Drive me crazy...

I belong to that stupid crowd (I don’t know if I am alone here or if there really is any crowd ) that is pretty contend in life being a passenger and stays away from driving.

I am usually awestruck when I see people have great control over the vehicle and swish past like a pro. Its like I have two left feet or at times none, can never control my moves on land or in a vehicle. Driving is like magic to me.

Beyond the unusual craziness over bikers and pilots, I respect and admire the drivers of all public transport. Every time I use the public transport, which I do often, I am lost at the window and secondly at the drivers. They carry scores of people every day, safely. I often wonder, what would happen if they got distracted for a second. They just don’t drive for themselves; it’s a responsibility.

Salutes and bows to every alert pilot that saved hundreds on board, the bus driver who jammed the bus in a near by tree on realizing the failing brakes, just killing himself, these people who stay cool and alert even during calamities and hijacks. To every captain, pilot, cab man and drivers who reach a destination just by driving, not laying back to enjoy the view.

Once in an auto, the driver was cribbing about me refusing to pay above the usual fare, and me arguing reasonably that there is a hike in the auto fare and petrol fortnightly but I get a bonus only once a year. Then out of the blue he asked me about my qualification and why I didn’t manage to get employed in IT sector which paid returns. I told him I am an architect.

The man bowled me over saying he built his own house, brick by brick all by himself and hadn’t cleared even his SSLC exams two decades ago and challenged me if I could. To smile was all I could do. He told he has read all religious scriptures and was trying to understand what was religion and why all this fight. To fuel my silence, he claimed he was Lord Krishna, the charioteer, who was instrumental in guiding this travel of common man. “Enna Madam, Krishnanum driver dhane??!!, Appo naanum Krishnan dhane?!! Naan dhan kalki avadharamo??!!”

Now even my smile had vanished, I felt so small  in the auto.Like they say, nothing beats a really good drive…

There’s a hundred-thousand streets in this city. You don’t need to know the route. You give me a time and place; I give you a five minute window.-driver

HERE.....I am

We come into the world announcing our arrival with a cry, see here I am to live. We are given a name and no more just a baby. We cry, crawl, walk, talk, dance, sing and also shout for attention. All of us enjoy the limelight.

 Soon to school, running the race carrying trophies, shields, medals and certificates in addition to the bags and homework. They shouldn’t be called stress or peer pressure. You have to push, let the world see you and gasp- oh the man kid!!

Behind the scenes we do our best to create the identity to yearn to create, don up wall with posters of people we love, admire and adore. Doodle, scribble and nibble.We are scolded for wasting time on dreaming, off late even for thinking. Follow the time tested formula of scores, college, job, home, car and marriage and kids and propogate this cycle of life. We do most of the above, though not in the same order. We preach the life mantra-life and let live, yet be the offset in the crowd.

So the world creates an identity for you, the universal one, in parallel to the one you have been creating for you, the unique one. So why wait; let us share, update status, like, ping, blog, and tweet and tell the world- here I am for who I am.

I may be branded but I am not.

I am the special me, so unique and so me.

I might not need the do not disturb me tag.

I am already disturbed, please come in.

Charged Spaces

In the quest for designing a perfect space, or at least close to a perfect space,  I decided to take journey down my memory line to understand and cherish spaces that I have enjoyed or spaces that have treated me with happiness.

 The exercise led to a lot of thought process hindered by teary eyes, thank god for memories.

The balcony of my first home, from where I waved to my dad every day, mornings and evenings. It was also my first gateway to the outside world.

The community park along the end of the road, which taught me nature and freedom.

The columns in my grandparent’s verandha where I hid during hide and seek and was never found.

The narrow setback around my house, which was my cycling track.

The foyer at home, where the actual test marks where confessed.

The antispace near the neighbor’s house where kolam was practiced.

The terrace above the second floor, where moon gazing and star hunting became a habit.

The bus stop, where the obviously forgotten home works were written.

 The staff room door, to peep in for late submissions and practice excuses.

The basket ball court, which was also the lunch room under the sky, where the tastebuds explored.

The untouched biology lab, with expanded the horizon of ghost stories told at school.

The last rack in the library, where the favourite books where hidden.

The courtyards at college, where living was taught.

The low bed in my best friend’s house, where the best secrets where traded.

The bogies of trains, travelled on during college trips, where tea and talking was unlimited.

The best corner in class, fought for during the worst of sleepy days.

The single room group stay at trips, where sharing was learnt.

And the best one, grandfather’s dark damp store room, loaded with linen, books and antiques, where I feel him and smell good old days, even today...

I have decided to call them the CHARGED SPACES...charged magically :)

Going cranky in the rain

I lay late in bed..waiting for dawn

Compensating for the late night yawn.

The sun  playing hide and seek,

Safely in the clouds’ mystique.

Cool breeze blows in,

Smell of the earth…awww gin.

Intoxicating …before I could think

The alarm clock rings

Its morning - my mind sings

But wait there is an amiss

It’s raining…I quiz.

Blanket tossed..on the feet

Wow..i miss the heat.

Coffee and paper forgone

For it is raining at dawn.

Forget the traffic and drains

Now its just me in rains..

Drenched, yet light

Standing, yet in flight

 I plunge into my treat

Dumbstruck at nature’s feat.

So  stay calm

And enjoy the rain’s charm.

My four eyed dreams...

So it was to school, after years of babbling and crawling. I was loaded with a brand new bag, water bottle, uniform and spectacles. This new heavy lens on my eyes hurt more than the headache that resulted in me wearing it. I knew I looked funny in it and funnier when I wore it with the cord at it ends handing around my neck.

Little did I know that funny wasn’t the word until the whole LKG A gasped at me when I entered the first day at school, poor me, I happened to be the only one in class with glasses. Finally I smiled at the end of the day when the principal came around with a big eyes and bigger glasses. Not everybody is named a nerd even before they learn the alphabets right. I have cried-why me? on irritated days and also sulked at others on strong days.

This start continued all the way through the 8 schools I studied during my 14 years of schooling. Though coping up different states and languages was hard, I always felt at home because I was nick named “kanadi” “chashmish” “nerdy” “geeky” “buddi” which all meant the same. So I got this identity of the four eyed girl and I wore it with pride.

It was alien to see me without it. If I forgot it any day, the whole world enquired if I was ok and what had happened to my glasses. In college, when the regular bespectacled people shifted to contact lenses, I still didn’t part with my glasses. Gosh..I couldn’t think of removing the lenses when I was sobbing over a movie or before dozing off during a lecture or before enjoying the winds at the beach. So I remained me, living and dreaming with it. But still conscious when all I could see was the flash on my glasses invariably hiding my face in all photographs. The stubborn scars due to the continuous use of the nose pads of the glasses refused to fade over bottles of honey, rose water and almond oil, a costly affair.

Then came a fine historic day, during the regular check up, when both eyes cleared a 6/6..Wow..wat a miracle!! The optimist opthomologistic rechecked her readings and told me casually that I might not be in need of any spectacles.. It took me time to gather my senses and asked her it was ok and that I have been using glasses more than two decades of my life..!! The chief consultant was called and after going through all the prescriptions printed in different states, by different doctors, he stated it just not possible that my –power could have improved. But how??why??  were left unanswered. Nevertheless, the verdict was no glasses !!!!

I left the hospital happy, that finally my four eyed dream of freedom from glasses was achieved, true freedom..sans laser..sans lenses…hurray!! But it was like a limb was cut off…suddenly there was no weight on my nose…but a heavy heart. Even now…after a fortnight I wake up reaching for my glasses and smile sleepily suddenly when I realize I don’t need them anymore..Kudos to my four eyed dreams..!!

zzzz..................

A real gift..

                                                                  
This is not a blah

Winning yet another lucky draw.

Not a consolation this time

A real gift is what they claim!!

Postcards letters sms mails

Carrying drawings, puzzles, slogan trails.

This time I am going to be lucky

A real gift is always tricky!!

Broken autographed mugs

To torn pashmina rugs.

Not to forget the larger than life wrapping

A real gift is sometimes trapping!!

This time congratulations pour in

A gift voucher is a great thing.

Alas, the validity was long over,

A real gift, oh please never!!

The happiness remainder

Happiness is defined as a mental or emotional state of well-being characterized by positive or pleasant emotions. I always thought it is just that moment or state or time when you are happy by yourself, sometimes due to external factors and sometimes internal. It could be a walk on the beach, a cold coffee, a book, a call from a long lost friend, a hug from a loved one, a good old song on the FM, a happy sunrise, a new bud in a dried up favourite plant or just a feel, when something from inside makes you feel happy for n reasons under the sky.

Little did I know, happiness could be timed, sold and taught? From comedy shows at specific timings of the week to exclusive channels dedicated to telecast comedy shows 24X7. Surprisingly they fare a great TRP rating too. The superficial laughter that momentarily makes you “happy” is their claim. As a child, yes I did look forward to the Sunday Charlie Chaplin show on TV and the daily dose of Tom and Jerry after school. Somehow, as I grew up this timed happiness factor failed to keep me happy, real happy for starters.

As I grew up confused, I was told, happiness is an inner factor and I need to keep searching for it from within. Accompanying my mother to meditation and yoga classes and reading those books on self happiness and the inner search, I was lost than before, definitely sans happiness.

But to my surprise, the world around, told me, it is the happiness quotient that matters and the remainder hardly. Aren’t the remainders commercial targets to the stressed souls-television shows, humour stories; self help books and yoga classes that help us, rather teach us to find “happiness”? They are marketed, preached and forced on us rather in a natural way and as a social phenomenon.

But somehow, staring at the sky sitting on the terrace, with ice-cream dripping on one hand has made pouring out this realisation, a happy time; let me not forget the favourite Ilayaraja music in the background. My pursuit of happyness continues...