Just My Thoughts

Last (name) but not the least?

2012-01-12T21:44:00.000-08:00

http://ibnlive.in.com/news/not-many-moved-by-the-plight-of-dalit-woman/219969-3.html

I was darkly amused at the irony of this Smitha 'Nair', (Iyers, Reddys, or Pillais for that matter) reporting so sanctimoniously about heinous crimes meted out against a Dalit woman in Maharashtra.

While the reporter's good job is certainly commendable, what makes one wonder is, when you can't shed your own caste titles, you innately feel proud about your so-called higher castes, what's the point in fighting against crimes based on casteism?

A caste abolished society is what we must be aiming at, reservations are only a path towards that. It is one thing mentioning your caste on paper and getting the benefits of goverment allotted reservations; appending it to your name and flaunting it about is another.

The media which brings such news to the public can atleast make sure their reporters say only their first names. It adds a heavy dose of sarcasm to the whole thing.

The Hindu : Opinion / Lead : I'd rather not be Anna

2011-08-23T00:11:00.000-07:00

The Hindu : Opinion / Lead : I'd rather not be Anna

A Night of Fireworks!

2010-11-30T05:21:00.001-08:00

Disclaimer: Those who have read Harry Potter and fancy the Snape-Hermione pair can appreciate (or throw stones at) this better! Others please bear with this mushy love story. :) And also, I don't own any of these characters, nor do I claim to make any money out of this writing. The characters and credid all belong to J.K. Rowling.

Snape was standing alone in the astronomy tower. It was the graduation day of class 1997 batch, or more popularly known as Harry Potter’s batch.

The celebration was running late into the night. The Hogwarts grounds were lit up with the euphoria of the young witches and wizards more than the spectacular fireworks that were currently going on.

It was actually happening three months later than usual, owing to the most significant breakthrough in the wizarding history brought about by Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix - Voldemort with all his horcruxes and death eaters eradicated from the universe.

Harry certainly proved his worth to Snape after all – Snape reminisced over the boy’s courage and true Gryffindor spirit, which Snape had always thought Dumbledore had overrated. He also remembered how Harry rushed to his help once it became discernible that Snape was not on Voldemort’s side but had been, just like Harry, Dumbledore’s man, through and through. Truly, it was a time of incredible changes happening all over.

“Oi Harry! watch out” – Ron’s voice was heard as his mischievous sister… whatzer name..ah Ginny had tried to tie a sparkler to Harry’s robes. Snape gave a huge sigh. He was unconsciously jealous of the strong bond of friendship between Harry and Ron, and of course Hermione. He especially admired Ron for his unflinching loyalty towards Harry, and wondered how he put up with his friend’s glory and nobly took sidelines, despite doing everything in his power for him. He wished if only he had had his taste of pure friendship, his life would have been drastically different. But he never had any real friends.

However it was not the “Conqueror” (as Harry was called these days!) or his best mate who was on the forefront of his mind, now… He was thinking about something else. Something that he greatly feared – an unwanted, despicable emotion that was surfacing in his mind. Snape suspected this was Dumbledore’s doing. He did not know how, but he felt sure that when Dumbledore died, he had transplanted that secret power in his heart – the only aspect on which Snape had always disagreed with him.

Snape had never felt more uneasy or alone in this world, not since his mother died. He had resolutely turned his back on that particular emotion, determined never to be hurt by that sentiment since his school days when he had craved it with all his heart and could find no hope of getting it. His extreme grief and bitterness towards love and life was what that drove him to the dark arts. Even after his realization that he had been very wrong and came over to Dumbledore’s side, he had never fully comprehended his mentor’s views on this particular subject.

But now, it was she – the cleverest and bravest witch in Hogwarts, younger to him by a score of years, one who had intrigued him almost as much as the dark lord, who was wringing out of him something he never would have admitted, he possessed.

They had both been there, fighting the death eaters. She led the DA members in the absence of Harry and was an indispensable part of the Order. She was the one who discovered Snape’s secret about following Dumbledore’s orders and revealed it to the public. She was the one who remained by his side in the wilderness where the bloody war was waged; she healed his wounds and took care of him until he was ready to apparate with her back to Hogwarts.

Everyday she visited him in the hospital wing and stayed quietly by his side, seeing to his needs, while he pretended to be asleep. Snape was greatly puzzled, - what was this girl, best friend of Potter and Weasley doing here with me?

When he was finally cured to health and was ready to leave the hospital wing, he briefly thanked her for her care but dared not ask her why she had apparently spent all her time nursing her old, not to mention her least favorite professor while all her friends were busy studying for their NEWTs. But nevertheless, he was touched more deeply than he wanted to acknowledge.

But what would the lack of last minute studying cost such a genius as she is? Snape thought with a smile. She had topped all subjects with more than 200 percent in each. She was a student worth having. Just a student? – No Severus! Check that emotion!

Snape remembered how he had once made her cry in class by calling her an “insufferable know-it-all”. It had irritated him that not one Slytherin student could outshine Hermione in class. She was a brilliant potion maker. Again, he was ashamed to think that he had never given her due recognition in class. But then, she was annoying – challenging his every difficult potion lesson. He used to plan lessons with her alone in mind. “Let’s see if Miss. Perfect can make it this time!”. And yet, it was his own potions book that had led to her downfall, crediting Harry last year.

And she was such a darling among all the staff members. She was always the object of praise after every test and examination. Flitwick, McGonagall, and Sprout would sing her praises – not only about her academics, but her sharp intellect, her wit, her tremendous maturity and dignity for her age, her eagerness to help others, - oh my Severus, you certainly remember a lot for someone who has pretended to turn a deaf ear to all those talks!

Yes, he would just carelessly nod his head even when they appealed to him for approval. He certainly could not explain why he had never joined them in their praises. He had always been a loner at Hogwarts. He was preoccupied with the perils which he knew he would have to face one day or the other. He had but little care for most other things. But then there is something called ‘the subconscious mind’ – that which works in the most mysterious ways – as Snape’s had been working.

“I don’t remember asking you to show off Miss. Granger” – that was all he could say to her when he caught her helping Neville. – he felt a twinge of guilt again.

She would be gone tomorrow… to her muggle world. Then probably she might return to qualify as an Auror, or Healer …she was qualified for anything. She would hang around with her friends. Probably marry one of the Weasleys, and he Snape would mean nothing to her. All her caring for him these past days were just out of her sympathy towards him.

A sharp pain cut through his heart like a knife. Dumbledore’s words rang in his ears, “You have a heart, Severus. A most noble one… and it is certainly capable of love - a most powerful love. What it needs is an equally noble and loving heart to see through the rough exterior.” “I shall never ever yield to such a fateful temptation, sir. Much as I respect your views on it, I can happily do without it, thanks”. Dumbledore just smiled and said no more.

Hermione was now dancing with Ron. Harry and Ginny pointed at them and laughed over something. Flustered, Hermione immediately stopped dancing and left the dance floor, leaving Ron to take over Luna.

Snape followed her with his eyes. What was she up to? Surely she is a mystery. Wonder who she’ll date. I doubt there is one boy in her class or above who could equal her.

He wished she was with him now… He wanted to hold her in her arms; to talk to her pleasantly (though he had no idea how to, having never praticed it!) and just - just tell her… how good a student she was; and how much he would miss her… (in class of course!).

With a sudden jolt, Snape shook his head. ‘No this will not do…’I need to be away from this place. I shall never succumb to such a great folly’. He covered his face with his hands and suppressed a mammoth sob, when he heard a soft voice behind him – “Professor…”

Snape turned around sharply and saw her. Silhouetted against the starry sky, she stood radiantly.

“Miss. Granger…you…alone here” – Snape was completely startled by her sudden appearance and words failed him.

“Professor, what was this folly you were muttering about…?” - there was a mischievous glint in her eyes, that reminded him of Dumbledore.

“Nothing…” was the curt reply. “Why are you not down there – celebrating? What brings you to this old Potions Master at this odd hour”, he added. In the few moments that passed he had managed to gather himself up.

“Well, that’s what I came here for - to celebrate!” She came closer to him. He drew his breath and inhaled her sweet perfume.

“What do you mean?” – his heart missed a beat.

“Surely professor, you must know what I mean, or you would have most cruelly insulted me for all my doings these days.” She came closer and looked up at his face. Her eyes were glistening… She held out her hand and took his arm. She pushed back his sleeve attempting to see how better his wounds had healed.

The casual touch was all that took to crush Snape’s resolve. He grabbed her hand and held it halfway towards his heart. His face was in immense pain as he spoke hoarsely,

“Miss Granger, why do you torture me this way? You do not know what you are doing. Please leave.” He abruptly dropped her arm and his face turned stony again, as he turned his back to her and leaned on the parapet.

Hermione waited a few moments for him to calm down and touched him oh so gently on his shoulder. “On the other hand, I know exactly what I am doing. It’s you who do not know how much you mean to me. It’s been a long time since I have realized that you are the only man I can ever love. I could not help falling for you ever since I came to know of your true character, despite that perplexing enigma you are to the world. Oh, Severus, I love you, and you have no idea how much I want you. I crave to give you all the love you have missed. I only hope I deserve that great privilege. I ask nothing from you but a bit of your true heart. You never need to feign affection for me. You can be yourself and just let me love you all my life.”

Snape was dumbfounded… No, he must be imagining all of this; it can’t be true. His mind was in a whirl; the stony mask of his face was slowly fading out.

Hermione waited, and watched. She saw enough to assure her of her success. She just stood there looking at him.

Snape looked up and saw that she was both smiling and crying. The clever girl had certainly not required Legilimency to read his mind. She just knew!

Snape found himself clearly defeated. Here was a woman he would love to give in, to die for. She was a class of her own, not empty-headed and naïve. She promised him a whole new world of love and happiness; a delightful intellectual companionship; nothing to say about the loveliness of her womanly charm. His heart swelled with pride and emotion. She loved him! she wanted him!

He found himself wanting to have her; to love her, to adore her, to be with her the rest of his life.

He did not know for how long they were looking at each other that way... At last Severus held out his arms, not a second before she threw herself into his open arms and held up her face to him as he kissed her; first gently on her forehead, then her eyes, and as she impatiently stood on her toes, her wet lips.

Severus could not believe this happening; he could not trust his own luck! the woman of his dreams - not that he had ever dreamed of her, but she was undoubtedly the one for him, who suited him perfectly in every way he could think of, and more!

He held her closer and stroked her bushy hair; then holding her at arm’s length he said:

“My dear insufferable know-it-all – they may call Potter “the conqueror” but for me you’ll always be ‘the angel who conquered this devil’”

Hermione laughed and kissed his nose, “yes! the most handsome hook-nosed devil!”

“Handsome? Me? I know what the students call me – the greasy git – right?”

“Pardon them… they don’t have my eyes, or allow me to say - my exceptional ingenuity to see what you really are!”

“Very true my dear” – Snape charmed her with one of his most bewitching rarest smiles.

Hermione snuggled up against his chest and closed her eyes… determined to make the moment last as much as it could.

The air was once again bright with fireworks…

Snape looked above and offered a salute to Dumbledore.

The best medicine!

2010-07-14T23:39:00.000-07:00

All the wrath I carefully grew,

every irate word that I honed;

over hours of fretting and fuming,

anticipating sweet revenge...

blow up in a puff of empty fumes,

at that astute little taunt of yours;

I end up admiring your witty tongue,

laugh at myself; refuse to be stung!

oh, how I hate myself for this...

I wish I had no taste for humor;

it makes me lose my armor of honor!

I am falling...

2010-06-28T00:03:00.001-07:00

I am falling, falling, falling down, swaying my hands for help in vain.

I know that I have my own buoyancy, the only force that could lift me up, higher above than I could have ever imagined. Yet, I am clueless why I hesitate to use it. May be I am lazy, may be this is easy, yielding myself to gravity. I have been told I can’t fly. I have been told I ought not to rise. And those words are tied like an invisible stone round my neck.

So here I am, vainly seeking those hands, those whose touch I have relished in the past, of those whose only shadows remain at last.

My grey cells, fogged with some pinkish hue, they have happily stopped functioning for a long time now.

Thus remain I in a false bliss, falling, falling, into a great abyss.

I am falling...

2010-06-28T00:03:00.000-07:00

I am falling, falling, falling down, swaying my hands for help in vain.

So here I am, vainly seeking those hands, those whose touch I have relished in the past, of those whose only shadows remain at last.

My grey cells, fogged with some pinkish hue, they have happily stopped functioning for a long time now.

Thus remain I in a false bliss, falling, falling, into a great abyss.

Singles

2010-02-16T23:16:00.000-08:00

You start with wondering about them
You begin pitying them
You tend to stay away from them
You end up envying them like mad

Windows

2010-02-06T10:42:00.000-08:00

There are all types of windows

Curtained ones that let you peep;
but mostly shut with secrets deep.
Sly windows that reflect your face;
but never reveal what’s inside their case.
Painted ones with many a color;
So you admire the façade, and care no further.
Secret windows that you know not are there;
but watch you always, from like, nowhere.
Quiet, dark windows that intrigue a lot;
draw you close and alas! you’re lost.

it’s really a lifetime’s worth of a chore;
to find the pair that’s perfect and more.
that which opens for you at a glance;
yet, that puts you not in a trance.
which makes you never want to look away;
but shows you everything near and away.

Mother – by Maxim Gorky

2009-12-03T01:50:00.000-08:00

Got to know and love Gorky’s mother. Yes, that’s how I can put the experience of reading about her. The best thing about this classic is that it is told in the views of a simple and endearing village old woman. Yes, she is simple, yet she attains as much greatness as a human soul could possible do.

She does not rise as a heroine overnight, nor are there any incredible twists and turns that enable her transformation. Yet this gripping tale of a woman who is already past her times, regains a new lease of life through her comrades.

Sowing the motherly love she has for her own son, she reaps a much greater love with which she embodies the entire world. In her own words, she marvels at the vastness of her own heart.

The Mother, set in the revolutionary period of Russia, is the story of Pelagueya Nilovna, the mother of Pavel Vlaslov, a great revolutionary.

The mother is a poor widow of a factory worker. She has had a terribly hard life with her beastly drunkard of a husband, knowing nothing but beatings and constant terror of being beaten up. After his father’s death, Pavel also becomes a worker at the factory run by the rich and creamy of the society. The wealthy industrialists feed on the sweat of the peasants and factory workers. The country is under the czar’s monarchy, the authorities ruthless, and the people in undue misery.

The mother gradually observes that her son is very different from what her husband or other factory workers have been. She finds him reading in all his free hours and one day he brings home a group of strange people from the city, amidst whom there is also a young woman.

The mother very slowly comprehends that these "young children" are revolutionaries actively working for a movement through which they hope to create a whole new world.
A world as it should be! clean and beautiful, a world that has "everything for all, and all for everything". A world that worships work, and makes it obligatory for every living person. A world that is strange to evil, thievery, greed, and misery.

She first merely considers them as precocious children engrossed in a new play. She then involves herself into it, more out of her love for her son and his friends, than anything. But slowly she understands, appreciates, and voluntarily gives herself to the cause. She stimulates the rest of the mothers and fathers to be with their children, to help them in their journey of seeking truth; to be proud of their own sons and daughters who are willing to be tortured themselves so they can to free the spirit of the entire human race.

It’s a tale that moves you to tears, yet makes you laugh with the same childlike fervor that she feels.
It’s the tale of a mother whose pure love for her son makes her take the same rough path as his, so far only dared by dashing young men and women.
It’s a tale of hope and truth. It’s a tale that reminds you once again that the greatest things in life are always simple and humble, waiting only to be seen.

My Story – Kamala Das

2009-11-02T23:38:00.000-08:00

Recently after the demise of renowned author Kamala Das, I was tempted to read her much-talked-about autobiography "My Story"

Somehow I had a preconceived notion that it was a tale of melancholy and self-pity. The authoress proved me deadly wrong with her witty and quirky way of describing things; and the rebellious way she chose to live her life.

The book begins with her childhood experiences in Calcutta with her affluent and modern family, though she claims it being nothing more than middle-class.
She briefly gives us a picture of the racist treatments she and her brother had to endure in the British school, which openly preferred whites and degraded Indians and blacks, their society with a few English and Anglo-Indian neighbors and friends, and the anglicized cook who scorned at the children’s table manners.

After a few years, they move to Nalapat, her hometown in Kerala. The vivid and nostalgic descriptions of the ancient house, surrounding gardens, the stage plays she wrote and acted with her brother, her grand uncle who was a great scholar, aunts, grannies, household maids, get us hooked onto her story.

She also light-heartedly mentions her life in a convent that she briefly went to. The letters she used to write home from there used to be very demure and boring, much to the surprise and ridicule of her brother, who knew her better!

It’s a tale of an Indian girl, bold and educated, full of dreams with a no-nonsense attitude, who is brutally subjected to a medieval-age kind of arranged marriage in the tender age of fifteen, and the domestic worries and burdens that follow.
Very clever and much learned for her time, her views of life largely contrasted with the society she had to put up with. Therefore, things tended to become all the more difficult for her.

The authoress has the least intention of seeking pity or justification for some of her actions, and neither are those sentiments aroused in the reader.
However, it’s this incredible honesty of the authoress that has brought her both much acclaim and criticism.

I think this book might instill varied opinions, each time it is read, or when re-read after a long period. And that, I think, is the best aspect of a successful autobiography.

My StoryAutobiographyby Kamala DasRs. 100D C Books, Kottayam 686 001
(Available in Landmark, Chennai)

Ramblings of an uncanny mind

2009-06-27T02:24:00.000-07:00

I just can't define myself. If you ask what is my personality I don't have a clear answer. May be that is what I am. May be not. I don't even know if I am easily predictable or not.

One thing I can safely say about myself is that I am unstable. No, not in that dangerous way you think of. Just that I have volatile emotions, a few sublime qualities that are rarely seen, and a highly inflammable temper. That sounds like a chemistry lab, right? Well, chemicals are what all our emotions are made of, they say. And as long as the proportions do not greatly vary from the desired limits, you are normal. So actually, I am normal. But I can't deny that I am partially insane. But for that matter, who in the big wide world isn't?

If you are sane, you should probably stop reading this at this point. Oh! but you don't. So that means you are not as sane as you believe too! Join the club.

Sometimes, I think I am thinking too much about myself. Am I being so self-centered, selfish, egotistical, egoistical, and whatnot? oops! I am still thinking about myself. But if I had done that for a fair period of time, I should have found out who I am and what stuff I am made of. But I haven't got around finding out that so far. May be I am stupid, no I think I am definitely stupid. That's comforting to say the least. Atleast I am not eccentric.

Well, coming to the point (I know you are wondering if I really have one, well hold on please) what I mean to say is actually you should be glad if you are yet to know yourself. The fact that you surprise yourself at moments, that you feel emotions that you never know existed within you, you do stuff that you never knew you could, discover things that you never imagined you would, gives you a new lease of life, everytime. That's the way of life. Do not label yourself.

Give in, give in, give in like a leaf to the eternal breeze that's called life.

Of course, resist change; fight change; but at the end happily give in, with the knowledge that you fought with all your might. That the change was not inflicted upon you, but you allowed it consciously, albeit reluctantly. Trust me, it gives you an inexplicable satisfaction.

What you have to really fear is stagnation, it is delightfully comfortable, oh yes! but only if you look forward to bury your soul and rest your head there.

Good touch, Bad touch - Seminar May 10, 2009

2009-05-27T01:38:00.000-07:00

What started as a tiny spark emerged as a ground-breaking event, a first of its kind by Tamil bloggers:

A highly informative and useful seminar presented by renowned psychiatrists Dr. Rudhran, and Dr. Shalini, and was attended by an enthusiastic gathering of fellow bloggers and their families.

The seminar about "Child abuse and precations to prevent it", more widely known as the "Good touch bad touch" seminar was conducted on the premises of Kizhaku Pathipagam on May 10, 2009.

Dr. Shalini gave an eye-opening talk about the causes and psychology behind child abuse. She emphasized that people with low self-esteem seek such forbidden pleasures and as children are the most vulnerable part of the society, they make easy victims for such barbarians.

Mostly such persons try work in the vicinity of a large group of children and make themselves pleasing and charming to children. This way, they win over the confidence of the children, making them easy preys. Therefore, it is all the more harder to make out a child-abusing beast from a truly fond uncle. So, go by your instincts, or your child's.

Dr. Shalini also mentioned various anecdotes in which infliction of sexual abuse as a child leaves indelible marks on a person years later. An educated woman averse to marriage and sex was found to be abused as a child.An otherwise healthy man believed himself to be gay because of sexual abuse in his teens, by peers.

As for protecting little children from sexual abuse, Dr. Shalini listed out the following precationary measures:

1. Let the child know thoroughly the difference between its private and public parts. The parts which can be publicly touched are public parts. Those which cannot be publicly displayed or touched are private parts. The private parts can be touched only by the child's mother, or in some cases the child's granny. Not
even the dad!(A dad who had great maternal instincts was a little hurt by this,
to which Dr. Shalini said, it should be the mother's discretion to make allowances on this matter, as not all men are beasts, she added!)

2. Just like you teach the body parts and their function, let them learn the names of their genitals and their functions too.

Eyes - to see

Nose - to smell

Penis - to urinate.

Also, tell the child to notify you, should anyone try to touch their private part. Be careful not to overemphasize or overreact on the consequences. (This may become a ruse for naughty children to tell tales about people they dislike, Dr. Rudhran mentioned.)

3. Be discrete before your children, just as you would in front of your neighbors.

4. Handle tacky questions or information by telling them stories. Never overload them with direct information. It won't help and might bakfire with dire results. Stories with the information subtly imbibed in them will do the trick. For example, "...there bad dinosaur touched the good dinosaur's private part. The good dinosaur immediatly went to its mom and complained."

5. Do not plant unwanted non-sense into the child's head. If they ask you how they were born, never tell them stories about the flying stork. Rather, give them details but as appropriate as to the age of the child.

6. Do not encourage babyish talk for speaking about private parts, and normal activities such as passing urine or bowels. Use proper civilized terms for the same.

7. Most importantly spend as much time as possible with your children. There is no substitute to the unconditional love and support you give them. Your children must believe that they can confide anything in you. Practice positive talk. Say,"I will love you even more if you do..." instead of "I won't talk to you if you don't..."

8. It's not only little girls that are abused. Little boys should be adequately educated on this matter too.

9. Emphasizing on the pseudo-gay belief that many men have in our society, Dr. Shalini pointed out that, while we celebrate the puberty of girls with pomp and show, we hardly acknowledge that of boys. As a result, our men are sadly ignorant of their own sexual abilities. This brings a range of complications starting from unwanted curiosity, low self-esteem, and they fall victims to phoney sexual experts.We must make an effort to communicate with our male children on sexual issues and celebrate their puberty as well!

Dr. Rudhran who spoke next, invited questions from the audience, which was answered by both the doctors.
The interactive session further extended to topics such as sexual harrassment of women at workplace, and child prodigies. Few interesting points:

1. Unwarranted comments about a woman's looks and clothes to the extent of embarrassing her is also a form of sexual harrassment.

2. Child prodigies can grow up to be normal adults multi-faceted or not. There is no cause to worry about their extra-ordinary abilities.

3. You cannot create a multi-faceted personality in a child by forcing them to a lot of activities. Find what interests them most and help them towards that.

4. A young boy is least likely to be abused by his adult elder brother. No cause to worry. Nevertheless, the education of your child regarding private parts should help him against anybody, including his brother.

5. If you find a child initiating sexual abuse, it's an alarm for deep trouble. Either the child has been priorly subjected to abuse to the extent that it has started enjoying it, or it is mentally challenged. Such cases warrant immediate investigation and psychiatrical assistance.

Special thanks to Dr. Rudhran and Dr. Shalini who spared time in their busy schedule and shared their valuable knowledge on the subject.

Great many thanks to:

Mr. SK who took the initiative and contacted the experts and got their consent, Mr.Narsim, Mr.Luckylook and Mr.Adisha who worked tirelessly rounding up participants and publicizing the event, Kizhakku Pathipagam and Mr.Badri, who played the perfect hosts offering their own premises, refreshments, and mementoes for the guest speakers. Ramya presented the guest speakers with shawls.

Let's hope this is not the end but only the beginning of many more purposeful events in the future.

Information Courtesy:

Sandanamullai

Dondu Raghavan

In the eyes of God

2009-04-17T09:34:00.000-07:00

You two are destined to be born on the same day, same time, same geographic location. You'll be of the same gender too. Let's see what you make of this world.

The two lives took a place each in their mothers' wombs respectively, at the very same moment.

After a few weeks,
"Hey I hear jubilation and joy. My folks are really happy."
"hmm.. I don't think they have realized I am here, yet"

After some more days...
"oh, I wish she gets up and walks about a little...I would like some movement"
"She keeps rocking me all day.. I guess, she's climbing stairs up and down..."

After a couple of months...
"Why does she keep stuffing herself so much... Doesn't she know that from now on, all I'll do is put on fat?"
"Hey, do you sometimes get a tingling feeling in your stomach as though you'd like to eat a little more?"

A few more weeks...
"I haven't turned upside down yet. They are going to the doctor to find out what's the problem. "

"Well, I have. I can hear her panting and sighing. all day!" .

The d-day
"ooh.. Here I come straight out of the incision. So this is earth eh? Not bad, looks so clean, smells good, lot of white-clad women, laughing faces... oops.. gotta cry! waaaaaaaaaaaaaw!"

"Here I come amidst ear-splitting screams...
what is this place? dark and smelly, who is this dirty old woman holding me? why is my mom lying on the floor, on a mat? but yes I can see she is happy and smiling.. yes, I gotta cry too.. waaaaaaaaaaaaaw!"

Some years later...
"Arjun! put your head in. I am going to shut the window and switch on the AC. My god, it's so hot today... oh my, look at the time, it;s really getting late for your school. Are you ready for today's debate?"

The boy does as he is told and sits back in his car seat. What he just saw disturbs him a little bit, but he manages to shrugg it off. "Oh yes, mom.. Poverty in India. I have the coolest points summed up."
"Good boy," his mom strokes his head fondly and fixes her eyes onto the road.

"Raju...Don't just stand and stare...take these bricks up to the third floor. "

"Yes, mother..." Raju turns his eyes away from the speeding car and starts climbing up the stairs of that big construction site.

People wear make-up...

2009-03-24T06:50:00.000-07:00

People do not wear masks, just make-up.
Oh, how easier it would be, if they wore masks. You can wait for the right moment for them to fall off, or you can try and tear them off.
But no, all they wear is simple, carefully applied make-up.
So it's really complicated you see, you can't tell which feature is for real and which one isn't.
Are the lips truly red? are those eyelashes are for real?
Is the hair truly black? may be, may be not.
If you like what you see, you think everything is real, or convince yourself that even without the make-up the person would be beautiful.
If you are repelled by it, you are convinced that a real hag hides behind all the glitter.
Well, so to bring up a weather-beaten cliche, it's a tricky thing, human relationships.
As they say, there are no black or white in this world. Only shades of grey... besides numerous colors of course!
And remember, people wear make-up, not masks.

A Valentine's day message

2009-02-13T03:33:00.000-08:00

'You've got to give a little, take a little,and let your poor heart break a little.

That's the story of, that's the glory of love.

You've got to laugh a little, cry a little,until the clouds roll by a little.

That's the story of, that's the glory of love.

As long as there's the two of us,we've got the world and all it's charms.

And when the world is through with us,we've got each other's arms.

You've got to win a little, lose a little, yes, and always have the blues a little.

That's the story of, that's the glory of love.

Courtesy: Beaches (Film 1988)

A "memorable" experience

2008-12-29T08:51:00.001-08:00

Lost my mobile phone

Two weeks back, at a wedding reception, I handed it to my bawling little one in an attempt to pacify her. And apparently she dropped it somewhere. Initially I was so frustrated. The phone was already in a condemnable state and I was waiting to replace it, so no complaints there. But I had lost all my contacts! I wondered how I was going to cope.

With the advent of mobile phones, the practice of remembering telephone numbers is almost extinct. You don't need to, anymore. All you got to do is, press a single button to reach a contact.

But can you believe it, I just happened to remember most of the numbers that I constantly use!

Of course, there are certain people whose numbers I can possibly never forget. Joe, mom, dad, sister, best friends. But besides that, I happened to rememer a lot of important contacts. For example, the Electricity board, LPG booking, the butcher, pharmacy, and few other official contacts. I was amazed at my own memory!

Now, how was that possible? It's very simple, actually. I had often used the landline to dial these.

So, naturally, I had to dial every digit. Now if I had never done that, I could not have remembered even a single number.

But I still have a whole load of contacts missing. But I should be having their email IDs, I hope!
And I have a new phone with the same number. So no great damage done!

It's possible that you might also encounter the same case sometimes. So now and then, try to remember phone numbers in the good old way. Writing them down or taking a back up in someother phone is also fine. But there is nothing like the satisfaction you get when you dial a number out of your own memory and get it right!

And you know what, one of my friends was really impressed when I told her that I remembered her number though I had lost it. I was so proud and pleased!

Running Vs Playing

2008-12-10T01:36:00.000-08:00

I want to stop running, go back and play.

I am baffled by the rules, I can't keep to the tracks;

The prizes are tempting, but heavily priced;

I am not eager to win, yet I greatly fear to lose

Crowds cheer madly, runners cross me by, eyes on the winning line - which extends beyond the horizon;
laggers are losers, and are forever longers;

I want to stop running, go back and play

some come with roller skates, but many carry crutches.; it's a race most unfair but oh! who cares?
I want to stop running, go back and play
go back where there is still music to dance

A leaf from an old book...

2008-11-30T06:00:00.000-08:00

Thank God, the rains are over. As my friend Ramki put it, it's been raining lions and elephants in Chennai the past week. So much that there was no power for days, no newspapers, no milk, no vegetables in shops and it had been like being in another planet for a while.

But rainy days are always nostalgic. And nostalgia is almost synonymous to childhood memories, which you can't deny are surprisingly evergreen. You tend to forget what you did and where you were during the last monsoon. But you cannot forget the times you came home from school, drenched in rain to your heart's content, or the little paper boats you sailed in water puddles when you parents were not around.

I especially remember one day when I was in class four. It was raining heavily since morning and the streets were flooded. After school, I was waiting for our rickshaw man to come and pick me up. But who turned up instead was my dad with an umbrella! On one hand, I was pleasantly surprised. On the other, I was a little apprehensive because besides that I had an innate fear for my dad (just like several kids of my generation), he never allowed us to get wet in the rain and got furious if he saw me waddling in puddles, which I was then hoping to do, if the rickshaw man did not turn up.

I quietly started walking with him holding my hand. There came the street round the corner, filled with rain water. I was sure my father would turn back and try taking another route or an auto- rickshaw. My dad looked down at me with a mischevous smile. "Thanniyile jal jal nu polaamaa?" (shall we tread happily through this water?) I was overjoyed. I couldn't believe it at all. I hastily agreed with a big grin on my face, before he could change his mind. I can never forget the way I waddled through the flooded streets to my heart's content, alongside my father that day. Long after I came home, washed myself and changed to dry clothes, the feel of the water lingered around my legs. And that daddy appreciated my childish desire to play in the water and let me indulge in it for once, was absolutely heart-warming.

I hope I'll remember this little deed of my dad which made me so happy that day, whenever I tend to make rules for my child, for her own good.

Playing To Your Strengths Pays Off

2008-11-09T01:17:00.000-08:00

It’s good to make plans, but sticking to them no matter what, is not. As Winston Churchill said, “There is nothing wrong with change, if it is in the right direction.” And that was how I faced the most pressing hurdle that I ever faced in my life - Unemployment.

It was the year following my graduation. I had a bachelor degree in Civil Engineering. Though I was a good student and had scored well, there was a major problem. It was a time when the construction business was pretty down in my country and job opportunities for fresh graduates in Civil Engineering were almost zero.

I kept looking at the “Wanted” columns in news papers. I sat for various competitive examinations. I even walked-in to interviews that had specifically asked for people with experience, assuming I could win them over with my academic qualification. None of my efforts bore fruit.

Finally I was offered a contract job with a polytechnic college that offered diplomas for various branches of Engineering. As I loved teaching, I gladly accepted the job, though the pay was low. It was fun and I loved the work. But again, my troubles were not over.

The contract staff had to keep a log of the hours worked, get it authorized by the head of their department, and then claim the amount from the office. This process usually took about a weeks’ time. However, several months went without payment. We were told that funds were insufficient and aid from the government was expected. Also, we were assured every penny of our claim, even though delayed.

It was frustrating to work for months together without getting a penny. Also, I was commuting a long distance on bus and it was tiring; I quit the job. Most of my friends were employed by then. It was painful to listen to them talk about their funny bosses, friendly colleagues, and altogether what a jolly or hectic time they had at work. None of them meant to hurt me, but they did, all the same.

It was then that I had started browsing the Internet, and there was this Internet Cafe that I frequented. The guy who owned the place was my friend and he always had an ear for my cribbing about how difficult it was to get a job for my qualification.

One day we were talking about the boom of Information Technology and the spurt of IT companies in our country. That’s when he suddenly said, “Deepa, I have no doubt that you’ll be a very successful woman in the future. But it looks like you have taken the wrong road.”

It took only a minute for me to ponder. The words from a friend, who had confidence in you, were absolutely rejuvenating. I thanked him and headed straight for the nearest computer training centre. I enrolled myself for courses in various computer languages hoping to become a computer programmer or software engineer.

I soon found out that programming was not my cup of tea. I also saw that it was not the only profession in the IT field. There was a special niche for something I loved and was good at.
People with a fair amount of computer knowledge plus good writing skills were sought after for Technical Writing. This profession also required that one has to grasp things quickly and have the ability to elucidate the most complex topics in an easily understandable manner. The job was not as well-paid as programming, but it got me hooked.

I knew instinctively that this was what I was looking after. If at all there was a job in which I could play to my strengths, it was this. I loved teaching, and the job is all about putting things simple for people who want to learn. I then had the necessary computer knowledge – thanks to the courses I had taken. I loved writing and the job required extensive writing.

So, to make a long story short, I became a technical writer and have successfully completed seven years in the profession.

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--I took the one less traveled by,And that has made all the difference.”
- Robert Frost

Choosing books for children

2008-10-30T09:00:00.001-07:00

Anybody who was born in the seventies and eighties would surely remember the big poster size books filled with colorful pictures and delightful stories sold at extremely low prices. Available in English as well as local languages, they were a major hit with schools. We used to get those books every year for various prizes we got at school.

Yes, I am talking about the books published and distributed by Soviet publications. I still cherish several old copies of them. In fact, those books were so kid-friendly that I started reading at the age of four.

Ok, now today if I were to buy books for my daughter, what would be on my priority list?
Well, well, I who hate planning and making lists, relished doing this one!
(Now, this is only for English books. For Tamil books, a post will soon come on my Tamil blog!)

From age 5 to 7
Picture books, Fairy tales, Animal fables
Of course, Enid Blyton books - But I would use my judgement to select her books. Some books are really prejudiced. The following would surely make a great read.

7 to 10
The adventures of Mr. Pink Whistle
Mr. Meddle's Mischiefs
The Enchanted wood
The folk of the faraway tree
After 10
The Naughtiest Girl - school series
Malory Towers - school series
Circus series
The Adventurous Four series
Famous Five series

That should be enough of sweets! Now for some real classics, I would like her to read:
Uncle Tom's cabin
Great Expectations
Oliver Twist
Adventures of Tom Sawyer
Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
Little Women
Little Men
Last, but not the least, Harry Potter!

That's it! from this point onwards, (or probably earlier) she should be able to make her own choices, and most likely rebuff mine!
I hope my little girl loves to read, but it's alright if she is not really an extensive reader, as long as she develops a taste for good books, and most importantly shuns trash. Right? :-)

Paradise Rented Out...

2008-10-17T21:10:00.000-07:00

She discovers the first sprout of life within her body. She does all she can to protect it. She eats and sleeps so that it grows healthy. She takes medicines and essential nutrients. She gets pampered and examined with care, all for the life growing within her.

She carries it and nourishes it with her own blood. She experiences the first ever movement of the life within her womb. She undergoes the pain and agony of labor. She puts her own life in stake and brings a new life to the earth. She gives the little one its first feed after birth.

Yet, it is not hers to claim; and never shall it be. She must hold complete indifference over the child and maintain the secret of its birth. The new-born is but a product of her business agreement.

Why? The egg is not hers; the sperm is not her lover's. She gets injected with both (or may be just the latter, in some cases.) She has rented her womb out for money - of which she is so much in need.

On the other hand, the couple who gave away the egg, the sperm, and probably a great deal of money are the rightful owners of the baby - yes, LEGALLY!

In most cases, I pity both the women. Yes, the latter deserves considerably pity too, if not as much as the former. I can very well understand the plight of a woman who realizes that she can never carry her own child in her womb. It is but a singular grief. She is therefore tempted to the alternative that the advanced medical science offers - to use a surrogate mother. After all the surrogate mother would be only a carrier. The child would have the life and blood of herself and her husband.

But, is it really worth it to put another woman's life in stake for your delight. And will it be a rightful joy, really? Can you hide the fact from the child that it was not you that bore it, but another woman, for your sake? It is certainly NOT like adoption, where the child was not borne for your own sake in the first place. It is a different thing altogether, and much more favorable.

Of course, it is difficult for anybody to give justice on this matter, because it involves two women who both deserve undue sympathy. However, renting out a mother's womb surely does not feel right to me.

A Novel Experience...

2008-10-09T06:12:00.000-07:00

http://mathavaraj.blogspot.com/2008/10/blog-post.html

Dreams

2008-09-23T07:37:00.000-07:00

I don’t know how many of us dream every night, remember them, too as if they were for real, wake up, drift off to sleep and continue the same dream? I came to know that a fellow blogger dreams in Technicolor. So do I. My dreams have never been monochrome. My dreams have been most often than not, action-packed, thrilling, enjoyable, and pleasant. I meet long-lost friends, find myself back in school or college, like we have just returned from a really long holidays. Such dreams repeat fairly a lot. And they are the pleasantest. But I do not miss the thread of the present. Actually it’s kind of funny as I find myself sitting in my old hostel room exchanging notes with my collegemates about our present day life too, like our marriage and children! But how we have bunked college for years, and now it’s suddenly our final semester exam and we have to cram up everything at the last minute!

All in all, my dreams are a platform where I relive my cherished past but try to incorporate my present onto it too. So I take assurance in the fact that I am not subconsciously obsessed with the former and discontented with the present.

Friends who visit my page are most welcome to share their dreams too. Would love to hear about them. When I say dreams, it’s the nutty chaotic kind we experience at night during sleep. As for the serious kind, mostly meaning “ambitions” I wish you all success that you realize every one of them.

UnFair & Ugly

2008-07-31T07:57:00.000-07:00

I've been meaning to write this for a long time. So what's this hype (and lots of it) about being fair - and beautiful and handsome? If this isn't an avid form of racism, what else is? I mean, it's natural for a person to want to look pleasant and avoid skin problems and all that. So I am all for marketing moisturizers and other skin nourishing products. But leave alone the invariable display of fair-skinned models, there is a blatant and insensitive propoganda against the dark hued skin. Dark skinned girl shunned by boys and vice versa. Dark people not confident in interviews, insulted by friends, so on and so forth. And it is done in the name of good intentions - "Don't worry if you are dark by birth! We can make you fair within weeks, within days, within hours!!!" To hell with them. This is really a passive apartheid that is going on. We should be ashamed to stand back and watch it happen. Why the hell should a person be ashamed of his skin tone and want to change it? We are all born the way we are destined to be. Who are these marketing giants to seed unwanted anxiety and complex in people's minds? Making religion out of fairness is absolutely unfair. But the society is to blame too. These corporates are just feeding on our long-resident affinity towards fair-skinned people. I say, haven't the Europeans left our land long ago? I donno how we can put a stop to this, and how many of us really want to!

2008-02-09T01:57:00.000-08:00

It...

In the heart of every town It stands,
swarming with crowds in mighty trance;
unperturbed by the cries and noise,
never ever raising its voice.

Men and women, rich and poor,
amass here with equal fervor;
yet it is not in Its power,
to bridge the gaps and make things better.

Little can I comprehend
the solace got from a deity;
surely there can be no form
nor gender to the almighty.

Call me not an atheist,
nor that I blaspheme;
it's just that I think it is best
to wake up from this dream.

Erase all the whimsy lines
that rip apart mankind;
It's time to shrug off old beliefs
and leave them far behind

Think of how much blood is shed
to nurture the sly old trees;
Their roots poison the whole of the earth,
it's time, it's time to cease!

If at all It exists true - and
wants us to know and praise it too,
it's not by praying, not by slaying
but living life each day anew!

2008-01-21T01:32:00.000-08:00

Bilkis Bano - Justice restored

Of late, I am often told not to read the newspaper, for it's full of horrendous stories.

Sigh, But when considering a woman ins the same condition who had to undergo such an unspeakable horror... I don't know what to think...seriously.

And today, I am glad that I did read the newsapaper, for I read about justice restored, though delayed, (six years later) And that baby she was carrying is safe; And that her husband was so supportive to her. She had another baby. Surely, life is a miracle by itself. And a healer of its own.
All helpless souls like us can only pray that such history does never repeat itself.
Insha Allah

Kalluri ... Review

2008-01-17T09:10:00.000-08:00

I am a great fan of Balaji sakthivel ever since I saw "Kaadhal" - one of my all-time favorites. He is one of the very very few directors who has got it in him (including tremendous guts) to take Tamil cinema to a different platform.

As far as I have seen, he is the only director who has made real success with realistic approach to films. Show life as it is, show the characters as they are, show emotions powerfully but with no melodrama, and there you are - a beautiful, hard hitting film. And that's what he does. And it's easier said than done. So hats off to him.

He has once more proven that a good entertainer of a film needs no stupid frills like hip-shaking dances (omigod - curse them), stupid punch dialogies, larger-than-life super heroes (let them all be banished to Antarctica) or double meaning comedy.The whole theater roared with laughter each time the annoying duo came up.. "ennanga, neenga sollunga... " :-))

What impressed me most was Kayalvizhi's character and the messages that the film speaks through her. Also, the plight of Muthu's sister was really touching. And the film, was so democratic. I mean, the friends were not just puppets revolving around Shobana and Muthu. Everyone had equal importance, including screen presence all were endearing in their own way.

And Joshua Sridhar's music - man, it's an amazing combo - balaji and Joshua. The song "Sariya... ithu thavara" rings around your ears for days after u see the movie. The song and music just blends through the characters and the situation and gives u the shivers!

All in all, a wonderful, must-watch, movie. Hoping we won't have to call such a movie "different" in the coming years. - I mean, more of such films should be made.

Learn to cry

2007-12-11T09:47:00.000-08:00

Learn to cry, my darling
Feel the pain as though it pierces your skin

Show your anger with violent kicks
Shudder at the injustice that prevails in to-be home

Let not the love and care I shower on you,
Make you dumb or your senses numb

Learn to get angry, my dear…
Feel the rage as though you are boiled alive

Cry your heart out for the butchery done on lives even as young as you are
Scream your lungs out for the incredible terror unleashed in the name of discrimination
Your first cry to this world means all this to me and more…

Once you’re born, I shall shelter you, care for you,
Try all my might that no pain touches you…
For I won’t then have the courage to speak thus to you…
But life is not so fair as to many other babies

I’ll tend you like a rose bud,
Treat you like a sweet-smelling herb,
But my innermost desire is that,
To see you as the firewood that sets ablaze
A whole load of muck and tripe

Books and Me

2007-12-07T02:43:00.000-08:00

It's common knowledge that a good book is a good friend, and avid readers need no convincing about the pleasures of reading.

However, I would like to share my own experiences with books, and how they have been filling up empty or languid moments in my life, whenever they manage to seep through.

I started reading at the age of five. I was lucky to have parents who cherished books, and had quite a good collection of children's story books, both in Tamil and English - ranging from the colorful mega-size Soviet books to old editions of Tamil children magazines, most of them, of course read and dog-eared by my eldersister and brother.

As a child, I often fell ill, and had to stay at home. That's when I was introducted to these treasures, and didn't I relish them!

Soon, I began looking forward to falling sick, so I would be allowed to stay in bed and read.

The thing is - I developed this habit of re-reading umpteen times the stories I liked. Those days. I used to practically live in the world of the stories I read and loved best. The best times in my childhood were the quiet afternoons (when I was not out, playing) I spent among a plethora of Misha, Ratnabala, Manipaapa, and Ambulimama. Ah, how I still long for those days! Hours after I finished reading, I would day-dream about the stories, insist on telling them out to others, often to the point of being irritating!

Rainy days and breezy afternoons always remind me of the lovely books I spent reading then. It's really difficult to say what was that I loved most - the weather, or those books?

When I read "Little Women", I imagined myself to be one of the sisters, and my favorite place in our verandah - Jo's garret! And any place my sister took me would become Sally Gardiner's party! Now what did I enjoy more? - those outings with my sister or the pretence that we were those "little women"? It's hard to say.

And Enid Blyton soon became my greatest addiction. She wrote about almost all things children can hardly resist. Picnics, lakes, woods, fairies, pixies, adventures, circus, fun at schools, and many many more, always sprinkled with mentions about delicious food! No wonder her books got me hooked real hard.

But such bliss gradually began to wane out as years passed by and I became a wee bit more practical. Of course, this could largely be due to the kind of books I choose to read now. You see, they are no longer filled with fairies, picnics, adventures, and beautiful descriptions of cozy houses, or picturesque landscapes.

But the habit of wallowing in what I read continues. That's why I tend to be careful about what I choose to read now. And that's why I stay away from sensational books or tabloids. Graphic descriptions of violence and other horrors haunt me more than anybody I know of.
So, while I want to be socially aware, and read newspapers and magazines, I take great caution not to indulge in the sensationalism of the media.

2007-11-26T22:34:00.000-08:00

Arrest Christy Danius

The next time I hear a parent being desperate about seeking an NRI husband for their daughter, I am going to strangle them to death.

I don't understand many things in life. One of the primary ones is this: "What makes people eternally greedy for money???"

That bloody monster who married Smalin Jenita was a software engineer working for Infosys in the US. No doubt he must make enough to live a luxurious life. Despite that, he has acquired a large dowry in marriage. What's that barbaric force that made him cruelly assault and harass his pregnant wife??? A well-educated man and all. An illiterate simple working man would shudder to do such a thing.

To hell with education, to hell with wealthy lifestyle, to hell with religions, to hell with the so-called civilization. It seems to me that the present day man is evolving into a species that apes and cavemen will be unduly ashamed of.

Yes, I am ashamed to be of the same species that that monster is. My blood is boiling and I feel like vomitting. If I ever meet such a person, I would want to rip his throat with my bare hands.

Kudos to the doctor Ismanullah who rendered timely care and saved the girl's life. (He is a Pakistani, not that it matters to me because I don't believe that Pakistanis are our enemies)

Be glad to hear that Jenita and her child are currently stable.Let's pray for her speedy recovery and the safe arrival of her baby.

Last but not the least, Infosys is said to be conducting an investigation. I strongly assert that the culprit should be fired immediately. What doubt could be there of his guilt? And the Indian government should take immediate steps to bring his family to India and ensure that justice is restored.

2007-10-25T22:46:00.000-07:00

Modi Won't Talk of Godhra, Walks Out Of Interview

http://www.countercurrents.org/thapar221007.htm

Reality Shows

2007-10-07T08:59:00.000-07:00

Happened to watch one of the so-called reality shows on a TV channel.
While the show was really good in uncovering brilliant talents from all over the region, it was unnerving in so many other things.

Never before had I seen something so obscenely unreal and uncouth. I mean, there is a limit to creating hype for gaining viewer's rating. How come people do not realize that it is downright unethical to show on-screen, a failed participant crying - that too repeatedly, on every premiere to the show.

Also, the ugly fights between the judges and participants (I just don't want to get into the argument if they are real or stage managed. If it's worthless to watch, it's no more to debate about, either)

What I am concerned about is, gone are the days when such scenes were carefully edited, and only the decent things telecasted. In these kind of shows, the trend is the opposite. They create an interest over the behind-the-stage activities. Participants back-biting over each other, judges slinging mud, and lots of crying... Ugh! It's disgusting. Wonder why people would want to see all that?

Let me relate to you a recent incident that has caused me ranting thus. My nephew, studying in kindergarten participated in a singing contest in his school. He came third, while his best friend came first. But he started crying (pretending actually) and asked my uncle to take his photo crying. When asked why, his prompt answer was, "That's how it's done on the TV shows".

2007-10-04T23:57:00.000-07:00

Read this!

Scandal in the Palace - Arundhati Roy

http://www.outlookindia.com/full.asp?fodname=20071001&fname=Sabharwal+(F)&sid=1&pn=1

2007-09-21T04:31:00.000-07:00

Just Two!?

It's really outrageous. Whenever there is an ugly fight between politicians for whatsoever reason, why on earth are innocent lives claimed? You always see that happen. Just a few months back three employees of "Dinakaran" daily were killed owing to the bitterness between two politicians of the same family. Now 2 passengers, a woman included has been burnt alive in a bus bound for Chennai from Bangalore.

But the co-party members and other peers of Karunanidhi expressing their concerns over the attack on his daughter's mansion, but not about this. Why? because they are just two votes? They are two nameless persons, and it's not even election time. So why bother?

My simple mind is unable to comprehend this: Who is to blame for their tragic ends?

God?
Fate?
That stupid mob that set fire to the bus? - They are justified, you know? because they had asked all the passengers to get down, and these two were apparently sleeping.

2007-09-09T00:48:00.000-07:00

Priyanka Bhotmange

She was a young girl of seventeen;

She was very good at academics;

She wanted to join the army;

She had doting parents and affectionate brothers;

Her family was educated, self-sufficient, and had self-esteem;

And that was the crime in this cursed land - for she was a Dalit...

I am not going to talk about it, but as September 29 draws nearer, as a whole year has rolled by after what happened... I just remember this:

"Priyanka will not be avenged as long as you have even one square inch on earth where a woman is held as the repository of male honour." - Annie Zaidi, Reporter, Frontline

Yes, that's the truth.. and truth could never be more bitter...

2007-06-16T04:28:00.000-07:00

Again… There is a spectre haunting the nation… no, unfortunately it’s not Communism. It’s the mania of Sivaji aka Rajni aka Superstar aka the most sinful and lavish production of a movie. (the highest budget movie ever produced in India – about Rs. 80 crore)

I say, isn’t it after all just a movie?

But the average Indian film-goer (let alone the avid and crazy fans) cannot simply be convinced of the fact that it’s just an ordinary masala movie or the actor is just an actor – to quote his own humble words. No they won’t listen even to him, when it comes to that!
They will drool and go teary-eyed over how humble the great man is! They rave over him, worship him like God, and anyone who tries to even raise a word against all this is termed cynical or even jealous!

The media obviously has no holds barred when it comes to anything that is high-budget, hi-fi, high-tech, and high-class! Right from the prestigious multinational news channels like CNN-IBN down to the vernacular channels, the media is determined to milk this hype for all its worth.

And director Shankar is always held up in a pedestal for he toils and makes mastermind scripts that aways have a so-called revolutionary message.

All that is fine, it’s of course the right and pleasure of the fun-loving youth to indulge in such hypes and feed their insatiable hunger for fun and fervor which the BOSS only adds to. But what irks me is the price that they pay for it. Yes, literally!

It is said that the film has earned more than what it spent on the movie, even before its release. And the numbers are out of the scope of the financial expertise of the common man, who is albeit ready to pay Rs. 1000 for two-and-half hours of sheer entertainment!
One of my friends rejoiced over the fact that he got his ticket cheap... just for Rs. 150!

I am just alarmed at the moral responsibility of these so-called great directors and the venerable production house that made this movie. They simply sit back and enjoy the people’s folly that includes everything from sticking “Vels” in their tongues, to performing “Paalabhishekam” to the actor’s cut-outs.

They ultimately have no intention of educating the poor fan who is so pathetically ignorant. Now while the actor makes no such claims and is fairly an honest person when it comes to his style and taste in making films, the director is much different.
He has claimed himself to be a noble artist dedicated to the art of film-making, while he is yet to make an honest attempt on a simple and healthy movie without spending a colossal fortune. Now, that’s hypocrisy at its worst.

We all speak how rotten the film industry is. We all sigh about how the other nations are in a very higher platform when it comes to movie making. What we do not realize is that the movie makers simply blame it on “us”. Yes, they justify their pathetic films saying you and I have such cheap tastes and they give only what we demand.
I say, haven’t good films ever prospered? Take for example Autograph, Mozhi, Pithamagan, Black, there are several more, I am sure, if you stop to think.

Well, it is said that movies are just for entertainment and one should not be so seriously looking for any morals or messages there.

But it is certainly a serious matter that such a powerful media that can grip the entire nation for months together – that which unifies most of the energetic youth, claims much of your time and money is nothing but a collage of colorful songs, hip-shaking dances, and the frivolous tale of a fictional hero.

It's ok to watch a film that's just funny, light-hearted, even uttely stupid with no serious theme to get through. It's like eating sugar, knowing it's just sugar.
But the so-called intellectual directors are like fraud doctors whose so-called medicine to reform the society might in fact turn out fatal.

2007-05-26T22:52:00.000-07:00

Letters...

There is this popular TV Ad for an equally popular phone network - very poetically created with beautiful cinematography. A bunch of kids in a village are playing with paper boats sailing them in puddles. What's so special about that? There is... the boats are made of unused Inland letter cards and Postal envelopes! The message conveyed is that people even in the remote rural areas do not need snail mail now, and that telephonic communication is extensively available - thanks to "their superior" network!
Yes, it's all very well and we can't deny the comfort we enjoy in today's fastpaced world. But nevertheless, I found it unnerving - the wasting away of those unused letter cards that so remind me of their happier and glorious days.

Remember them? The cute post cards your aunts and uncles used to send you at festivaltimes, the blue inland cards your grandparents used to write to you and your parents, and the greeting cards and thick envelopes you used to 'Plz Rush To" your hometown friends when you (or they) were away for college!

Where have they vanished now? I am sure, if you are a nutter like me, you'd have them all stacked in a giant-size plastic bag or gunny bag and kept safe in a loft or the top shelf of your closet.

But have you ever bothered to take down the lot and flick through the sheafs of the aging pages? I doubt there is a better way to liven up life and love! There is nothing more self-rejuvenating than seeing the loving messages inked by your loved ones' handwriting, especially FOR YOU! No bulk forwarded goodmorning SMSs or email messages were known then!
The present day's frostiness and langour will melt away like ice and you will feel an inexplicable glow of warmth and love that you will want to share with everyone around you!

What will you not give to go back to the summer holidays you spent ecstatically at your granny's village! But you can relive those evergreen memories when you read your granny's letter asking you to come and stay!

And just think, the bond of friendship is never sweeter than in your teens and preteens.
Today's teens are said to be a lucky lot. Parents see it as a status symbol that their kid caries a mobile to school.

But I honestly thing that millions of forwarded jokes, goodmorning SMSs, or interactive e-greetings cannot replace the warmth you used to feel when you "open with smile" a loving (or teasing) greeting card your best friend sent your way, in those good olden days!

I mean, writing was a major (if not the only) means of communication even just a decade back. That was before the Ambanis, Mittals, Nokia etc... saw it as their major responsibility to connect people!

I agree, one would be chucked off to a museum if they talk against the communication revolution we all have come to enjoy today! But yes, it's only communication and very effective that is. But where is the rejoicing connection?
It looks like no technology can equally satisfy business needs and emotional needs. It sure dips towards one side and you know better which!

So all-in-all, the e-Mail, palm-tops, Hand-helds, SMS are all faster but the snail was much more sweeter!

2007-03-19T11:08:00.000-07:00

Hmm.. It took so long for me to come back to my blog. I created this way back in November and just forgot all about it. Now when I come back, I was prompted to choose the new version (God knows how far I would appreciate it.. I was quite puzzled getting used to the old one, as it is.)

I wonder, why did I ever want to blog? I am a little apprehensive of sharing my thoughts/writing with others. I muddle my own mind enough with them, why bother others? Especially when most are not blessed with such superior mind power as mine. ;-)

So I just opened this to scribble something, vent my feelings and thoughts....and just to see if I can really make something out of it... Well, I don't have high hopes!

2006-11-09T06:28:00.000-08:00

Hi!

This is my new Blog.

Deepa