serial killer- a victim in the hands of Evil represented by Priya, Garg and their ilk. Krishna and Taarak can have no comparisons. Krishna could see through the evil games of Kamsa and the Kauravas, Taarak is an easy prey to a sinister conspiracy.

The plot provides Ashwin Sanghi, the writer to introduce Ravi Mohan Saini, a knowledged historian to take his readers through the various stories of Indian mythology, history and science. But surprisingly enough the all-knowing Prof. Saini is unable to read the machinations of Priya who poses as a research student. The plot also provides a thrilling romance of Mohan and Radha.

All in all, 'The Krishna Key' is an exciting book, a wonderful blend of suspence and thrill, but the end of the story is very weak- the total surrender of the three criminals is not a worthy ending to this labrynthian narration.

Rating: 3.5/5

This book review is part of the Book Review program initiated by Blogadda.com
 

Breast Cancer awareness

As part of breast cancer awareness, I have decided to write a feature on it!! Join my thought and spread the word.

Keeping fingers crossed!!!!!!

We don’t live in the telegraph period. We live in the fuzzy front end generation equipped with an iPad which sings you to bed! There are no sweet sweater weaving grandmothers or mothers who make pickles with each seasonal change. To cut the story short, I was waiting for my appointment letter. It’s just a bloody, f*@# e-mail… Electronic mail and it was much slower in its arrival than the telegraph!

Each day I woke up, in a messy bed, surrounded by my foot cream, book I was reading late night, my comb, the earrings which I wore the previous day and Tharun. Each morning I prayed to all the gods and gave special respects and homage to Jesus, only to be left alone the whole day without any “good news”. Many a times I made cynical promises to the divine being on quitting my habit of getting annoyed at imperfections and ultimately creating a gloomy atmosphere around me, only if the job came around! I was a very demanding worshipper for sure. I kept my fingers crossed each time the phone rang. I thought that the HR might have experienced the mail bouncing back and decided to give me a call. But Alas! It was only the laundry guy.

Whenever Tharun gave me his golden words of advice and tried to inculcate in me the thought that it’s “alright”, I would only pounce back like a hungry tigress. He would learn the lesson of patience and retrieve in to his den like a small puppy but that wouldn’t satisfy me and I would chase him down to tell him ‘exactly how I feel’.

As months went back and time elapsed, I realized that keeping the fingers crossed is not doing much! It’s only causing pain to my fingers and they ached every time I turned them in any direction now. So that was the end of that!

Ultimately after about three months of waiting, the HR called, right when I was in the middle of haggling for something at the local market.  Mind you, the HR didn’t represent the company I had put my resume with and attended interview for… it was another job altogether! Let’s say that the crossing of the fingers didn’t work for something it was crossed for but ultimately the result was what I was looking out for!

Moral of the story- Cross the fingers or not, life takes you towards the direction you desperately want to go!

 

This is my contribution towards "write over the weekend" initiative by blogadda.. and M loving it!

This post is a part of <a title="WOW" href="http://blog.blogadda.com/2012/09/28/write-over-the-weekend-wow-indian-blogs">Write Over the Weekend</a>, an initiative for <a title="Indian Bloggers" href="http://www.blogadda.com">Indian Bloggers</a> by BlogAdda

SOS to Parents!!!!!!

So here’s the deal! I got a new car. That’s no big news these day because everyone’s buying one and buses honk the road filled and clogged with mini, arrogant, haunt cars! But my issue is that people let loose their children and they go on to become tiny, rodent-like nuisance. Many might consider my language and the way of speech completely politically and geographically (I should live on MARS) incorrect. But have you considered the fact that my dialogues and furry could be a direct result of the pain cause due to an indirect assault no my heart?
I &hearts; kids. They are cute at birth, funny as toddler but hooligans as school-goers! As I re-read this article I realize that I am pouring out vengeance and on the brink of complete volcanic eruption.

Parents in this generation are less considerate, more selfish and the least gracious people. Children are a reflection of their personality. Coming back to the story of my car, I simply love it. Everyone does! But the scenario of love-hate becomes very evident when some tiny dweek tries to sabotage it. So children play in the parking area and jump on my car. I see footprints all over the newly waxed, shiny, sparkling black coloured vehicle of my dreams (not exactly my dreams… that’s would be an exaggeration!)

It looks like dweeks have nothing to do but to play in that area and to their enjoyment and my extreme disappointment they were sliding all over the car. The watchman was questioned who very honestly and in complete modesty replied that when he tried to talk to the parents, they merely ignored him with a non-lucid statement, “Where will our children play, if not here?”

So I wrote a letter complaining to the landlord about the issue!

Flat 203

Al Asmawi Bldg,
Al Qusais,
Dubai, U.A.E.

 Date: 2/10/2012

 Subject: Damage to vehicles in the covered parking area

Dear Sir/ Madam,

 It has been frequently noted that children living in this building play in the covered parking area. This has caused damage to our cars and generated angry towards the irresponsibility of the parents.

 The watchman was informed about this situation and he tried to talk to the parents as well. But the parents did not take any heed of what he told them and replied by saying that their children have no other place to play other than the parking area.

 These parents might not have their cars parked in the covered parking and feel no responsibility towards other cars. None of this is our concern.

 Kindly issue notice and take strict action on this regard.

 Hope that this problem will be looked into at the earliest.

Thank you,

Reshma George

Please take note that parents are supposed to teach children the right way to life and as youngsters/young parents we need to know what’s right and what’s not! Please… new-generation parents teach your children manners! That will be the best education you give them!

 

Man and the 'Other'

My earnest desire to write has born out of the alien connection I wish to establish between what Amir Khan said in most parts of his television venture “Satyameva Jayate.” This piece in one way can be acknowledged as a tribute for his tremendous effort to bring to light some of the gruesome situations which India faces even today while is convincing tries to portray that it is taking giant strides into the future. For all those who will not flip through this newsletter and consider it another futile effort, I would like to encourage or rather challenge each one to view an episode of the program. For those who did join in the millions who spared the mid-morning hours of Sunday to be completely uprooted and replanted by this show- Kudos!

Major part of the reality program concentrated on female foeticides, child sexual abuse, dowry and domestic violence. You must have already understood that female has been an essential core issue of discussion in this show and so has she been for many a centuries.

Especially with us ‘Keralites’ not much change has gone by regarding our outlook towards a female even though many of us have had the privilege to be educated. Enlightenment is not everybody’s cup of tea and therefore no one cares to grow over the previous generation and still rattles in a similar fashion to who our elders have behaved towards the feminine.

Moving out of the regional confines and viewing the situation all around the country, it does not give me immense pleasure to assure you that even today women alone continue to understand the height, the length, the depth and the breadth of her own degradation. She has been picked and murdered within the womb, she has been raped and forced into prostitution, she has been shunned by the society whenever she has tried to connect back and not even spared in her old age.

When a girl is allowed to be born, she joins a finishing school where for most part of her initial 20-23 years are spent to understand the codes of conduct when married. She is given the pink doll to play with, given utensils to practice with and instruction manual which is repeated practically every day stating how she needs to cook and clean and mend. If she has a brother, generally the trend goes that she will not be allowed to argue with him. Married women are ever obliged to obey their husbands, who had almost unlimited control over their wives’ activities and finances. In case of divorce, women had few legal rights and usually lost custody of their children, a very standing example is the case of Malayalam actress Urvashi.

As an ever evolving society we must understand that the division of the sexes is a biological fact, not an event in human history. Woman has always been man’s dependent, if not his slave; the two sexes have never shared the world in equality. And even today woman is heavily handicapped, though her situation is beginning to change. Even when her rights are legally recognized in the abstract, long-standing custom prevents their full expression in the mores. In the economic sphere men and women can almost be said to make up two castes; other things being equal, the former hold better jobs, get higher wages, and have more opportunity for success than their competitors. In industry and politics men have a great many more positions and they monopolize the most important posts. In addition to all this, they enjoy a traditional prestige that the education of children tends in every way to support, for the present enshrines the past--- and in the past all history has been made by men. At the present time, when women are beginning to take part in the affairs of the world, it is still a world that belongs to men—they have no doubt of it at all and women have scarcely any.

In proving woman’s inferiority, the anti-feminists began to draw not only upon religion, philosophy, and theology, as before, but also upon science—biology, experimental psychology, etc at most they were willing to grant “equality in difference” to the other sex.

I am not one of those pseudo-feminists who take flags in their hands and run away from their familial duties to proclaim an untrue face of feminist reality or ideology. I merely am an individual who has understood through various incidences that women have always been the mere echoes of men. Our laws and constitutions, our creeds and codes, and the customs of social life are all of masculine origin. The true woman is as yet a dream of the future.

Let us, in our families begin to nurture girls and women in the true sense and understand their value. Let the boys along with the girls set the table for dinner or help to cook; let them both mop the floor. Let them both be given an equal opportunity to establish their point of view and not scolded unreasonably for it. Let there be no pink and blue, let there be a choice.

Aahat Bhi Nahi...

  Love is an amazing tale of free-spirited joy, unbounded happiness and deep wretched sorrow... No two lovers have experienced happiness alone... time tests them numerously with pain and hurt. Love also has betrayal as one of its allies...and love has separation has one of the friends...

"जाते  जाते  चली  गई  बहार ,
ना  ली  रुखसत  हमसे ,
ना  ही  किया  कोई वादा ;
उसके  आनेसे  जो  कलियाँ  मुस्कुराई  थी ,
उनपर  भी  हैं  ख़ामोशी  चाई ।

दिल  में  हैं  तूफ़ान ,
आखोमें  नमी ,
आनेवाला  कोई  सैलाब  हैं ,
अभी  हैं  दूर  कही ,
क्यों  चली  गयी  अकेला  छोड़कर ?
गर  तू  होती ,
सर्दिया  ना  होती सर्द ,
तन्हाई  ना होता  हर लम्हा ,
जाने  क्यों  रूठकर  जा रही हैं ,
दस्तक  देनेसे  पहले  खुशियाँ ।

कब  तक  बता ए  पीर ,
होगा ये  रंजोगम  का  आलम ?

झूठा  हि  सही ,
दिलासा  तो  देदे ,
कि  लोटकर  आएगी  बहार ,
जिसके  लिए  सदियोंसे  भी ,
पहले  से  बैठे  हैं ,
दामन  फ्हलाये ... मिन्नतें  किये।"

 

  

The Red Saree

I swept and mopped,
My face; The floor.

Searched for the concealer
for the sleepless nights.
Mirror stared at me-
I recalled the day,
Crow landed on my face.
Rivulets on my cheek,
Found way to my sagging breasts
splitting into a million capillaries.

I wore a tight bra,
To smoothen my stretched organ.
Draped the Red Saree
over the golden blouse.
Knew it'd arouse.

Tugged the saree
Below the navel.
Noticed the thorns,
curling all around.
Pulled the costume,
an inch or two.

The bird chirped;
I opened the door.
Saw a girl in red,
her hand around,
a familiar neck.

This man I shared bed with,
for thirty odd years,
had found another red saree.

The Hunter

Every Yachtsman sets sail,
Over Atlantic's massive belly,
Keeps an eye on Sun's trail,
Wacthing out for the elusive bully.
But the moonless nights prophesize-
'The mast shall rattle and hull shudder,'
For he comes with deceptive ease,
To creak the doors and bend the rudder.
Human legs no match to his,
His curse- Hard to Escape,
Not a fire breather or Loch Ness,
A giant hunter without a shape.

Glittering skin and blue-green eyes,
A question to where your future lies!

Song of Solitude

A dark room in the House,

with doors and windows shut,

letting no light inside,

confined from the rest,

unfaced to the outside,

with no trace of life

sits a little figure by the cage.

Bundle of cloth she is,

wrapped and dumped in the corner,

her only companion- The parrot caged!

Never she talks... she moves never,

stares at the picture.

Could be her lover or son

who abandoned her half-way through.

Take a closer look at her face

so pale and bleek,

there is a tiny tear drop

on her poor wrinkled cheek.

She recalls the days,

Oh! so joyful and mellow.

Her heart saddens at the thought of

years spent alone.

Her strength fails, her will falls,

She stretched out her arms skyward,

trying to grab something from heaven above.

Momently there is a heavy breath taken,

and silence creeps in.

Wind comes in from the cremation grounds

and leaves through the door.

Alas! There are traces of life no more...

Peril..... of the Heart

History of painting... Me as a painter dates back to the mid 80's ....That's when I was born. I wouldn't be bold enough to say that I was born with a painting brush in my mouth but I guess I did have a liking towards it.

My parents were most encouraging and silently promoted my passion in the art. Father got me a new set of colours and brushes which I still hold dear. I have all the poster colours I used then and definitely have all the brushes, though most of them now look like old, broken bodies who have been through all the wear and tear and seen many a seasons...

I have decided to show off a few of the paintings and would love to know what the whole world thinks of them.....

I wouldn't say that this is my original... I have a slight memory of having seen it somewhere but the faceless pain of the woman never left me...
To note that I paint on waste paper and this painting has been made on waste card board...

The hi-fi Joker

My class began and all were seated. The professor had started chanting the mantras which I presume she had learnt through years of teaching the students only upgrading the informative content to a certain extent catering to the nature, gender, style, fashion and age of the student group.

There was Christine sitting behind me and I was concentrating to understand the new topic unveiled by the professor. It was fun to understand that "marketing" had a slight hint of "psychology". The buyers and sellers, the consumers and customers were segragated into various types based upon the jingle in their pockets and their need. Need and satisfaction went hand in hand where the gap was tried to be filled by the sellers. The lecture diverted towards the topic of cars and what kind of a car is liked by which kind of people.

Suddenly at the door I saw a rainbow appear... well atleast the person had wored every colour in the rainbow. A complete retro looking guy. He was atheletically built and wore khaki shorts and stripped shirt with red-coloured square glasses fixed on his nose. He was confident or shameless enough to note ask permission from the professor who was flowing in her own stroy telling spirit and I was wondering if such kind of behaviour was acceptable from a student. He might have been a professional, proficient in his respective field but wasn't the professor deserving a polite permission seeking routine?? Hmmm... my thought was suddenly interupted by the retro guy who was asked by the professor if he could name a toyota vehicle and all he could do was give a smile, look at everyone around him and said tht he has never come across any vehicle brand of that name. My imagination took flight and I hit him on his head... Christine knocked my elbow off the bench and I was back on planet Earth! Suddenly it occured to me that certain people assigned certain things to status quo and it didnt take me much time to figure out that toyota was completely a different status desire. His might have been a Merc. I could vividly imagine him driving a black Merc and stepping out of it ignoring all the other low-lying vehicle which were completely below him.

I was pulled out of my dreamland by the professor who very politely and charmingly asked the  retro idiot to give an example of drinking bottled water. He again did his usual expression only by now everyone in the room understood it as an idiot's attempt to shine. The kind of time he took for the reply, the professor looked at him and very plesantly said...." May be you haven't heard of it either! Life must be really tough!" We all giggled like silly little girls and went back to the notes.