When my pen and the paper meet....

2009-12-31T14:59:00.000-08:00

31st Dec 2009

I wonder how I didn’t notice it before. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months, 2009 had come to a close.
When I look back, my memory gives away. It gets harder and harder to recall how many waves actually made it to my shore- just a few…. leaves me with a bitter taste in my mouth.
I fervently pray for a tempest this New Year, a tempest with a fury causing unlimited waves to crash against the shore and make me want for more…
I can feel it brewing already, the mind is laden with grey clouds waiting to burst...The only question is when….

Bring on 2010!

2009-12-14T11:17:00.000-08:00

Déjà vu?

Sunny beaches enveloped by clear skies, surrounded by sparkling blue waters with a spectacular sunrise heralding in the new day...
Dashes of raindrops and stray rainbows keeping me company as time lazes by and the palms sway along...
Tiny shops sprinkled around the beaches spring to life overwhelming me with their wares- dresses, beads, corals, pearls and shell jewelry...What does tear me away is the aromatic smell of fish, crabs and shrimps making me blindly walk towards the numerous shacks lacing the sands...
A lazy lunch followed by a brief siesta...
What more could one ask for i think...Just as the sun begins to melt the sky and the cruise takes off with locals filling the air with their folklore…
With nightfall come the stars weaving their presence onto the sky... and another day ends in the Hawaiian paradise….giving me the feeling of home away from home...

Making me miss Goa a little less than I usually do…

2009-01-25T02:52:00.001-08:00

Kabuli Chana Soup

Sounds interesting eh?

Get a packet of Knorr's Punjabi Chana Masala and just follow the instructions on the back of the packet, you'll get your chana soup, i promise you wont be disappointed!

2008-04-05T04:29:00.000-07:00

And my pen refuses to budge…

My stares turn into frowns and my eyes glisten with anger but it still doesn’t oblige. I don’t seem to exist anymore…

Nothing I do seems to change its mind. It sits there all stiff and stubborn next to its partner crime- my unused writing pad…

The two have gather dust I see, an inch too thick to be called recent… not to mention the rusty layer which adorns the inky tip…

They seem raring to go but won’t move an inch…Why? - I ask myself over and again until it dawns…

They fail to recognize this workaholic who stares at them as if they were her own…

They eagerly await their owners return…

2007-07-08T05:12:00.000-07:00

Glimpses of the road which veins through the IT corridor...the abode of software giants...the reasons behing our flourishing economy...

2007-06-25T03:52:00.000-07:00

Once again....Tagged!!!

Ok courtesy wooster here i am back to doing my bit in preserving a tagged chain :)

I think wayyyyy to much. Have a wild wild (growl growl) imagination which usually makes me invent absurd stories all the time :p
I eat to live and not live to eat..as long as it isnt sweet that its :P
I insist on wearing the right colour combination at all times. I hate to be caught wearing something odd.
I love writing. it desciplines my life..
I dont have a sweet tooth. Given a chance I could wipe off the existence of Cakes, Pastries, Icecreams and Chocs :P
Sarcasm is one of my best weapons. It hurts... trust me..
I talk. period. :D
A cleanliness freak, i am the "Friends" Monica in the making.

Phew! these random thoughts sure did take me a while...!

now here is a list of the chosen 8...

Darji
Jhol
Anand
Karen
Abhi
Manish
Vineet
Puneet

and here are the rules!

Each player starts with 8 random facts/habits about themselves.
People who are tagged, write a blog post about their own 8 random things, and post these rules.
At the end of your post you need to tag 8 people and include their names. Don’t forget to leave them a comment and tell them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
If you fail to do this within eight hours, you will not reach Third Series or attain your most precious goals for at least two more lifetimes.

2007-06-21T10:17:00.000-07:00

"Kalam is willing if ‘love and affection’ can get votes"

screams the headlines on Indian Express today.

Wonder whose love and affection he is talking about... the Left's? the NDA's? definetely not the UPA's!!..or maybe even theirs??? hehehehe....

tickled my funny bone to the core :P

2007-06-19T10:42:00.000-07:00

Three Incidents…

I was performing my morning ritual of walking down canal bank road on my way to Madhya Kailash. It was one hell of a dirty walk today. The rain gods has showered their blessings on "drainage less" Madras the night before. .

Anyways getting back to my story, I was hopping and jumping down the road doing my best to avoid the slush and dirt which had made its way in overnight.
As I crossed the “Kasturba Nagar Vegetable Market” I came across a vegetable vendor dutifully cleaning his cart. Ah! Now wasn’t that a pleasant sight to see! How many of us get to see vegetable vendors with clean carts? But this Anna was doing exactly that. As I drew closer I noticed what he was actually doing.
He was cleaning the card and shoving all the plastics and polyethylene bags onto the already dirty road.
Perfect example of “I might love Madras but you keep it clean!”

I moved on taking the immediate left still ruminating about what I had just seen. Before I knew it I had reached the newly built Kasturba Nagar station. (This station serves as a shortcut to Madhya Kailash)
I entered the station only to be drenched by what seemed like a rain shower. I looked up to see thousands of water pellets on the station ceiling. The entire ceiling was wet. Did I mention that the station has just been built?

This wasn’t the end of it. Once out of the station I got into the bus and was on my way to Navalur via Tidel Park. Now the Tidel park- Thiruvanmiyur junction is victim to traffic jams every other day. Today seemed one of those. We were the first in queue waiting for the Traffic Policeman to give the green signal. Along with us the traffic proceeding towards Madhya Kailash from Thiruvanmiyur was also kept waiting. All except one stopped. A Lady, riding a scooty tried to shoot ahead of the traffic only to be pulled back by the policeman. What followed was a strong argument between the two. Seemingly educated either she had an eyesight problem and couldn’t see the red signal or she didn’t know what it meant.

Whatever it was, she and the vegetable vendor made me realize how tough it is to change Indian mentality.

An Eventful morning it was today...

2007-04-30T05:34:00.000-07:00

A Page from My Diary

It is hard to imagine, yet I make another futile attempt at it.

“The Goa Regional Plan” So the news article proclaims.
Is it that impractical to visualize? I wonder…
An instant image of the place forms in my mind. Sun kissed beaches and sparkling blue waters, with tiny towns, villages and cities sprinkled all over-A beautiful image formed from age-old memories, deep rooted in my goan heart.
A new thought tries to make way on to the canvas of my memories. A thought crowded with IT parks and concrete jungles. I try hard to fight it off. It resists. I want to fight back…. losing this struggle would mean the beginning of the end of a certain mystique that weaves its spell around this place. I am forced to let it stay…
Can this thought exist in harmony with my invaluable memories? Would these pieces fit in like those of a jigsaw puzzle?

I doubt…

It is impossible to wipe out memories that have been collected over decades, memories so unlike all others. Amongst these treasures of mine, precious thoughts of the city that I was born and brought up in stand out the most. A city nested in a picturesque island’s greenery, characterized by Portuguese styled houses interspersed with low lying buildings, cobbled streets zigzagging their way through.

Single lane roads with a few rarely used signals were all that Panaji had, and still has. I would step out on the street only to be greeted by vibrant waves and big wide grins. Everything was located at a stone’s throw distance-The Panaji Market, Mahalakshmi Temple, Church Square, St. Inez Church, everything. I have never known Panaji to have had more than one or two tiny sari shops, couple of book stores, and two ‘pharmacias’ Most of these owned by a neighbour, a family friend, or some school friend.The city was known for its relaxed lifestyle and afternoon siestas. Easygoing weekdays ended in leisurely weekends. Come Sunday and Panaji would resemble a deserted township. Shutters down, not a single soul to be seen on the roads.

Everything about the place was unique. The “Poder” heralding in the new morning with his Pomp Pomp followed by the Nustekaan’ and her “Sungtan, Bangde Jayge” chants making me tug at my mother’s saari asking her to buy it all.

From the Konkani “Kantaara” and the “Dhaalo”, “Pink Panther” and “Tiger” the lovingly named private buses which plied on the Panaji-Dona Paula route to the soothing sound of the waves hitting against the Miramar shore …each thought with a new story to unfold.

These memories make me smile; the picture looks so colorful with all the images painted with my thoughts as the paintbrush.

It’s a blissful feeling.

Suddenly the brush goes awry. A dark threatening grey appears on the canvas making my vibrant colors fade.

The grey deepens, creating sketches of malls, departmental stores, and swanky cars snaking in and out of the ever growing traffic. It leaves me shaken.

I helplessly watch as each sun kissed beach turns into a Juhu Chowpatti. It doesn’t stop at this. More grey makes its way on to my canvas. The tiny stores and the lush green fields give way to towering multiplexes and apartment complexes Myriads of strangers fill up the tiny cobbled streets, leaving me with the feeling of being just another face in the no longer goan crowd.

The thoughts have grown in number; each sniggering maliciously making me feel powerless. The sound is deafening. I gather all my memories and hide them away lest I loose them.
It pains me as I watch my freshly painted picture wash away.

I give in…These thoughts are here to stay…They make me want to sigh in defeat.A triumphant moment for the industry developers it might be, but for the goan in me it’s a never-ending moment of melancholy.

Life would never be the same again…

“Poder”- the baker. The name originates from the Portuguese days.
“Nustekaan”- Fisherwoman
“Kantaara”-Konkani Songs
"Dhaalo“ – Goan Folk Dance

2007-02-06T09:54:00.000-08:00

Thou shall know the truth and nothing but the truth

What do Engineering graduates from India do post their graduation?

A)MBA
B)MS
C)A Job

No this is not Derek O’Brien interrogating you unnecessarily nor am I SRK flaunting of the new KBC look. It’s just me thinking aloud.

I would say all three options take an equal share of the pie, but the ones pursuing their Masters be it an MBA or an MS are the ones who get the royal “Oh Wow” treatment. Between the two The US M.S definitely takes the cake.

In India I see engineers doing their MS in the US to be looked at with revere- the senior population are proud of their “climbing the success ladder betas and betis” while their contemporaries look at them, hearts filled with jealousy and envy. After all, going to the US has been termed as the big achievement-managed only by the crème de la crème for many Indians generations now. I was convinced too…until I came to the US.

My US corporate experience as a consultant from an IT offshore vendor to publishing companies has led to a number of over the coffee table conversations with my client side counterparts. One such conversation with P left me feeling disgusted and reproachful.

P decided to play “Spot 10 differences in the picture” game with me that day, the only difference being she had sheets to play with and not pictures. I thought it would be fun and eagerly took the sheets from her. “Ok make that 5 differences and ill take you out for lunch tomorrow” said P. I flashed my “you love me don’t you” smile and turned to the sheets.

Much to my surprise all sheets were spectacularly similar. 2 in fact had the same spelling mistakes. (P had gone the extra length to highlight all)
5 differences? It was hard to fine a single one for crying out loud I thought! All the resumes were so similar. Yes they were resumes.

I turned to P with a puzzled and lost Prof Calculus look on my face. Why do you have so many copies of the same resume I asked? She laughed. The gigantic P laugh which leaves you with a sinking “it’s going to be a looong coffee break” feeling.

“These are the resumes of 5 candidates that I just got from the headhunting agency” said P.
P and her team had just fired a Business Analyst the week before. A Business Analyst who apparently had 7 years of work experience but was yet to figure out what analysis meant. After using me as her punching bag to vent out all her frustrations she called the head hunter and asked him to call the BA back (recruits made through a headhunter cannot be fired directly. The message is sent to him/her through the head hunter).

Guess P was on the prowl for a BA again I thought.
“You know R left right? We need a BA but not someone whose work we have to do!” she started off.
“Ok so these are resumes that you have received for a BA position from the head hunter, but why are they so similar” I asked her.
“You have hit the nail on the head Seeda” she said giving me that rare “I’m proud of you” look. (I turn Seeda from Seeta while I am in the US in case you are wondering about the sudden change in name. Nothing intentional about it mind you :D)

They are all fake don’t you see? Some of them have the same spelling mistakes, the same sentence repeated across resumes. Jeez! I interviewed one candidate over the phone today. He had a few things listed out on his resume. So I thought I would ask him about them. I asked him what “Gap Analysis” was, and he goes “tap tap tap” on his keyboard and recites the definition of Gap Analysis which you get on entering “Define: Gap Analysis” in Google! I did it to actually confirm what he was reciting!” Sense seemed to prevail 20 minutes into the call and he started hitting “Mute” on his phone each time I asked him a question” P seemed to have been waiting all day to meet her punching bag and pour out all her irritation.

“Tell me how is that all these 5 candidates have been working for American Express, Merill Lynch and Lehman Brothers??”
All she expected from her punching bag was a nod of the head. Little did she know how disgusted I was feeling right then…

“There were 2 girls I spoke to” she said. They sounded ok so I called them over for a quick chat today. We asked the first one to write out some requirements and she gives us a paper with gibberish written all over, the second one was honest enough to admit though that some projects mentioned on her resume were projects she didn’t “necessarily” work on.” I wouldn’t fake my resume in a million years! What did they do in their MS? But why would they care, they get the money and that’s all that matters” bellowed P.

The thought had crossed my mind too but I was too ashamed to react. I stared at the resumes in my hand. The bold italicized “M.S” stared back at me.

Needless to say all were Indian.

2007-01-28T18:04:00.000-08:00

Long Live Racism!

Being in the US somehow gets me much closer to India than ever before. The homesickness is marked by a daily visit to most off the popular news sites (read NDTV.com, Rediff.com and Indianexpress.com)

Like everyday I sat down with a cup of Mocha Nut Fudge (Yeah Yeah you start using all these fancy names for a plain simple cup of coffee here) glasses tipping off my nose, awaiting the familiar NDTV 24*7 and Indian express with all its advertisement pop ups to pop up on my laptop. Today unlike most other days, both sites seem to have the same headline splashed over- just that Indian Express decided to be a bit more personal about it.
“Shilpa wins ‘Celebrity Big Brother’ “Atta Girl! I would have said had it not been for the Racism Hungama which has been looming large over “our” shilpa for the last few days.
Reading the articles made me wonder what kind of damage had this so called Racism actually done to shilpa, India or for that matter the show itself. As a matter of fact none.
Shilpa had only benefited and India had nothing really to do with the whole “Tamasha”. As far as the show goes the producers must have never dreamt in their wildest dreams that increasing viewer ship to millions within a week was an achievable target. Though I must confess watching politicians scurrying around trying to be at their diplomatic best, the show hitting the top headlines of the day, “Anti Racism” signature campaigns being held did make me wonder whether this was the beginning of world war III or whether the Media and Politicians really had nothing better to cover and worry about.

Meanwhile what happened to the one who had to tolerate all the racist slurs and comments those big bad ladies spat out at her?

As of today the racism victim has made her way up most popularity charts, hired UK’s top notch publicist to manage her international work, won sympathy from hundreds of thousands across continents and has been crowned to the Big Brother throne
What more could an actress who had been on her way out of the Bollywood show business ask for?

The first Indian celebrity to have ever participated and won “Big Brother”

Now isn’t that a record made?

What the heck I think she deserves the compliment I was so hesitant to give her- Atta Girl Shilpa!

2006-11-11T16:47:00.000-08:00

“11/6”

I had to get to work on 53rd Street in NYC that Monday morning.

I set off at 7:00 AM to catch the PATH to NYC. (PATH is an underground train connecting the outskirts of New Jersey with the city yonder)

It was to be a 4 minute ride across the Hudson from my station. I boarded the train expecting to be in darkness for a whole 4 minutes. That was not to be.

As we approached the Big Apple I was hit by a ray of sunlight.
It startled me. I found it hard to understand why an underground train should be out in broad daylight. Towards my right, I could see the towering buildings that Manhattan is known for. I glanced to the left expecting more of them but all i could see was a Cross surrounded by empty space….

Just as realization dawned on me, the station announcement came through- “WTC. This will be the final stop”

My train had emerged ON ground zero…

“The WTC PATH station was housed beneath the twin towers. It took almost a year to clear the debris and rebuild the station to what it is today.
After 9/11 what is left at the spot is just the PATH station surrounded by empty space”

2006-08-28T21:01:00.000-07:00

An Honour for "23C"!!!!

Being from Goa, a place where Chaturthi is considered the biggest festival of all, Idol immersion processions were nothing new to me.

Yesterday was an exception though.

As I waited at the Ramprasad Hotel Bus Stop in Adyar for a Bus to Besant Nagar, I saw a Ganesh Immersion procession making its way towards the Besantnagar Beach.
It was a gratifying feeling…listening to the chants of “Ganapati Bappa Moriya! Mangal Murti Morya”… it kind of added to the festive atmosphere…

I and several others watched on expecting the procession to move towards the beach. We were all in for a surprise.

The procession came to a halt right in front of us…The chanting stopped too.

I wondered why.

Within a minute Bus No 23 C came along. We all made a rush towards it, only to be pushed away by the procession crowd. Taken aback we all stared as the entire procession boarded the bus and the boy carrying the idol sat on an aisle seat. The chanting resumed. Given that the crowd was more than 25 in number, we were left with no option but to wait for the next bus.

I had seen Ganesha Idols beings taken in Pickups, Trucks, SUV’s and Sedans for immersion. A public transport bus was definitely a first!

2006-08-06T21:53:00.000-07:00

Me, My License and the RTO...

“Clutch press…CLUTCH FULL PRESS MA!! 1st gear, start, slowly leave clutch no Ma not full leave…start la half leave Ma!” yelled my driving instructor Kumar as I took of on a jittery start on the Thirvalluvar Nagar Beach Road. “Second!!” RTO ellaa gear'um pottu kaatta solluvaaru ma!! …Sir I don’t understand Tamil sir...I said…very politely... not something I am known for I must add.

He muttered some inaudible and I’m sure incomprehensible words, of which I could just grasp “4 Gears Ma! First “apparam” Second “apparam” Third “apparam” 4th, stop. Reverse stop. Clutch press gear change, leave clutch accelerator press”
Had I not been trying so hard to drive the beat up Maruti I would have thrown up my hands in frustration and yelled “God how many times do I have to tell you- I DON’T UNDERSTAND TAMIL!!” Instead I drove on.

With the wee bit of generosity he had shown by using a couple of English words (glad he didn’t say “Or gear, rend gear” or something on those lines) I managed to complete the dress rehearsal.
There were 5 of us from the driving school- 2 Marutis and 3 Santros.
I chose to ignore the impudent manner in which we were addressed.

We were there at the “Test Ground” by 9:30. It was almost 11:00 when the RTO “Almighty” turned up, twisting and twirling his enormous bushy mustache holding a thick bulky register in his hand. These government officials have always made me wonder whether a thick curvilinear mustache is considered a sure sign of power and prosperity!

We began with the “Maruti’s” first, me being Bushy’s “first catch” of the day.
We all piled into one of the driving school’s Maruti’s which had definitely seen better days- Bushy, Kumar and but obviously me. “Seatbelt, Seatbelt” Kumar hissed into my ears disrupting and destroying all my mental preparation for the test. “20 classes, 20 classes I took with you, you meanie and you never made me wear the seatbelt even once grrrrrr!” I glared at him.

I took off, once again on a jittery start, with Kumar leaning over whispering aloud instructions on what I was supposed to do. Talk about Spoon-feeding I thought watching out for Bushy to react through the corner of my eye. He didn’t, I wasn’t surprised. Guess he was used to it.

“Cheri Done” pompously proclaimed Bushy, 3 minutes into the drive. “Test done” translated Kumar. “Purinjada” I hissed back, slamming the door shut behind me as I jauntily walked back towards the rest of the junta.

The test was followed by the issuance of the license. If the test was anything to go by, I had a Herculean task lying ahead for me to undertake.
Our papers were thumped into our hands and all of us-3 Santros and 2 Marutis trudged our way towards the Thiruvamiyur RTO Office. Once there our papers were hurriedly snatched out our hands by our driving school “local” RTO guy Karanan, who claimed that “he knew his way around” there. He herded us women towards what seemed like a never-ending queue of people waiting to be allotted their passport to the world of “x” wheelers.

Our wait didn’t last long. Within minutes our papers were handed over to us.

Ah! the papers! I got a chance to glance at my papers that were dutifully filled out by my driving school. “A mole on my right hand” was to be my distinguishing mark. Wow I wondered, 24 years of my life I haven’t seen a mole that these guys noticed in 20 classes!

Now all that was left was to get my snap clicked for the license. I handed my papers to one officer who peered at them.

“’Seeta Vaman Bodke’ uhhh??… This should be only Seeta Vaman madam, where did this Bodke come from?”

“Well Sir, back where I come from, our surname is our identity and not just our dad’s name!” I could have screamed that out but then it would not have made any difference.

“No Madam it should be Seetha Vaman” he said firmly. “Seeta I yelled, there is no hetch in my name and its SEETA VAMAN BODKE just put it as I tell you ok???” I almost yelled.

Unconvinced he handed my form to me and sent me to the “keep your footwear outside” air-conditioned room for my snap to be clicked. Not the kind to take a second chance I explained each and every detail to the lady who was to convert my personal details into binary bits. The photographing session which strongly reminded me of my voter id card snap session took hardly a minute.
I was asked to wait out.

“Seetha Seetha” yelled one officer waving out my license. Excited I reached out for it only to realize that the RTO had aged me by 74 years! “My birth year is 1981 sir and not 1918.” "Uhh?? ennache Madam??" He asked. Knowing limited Tamil was proving to be a major pain at all the wrong places."Birthdate Sir" i repeated.

“Seri Madam I change it” he replied indifferently leaving me with a sinking feeling that such “trivial” mistakes were a usual state of affairs there.
“Seetha Seetha” he yelled again 10 minutes later. Too irritated to notice the “hetch” effect on my name I took the card from him.

Driver’s Name: Seeta Vaman Bodke
Father’s Name: Bodke

“Sir my father’s name is not Bodke! It’s Vaman. Bodke is my surname!! I yelled exasperatedly.
“Whaat Surname Madam, it should only be father’s name Madam don’t get confused” and he smiled.

That was the last straw. “I am not from the south why don’t you understand that Sir, not all are from here, just change it ok!”

My yelling seemed to have no effect at all on him. “Seri Madam” he once again replied in his now familiar indifferent tone.

Fuming I sat on a creaky old bench, only to be further infuriated by the snickering sounds I could hear the Murugans and Karthikeyans of Chennai making all around me.
“Be calm, Breathe in Breathe out” I told myself. I kept doing this till the officer reappeared with my card. This time he didn’t yell out my name, instead he walked straight towards me and handed over the card. I checked the card. Over and over again. No errors, no typos. 3 attempts to get it right wow!

“It’s correct, thank you” I muttered and quickly made my way out of the godforsaken place.

2006-04-24T06:03:00.002-07:00

"Idhar ka maal udhar…."

“I don’t think we will be able to find the cycle madammm... but you shall definitely be compensated for the loss madammm.. A similar one madammm...give us 1 week madammm...Come in a week to check madammm!!!”

And thus the police Inspector succeeded in wiping away the woeful look on my room mate’s face when she visited Besantnagar police station to report the loss of her brand new Hercules….

Must say our "Bhartiya" police do know how to keep the "Aam Junta" happy! :)

2006-04-20T22:32:00.000-07:00

A lesson in Humanity...

I saw her every morning. Wrinkled skin covered with what once could have been called a sari. A pair of torn slippers tried their best to save her feet from the scorching Chennai heat. One look at her would put the hunchback of Notre-Dame to shame.

She approached us everyday while we waited for our bus to arrive, perhaps hoping relentlessly that a day would dawn when we would be more compassionate towards her. We; the plush “IT” stratum of today’s Indian society.

Apathy was all that she got. Dolefully she would cross the road; with some amount of difficulty…I must shamefully add. This had now become a routine for her as much as for us.

Today was different from all other days though. She approached us as usual…we ignored. She stumbled trying to cross, only to be reached out to by a helping hand. She looked up, meeting the gaze of that one humanitarian who could see through her pain. He extended a hand hardened with labour; she took it gratefully as 6 curious pairs of eyes watched on. With a firm grip he helped her cross. She gratefully patted his hand… he squeezed it in return.

He fumbled with his torn pockets, turning them upside down hopeful to find that one piece of paper which could buy her, her meal for the day. All that he seemed to have was a dirty torn handkerchief. Crestfallen, he walked away; dejected for being unable to help.

My shoulders slumped… with the knowledge that I could have….

2006-04-19T05:31:00.000-07:00

Desi ya Pardesi?

31st October 2005, 8:00 A.M EST

Most Indians waiting along with me at th Metro Park station for the 8:09 NJ Transit to NY were busy exchanging Halloween greetings.

1st November 2005, 8:00 A.M EST

24 hours later those very Indians were discussing the costumes their kids wore for Halloween and the candies they collected. The fact that it was November 1st seemed to have got lost somewhere amongst all the pumpkins and witches of Halloween…

While the conversations on Halloween continued, millions of Indians thousands of miles away were celebrating what is probably the most popular festival of India…

For the first time ever I hesitated to wish a fellow Indian on Diwali

2006-04-19T05:28:00.000-07:00

How it all began....

The Silent Whir of the fan, the urge to gulp down ounces of chilled water, the consistent feeling of sitting at home on a bright sunny day out of sheer fear of getting burnt, the eager wait for Monday to arrive so that one can relish the coolness of the Office A.C…All signal at one thing.. The arrival of the summer

Its summer everywhere across the country. Everyone cribs and complains about it…but the moment you say you are living in Chennai all cribs turn into words of sympathies... Not just for the Chennai heat but for almost everything that is remotely associated with the word Chennai.

As I laze around on the terrace of my PG with a cup of cappuccino, enjoying the cool evening breeze my mind is engulfed with memories of the day I first landed in Chennai…

I reached Chennai Central on a dry March afternoon. My aching hands and feet cried out loud forcing me to drop my bags down on the dirty platform and look around for a place where I could rest my limbs a bit…

The paper slip in my hands fluttered reminding me that I also needed to look around for some conveyance to take me to the address scribbled on it… I played around with the idea of taking a short break before proceeding forward... But the thought of delaying my travel made me get going...

I started wandering around central station wondering what to do... I guess I fit the description of “a lady in despair” perfectly cause it was not long before I was surrounded by at least a 100 auto drivers gesturing wildly at me asking me where I would like to go… I waved the paper slip in front of one and asked “Kasturbanagar? Adyar??” “Yes Madam…only 200 Rupees Madam... Take you there Madam” pat came the reply. I looked around helplessly wondering whether it would be the right price to pay. The Nods from the rest of the lot of drivers and my aching body made me reluctantly agree to the deal…

As I walked towards the Auto I could sense the drivers snicker around me. “Seeta you nitwit!!! You’ve been fooled” was the feeling that flooded through me at that instant. I would have kicked myself hard, had i the energy left in me to do so.

As I clambered into the auto, the auto driver turned to me and said, “Music Madam?? Very Good songs Madam” I gave a tired nod noticing the driver properly for the first time. Droopy Mustache, half buttoned khaki shirt, multi colored chappals...a description any Auto driver in Chennai would fit into... As I sank back into the seat looking ahead to having my first glimpse of Chennai loud music blared through the radio almost making me leap out of the Auto… ‘Apdi Pode Pode’... the song went on…..as I resorted to stuffing my ears with cotton wool... “Oh Gawd...What have I gotten myself into..?#@?$$” I cursed under my breath... Glumly I looked out wondering what lay in store for me in this southern metro of India.

After what seemed like eternity and a nerve gripping roller coaster ride, the auto came to a screeching halt in front of a light blue building which I assumed was the PG mentioned in the paper slip I still held in my hand.. “10 Rupees more Madam...Traffic Jyaasthi Madam” cried out the Auto Driver. I thumped two 100 Rupee notes in his hand, firmly shaking my head… I had learnt my first lesson in Chennai.

I heaved my bags to the side path as the auto pulled away. With my hands on my hips I looked up to what would probably result in being my residence in Chennai... As I slowly walked towards the gate, towing my luggage behind me, I fervently hoped that I would be able to hold a proper conversation with my future to be landlord either in English or Hindi.

Sweat trickled down my brow…was it the worry of getting a good place to stay or was it the Chennai heat that every single soul I knew had warned me about... I wondered

As I pushed open the gate I realized that I wasn’t alone. Through the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of an old man charily observing me…

For the first time that day, I became wary of what I was dressed in. A 23 year old girl wearing a faded old Capri, an equally faded short Tee, sporting a mass of short tousled hair with a pair of Ray bans shading her eyes from the merciless heat was something he had not expected... I guess… The questioning eyes seemed to follow every move that I made. Big brown eyes, bushy eyebrows, a grizzly beard … it all unnerved me further.

Somehow I managed to tear my eyes away and continued walking towards the main door, forcing myself to ignore the man I had just seen. I heard footsteps echo behind me.. My pace automatically quickened. Before I could react, the man came up to me carrying a stern look on his face. Just as I was about to start sending out SOS signals, his eyes lit up with a warm smile and he broke out into a torrent of Tamil…

”yaaru neenga? Engendhu vandhurkeenga? Yaara pakanum…pgla irruka vandhurkeengala?”

I heaved a huge sigh of relief… just as I was about to try and explain to the old man, the main door opened and an old lady peeped out and I was attacked with more Tamil…. “Are these the house owners??” I almost cried out in despair. “How will I live here...? What will I do??” a hundred questions had already started forming in my mind….

Dolefully I shook my head and said “Tamil Teriyade”... silently thanking my Tamilian neighbour back in Goa for having taught me that one invaluable sentence...

The old lady turned around and called out “Jyothi...Jyothi” I couldn’t help but wonder what lay ahead of me next. I had just started preparing for the worst when a sweet looking young chudidhar clad lady came out and asked “Hello, Please may I know who you would like to meet?” I could have hugged her then and then! At last I had met someone I could speak to. “Hi…I am Seeta.” I replied happily. “Oh….please come in. I have been waiting for you...” she said as she invited me in. She inquired about my journey, nodding sympathetically when I told her how I was fleeced by the auto driver.

As she served me some juice I couldn’t stop myself from asking who the people I had met earlier were. “Oh they!! They are my in-Laws” she said.

I busied myself with the juice so that she wouldn’t notice the crimson color that my face had turned into. Fortunately for me she changed the subject and asked me whether I would like to see the PG facility. I gladly said yes and we started climbing the stairs to the second floor.

During the course of our conversation I learnt that jyothi was as fluent in Hindi as she was in English. Happily I continued my climb.

The PG was awesome.. To say the least. Well furnished cheery rooms greeted me everywhere, the smile on my face further widened when jyothi told me that most of the girls in eth PG spoke languages I knew… Hindi and English. The icing on the cake was the room which was supposed to be mine... On seeing it I knew what “love at first sight” was.

It took me a few minutes to settle down the payment issues before I moved my entire luggage in. Just as I started to unpack there was a hesitant knock on the half open door... a sweet looking gal poked her head in and said “ hi..Can we come in? ” I nodded my head briskly and 2 girls sauntered in making themselves comfortable on my bed. The taller of the two broke the silence “Hey you are Seeta right. I’m Reva and she’s Manaswi...We both are from Mumbai, Which place do you belong to??” ‘Goa.” I replied smilingly. “Hey that sounds so cool... by the way we have quite a rocking crowd out here... You must meet them all!!” gushed Manaswi... We spoke for a few more minutes before they left me to complete my unpacking. A few hours later... Tired I sank into my pillow visualizing what life would be like in Chennai, a city whose impression in my mind was rapidly changing … for the better I hoped as I drifted away into sleep….

“Seeta your favorite song is playing” Manaswi called out; Bringing me back to the present… taking a sip of my already cold cappuccino I thought... It was a year since the day I first came to the PG. All my skepticism about Chennai had ceased to exist after a few days in the city. Paati, Thata (Jyothi’s In Laws) and I had become very good friends. They had in fact started holding classes to teach me Tamil. Haggling with the Auto driver Annas and experiencing F1 Racing with them had now become an integral part of my day to day life in Chennai.

Engrossed in these thoughts I slowly came down from the terrace to the living room humming the tune of the song that was playing then… Ninaithu Ninaithu Parthey... one of my favourites…