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You have my word

A 2-day bike trip in Napa proved to be more stressful than adventurous. Thankfully, we were safe and almost home. But were so tired that we had to walk our bikes from the Ferry Building. Earlier that week, I had agreed to attend a big birthday gathering in one of the pubs, and it was to begin in the next hour.

This is an excerpt of a conversation that I had with my partner during that walk home.

“So, are you going to go?” He said.

“Where?” I said.

“To the party?”

“Oh, yes!”

“Aren’t you tired?”

“Yes, I am.”


“What do you mean then?”

“Are you sure you’re going to go?”

“Yes, I am.”

“What exactly are you made of?”

“Commitment.”  I said.

I think this is one of the most understandable answers I have found for my perplexing energy levels.

Inspire me

A person adorning a dress striped with his own name is more pornographic than XXXX. Oh wait, the later might provide us pleasure still.

I am an apolitical person (and proud about that) and usually refrain from engaging in anything about governance, leaders and debates around extreme beliefs. Facts are as boring as saying love is, for some reason, being red. So, when people try to talk to me about who I support etc., the answer is neither nice nor do I sleep in peace.

It’s election time in India. Let me correct myself, the results are out. I saw that AAP won the Delhi elections and Mr Arvind Kejriwal will be the Chief Minister of Delhi soon.

I will rewind to 2013 now. I watched this video about Smirti Irani dealing with media about the controversy around a party called BJP in India. This video is a question-answer (mostly answers) session about the Gujarat Riots that haunted the now Prime Minister Narendra Modi for over a decade. I consider myself a liberal, free person who believes in ‘Live and let live’ more than any tradition, religion or ritual. So, when the 2002 riots happened, I was affected. I also considered the PM(then the CM of Gujarat) responsible (or involved) in what happened in the situation. However, after watching the debate/the video I reconsidered and realized that most of the political opinion in India is dictated by the media. So, when Narendra Modi stood for national elections, I started at zero level.

At the same time, Anna Hazare happened to Delhi. I was unaffected and mostly put off by the lack of style in the entire protest. Accept me, if you can, but I am deep or superficial enough to judge politics based on style, art and beauty. In any case, I have remained neutral in my political position.

However, I have watched and sort of kept myself updated with whatever is going on (once again, it’s the media that’s feeding my thoughts and yours). So, I am aware of the various initiatives that were taken in 49 days by AAP and a ‘cleanliness drive’ under the leadership of India’s Prime Minister. I watched the news when our PM visited USA and when Mr Obama visited India.

When I think about politics, I tend to imagine various people in position as potential friends or people I randomly met in a party. Hence, all my opinions are based on whether I would like to be friends with a certain PM, President, Governor, assuming that my information about them is true.

My theory, however, fails when I try to weigh people against guilt or innocence; and it seems to work when I think about cool or not. So, when Kejriwal harmlessly challenges Kiran Bedi for a debate, I find it inspiring; and when Mr Modi wears a suit with narcissism written all over it, I feel that the person needs help. When Mr AK exhibits honesty even in his lack of governance, I want to help him with my skills; and when Mr Modi stays quiet over the massacre in Gujarat, I wonder what skills he has. It’s a quiz between someone I would like to be friends with and someone I have a hard time liking.

Based on my naive assessment, if someone pushes me for a political debate; I am happy to become a friend rather than being an advocate. So, my vote is for getting things done, staying on principle and inspiring the world without a doubt! There is only one country, one story and a life for me to live; I can’t give it to someone who has no explanation for lives lost under their watch.

The Bugged Family

“This is our country, not India.” Harsh words, nevertheless true.

Last month, I took my parents on their maiden overseas trip to Sri Lanka. Just to have done it brought me great joy. However, traveling with parents after 7-8 years needs more than a few words of explanation.

My sister and I have been brought up in an open environment. In our nuclear family, there exist four individuals who have their own wishes, dreams and goals; almost at all times. When we were growing up, my father’s yearly agenda was to see a new place. Even if it was 50 kilometers from our house, he would ensure that he took us somewhere new. This happened for 15 years, after which, we started to grow out of their parenthood. But the travel bug had multiplied by then. My life, when I look back, is controlled by that bug.

My parents’ life, however, changed. Once we were on our own paths, they only went on necessary trips, such as, for family functions. In fact, before Sri Lanka, the last time we went on a holiday together was in 2006. It was a road trip to Jim Corbett Park. Stories, experiences and jokes about the trip have been told a million times now. Last year, I thought, it was time to renew all of that.

On the 20th of Dec, we flew from Delhi to Colombo. On the flight, we got seats in different rows. So, I couldn’t guide my parents through the international flight hospitality. It turned out to be convenient. They refused alcohol and picked vegetarian meals. My sister, seated in another row, enjoyed her drink and food. And so did I.

The entire trip was organised through an agency and we had a designated driver for all 7 days. Our hotels were booked and all we had to do was sit through the distances. A comfortable Nissan Caravan came to pick us up at the airport, and made the trip rides more than just blissful, although a bit boring. Over the week, we got a glimpse of the clean city of Colombo, loved the tea estates of Nuwara Eliya, were enchanted by the beauty of Yala National Park and walked through the fort city of Galle. The greatest highlight, however, was to watch the world’s biggest creature – The Blue Whale.

The trip was planned and designed to introduce my parents to a world that’s different yet pretty close to the societies they live in. However, I was quite surprised by their level of discomfort caused by relatively minor things.

Food – It wasn’t the unavailability of vegetarian food but the abundance of meat that bothered them.

[We handled almost all these situations pretty well. Hotels we stayed in were good and although the items weren’t familiar, my parents enjoyed the customized vegetarian food in most places. In fact, all of us absolutely enjoyed the home-cooked vegetarian Sri Lankan meal at Mettha’s in Galle. And on the last day, we dined at a Chennai restaurant in Colombo. I think, eventually, their complaints were buried.]

Language – Despite 3 spoken languages (Sinhalese, Tamil and English), Tamil speakers were only found in Nuwara Eliya and Sinhalese English isn’t regular English.

[My sister and I have traveled enough. So, we broke the language barrier easily. In fact, my mother managed to discuss/argue with a jeweler about the variation in the value of currency and the cost of various things. My father, however, resorted to sign language.]

Us - I tried to help them see a glimpse of the life that my sister and I lead. I ordered a glass of wine along with food and foolishly tried to explain why it’s alright. Unfortunately, the wall between their world and ours was/is thicker than I thought.

[I learnt through my futile attempts and didn’t try anything uncomfortable again.]

Outside of these expected challenges, I learned something about ‘travel’ as an activity.

We were in Yala National Park and during the safari drive, we discussed at length about how the country seemed to have a higher civic sense. We explained, to my mother and father, how they need to control the urge to throw trash around and kept a trash bag in the jeep to throw our food waste etc.. During our 4-hour Safari, we took a break on a beach in Yala (yes, there is a beach in the middle of a wildlife park!). We spent some time by the ocean and restarted the exploration. Just as we moved out of the beach, another jeep drove in from the other side. As we crossed each other, the guide in the other vehicle called us. Our driver was perplexed and reversed the jeep.

We realized that my father had dropped a plastic bag full of trash in the middle of a National Park, and the guy in the other jeep noticed that. I looked at my father in complete shock, and at that same moment, the guide from the other jeep yelled “This is our country, not India!”

The rest of the day was spent in deep introspection about all our lives. I thought about why and how my mother is less educated yet more open to other cultures; and how it’s exactly the opposite with my father who is far more educated. This made me understand that to keep up with a ferociously changing world, we have to throw ourselves in unknown environments regularly.

My mother had to leave home at an early age and create her life in a new city. She had to learn 2 new languages, and adjust to a culture that was in contrast with her upbringing. Additionally, she had just a few pennies when she started. This, I believe, opened her mind up to other people’s ways. Hence she was able to observe, question and understand the differences between Indian and Sri Lankan civilizations. My father, however, complained about the language problem and as a tourist, I think, he expected to be understood more than to understand. Although both my mother and father didn’t want to be bothered with ‘having to adjust’, my mother’s survival instincts helped her while my father’s relatively unexposed life made him seek help.

I was disturbed for a while and recovered the day after the incident. My parents went through a few more hiccups but reportedly enjoyed the trip.

People tell me that my parents are too old to adjust with new environments; they are set in their ways and hence to expect them to reinvent their survival instincts is futile. I, despite the advice, have decided to do this more often. I need my parents to visit me but at the same time, not expect familiarity and comfort. It’s harsh but I think, it will generate curiosity. When they have grandchildren, their understanding of my world will be a bit better than what it is today.

Some of us read books, watch the news and make global friends to understand and respect other worlds. For my parents, they need to travel to believe. Because that’s what drives me too.


Talent and Bad Behaviour

Originally posted on The NITK Numbskulls Page:

Growing up, I was subjected to Carnatic music classes, like most children in my neighborhood. I grew up resenting it all.

I don’t as such hate the music part of it. I love what I’ve got from Carnatic music… the ability to keep a tune, to not be tone-deaf and to be able to understand and appreciate all genres of music. But when it came to the teachers, most if not all of them weren’t very nice people. And I noticed that the more qualified they were, the more crazy they got.

After years with this neighbor of mine, who was just a nice lady who taught music for extra income, and didn’t push us much, the time came to shop for a new teacher when this nice lady found love and happiness and moved to the other end of town. The proper music school in my neighborhood had an…

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My snake growls,

my cat chirps,

my bird roars,

my dog moos.

I’ve got Multiple Animal Disorder,

But to simplify things,

I just say I’m MAD.

Do Something Pointless

Originally posted on Chris Shelby:

Do something pointless for 20 minutes this week.

Do something devoid of meaning, devoid of effectiveness, something having little or no sense or purpose.

That may be tough for you to pull off. Our American culture has always been purposeful and effective. We pushed West to get more and more land. Manifest Destiny filled our scruffy settlers with meaning and they pushed. Full of purpose and meaning, we pushed for bigger and better and faster and more. We made cars. Then more cars and bigger cars. Rockets were even faster than cars. We shot upward full of purpose into space. We planted a flag on the land of the moon, that beckoning frontier. We have always been an active culture, pushing effectively for bigger-better-faster.

Our wages grew the whole time. Our success grew and grew, we were effective and purpose-filled. By the 1970s we led the world in many ways…

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The Lost Art

A Twitter Conversation

A Twitter Conversation

School days were full of competitions. Every activity had the potential to be competitive and one of those things was ‘writing’. In fact, there were handwriting competitions in Class 1, and students used to prepare hard for it. Parents would hold their child’s hand and make him/her write in the most cursive and clear fashion possible. Ironically, most of these parents had drafted illegible balance sheets, office documents and leave applications. Nevertheless, 80s kids were taught to write beautifully, in its literal sense.

Then there were pen-friends in the early 90s. Along with the words, children used various coloured pens to add more joy to their communication. Many tried to draw, scribble or pasted stickers to seal their friendships. Also, there was a kid’s version of ‘Chain Letter‘, where one had to make ‘x’ number of copies of a letter they received and pass it on to different people. Today, we can hit the ‘forward’ button and send it to thousands of people in a matter of seconds. Can we imagine a world when people had to do each letter of the text with their hands? From children bribing other kids with better handwritings, to write their letters, to hacking into each others’ accounts to steal private information; we have come a long way. Or have we?

There were books on handwriting studies which established associations between each letter, serif and the angle of text to people’s personalities. So many of us worked on our writing to improve our personalities!*giggles* Investigators in those days used to rely on handwriting experts to unveil lying suicide letters and solve murder mysteries. These days, we have computer experts digging through huge database management systems to uncover intelligent yet less artsy crimes.

What’s funny is that with each passing day we get more paranoid about our privacy, and even more impersonal in our communication. We have better ways to guard our secrets, but build fickle relationships; we use laser cutters to design aeroplanes and don’t know how to make a paper-plane; auto-correct makes our stories clean and yet, we struggle to scribble words on the paper. Oh, it’s still art, we say. The art of writing personal stories, with a tap of a finger and the press of a button.

Not a butterfly

“I think we look like a butterfly when asleep.” He said.

“What? No!” She said.

“My head’s there, your butt is here and we are curled onto our own sides. Of course, we look like a butterfly.”

She picked up her brush, sat in front of the canvas and spent over 45 days, to create a theorem.


“Hence proved!” She said.

“Butterfly!” He said.

Mortal Kombat

“Presenting, Mortal Combat by IGIT!”

As soon as the announcement was made, we ran to the stage, the nine of us and began our dance performance in my college festival. We wore bell-bottomed black pants, with black spaghettis and a satin off-shoulder tank-top. The tank-top was in various colours – blue, green, red. My team had practised and had worked hard for months, choreographed the show together and we had also designed our own costumes. Oh, I was so thrilled about the entire show.

It was a minute after we started our performance that I felt something snap. Soon I realised that my bra hook had given away. Four on the right, four on the left; I was in the center of the group. My friends in the audience clapped for me, even as I was horrified about my clothing. I had to decide, in that split second, to walk off the stage or to go on. I wanted to live that performance; after all, there were eight others who would be hurt if I walked out. I continued and in the next few seconds, I could feel something slipping off my chest. “Oh my god, I am wearing a strapless bra!” But there was nothing more to do, we just had a minute or so to perform. I kept at it, ignored the slipping modesty and finished my part as a team player. As I walked out of the stage, I was glad that it was over.

“Here, It was lying on the stage!”

Tears rolled down my eyes, as a fellow dancer handed over my inner wear. My friends from the audience came to meet me backstage.

“What happened?”

“You didn’t look like you were into your dancing,”

“Yeah! Your face was off and no smile too,”

“It was a great performance though. Are you alright?”

People flooded me with questions while I tried hard to control my reaction. “Maybe no one noticed.” I thought. “I should not make it apparent on everybody”. My best friend cheered and hugged me tight.

“Girl, what happened?”

She whispered in my ears and I pulled her to a side. Then, I told her about my wardrobe malfunction and showed her the bra.


“Why are you laughing?” I said.

“That’s funny but don’t worry, none of us noticed anything.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes girl. We just missed your usual energy on stage!”

I held her so tight and let out my tears of relief on her shoulders. Just then, everyone in my team jumped. We had won the competition.

Winter is coming

I melted in my shoes, my head started to burn and my clothes began to feel too tight. It was an October day and I stepped out for an appointment. I wore a skirt, a top, stockings and a shrug. I took off the shrug within seconds after I had stepped out and let my body be ventilated. My eyes squeezed while I tried to look around. Everything looked bright and in flames. My feet slipped in the footwear as I walked, I was trapped in them. I got into the bus and as I looked outside, I decided to wear flip-flops, spaghetti straps and shorts to survive through the warm winters of San Francisco.


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