tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-186945362024-03-13T22:50:11.898+05:30I think therefore I amUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger134125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18694536.post-37442091872854397782007-03-16T20:08:00.000+05:302007-03-20T19:38:41.665+05:30The Duck docks here<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Wish I were </span><a href="http://thereignofellen.blogspot.com/2006_12_01_thereignofellen_archive.html"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">as eloquent as Ellen</span></a>!<br />(I was inspired to blog by her and it is appropriate that I link to her even in my last post here.)<br /><br />I started blogging not only as a form of catharsis but also to keep my immediate family (including my most dear friends in far away Delhi) updated about all that was happening to me in my life at Bangalore.<br /><br />Dh would often tease me that I should post my intensely personal updates to those who would be able to follow the drift of my random thoughts. My kids would debate on what should or not feature on my blog. My friends would read and respond, offline of course.<br /><br />But gradually it changed. There were more friends, colleagues, dh's colleagues, relatives, acquaintances and others reading this blog. Given the extremely up-close and personal stuff I put in here, I think its time to stop this blog.<br /><br />I shall, no doubt, continue to quack a lot, - but not here.<br /><br />Lets get quacking...</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18694536.post-62641612487834417082007-02-06T08:20:00.000+05:302007-02-06T09:42:19.581+05:30Miles...<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://www.favoritepoem.org/poems/frost/stopping.html">to go</a>.<br /><br />With my present levels of apathy and fatigue, wish <a href="http://www.bartleby.com/113/4027.html">he had stopped by</a>, but given that <a href="http://www.bartleby.com/198/1.html">there will be time</a> for that and more, heres <a href="http://www.emule.com/poetry/?page=poem&poem=4541">this</a> and also <a href="http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/warning/">this</a>!<br /><br />Yet another <a href="http://images.google.co.in/imgres?imgurl=http://www.wowecards.com/ecards/ssadcow.gif&imgrefurl=http://www.wowecards.com/category/birthdaycards.php&h=65&w=80&sz=4&hl=en&start=35&tbnid=q3Pmk_j8T5X5iM:&amp;amp;amp;tbnh=60&tbnw=74&prev=/images%3Fq%3D40th%2Bmilestone%26start%3D20%26ndsp%3D20%26svnum%3D10%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DN">milestone</a> around the corner, a <a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/16499511/site/newsweek/">significant</a> one, if we go by what Newsweek says.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18694536.post-1100467900114724162007-01-20T00:42:00.000+05:302007-01-26T22:55:06.163+05:30Of late<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Of late</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">I see a yawning distance creeping in<br />Between us, a swelling gap,<br />The rend getting too big to mend<br />The organic link, shriveling</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">There will never be a vacuum.<br />The distance will continue to extend<br />Others would step in to mark the milestones<br />And like elastic, it would keep stretching.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">At times you may rush back to me<br />Seeking some sustenance, <span style=""> </span>solace, <span style=""> </span>else,<br />Some <span style=""> </span>tangible manifestation<br />Of how things were or would be</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Occasionally, I may claim you again<br />To just hold against my bosom<br />To validate my achievement<br />To proclaim my nebulous hold</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Meanwhile, there would be others<br />With significant, strong needs<br />Who would play out distinctive roles<br />And seek the matching recompense</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">As you grow, we grow apart<br />You strike out on your path<br />I wish you would climb high, wander wide, delve deep<br />Savor the thrills,<span style=""> </span>experience the ecstasies<br />And that I could but be along on all those rides<br />Yet for all that we need to disentangle, disengage</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">These profuse wishes are of little avail<br />Unless I give you the freedom to fly<br />The space and time to test your strengths<br />And uncharted waters to try, and plumb</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">On these journeys which are yours alone<br />Your companions, I may not invariably approve<br />But would learn to school my censure<br />And not deny you <span style=""> </span>the right to choose</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">No other woman can be what I am<br />And I cannot be what they would be<br />It is an uneasy treaty- no foes, but still<br />To surrender a vital part of me- you,<br />To them, who may not know your value to me</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">No other woman can be so thrilled<br />By your warm hugs, your deep kisses,<br />The feeling of knowing you within,<br />Your moist soft mouth at her breast,<br />Your eyes forever trained, mutely,<br />Your words which followed, so sweetly,<br />Your pranks, your serenades,<br />Your triumphs, your disappointments-<br />All these, are eternally mine alone.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">I would treasure this familiarity<br />In my heart, my womb, my lips, my eyes<br />Each pore of me which has known each cell of yours</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Others would crave and know your love<br />And you would similarly sip theirs<br />While I stand guard at <span style=""> </span>this fount<br />That we discovered and shared</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">You always resent that you weren’t my first -<br />You wish to alter that order<br />But does this primacy matter<br />In a mere issue of sequence?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Lets settle this row once for all -<br />You are the shiny bright pearl<br />Charmer, soldier, my own treasure,<br />I commend you to the world.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong><em></em></strong></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18694536.post-72539431947268852882007-01-15T17:01:00.000+05:302007-01-15T17:54:39.355+05:30A gut feel of pain<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> It was meant to be an hour long 'exploratory' abdominal surgery- they didn't know what exactly was wrong. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">X-rays</span> did not reveal the cause of the steady decline, the green aspirate, the abstinence which made the Doctor's advice of Nil Per Oral so totally redundant, listless eyes which had aged over that week of suffering and had gone beyond pain, the scooped out hollows which constantly asked but one question- how long the torture would continue, how much more the shrivelled body had to bear its burden of shallow breath. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">They wanted the mother to be there till he 'went down'<span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span> under anaesthesia and to be around when he came to. So all there in the green pant suits and green caps set about their work like so many workers in a green-uniformed factory, all working on that tiny body under strong lights. You can leave now and wait in the recovery room of the OT for about an hour, they said.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">They cut in to realise the extent of internal damage, the rotten portions of gut to be cut cleanly without spilling any of the lethal toxicity it had acquired, and then the subsequent <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">stitching</span> of the gut with each vessel being matched and patched together like a complex but vital jigsaw puzzle. <a href="http://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/002231.htm"><span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Anastamosis</span></span></a> is not an easy job!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">They worked fast and furiously, staunching the blood, topping the anaesthesia, introducing appropriate levels of morphine, checking on vitals. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">They were half way done before they realised the enormity of the exercise. There is just so much of anaesthesia that 12 kilos of body weight can take. They would lose him if more topping up was done and the option was to do the actual stapling when he was 'coming to'. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Someone needs to hold him, to calm him - not only to mitigate the pain which the morphine was unable to deal with but to deal with the mute terror in those eyes which accused the world much more sharply than the piercing shriek, like that of a lamb at slaughter.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The hard nosed professionals that they all were- handpicked for such eventualities, they had to call in the mother again.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Later, much later, in the ICU the anaesthetist came in to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anesthesiology#Anesthetic_monitoring">check</a>. But she did not look at the post-operative patient at all. </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">She looked at me, one mother to another, and said, It isn't easy being a mother, is it? I looked down at the exhausted bandaged bloodied bag of bones, tubes, pipes and monitors which was precariously clutching at me, pulling on my heart strings just much as yanking at my hair. I saw an intrepid spirit there, a physical manifestation of Life itself, dry heaving and wracked in a terrified, traumatised, <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">irregular tattoo</span> of <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">tachycardic</span></span> breath. I wished to take away all that pain through those fluttering kisses lightly <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">touching</span> his hair.<br /><br />But her eyes pleaded with me, beseeching me to forgive her for hurting my baby. I transferred the <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">teensiest</span>-</span>weensiest bit of my attention to her. She was in tears. She, the doctor and me, the mother of the sick baby. The roles reversed completely.<br /><br />The words came gushing out and she started telling me how it hurt her to see her juvenile diabetic daughter suffer and how being a mother is so tough. As the tears flowed, the words came out faster. I was holding her hand (didn't know I had a hand to spare) and comforting her much as gently as I was stroking my baby and as strongly as I was telling myself that it would all be <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">OK</span>.<br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18694536.post-49141189137587184122007-01-12T08:28:00.000+05:302007-04-18T20:32:32.154+05:30Break Break Break - Disorder Changeth<div align="justify"><span style="COLOR: rgb(153,0,0);font-family:lucida grande;" ><em>Happiness is not a possession to be prized. It is a quality of thought, a state of mind.</em></span></div><div align="justify"><em><span style="COLOR: rgb(153,0,0)"></span></em></div><div align="justify"><em><span style="COLOR: rgb(153,0,0)"></span></em></div><div align="justify"><em><span style="COLOR: rgb(153,0,0)"></span></em></div><div align="justify"><em><span style="COLOR: rgb(153,0,0)"></span></em></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><br />Guess the accepted thing to say about my non-blogging would be to crib about the desertion by a muse and how the flow of creative juices has all but dried up... but how about the truth for a change?<br /></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The fact is that for ADD-afflicted me, this blog has lost its limited (at best dubious) charm and am reluctant to waste more bytes on it.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Plus want to organise myself better in this year which promises to bring MUCH change in my life.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />And have PLENTY of things to sort out in the real non-blog world and not time enough to do a halfway decent job of getting those things done.</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Am terribly disorganised and tend to be obsessive at nearly all the diversely varied and immensely interesting things(!) that I take up and compulsively see through till the damn end.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">(The words 'obsessive' and 'compulsive' together in a single sentence, draw your own conclusions, dear reader!)</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Most pertinently, my maid has abandoned me (I continue to live is another matter!) and am obsessively compulsively perversely scouring dishes, doing laundry and various other domestic chores which have taken over my former on-line hours. So all you who flocked to my blog are hereby invited to drop in to check out the fare at the table, the shine of the cutlery, and all the rest (see I am still learning).</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Au revoir or as a </span><a href="http://uthinksour.blogspot.com/2005/11/mrss-de-winter-part-i.html"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">favourite icon </span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">would have said, Je Reviens (chez nous?)!</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Or lets just say, </span><a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=brb"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">brb </span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">huhn? :)<br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">UPDATE:</span><br /><br />There are maids lurking in the horizon but resolutely, I still hold my ground, not hiring them and surrendering my soul to them. DH, when he visits us occasionally from his busy work schedule, is worried as he knows that I may well be perverse but am also inconsistent and that any moment the dam would burst. Meanwhile I wallow in my domestic drugde surfacing for but a few moments online.<br /><br />The upside is that the kids are loving my 'genius' at cooking (they thought their mom could just NOT cook!) and kissing my fingers when they get time off from licking the 'divine dishes' off their fingers! DS has even learnt to appreciate things other than the spuds - if this was all it took, <a href="http://uthinksour.blogspot.com/2006/08/tiff-ins.html">wish I had done this earlier</a>! :)<br /><br /></span></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18694536.post-60346178060695973022007-01-03T13:25:00.000+05:302021-08-31T23:10:15.048+05:30A Beacon and a Rant!<span style="font-family: georgia;">Needless to say, as is evident from the title of this post and the tone of the previous one, I aint starting this year on the high notes.
</span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The more things change, ... Another year finds me on a course of treatment, errm, management which was offered to me over a decade ago! Hullo 2007, err, is it 1995 again?? *sigh*
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;">I was floundering along, on my precarious, and thankfully, rarely used heels, mooching about in my gloamy gloom late one night, last week, (attending a marriage reception of a friend's son) with the vacuous smile plastered onto my dreary face, when one of my beacons, she called. Thankfully, I did not have to explain, she soon realised the depths of my dark despair. She is one of the few who can reach me through my fogs. She beamed a message in a song. Given that she is the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gurdaspur_District" style="font-style: italic;">punjab ki kudi</a>, I expected some tappa-shappa which she does send every now and then. (There was a teensy fear that she may lapse into Chitra Singh, even though she knows how I hate THAT) But then anchor and beacon, she surprised me with a song in her sweet angel voice.
God bless beacons.
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;">The next morn was no better and I was tempted to beg off my usual hospital rounds. DH insisted I go and dd (being rather worried for her silly old mom who has 'lost it') tagged along. We were doing great together till suddenly there was a storm. A gaggle of women totally incoherent and wailing loudly in different pitches and scales assaulted all our senses. They had wheeled in an adolescent girl, who seemed totally inert. But as quickly as the storm came, it passed. Constrained by dd's presence, I did not do anything actively to help any one of that group and was merely relieved that the storm blew over so quickly. (<i>Did I mention that I felt very cowardly that moment?</i>) Maybe it was just a LOT of over-reaction from the hysterical folk, I hoped.
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;">But then, this <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Truth">truth</a> biz, it has a way of getting out and catching up with one. I learnt that the girl had committed <a href="http://www.indialawinfo.com/bareacts/ipc.html#_Toc496765184">a crime under Section 309 of the IPC</a> and was denied admission in the hospital because the hospital did not wish to be tainted with the consequences of the <a href="http://www.geradts.com/anil/ij/vol_007_no_001/papers/paper003.html">treatment of a criminal</a>.
And <a href="http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/articleshow/1998671.cms">the country</a> is worrying itself silly about some <a href="http://www.indialawinfo.com/bareacts/ipc.html#_Toc496765260">Section 377</a>!!! But then that subject is far more glamourous and happening, aint it? How insensitive we are as a nation and just how antequated.
NOTHING absolves me of the guilt of keeping quiet and not offering the minimal help and support I could have given to that group of women.
Wonder what happened to that little girl!
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18694536.post-1167508454295808112006-12-30T23:57:00.000+05:302007-01-01T14:54:27.651+05:30It flows on<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Yet another milestone to mark the passage of Time. Yet another looking back and taking stock, trying in vain to make some sense of the absurdity of the exercise of marking Time. </span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />No more <a href="http://uthinksour.blogspot.com/2005/12/long-deep-one.html">deep long expirations</a> at the end of this year. Just a short fervent wish for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hope">Hope</a> and <a href="http://www.selfknowledge.com/37734.htm">Fortitude</a>, to keep things going with the flow.<br /><br />No exuberance (<a href="http://www.irrationalexuberance.com/definition.htm">irrational</a> or other wise), just <a href="http://www.enchantedlearning.com/rhymes/IfWishes.shtml">wishes</a>.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18694536.post-1166099855986993012006-12-14T17:52:00.000+05:302006-12-14T18:10:21.023+05:30Azure<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The hand is much better! But the blog break continues.<br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Meanwhile, I am sharing some heavenly images of some time spent at <a href="http://www.lakshadweeptourism.com/html/l0200frm.htm">Lakshadweep</a> sometime in March 2005.<br /><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7608/1835/1600/584903/5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7608/1835/320/600859/5.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7608/1835/1600/515111/3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7608/1835/320/494280/3.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blue">Blue</a> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blue_chip">ain't</a> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blue_moon">so</a> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blue_in_Judaism">bad</a>,<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blue_period"> is it</a>?<br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18694536.post-1165114032618009132006-12-03T08:02:00.000+05:302006-12-05T08:42:26.386+05:30Coping<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Last time I had written <a href="http://uthinksour.blogspot.com/2005/12/enabled-persons.html">this</a> for the <a href="http://www.un.org/esa/socdev/enable/disiddp.htm">World Dis Abled Day</a> from the perspective of mothers of children born with disabilities.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But what of disabilities acquired later in childhood or those of previously '<a href="http://encarta.msn.com/dictionary_1861683785/normal.html">normal</a>' adults? Typically the first reaction is of disbelief- 'This can't be happening to me. This must a bad dream.' Then realisation brings in its wake the <a href="http://www.allaboutlifechallenges.org/Why-Me-God.htm">Why Me?</a> set of questions.<br /><br />Some try to find anwers to those Why me questions <span style="font-weight: bold;">even while</span> grappling with the new and multiple challenges that disability brings in its wake. Some get so embroiled in seeking answers to these questions (at some airy fairy level- psychological, metaphysical, karmic or even a more worldly level of apportioning blame on others) that they cannot actually DO anything to help themselves. They get stuck in self-defeating loops till they gradually lose touch with their realities and start to live in a sad world of their own.<br /><br />Some others lose themselves in the new grind which suddenly makes all their prior routines so rich in comparison. They start '<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coping_skill">coping</a>'. The skills they use may range from workarounds to seeking out <a href="http://www.clevelandclinic.org/health/health-info/docs/0000/0069.asp?index=4606">help</a>. Another not-so-easy but nevertheless done much to death coping mechanism is the martyr act. Looking upon suffering as noble, <span style="font-style: italic;">a salvation</span>, as it were.<br /><br />And the stresses are many- economic (health care is <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">expensive</span>), social, attitudinal, physical. And they take their toll in so many ways. On the work relationships, on even relationships in the family, with parents, siblings, spouses, self image raising difficult to deal with issues of self worth, and finally, of course the higher questions of does Someone/Anyone (God?) love me.<br /></span></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">These may be a few of the issues one keeps in the mind when coming across any links to '<span style="font-style: italic;"><a href="http://www.tribuneindia.com/2004/20041204/ldh1.htm#4">organise</a>, <a href="http://www.propoor.org/blog.php?sid=8762">take</a> <a href="http://www.deccanherald.com/deccanherald/nov302006/state23515620061129.asp">part</a> </span><a href="http://www.who.int/mediacentre/events/2006/disabled_persons_day/en/index.html">and</a><span style="font-style: italic;"> <a href="http://www.keralaevents.com/php/showEventDetails.php?event_id=1147&linkid=2&country=&state=&amp;amp;city=&category_id=&event_type=L">celebrate</a></span>' Disabled day not merely by those have easy <a href="http://www.un.org/esa/socdev/enable/iddp2006.htm">e-accessability</a>.</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Happy Coping all ye enabled ones!</span> Ping back!<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">P.S. Just as I posted this, my long time <a href="http://www.cherubs-cdh.org/">support group and virtual family</a> went through a convulsive shake-up. (If I retain any semblence of sanity today it is due to the tremendous support, love and affection I have got from these my family members.) I guess all families go through these, but then they are very painful.</span><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18694536.post-1164825228850798502006-11-29T22:24:00.000+05:302006-11-30T00:03:49.100+05:30Randomness<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Thanks folks for all the kind wishes for handicapped me. Miss you folk and hope to catch up soon. </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I've started finally with PT though still not taken any pain-killers or muscle relaxants. I know I am far from the ideal patient but am at least patiently waiting for the pain to pass. And it shall. :)</span><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"></span></div><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br />Meanwhile, a random post about this that and nothing very much...<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">We'd bought a karaoke system recently which made ds discover an amazing repertoire of songs from <a href="http://users.cis.net/sammy/rmartin.htm">Ricky Martin</a> to <a href="http://music.punjabcentral.com/song/?song=17283">Mohd. Rafi</a> and he has great taste too in picking up songs to learn! But he gave bathroom singing a whole new twist when he grinned naughtily and sang <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iDiD7g9SGkE">Rim jhim gire Snaanam</a>!</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"></span></div><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">We got free (?) tickets to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dhoom_2">Abs-2 </a>complete with the popcorn coupons! The abs on display were fantabulous. Nothing else was worth a mention. The small (debatable) mercy was that AB baby's abs were seen covered throughout the movie! I was predetermined to dislike the movie for the simple reason that there was no <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Abraham_%28actor%29">JA</a>. Hrithik aint no Johnnie, despite all his six pack abs, smooth dance steps and the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Where_in_the_World_is_Carmen_Sandiego%3F">where in the world </a> take this film should have rightly been called Krishh 2 not a sequel to Dhoom. The family had much fun tearing the movie apart.<br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">The recent hoohaa about <a href="http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/Katara_case_Bharti_records_statement/articleshow/638870.cms">this</a> made me think of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mirza_Sahiba">more famous parallel</a>. Would things be very different for Bharti than they were for Sahiba?<br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Ain't that a long left handed post?<br /></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18694536.post-1164022341763801752006-11-20T15:34:00.000+05:302006-11-20T17:02:21.933+05:30Left/ Right<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">The cardboard hero of the Mahabharata, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arjuna#Personality">Arjuna</a> was true to type- macho, indecisive, insecure about his mother's love for him, competitive, exploitative, suppressing all legit competitors by fair means or foul, polygamous - the epitome, as it were, of Indian malehood. There was one thing, however, truly remarkable about him. The facet of Arjuna which fascinated me, made me blind to all his faults and made a hero of him in my eyes, from was that one of his appellations was Savyasachi (the ambidextrous one).<br /><br />While I can do a few simple tricks like writing backwards and to a limited extent even writing longhand with my left hand, I cannot type with my left. This and other such constraints to my ambidexterity are made very apparent to me now that my right wrist is afflicted with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Repetitive_strain_injury">RSI</a>.<br /><br />So folks till my right rights itself, among other things, no more blog hopping for me and no more posts here...<br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18694536.post-1163438238538330182006-11-13T22:33:00.000+05:302007-01-02T01:10:39.594+05:30Happy Chill-ones day!<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It started as early as the first of November itself. The initial excitement started with <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0455499">Garfield: A Tail of Two Kitties</a> that the school is organising a trip to.<br /><br />Then one evening when I came home dog-tired as usual, there was an insistent shrill demand that I make a chart of <a href="http://tweens.indiatimes.com/articleshow/281405.cms">Chacha Nehru</a>, followed by other such demands. There were many discussions and questions regarding the man and why his birthday meant that all kids could have a day off. After much of this grilling, I was on the receiving end. I was being told by my little one how everyone should love children, be kind to them and celebrate and have a great time on <a href="http://festivals.iloveindia.com/childrens-day/index.html">chilluns day</a>.<br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0); font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >Celebrate childhood!</span><br /><br /><br /></span>PS: Show me a woman </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">who </span><span style=""></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">is not guilty and I'll show you man- said 'feminist' Erica Jong. But then O. Henry thought it could be the man too who could be <a href="http://www.bibliomania.com/0/5/221/767/17349/1/frameset.html">The Guilty Party</a>. On children's day (ouchie, sounding a bit preachy) lets remember to do our bit by the kids of the world, most importantly, our own.<br /></span><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18694536.post-1162749448697852742006-11-05T22:25:00.000+05:302006-11-05T23:51:43.916+05:30The makings of a Bengaloorean?<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">During the Suvarna Rajyotsava</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> week </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">, I took a trip out of State.<br /><br />Went just across the border on a short hop to Kerala. As usual the pace was hectic there. Things were happening, or were they? There was a <a href="http://www.newkerala.com/news4.php?action=fullnews&id=42977">road strike</a> and had miles to go on those narrow ribbony roads through the furiously fast untamed traffic (at least in contrast to my now-becalmed Bengalooru senses).<br /><br />It was a major-shock for me - a reflection of how the others (aka non-Bengalooreans) live. The sweat literally poured out in rivulets. The heat was an assault of all ones senses, especially the visual and the olfactory. One longed for the beautiful Bengalooru weather.<br /><br />And whats with the men outside of Bengalooru? They actually</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> STARED. In namma Bengalooru if one as much as looks at another person, he, and it would be a 'he' of course, would smile nicely before converting his curious gaze into a downward glance.<br /><br />Later, was discussing this with dh and he asked, So what did you do there then? And I had to reply sheepishly, that I reverted quite seamlessly to my dilli-waali self!<br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18694536.post-1162407440534365282006-11-01T23:07:00.000+05:302006-11-02T23:57:47.100+05:30Cheers again!<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It was still the early chapters of </span><a href="http://www.law4u.com.au/lil/book_pbrief.html"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The Pelican Brief</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">. Strange how some irrelevant associations endure and they usually point to books I was reading when something significant was happening in my life. But that Thursday night, I was reading it and reading it rather desultorily.<br /><br />Without any prejudice to the writer or the plot, let me explain why it was so. There was a growing unease within me which was extremely discomfiting, unlike anything I had ever felt before, induced both by my own body and exaggerated by the slooow <a href="http://www.babycentre.co.uk/pregnancy/labourandbirth/labourcomplications/speedinguplabour/#9">Syntocinon drip</a> on my right arm, which produced <a href="http://www.clevelandclinic.org/heartcenter/pub/guide/disease/electric/syncope.htm#whatis">syncope</a>-like feelings. In addition were the gut-wrenching moans and wails from the invisible woman in the next cubicle, a <a href="http://www.thefreedictionary.com/primigravida">primi</a> who had to undergo the labours of ejecting a piece of tissue which had grown in her for eight months before <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stillbirth">quitting</a> spontaneously. Far more disturbing than all these was the </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">low</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> but </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">clear</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> tones of a discussion that two people were clinically having in that unreal endless night- the burden of the conversation and <span style="font-style: italic;">an extremely heavy burden</span> it was, was how the two women wished they did not ever have daughters as girls would have to undergo all the travails of child bearing which they were exposed to as Ob-Gyns day and night.<br /><br />What disturbed me was not the fact that these were not merely trained educated doctors speaking but that they were real women and yet did not feel the joys of being a woman. All through my pregnancy I had fervently hoped for a daughter and I could not believe my ears that here were women (women who participate in the birthing process, no less) who wished that their own progeny did not participate in the most visible celebration of life!<br /></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;" align="justify"><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">***</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />A dear friend of mine, one of my 'anchors', is from the cultural (and <span style="font-weight: bold;">very</span> political) holy <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allahabad">city</a> from the banks of the Ganga whose guavas are as sweet as the language and fine sensibilities of its people. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Now constrained by physical distance, we talk over the phone about this and that and all the rest that goes into our lives- about birds in the bird bath, crows having a parliament and such important ma<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">tters</span>. During the course of one such invigorating session, she asked me to listen to both the versions of this song- <a href="http://www.hindilyrix.com/songs/get_song_Agle%20Janam%20Mohe%20Bitiyaa%20-%201.html">this</a> and <a href="http://www.hindilyrix.com/songs/get_song_Agle%20Janam%20Mohe%20Bitiya%20-%202.html">that</a>. She knows just how much I appreciate <a href="http://ww.smashits.com/music/oldies/songs/688/umrao-jaan.html">these songs </a>so I presumed that the <a href="http://http://ww.smashits.com/music/oldies/songs/688/umrao-jaan.html">newer version </a>of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Umrao_Jaan">Umrao Jaan</a> would, if any, be better - with songs to match.<br /><br />Alas, more fool me - the lyrics of Shahryar and the music of Khayyam with even <a href="http://www.cs.wisc.edu/%7Enavin/india/songs/isongs/additions/N9036.html">a ge</a></span><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"><a href="http://www.cs.wisc.edu/%7Enavin/india/songs/isongs/additions/N9036.html">m of Khusro</a>, how could they be matched by a 'politically correct' poet who receives such <a href="http://www.hindu.com/2006/11/01/stories/2006110103221300.htm">public proclaim</a> and is even proclaimed by <a href="http://www.indiaglitz.com/channels/hindi/article/26525.html">his enlightened wife</a> of having re-written history.<br /><br /><br />***<br /><br />When I was pregnant with my second child, I had to, for some obscure reasons, undergo five ultrasound scans- four of them with a self-proclaimed expert radiologist who never picked up the congenital defect my baby was born with but invariably harped on whether I wanted to know whether I'd have a cricketer or a <a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.soyouwanna.com/SITE/syws/cheerleader/cheerleader.html">cheerleader</a>. No, <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://mohfw.nic.in/THE%20PNDT%20ACT%20%28PRINCIPAL%20ACT%291994.htm">I did not take him to court</a>, which he deserved to be especially given his acclaimed academic background, though <a href="http://doctorandpatient.blogspot.com/2006/06/doctors-need-to-become-politically.html">some</a> may <span style="font-weight: bold;">pig-headedly</span> disagree.<br /><br /><br /><br />At the end, if I were to do things again, I'd say <span style="font-style: italic;">agle janam mohe bitiya <span style="font-weight: bold;">hi </span>kijo</span>. Now to talk to my friend...<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;" align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span> </div><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span> </p><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18694536.post-1162100954727701172006-10-29T10:48:00.000+05:302006-10-29T11:43:24.856+05:30Lumping back<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7608/1835/1600/23102006%28011%29.0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7608/1835/200/23102006%28011%29.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">After the extended festivities, this lump of lard finds herself limping back to get on with her life. Diwali was great as was the wedding which followed immediately. Met plenty of family, yakked non-stop, compared notes, dressed, matched, accessorised, gossiped family gossip, fought, wept, umm, the whole range you know.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It was fun while it lasted but now is payback time and all those 'empty' calories need to be worked off. With my wavering resolve, it devolved on dh to give me the push and he accompanied me to the gym this morning even while I sought to reduce the punishment to a longish walk to <a href="http://www.tourtravelworld.com/hot_spots/bangalore/ulsoor_lake/">Ulsoor Lake</a>. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The greetings began with one of the gym trainers talking enthusiastically about the beautiful, wet and cloudy Bangalore morning and how it was likely that the sun may not appear all day as I had actually taken the trouble of coming to the gym this am! The other trainers there had their share of similar jibes apart from pokes at my ribs (under all those layers of adipose). Love these guys and their easy banter which makes even an over-the-hill matron feel kind of special! </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Given that we went so late, </span></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">neither the usual morning studs were seen nor were the lissome svelte PYTs there, and both dh and I feasted our eyes on the </span><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://intlsyndication.espn.com/intl_cat/golf.html">Tiger in the Park </a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">on ESPN to the strains of Worldspace music which was blaring.</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Back home I was exhausted, sweaty, aching and while all else remained the same, I am a bigger, fatter me! :(<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(I know this is not much of a post, but bear with limping lumpa me- as Statcounter tells me the same people keep coming bak to check my blog whether I post or not!)</span></span><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18694536.post-1160971808276503322006-10-16T09:39:00.000+05:302006-10-16T21:58:38.773+05:30At The Eighth Hole - You've come a Long Way Baby<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Some time before six a.m. on a dewy nippy morning at the <a href="http://www.golftoday.co.uk/clubhouse/coursedir/world/india/southernindia/karnataka.html">Golf Greens</a> in </span><st1:city style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" st="on"><st1:place st="on">Bangalore</st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">A group of three men (along with their dedicated </span><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caddy">caddies</a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">) were restlessly awaiting the arrival of one who would complete the </span><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://golf.about.com/cs/golfterms/g/bldef_fourball.htm">four-ball</a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> and let them tee off when their tee-time came. The minutes were ticking by and they dreaded the letter (Memo, it is officiously called) which came from <span style="font-style: italic;">Honorary Secretary</span> the </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">pulling up all those who did not show up after booking the </span><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://kga.in/Tsdays.htm">time-sheet</a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Sixth of an hour and still no show!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Till a saviour angel walked by. 'Hi guys', she said </span><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://www.drdonnica.com/toptips/00000371.htm">cheerily</a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">. 'Waiting for a fourth? Mind if I join your three-ball?' 'Oh yeah, do!', they chorussed, even while they did the typical male mental shrug about </span><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://www.freemanriver.com/Golfing/humorous_golfing_1.htm#Ladies%27%20Tee">ladies' </a><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://www.freemanriver.com/Golfing/humorous_golfing_1.htm#Ladies%27%20Tee">tee</a></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">, </span><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://www.happy-gods.com/jokes/funnyjoke3867.html"><span style="">minding their language</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">around the lady and all the male cracks at lady drivers (even if they be golf drivers!). But the caddies- they knew her better! Knew that she meant business and that her drive was as straight and long as her corporate strategies. They'd be safe in putting their money on her.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Of course the game started and the three golfers felt special to be actually playing with such a powerful woman- whom they have known only from the talk at the nineteenth or all those Page 3 reports. Her power came through in her drive. It was a Big power game with the three alpha males strutting while the most powerful of the four ball was, the lady.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Grudgingly they were coming around to admit that her drive was as good and straight on the golf course as her shots reportedly were in the corporate circuit. They were totally in awe of her game and then it happened.<br /><br />She suddenly turned to her caddy at the Eight hole and issued some rapid fire instructions.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The guys looked at each other in loud silence- had they actually heard her saying 'that'?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">She realised their sudden discomfort and repeated calmly and clearly for their befuddled male brains. 'OK guys, I have started my period and I've have asked the caddy to go and fetch me some pads. You guys can walk ahead and I'll catch up with you at the 9th hole. '</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">She directed them to move but set off herself before they could collect their faculties. She left three golfers agape in her wake!</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18694536.post-1160711143699246812006-10-13T07:44:00.000+05:302006-10-18T15:33:12.386+05:30Fine Tunes<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Atul, who recently tagged me, had <a href="http://gaizabonts.wordpress.com/2006/10/04/the-tune-tag/">another tag</a> on songs and tunes (which has been implicitly limited though not <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">expressly</span> so to Hindi film lyrics) too which he passed on to some of his fellow bloggers.<br /><br />Though unbidden, I feel tempted to take this one up - only thing being that I do it my way!<br /><br />The first question of the tag is: Who is your favourite lyricist and which lyrics do you remember the most? My entire post is limited to that one query. I confess to being totally in love with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sahir_Ludhianvi">Sahir sa'ab</a> and cannot lump him with any other- so this is dedicated only to Sahir songs.<br /><br />Such a prolific and popular poet, is it possible for me to pick out his best or come up with a Top 20 list? No. For that you may look <a href="http://www.mouthshut.com/product-reviews/Twenty_Best_Lyrics_of_Sahir_Ludhianvi-925036347.html">here</a> though more of his poetry is <a href="http://www.sahirludhianvi.com/blog/">there</a>. Or hear him <a href="http://aligarians.com/category/poets/sahir-ludhianvi/">here</a> though Amitabh really brings out the best of a part of his talkhiyaan in the bit from the other kabhi kabhi.<br /><br />So what do I attempt? Not a top 10 or 20 (sacrilegious), not even all my favourites (that would be too long). All I list here are some of his lesser heard songs I love and wish I could hear more often, from films like Shagun and Phir Subah Hogi) The songs are listed in alphabetic order and not in any order of preference- love them all.<br /><br />(the lyrics of nearly all these songs are available <a href="http://www.cs.wisc.edu/~navin/india/songs/isongs/indexes/lyrics/sahir_ludhianvi.html">here</a>)<br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic">aaj sajan mohe ang laga lo janam safal ho jaaye</span><br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic">aasma pe hai khuda aur zameen pe hum,<br />aaj kal voh is taraf dekhta hai kum</span><br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic">abhi na jao chhod ke </span><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"></span>(the Asha part more than the Rafi part) </span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">*(<strong><em>jahaan mein aisa kaun hai ki jis ko gham mila nahi</em></strong>)*<br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic">chiin-o-arab hamara, hindoostan hamara</span><br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic">itni nazuk na bano, haay, itni nazuk na bano</span><br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic">kabhi kabhi mere dil mein khayal aata hai<br />ke zindagi teri zulfon ke narm chhaao.n mein</span><br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic">maine poochha use ke kaun hai</span></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic"> tu</span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic">haske boli ke main hoon tera pyaar</span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic">main tere dil mein thi hamesha se</span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic">ghar me aayi hoon aaj pehli baar</span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic">- mere ghar aayi ek nanhi pari</span><br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic">parbato ke dero pe sham ka basera hai</span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic">surmayi ujjala hai champayi andhera hai</span><br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic">pyaar par bas to nahi hai lekin</span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic">phir bhi bataa de ki main tujhse pyaar karu.n ya na karu.n</span><br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic">tum agar mujh ko na chaho to koi baat nahi</span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic">tum kisi aur ko chahogi to mushkil hogi</span><br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic">tum mujhe bhool bhi jao to yeh haq hai tum ko<br />meri baat aur hai maine to mohabbat ki hai<br /></span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic">har ek jism ghayal har ik rooh pyaasi</span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic">nighao.n mein uljhan dilo mein udaasi ...</span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic">- tum hari hai tumhi sambhalo ye duniya</span><br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic">humko taqdeer se be-vajaha shikayat kyun ho<br />isi taqdeer ne chahat ki khushi bhi di thhi<br />aaj agar kaampte palko.n ko diye hain aasoo</span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic">kal thirakte hue hooto.n ko hasi bhi di thi</span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic">- zindagi zulm sahi zabr sahi gham hi sahi</span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; FONT-STYLE: italic">dil ke faryaad sahi rooh ka maatam hi sahi</span><br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The enduring spirit of Sahir! And the fine tunes.<br /><br /><br /></div></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18694536.post-1160245143687868742006-10-07T23:46:00.000+05:302006-10-08T10:31:26.576+05:30A tag of eight<span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://uthinksour.blogspot.com/2006/01/tick-tag-two.html">Another</a> <a href="http://uthinksour.blogspot.com/2006/08/that-tag-this-day.html">tag</a>. Another <a href="http://uthinksour.blogspot.com/2006/08/eighth-one.html">eight</a>.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://gaizabonts.wordpress.com/2006/09/29/my-first-tag-of-8/#comments">Atul </a>tagged me this time and while all the others he tagged seem to have smartly come up with their own versions of the tag, I have dawdled over this not knowing what else I could say about me which my limited readership does not already know about me.<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">1. I am known to perform and hold sustained that extremely complicated yogic asana for extended periods of time, the classic foot-in-mouth asana.<br /><br />2. My nose swells quite independent of the rest of me- especially when I begin to cry, which is often.<br /><br />3. I shake like a jelly when I laugh, which is often too.<br /><br />4. I preen at my kids and can spend hours, even days, grooming and cleaning </span></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">them</span></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">.<br /><br />5. I love eating bread (white, brown, warm, old, fresh, soft, fibre-rich, garlicky, flaky, buttery, cheesy, banana, raagi bread- you name it) and can actually spend the rest of life feeding on bread. Alas! I don't.<br /><br />6. I am fiercely protective of all those whom I adopt as my own. I am NOT a soccer mom but can often lapse into the Mom-Fom-Hell mode.<br /><br />7. I am very impressed by all the well-groomed folk, but can relate instantly to those whose hair is a bit, umm, disarrayed.<br /><br />8. I appreciate people who sing and recite well, even while I am godawfully off-key myself.<br /><br /><br />And what of this tag? All of you who read this, please take this one and attempt your own tag of eight.<br /></span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18694536.post-1160061714520912012006-10-05T20:46:00.000+05:302006-10-05T20:51:54.550+05:30Grace to Blush<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://www.tirumala.org/maintemple_main.htm">He</a> loves me. I know.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">He tests me. Tests my love for Him. Tests my sensibilities. Tests my sensitivities.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">He shows me a preference. An indication that I am among the chosen few from amongst the teeming multitude.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">He shows me respect in the eyes of the lout who who yanks poor arms before hurtling them this way or that.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">He loves me, I know.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Thank you God, for the gift of Grace to blush.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18694536.post-1159887983927315642006-10-03T20:35:00.000+05:302006-10-04T10:56:32.046+05:30The World Is So Small<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">(<em><span style="font-size:130%;">Or why I should walk more</span></em>)</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /></span><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This evening I came home with my ample shoulders bearing the burden of all my onerous woes to see ds fallen asleep waiting for his amma to reach home. I felt further burdened by the guilt trip we working women have and was about to sink into my scowly sulky self, when I decided to step out. </span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Just be back in a mo. I said and strode out before any protests could begin. Keeping me company was an obscure <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nusrat_Fateh_Ali_Khan">NFAK</a> track from an album called Nach ke Manava Yaar nu, which believe it or not sounded like, ugh! <a href="http://www.raaga.com/channels/hindi/movie/H000178.html">Tere bina bhi kya jeena</a>. You know just how low things are if Nusrat sa'ab sounds like a Kal-An song! But just the sheer momentum of moving, striding purposefully in a totally random fashion helped. I'll just pick up a fresh loaf of the Daily B and run back home, I thought. I turned into the neighbourhood <a href="http://www.rpggroup.com/bussectors/foodworld/profile.asp">Food World</a> ready to pounce on any unwary creature who may be lurking there but lo n be!<br /><br />Flashback to February this year. </span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I sat extremely nervously at the waiting chambers of a flourishing gynae with a budding practice, among very pregnant females and feeling quite at sea there. But then having made some <a href="http://uthinksour.blogspot.com/2006/01/life-is-haw-haw-he-he-in-ladies-coupe.html">promises</a>, I had to keep them too. I had with me a tiny red draw-string bag which I wished to stuff with goodies for a <a href="http://dayashankar-vs-umaparvati.blogspot.com/">sweet girl</a>. I wanted to embroider it with some suitable pattern, but was quite at a loss. I tried out some patterns, took them out, then some colour schemes. Wasn't too sure. Looked up to see the bright curious eyes of an obvious <a href="http://medical-dictionary.thefreedictionary.com/primigravida">primi</a> (nearly full term) and suddenly I didn't feel so out of place there. We made friends with each other by holding out different coloured strands of Anchor thread and golden glitter and soon swapped tales of our childhoods, schools, jobs and what have you! We parted promising to keep in touch with each other, but you know how it is- we lost touch.</span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And now here she was with a bonny baby in tow in mine own Food World! I burst in shrilly screeching Hiiii (without much concern for other denizens of that World) and then (not quite remembering her name) stepped back a bit in case she didn't remember me- but oh! sweetholymother she did! We hugged, shared our updates over the past few months of not being in touch(!), and then did the ultimate feminine talk of swapping birthing tales. I picked up and hugged and cooed over baby, while she gurgled happily and drooled various fluids on my shoulder. </span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">After hearing about burst waters, 30 hours of non-progression of labour, C-section, excellent birth weight, the sweet temperament of baby, perfect regimen of feeding, a successful <em>annaprashana,</em> the first cold of the god child, I did feel better.</span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">PS: This time I gave the mom my number and promised we'll be in touch more.</span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">PPS: BTW, I returned home empty handed as there was not one loaf of bread on the shelves there today!<br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18694536.post-1159773058696301652006-10-02T12:38:00.000+05:302006-10-02T12:40:58.700+05:30Very Hungry<div style="text-align: justify;"> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> I am <a href="http://www.hsph.harvard.edu/physiology/dyspnealab/Symposium/Speaker1_AH_Banzett.html">hungry for air</a>. What abominable <a href="http://www.ampainsoc.org/pub/bulletin/mar01/upda1.htm">pain</a> it is to be denied air. And I speak not merely of asthma or physically apparent <a href="http://www.emedicine.com/med/topic70.htm">respiratory distress</a>, but the more insiduous distresses with which we cramp our lives.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Whenever the going is good and I <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Overdose">OD</a>, there it manifests itself, this hunger. There, and immediately then, I desperate need to drop all, run away and take in lungfuls of air. Air untarnished by the breath of others. No odours from the past or the present, no obstructions to my <a href="http://catalog.nucleusinc.com/generateexhibit.php?ID=8325&ExhibitKeywordsRaw=&amp;TL=&A=2">pathways</a>, no shocks to my <a href="http://www.webmd.com/hw/lab_tests/hw2343.asp">blood gases</a>. I cannot allow my <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pulmonary_aspiration">aspirations</a> to mix with my vital processes, without risk of very dire <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pulmonary_aspiration#Consequences">consequences</a>.<br /></div><br />Gimme my mandatory dose of plenty of air (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Air_pollution#Deaths">as fresh as it can get</a>!)<br /><br /><br /> <span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; font-family: trebuchet ms;">Note: This post was on my lappy as a draft for over two months. Glad to have finally expelled it!</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18694536.post-1159206628959019852006-09-25T23:14:00.000+05:302006-09-26T22:12:02.220+05:30Probashi phorever<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This entire post is about dh, notwithstanding his <a href="http://uthinksour.blogspot.com/2005/12/gagged-gagging.html">earlier misgivings</a> about being featured on this blog.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">He was born in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kolkata#Culture">Calcutta</a> - </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">lived there for </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">just </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">the first couple of years of his life or so - but then you know it, he is a probashi for life. Given that he went for his first Durgo immersion (without informing folks at home) at the tender age of two, the time he misses Calcutta most is obviously during <a href="http://http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Durga_Puja">Durga Puja</a>. Whether it be the politics and sport of pandal or para, he misses Calcutta so!<br /><br />I had dh sing his</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> (just one among many) ode to Cal songs and it was pleasingly enough for me, <a href="http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Ithaca/1909/subimal.htm">Sumaner gaan</a>. So here are a clip (in dh's voice) and the full lyrics of one of the prime of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suman">Kabir Suman</a> , which I got from <a href="http://http://www.kabirsuman.org/forum/kabir-suman.html">here</a>.<br /><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span></span> <p style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">prothomoto ami tomake chai, ditioto ami tomake chai<br />tritioto ami tomake chai, shesh porjonto tomake chai.<br />nijhum ondhokare tomake chai, ratbhor hole ami tomake chai<br />shokaler koishore tomake chai, shondher obokashe tomake chai.<br />boishakhi jhore ami tomake chai, asharer meghe ami tomake chai<br />srabone srabone ami tomake chai, okal bodhone ami tomake chai.<br /><br /><br />kobekar kolkata shohorer pothe, purono notun mukh ghore imarote<br />ogonti manusher klanto michile, ochena chhutir chhowa tumi ene dile<br />nagorik klantite tomake chai, ek fota shantite tomake chai<br />bohudur hete eshe tomake chai, e jibon bhalobeshe tomake chai.<br /><br />chourastar mor'e-park'e-dokan'e, shohor'e-gonz'e-gram'e-ekhane-okhane<br />station terminus ghate bondore, ochena drawing room'er chena bondor'e<br />balish-toshok-katha-purono chadore, thanda sheet'er raat'e leper ador'e<br />kadi kathey, coukathe , madurey paposhey , hashi-raag-oviman-jhogra-aposhe<br /><br />tomake chai, tomake chai, tomake chai, tomake chai.</span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p> </o:p><br />ek cup chaa'e ami tomake chai, daine o baye ami tomake chai<br />dekha na dekhai ami tomake chai, na bola kothai ami tomake chai.<br /><br /><br />shirshendur kono notun novel e, hothat porte bosha abol tabole<br />oboddho kobita ar thungri-kheyal'e, slogane slongane-dhaka deyale deyale<br />Sholil Chowdhury'r fele asha gan'e, Chaurasiya'r bashi mukhorito pran'e<br />bhule jaowa Himangshu Dutta'r shur'e, shei kobekar onurodher ashor'e.<br />tomake chai, tomake chai, tomake chai, tomake chai.<br />onurodh'e, minoti-te tomake chai, bedona'r arti-te tomake chai<br />dabi-daowa-chahida'i tomake chai, lojja-didha'i ami tomake chai.<br /><br />odhikar bujhe neya prokhor dabite, shararat jege anka loraku chhobi te<br />chhipchhipe kobitar chhonde bhashay, buddhi'r juktite bachar ashai<br />srenihin shomajer chiro bashonai, din bodol'er dhora chetonai<br />didha-dondher din ghochhar shopne, shammyobad'er dak ghume-jagorone<br />bikkhobe-biplobe tomake chai, bishon oshomvobe tomake chai<br />shanti oshantite tomake chai, ei bibhranti-te tomake chai.</span></p><br /><br /><br />Happy Durga Puja folks! :)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">PS</span>: Here it is,<span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"> finally posted the audio clip</span>! Ok, am very proud of dh's singing skills- so go ahead and download & enjoy <a href="http://www.zshare.net/download/tomaake-amr.html">this</a> :)<br /><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18694536.post-1158953162628158892006-09-23T00:30:00.000+05:302006-09-23T15:08:04.533+05:30DEAR Me<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">*</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">D</span>rop<span style="font-style: italic;"> E</span>verything <span style="font-style: italic;">A</span>nd <span style="font-style: italic;">R</span>ead*</span></span><br /></div> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /></span> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Ever since childhood I read stuff. I can not claim any credit for that reading because all around me there always were plenty of books. The '<span style="font-style: italic;">right</span>' books. No '<span style="font-style: italic;">trash</span>' was allowed to us at home and somehow it never seemed to matter that I was reading Arthur Miller when I was 8 and Freud while I was 14 (pretty irrelevant was how much of it I could understand and assimilate!). </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I was </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">still in school in pigtails and scruffy shoes when I read <a href="http://www.marxists.org/reference/subject/ethics/de-beauvoir/2nd-sex/introduction.htm">The Second Sex </a>(my first Bible). There never was any time for me to read <a href="http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/cgi-bin/millsandboon.storefront/EN/Catalog">frivolous stuff</a> which my contemporaries were surreptitiously deciphering. I could read Sons and Lovers and Women in Love before I ever was permitted to read a </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">vapid romance</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">(Lady C. came later though)</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">. Georgette Heyer was on, Danielle Steele wasn't. Shaw was on but James Hadley Chase </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">& Harold Robbins </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">weren't (back then!)<br /><br />School was a lark with a wonderful library and a delightfully charming librarian. I have yet to come across anyone as dignified and graceful and yet so firmly in control over the </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">legions of louts</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> who used to fidget through the mandatory Library period every week. Library was really a place where I could sit (very quietly) and forget the whole world and read. Whether it was a classic or a reference text, the library was always well-stocked and yet we would often complain about a missing book- and wondrously, it would appear on the shelves, with its fresh scent, within weeks. </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">A favourite haunt of mine, when I was bunking classes in school, was the library (more often than the streets of Sunder Nagar!) and far more difficult to be in because, unlike being in Sweets Corner, one had to come up with valid excuses to justify one's presence at the Library. But then, like most of my teachers, </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Mrs. Jalil</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> was rather kind to me and did not interrupt my education!</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><a href="http://mh.du.ac.in/">College</a> was where I came into my own. One had absolute and total freedom within those all girls gates- may be a bit stultifying but it was </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">a </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">haven. There were so many nooks and corners one could curl up in and spend hours- the most favourite being the library with its low divans and bolster pillows in the little favoured musty upstairs reading room. I was not too interested in poring over the text books, which would be hidden among the non-related reference books racks by the girls who not only wanted to do well academically but also wished to seal their success by ensuring others' failure. The reference library was a delight. I would wait for the gaggle of giggly girls to leave by their 1.30, or latest by the 2.30 <a href="http://www.hindu.com/2006/07/17/stories/2006071721460300.htm">Specials</a>, and stay on till late evening, till finally hunger would drive me home. In between would be the ambles across to other colleges in the <a href="http://www.du.ac.in/maps/ncmap.htm">campus</a> and <a href="http://www.ipcollege.com/">a</a> <a href="http://learning.indiatimes.com/campus/pages/delhicamp/zhc/delzhcpro.htm">few</a> beyond too. There would be slide shows, discussions, seminars, demonstrations, movie screenings (docu-edu-tainment <span style="font-weight: bold;">only</span>!), <a href="http://www.naturalheritagefirst.org/ridgeandlakes.html">walks</a> in the <a href="http://www.kalpavriksh.org/f3/f3.4/delhiridge">Ridge</a> and much discussion and debate of ideas and thoughts- all of which would push me back to Drop Everything And Read.<br /><br />I would read everywhere- at home- in bed, at the table, in the loo, in the buses (which were NOT Specials and therefore were adrenaline surcharged ideal 'eve-teasing' environment), in libraries, in parks, under trees, in coffee-houses, over hot steaming chai, just about everywhere. It helped that there were others around me who paced me, because try as I might, I could never compete with my Sis in either the width or depth of reading. I read nearly all I could lay my hands on and with the passage ot time became increasingly inclusive in reading much more than I read - <span style="font-style: italic;">BUT</span> there were limitations. I could never read 'trash', however hard I tried to break the childhood hex. I could never go past the initial unease with sci-fi which I developed an aversion to early in life - whether it be <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H._G._Wells">Wells</a> or <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Water-Babies">Kingsley </a>I shunned them even while I loved <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jules_Verne">Verne</a>. After the initial unfortunate exposure to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Bunyan">Bunyan</a>, I could never pick up a preachy Christian tale, however fantastically <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Chronicles_of_Narnia">well-written</a>.<br /><br />And there was the limitation of language. English and Hindi were, and remain to this day, the only languages which I can read and write in. I could not read as much of Hindi as I wanted. I regret that I haven't read as much of the modern Hindi literature as I could have.<br /><br />And now, off for some DEAR time, dearies.<br /><br />NOTE: The term DEAR was introduced to me by a <a href="http://www.tsrs.org/vv/index.htm">school</a> in which ds was fortunate enough to enrol but could not study beyond one month as we moved to Bangalore.<br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18694536.post-1158836395926748452006-09-21T15:45:00.000+05:302006-09-21T23:21:54.686+05:30Personal<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><a href="http://health.discovery.com/centers/loverelationships/articles/commitment.html">CP</a> & I</span><br /></div> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;">NOTE: This post is not, repeat </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" >NOT</span><span style="font-size:85%;">, about dh or my marriage. This post, like the rest of this unleavened blog, is about me.<br /></span><br />As a child I was notoriously shy. There were stories of how people had to bend extremely low to be able to hear me apart from the tales of how I never seemed to pay any attention, be interested in any thing around me. I had many friends and no <span style="font-style: italic;">single</span> best friend to choose amongst them.<br /><br />Then there were the usual loyalty issues at home. Being the youngest, I was always asked to align myself with one of my ever sparring siblings. Big brother was very very much older and spent the little time we had together being </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">alternately kind and cruel, like one would with a pet mouse. Big S was more forthright and took charge, demanding pledges</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> of absolute loyalty.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">There was this instance when the maha block-bluster was released in the mid-1970s </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sholay">(Sholay</a></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">). Being that we were non-filmi types, our family was the only one in the entire neighbourhood, which hadn't seen it!<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sholay"></a> The songs- they were everywhere. Inspired by one <a href="http://www.bollywoodlyrics.com/categories/index.asp?id=13&lyricid=1122">such</a>, Big S asked to hold my hand and sing with her about how our friendship would be eternal and that it would live on even after our breath leaves our bodies and so on. To her everlasting chagrin and, I must admit, to my credit, I never held her hand or made any such promise to her. Some such song may have been sung by dh too (oh, I suffer so from amnesia), but I have never been pinned down by a word to any one.<br /><br />There were others who tried to play the emotional blackmail game, if you like/love/care for me, then you have to ----- <span style="font-weight: bold;">and </span>just <span style="font-style: italic;">this</span> way.<br /><br /></span> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I <span style="font-style: italic;">never</span> commit. I <span style="font-style: italic;">never</span> promise anyone anything. And yet can <span style="font-style: italic;">never</span> hold myself back from delivering on all those promises not made. Put myself through all manner of extremes and unpleasant stuff to endure, last out, see things through, stay till the end, do the done thing - but, I don't <span style="font-style: italic;">ever</span> commit. I <span style="font-style: italic;">never</span> say <span style="font-style: italic;">ever</span> or <span style="font-style: italic;">never</span>.<br /><br /></span> </div> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> <span style="font-style: italic;">So whom am I fooling?</span><br /></span></div> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18694536.post-1158631673801800122006-09-19T07:06:00.000+05:302007-05-01T23:47:15.634+05:30Oh *my* Boy!<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">All my Love, all my kissing, </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">you don't know what you've been missing</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Oh-Boy</span><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div style="FONT-FAMILY: trebuchet ms; TEXT-ALIGN: center">(break in singing for some loud wet kisses on my head)<br /></div></div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><br />We've been OD-ing on </span><a style="FONT-FAMILY: trebuchet ms" href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0093378/">La Bamba</a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> at home and </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">for all the hype around Valens,</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> this was what ds was found crooning wistfully. <a href="http://www.rockhall.com/hof/inductee.asp?id=119">Holly</a> it is for my little boy- oh boy!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.singulartists.com/artist_r/ritchie_valens_lyrics/cmon_lets_go_lyrics.html">C'mon Let's Go, little darling</a> - after all, The sky belongs to the Stars!<br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4