Sentience or Sapience?

Another lyric attempt

2012-01-27T15:46:00.016-05:00

This one is set to the meter of Kshanam Kshanam from Panjaa (Telugu) Composed by Yuvan Shankar Raja and sung by Shwetha Pundit. I do not read, write or speak Telugu. However, I do understand it somewhat. The highlight of this song is at the last line where the notes soar high from the subdued ones earlier: "Vasthunna Nestham Andhisthale Nava Jeevitham" (I believe it means something like Along came this love and gave me this life anew) It's is a vanilla variety girl falling in love for the first time kinda song. I wanted to sing this in Thamizh and decided to try my hand at penning the lyrics. This is not an exact translation by any means, not even a similar emotion. This is more of a girl-pining-for-guy song. If all works out will be trying to record my cover version of the song this weekend using the lyrics below.

கனா | கண்டேன் | விநோதமாய்
உனைக் | கண்டேன் மணாளனாய்
நிஜம் | நிழல்| நினைவெல்லாம்
நீயாய் | நின்றாய் | நோயாய் | தின்றாய்
விடாமலே | விண்மீனைத் தேடும்
கொளாகிறேன் | சில நாளாகவே
நான் ஒளியின் வேகத்தை தீண்டி
உனை நெருங்கினேன் |
நீ விழியின் ஓரத்தை தாண்டி
ஏன் மறைகிறாய் |
மின்னல்கள் தோன்றிட| கண்முன்னே நீ வந்து சீண்டினாய்
இன்னல்கள் தீர்ந்திட| மெல்லிதழால் மெல்லத் தீண்டவா

Here is the original if you haven't heard it before

Kshanam Kshanam

PS: Just realized that the meter for the 'நான் ஒளியின்' line does not repeat. Got to remove one of the two('நான் ஒளியின்...' or 'நீ விழியின்...').

Lyric

2012-01-03T19:55:00.003-05:00

Alright. Low budget movie. Here's the situation. He's your average Joe from Tamizhnadu, say Kumbakonam to be specific. Or should I say average 'Ramesh', 'Kumar' or the ever popular 'Shiva'? He is hopelessly in love with this girl. He worships her. He hasn't proposed yet. She still thinks they are 'Friends'. They are at a coffee shop (are there coffee shops in Kumbakonam? ) And as they talk, he drifts off into day dream land and we break into a dream song shot in Singapore. (Didn't I say low budget) This is supposed to be a melody song. I didn't set it to any tune...just penned down what came to me. Here goes:

அவன்:

நேசிக்கும் அவளை
வாசிக்க வாசிக்க
யோசிக்க தூண்டும்
நாசிக்குள் ஏந்தி
சுவாசிக்கும் வித்தை
யாசிக்கத் தோன்றும்

பேசிக்கொண்டே இருந்தால் எப்படியோ
பூசிக்கும் வேளையும் வருவதெப்போ

அவள்:
நண்பனே நீ ஏன் நெருங்குகிறாய்
நொடி நேரம் பிரிந்தாலும் நொறுங்குகிறாய்
இது தவறோ எனவே நான் ஒதுங்கயிலே
ஒரு தயக்கம் சிறு கலக்கம் குழம்புகிறேன்
அவன்:

காதல் தான் அன்பே வாய் சொல்லும் முன்பே
விழிதான் பறை சாற்றுதே.....

Never got around to finishing it. Suggestions welcome for the second stanza in the same meter in your comments. I even made up a silly tune for it :p

My lost million

2011-12-16T10:48:00.003-05:00

He took the scissors and placed the pointed end on the back of my head, slightly to the right on my scalp. I didn't feel any trepidation. He pushed it in a bit and it tore the skin. He nudged one pointed end inside the skin and started cutting through. Strangely I felt only pressure. No pain. And somehow I was observing it from above. He continued to cut, parting and moving my dark locks out of the way. A giggle bubbled out of me. The whole situation was suddenly too funny. He chided me for moving. 'I don't want it to be crooked' he said. I stayed still. He had reached my forehead now. He was trying to cut out a circle all the way around my head. Right at the point where Jesus' crown of thorns would have rested. He kept cutting. Sticky, dark blood was dripping down my face and onto to my lashes. I tried to carefully wipe it off with the back of my hand without moving my head. He was almost done now. He had reached the point where he had started. "It's done" he said. I tried to run my fingers against the cut. The ridge felt warm and wet. I tried to slip my thumb into the groove. And I felt the first twinge of pain. "What are you trying to do?" He asked. I wanted to take it off. Didn't he know that? I got a neat grip on the cut out scalp ('cut out scalp' isn't that hillarious? ) with both my hands on either side of my head and proceeded to lift it up and off my head. The pain got more intense and the blood gushing out made it slippery. He was just watching me. He was just as fascinated by this as I was. At that moment I stopped. I asked him "Am I going to die?"
Stephanie Meyer dreams of the love scene between Edward and Bella in the woods; goes on to make millions. All I get is scalp cutting. Thank God it's Friday.

PS: If that last part didn't make sense - "I woke up (on that June 2nd) from a very vivid dream. In my dream, two people were having an intense conversation in a meadow in the woods. One of these people was just your average girl. The other person was fantastically beautiful, sparkly, and a vampire. They were discussing the difficulties inherent in the facts that A) they were falling in love with each other while B) the vampire was particularly attracted to the scent of her blood, and was having a difficult time restraining himself from killing her immediately." Quoted from Stephanie Meyer's website at http://www.stepheniemeyer.com/twilight.html about how she came up with the Twilight Saga which became a best selling young adult fiction series and Blockbuster movie series. She was an ordinary woman who turned millionaire(ess?) overnight literally.

Filicide - A bleak post

2011-11-23T14:18:00.004-05:00

Are humans losing their very basic parental instincts? I tried reading up on whether parental instincts are learned or inherited. Most scientists seem to lean towards genetic inheritance while some argue that it is learned from the parents. Looking at all the recent news I read, I am tempted to believe it is the latter. For example a very high percentage of pedophiles have been identified to have been or claim that they were abused as a child themselves. Most cases of parents who kill their own children seem to be born in poverty and drug abuse ridden households. They just never learned proper parental behavior. What they know of good parenting is only through secondary sources like media or someone outside the immediate family.

This article here gives some troubling statistics:

250 to 300 children are murdered by their parents each year in the U.S.

Homicide is the leading cause of death in children 4 and younger. Of children murdered before the age of 5, 61 percent were killed by parents

And

(It)is the third-leading cause of death in American children ages 5 to 14

I have heard and read of girl child infanticide in rural (and sometimes urban) India. But I have never heard of reports of Indian parents killing their children because the child was an inconvenience. I might be naive on this issue though. It just seems that such things are so frequent in the country I live. Is it just getting reported more here? How can a parent kill their own child. How sick must that mind be to be able to do that?

Evil of such calibre is just too tough to swallow. But swallow I must, as I read about all these ill-fated children, hit on the head, drowned in bathtubs, chopped up and thrown in the dumpsters, choked, spit on or thrown into rivers while strapped on to infant seats and even raped and killed. All at the hands of the person who brought them into this world. Because I am not an activist. Writing about them in this blog is the furthest I can go. And loving and protecting my daughter than my life itself. So glad Leo and I are passing on both the DNA and the lessons of parenting to her.

PS: Here is the article that triggered this post. http://www.cnn.com/2011/11/23/us/new-jersey-manhunt/index.html

About another Grandpa

2011-10-28T13:35:00.003-05:00

This post is about another grandpa. Not mine, but my daughters'. My mom and dad leave tomorrow. Has it been 5 months already? Nobody should have to go through these kind of good byes. The kind when you are not sure when you will meet again.

Last night I had a long chat with my dad (appa) about a lot of things. Death, the Universe, God, Genetics, Natural Selection and Evolution to name a few. He narrated an incident to me about someone telling him about someone else "They both were talking to each other like a grandfather with his grandchild" ("பேரக்குழந்தை கிட்ட பேசுற மாதிரி" ) He said to me, that at the time, he let it roll off almost like it was a clichéd metaphor. But now, he understood what his friend was trying to convey. Because now, he truly knew what it is to be a grandpa. He went on to say that the emotion and love he feels when Lekha runs to him demanding his attention with a loud "thaaathaaa" is not like anything he had ever felt before. It is not like what he felt when he picked me or my sister up when we were babies. Although the love of a father toward his daughter is profound he says, it is distincly different from this unconditional affection and love that pours forth and moves you. He said that it took him by surprize and he did not expect it to be this way. He hadn't felt this when we visited India when Lekha was an infant. Sure he loved her then, but now it's a whole other level. Shortly after that we concluded the conversation and I left the room to have dinner. Because his voice was choked and his eyes were tearing up. I told him we'd skype often and made a stronger resolution within my self to move back to India as soon as possible. It is at times like this I feel like a complainer. I have everything and yet I am frustrated by the way my life has shaped up. I don't want to see the look on my daughter's face when she searched the guest rooms and finds them empty. I know her, she is not one to throw a tantrum, she resigns herself to the absence of loved ones. But I would see her loss in her eyes. I don't want to take away the peace and love my parents enjoyed these last 5 months either. But I have no choice for now do I?

Appa said I'd find out that feeling when Lekha has a kid of her own. Well there's a looooong time for that. But when it does happen, I'll come back and re-read this post and thank my appa again for already having given my daughter what I got from my grandpa. Grandpas rock !

Thadji

2011-08-13T12:41:00.002-05:00

He left us today. I can't stop thinking about the countless joyful memories that he has left for me. He was everything a grandfather should be. He showered his unconditional love on me in his very special way. Some of my very vivid memories of a joyful childhood were my moments with him. My earliest memories are of him taking me with his to the recreation club that he frequented. He would patiently put up with and even enjoy all my antics and never ever got cross at me...I remember thinking, why can't I always be with ammachi and Thadji. I remember when I bug him to tell me a story he would start the rhyme "கதையாம் கதையாம் காரணமாம் காரணத்துல ஒரு தோரணமாம்" and make me finish each line at the end of which I'd be giggling and laughing so much. He gave me the 'Wren and Martin' grammar text from his book shelf. He was my first English teacher. He taught me the difference between the perfect and the continuous tenses. When I was 7 I was hospitalized becaused I was severely jaundiced. When I got a little better, I complained that I was bored and sick of staying in bed. The next day he started bringing me tinkle comics and gokulam children's magazine...My love of reading probably started from that very incident. We had a fun game which we played as a spin off of the sketching challenge from Gokulam magazine. We would take a note pad and take turns making small scribble or squiggly line. The other person had to make use of that line to sketch an image. His sketches were so cool. I had so much fun trying to conjour up a sketch as good as the one he did. He had a unique laugh which expressed his pure joy at the simple things in life. His sense of humor was contagious. I've always seen him in a neutral pastel shade half sleeve shirt and a white dhoti with a small clean handkerchief folded into his pocket...I am glad I got the opportunity to take my daughter, his great grand daughter to him...I am glad he held her in his hands just as he held me. He was a man who seldom spoke ill of others...he didn't dwell on negativity at all...he always surrounded himself with pleasant thoughts and deeds. My Thadji wanted to live long and he did. He lived a complete and full life. A year back he met with an accident while riding his Sunny, he spoke to me after he was back from brain surgery. He said..."the doctor and everyone else wants me to quit taking the Sunny...I've decided that, may be I'll just walk to the club from now on..." This was at the age of 82. He never lost hope over anything. I've learned so much from my Thadji. But most of all I've learned to strive to be positive always. He has touched so many with his simple and just nature. He was an artist. Soft at heart. A gentle and loving soul. May you rest in Peace Thadji. I am sure I have given you at least 1% of the joy you gave me. I love you Thadji and I always will.

The pygmy

2011-07-29T10:53:00.003-05:00

I read this story of a young man. He was from the Belgian Congo and belonged to the Mbuty tribe. His tribesmen were all short statured and dark skinned as was typical to his 'race'. His name was Benga. He was living a content life with wife and kids, until one day his fate took a drastic turn and led to a series of events culminating in his suicide at the young age of 32.

Now this happened a long time back. One day he went hunting with his buddies and returned back to find his wife and children killed by a group of foreigners. (In today’s terms we would call these guys terrorists). They then attacked him and took him in as a slave. He suffered atrocities under these guys. After some time another man named Verner came and negotiated with his captors and took Benga with him and gave him food and treated him well. Benga, who was so glad to be out of slavery, bonded with this man. Verner took Benga to a new world and Benga readily accompanied him because he trusted Verner and he was curious and excited to see this new world. On arriving at this strange beautiful and exciting place, for a while Benga enjoyed everything and aimed to please Verner. Now Verner was a missionary who had agreed to bring some vistors from far off places to a cultural expo that was held at St. Louis, MO. Benga’s short and dark appearance was a curiousity to the locals who had never seen anyone or rather ‘anything’ like him. Soon Benga posed for pictures and became sort of a performer along with other african tribesmen. He was especially popular because of his sharp pointed teeth which had been filed off when he was young as part of his tribe's tradition. He gladly grinned to show off his pointed teeth in exchange for five cents. His short stature and pointed teeth led to various unfounded speculations about him by the mob that gawked at him. People thought he was a cannibal.

As time passed Verner who himself was then trying to find a job could no longer be Benga’s guide. He passed him along to another organization that was willing to take care of him. This organization was the Bronx Zoo. That’s right the zoo took Benga in as an exhibit. He was encouraged to carry around his favorite orangutan that was named Dohong. He was put in a cage along with the monkeys as part of a display endorsing the theory of human evolution. The sign outside read :
"Ota Benga."
Age, 23 years. Height, 4 feet 11 inches. Weight, 103 pounds.
Brought from the Kasai River, Congo Free State, South
Central Africa, by Dr. Samuel P. Verner.
Ex-hibited each afternoon during September
A newspaper reported that "[he] represented the lowest form of human development."

He was eventually moved to an orphanage for ‘colored’ people. Benga tried to work and save money to return to his native soil. But the last shreds of his hope of returning to a known life were shattered when the World War I broke out. With despair eating at him, he reached the end of his rope. He shot himself with a stolen revolver and died at the age of 32.
As was reading his story I couldn’t stop my tears of anger at the people who did this and sadness for Benga. I had already known that humans are capable of extreme cruelty given the circumstances. But I had always thought of such people as aberrant and mentally disturbed; brainwashed possibly. But in Benga’s case a whole community did injustice to him. A human is a human regardless of his race, color, caste, country or creed. I innately thank God that I live in a kinder era and although even now such atrocities occur, I have been lucky to get an education and parentage that inculcated in me the basic decency of treating a human with humanity.

If you wish to see him, you can visit the American Museum of Natural History in New York, which holds a life mask and body cast of a Pygmy. The display is simply titled ‘Pygmy’ even today. It is none other than Ota Benga. Google him to see his pictures and more details about his story and pay a minute of tribute to this poor soul.

Rise in Love

2011-05-13T15:38:00.003-05:00

Do you remember how it felt to fall in love? Those early days when your heart skips a beat whenever you saw, heard or even thought of your special someone? When you feel a delicious tingle travel up your spine and work its way all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes...when you feel gravity some how has less of a pull on you; When you feel warm and fuzzy inside and like no problem in the world is insurmountable when it feels this heavenly; When the butterflies inside you flutter about in that sweet way that the happiness is almost cloying at times...You catch yourself tearing up for no reason - well not exactly for no reason - Love, of course is the reason. Do you remember when you couldn't focus on anything, anything at all but your insecure, selfish, pocessive, all consuming love for this someone? If you do, you are probably someone just like me, someone who constantly combats the control your emotions have over you. Well not only do I remember it, I re-live it everytime I listen to some very special music. Every so often, a song comes along that I repeat over and over on my playlist, until the my ears tire of those notes. I feel incredibly lucky that my mind and phyche are so receptive to such music. Because the feelings such songs bring about, defy description. The closest analogy is the one I described above. Right now the song on 'infite repeat' is Kayya Pudi from Myna...this song refuses to let go of its hold on me. Just don't care that it's "inspired" from 'Take my hand' from "The highschool musical". I am falling in love all over again...Music is beyond Divine. This song may not be the one that stirs you. But I bet there is some number that has made you forget where you are for just a moment at the least. It's truly amazing to let the right hemisphere of your brain take over - to let go of all sanity and logic - and to let that tear roll off. Music and passion are probably perceived by areas very close to each other in the brain. Was it Kahlil Gibran who said 'I rise in Love'? Divine. Pure. Music.

Princeton Times

2010-12-07T13:47:00.003-05:00

I wanted to pen down my memories of living in New Jersey with Lekha, while Leo was still working in IN. I am sure that in time these memories might fade away and I wanted to record them while they were still fresh in my mind.

When I first came to NJ I was excited and nervous and scared and really overwhelmed by the tremendous amount of responsibilities on my shoulder. A new job after staying at home for a year, felt like getting a job for the very first time. But I had to do it for my own sanity as well as for the financial security of our family. Lekha was an absolute trooper. She has adjusted well to all the inconveniences that came out of being in this limbo situation where I could neither give her all the comforts of home nor be able to take comfort in the confident knowledge that this was just a temporary situation. She adjusted beautifully to the new day care center and made new friends and has been a happy child. Her first teacher here was Ms. Marylynn and then she joined the bigger kids in Ms. Christine’s class. She also was taken care of by Ms. Subha and Ms. Shilpa. She would tell me the names of her buddies in class: “Julia(Chewia), Ananya(Anayya), Connor, Tyler(Tyer) 

The down side was that Lekha was missing her dad so much I could see it in her eyes. It was not an open display of tears and tantrums, rather a quiet resignation and dejected acceptance that broke my heart. She has also been a very spirited and feisty one and often, I regret to think back now, I have lost my temper and resorted to harsh disciplining and even in some worst cases giving her a sharp tap on her hand or feet. When she bursts out into tears at that, I have often felt like the worst mom in history and I just spend so much time that night kissing her and apologizing to her when she sleeps.

But I do feel that I have evolved as a much better and very patient mom and a stronger woman. I feel that this experience has given me some invaluable lessons in life. I am so proud of what I have been able to go through and I feel like the joy we look forward to now with me getting a job in IN and us being able to be together as a family, would not have been as sweet if it hadn’t been preceded by such trying times. Moreover, I cannot forget that this new job opportunity in Indiana would not have even been offered to me had I not been working at the time.

I missed my husband so much. I had my precious Lekha to hold on to, but he on the other hand was all alone by himself. It pained me to think how much he hated going back every time he visited us. There have been times when we were on the phone and Lekha would say something cute like “I love you!” at which he would just tear up and choke and would hang up ‘cause he can’t go on.

I cannot miss to mention about the inception of Sleek Fashions. Priya and I were bouncing off ideas just for the heck of it. (Who doesn’t want to be their own boss, especially after my experience in NJ) And one thing led to another and before we knew it, here we are on the verge of launching our very own business. The website is 99% ready and the shipment is (hopefully) on the way.

The last six months have certainly been a very eventful period in my life. But Lekha and I can’t wait to get back to the most awesome man in the world.

Life - what else.

2010-08-24T09:43:00.004-05:00

Ok. I am going to try this once again. In my 30 years of life, if I have learned one thing about myslef (among many things) that I am not proud of, it’s the fact that I always have trouble sticking to something. I am full of energy and zest when I begin something new, but once the novelty wears off, my excitement fizzles and I search for the next new thing, the next big challenge, the next fun adventure which I will obsess over until it joins the rest of my past unfinished ventures. I do not want blogging to be one of them. Because, although I know that I’ve lost my initial enthusiasm for it, I do know that its cathartic effects are right up there, only second to singing. Plus it gives me the cool opportunity to use cool words like “cathartic”=)

Ok since I’ve decided to blog again, I do have to have a subject matter, so to speak, for the day. As usual it would have to be some droning on about stuff going on in my mind. Did I mention blogging is supposed to be cathartic? Well I am in New Jersey right now. I am finding myself in a familiar situation: Staying apart from Leo, getting overwhelmed by the overload of responsibilities, worrying about the possibility of a decline in my health. But wait, there’s more. This time I have Lekha! A whole person, just depending on me completely and absolutely. Now if that doesn’t put a girl in a tizzy, I don’t know what would. I try to put up a brave face but I am terrified inside. I keep imagining what would happen if I were to be disabled or unconscious or God forbid DIE! Lekha would be running around crying in the house, for hours before anyone suspected anything was wrong. I even think, I should put some cookies and stuff at her reach. (Problem with that is currently have to hide all the goodies from her, lest she gives me trouble at dinner time). Well, now that I’ve gotten that out of my head, lets move on to less scary stuff.

My work. Trial balances, chart fields, general ledger – who am I kidding- I’ve always steered clear from numbers. The main reason computers fascinated me was the fact that it seemed like a giant calculator to me in the beginning (consequence of “Addition of two numbers” being the first ever program I learned) . I liked the computers would mean I didn't have to deal with numbers anymore. Now here I am, looking at a bunch of numbers and trying to figure out why the GL won’t balance. The good part is I am kind of comfortable with the coding side of it at least. PeopleSoft is becoming less and less of an enigma to me each day. Oh by the way we just pulled off a patch upgrade last weekend and so far so good. The 12 hr work days and Leo’s whirlwind weekend trip to take care of Lekha while I was away trying to save the world….er…ok save the PeopleSoft upgrade at the client I worked for, did not go in vain.

Life is always a struggle. Or is it? Am I always trying to make lemonade with the lemons life gives me, or am I so obsessed with the lemonade, that I turn a blind eye to the fruit bounty I am offered. I wish I could have been happy with my life as a mom and stay at home wife to the best baby in the world and the sweetest guy on earth. I just had to go and make things difficult for everybody by insisting on getting back to work. Now am I happy? Well, I kind of am. I love that I am doing what I do best. I love that I am doing justice to Lekha. I know she is happy at her daycare and the little time I spend with her in the evenings is quality time. I just wish I didn’t have to sacrifice being with my husband and putting him through the anguish of missing us both. In anycase, it's a choice I made and I'm not regretting it. Just wishing things could for once be easier.

Well I think my one hr is up. I’ll be up from my couch now – boy blogging sure beats paying a therapist. Good to be back after my long hiatus. I’ll be back soon with more of my nonsense.

The NRI Dilemma

2007-05-25T13:44:00.001-05:00

Its been a while since I posted anything here. Some truly profound things - both good and bad have been happening in my life, none of which I am inclined to write about right now. Nevertheless, I could say my experiences have made me a wiser, stronger and most importantly a more spiritual person.

Anyways - coming to the topic of the day: Almost every NRI has a dream in the some niche of their mind. The dream to go back to India some day. There is a saying in my language(Tamil)"Thiraikadal odiyum thiraviyam thedu" - Roughly translated, it means 'Go forth and venture across the oceans to find your fortunes'. This is exactly what most of us came here for. When we announced to our friends and relatives that we got visa and a job offer or the university admission from the US of A, no one asked us why we were going. It was a given that going to the US meant a better life, better financial status, better opportunities. One friend even told me when I was voicing concerns about getting an education loan for my Masters degree in the US "If you go to the US your life is settled, there is no reason for you to worry about this paltry sum of money". How wrong he was! Here I am 3 years after my graduation, still paying back my student loans and the end seems ever further away every year. Come August and it will be a full 5 years since that fateful day that I stepped on American soil. I still view this as my fortune making period, I still keep thinking that once I pay back all the loans, put away some "reasonable" savings, buy a house I should go back to India. Leo does not seem to get too worked up about this as I do. I am the one who has a constant fear that we might be stuck here.

The reason I worry is, every now and then I hear horror stories of people who endured great distress after their move back. I worry about our health, our immune system becomes so complacent that it fails to kick in and work against the assault it faces every time we go back to India on our vacations. Invariably I suffer through at least a week of throat infection, cold and fever even when we are ever careful to drink mineral water and eat home cooked food. One can only hope that eventually our body will regain its original resistance . The other main thing is inefficiency of all kinds of service providers. How many things can we get done by making a phone call in India? I am keeping up with what goes on in my parent's house in Chennai. They recently had a power outage that lasted 3 days because of a transformer failure that was never bothered to be fixed by the Electric authorities. Above all, it is very clear that you have to be financially quite well off if you expect to atleast to come three forth of the way to the lifestyle you are used to here in the US.

I fear that after going back to India I might realize that not only did I make the biggest mistake of my life by returning to India, I had spent the prime of my life looking forward to and planning for it. That being said, that's a risk that I have to take because my heart does not belong here. Unless I at least try going back I will forever live an incomplete life.

One thing I know for sure is, I cannot expect to go back to a past that I left behind. I know that going back now would be like experiencing a rip in the fabric of time. Its the same, its the land of my childhood, yet it has evolved and I was not there to watch it grow. Now after a few years it might be like searching a stranger's face for some sign of recognition. During each vacation I am taken aback by the ever larger malls, the coffee shops, the numerous ATM machines and the street vendors' cell phone. Granted, I will not say that five years back these things were unheard of - but the sheer spread and reach of them amazes me. When I return, not only would the country be a completely different place, I myself would a different person from the one that left the country half a decade ago. My mind subconsciously associates India with my youth - my exuberant college days and my blithe school days. When I go back, not only will I invariably be several pounds heavier, I will most definitely be going back with kid(s) of my own. I know that my experience living in India will not be the same way it once used to be and I know about the tremendous physical and psychological stress that I would once again have to endure. Its not going to be easy to uproot my life again...

Yet with all the odds stacked against my resolve to go back to India, my mind is like tree that may sway with the winds of doubt yet stands firm even in the face of a storm. See you soon India :-)

Pursuit of Happiness

2007-01-13T22:04:00.000-05:00

Once again it's a movie that has stirred my spirit and has urged me to write despite my bogged schedule. I hardly know what day of th month and what day of the week it is anymore. I was caught by surprize at the "Happy Pongal" email sent by Anbuvel and Nirmal, my college time friends. Well coming to the matter at hand - pursuit of happiness - quite an experience, I should say, especially for someone like me who is forever plagued by the fear of may be never ever reaching the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. By now I have many times that in life it is better to go with the flow rather than trying to get things to go according to a premeditated and structured plan. Well, for me so far things have been going according to plan although I am way behind schedule in almost everything - be it finishing my planned level of education, finding the right guy and getting married - I have no complaints except that everything has taken more time than I anticipated. The movie "Pursuit of happiness" has been on my mind every since a priest paraphrased a dialogue from it during the Christmas midnight service we attended. It was a time of deep depression and a sickening fear about some new changes in my life. I will prematurely finish this article since I wrote this a while back and now I am not sure where my thoughts were flowing to at the time I wrote this. It will suffice to say the movie played a major part in my rethinking my approach to spirituality and God and life itself. It gave me hope at a time of despair and fear. And most importantly, it told me that Life is mostly fair.

Plank in my eye

2006-11-22T13:32:00.000-05:00

That morning - I had mixed feelings. I was going to meet Leo for the first time and was excited about it...but was also scared that, in person, I might not like him or worse yet, he might not like me. Our's was a typical 21st century NRI self arranged marriage. In any case, what I want to write about now has little to do with our first meeting [ I will ellaborate on that in another post :-) ]. So without deviating too much, let me get to it. That day one of the things we were talking about, to make ourselves feel less awkward, was recently watched movies. Karthik ( who was kind enough to accompany his friend) did a great job of making us both feel comfortable. And I remember he was the one who brought up the movie "Crash". For those who have not seen this movie, bluntly put, its about racial discrimination and how everyone of us (regardless of our race) are prejudiced and have pre concieved notions of people just based on the color of their skin. Leo and Karthik raved about this movie and I went and watched it the very next day. Needless to say, I loved it. However, it did not touch me or hit a spot in that special way that some movies do. I realized at the time that it was because, although I could understand the interplay of the emotions of the characters in that movie, I could identify with none of them.

A week or so back, there were notices posted on the doors of all the apartments in our complex. It was about a couple of "incidents" in a near by apartment complex - two African American males had stolen some stuff at gun point. Their descriptions were given...and the usual warnings were issued. I really did not think much of it...Untill last night that is. It was about 8.30 PM. Leo and I were in the living room watching "According to Jim" and having our dinner (Tomato biryani), when we heard a loud rap on the door. No one, I repeat, no one has ever knocked on our door at this hour before...well except when we order Pizza of course. I went to wash my hands and looked through the peep hole. The person had already knocked twice by then. I saw a very tall well built African American male - he knocked again and I could sense that he was getting a little impatient by now. Well the next part is what prompted me to write. I did not open the door. I just stood there not able to decide what to do...My brain had not formed a coherent train of thought - it was as if it was an inverse involuntary non-action...it just would not give my hands the command to open the door. At this point - Leo got up and washed his hands and went in to put on a shirt. The gentleman had knocked almost 5 times now. I literally went and hid inside the bedroom. [Jeez was I overreacting!]Leo finally opened the door and did not hide his annoyance at being interrupted during dinner. I could hear them talking and then heard Leo shut the door. I came out and asked him what all of that was about...what did he want... Leo showed me his keys with a queer expression on his face. Then explained to me that the gentleman was a neighbour and had wanted to let us know that we had left the keys on the door. He was being kind. That was it. You can imagine our embarassment...

I couldn't forget it the whole night. I felt so terrible at having passively insulted the kind neighbour. And now I could feel the powerful message that the movie "Crash" had conveyed. I kept thinking, "well, I have not been a victim of discrimination so far, so I can't really identify myself with the movie".It was like a slap on my face when I realized that I was actually on the other side of the fence last night. This verse is for me: Matthew 7:5 "You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye"

Hundred Rupees

2006-10-31T10:59:00.000-05:00

Once in a while homesickness hits me and it brings a bout of nostalgia with it. And when it does I find myself yearning for those sultry summers, crowded bus rides, long waits in endless queues at the bank, post office etc., - the same things that I used to detest about India a few years back.

Being the first born and having a tom boy streak in me, I often took the role of the son my parents never had. I would replace burnt fuse coils, climb up the attic to fetch rarely used vessels for my mom (she saved them for special occasions ..or when we had company), run errands like going grocery shopping at the Teppakulam market (I was an expert bargainer), going to the bank to withdraw money - going to the postoffice to send a registered mail with acknowledgement form. And mind you this was when I was about 8 or 9 years old - not even a highschooler yet. I would usually wait for an adult to cross the road and I would stay close to them while they crossed it.

I would like to narrate an incident that happenned on one such occasion. I was asked to run an errand to buy something. I am unable to recall what it was now. But I do remember that I did not even have to cross the road and that the place/store where I had to go was only a few minutes walk away from my home. I was holding a small basket (the kind that is woven with plastic wires) and a hundred rupee note in my hand(That was a one time thing - my mom did not have change - I was usually given a maximum of Rs20.00.) After this incident I remember constantly chiding myself for not having held these two items one in each hand. I had both of them in my right hand and half way through my walk I realized that something was wrong...I checked my hand - and you guessed right. The hundred rupee note was gone! I felt a cold hand squeeze my heart...I hastily checked inside the basket, hoping that it would be there....It was not there...my heart was sinking to the depths by the second...and already, tears were welling up my eyes. I backtracked and searched for the hundred rupee note all the way back home, all the time furiously wiping the tears off my eyes...I didn't want to attract the attention of the passers by...still somehow a couple of them stopped and enquired if I was alright "enna paapa aachu?" I thanked them and said I was fine and kept searching. I looked for it thrice (walked back and forth that stretch of sidewalk or platform as we used to call it) and finally had to accept that I had lost it.

I came home crying and my parents were so alarmed.(My dad had just come home for lunch). I explained what had happened and I could see the relief on their eyes. They were terrified that something worse had happened. They consoled me that it was OK...that I didn't do anything wrong....The worst part was that- their understanding didn't make me feel better at all...I blamed myself and could not forgive myself for losing Hundred Rupees of my father's hard earned money. I was only about 8 or 9 but I knew the value of money. I knew that, that was reason for the tense atmosphere in our house during the last week of every month.

Something happened yesterday at home that triggered this post. Something that struck a cord with this incident. We had been on a moving spree these past few months[For those who know me : From Ypsi, MI to Lafayette, IN to Dyersburg, TN to Farmington, MI]. We had dumped our stuff in our cars and had not unloaded everything until yesterday. We hooked up our cable and internet services yesterday and I wanted to hook up the modem with the free wireless router that I had gotten while I bought my Dell laptop. I had been saving it all this while, because I knew that eventually when we moved into our own apartment, we would need it. And yes, you guessed right again - it was gone. Searched the car thrice, searched the entire house numerous times to no avail. And I started crying. Leo could not understand it period. He chided me for getting worked up over something as trivial as a $50.00 Router which I had anyways gotten for free. And I don't blame him. He was right.

Just makes me realize how somethings can get so ingrained in you. It was not the $50 that I was lamenting for - it was the fact that I had disappointed myself yet again. I had lost another Hundred Rupee note.

Vanilla Sky

2006-10-14T21:10:00.000-05:00

We watched Vanilla sky tonight. I liked it, although I won't say that it is one of the best ones in the science fiction aisle. What makes me write this post though, is one of the central ideas in the movie: the never ending quest of man to "live" beyond death. What is death after all - isn't it the end of consciousness as we know it? For all those beholding the dead - it looks like the dead person no longer has conscious thought and his physical life system has ceased to function. But what about the dead person him/herself? Is consciousness a separate entity that can exist in an external dimension? What if the dead were not really dead after all? What if they or their consciousness or soul, as we colloquially call it, had somehow transcended into another dimension which is not conceivable or even comprehensible by us.

My deliberations do not serve to shed any light whatsoever at this never ending mystery. Rather it re emphasizes the desire and hope of 90% of humans - that death is not the end, that this life here on earth is not all there is to it, that all our pleasures, pains, sacrifices, prayers, beliefs, temptations, passions, guilts, resentments, rages, smiles, tears and dreams are not all for nothing. We simply do not want to think that it all really does come to an end and there truly is nothing beyond it. However if we somehow accept that this life on earth is all that we have, then I wonder what kind of people we would become. What will happen to righteousness. If we are leading a righteous life now, isn't it partially because we believe in some way or the other, that we will reap the benefits of all our goodness sometime in the future...after our dealth " when it really matters"? What happens then if we convince ourselves that there is no judgment day, there is no accumulation of karma to be carried over to the next janma or no moksha or naraga- no heaven nor hell. Perhaps it is for the best that we believe that death is not the end....

Snow fall and Michigan

2006-10-12T14:38:00.000-05:00

We moved to Farmington Hills, Michigan on Monday. Familiar surroundings, lots of Indian faces, 73 degrees F outside and finally Leo and I in our own sweet apartment. Overall we were feeling great. I was able to temporarily forget my abhorrence for the Michigan weather. That is until Wednesday when I had to drop off Leo at the airport for his interview at Merck, NJ. MI weather chose the precise moment I started the car, to rear its ugly head. It started pouring and I was drenched by the time I filled the tank at the gas station. I cursed myself for not having filled it before. Then on the drive, the rain drove me nuts, literally covering the windshield and all windows with a thick sheet of thundering water. There were moments when visibility was nil and I could not decide if I should pull over and risk driving off the edge of the road or keep driving and risk hitting someone in front or slow down and get hit by someone from the rear. Trust me, 275 South is not the freeway where you want to be in this situation. Finally we both made it on time and Leo rushed into the airport after a perfunctory peck on my cheek and a hasty "luv ya". Not surprisingly there was no rain on my drive back and parts of the road were even dry.... it was as if nothing had happened ... Sun was shining.... sky was blue...and there was no sign that the clouds had exploded on us just a few minutes back...it was as if the road and all of the outdoors were mocking my fury and frustration... this was Michigan after all - what was I expecting?

After spending an evening of solitude and saying the family prayers over the speaker phone [leo joined me from the hotel room in NJ] I decided to call my mom. Spent a good two hours on the phone with her - she said she had watched "The lake House" and liked it. Me was happy 'cause I was the only soul in my circle who seemed to be awfully fond of the movie. She is a great fan of Tom Hanks and I was surprized that she hadn't seen Forrest Gump. Recommended that she watch it but ended up narrating the entire story to her. Anyways I said good day to her and good night to myself and finally gave in to slumber.

This morning I was sitting in our living room which was completely bare of anything except for my university days' desk top computer, set on the floor. I was browsing for about 3 hours all the time surreptitiously watching the outside through our two large windows for signs of rain. I've got to go pick Leo up and I want to be prepared this time. Atleast mentally - there's nothing much you can do about it physically right? Anyways I was watching and saw that it was starting to snow!!! It would stop for five minutes and then start again with a gust of wind. At first they were just tiny flurries which would melt even before hitting the ground....I was slowly drawn to the window for a closer look and I stood there watching the first snow of the year for about 15 minutes. Slowly the flakes became larger - like the big fat ones - the kind that stay on the window sill for a few seconds before melting into nothingness...and incredibly I caught myself wishing that it would snow heavier so that the green of our golf course view would turn a pristine white. And then as a slow smile pulled at my cheeks, the realization hit me: MI winter is not so detestable after all :-)

Padmasani ma'am

2006-09-26T12:58:00.000-05:00

Last night I started reading the blog of Padmasani Ma'am. Anyone who has a remote interest/knowledge in Indian classical music forms will testify to, what a genius she is after reading her posts. More than anything else, her compassion for humanity and true desire to spread and pass on the wealth of musical knowledge that she has is clear in every posting. Her observations and explanations are invaluable and I for one am glad that I got the opportunity to read her blog. It was by fortunate accident that I bumped into her site. This is the link to her posts: http://padmasani.blogspot.com/

Jillinnu Oru Kaathal

2006-09-15T22:36:00.000-05:00

Thank God Gautham's day out with Aishu was Kundhavi's nightmare...I was getting angrier by the minute as I watched Gautham slowly swaying towards Aishu....I know the guy was crazy about her and they both get ripped apart and all...but after 6 years of a blissful life with the innocent Kundhavi if he had let his emotions run wild at the first sight of Aishu, I would not have forgiven him. Understood him yes - but not forgiven him. For then he would have been just another guy - not a hero - not someone whose life and love is worthy of a movie.