Bustle in a bus

The daily bus trip to office is a true blessing in disguise. Though it is a 10 min drive, everyday it a new experience, other than the pushing, rushing and crushing process. I am deliberately erasing the ticket passing procedure from end to end which requires the skilful tucking of the ticket and coins with two fingers.

Few days are extra special when I meet a long lost friend from school after 10 years and make up for the missed years in a 10 minute drive.

Some days are nostalgic when I smile to the child which recites a nursery rhyme to his mom and nudges the toddler sister in her lap to recite along. When I see the excitement in a child’s face when it sneaks into its lunch box to check the food that is been packed, I rewind back to the old hot pack owned during school days. Then is the nerdy chap with glasses whose twists at weird angles to see the time in my watch worried about being late, but turns red and looks away when I tell him the time, doesn’t realise I was just preventing a neck sprain.

The septuagenarian couple who board the bus with shaking hands and yet offer each other the only seat available are sure to mend all broken hearts. I am left wondering at a mother rushing to office balancing a kid and an oversize tote bag and still wading through the bus at ease. I am more shocked when I see her in the evening with an additional bag full of groceries and a tired mind planning the dinner meal. Kudos to the woman!!

Let me not forget the BPO men at the footboard, laptop bags slinging to the shoulder, i phones secure in their pockets which are already bulging because of the in numerous credit cards but are clinging to their dear.

The journey doesn’t always show me the brighter side. There are people with this lost look and remind to every second to alert them at their stop which I invariably forget busy watching another drama in bus. There are school children screaming at me when I break the miniature model of their science project in a hurry to get into the bus and are equally shocked when I mend it for them with the cutter and fewibond ready in my bag. (They gave a final stare that meant thank your stars for being an architect that carried a stationery supply handy, else you were dead.)

There are d days when the bus will break down as per written norms and I will have empty my wallet to the autowallah, what would have been my entire monthly bus allowance. Another unpleasant experience was the day when my new branded rimless glasses got crushed in the unexpected sudden break from the driver and I smashed my face right into the handle bar, I swore never ever to wear glasses during my bus travel.

In spite of all this, the 10 minute is most exciting moment I eagerly wait for everyday and at times wished I lived far from work. Tickets anyone?!?

The gift of tears

A cry of a just born baby brings joy to a whole family, the first cry being the signal of a new beginning, a life. But its a human instinct to suppress tears, failing many of us to realize the peace and magic that true tears can give.

As toddlers we are stuffed with chocolates, toys and goodies to not cry. Growing up we are advised to be strong hearted and not fuss over things with tears. In a way women are lucky as they have the  freedom to express their tears, probably  the only way many women emote.

But on the contrary there goes a saying-When you are holding back your tears, you are drowning your heart.
Every person experiences this magic of tears, which could either be on happy notes or fades away one's sadness,  the real smile that struggles through tears. It is a moment of relief, a moment of peace, a moment of silence, a moment of love, a moment of being, the moment of surrender, that magical moment of life.

I first came across this phrase during a conversation with a friend, which she said is a term to describe the moment you feel god in your prayers, when there is a sudden outburst involuntarily and people who experience this are blessed. It was then I realized that tears mean a lot more, they are words spoken by the eyes when our lips fail.

Memories relived can make one cry. When we relive that moment in past, recalling those exact words, that very smell, that touch, it can bring tears, entangling emotions with tears. Looking back on those laughters that can actually make us cry, aaah memories.

The magic created by music can move you to tears. The lonely nights spent with the company of music playing to your ears with earphones making every beat a beat of the heart, the moment you melt away, surrendering yourself with the rhythm, the lyrics and the soul of the song makes one forget the time and place. I have to  bow to all the musicians around the world and  those beautiful sounds of nature that make my life.

Books, I am so thankful that god made men who could express their thoughts through words. A book has a stronger impact  you because it doesn't restrict your thoughts and visualizations. Words expressed in the right way tear through you that a scene enacted in reality can't.  I have a very personal experience with this book "infinithoughts", initially called the "frozen thoughts". Every time I read it, I am moved to tears, I am yet to figure out whether it is because it hits me straight, or if it is because that I am happy I am me everytime I read it or simply because it full of energy.

It is such a irony that I am trying to express what gift of tears are to me and still justifying that they are what we experience when we are crippled in all other forms of expression. But there is always a good reason to shed tears otherwise too-

  கண்ணே உன் விழியால் பிரரகழுதால்
  கண்ணீரும் ஆனதம் ஆனந்தம்.

wah taj!!

In spite of being a hardcore Indian which I am and a student of architecture, it was only mid way through my course that i got to visit the Taj and experience the mystical magical moment, the moment.

Growing up in an era where tea brands to TV commercials portrayed Taj mahal much more than a world wonder, I failed to to realize the charm it carried and lived in. I dont remember if it was my indifference or ignorance that made me waste 20 fruitful years of my life..Errr

I couldn't help recalling the moment after the TV played songs from Mouna Raagam and Thandavam back to back, featuring the TAJ. Here goes the story.The college trip part of our curriculum in 2008 gave our batch two unforgettable experiences, the Taj hotel in Mumbai was bombed a couple of days after we had visited the place and had happily photographed ourselves right in front of it. We had chills when we saw the place being telecasted live for close to 24 hrs  the day of hostage.

The better half of the trip was more than a soother. We woke up to the chilly December morning in Delhi to be told by our coordinator that the D Day at Delhi has come and it was the Taj, amid confusions if to wear a black or a white, Oh yes the wardrobe decisions are never easy to make, I settled for a black, mentally I just wanted to standout at Taj and not realizing it was more than a backdrop any day.

After a good deal of bargain at the gates for a thread bangle and cleaning of camera lens, I followed the herd along the path that led to the memorial. I feel a chill run down even now as I recall that moment, the moment I got the glimpse of the marvel in front of me, the euphoric moment to be true. It was beyond the white marble, more than the intricacy, not even the symmetry or the architecture. It was Taj , completely, yes the whole is always greater than the sum of the parts, even if every part is a delight by itself.It made me go bi polar(discovered the word recently, didn't know it was that then), the moment where your vision goes hazy, mouth goes dry, hands numb, legs fail to move, the surrounding go mute but the mind is ecstatic. The moment I cant express through words, that just was understood by my heart more than my mind.

Every time after this transcendental awakening, whenever I see a painting or an image of the Taj, I cant help thinking how it makes me feel so small. A wonder made by man to represent the best of feeling s of mankind, that which makes you fall in love with it, again and again, endlessly.

Wah Taj!!
( I am sure a second trip to here will be better because,
Everything that happens once can never happen again. But everything that happens twice will surely happen a third time.-Paulo Coelho)

Summer vacations - to grow up Beta!!

Exams though a hyper tense situation of my student life, had its own share of exciting climax, no, not the bitter sweet results, the VACATIONS!! The days without timetables, the days of endless idleness, endless playing in the sun (little to worry about the tan) and of course endless fun.

The icing on the cake is the trip to pattis’ house, the annual journey. Having packed bags a month in advance, exchanging letters with cousins to coincide dates, booking tickets and busy purchasing all the city fancies to the grandparents and cousins, and endless dreams of the new games to be played and stories to be shared.

The journey would begin with mummy made packed food for the overnight train travel, fights over who is not going to carry that koolkeg (the fancy water container of the nineties) and over who gets to sit at the window seat on the train relishing the last years journey and waking up parents at the wake of every station to ask when do we get down.

Though tired at the final destination, the hugs from grandparents and the hi -fi s from cousins boost us for the next one month. Elaborate family lunches on plantain leaves had crossed legged on the floor, hiding behind the thinnai pillars during a game of hide and seek, WOW, such a relief from the matchbox flats we had spend the remaining eleven months of the year.

The trip would of course include visiting all the nearby temples, the annual fair, the giant wheel rides, and visit to dad’s primary school. The annual Tamil classes from grandpa and of course the brushing of the local vocabulary. The bruises from the attempt to mimic the fellow who just brought down those tender coconuts from the palm that surrounds all round the place is  not the only un erased mark that I carry to the present day.

The visit to the family farms would enhance the knowledge on agriculture and water cycle (now the farm vile on Facebook does it. Do farms really exist?) Animals reared by the grandparents varied from the inevitable cow named Lakshmi, the solo hen that sat on its eggs saving them from the eyes of tiger-the stray dog, then a part of every family.

Nights would be a commotion with the entire pack retiring to the single large hall with huge windows, children running with mats and pillow on deciding who gets to sleep close to grandma who will continue on the bed time story of Mahabharata. The eldest cousin would be hisiing to another younger pack, a story of the ghost that walks past the window at midnight, another die hard narration of every family vacation.

The elders had their own fun of not having to pack lunch boxes at 8:00 am, not running to shops at midnights to buy world maps and graph sheets. They were content with the habitual flipping through the remnants of their school diaries, college albums and cherished yellow wedding cards, narrating their share of anecdotes and visiting their long lost friends and ailing teachers.

Having updated on the yearly events for a month and enough of gossips and stories to chew for another eleven months, the packs starts moving back to the cities having updated the latest address and  std phone numbers, making a silent promise to write every month and call up on occasions. With heavy hearts and of course heavy bags- for now they are stuffed with  the annual rations - from  rice and pulses, vathals and vadams , podis and pickles and loads and loads of love and memories.

As I was recalling one of those vacations from the letters from my granddad, preserved in my old school almanac, I was stirred by the nonstop shriek from my 6 year old neighbour. He was sobbing inconsolably that he was not willing to visit his pattis house for the vacation and that he hates her, what??Wait... And above all it is because the poor old lady doesn’t own an air conditioner!!

A child HATES his grandparents because they don’t own an AC?? Before I could recover from the shock of what a consumer culture and comfort zone can do to a 6 year old, the boy’s dad gives me a sheepish grin before muttering to his son,” Hi, Rahul come in, read the chapter on family in the encyclopedia I got you last week”, and a little loudly over at me -“it is just Fifty grands you see, I am very keen on developing Rahul’s IQ level”, staring at the old inland letter in my hand he glanced down at me and said-“Grow up Beta.”

The magical (or deadly) locks?? THE CHOICE IS OURS.

Water+Melanin+lipid+traces of minerals (no no u can’t mine there, it’s not uranium ) =the human hair. We all know it is just a dead cell and ironically wanted to keep it lively, healthy, shiny and bouncing, with all the vital signs of life.

We have bid goodbyes to good old grandma’s daily oiling ceremony and those long ribboned plaited hairs are safe  in the school albums far from the reach of desperate eyes. Now we have no time for that oiling process and believe things are easy at a  hair spas, for oil, steam and protein treatments. We bond and rebond with the lovely locks, we straighten, smoothen, curl, perm, iron and blow dry, Ufh!!

We can’t just plait them because they are cropped, bobbed, fringed, layered, streaked, textured,coloured...encyclopaedia on human hair, here I come. Chop chop of the barber shops were replaced by the pancaked beauty parlours, then the cool unisex saloons and now the exclusively serious and caring trichology centres. The so called dead tissue is given a life by various treatments- laser, phyto, thermal and cryo treatments to name a few. Yes they are treated in the cellular- molecular levels for everyone has a custom  made hair, yes very special and unique like your fingerprint swears a hair stylist.

No more sticky lemon, yogurt, egg , mehendi, amla , shikai packs for the Sunday mid morning, pre brunch long matinee showers, the latest secret hair treatments are done  in the laboratory or can be got done a complete therapy pack from the drug stores after a online counselling with your trichologist based on your individual hair density test.

The parachute oil and meera shiakai, the natives of Doordharsan aren’t the only products on the shelves these days. The hair care section (rather floor) of our hyper markets is flooded with rows of shampoos, conditioners, leave on, serums, hair setting gels, hair sprays etc. The hair accessory in a girl’s handbag is no more just a comb and a few clips and a scarf for those bad hair days but hair brush, sheers, barrettes, snap, claw, alligator, banana hair clips, hair pins and may be a swaroski studded tiara, isn’t very girl a star today?? Finally the answer for that human size tote bag very girl carries...Ha ha ha.

It is high time that exclusive courses for hair science are introduced at the higher secondary level in the country. Think twice, do you really want your little girl to make a doc or an engineer or a lawyer...please move aside that fringe that is covering a major part of your eyesight and read between the lines.

PS: For all those unlucky ones whose are blessed with a receeding hair line like me and hair that carpet a better area of your room than your dumb head, stops all those grandma recipes, they aren’t going to work anymore. Nor are the keratinlogy e book  or the trichology centre.

We are destined for a better livelihood without the mane matters because over 1000 tonnes of human hair that lakhs of devotees offer at the richest temple in our country is generating unimaginable revenue. So either sport the new all clear look (be a trend setter) or trade place with a barber...millionaires’ go chop chop!!

Territoriality is a passe'...?

Historians believe with civilisation fades territoriality and psychologists say that the world is small place. But do we humans hold good to this? If yes, the need for that personal space is altogether a different thing?!!

In an era where Bollywood and cricket make India, together rather the world united(Of course kolaveri is added to the list recently)...are we together? Together and alone as the big SEVEN or together and alone as the 28+7 which span few kilometres in the world map, single and ready to mingle but *conditions apply.

I am a an the ...XYZ.

If you  think how can a small geographical boundary create a mental territory in us, think again, we have come down from joint family to a nuclear family to a mere I? Did the atlas and map limit our thoughts to just these? Isn’t the everyday pledge at school supposed to teach us something else? Guess it should be modified to make us say” The world is my home; all humans are my kith and kin...” I guess we are more familiar to racial wars, ethnic wars and the honorary killings than the generations of barbaric uncivilised human beings who lived in caves and the dumb human beings who built thinnais and shelters for the unknown guests. Today thinnais and aangans are seen in museums where we have a model Indian home, and we have moved to live in modular boxed houses with a Wi-Fi connection.

Thanks to YouTube and Facebook where we can like (yes LIKE) the posts about human discrimination and share them on our walls and build walls around us. The” like” is supposed to mean our participation and support for the cause explains by facebook philic friend. It is a safe territory, completely virtual. (The latest territory that you can lock with passwords and that you don’t your need scents and marks anymore)

Man is a social animal begins all our Civics classes at school, (Social-networking animals says a half of my mind) who is an integral part of the society, state, country, world and universe. In the quest to conquer the world and embrace globalisation, why did we forget we belong to the same species that did have a SIXTH sense and believed in the respect and dignity of fella human beings? We keep reminders in our mobile phones about -THE FAMILY TIME (which is  a maximum of a few minutes every week). We talk about need of a personal space for everybody in a nuclear family and but are friends and neighbours with them online, how ironical?

Territories are no more geographical boundaries; they are becoming the emotional and psychological boundaries that are made by us, for us and of us but include only me (strictly singular). It is like, I am my world and the world is mine sans every other being. The present state of hummmm.... man being , cross my heart and hope to die.

what's in a name?


Though borrowed from Shakespeare, i know i have asked this question a million times. Having born during days when girls were named after flowers, rivers and goddess' and growing up when Aiswarya and Sushmita was a household names( of course with Rai and Sen added in some cases) , and when every movie had Pooja s and Priya s as the female characters, i was me.-VALAIKODI.


Thanks to my dads frequent transfers and the linguistic richness of India, i was rechristened every time. It was "Valeer koodi....Vaaalai kadi.. and sumtimes a much better Malarkodi down south to "Balle kudi" to my punjabi colonel principal to Mr.Valaikodi for a Sinhale professor, that was the ultimatum(  i know there is more to come). Friends called me "bent flag", "creeper","net"  and what not translations from any local language-dialect possible.The intelligent ones made tongue twisters like "Valaikodi Kolaivadi" .I take credits for being the cause for budding singers among friends who made this- valaikodi valaikodi..nee oru sema kadi kadi (oh oh the english translations are not necessary here) sung to the tunes of Masakali Masakali- thank you Ryckordec.( Thats what we called ourselves in college-Ten on the ritcher scale, another what so ever name)

May be it is all this attention, all the mocking, teasing, giggling and that two second blink everyone gave before reading out my name made me realize, Oh yes i am the only Valaikodi i know. A unique name with strong tamil literary sense to it, named interestingly. No one forgets me, as i am not the many priya s they know(No offences to all of you out there). 

A name gives you a identity, people relate to you by it, remember you by it. A name, a pet name, a nick name, a pen name and what not. People had names, pets were given names, cars and gadgets were named, Teddy bears were named and now cyclones and hurricanes are Katrina, Mala, Nargis and our of course not to forget our local Thane, names are everywhere. The elaborate naming ceremonies, the letters from grandparents that contained names to the googling for names on net, the search never ends.

 So whenever or where ever i hear a conversation on names and naming, I just cant keep mum. With things going globolocal  and the hollywood going Neytiri, Eytucan and Eywa and all our Harvinders going Harvey i am all excited about the next gen names, which will be multi lingual, unisex and what not. So whats your name?-Namesake

PS- Mummy and Daddy ,thanks for THE NAME.