Monday, December 1, 2014

Keep Walking Johny Walker... Keep Walking!!

Yup!

It's time I got back on the road :)

There's lots I wanna share with you and am so glad Ted brought up the topic of Blogs today :P :)

I had nearly forgotten all about this tiny bit of cyber space I own.

The BIG news is, after 14 years of school and 5 years of college, I'm proud (and a little sad) to announce to you that I am FINALLY an ADULT!!!!! :)

I landed myself a job as the Sub Editor (Content) at a place called Invis Multimedia in Kowdiar, Trivandrum!! :) :)

I still remember quite distinctly the way my heart hammered when mustering all the scraps of courage I had around me to tell my folks that I wanted to become a writer and not a college lecturer (their plans for me :P)

It was then that I learned to respect the sentence "I had my heart in my mouth!" ;)

Whew!

Nevertheless, That little incident happened 3yrs ago.

I still remember how my darling brothers jeered and taunted  me, at my dream...

I love my friends and teachers for the undying faith they had in me & my skills.

Their faith made me believe in myself :)

And here I am today!

Proud to bask in the glow of that tiny spark of respect I see sparkle in the eyes of my family these days... :)

I am happy.

And all the credit goes to each of my friends and my amazing teacher coz considering how big a dumbass I am, if they didn't have faith in me either, chances are I'd be hacking away at the NET exam now :P

Thank you... :)

P.S- I was never a sweetheart sis so cant blame my bros for their jeering ;) :P





:)


A poem I stumbled upon..

“You Learn”

After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises,

And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,

And you learn to build all your roads on today
Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn…
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So you plant your garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure…

That you really are strong

And you really do have worth…

And you learn and learn…

With every good-bye you learn.”


― Jorge Luis Borges

Reflections of Tradition



How does one imbue a crude piece of metal with the magic of reflection and enliven its contours with animation?

How does one convert a piece of metal alloy into a mirror?

No one knows.

It is an ancient secret jealously guarded for centuries by a family in the quaint town of Aranmula in the Pathanamthitta district of Kerala. A marvel of art and craft that dates back to the Vedic Age, the Aranmula Kannadi ('mirror' in Malayalam) is one artifact that has baffled and earned the respect of metallurgists from across the planet.

Indigenous to Aranmula, this mirror is made from a mysterious blend of metals. The story behind it goes that it was divine intervention that helped the craftsmen create the composition, which led to the birth of the unique Aranmula Kannadi. Only traditional materials and methods have been used till date to create this sophisticated piece of metallurgical marvel. It is said that the metal used in the manufacturing of this unique mirror is an alloy comprising copper and tin. To add to this is the unique process involving days of polishing the metal piece to achieve the desired reflection.

Traditionally, it is believed that the handmade Aranmula Kannadi will bring prosperity, good luck and wealth to the home in which it is kept. It is also an integral part of the ashtamangalya, which comprises eight auspicious items that are part of Hindu ceremonies like wedding.

It is sheer wonder for one to sit down and take time to watch the craftsmen create the most elegant handmade mirror that mankind has ever seen from an ordinary piece of metal.

If you were to take the effort to understand the amount of dedication, sincerity and devotion that each craftsman pours into his creation, then you would understand why each Aranmula Kannadi deserves the pride of its position amidst the most beautiful works of art in this world. 

The Aranmula Kannadi is a legend in itself.

The Dance of the Divine


There is an explosion of colours with the awe inspiring headgears, costumes and face designs. The rhythm of the resonating beats of the chenda, the intense fragrance of the burning camphor mystifying the ambience. You stand gaping with saucer-wide eyes at the splendour of the dancing figure before you. These are the aspects that contribute to the grandeur of this spectacle called Theyyam.

A Theyyam performance is no single time experience. An ancient ritualistic form of worship native to the north Malabar region of Kerala, the roots of this folk art, which is a blend of dance, music and fervent devotion, can be traced back to the Chalcolithic Age.
Each Theyyam performance has an aura of divine splendor as it is accompanied by rituals and other devotional music.

The tales woven into the history of this folk ritual range from that of yakshis (spirits) witches and myths of serpent and animal deities to the deeds of local heroes and ancestors. In many senses the Theyyam is often a form of historical documentation of the society. The Theyyam is also linked with fertility rites and many of its myths are intimately related to the curing of illnesses and agricultural productivity.

It is believed that while performing, the artist becomes the representative of the divine. The word 'Theyyam' is local parlance for God. To millions in Kerala, Theyyam is their visible and tangible Gods and Goddesses. It is usually performed in shrines; sacred groves called kaavu or at ancestral homes calledtharavadu in villages. The Theyyam season in Kerala usually commences in October and lasts up to May.

Malabar is a coy land, one that reveals its treasures slowly. And the Theyyam is a ritual that should not be rushed into. Rather, take your time and savour its finest nuances to take home with you an experience that will remain etched in your heart for eternity.

Thursday, September 18, 2014

I Wanna Go to School :(


Maybe it's just me but it is only now, 5 years after I have passed out from my school that I miss the place like crazy.

I mean, I sure was sentimental about leaving behind an institution that had been a second home to me for the first 14yrs of my life but of late I desperately feel like walking down memory lane again.

I want to pull on my school uniform, shoes, socks et al. 

I wanna pack my schoolbag and go to school... :(



I wanna feel my heart thump in horror as my Maths teacher walks into my class saying, "Goodmorning class. All those who have done their homeworks sit down!"

I wanna stand in line for morning assembly constantly rubbing my shoes against the back of my socks to avoid getting pulled up for unpolished shoes.

I want to muster the guts I never had to walk up to my highschool crush and tell him that my heart does a somersault everytime he smiles at me.

I want to cry all over again over the knee I scraped in the nasty fall I had when playing volleyball.

I want to feel that searing pain that shot through my body when I stood up with that scraped knee and got on with the game burying my tears under a smile pretending I was strong (for the sake of the cute senior guys who were playing with us :P ).

I want to sit in 5C during the last period and feel my tummy growl at the taunting fragrances of food wafting into our classroom through the open windows facing the hostel kitchen where lunch is being cooked.

I want to run my fingers over the long, endless rows of books lined up in our library and breathe in their scents, all along feeling the watchful eyes of Jaquline miss, our librarian, follow my every move.

I want to hear the "Tong-tong-tong!"sounds of the school bell and the general clamour of laughing and shrieking playing children during break time.




I used to hate assemblies back then but now I want to stand for hours in one and at the end of it, sing out loud, the Choice Anthem...




But that's not the way life works is it?

We cant just go back and re-experience those moments that the past has dissolved in its depths.

Damn!

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

A Glimpse At My Childhood ;)


If you’ve quarreled with your brother over a GI-JOE action figure or with your sister over a Barbie doll, we must be siblings of the same Age. Yes, I too grew up in the 90’s.

It was an age when mobile phones were next to non-existent and computers, a rare spectacle. Video cassettes, tape recorders, music cassettes all ruled the roost blissfully unaware of their imminent extinction.

The first image that springs to life at the mention of my childhood is that of playing cricket with my brothers. The fights we had, the scraped knees, bruised elbows and egos, muddy clothes…
The memories make me want to grow up all over again.

Cricket was not the only game we played. There was ‘Lock ‘n Key’, ‘Donkey’, Hockey, and ‘Badminton’, ‘Hide-and-Seek’ and a host of others. With other children in the neighborhood joining in, the air was always filled with screams and laughter.
During our vacations, play started right in the morning and breaks were taken only for meals. In the evening, we kids could be found all over the compound walls, on trees, gates or anywhere else you can think of. Memories of clambering onto the trees around our house to eat guavas, mangoes and jambakka straight off them, still tempt my heart.

Cycling was a rage too and the nastiest of fights broke out when we quarreled over whose turn it was to ride on the cycle next. My younger brother and I shared a ‘Hero Buzz’ while big bro rode a ‘BSA SLR’.



Falling off the cycle was fine as long as we kept our mouths shut about it. Cuts, bruises and wounds were all common occurrence and our parents never panicked or rushed their ‘precious child’ to a hospital at the slightest hint of blood.

The monsoons were looked forward to for the initial enthusiasm to play in the rains, go fishing with plastic covers and makeshift nets in the flooded lanes or to ‘send ships out to sea’ in the flooded sunshade of the house. But once the initial excitement died down, we turned our attentions to indoor games. 
 

Among board games, ‘Scrabble’, ‘Ludo’ and ‘Snakes ‘n Ladders’ were popular while with cards the favourite games were ‘Bluff’ and ‘Ace’. You would never believe how spirited these games got and how all regard for relationships got suspended during each match.


 Do any of you remember the Wrestling cards and Cricket cards available back then? For a while my brothers were crazy about them. I always stuck by my Barbie.

Pocket money was a rare luxury so it was always the creativity of our minds that kept boredom at bay.
I still remember the cars, Lorries, jeeps, bikes and jets my brothers used to make with empty staple pin boxes, match boxes, pieces of cardboard and bottle caps. Our bedroom floor often got converted into vast cities complete with roads, buildings, bridges, petrol pumps, workshops etc. all thanks to strips of cardboard and other waste materials. These cities then became scenes of intense drama as action packed spy stories came to life. The ‘think tank’ among the three of us was my older brother. Those were the times when our young minds were always well oiled and bursting with imagination.

In the midst of all this we always found time to sneak into the enthralling world of books. All of us relish reading and so there were always library books from school in the house. Our first friend in the world of books was good old Enid Blyton. Before long we ventured out to meet Nancy Drew, Frank and Joe Hardy and so on. But what we siblings regularly fought over was, “Who gets to read ‘Tinkle’ first?”

With the dawn of each new month we would sharpen our ears and wait for the first “Trriing!!” of the newspaper man’s cycle bell. The moment he turned into our lane, we would dash to the gate to get at the comics and children’s magazines subscribed at home. Apart from books like the ‘Reader’s Digest’, ‘Vanitha’, ‘India Today’ etc. for the grownups, our little treasures included ‘Champak’, ‘Tinkle’, ‘Tinkle Digest’, ‘Children’s Digest’, ‘Balarama’, ‘Kalikudukka’ and ‘Amarchitrakatha’.



T.V. viewing was restricted and each of us had ‘T.V. times’ allotted to us. But unfailingly, on Wednesdays, we would finish all our homeworks before six in the evening to be able to watch ‘Mowgli’ and ‘Denver the Last Dinosaur’.
I once cried myself to sleep; heartbroken because Mom wouldn’t let me watch the cartoons as I had got my Math homework all wrong. I still remember myself staring at the mocking numbers in my Math text teary eyed. Anger and hatred seethed within my little heart. Ooh! How I hated Math!!!



T.V. soon became a happening place when Cartoon Network took us by storm with its wide array of cartoons for kids of all ages and tastes.

‘Swat Cats’, ‘Ninja Robots’, ‘The Centurians’, ‘Sky Commanders’, ‘The Little Lulu Show’, ‘Popoye’ were all cartoons of the time. Do you remember the antics of Top Cat and Stanley Ipkis(a.k.a. The Mask)? And how about Johny Quest?

“Captain Planet........he’s the hero.......who takes pollution down to zero......” remember that catchy theme song? Yup, Captain Planet was a hot favourite too. The only serials we were permitted to watch were ‘Shaktimaan’ and ‘Mahabharata’ telecast on Sundays in Doordarshan.

In Bollywood, 90’s was the time when the ‘Fauji’ fame King Khan (S.R.K) asserted his supremacy. Down south in Kerala, the people anointed Mamooty and Mohanlal as the rulers of Mollywood. With that everyone else including Rahman, Sankar and the like got swept to the sidelines of the stage.

Something else about the 90’s which is not seen anymore is the tape recorder. That black box singing songs held me in wonder for quite a while. I remember being told stories of how singers from ABBA and BONEY M resided inside the black box waiting for the box to be turned on so that they could sing!
The late 90’s saw video games begin to trickle in and the first to reach our hands was the Brick Game set with three different games in it.

Among all those memories of my childhood, my ‘big moment of growing up’ was the day I got my first pen. I got my first pen when I was about to step into the 5th STD. Until then it had been mandatory that we use only pencils.




It was an ink pen, my first pen. It had a maroon body with a silver cap. Gosh....I felt so grown up when Mom gave me the pen and showed me how to use it. All of a sudden I had such a lot to write!! I strutted up and down the house with my brand new pen much to the envy of my younger brother who had one more year to wait before he got one too.

That year at school, everyone flaunted their pens. The coolest kids in class had ‘Hero pens’ or ‘Parker pens’. But before long the ballpoints knocked ink pens out for good. By the time my kid brother got onto his first pen, it was a ballpoint one he got (much to my envy).

The joy with which I jumped around on getting a new doll, the passion with which the three of us quarreled over the pettiest of things, the games we played, playing in the rain together, how we fought and soon after joined forces to steal snacks from the kitchen, the beatings and punishments we’ve earned from our parents, the love, fun and cheer we’ve shared are all memories I will cherish unto death.

Blame it on my narrow mindedness, ignorance or plain lack of imagination but I cannot digest the idea of today’s 'technology centred' children feeling nostalgic in their old age about computer games or Facebook chats!!!

Childhood is not meant to rot at the feet of technology.

Childhood is meant to be lived. Children should step outside and play. They should feel the different heats of the sun as it saunters from the East to the West. They should understand the different moods of the rains and know how it feels to sniff imminent rains in the coldness in the air. Let them smell the Earth, breathe fresh air, enjoy the fragrance of flowers, listen to birdsong and experience nature instead of staying cooped up indoors.

Maybe it's just me but a childhood spent indoors would, I think, suck BIG TIME!!

Thursday, July 10, 2014


ROMANCING THE LETTER...







A sudden void.A gut instinct tells me I left behind something that is mine.I take a deep breath.A hint of a shudder runs through my heart.The void reluctantly vanishes.I walk on away from the read Post Box into which I had just dropped a letter.

My bond with letters began two years ago when I penned my first letter to a dear childhood friend.I had just shifted out from my hometown to a strange place for higher education when nostalgia bit me.It was a long one, the letter.It ran into 3-4 foolscap sheets filled with descriptions of my new environs.The college,students,teachers,friends,grandma,cousins,food,the atmosphere,everything.I even included a tid-bit about a weird looking eatable that our college canteen served.

That was just the beginning.Since then,I have ,when inspired,turned to the fascinating experience of penning a letter.

To buy an envelop, the right stamp and paper.To steal a little while from my selfish schedule.To settle down at my table all alone with just my pen,paper and thoughts for company.To write.


Concern and regard is enclosed in the gentle folds of the letter before it is inserted into the carefully chosen envelop.



A pinch of anxiety is sprinkled on the address as it is jotted down....Will this reach my friend.......?


The stamp is stuck and confidence pressed onto it.The letter is ready for it's perilous journey preceding it's rendezvous with my friend.


I clutch the letter afraid of losing it.For now,what I hold in my hand is not just a piece of paper with some ink on it but a piece of paper with a bit of my heart sealed within the dried ink.


What I feel now, as I walk up to the red Post Box is,I guess,a sliver of what a father feels as he leads his daughter to the altar to be handed over to the uncertain arms of matrimony.


When finally I let go, a void.A momentary sense of loss.


My romance with letters is fresh,young and one-sided.I have only had the pleasure of writing them.Not reading.


I've always wondered what it would feel like to recieve an envelop addressed to me.To hold it in my hands.To run my fingers over it,relish the thrill,suspense and excitement of not knowing what the contents of the virgin letter tucked snugly within are.To open it and know that I am the first to do so.......


Yesterday,while arranging books in our college library,my friend stumbled upon an old inland letter hidden in between the aged pages of a huge,dusty Economics text.A letter written,posted,recieved,read and forgotten in a library book 18 years before I was born.


The date on the yellowed,frail paper said, 28-5-1973.


The pain of the writer at being forgotten by a dear friend and the anxiety with which she awaits a reply still echo in her words.A voice from the past.Did she ever get a reply?Or, is she still waiting after 38 long years.........?


A letter, a chip off a heart.


THE CATS HAVE DISAPPEARED





It wasn't sudden.What didn't happen was,one fine april evening as the sun smiled down thruogh the trees,Amy stepped out into the backyard to discover that,each of the 13 stray cats who usually fringed the compound walls of her neighbours' home, creating a scene as they sat,stood,meowed, licked and touched up their hairdo;all perched as though posing for a photoshoot as they awaited their daily meal of boiled rice and leftover fish,had disappeared without a trace. 

It was gradual.A cat at a time. 

Amy noticed it only when,one evening as she sat reading a paperback novel reclining on a chair placed under the cool shade of the trees,she heard a meow.She glanced up.Her eyes settled on a snow-white cat crossing the grassy yard. 

Amy looks around and realises that something is amiss.She can't remember the last time she saw the cats on the wall.Was it last week?Or was it the week before that?Or even longer? 

Where did they go? 

At the moment,Amy doesn't know that 10 yards away from where she sits,deep in the undergrowth,lies the answer.Two coiled sacks of neurotoxin,ready for the pump. 

Seven days later,Amy joined the cats. 

Amy Andrews,18,died of multiple snakebites on 24th April 2011. 

NOT WIVES WAITING TO HAPPEN!!!!



“But why not mom?!? It’s my life!” Amy cries in exasperation.

“Amy, we’ve been through this a hundred times. I told you, it’s not safe. You yourself pointed out this morning that the newspapers are replete with reports of harassment against girls and women of all ages. How can I let you go all the way to Delhi just to do a Post Graduation and be at peace at home? Besides, you can very well get the same degree from any college here in Kerala. I know it’s not the same experience but all you need is a degree right? Why don’t you try to understand my fears?

Amy and her mother were alone at home. It was afternoon and they had just finished with lunch when the subject of Amys' future cropped up. Amy was once again the first to bring it up.

A final year degree student, Amy is a young girl born and brought up in a typical middle class family. Her parents are conventional and have their concepts of how a good Indian girl should be. Concepts which don’t always coincide with what Amy wants out of her life.

Though not purely career oriented, among her dreams about her future, what reigns supreme for Amy at the moment is a job in the field of writing. But her parents’ ideas differ. They want her to get married as soon as possible and then settle down as the perfect wife, daughter-in-law and later, mother. It is this point that infuriates Amy the most.

Amy gets up and goes to the washbasin to wash her hands as her mother starts clearing away the dirty plates and dishes on the table. She knows that this battle of words with her mother is not going to take her anywhere. But for the time being, that’s all she can do. She looks up at the dark haired girl staring back at her from the mirror. Frustration gleams in her eyes. She lets out dejected sigh, dries her hands on a white towel hung beside the maroon washbasin takes a deep breath, turns to her mom and gets straight to the point.

“O.K mom, I understand your concern for my safety. But......What problem do you have with me taking up a job? Don’t you see how happy I would be if I could land a job in the field of my choice? Besides, safety is a concern not just for girls. It is an issue for everyone. Life has to go on, right? Why don’t you like the idea of me working?”

Her mother carries the pile of dirty dishes into the squeaky clean kitchen, dumps them in the sink and starts to wash them. The sunlight falls in slanting columns through the bars of the open windows onto the white marble floor. The clanging of the steel plates and the hiss of the running tap are the only sounds heard.

Amy follows her into the kitchen and stands behind her with arms folded waiting for an answer.

Her mother looks up from the dirty dishes in the sink at her 20 year old daughter. “Amy”, she said, “Do you know why divorce rates are so high these days? Why more and more young children suicide? Why the number of drug abuse cases etc. among young children is rising? Divorce rates go up because today’s girls don’t have tolerance and tend to be selfish. Financial independence makes them arrogant. So they don’t bother to try and patch up when relationships get strained. The lives of young children go haywire because with both parents working, the child is not properly taken care of. The parents are so preoccupied with their own lives that they don’t have time for their children. The role of a mother and a wife in a family are so demanding that, to have a job would be a hindrance to giving complete dedication to your family. Besides, you should understand that financial independence and money are not everything. There is lots of other things in life that matter more and the foremost amongst them is your family.”




Amy gapes at her mother.

“Whoa! Mom!! What are you even talking about??? I’m just 20, I’m single and I’m NOT a mother!!!!! I am talking about now. Not 10 years later. I want to take up a job next year alongside my studies. It’s not about money mom. It’s about doing what I love doing. Don’t my dreams mean anything to you?”

“I don’t care what you say. You’ll get married someday right? As long as you are with us in this family, I’m not going to let you travel for work or anything else. After you are married, you may do as you please. If you are lucky you’ll get a man who is not as boring and conventional as your parents. Happy?” Having said as much, her mother rinses the soap suds off the last plate in the sink, washes her hands, dries them on the kitchen towel and walks off leaving behind an irritated daughter.

Amys' is not an isolated case. In 90% of such cases, the child ends up doing what her parents want her to because, well, they are the ones in charge. Argue as they might about feminism, equal rights etc, at the end of the day, there are plenty of Amys out there who lead lives akin to that of a baton in a relay race - passed from hand to hand. First taken care of by their parents, then handed over to the hands of the man of her life and in due course of time onto the hands of her children.

But what happens when a girl decides that she wants more? What happens when a girl dreams of a life beyond the fences of a domestic existence?

How can dreams and aspirations, (considered to be must-haves in guys) be considered selfishness in women?

Girls too are human beings with dreams in their hearts and NOT ‘wives waiting to happen’.

Saturday, June 7, 2014

Iliria.. MY world :)




Hello everyone!! 

This is me. This is MY world. 

Its filled with the tiny things that make me happy, sad, frustrated, angry.....

The BIG things in life like the "Transnational relations of Iraq and Afghanistan" or "Foreign Exchange Policies of the U.S" blah...blah...blah.. confuse my simple mind. 

But show me a rainbow smiling down at me and you will win my heart :)

What more do I say?

I dunno :P 

Guess this is where I will be myself & write all the crap that comes to my little head!! :)

Feel free to criticise and tear me to bits with regards to any of my posts. I make no promises but I hope I will drop by regularly.

So, welcome friends, to my world..... :)