Mickey

The tidings in my inbox caught me unawares. There was an email from my ex-roomie RD (from the Brigittine Convent Hostel days) which said "My boss is in India and more specifically in Bangalore. Will you take him out to dinner tonight?"

I had to round up my thoughts, which had immediately begun to disperse in tangential directions. Keeping up a conversation with a stranger is trying enough, let alone a boss! To spice things up, my grasp of the American accent is comparable to dancing on a cake of soap. And, my ma would implode, sans dynamite, if I told her I was going on a date with a "Mickey"!

I said yes, I would take him out but it would have to be lunch.

Mickey Oliel is an Israeli. He's lived most of his life in Israel. He moved to California just three years ago with his wife and three kids.

From my part, there was never an awkward moment in that "date". The conversation hopped from one topic to another in tandem with the dishes that appeared on the table, and both were smoothly lapped up. We spoke about Mickey's travels and my desire to see the world. About life in Israel and the war in Iraq. Mickey was a soldier in the Israeli army for four years. So was his wife.

What started as a lunch meeting stretched to a coffee at Cafe Day and later drinks at "Urban Edge". Where ever we went, we were the center of attraction. Anyone with blonde hair invites curious stares, more so if he's hanging around with a girl barely half his height!

We spoke of LOTR and Mickey's family. How America was wonderful, but still not "home". And how, if I really wish to see the world, I should just "pack my bags and start" !

I think both of us were trying to relate to another stage in life. Speaking with a stranger has the potential to unlock introspection. I thought I could see Mickey's life of some twenty years ago, coming back to him. I saw through him another phase, the future tense impending in my life.... sans 3 children, of course!

Happy Onam

I didn't know I was part of some Mallu mailing lists until this email made its way to my inbox. Hmmm I wonder who could have added me in? The only Mallu I know is RM aka Mathiachins but I doubt if he would be celebrating Oman. RM professes to have been born a Mallu Syrian Christian and does not necessarily prescribe to the views of one.

That's so true for a lot of us! I too am a Hindu by birth and not by choice. I say "not by choice" because I was never given that choice. But in my case if I was given the choice, I'm sure I would still have elected to be a Hindu again.

I like Hinduism because it is not rigid. It says there is no one path to God, there are beaucoup . Hinduism does not suffocate the soul with endless, pointless laws that prohibit this or that. I don't have to go to the temple to proclaim my faith. It gives me the freedom to worship as many Gods as I so choose, or none at all. It is more "accepting" and "inclusive" in nature, than "rejecting" and "exclusive". It does not make demands that I lead my life based on rules framed centuries ago.

I hate religious fanaticism. My heart breaks each time I hear about people breaking up for the singular reason of being born into different faiths. How can a silly thing like believing in different forms of the same God hinder the blossoming love between two passionate souls?

Two of my friends had to go through the ordeal of leaving their true loves simply because their families were opposed to the idea of them marrying outside their faith. They had to make the difficult choice of being selfish and standing by their love or giving in to the rationale of their families that religious differences do come in the way of a happy married life.

I am the selfish sort and would have rebelled, but it's easy for me to say so as I've never actually been in such a situation and knowing my folks they would 've never opposed to my marrying anyone if they were convinced we were truly in love.

Well, one of my friends has moved on and has just started seeing someone else (so much for "true love"), but the other is still in love with his ex and is desperately trying to convince himself that he is strong enough to sacrifice his love to familial pressure. I feel terrible when I see him living this lie. I can only hope he's strong enough to listen to his heart and stop fooling himself and the people around.

-----Original Message-----
From: The Mallu Club
Sent: Monday, August 23, 2004 6:56 AM
To:
Subject: Onam Celebrations

Hi

We invite you all to celebrate Onam, the harvest festival of Kerala. The "Mallu Club" has arranged for a special dinner tonight at "The Bangalore Club", as part of Onam celebrations. Later, there would also be a tug-of-war competition in association with Onam celebrations. Be there at 7:00 pm sharp!

A brief Intro to Onam:
Onam, the popular harvest festival of Kerala is a happy blend of myth and reality. The ten-day Onam festival falls in August-September, coinciding with the beginning of the harvest season.

The Legend :
The celebration of the festival of Onam is based on the myth of Mahabali, a celebrated emperor of the asuras. Onam is celebrated to welcome Mahabali back to Earth and relive a period of peace and prosperity in the mythical past when Mahabali ruled over mankind. According to local belief, in a war that took place between the gods and the asuras, the asuras won. Deeply hurt by the defeat of the gods, Aditi, their mother, prayed to Lord Vishnu to destroy Mahabali, the asura king.

Consequently, Lord Vishnu, in the guise of a Brahmin boy, Vamanan, went to Mahabali and asked to grant him three steps of land. As soon as the wish was granted the boy grew into an awesome giant. With the first step he covered the whole sky, blotting out the stars. With the second he straddled the nether world. One more step and the earth would be destroyed. At that moment, Mahabali bowed his head and offered it for the last step. Vamanan pushed Mahabali deep down into the earth. However pleased by his honesty and generosity, the lord granted him a wish that he could he could visit his kingdom and people on a particular day once a year.

The Festivities :
Preparation of a floral carpet called "Athappookkalam" in front of houses, from the first day of 'Atham' to the tenth day of 'Thiruvonam' is part of the festivities.This is a symbolic gesture to welcome King Mahabali.

One of the important event of 'ONAM' festival is the vegetarian feast (ONAM SADYA ), lavishly served ,as it used to be during the glorious period of the rule of King Mahabali.

Other events include kaikottikali, pulikali (the leopard dance) and the famous boat races.

Cheers,
Mallu Club
"We Aim to Entertain!"

A conspiracy by pigeons

Murphy, I stand corrected.

A couple of weeks ago I blamed Murphy for my delinquent Net connection. I had switched from cable internet to Broadband, expecting salvation to follow. But three excruciating weeks later, I was still beset with the same woes. I’d log on for a couple of hours and suddenly find myself bereft. From gnashing of teeth and wringing of hands, I graduated to choice cuss words. The carefully cultivated composure would evaporate every time I found the cable operator’s phone switched off. Finally, one morning, I got him on the phone…

He hurried over to my house before I could chew off his other ear. He set off tinkering with the wires while I scorched his back with the ferocity of my gaze. He examined the cables studiously before turning to face me and stammered, “I go check cable box outside."

I waited. The eyebrow stayed arched, the foot continued tapping. He came back, looking like he’d been in a scuffle. “Well,” I asked icily, “did you fix the faulty cables?”

“Medem, wire was ok. But pigeons had put off switch.”

I snarled.

He took a step backward and continued, “Pigeon make nest in cable box. They was putting on-off switch. But now I take out them and lock the box.”

He picked out feather bits from his shirt cuffs and then pointed to the screen, “Net bees working now.”

I stared at the screen dumbfounded and deflated. A conspiracy by pigeons!

And I thought the worst they could do was aim their droppings at you…

I am an idiot

Blistering Blue Barnacles! All of yesterday, I thought it was the 25th when it was actually the 26th. AND NG's birthday was yesterday and not today. Sometime around noon, he called and disowned me. Completely!

I apologised profusely and agreed to absolve my guilt by taking NG for a five-course dinner at the Taj Westend. We had planned on "Paradise Island" but seeing the crowd there, we took an about turn and went to Atria instead. The food was surprisingly good. Had shrimps in Thai sauce (penang, I think), stir-fried broccoli and baby corn, steamed rice and lychees and icecream. The shrimps were a masterpiece. Melting-in-your-mouth but not over-done and it was evident that the sauce was not a pre-prepared one.

Returned home and crashed and was lost in dreamland until 8:15 am! Woke up late, rushed through a shower and ran all the way to work. I left my pins behind at home, so will keep my hair down all day! What an idiot I can be! I surprise myself at times with my absent-mindedness. Sometimes my heart goes cold because I fear, I may be suffering from a mutant form of Alzheimer's that attacks 26 year-olds.

I skipped breakfast and now am hungry, hungry, hungry. To make matters worse, one of my colleagues (who I truly detest) is chomping and crunching on potato wafers. The smell has me craving like a 8-month pregnant woman, for potato wafers and rice crisps. Am going to go on a prowl to see what I can dig up from the other people, MS should have gum atleast!

Bliss!

I had to practically drag myself back from the week long vacation at Ladakh. Magical! Not just the place but also the experience. I've never felt to completely cut off from the world and happy to be so in any holiday ever...

There's so much to write about the place and so many images you wish to forever retain at the back of your mind, that I don't even know where to start.

Just couldn't believe the barrenness of the land — the miles stretching in front of my eyes, interrupted only by rocks or a patch of green or a lonely little white house with red wood-worked windows.

And the sound of silence, when you switched the jeep's engine off and just sat on the bend of a road, without talking, watching a gorge that fell where you dared not look.

Where else but in Ladakh would you drive through a rocky, deserted landscape that seems to have been torn off from some other planet and landed there. On our way to Hemis Monastery, we passed one such. A stark, boulder-laden expanse that seemed tailor-made for Clint Eastwood and his horse and of course Gabbar Singh. :)

The drive to Hemis is a wonderful one. You pass bends, loops and turns and suddenly discover that there’s a huge monastery hidden from view, tucked away in the mountains somewhere. This is where a festival is held every year and as a chatty young monk we met told us, the surrounding hills serve as seating area!

The warmth of the local people was touching, especially at the monasteries and at the Stok Palace, which incidentally is next to a Prasar Bharti transmitter! Stok Palace has a small museum set up by the king. The caretaker was so thrilled he could communicate with people who understood his broken Hindi and English (foreigner kya bur bur karta samajh nahi aata) that he took an old rusty key and opened countless drawers to show us eye popping lapis lazuli and other such precious stones.

There was more eye popping to come when we landed up in Pangong Lake on the fourth day. What made the journey special was a fresh snowfall the night before, that turned Chang La, the 17000-something ft pass you have to cross to get to Pangong, into a magical, white blanket. The other heartstopping site was Durbuk, which was a pastureland taken out of a picture book — wild horses grazing along a mountain stream, green patches...you get the picture.

Pangong was breathtaking. Not just because the oxygen level is bottom rate there. The water played with the sun and shade and chaged from sky blue to aqua to turqoise green...I could live there for years looking at it. (Well at least I think I could)Pangong Lake or Tso is like those 'sceneries' you paint as a kid: Blue sky, white floaty clouds, blue lake, brown mountains. The perfect world. With prayer flags fluttering in a corner adding extra colour. We drove up another five kilometres along the lake, oohing and aahing all the way; came back and found that we had got lucky. We were the only tourists there at that hour and the wonderful army chaps had agreed to take us on a boatride (after I dropped my fathers name).

The drive the day after to the world's highest motorable road Khardung La at 18000-something feet was easier than the Pangong one had been. We took the mandatory show-off pictures at Khardung La, standing next to a board that proclaims 'World's Highest Motorable Road' and started the journey towards Nubra, which is the green bowl of Ladakh.

That night at the camp was a special one, thanks to Alberto and his happily high friends, who sang beautifully in languages we didn't understand. The next morning, as we sat huddled having our early morning coffee, A and I discovered Alberto looked even better than he sang. And guess what he turned out to be? A gondolier from Venice! If this was Ally Mcbeal, our tongues would've been dancing on the floor :)

We stayed at Sumur in the Nubra Valley and walked up to the gompa. A silent one, with plush rooms reserved for the Dalai Lama's special visit, said (yet another) young monk who showed us around. He turned out to be a Ladakhi born and brought up in Canada. A professor of philosophy, he joined the monastery to teach and give back something to his village, Tigger, which was nearby. Whoever said, a journey is all about the encounter was so right.

There were some interesting encounters en route to Nubra. The road to Khardung La was for some reason biker-infested! We met everyone from backpacking Israelis on Enfields to a Bengali couple.

"We are doing this the second time in two years," the Bengali couple, he a bank employee and she a government school teacher in Calcutta, told us. Somewhere in my mind, they broke a barrier, about people who travel, not because they can afford to but because they need their adventure.

Just... Do it! (Nike)

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. EXPLORE. DREAM. DISCOVER." (Mark Twain)

Yes I think its always a good idea to seize life by the horns, look it in the eye and take it where you want to go and not be led by it. Otherwise it ceases to be a wonderful journey. And turns into just another dull, humdrum cyclical routine of following more routines.... and before I know it, my life will be over and I would have done nothing, gone nowhere, been nobody! Just another speck of dirt who led a pointless existence.

They say "If I want to go nowhere, I can be sure of reaching my destination" So I want to challenge myself and get out of my comfort zone.. and explore, dream and discover.

I have decided to seize life by the horns and am going on the most exciting exploration of my life. Back-packing in Leh Ladakh. Wish me luck and fun!

Gifts are forever!

At school, in class eight, a whopping 30 marks of internal evaluation hinged on weekly tests. Ms. Rita Fernandes was our class teacher. (Happy Teachers Day, Ms Fernandes!) She was also the apple of our eyes; we Hero(ian) worshipped her with all the loyalty that ferments in fiery, adolescent hearts .

"Miss" had one constant crib against us: why didn't we spare ourselves, and her, of the pre-test fish market that we created every week, why didn't we just relax before a test?

As it turned out, we did oblige, we did behave ourselves, even if it was just for once. And on the day we did, Ms Fernandes quietly penned this in half an hour and stuck it to the class notice board:

To My Girls 11th Jan '90

Thursday dawned fair and bright
Yes, it was the day of the "Test"
I dreaded entering my class
For fear of encountering
Commotion, confusionand last minute revision!

I tip-toed into the class
Ready to shield myself from the onslaught.
Nearing, I felt something amiss
Was I in the right room?
Was this reality?

For,
As I entered
All my little darlings
Joined their hands to wish me
The prayers were said calmly
The answer sheets were ready
The pens, full of ink, by their side
Then, what was missing?

Why,
The commotion
The confusion
The last-minute revision
And the "Miss - please wait!"

I'm now probably as old as "Miss" was back then. I've lost all connection with the other fish mongers (as miss called us!) but Ms. Fernandes comes back whenever I chance on a yellow, frayed sheet of paper - the poem in original, in her own hand! (Umm... I had quietly plucked the sheet from the notice board when no one was looking! ) And then it dawns that, indeed, the best things in life are "free".

When Anne Frank's family were in hiding from the Nazis, birthday gifts tended to be simple: a jar of yogurt, a hand-made brooch or a poem from Dad to Anne, written when turbulent storms brewed in and around the teenager.

My Dad too had written a lullaby for me. And as daddy grows old and all the gifts that my parents have showered me with keep getting lost in wardrobes or tumble into junkyards, I realise that this one's special - my song, solely for me, written at a time when I used to clench my little fists into resolute cotton balls!

Watched "Kabhie Kabhie"? One of my most beautiful moments from the movie is the song that Amitabh writes for his new-born daughter - "Mere ghar aayee ek nanhee pari" It makes a little pink bundle a queen for life!

Check out Paul Simon's "Father and Daughter". You'll find the mp3 here, but what did me in was the heartbreaking lyrics.

The Soap Opera... starring GGand the Idiot!

I lost my ATM card yesterday. Well, to be more honest, I kind of forgot to take it out of the damned ATM machine. You can imagine the fright I got some three hours later when I realised what I had done. I went back to the ATM machine to check whether some honest soul had given it over to the security guard. But obviously, the guard had changed in the past three hours and the new guard had no clue.

I called up the Citibank help-line.

Girish(in a sickeningly pleasant voice): Hullo. I am Girish. How may I help you?
Me (Totally psyched out.): Hi. This is so and so. I just lost my ATM card.
Girish(in a sickeningly pleasant voice): Yes Ma’am. How did that happen and in what branch?
Me (Slightly embarrassed): Uh! Actually I lost it in the machine.
Girish(in a sickeningly pleasant voice): In the machine?
Me: Yes. I kind of forgot to take it.
Girish(in a sickeningly pleasant voice): Forgot to take it?
Me (Defensive and irritated with his parroting): Yes. Forgot. So anyone could have taken all the money from my account. (Suddenly I realised the gravity of it. My salary has just been credited to the account) Oh please please help me out.
Girish(in a sickeningly pleasant voice): Of course Ma’am. Do you have your Debit card number?
Me (sadly): Uh. No.
Girish(in a sickeningly pleasant voice): Bank Account number?
Me (almost in tears): Nooooooo.
Girish (Obviously used to hysterical women): Do you have a transaction slip?
Me (brightening up): Yes. I gave him my bank account number.
Girish(in a sickeningly pleasant voice): Am I speaking to Ms. so and so
Me (Duh! That’s the first thing I had told him. My name!): Yes. Yes.
Girish(in a sickeningly pleasant voice): Ma’am I have cancelled your card.
Me: Thank you. Please please tell me if there is any money in my account.
Girish(in a sickeningly pleasant voice): I am sorry Ma’am we are not in a position to give out that information.
Me: What do you mean you are not in a position to give out that information? It’s my account. I need to know.
Girish(in a sickeningly pleasant voice): I am sorry Ma’am.
Me: Cummon. You can’t do this. Tell me something. Anything.
Girish(in a sickeningly pleasant voice): Ma’am your last transaction was for Rs x.
Me: What was the transaction before that?
Girish(in a sickeningly pleasant voice): I am sorry Ma’am. We are not in a position to give out that information.
Me: What do you mean you are not in a position to give out that information? It’s my account. I need to know.
Rajesh (in a sickeningly pleasant voice): I am sorry Ma’am. If it helps that is the only transaction today.

What a first class idiot! Couldn’t he have told me that in the first place?!!

I miss Tutu Singh :o(

I wonder what is it about dogs that fascinates me and makes me want to smother them with hugs and kisses? Be it my own little tootsie, others’ doggies or even the street dogs! Is it the shape of their snout, the turn of their lips, the whiskers that tickle when they lick your face and their floppy ears that seem to have a life of its own? Or it is because of the way they rub against my legs, the way their eyes talk; or their sloppy kisses.

When I was 4 or 5, my Dad told me he knew Tarzan very well and that he used to often visit him in the jungle, which was on the way to his office. Of course, I believed him and when he said that Tarzan would give me any animal from the jungle that my heart desired, I asked for a puppy. Every evening when Dad came home from work, I would demand to know where the puppy was. And every day Dad had a new excuse for not being able to meet Tarzan. This went on for a long time till I finally lost interest or grew up, whichever came first. I think it was the latter because the craving for the puppy refused to go away!

We did get Tootsie (a lasa apso) many years later. Tootsie won me over instantly with his big brown eyes and sloppy kisses. He was my best friend and every evening we would sit in the garden watching the stars as I gave him a "lowdown" on the day's happenings. He would listen intendly and nuzzle or lick me at appropriate intervals to indicate that he understood (every word!).

Its been almost sixteen years since Tootsie came into our lives. Even though Tootsie can no longer see very well, his big brown eyes are still captivating. They continue to warm my heart each time I gaze into them. I miss Tutu Singh :o(

Doggies bring out a love in me that I didn’t know I was capable of. Give me a dog and I will forgo all other human relationships.

An Ant-i Attack!

Ants have made themselves at home inside my keyboard. I type, and they keep on creeping out! It is quite disturbing, and more than a little amusing. I have tried blowing hard between the keys to chase them out, and also poking them out with a pin, but all these measures have had but little effect. And I'm too scared to take the keys out and clean the keyboard properly - I just do not have enough faith in my ability to put the keys back together properly. What if I break something? Aaargh.

OMG there are three that I can see right now, creeping out from between the arrow keys. Holy flying pig - it's teaming with ants now!! Eeeeks!