The Inky Thumb

Color Between The Lines

2011-12-14T11:56:00.013-05:00

     Pink is for girls. Blue is for boys. A fact as simple as - The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. A fact very much annoying to me and I guess to a lot of other people. No, I do not mean the fact about the sun. If I dressed my little boy SJ in pink it sure would be considered way out of norm by many people. And considering what others would say I would think twice before I did. Or at least I would hesitate to post a picture in a social networking site, showing off SJ pretty in pink. Ha! When were these coloring rules set? Have little girls always been dressed in pink since the beginning of time? Who drew the line? Isn't blue a cuter and calmer color and therefore, may be more apt for girls?   Who says a cute onesie in "baby" blue should be just for boys? And lo, arose the researcher in me. And I spent a few minutes trying to find answers. Pretty soon I found out that this was a relatively new convention as late as the 1910s until when the color of choice for boys was pink! Yes, pink! I found an article with excerpts from books, revealing the history of gender based color preferences*. And who knew, even Nazi Germany played a part in this according to a book titled Gender Specific Colors**. By now I had attained enough enlightenment and laid this issue to rest, imagining SJ in the early1900s in robes of deep violet and blaring pink.
     My mom, an avid story teller, engages SJ every single day. She comes up with interesting stories, some that I've heard before and some entirely new. She goes about the stories creating new characters, giving them names and homes and that too so vivid, that they seem very real to all of us. However, we don't really know what my son thinks of them....yet! And one such character is a cat named Ginny. A cute little female cat who is a figment of my mom's imagination is supposedly SJ's friend in the story. Yes, a little along the lines of Christopher Robin and Pooh Bear, though my mom has never heard of them both***. Not only does it bring out squeals of laughter from SJ, little Ginny made us all fall in love with her. And that is where this whole story starts.
     SJ has a bunch of animal toys, with their own names and voices. Shorty the giraffe, Lumpy the elephant and Speedy the turtle, are a few from the entourage. However he does not have a cat. Yes, a cute little female cat is missing! And my mom is adamant that I get him one. And so the search began. We have looked at a few places, but none of the cats really resembled Ginny. Even Ikea® had half a dozen cute stuffed rats and mice but not one cute kitty cat. The quest continued until I went to Carters® one afternoon. I picked up a few clothes, and asked the sales lady if they had any cats. She saw the clothes in my hand and asked if the cat was for a boy. Yes, I said out aloud, and what does it matter if its for a boy, I need a cat, I thought silently. She pointed towards some toys, the ones that come with rings and showed me a cat apologetically. The cutest I've seen in a while. It had a pretty pink body and a green dress with cute little polka dots. Hello, Ginny! But the sales lady decided I would not take it, since it was in pink. I picked it up, smiled at her and took it with me to pay for it. I came home and showed it to SJ. He gave it one huge bare gurgling smile and no, he did not care one bit that it was pink! Amen!

*, ** According to the article by Jo B. Paoletti and Carol Kregloh with excerpts from Men and Women: Dressing the Part, (Smithsonian Institution Press, 1989) and The Children's Department by Claudia Brush Kidwell and Valerie Steele, ed

** Also from the same article "Catholic traditions in Germany and neighboring countries reverse the current color coding, because of the strong association of blue with the Virgin Mary...the NAZIs in their concentration camps use a pink triangle to identify homosexuals. (The yellow star of David is the best known symbol, used of course to identify Jews. The German system was quite complicated, using various symbols an colors to identify criminals, political prisinors, an a whole range of other groups). The NAZI's choice of pink suggests that it by the 1930s was a color that in Germany had become associate with girls." - "Gender Specific Colors"

*** Fictional bear created by A. A. Milne featured in all his works

Drowning Ruth: A Review

2011-11-18T23:43:00.000-05:00

    Drowning Ruth is an excellent debut attempt by author Christina Schwarz. I haven't had a chance to sit down with a book (of course if a copy of the O magazine or Readers' Digest count, then I did) for a while now, but boy am I glad I picked this one. Thanks to my friend JT who suggested the title, and my little one SJ who let me finish it. It was an easy breezy read, with a suspenseful plot; albeit slightly predictable, it was a definite page turner. The whole story takes place in rural Wisconsin during the first world war. The riveting characters portrayed with intense emotions take us on a deeply engrossing journey back and forth narrating the story of Mathilda's death and Ruth's drowning. How Mathilda dies on a cold wintry November night is slowly revealed in bits and peices by her secretive sister Amanda and daughter Ruth. The characters although intense and dark at times, portray deeply human emotions and one cannot help but root for them to find happiness and truth towards the end.
    An apt genre for the book I guess would be- thriller meets family drama.The pace of the narration will not disappoint you and is sure to keep you up past midnight trying to get to the end.

Nothing Will Ever Be The Same

2011-11-10T20:38:00.003-05:00

Alas my hibernation in my blog-verse (the cliched term people use for their blogging world) is over, or so I hope. I haven't published a single post for a while now. Wonder how deep a slumber I got into. Au contraire, I have been as sleepless as I have ever been in my whole life. Those nights of nervous cram-as-much-material as you can studying sessions with a few snoozes here and there, now look like a walk in the park. Okay! So whats all the bustle about..? We have a brand new baby at home! He was born 6 weeks ago. My husband S referred to the occurrence just the other day as "when we brought him from the hospital". It sounded as though babies are made available that easily and are given away at the hospital to take home...phew!
Ever since S Junior (SJ) arrived, the queen of the king-sized bed is now officially a sleep-deprived mom. Am I complaining? Maybe just a little. But all the lack of sleep pays off when SJ lights up as I walk into the room. And though nothing will ever be the same for S and me, it sure feels like exciting times are in store for us.

PS: I haven't had much time to read anything major lately. Just going through an old copy of The Adventures Of Malgudi, by R K Narayan, a collection of short stories and excerpts from his novels. And it sure needs no review.

The Millenium Trilogy: A Review

2011-03-31T11:36:00.003-04:00

    Its been a while since I read these books. I wanted to write about them but have been putting it off. When I read the first book, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, the first few pages felt a little weird. However, I was immediately captivated by these books. I was not aware how immensely popular these books were when I read the first of them. But I thoroughly enjoyed it. I could not wait to get my hands on the next two. I was in India at that time and had a hard time finding the third one in my home town, but was glad I did not give up, when I found a lone copy sitting on the shelf in a book store.
    The stories revolve around a journalist Mikael Blomkvist, and an unusual leading lady Lisbeth Salander, who is a mathematical genius/computer hacker/abused eccentric, unafraid of the law.
     In The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, Mikael Blomkvist loses his reputation and his savings after a lawsuit against Wennerström. He faces the prospect of jail time, when he is contacted by a renowned industrialist Henrik Vagner, to investigate the disappearance on his grand-niece. He works with Lisbeth Salander to solve the mystery and in the process they get to know each other.
    In the second book, The Girl Who Played With Fire, Mikael comes across material with strong evidence of sex trafficking of young girls in Sweden. He starts investigating and is completely unaware that Lisbeth is following his work closely. She herself was abused as a child and is looking for revenge. But then she becomes the chief suspect in three murders and ends up on the run.
    In the last book of the trilogy, The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets' Nest, the author provides all the answers to Lisbeth's life. This is a true sequel to the second book, starting where the second leaves us. Lisbeth was shot in the head by her father, Zalachenko who is in the same hospital, trying to kill her at every possible chance all the while claiming that she tried to kill him. A conspiracy involving government officials, who wanted her locked up since she was a child is eventually unlocked with Mikael's help.
The stories are complex pieces of puzzles waiting to be unfolded, which makes it thrilling for the readers. The narrative was laced with quite a bit of violence and though it was part of the plot it felt excessive at times. And every book contained facts and statistics sometimes irrelevant to the story. The Swedish backdrop felt fresh and interesting. Since these books have been translated from Swedish the prose falls short at places. These are definitely not great works of literature but the complex story leaves you wanting for more. Having said that I have to say that these books are certainly a level above most thrillers and books of this genre. I would certainly recommend these books to all kinds of readers. Let me know if you have read them and what you think of them.

PS: The author Steig Larsson planned to write a total of ten novels, but sadly, his untimely death prevented him from doing that. It was said that he wrote for his own pleasure and never attempted to publish them until a short time before his death. The Millenium Trilogy was also published posthumously, and the author never saw the great success of his books.

Today Is World Book Day!

2011-03-03T13:03:00.008-05:00

Wishing all you book lovers a Happy World Book Day!! Read on, you wiggly bookworms!

As sad I was to see my neighborhood Borders book store close, I did score a few good deals. These are a few of the books I picked.

I can't wait for spring and to return to my favorite bench by the lake on the grounds :-)
What have you been reading lately?

The Letters In My Name

2011-01-24T11:56:00.001-05:00

Each year, the week before the start of my school term
mum and I would collect new books
Oh! how exciting it was returning home
getting ready for the ritual that would follow

Sitting on the floor strewn with books, brown paper,
scissors and glue, we would spend hours
covering and labeling books one after the other.
I would sit patiently for you to finish
and when you finally wrote my name on each book,
I would admire your meticulous hand letter by letter
For Daddy, my name looked best when you wrote it!

2 States: A Review

2010-12-14T11:39:00.001-05:00

Fancy reading 260-something pages of movie script. Do pick a copy, OR just wait for the movie. Chetan Bhagat has once again delivered excellent material for a quintessential Bollywood flick. I am not implying that this is a badly written book. Though the plot is highly cliched the narrative is absorbing and definitely witty. There is nothing striking about this book, but its the kind of book that requires absolutely no effort to read through. And is perfect for those occasions when you are stranded somewhere and need to take your mind off the clock. Having picked it up at an airport, while waiting for a badly timed connection, I enjoyed reading through. Had I read it on any other day, I would not have liked it perhaps.

The blurb says this:

Love marriages around the world are simple:
Boy loves girl. Girl loves boy.
They get married.

In India, there are a few more steps:
Boy loves Girl. Girl loves Boy.
Girl's family has to love boy. Boy's family has to love girl.
Girl's Family has to love Boy's Family. Boy's family has to love girl's family.
Girl and Boy still love each other. They get married.

A little boring isn't it? That's just the blurb. The book however, gets slightly better. Happy reading!

The Morning Report

2010-12-08T11:15:00.002-05:00

As hard as I wanted to keep this blog purely literary, I don't think I can much longer. But I will try to relatively keep it that way. Before getting into that, where have I been lately? I have abandoned my home, my husband and of course my blog for a few months, in order to be with my parents. It sure felt really strange to see how much they needed me, and not the other way around. Only recently, things have been getting back to normal. No, everything is not alright. But then, I have realized that not being alright is also normal. And people just deal with abnormal and difficult situations. In general my life is getting back to normalcy.
I've mostly used this blog to dabble in short stories, poetry-of-sorts or for reviewing a book or poem I recently read. You might find a post here or there with none of those things. For instance, I might just write about nothing like I am doing today. Oh, though I have been away from my blog, I never left my books. I read quite a few recently. So, hang in there to hear about the books I've been worming through...

And now for The Morning Report

Pillars Of The Earth: A Review

2010-08-09T15:39:00.001-04:00

    Personally speaking, I have never been a great lover of Ken Follet's works. Sure he writes amazing suspense thrillers, excellent page-turners, but I have always felt his books a little too raw for my taste. That being said, I loved his epic story - Pillars of the Earth. The book came out in 1989 and made its way to Oprah's list in 2007. I never heard about it until I saw Follet's TV interview recently about the new mini-series they are making based on this book. I am glad to have picked it up a little later than never. It is a riveting page-turner. Once I started the book, I could not put it down, and spent three sleepless nights over it. And it was a whopping 1000 pages!
    It is an epic work, true to the word, with magnificent characters, grand buildings and an excellent narration. Based in the medieval times, it rotates around the construction of a Gothic cathedral in a fictitious town called Kingsbridge. The story takes place from 1123 to 1174 A.D. The book reflects the political anarchy from one of the most contentious times in English history, when the country was ravaged by civil war, with self appointed heirs fighting for the throne after Henry I. The novel however, does not focus much on the war, but with the building of a church. It describes the lives of a few specific fictional characters that are involved with or are affected by the construction of the cathedral, with the backdrop of the political happenings of those times. The book describes in great lengths the development of Gothic architecture, and the typical growth and fall of market towns in medieval England, inter-laced with the political tug between the church and the state. The characters include stone-masons from two generations, a prior, the daughter of a knight, the daughter of an earl, and her brother who try to earn back their earldom- give life to the book and are greatly engaging. The narrative is quick and captivating, with lots of twists and turns and the political backdrop is exciting.
   The only complaints I have with the book, are the unnaturally conniving behavior depicted by some of the characters and excessive narratives of unnecessary sex at times. But then it's a Ken Follet novel. Since its an old book, you should be able to get a used copy easily just like I did.
     All that said, my recommendation for you: Do pick it up! Do not be discouraged by the size of the book, since you will hardly notice how long you've been reading for. And at the end, you will be sad that it ended.

PS: There is a sequel to this book named, World Without End. I have yet to pick a copy.

Not That Day

2010-07-30T19:39:00.004-04:00

They stumble and falter, then prod and push,
amble and jostle, my words then gallop in a parade as I sit by
Tirelessly they march on - dreaming and dancing
O those delightful episodes! When all I can do with contentment is sigh
Poised for the deluge I sit waiting in my cozy nook
But today is not that day and the page is empty in my book

The vibrant emerald hues or the memories of the rain
The smell of a fresh summer lily
The flashes of joy or that long forgotten pain-
all old friends who take me through my page. Today they stare at me nonchalantly
Poised for the deluge I sit waiting in my cozy nook
But today is not that day and the page is empty in my book

Colored Toys

2010-07-29T15:22:00.012-04:00

This morning I read this beautiful poem by Tagore. In the poem he draws parallels between a mother's gifts to her child and God's beautiful creations. The mother's song is compared to the music in the leaves and the colorful toys to the many hued flowers. The poem is filled with amazing imagery describing nature's many gifts to us. It is truly lovely! Read on...

When I bring to you colored toys, my child,

I understand why there is such a play of colors on clouds, on water,

and why flowers are painted in tints

—when I give colored toys to you, my child.

When I sing to make you dance

I truly know why there is music in leaves,

and why waves send their chorus of voices to the heart of the listening earth

—when I sing to make you dance.

When I bring sweet things to your greedy hands

I know why there is honey in the cup of the flowers

and why fruits are secretly filled with sweet juice

—when I bring sweet things to your greedy hands.

When I kiss your face to make you smile, my darling,

I surely understand what pleasure streams from the sky in morning light,

and what delight that is that is which the summer breeze brings to my body

—when I kiss you to make you smile.

(Picture taken from)

The Inheritance of Loss: A Review

2010-07-22T12:47:00.003-04:00

     I started reading this one afternoon when I sat in the bookstore. I hadn't purchased a copy by that time. And much to my surprise I sat there and read about 100 pages. I did not budge an inch. So, one might ask- Is this a good book? Unfortunately I do not know how to answer that question. I did think it was very well written, however, was very surprised to learn that it won the Booker prize for 2006.
     The Inheritance of Loss, Kiran Desai's second book, travels back and forth between Kalimpong, a tiny Himalayan hill town, and the streets of New York City, with a few scenes rolling in England.
     The story revovles around a 16 year old orphaned girl Sai, who is sent to live with her grandfather a retired judge and former civil servant, who lives in a desolate bungalow on the hills in Kalimpong. The judge has a cook, whose son Biju is an illegal immigrant in New York, who tries to make a living by doing all kinds of odd jobs. The plot oscillates between the lives of Sai, the judge and his cook with the backdrop of the Gorkhaland agitation, and Biju's struggles to build a life for himself in the States. The book is full of other Kalimpong characters most of whom are uproots living in exile. All the characters in the book seem to be struggling for something-some yearn for love while some struggle for acceptance. There is a prominent potrayal of immigrant emotions in most of the characters as they try to discover who they are and where they belong to. Desai's narrative of exotic locations and eccentric characters is colorful and heart warming.
      So, why was I surprised that this book won the Booker. At times I found the narrative incoherent, as it shifted between the characters in Kalimpong and the desperation portrayed by the character in New York. Some conversations were complex and the dialogue was copious at times. A times the sentences confused me. I am not sure if it is an accepted form of prose or experimentation, where the author used odd punctuation and expressions in the middle of some sentences. Am I suggesting that the book was badly written, definitely not. Please give it a try. You might love it or it could just pass for an average book. However, it did not fulfill my expectations of a Booker winner.

A Million Hues of Blue

2010-07-12T18:56:00.004-04:00

Sun rays dancing off a painting in blue etched on glass,

washed my world away in a million happy hues of blue

Singing and dancing

blue jays and peacocks,

Cerulean oceans and icy blue lakes,

From near and far

Egyptian blues and Prussian hues

from Cambridge and Carolina too,

Gems dipped in azure skies

sapphires and turquoise

treasures and trinkets,

Garlands of periwinkle

iris and cornflower,

An indigo bridging the heavens and the earth.

A color of the mood?

Oh no! I don't think so

For when I think of blue

its happy, bright and true

Sun rays dancing off a painting in blue etched on glass,

washed my world away in a million happy hues of blue

Eat Pray Love: A Review

2010-07-08T17:37:00.006-04:00

Everybody has read this book or is looking to read it. I finally did! I fell in love with the character, which is to say; the writer herself, since this is a true story and she wrote a memoir of a period in her very own life. She described a time in her life when she experiences a sort of mid-life crisis, (but she’s only 34,) post-divorce, and decides to spend 4 months each in Italy, India and Indonesia, chasing worldly pleasure, spiritual devotion, and a balance between the two. She chronicled her travels in an excellent manner and very quickly I found myself absorbed in them.

I found her narration extremely witty and entertaining at times. Often times I could not help myself from laughing out loud while I was reading, for instance, when she describes her train of thoughts as she tries to meditate in an Ashram in India: "I was wondering where I should live once this year of traveling has ended. . . . If I lived somewhere cheaper than New York, maybe I could afford an extra bedroom and then I could have a special meditation room! That'd be nice. I could paint it gold. Or maybe a rich blue. No, gold. No, blue. . . . Finally noticing this train of thought, I was aghast. I thought: . . . How about this, you spastic fool — how about you try to meditate right here, right now, right where you actually are?"

Her writing is deep and insightful, easy to read, and very captivating. She is self-deprecating; and is not one bit ashamed to bare it all out. I enjoyed the book for the most part, but found some parts boring. But I am really glad I read this book. And I will certainly read this book a few more times for sure. To describe this book in one sentence: Travel journal meets self-improvement guide. Go figure!

Here is one of my favorite conversations from the book:

So, when the old man asked me in person what I really wanted, I found other, truer words.

“I want to have a lasting experience with God,” I told him. “Sometimes I feel like I understand the divinity of this world, but then I lose it because I get distracted by my petty desires and fears. I want to be with God all the time. But I don’t want to be a monk, or totally give up worldly pleasures. I guess what I want to learn is how to live in this world and enjoy its delights, but also devote myself to God.”

Ketut said he could answer my question with a picture. He showed me a sketch he’d drawn during meditation. It was an androgynous human figure, standing up, hands clasped in prayer. But this figure had four legs and no head. Where the head should have been, there was only wild foliage of ferns and flowers. There was a small, smiling face drawn over the heart.”

“To find the balance you want,” Ketut spoke through his translator, “this is what you must become. You must keep your feet grounded so firmly on the earth that it’s like you have four legs, instead of two. That way, you can stay in the world. But you must stop looking at the world through your head. You must look through your heart, instead. That way you will know God.”

Another Lifetime

2010-06-22T15:48:00.010-04:00

            The phone kept ringing all day. Sahana could hardly answer a call and get back to whatever she was doing before it started ringing again. Some days were just crazy, she thought. Just as the school bus had left with Sid on board, she wanted to take a breather before she could run a bath for BJ. But at the moment she just watched as BJ made a mess on his high chair with mashed up cereal. He spilled some water on it as well, to make his art-work more appealing to him. She usually gave him a bath during the evenings. But he had a cold and she decided to do it that morning instead, when it was warmer. Sahana had two boys, Siddhardh and Bharadhwaj, and they went by Sid and BJ. Sid was four and BJ would turn two in a couple of months. She stood leaning on the kitchen counter, observing BJ and was lost in her thoughts. How busily he went about his mess, she pondered and smiled to herself. Sid was very different when he was a baby. He started talking when he was two. He did not know many words, but the few he did, he mouthed them perfectly. But BJ was very different, he made different gurgling noises and cooed and crooned. All the baby talk she missed out from Sid, she heard in plenty from BJ now. As she stood there day dreaming, the phone rang again. She suddenly realized that she could not afford to waste all day. She picked BJ from his chair and let the phone ring. The phone rang some more until the answering machine took over. The caller did not leave a message. Sahana got busy with her chores. She ran a bath for BJ, dressed him and put him down in the living room on the floor with his baby gym and toys. Soon BJ was much occupied with his toys and he let her go. She left him at the same spot in the living room everyday, where she could keep an eye on him as she worked in the kitchen. She went into the kitchen and cleaned up the breakfast mess he made and got to the dishes.
            The phone started ringing again and this time she decided to answer. She heard her mother's voice on the other end of the line. Her mother lived in India and she called her every morning. It was after her mother's dinner time, and she called Sahana for their customary morning call. Sahana pressed the speaker button and left the phone on the counter top and went about her work. They chatted about everyday stuff. Her mother inquired after the kids, and was not satisfied until Sahana gave a detailed description of what they did the previous days. Her mother missed her grand-kids very much and therefore Sahana always entertained her mother and went to great lengths with details regarding the kids even on days she did not feel up to it. May be it was one of the ways she compensated the guilt of living in another continent, she sometimes admitted to herself. Her mother mentioned that there was a call from a man named Kumar earlier in the day. Her mother had been at the temple and the maid had answered the call. She said that he had asked for Sahana, and when she told him that she did not live here anymore, requested if she could get her current address and telephone number. The maid thought it was someone the family knew, and passed on the information that was listed in the book next to the phone for emergencies. Her mother did not know who he was, and admonished the maid for giving out information without first asking how he knew the family. Sahana listened to her mom and at the same time tried to recall if she knew Kumar. Not able to associate the name with a face, she told her mother that it was okay, and asked her to stop worrying. If he called her, then she would find out how he knew her and what he wanted. They chatted for a few more minutes and her mother said it was time for her to sleep. Sahana ended the call and went back to the living room. She spent some time with BJ and turned her laptop on. She settled down in the sofa facing BJ. BJ was busy playing with his toys, and once every few minutes he would say something and expected her to answer. She prayed she could get some work done today.
            It was close to 10:30 in the morning. And she worried that if this was the case everyday, she would fall behind with her work load. Sahana worked part time as an assistant editor of a chemical engineering journal. She worked from home 2 days a week, ever since BJ was born. Sahana got her master's in chemical engineering from the University of Illinois at Chicago. She worked as a researcher for a few years after graduation. She published many papers in peer reviewed journals. She always wrote excellent journal articles. She knew that she excelled at presenting results and writing articles than at research itself. Since she enjoyed scientific writing, she tried for a job which gave her more opportunities to do that, and eventually found her way to her current job. Though Sahana worked full time before Sid was born, she decided to stay at home 2 days a week. This way she needed to work only 3 days a week and she went to the office just one day every week. In order to reduce her work load she chose a part time position. Though she missed the fun of challenging deadlines and the rush she got from solving difficult challenges, she was happy to be staying at home and spending time with Sid and BJ. It was 4 years since she made the change, but never once seriously regretted her decision. Sahana continued to work for another hour, as BJ played on the floor in front of her. She knew he was getting sleepy and she had to pause for a while, to put him to sleep. She finished the paragraph she was working on and lifted him off the floor. She patted him to sleep and very soon he was sound asleep. She went into the boy’s room and lowered BJ in the crib. She heard the phone ring in the living room. There was no extension in this room and thankfully BJ did not even move a muscle. She saw that he slept on and silently left the room.
          The phone kept on ringing, as she headed to her bedroom. She answered and did not hear anything for a few second. Then she heard a male voice slowly say ‘Hello.’ She asked who it was, but did not receive an immediate answer. She sensed that the person hesitated to talk. Finally there was a reply, ‘This is Kumar speaking.’ Huh! Finally! Sahana thought to herself. Why was this guy calling me and I'd rather he speaks something now at least! She asked him how he knew her, and what the purpose of his call was. Kumar started to speak slowly, ‘Sahana’, he said shyly, ‘I don't know if you remember me but we met a long time ago. My name is Suresh Kumar.’ Sahana was listening to him and she was trying to remember where she met him. She felt awkward and did not want to embarrass him by plainly admitting she did not remember him. As though sensing her predicament, he began to speak again, ‘I am sure it must be hard for you to recall. We met a long time ago. You were driving near RTC complex on your scooter. You stopped at the traffic light and I approached you.’ He stopped and she realized that he could not go on any further. She immediately knew who he was. She thought; Good heavens! It’s him! It was many years ago, I was perhaps 21 at that time. She now remembered that day and all the events came flooding back. She now knew exactly who Kumar was! She was shocked beyond all means. Her heart was racing. Sahana was very confused how he still remembered her and why he wanted to talk to her after all these years. She wanted to ask him a thousand questions, ‘Hey! I remember you,’ she started excitedly, ‘how did you get my number?’ That she already knew and corrected herself, ‘I mean how did you get my mother's number?! Where are you now, what do you do?’ As she spoke she realized he must have grown up now. ‘Why are you calling me, I mean, why did you want to call me, I mean, what can I do for you. Where are you, how are you? And what are you doing now? Where are you calling from?’ She realized she did not give Kumar a chance to talk and was repeating the same questions again and again. She stopped at once, and listened eagerly. Kumar started to answer, and she could see that he was much more relaxed now, ‘I am calling from Hyderabad. I got my Masters Degree in Sociology. I have been awarded a fellowship to come to Florida for a conference. I knew you had left the country 15 years ago. It was very important for me to find you. I tried to find out where you were. I went back to the home and asked for your address. They had your parents' address from 16 years ago. I asked around and found out their current address and phone number. I managed to get it and finally your number. I never got a chance to thank you properly, and I regretted that every single day. I had to find you and tell you this.’ He concluded. She could sense the sincerity in his voice, and he was struggling to hide his emotions and sound calm. Sahana just listened; she was at a loss for words. She then said, ‘Congratulations, Kumar!’ She did not know what else to say. She was very happy for him; she had never felt this happy for anybody else. He went on to say that he would be very happy if he got a chance to meet her once he arrived in the US. She said they could plan that and see when they could meet. They tried to chat for a few minutes, exchanged e-mail addressees and decided to be in touch. He finally hung up.
            Sahana leaned back in the armchair. She was staring at the fabric on the chair under her arm. She had a habit of running her fingers along the lines on the fabric. She did it every single time she sat there. But today she just sat looking at it. Her mind was racing elsewhere. She vividly recalled the day she met Suresh Kumar. It was a hot summer day. She lived in a coastal town in the southern part of India. It was always humid there, and she was sweating badly. She was born there, and had never left the place even for college. Now she decided to go to the US to pursue her higher studies. It was certainly a big step for her and an even bigger shock for her parents. She had applied to a number of colleges and was waiting to hear from them. She would graduate in the next year and fly off. It was a very exciting idea for her. One more year and she would be gone, lead an independent life, and finally be an adult. She dreamed about it often, trying to imagine how her life would be. That morning she was driving her scooter to the bus terminal to catch a bus. Sahana was doing a 3-month project at a fertilizer plant as part of a summer internship. Her teammates took the bus together, and they would be waiting for her. She hoped to take the same bus as them. If she missed it, she would have to ride in the next one alone and it would be a boring ride. She was already running late. The traffic light at the entrance to the bus terminal turned red. She was sweating from the heat, and was waiting for the light to turn green. A scrawny looking boy approached her. He asked her for money. He looked like he was 7 or 8 at that time. His t-shirt was filthy and torn at a few places. She was very irritated and asked, ‘Why are you begging? Why aren’t you in school? Where are your parents?’ She expected him to run off to the next car or scooter waiting there. But he defiantly answered her, 'I have no parents.’ Sahana thought, You liar! She did not believe him at all, and thought that perhaps his parents made him beg or he was one of the boys from the slums who came from a poor family and was begging for some easy and extra money. She just said, ‘Ohh, is that so?! I know a place near-by where they take in kids like you and give them a place to stay and they also send them to school. Will you go with me?’ The light turned green, and people were honking behind her. ‘I will pull to the side of the road, come and meet me there,’ she said. She expected the little fellow to run away as soon as she said that. But to her surprise he ran to the side of the road and waited for her! She thought he was calling her bluff. She went there and asked him to hop on her scooter, expecting him to bolt away any minute now. But he climbed on and sat. At first she did not know what to do. She decided to give him money and send him away. It did not feel right to her. She was thinking fast. Suddenly she remembered a place her grandfather went to every month. It was a home for the aged, she remembered him remark that they started taking in orphans as well. Her grandfather went there often and performed magic tricks to entertain the inmates there. He was a professional magician. She immediately started her scooter and took a turn away from the bus terminal, half expecting the boy to jump down and run. He sat there still and calmly asked her where she was taking him. ‘Prema Samajam,’ she replied, the name of the home. ‘I know that place,’ he said, 'I heard they send the kids to school there, give them food, books and uniforms,’ he continued matter-of-factly. Sahana just smiled to herself, still unable to believe all that was happening was true. ‘So if you knew the place why did you not go there before?’ She asked. ‘I tried,’ he replied, ‘they would not take me in.’ ‘Why?’ She asked. ‘They have some rules or something. A kid can’t come and walk in there simply; they need an adult to enroll them. Strange asking orphans to get an adult who says he knows the kid,’ he smirked. Sahana could not muster a reply. She continued driving. After a few minutes they arrived at the place. She parked her scooter and they both walked in. She went in and introduced herself to a bored looking clerk. As soon as he heard her grandfather’s name he became much more responsive. She described to him how she met the boy and the conversation that took place between them. He told her that they could take the boy in immediately. All she had to do was fill a form and leave her address and phone number with him. He handed her a form. She thanked him and she started filling it. The clerk was mumbling under his breath. She could not understand what he was saying entirely, but got the gist of it. He was complaining how young people these days thought they could save the world and its orphans. And two days later the kids always somehow ran away. What a waste of time! And so on. She answered the questions on the first page, mostly details about her. She turned the page it asked for the boy’s name. She realized she had not even asked him his name. He was sitting on a bench at the other end of the room. ‘What’s your name?’ She asked. ‘Suresh Kumar,’ he replied, ‘my parents named me Suresh, I added the Kumar myself,’ he said proudly. Sahana could not help but laugh. He is such a strange fellow, she thought to herself. Once the paper work was duly filed in, the staff told her she could leave. She hesitated for a minute and then looked at Kumar and said, ‘Okay! I guess that’s it then. Good luck! I hope you like this place.’ He just looked at her and said, ‘Okay, Goodbye!’ Sahana said goodbye and thanked the clerk and left. She was an hour late. She went to the bus terminal and got on the next bus leaving for the plant. She rode the bus in silence, her friends had already left. However, she did not get bored as she had thought earlier. She kept thinking of the boy. She thought of the boy a few times in the coming weeks. She wanted to go and visit him, but never actually did. She was not even sure he still stayed there, or perhaps he ran away like the clerk said he would. She felt guilty about it, but soon forgot him completely. She graduated soon and left for the US. She went home several times later but never once made the trip to the home to inquire after the boy.
            Sahana sat in the armchair staring at the fabric and thinking about that summer day from 15 years ago. She was so different then. Impulsive and confident, she felt the boy she met was just like her. She liked the boy instantly. Would she do the same thing today? Would she have left the things she was doing, to discourage some poor kid begging for money? Would she take the time to take a needy kid and enroll him at an orphanage? She sat there pondering. And long before she heard the baby monitor. BJ was awake now. She had to go to him. The call from Kumar reminded her of a very different time of her life. She had changed a lot, in several ways, some for the better and some not. That hot summer day from 15 years ago felt like another lifetime.

Pride and Prejudice - The BBC Drama Miniseries : A Review

2010-05-21T22:12:00.003-04:00

Only a very few films have the privilege of being said to be as good as the book or even more. And this is one of those few. I absolutely love the Pride and Prejudice, BBC miniseries. The miniseries was produced for BBC by A&E. I have to say that this is by far the best portrayal of the novel by Jane Austen, so loved by all. Colin Firth as Darcy takes your breath away. He is subtle and stoic, and definitely handsome!! Jennifer Ehle is the perfect depiction of Elisa Bennett. And no one else could have brought the character to life better than her.

As a lover of Jane Austen's works, I have to admit I have never been satisfied with a single movie that was made from her books, with the exception of this miniseries. This miniseries is the best adaptation of a novel I have seen till date. Those of you who have not read the book will also get stuck to this movie. The series is available on VHS and DVD, the VHS having a better color quality, whereas the DVD is much more convenient. I received the DVD as a birthday gift a couple of years ago, and love it. I can watch the four and a half hour movie in one go. And I have done that time and again. Each time I watch the movie I am left thinking of Mr. Darcy for the next couple of days ;) It is just so splendid!

Unaccustomed Earth: A Review

2010-05-17T15:33:00.005-04:00

Ever since I heard of this book, I could not wait to lay my hands it. I recently received it and took to reading it immediately. In plain simple words: I loved it! I could not put it aside. Even though it was a collection of eight short stories, I wanted to read them all one after the other. In this book, as in her previous works Jhumpa Lahiri chronicles the stories of Bengali immigrants in the Northeast of US. All her stories reflect the pain and loneliness experienced by Indian immigrants on the US soil. The struggles of the immigrants and their offspring to survive and flourish in a new country is depicted beautifully. Although at times too dramatic, the feelings are only too real. The book begins with a quote from Nathaniel Hawthorne, "Human nature will not flourish, any more than a potato, if it be planted and replanted, for too long a series of generations, in the same worn-out soil. My children have had other birthplaces, and, so far as their fortunes may be within my control, shall strike their roots into unaccustomed earth." Lahiri herself a Bengali immigrant, born in London and raised in the US echoes the very sentiments. At times her stories challenge Hawthorne's views, and question if such a transplantation strengthens a plant or weakens it. Her stories depict that the place to which individuals feel the strongest ties isn’t necessarily the country they belong to by birth or lineage. But the place which helps them gain an identity and makes them who they are. And this place might not even have a geographical existence.
Her stories are not just for immigrants, the emotions portrayed are universal and felt by all. I am certain you will not be disappointed. Her stories and the characters stick out to you, and you will not easily forget them. I loved them all greatly and my favorite is the title story, Unaccustomed Earth. For all our sakes I hope Ms. Lahiri will keep more coming our ways. Do pick up a copy when you get a chance. Get ready for a journey from Cambridge to Seattle to Rome to India and Thailand. I know I am ready for a second visit.

PS: In case you haven't read her older releases, Interpreter of Maladies and The Namesake, please read them as well.

Count Your Blessings

2010-05-06T16:13:00.006-04:00

This morning I remembered a hymn we used to sing in school. Our teacher would first sing and then we all followed suit dutifully, repeating each line after her. I had no idea why she taught us this song, or any other song for that matter. But I did enjoy the singing lessons. Once we learned the song, we sang it many more times in the school assembly during morning prayers.We used to know the words by heart. But never even once did I stop to think about the words and what they meant. Reason could be that I was too small then, perhaps in the 3rd or 4th grade. For some reason I started humming the song this morning. I hardly remembered the lines, but the two that I had not forgotten were:
Count your blessings, name them one by one,
Count your blessings, see what God has done!
I suddenly wanted to recall all the lines and remember how the whole song sounded. And thanks to You-tube I found it and listened to it after many years.
Click the link below if you would like to listen...
Count Your Blessings
Now as an adult I know why my teacher taught me that song. And I believe its enough to remember just those two lines. And yes I have learned to count my blessings, and there are many of them.

Little Pink Slips: A Review

2010-05-05T13:21:00.005-04:00

No! The book is not about lingerie. It is the other pink slip which no working soul ever wants to hear of. I saw the cover at the book store and dismissed it off as typical chick lit. But I am really glad I picked it up. The author Sally Koslow, McCall's former editor-in-chief provides a perfect distraction from everyday life. This book is perfect for times when you need a light, breezy read. At the same time it is not all fiction. the author based her book on facts and her own experiences in the magazine industry (the author survived the famous Rosie invasion of McCall's). This is another Devil wears Prada, albeit a little more cynical and more humorous. The plot rotates around Magnolia Gold, editor-in-chief of Lady magazine, who has her dream job, and a fabulous New York City apartment, when Lady's publishers suddenly decide to get a celebrity Bebe Blake, on board— against Magnolia's warnings that Bebe will alienate the magazines conservative readers. They further rename Lady as Bebe and demote Magnolia to 'corporate editor,' a bogus position that's soon eliminated. The whole story revolves around how Magnolia survives the Bebe circus and untangles problems in her personal and professional lives. I will not divulge the plot further. All you ladies will really love reading this book, and at the end of it will be left wanting more. Do pick it up, and you will not be disappointed you did. Its perfect for your beach bag!

On The Train To Hogwarts

2010-04-17T13:04:00.003-04:00

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from: http://carayoo.tumblr.com/

The Winner Stands Alone: A Review

2010-04-16T20:10:00.004-04:00

   I loved Paulo Coelho's, The Alchemist. I admit. But this book certainly lost me in the first few pages. But, I kept on reading. I rarely leave a book half-way through. In The Winner Stands Alone, the author hates cell phones, dark glasses, movie producers, the rich and the famous, the power class whom he calls "the superclass", with their private jets, Bot-ox injections and expensive cars. He is not too much in favor of the ordinary people. He criticizes them as well. The central character of the novel, Igor the Russian executive is a creepy psycho, who kills without rhyme or reason and goes about "destroying universes".
The whole story occurs in Cannes with the film festival as the backdrop. Coelho compares Cannes to Sodom and Gomorrah. For an author like Paolo Coelho who so blatantly expresses despise for all things worldly or glamorous like the Cannes film festival in this book, I am surprised how he agreed to the movie production of his best seller The Alchemist. And I wondered often during the read, why the author even considered writing more than 300 pages about things which he expresses as immoral and foolish. Well, that I cannot answer.
   Therefore, as much as I love some of Paolo Coelho's books, and have been inspired by them, I have to be honest and give this book a 2.5/5. Sorry!
   If you are an avid reader go ahead pick this book. But if reading is a rare thing for you, do not read this book. So friends decide for yourself if you would give the book a try.

The Monsoon Memoirs

2010-04-13T14:29:00.002-04:00

I remember the anticipation of the monsoon

My small world waiting for the rains

The respite it brought to the dusty roads

And sweltering summer heat

The welcome sheets of gray shielding the sun

I remember the downpours during the summer holidays

Making paper boats for the gutters

Leaning out the window feeling the spray on my face

My mother calling out to me

Handing me a bowl of hot spicy peanuts

I remember how the sea looked in the rain

Giant waves taunting the skies

The wild wind sweeping the rain

I still have not forgotten

How the rain and sea became one

I remember the walks in the rain

A tree under which I stood

The emerald rain drops dripping from the leaves

The sparkling eyes of a boy I loved
Who walked with me twice in the rain

Chicago Again

2010-04-09T13:39:00.005-04:00

Excitement! Contemplation! Frustration! Contemplation! Excitement!

That's what's been going on in my world for the past few days. The new job offer excited us. Chicago! The city I love more than any other in this country. Its my second home. This was where I found my independence. And it was here I first tasted the joys and sorrows of adulthood. The excitement soon faded. The deliberation about the move began and we finally decided to move. The drive here was frustrating with detours due to landslides. Not an exciting start exactly. The frustration further doubled when the apartment hunt started. I hated every one of the apartments we saw. Was this place always so dirty, crowded and expensive! Phew! I almost forgot. Finally we found a more than decent apartment complex, the management calls them luxury apartments. Well, for Chicago perhaps. After weighing in our priorities, budget and commute time we finally decided to sign the lease. A conversation with our friends last night reminded us why we loved this city so much. They moved here recently but unlike us it was their first time in the city. We went to great lengths describing Chicago, the good things and the bad, where to go and what to see, what not to miss, and so on. During the conversation we re-visited the whole city. That was when we remembered why we loved Chicago so much. And once again the excitement returned. So our emotions like our lives are turning a full circle. And for now, Chicago it is!

The Green Woolen Cap

2010-04-01T11:13:00.003-04:00

   Rain or shine she went for her run at the Mallard Creek Green-way at 6 in the am every single day. She had been running for 10 years now. It was not an awfully long run. She would run for 30 minutes into the park, and then run back to the entrance. Her routine hardly changed, except occasionally when her guilt reminded her of her visit to her favorite pizza place or ice cream shop on the previous evening. She devoted an hour of her life every single day to this task. She struggled to get out of bed sometimes, but anyhow she did it. She rarely missed her jogs except for when she broke her leg, or her grandmother died or when her 5 year old nephew ran away from home. When, Anita suffered a minor stroke at the shocking age of 30 she took an oath to herself, that she would never let it happen to her again.
She just celebrated her 40th birthday last month and she was in the best shape of her life. She lived alone in her own town home. Anita crossed paths with a number of people everyday during her run. She nodded at some, and smiled at a few. There was one person or two who would stop and exchange a greeting or a few words with her. She did not know most of their names or where any one them lived. She called them her running buddies. She referred to them that way when she occasionally talked to her friends about weird running patterns or outfits, or a major fashion faux-pas that she noticed. One of their favorites was the bright orange jersey man who took gigantic strides. It looked like his legs made up more than three quarters of his body's height. The first time Anita saw him, it was from a distance and all she could see were his legs, and then his torso emerged. Then there was this girl in tiny running shorts, She wore the same every day even in the winter months. She passed a good looking man in a fluorescent green cap each morning. It was a woolen cap and she often wondered why he wore that on warm days too. She did not know his name, but he always saw her in the eye and smiled. She loved the way he smiled. She did not think she was attracted to him but there was something about him that made him hard to forget. She looked forward to seeing him every day and she enjoyed their brief encounters. There were times when she remembered his twinkling blue eyes when she looked for some recluse on a particularly difficult day. On this particular day she did not see him and wondered why. Then there was this couple who always wore matching t-shirts and they walked on alternate days. This was due to the man's bad knee the lady said, information she got without asking for it. She did not want to be rude to her so she listened to her occasional monologues. A young college athlete always ran at the same time. Or was he a bolt of lightning, it was hard for Anita to say from the speed of his running. She did not know a whole lot about any of these people but somehow felt they were all a part of her life. And when she did not see the regulars on a particular day she missed them and was always surprised why. Suddenly her thoughts drifted to her work day.
Soon after her run, she had just enough time to take a shower and and grab a bagel before she got to work. She was a forensic pathologist and worked for the Charlotte-Macklenburg Police Department. She went over the list of things she had to do this morning. She knew there was a body lined up for autopsy. She received a message late last night that there had been a deadly accident on the interstate and one person died. Anita loved watching crime dramas as a kid. And when she was ready to go to college she instantly knew which career path she would take. She was always fascinated how science had answers to questions pertaining to the manner and cause of death by examining a corpse. She dreamed of solving every murder mystery that came her way. She decided to study forensic medicine. As soon as she graduated she landed a job in the police department and performed various autopsies. Though she did not solve every homicide case as she had fantasized as a student, she was still happy and content with her job. She handled other kinds of autopsies too on accident victims or deaths caused due to unnatural causes. She took her job seriously and felt that any kind of information that she could extract from the corpse was significant to either the police or the near and dear ones of the demised.
    She parked her car and entered the building. The department of forensic medicine was located on the 5th floor. She occasionally took the stairs, but she was running late this morning and decided to take the elevator. She entered her office and sat at her desk. She briefly glanced through the incoming mail piled up on her desk, and the reports she had to send out soon. She checked her e-mails, and decided to send out replies later in the day. It was time to get to the autopsy room. She went to the prep room adjoining the actual autopsy room. Her assistant had already arrived. He greeted her and talked about their work of the day. He told her that the body of an accident victim had arrived late last night, and that he had finished the preliminary external examination. The body was ready for the actual autopsy and was on the "body block". Anita thanked him and he helped her get into her medical apron. She went into the autopsy room and before proceeding to he table she decided to go through the belongings of the deceased person and catalogue them properly. This was standard procedure. It was her technician's job, but this morning for no particular reason, Anita decided to do it herself. She stood over the table where the victim's clothes and other personal effects were neatly lined up. She took one glance around the table and she froze. She felt her legs going weak and desperately wanted to drop on her knees. She just kept staring and staring. Anita could not muster the courage to move a single finger. Time stopped ticking. She did not know how long she kept staring at the things laid out before her, until her assistant shook her shoulders. "Anita! Anita! What is the matter? Are you okay, do you want to sit, would you like a drink of water?" She heard his words, but they made absolutely no sense to her. She kept staring for a few more minutes and then turned away. Anita walked to the phone attached to the wall. She called the other pathologist on-duty that day and asked him if he could kindly cover this particular autopsy. The colleague agreed and she ended the call. She walked towards the exit that opened to the corridor. She was almost at the door when she stopped dead in her tracks. She walked back to the table and opened the wallet, she found the ID and read the name of the person it had belonged to. Anita took another long look at the table and left the room. She went through the day in a blur. An inexplicable grief took over her mind and body. She did not know how the day went by, and finally it was time for her to go home.
    Anita reached home. The sun was about go down. She went to sit on the patio. She sat staring at the setting sun, lost in her thoughts. The sky drew darker and darker, and Anita just sat there. She finally closed her eyes, tear drops rolling down her cheek. The friendly face now has a name. For what she saw on the table amongst other things was a very familiar fluorescent green cap made with wool.

An Afternoon Siesta

2010-03-29T17:31:00.007-04:00

Ever since I earned my PhD I hardly held a job with fixed hours. The only times I ever stuck to a schedule post PhD was during my volunteering stint that lasted a few months at an elder services. Many a time I have asked myself the same question over and over again. Am I slipping into nothingness? After much deliberation the answer is always the same: no not really or some variation of it. There is a long list of things I have discovered, none of those would have been possible if I was working my ass off...

I realized the fun in making little things using my hands, ranging all the way from making jewelry to playing around with dried flowers, i.e handicrafts; reliving the elementary school SUPW and needle-work horrors I certainly am not. This is way more fun!
Flowers, tomatoes and green chilies became a new obsession. Loved being around plants. Cant wait for this season..
Long chats with my friends and family, online or on phone: just plain gossiping to deep soul-searching. Realizing what a great blessing it is to be surrounded by my loved ones. I now have the time to recognize the lengths they got to, for make my life happier and easier. I have missed out on acknowledging the little gestures for too long. Love you guys for doing that!
Enjoying a nice book without feeling guilty I could have used the time for something more productive.
Rediscovered my veena and got lucky in finding one again. However, the search for a real teacher continues, unless you count instructional DVD lessons as one.
My friendship with the skillet continues to progress unhindered, and I have added a few more feathers to my culinary cap
And well, shopping is perennially fun, busy or not.
I listen to music as much as I want, with all the time in the world to listen to enchanting voices swooning in love, pining in sorrow or blubbering plain rubbish. And can listen to the same tracks again and again and again.
The time gave me a chance to ponder on stuff that has always taken a backseat. And I am beginning to understand some difficult friendships are just meant to be that: difficult. And sometimes it is just better to let go of some people and things than to keep on struggling to hold on to them. Am I sounding all grown-up now? Whoa! Scary!
An occasional afternoon siesta and a cup of creamy, spicy sweet tea in the evening is pleasure unparalleled.
I now have time to gaze at the rain, hear the birds chirping, and watch the green shimmer of grass in the afternoon sunlight.
My only woe is that I miss being in the lab and well if you count making money is important then I haven't done that too, in quite a while. But since this is my list, it shows up at the bottom.

With all the time in the world I sometimes am surprised at how little of it I have left. And admire how my friends with real jobs and/or babies handle it all. Like so many of you I too have never taken a real break until now. Sometimes I fear that this is too good to be true and get paranoid that something is not right. But I do love this state of doing nothing but enjoying everything I do. I have to admit unabashedly, minus the tiny occasional pangs of longing to go back to work, I truly am enjoying the beauty this vacuum is giving my life. And yes I now have time to stop and smell the flowers, true to the word. Fabulous!

Paradise Version 1.0

2010-03-24T12:15:00.005-04:00

Whats your idea of heaven? Wait, hold on. Don't answer that in haste. Give it some thought before you think you know how your paradise looks like or feels like. I think I might have found one of my heavens. A girl is allowed to have more than one heaven, is that not right? As popular belief goes, you die and go to heaven. And heaven is a place where you feel no pain or hunger or thirst. You are in a a constant state of contentment and bliss, wanting nothing. Sounds more like the after effects of smoking pot. Not that I would know. Anyhow, you get the idea, right? Therefore, if you know of a place where all these things or most of all these things occur....U found your paradise!!

So much for the prelude, here's the story. A pretty short one actually.And without further ado, let me tell you how my heaven looks, at least one of my heavens. It was brightly lit in fluorescent lights. There were rows and rows of metal shelves, all filled with boxes labeled in different names and numbers. Not just any names, those are names we all love and adore. Any ideas yet?? And atop the shelf there was a sample of what you would find in each one of those blessed boxes. And there were 100s of them, all lined up, waiting for me.And there I was looking here and there, trying to decide which box I should open first. Okay, don't get restless now! I was in the shoe store. There, I said it! Now you know how one of my paradises looks like. I went to one of those outlet shoe store, Off Broadway Shoes! I was hungry, tired and thirsty before I stepped into the store. But what amazed me was, how quickly I forgot all that. Once in the store, surrounded by shoes on all sides, trying on the ones I liked, I just lost time. I mean it, I lost time! And the icing on the cake, yes there's a best part in this lame story too. It was a brand new store!! Heaaaaveeen!! So there you go, that was my story. I should admit though, even if I forgot hunger and thirst I was far from contented. My brain was working freakishly fast, what should I try, well..hello Mr. Calvin Klein, what should I buy, should I splurge, looking good Lauren, why should I not, after all they are shoes, how do you do Marc Jacobs, ooohh Ms. Simpson,should I look east or Nine West, how many shoes have I already shopped for this season, but these are shoes, there a few more dozens of these at home, and so on and on. And if you were thinking diamonds are a girl's best friend, think again ;)

Sunny Blue Skies

2010-03-22T14:38:00.004-04:00

Gray evening skies

The end of a cloudy day

Growing dimmer by the minute

Nothing to look forward to

But the anguish of the night

The run of fortune

Rolling thunder fills the night

Skies aglow with lightning

The anticipation of the parched plains

To drink in the rain

A rainy night surrounds me

The touch of rain on my face

Puts a smile on my lips

My cares washing away in the downpour

I dissolve in the bliss

The night is nearly done

The gray gloom of the the evening past

Now a fading memory

A new day beckons

Bright sunny blue skies is all I see

A Thousand Splendid Suns: A Review

2010-03-19T09:06:00.002-04:00

Where do you look for a good book? Reviews online? Oprah's book club? The New York Times bestseller list? The bookstore? I mean seriously, there are so many titles out there and I never know what to pick next. Of course there is a long list of older books I want to read, but somehow never get to.

So all this about what to read next reminded me of one of the recent books I finished reading, Khaled Hosseini's, A Thousand Splendid Suns . It would be an understatement to say that I just read it. Where in fact I literally lived in it, for four days. I fell in love with the his first book, The Kite Runner. Not only did I fall in love with the book, but with the visions, smells and sounds of pre-war Afghanistan.

So, when I read the second book, I looked forward to the same excellence in writing, and have not been disappointed in the least. The story revolves around two Afghan cities, Herat and Kabul, and two women. The two women belonging to different generations, steal you heart and you will fall in love with them instantly. Both very different, but extremely strong women who go through a lot. My heart broke when I read of the toils women faced in those parts of the world. The beauty and simplicity of their lives before the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan was beautifully described. And to see how lives in Afghanistan changed drastically after the Soviet invasion and then again under the Taliban rule, was heart wrenching.

The way I looked at Afghanistan changed dramatically after reading this book. When ever I hear of the Afghan war, all I ever understood was the political turmoil in those regions and never once did my thoughts go beyond that to the people and their tragedies. I found the book a little too melodramatic at times, one tragedy succeeding another , but soon realized this was not far from the truth. The way the book ends filled me with hope. Hope for a better Afghanistan and hope for a better world. This story has truly enriched my knowledge and understanding of the Afghan people and I finished the book knowing them, understanding them and loving them. I highly recommend this book, an excellent read, guaranteed to capture you from the first chapter.

The Pourings of a Contented Heart

2010-03-15T18:14:00.006-04:00

The tears rolling down my cheek
Are no mere salty drops of water
They are not the dreams - unanswered
which would cause me to shatter

They are not the ashes from the flames
of my shadowed experiences of the past,
Nor are they my forgotten dreams -
Long since I have lost contact

They are the pearls of love
The pouring of a contented heart:
Look through my eyes, the ocean-
You will get the treasure hunt.

They are the radiant smiles in disguise,
If you like, better explore;
'Why do dew drops fall at night?'
Think a while and try to implore.

I found these verses from a long time ago...

The Brightly Lit Kiosk

2010-03-12T17:11:00.003-05:00

     It was her last day in India. Yet another vacation was coming to an end, there were so many people she had wanted to meet, many places she had planned on visiting, and there were so many things left unsaid. She wanted to tell her mom how much she loved her and how badly she would miss her. She wanted to take a long look at her dad and give him another long hug. My next trip, she thought, I will try and organize my time better. I must try and visit my friend in Pune, my cousins in the village, and go to the temple on the Hills. Why does time fly by this quickly when I am here. While she was brooding over these things, her mom was ranting through the customary words of caution, "Have you checked you documents, your passport. Do you have your train ticket? Keep your money safe and accessible." She was nodding yes, yes and yes. She was sitting in the air-conditioned compartment of the train to Chennai. She would reach Chennai the next morning, and had to wait till the end of the day before she could board her flight to New York.
    It was time she sent her parents away before they started getting emotional. It was one thing to see her mom cry, but from the last two trips her dad was getting very emotional every time she left. Maybe age does that to people, she thought. To save all parties involved from the melodrama, she suggested they all leave before her train departs. With much opposition they agree. After a re-run of the long good-byes, the hugs and tears, her family left. She finally sat down and took a look around. Until now she was oblivious to the fact that she was still in the station, her train very much on the platform. Her train should leave in another 10 minutes. She was staring out the window and remembered all those countless trips her dad had taken her on, ever since she was a kid. He loved to travel and always took the family on at least two trips a year. Oh gosh! I am going to miss him, she thought. Emotion-check!! She started looking around to take her mind of this thought. She started taking in the sights on the platform. However, no sounds entered her compartment through the closed glass windows.
    On the platform she saw a small brightly-lit kiosk where a variety of snacks and goodies were being sold. Chips, soda, biscuits, cookies, chocolates and different kinds of snacks in all kinds of attractive packaging. A scrawny looking little girl with a runny nose, unkempt hair, in filthy ill-fitting clothes approached the seller.She pointed to one particular bag of goodies and said something to the shop-keeper. She realized that the girl was a beggar and she must be living on the platform itself. The shop-keeper shooed the little girl away. She continued looking around. She saw a few luggage porters, dresses in bright red shirts, idly sitting around on a bench, smoking. There was a Punjabi man in an orange turban having his lunch. The man was concentrating on tearing pieces off a thick paratha bread. He dipped it in some achaar pickle and appeared to be savoring it immensely. She looked through the open doors of a waiting room and saw a marwari lady with a bright green sari draped on her head. The lady's hands were covered in glass bangles of vibrant green and she was feeding her child. She saw a group of tribal women sitting on the floor fanning their faces with the ends of their saris. She then turned around and saw an old couple staring in different directions lost to the world. A few young adults, mostly on a college trip, sat in a huge group animatedly laughing and telling stories. She was behind the sound-proof glass, and could not hear any of this, but she could certainly connect the sights with their sounds.She saw a few people sleeping on the platform itself in the sweltering heat. There were carts laden with fruits, food, newspapers surrounded with throngs of people trying to bargain and buy. Men and women of all ages, dressed in all kinds of clothes, were hurriedly walking or running to catch their respective trains on various platforms. As she took in her surroundings, she realized how true it was to say that the railway station or train travel furnished one with a microcosm of India.This is India for you, she thought. How long before I can experience all this again.
    She then glanced at her watch, why hasn't the train started? It was supposed to leave ten minutes ago. She saw the little girl at the kiosk again, this time carrying a half naked baby, showing him to the shop-keeper and pleading with him again. The shop-keeper shooed the girl away. The girl left disappointed. The girl came back without the baby this time and started talking to the shop-keeper again. The shop-keeper shooed the girl away, yet another time. Just then there was a loud whistle, the train was finally ready to leave.She was so lost in the little beggar's antics she forgot she was waiting for the train to leave. Suddenly, she looked through her purse and found a twenty rupee bill. She took it out, wanting to give it to the little girl. She could not give it through the window, this was a closed compartment. She heard the whistle again, the train will leave now. She was suddenly filled with a deep urge. She had to pass on that bill to the girl. Why am I feeling this urge?! Strange, she thought. She quickly went towards the door. The little girl was on the platform, closer to the the door at the other end of the compartment. The train started moving. She realized she had to get to the other door. But there was a good chance she would have passed the girl by the time she reached the other door. She started waving towards the girl. The little girl was not expecting anyone would wave to her, so she looked away. I have to give her this bill, but why?! She was confused at this sudden urge of hers. I must be going crazy, she thought. She finally caught the attention of a man who was standing in between her and the girl. She waved to him and he ran towards her, she asked him to give the little girl the twenty rupee bill. He yelled to the girl and she ran towards him, he pointed towards her standing at the door of the compartment said something tot he little girl and handed her the bill. The little girl looked at her standing at the door of this moving train surprised, confused and plainly blank. It took less than a minute for all these events to transpire. She kept looking at the girl, and the train now passed the girl. She could clearly see that the little girl's face now lit up.The girl kept looking back at her. She pointed to the little shop and signaled the girl to go there. The girl was jumping up and down, clapping with glee now realizing what had happened. The girl went to the shop and was talking to the shop-keeper. That was the last of the girl that she could see. She kept looking till the girl was just a blurry dot on the platform. The train kept moving, and she could not see the platform anymore. She stood at the door for a long time feeling the wind on her face. She finally took a deep breath and sighed. She returned to her seat. She sat down and closed her eyes, the last vision of her home-town safely tucked in her heart, a pair of small brightly lit eyes.

The Wednesday Whim

2010-03-10T14:49:00.006-05:00

March is here, bringing with it a much awaited spring. Then follow thoughts of summer. Bright sunny days, lazy summer afternoons, the gentle evening breeze and warm balmy nights. No wonder they say summer is the most romantic of seasons. And for no rhyme or reason I though of this, well....you could almost call it a poem. Slightly romantic, slightly cheesy, here's the whimsical song of a Wednesday

He Loves You...

He loves you for the noise you make,

He loves you for the silent nights,

He loves your contemptuous rudeness,

He loves your admiration for him,

He loves you for being you.

He loves you for the order you bring to his life,

He loves you for the chaos that ensues,

He loves your shameless lethargy,

He loves your avid love of life,

He loves you for being you.

He loves you till your toes curl up,

He loves you straight and right,

He loves your annoying monotony,

He loves your enchanting unconventionality,

He loves you for being you.

He loves you for making his life a living hell,

He loves you for the joy you bring to his being,

Love him back just the way he loves you and then some more,

Love him for being there and being him.

Here are some of the Wednesday blogs I said I'd look for :

http://womenswednesdayweblink.blogspot.com/

http://www.wordlesswednesday.com/

http://waterywednesday.blogspot.com/

http://flutterbywednesdays.blogspot.com/

Trudging Along Tuesday

2010-03-09T09:43:00.003-05:00

Made it through Monday, and feeling much better, just like you. In the perfect world everyday would be a Friday, and I would be queen of England's grand-kid ;) But nothing's perfect, so I better stop day dreaming. Yesterday being Women's Day, there was some talk about women, enduring injustice, bringing hope, achieving great heights and the like. I am not getting into serious discussion territory here. Just wishing all you fabulous ladies a Happy Women's Day!!

And on a lighter note I wanted to share this picture that I came across this morning. It made me think some and laugh a lot more.

Ohh..and as I promised here are some Tuesday blogs:
http://sunnytuesday.blogspot.com/
http://aaru-tuesday.blogspot.com/
http://idletuesdayafternoonthoughts.blogspot.com

Yet Again

2010-03-08T12:37:00.015-05:00

Searching for the silence that surrounds me in the sea of voices

The calmness that engulfed me amidst the thousand cacophonous happenings of the world

Reminiscing the tranquility and serenity of the salty ocean breeze, I search for it now

Hither and thither, now and forever, searching, hoping and praying to find it yet again

Existing in a place where my mind is at peace, one with the universe, one with myself, one with you

Defeating the stresses of everyday existence and savoring the victories of togetherness

Reliving the calmness and simplicity of a single rainy day, I yearn for it now

Above and below, yesterday and tomorrow, exploring, aspiring and imploring to find it yet again

Tranquility for eternity, impossible but ever achievable, so near yet so far

Lost in my words, I reach the perfect place, the memories of the ocean, the rain, the thunder and the lightning

The warm embrace surrounding me on lonely nights, the calm that takes over my body, I cherish it now

Here and now, washing away in these reflections, grateful for my life, I feel the harmony and revel in it yet again.

Monday Blues

2010-03-08T10:10:00.005-05:00

Ugghhh...Monday morning again. Ever since I was a kid I hated Monday, especially the first few hours of the morning. Can't say I have changed much as an adult. So, this morning I decided to try our a new exercise, see how many blogs are out there which are named Monday. Not to my surprise I found many. To while away my time further, I decided not only to find blogs named after Monday, but all the other days of the week. And as I find them, which I'm sure I will, I will share a few of them every day this week.

Here's today's list:
http://mondayb.blogspot.com/
http://mojomonday.blogspot.com/
http://themondaybluesbulletin.blogspot.com/
http://nomoremondayblues.blogspot.com/

So, stay tuned for a scintillating, exhilarating, blah blah blah..it's still Monday. And the worst part is that I don't even work ;)

The Road Less Traveled

2010-03-06T16:30:00.005-05:00

I am reading Paulo Coelho's "The Winner Stands Alone". Yesterday I came across a chapter where a character in the book reads the poem tiled, The Road not Taken by Robert Frost. It is one of my favorite poems, and I was happy to revisit it. The last three lines give me goosebumps every time I read them. I wanted to share it here...

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

The Procrastinators Paradise

2010-03-05T09:57:00.006-05:00

Ohh...How sweet are the fruits of procrastination. Only until they reach a point of rotting. I for one am the greatest procrastinator ever know to me :) There is an infinite list of things I had been intending to do.

To name a few:
Finish reading Salman Rushdie's Shalimar The Clown
Read Tagore's Gitanjali for a second time
Tune my Veena to start playing it again
Organize my clothes and shoes
Give my favorite friend a ring
Dust the inside of my car
Try out the various craft project kits I collected from each trip to the book store
And of course...make a plan for exercising and STICKING to it...and the list goes on..

I am sure there are a lot of us like that..and as some wise woman(ok ok..or man) so aptly said..Procrastinators unite tomorrow!!

I wanted to be a blogger from time immemorial. But have been putting it off, thinking I will start this month, this week, tomorrow..And I have been leaving a note to myself : Tomorrow I will start blogging

Today I finally found a way to outsmart my own delaying tactics...

So, signing off....A motivated procrastinator ;)