Showing posts with label Bits From Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bits From Life. Show all posts

Thursday, November 26

An Excerpt And A List




                   Am I stuck with writer’s block? One may wonder, considering the dwindling number of blog posts I have been churning up during the past couple of months. But the truth is that, my mind has been shuttling between matters concerning something very important in my life- A milestone in itself. 

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Read the rest of the post on my new wordpress domain - An excerpt and a list



Saturday, October 24

Book Release! - Love and Other Enchantments



I am excited beyond words as I write this post today. In my recent post I had mentioned about my dream ship - The short story anthology by five writers - Along with me, Tanima Kedar, Ishan Dafaria, Anuj Kumar and Akash Deep. The book was released online on the auspicious day of Vijayadasami.

Here are the ebay and ShopClues link :-

Ebay :-  Click here and show some love :)

ShopClues :- Here


I am including here the blurb of the book along with an excerpt of one of my stories - He loves me not. Just to remind, this anthology has three of my stories published.

The blurb of the book :- 
Drag, it can, from the splendours of dawn to the gloomy even-fall; sooner or later, but, it touches us all – LOVE.. indeed. "Love and Other Enchantments" is a collection of fifteen heart-rending love stories where in each will reveal a new facet of love and will arouse a new set of emotions and even newer perceptions of relationship, sacrifice, devotion, depression, hurt, lust and madness.
Loose yourself in a whirlwind of emotions, only to be rescued by that thing called love. The Fictitious Five is a group of five writers.
Maliny MohanIshan Dafaria Tanima KedarAnuj Kumar Akash Deep Gupta
all united by their unabating passion for writing. 
They believe in the power of words and aspire to keep weaving them to create delightful stories that touch the hearts of the readers.





Excerpt from my story 'He Loves Me Not'  :-

'.........The moon was shining the brightest, showering powdery white rays over the surroundings. A light refreshing breeze slid past her, on the cue to which she wrapped her coat tightly around her, consoled by nature's gesture.
An eerie silence reverberated in the deserted parking lot which made her quiver a bit.
All at once, as if to prove her worst fears right, a sense of vertigo blinded her which seemed to over haul her more and more with each passing second. Whether it was due to the overpowering drink or due to the hot rush of hormones seeping into the kinky recesses of her cacophonous brain, she couldn't conjure a reason at that harrowing moment. 
The very next second, she slumped to the floor as if in a bolt, a groan escaping her throat............'
                                                       *************
I would like to thank the readers of my blog, who have always encouraged me with their resounding presence and through the indelible imprints they left behind as comments. 
Do take a took at the links and buy the book if you find it interesting enough :)

Saturday, October 17

Enid Blyton,Pets And A Clowder Of Cats


   
                                          My association with animals started a long time back; when I was 10 to be exact. The acquaintance took its inception in the delicate, dust scented pages of Enid Blyton’s ‘Secret Seven’. While the exhilarating adventures of the kid gang insinuated deeper into the avid reader in me, the loyal dog Scamper never failed to amuse me with his charm. The chord that connected me to dogs strengthened a year later or so when a friend introduced Timothy to me, the adorable dog who stole the limelight in the Famous Five series. Harking back, I remember nurturing a heartfelt desire to own a pet as enticing as Timothy, someone to play with, someone to be my partner in crime, someone to keep me company in the dark hours of solitude. 

Maybe God answered a child’s prayer faster than an adult’s, for before I could present the matter to my parents, and before they could reject it hands down, I was presented with a cute little puppy, lost, hungry and panting at my door steps. Being scared to touch it, lest it bit me, I remember putting on my brother’s cricket gloves to scoop the beautiful bundle in my arms to carry it inside to replenish him with food, milk and a cozy abode. I named him Timmy as any dog who could conquer the heart of the little me could be nothing else but Timmy to me. 

 However the inevitable descended on me before long, as he started throwing up tantrums not befitting a 10 year old child’s friend and my parents ,who were already not quite happy with the idea of sheltering a stray dog were left with no choice but to discard him somehow or the other. And that forgettable day, when the sky was inky and crowded with clouds, as if they offered a hand in the crime by shrouding the earth in darkness, my dearest Timmy was packed in a box( with air holes) to be discarded somewhere distant. 

Gloomy days were to follow. Reading a novel turned out to be hardest thing I could conjure myself to do as the shy face of my dog seemed to sprout in each and every page. 

But before long, I forgot all about Timmy. Time heals, truly said. 

Coming back to the present, I can’t help but shout out that I am cuddling a creamy white bundle of treasure while I am writing this account. Confused? Let us turn the reel back a few months to make matters clearer. 

A stray cat stated frequenting my house around six months back. Being drowning deep neck in studies as my exams were nearing she could instill little interest in me then. Nonetheless, to my awe, the house started witnessing an unprecedented event those days. Yes, my parents were her biggest admirers! 

They fed her. They talked to her. They patted her. They made it a point to never forget to buy fish for her while they shopped for kitchen supplies. They called her sweet names. Need I say more, she was the darling of the family! 


She is all grown up now!

Having performed my exams, with loads of time to spare, I started noticing the guest who would wander around in my house, sleep on the ice cold floor as if she owned it and pay me little heed, let alone acknowledge me. The emotions that were once locked away in the dusty crevices of my past resurface a second time, much to my surprise. 

She conquered me in the blip of a second and in no time she was my soft, fluffy, lazy friend. She responds to my voice, sighs when I pat her and rubs her neck against my legs when she misses me. Moreover, she is my pacifier who consoles me in times of worry, to cloak me in a warm blanket of comfort, placing a smile on my lips, however disturbed I am. One look at her and the world seems a better place to harbour. 

Pets would, perhaps, be the most wonderful companion anyone could get!


                                                                      ~~


P.S : I wrote this post two months back. It had been lingering on the draft section. But now I have a reason to put the post across. My cat gave birth to four kittens! Let me tell you, they are a treat to watch!Check out the photos :) 




My pirate- My Jack Sparrow





                                                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                             

Tuesday, September 22

Love And Other Enchantments - The Dream Ship


In one of my previous posts, I had mentioned about a short story anthology, titled Love and other enchantments which has been sailing, albeit along crests and troughs, for a few months now. Two days back we received the design of our book's front cover.The publishers had asked us if we had any particular suggestion regarding the diagrammatic representation of our collection, and we had conveyed the theme that was brewing in our minds. The theme was solely love and its essence, although a bit skewed towards the poignant nature of it, more than the picture of mushiness that most people tend to associate love stories with. And this is owing to the fact that each story in the anthology is soulful, portraying the sheer intensity of the varied shades of love, rather than focussing merely on the exhilarating nature of it. 

Here, take a look at the design and you will know :- 


I would like to thank the publishers- Blue Rose Publishers for being thoughtful enough to listen to us and for having come up with a cover design, which exudes evocativeness as much as subtleness. And it should not be left unsaid the sturdiness of our group - The Fictitious Five, members of which being along with me, Akash DeepAnuj KumarIshan dafaria and Tanima Kedar, because of which, despite having had conflicting ideas at times, we could dissect each one's opinion to reach a fitting conclusion. 

Having let out a few nuggets about my new venture, I would also like to add that, our dream ship is now on its final lap, gearing for release, which should happen in a couple of weeks. 

Stay with me for more updates :)

                                                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Friday, September 11

Of Dreams And Life - Friday Musings




                                               Dreams form an inevitable part of a human's life. They inspire us, prompt us and ignite us with the much needed impetus to move forward surviving all odds to finally make the desire a reality. We don't always end up with what we dream, but at other times we do. We aren't offered opportunities in a platter most of the times, but at other times, we stumble upon opportunities while carousing our way through the life pathway. Life is such - weird, instinctive and purposeful - all rolled into one. 

So coming to the purpose of this post, a lot has been happening in my life lately. Being someone who loves reading blog posts with thoughts detailed in an alluring manner, my heart nudges me to do the same, as I outline the incidents one by one.

Friday, September 4

Pause




There comes a day, as the body's work cycle makes a complete circle, when you start having that irksome feeling of drive draining from your body. And by drive here I mean the command of your inner diligent self that inspires you to put forward your best effort in whatever you do.

Wednesday, September 2

To Life!






Moving across the cacophonous lives of people displayed on the medium, I take a minute to adsorb in the many vagaries of life. In the frantic hurry to grab limelights, nurturing an implicit intention to be noticed in the crowd, aren't we knowingly or unknowingly forgetting the truest joys of mankind? To be appreciated is anyone's secret desire and it comes without say that there is indeed no harm in it. But, have you ever wondered that, perhaps, there exists an invisible fine line between a desire and greed?

Sunday, November 2

The October That Was !



Months fly by in a jiffy. Harking back, they seem to dissociate into powdery thin bits of the past, those moments that arrived into your life with magnanimous gestures. Few of them manage to remain equally important several days from the happening, but few others fail irrevocably. Maybe it's an idea worth upholding to jot down nitbits from the past,however trivial they may seem in the big picture, so that several years down the lane you would find yourself sweeping away the dust from the attic only to confront the long forgotten gems of your life, the things that made you who you are. 

Saturday, October 18

Of Rain And Life



“I hate rain!”. I stated quite blatantly as the steady downpour dampened my voice. The person on the other end of the phone exclaimed in disbelief. Quite obviously so. For I myself is yet to see atleast one person in a group of five who doesn’t hold the mystifying physiology of earth, that is rain, close to his or her heart. He went onto dissect in fervor the many pros of rain and how it pacified him, refreshing his body and soul, while i blabbered on the many cons like how a rainy day created a havoc in my life, especially when it announced its entry early in the mornings while i am all dressed up neatly for a fresh beginning. 

Tuesday, September 9

The Silver lining



                                  There comes a day, as the body's work cycle makes a complete circle, when you feel the drive draining from your body. And by drive here i mean the demand of your inner diligent self to be the best in whatever you do and not that spark in you to be alive and smiling. Losing it is not worthless, nor should it sound tardy, for once in a while it would be the best sidetrack you take to reach your milestone the earliest, for it serves you just like a few second stop to recondition serves a racing car.


If a thought or an idea keeps ticking, nagging you at the back of your heart, consider it being deserving enough to be fulfilled. Whether true or not, this nugget has guided me for long since it dawned on me one fine day when the teen in me used to worship every paulo coelho book that came my way. The idol has since been replaced by quite many other authors, yet the nugget has managed to stay put.

So, as my biological clock started pushing and shoving me to take a break, i found my brain involuntarily polishing the nugget which got buried beneath an unnamed sulcus some time back. 

And thus saw the entry of these gems to the seemingly unenthusiastic world of another unrelated genre of books. An amalgamation of fiction and non fiction ( if medical books can be tagged so). 

Down with 'Another man's wife' i am already the happiest soul in the world. Sometimes, a book can fill that much dreaded vacuum in you like no other thing can - atleast in its own reassuring way. 

Sadly, i had to take to the new habit of reading a book few pages at a time owing to the many constraints.Harking back, that too had its perks. It helped me savour every page in its entirety as i was in no hurry to lap up the whole book in a few hours time, which used to be my habit otherwise, more due to ardor than impatience.


That said, let me wrap this account up. There is more to read and even more to learn. 


But before you go, is there something new you did this week ? Or maybe a new book you read ? Tell me about it:)

Sunday, August 17

Wiping Away The Dust



One whole year. Unbelievably so ! A year passed by sans a single post on my blog. A year passed by with no creativity firing up my grey cells. A year passed by engulfed in the smoky mist of white coats. A year passed by trying to decipher the course of nerves, the worth of ganglia and the mechanisms that keep humans breathe with peace. A year since i embarked on my post graduation course in ENT surgery - A lot to say, a lot to share.

I wouldnt be here yet if not for two incidents that occured a period spanning the last two months. 

*  My school reunion that happened last week
*  For that wonderful, smoldering mail from The Tamarind Rice team ,letting this proud spirit know about their decision to showcase her article At The Bookshop at their literary meet ' Literary Lapses'


School reunions always arrive carrying a mixed bag of emotions . Nostalgia mounting beyond seams can be overwhelming at times and at other times they can leave you all brooding when reminded about the good things that withered away over the time. And this time, it came as a common query - ' Why dont you write these days, Maliny?' 

Oh, i missed writing ! I did. But these were months when the thought of sitting lost in a fluffy cushion typing away word after word, spewing posts felt like a luxury. 

And i am not yet sure how long away is my next post. Nevertheless, i badly need to satisfy my itch to write something this very moment and that too,with all my heart. Now that i have done it there are few words to describe exactly what i feel right now. Enlightened, maybe?

There are times when you need to sail with the wind. So that you derive as much power as you can to sail against it when your mind years for it the most. There are low times. There are duties to be performed. There are goals to be achieved. There is a time to toil. There is a time to let free. There is a time to celebrate.

Life runs a course. This moment,i realise that sometimes,it is fine to abide by the rules of fate. Sometimes it is alright to float and not to fly. But never let the spark die out. Let it burn within in the lightest of the shades. You never know. The very next minute might very well be the that perfect polishing moment you had waited for all along. 

Wednesday, June 19

Of Pinto And The Return Of Gusto


Certain phases of life hit you hard. Merciless would be the apt word to describe those, if i insinuate myself deeper into the pile of specific words in search of one that brings to life the shade of grey in its totality. Merciless, because they simply don't let you wriggle away free from them quite that easily as our confident minds assume. Merciless, because they smother you till your life starts effervescing into snowy white foams to eventually fade into nothingness.

No, i am not clinging precariously on the steepest cliff staring deep into the abysmal low. But yes, i am partly gasping in the suffocating clutches of a dire work commitment, from which there seems little escape for a few more days at the least. 

Those minute seeds of literary inclination, that had been sprouting enthusiastically, though which much effort and sans perfection, seem threatened of being uprooted in the heavy monsoon that has been literally pouring down on my hectic days. More often , as i have always realised when skeptical, it is either everything or nothing at all for me. Either i give something my best shot or i don't even to bother to give it a try at all. Either i read a lot, burning the midnight oil for several consecutive days sans impatience or dreariness, or i don't read a single line at all for months. The same goes with writing. But then, i am not a professional writer barged with looming deadlines nor have i ever been a regular blogger. Infact, i see this space as my niche, my haven where i unwind when the flow gets fierce or where i confide in while sitting idle on my couch, with a couple of hours to spare from my routine to set ablaze those mysterious nerves specilised to fire off contrived pieces of work. 

When the situation remains so, with much acceptance form my part, out of the blue, there descended a bright sunny day on my otherwise murky cascade of events, when i decided to order a couple of books from Flipkart, one among them being ' Em and the big hoom ' by Jerry Pinto.

You may have the urge to label me as pseudo intellectual, but i have to admit this that post a particular write up of mine ( find here), i have been focusing less on Indian English works, a decision born out of the inclination of a working person to stick to the safer side lest you would have to sit back and helplessly lament over the loss of  hard earned chunks of money or worst yet, the sight of that hardly available slot of free time slithering down the drains - Until, i came across a few articles by Jerry Pinto

It might sound stupid, but truly, i have not been much of an admirer of satire. Somehow, satire has always hit me as biased with the cynical inclination of the writer projecting itself onto me more than the mastery of the craft which is particularly proclaimed by most literature savvy minds. But, Pinto, unabashedly and undoubtedly i say, has succeeded effortlessly in proving me wrong and that too, to a very intense degree! Check out this article for example -  Blame It On Wordsworth.

Well, and that was what prompted me to grab a copy of Em and the big hoom. Halfway through the book now and like every good piece of literature, this book too has struck me deep, igniting a spark in me to scribble down something on a piece of paper after a hiatus.

Words are magical and a good book sprinkled with meaningful thoughts is insatiable. Probably, the best inspiration for a budding writer. I know that this post is pointless, but i feel a lot relieved now. The vacuum that has been carving up my insides is being slowly replaced with a sense of purpose. I am reading a good book. And i cannot be happier. 

Leaving you with one of his astoundingly powerful interviews, for those who felt i was vague about the gusto part on my post title and would like to have a more reasonable proof than my imperfect write up to consolidate the same. Watch it. You will read him for sure, if you haven't already. 





Tuesday, April 16

A Journey And A Revelation



Image Source : here

The fiery red ball had rolled back to its assigned slot sharp at the strike of dawn. The unerring pattern of the nature was slowly being unfurled. The exhilarated birds, cluttering their ever vivacious wings, had already propelled out from their nests. A mesmerizing shade of crimson had been sprayed unevenly on the nature’s canvas signaling the fervour of a new start . It was time to pull myself up from the cozy comforts of my quilt and head to work, for not an element of nature would defy that vividly sketched out schedule of this world – a schedule that commenced with the crack of dawn and ended with the fall of dusk.

But why oh why, didn't the dawn ever sleep in? Why oh why didn't the bird ever feign sickness?

For the consequences of a speck of laziness creeping into the well polished sheen of disciplined nature would be drastic. The same holds true for our lives too. A day that rolled by sans the assurance of that one penny would be akin to a day simply not lived at all. Or, is it so?

In search of sanity, seeking solace from the chaos, I once decided to paint my walls blue. The hue would ultimately pacify my distraught mind, I believed so direly. As an extension to this mire of thought, I decorated my cabin with the prettiest of articles – a frilled purple glinted photo frame encasing my dearest family, vibrant files, an artistically carved wooden deck on the side wall and a lot more that fail to resurface from the neglected recess of my memory right now. Slowly as days rolled by, my visual field failed to register the presence of those much loved accessories. No, i hadn't turned blind at a spiteful snap of fate, but my mind had indeed turned blind to those perky additions crafted by me, solely aiming a rescue from my redundancy. Before long, proving my worst fears right, the whole world started morphing into one huge monochromatic grey wall encircling me, restricting my exit forever.

Life continued in misery, until that bright sunny morning when the weather was at its allure best and the shimmering clouds seemed to float fast as if in a hurry to cross timezones. Tired of my hibernation and inspired by the swell of energy around me, I decided to break down the huge repulsive grey wall forever that particular day - All by myself. Blowing away the powdery past that settled on my skin, and along with it my worries and woes, I set out on a journey, a long pending trip to a far destination, alone.



With a sagging backpack slung over my shoulders, spiked soles adorning my feet, a denim blazer wrapping me with comfort and dreamy eyes twinkling with excitement, i knew I couldn’t wait a second longer once the decision had been made.

 Trudging the road, I savoured places I had never seen before; Boarding trains, I explored spaces I had not a minute clue about. The wind that blew against my face was succulent at few places and at other places it surprised me with its tantalizing scent, probably the scent of a blossoming garden it had emanated from. I roved in search of those places and discovered fruits that tasted exotic and flowers that were outwordly. The zest of the hail storm that shook me wild never saw me wavering from my goal. Instead I sailed with it,on its wings, to the unknown, unexplored places it hauled me to on its way.

Resting under the pine trees, mad with happiness, I hummed loud my favorite tune against a soft rumble of the receding thunder. Dangling my legs from the formidable velvety rocks, I delved into the mysteries of the lusciously vast ocean sprawled ahead of me. Trekking the steepest, tortuous rocky mounds, I shed my worst fears one by one. Embracing cultures and observing beliefs, i realised that variety is indeed the spice of this world. Days saw me rejoicing with complete strangers who with utmost compassion fed me when i was utterly hungry and sang songs with me in between those scrumptious meals. Cracking jokes with them i laughed out loud, uninhibited for once, uncorking the bottled up frustrations which frizzled out with each hearty laughter, ceasing to exist thereafter. Sleeping under the milky white blanket of a full moon, locked in night's embrace, admiring the sparkling necklace knit by stars, I savoured few of the best days of my life - days which taught me that it was indeed the journey that mattered and not the destination.

Strolling back to my mansion a few months later, i was spellbound by the sight of those invigorating deep blue walls looming ahead of me in all its pristine beauty, the beauty which i feared was lost forever somewhere beneath the ugly grey tentacles of the surmounting doom. The tentacles never bothered me from then on. For I had discovered the perfect antidote for drabness - a stroll, a ride, a hike, a trip - a journey in any of its varied enriched form.
                                                        ~~~~~


P.S : This is partly fictional, partly the creation of a reverie. But i do believe in the therapeutic effect of a journey - True to what i had said in the post, even a walk or a short ride serves as the perfect stressbuster for me.

Wednesday, April 10

Musings of a confused reader


Image Source : here

I have been reading a few books lately, maybe a tad bit more than my usual numbers. Pausing for a while to steal back a glance, it dawns on me that i have been savouring a couple of varying genres back to back, with equal alacrity and inquisitiveness, an ardent spark which unfortunately, incepts only once in a while every year.

There has been a thought penting up all this while too, rather a conclusion, something similar to the music or lyrics scenario when it comes to judging a song. Replacing the concerned terms, the million dollar question when it comes to books would be : 'Which matters the most to you - Story or the style ?'

There are authors who dissect each shred of sun's ray to its minutest layer concentrating on its spellbinding anatomy and contrarily there are authors who tend to sideline the nature to a mere statement and pass on to delve in more practical and pragmatic nuggets and there is yet another group who are oblivious to the mysteries of nature, but has gripping and fine tuned stories which leave you glued to the pages from end to end. 

There are readers who would devour a book for the sole purpose of satiating their passion and there are readers who in addition to sufficing their urge to read, utilise a book as a means to polish their own grip on language - the aspiring author bunch. For some its the fast paced propulsion of the story that matters, but for some, the succulent details and subtleties would be the elixir. I have seen people who chuck away a Amitav Ghosh and the likes ranting about its monotonous pace, instead they relish each and every word of the burgeoning pile of those ' You - may not - like - how -  i - say - it - but - you - will - definitely- like - what-  i - have- to - say ' kind, like there is no tomorrow. 

Is it just me, for i do feel that a realistic fiction written in superlative language is more appealing and engrossing than a thriller tagged one or for that matter any book contrived using a mediocre array of words and a bland style. On the contrary, definitely a thriller if sprinkled with an enviable choice of words can sometimes be the best too! And so is a book rich in enlightening or contemplative nuggets though written in a simple and lucid manner. Briefing it, i guess a good book for me is an amalgamation of good content and elegant style with equal weightage to both. Its not the story alone that matters, at least not so for me , but the  richness of the content and the way it is conveyed. There might be naysayers to this theory, but i believe i am not alone in this regard.

I strongly believe that getting published, to this day, hasn't become a smooth joyride devoid of bumpy obstacles, though the current publishing scenario might seem like one and i highly respect and admire the perseverance with which those books have been crafted. But somehow, a bunch of those books doesn't seem worthy enough of the time or effort from the part of the reader. On the other hand, good writers who are obstinate about getting their work published by an acclaimed publishing house get rejected, and they live with their worries for they are purists who are against the idea of self publishing. (On a serious note , with no tinge of sarcasm, do good books get released in that manner?)

There was a time when as a kid, i used to look upon published writers as the most gifted people in the world. They were mature people who wrote sensible stuff and had me reading late into the night while i rejoiced in the sheer beauty of the world they led me to. Now i see a published author in every other alley, some classy, but the others way too clumsy and casual; i see toddlers, teenagers and even infants signing their published books in every other corner and the confused and flabbergasted me has made it a habit to search the web for reviews before grabbing a freshly churned out book to read, instead of the usual norm of reading whatever one could lay one's hands on. On the other side of the coin, there are subdued prolifically penned works too whose existence is sometimes masked by the shimmering book releases of the over hyped ones.

It seems all that glitters isn't pure gold after all, especially not in today's world. It is high time we imbibed those proverbs rather than merely acknowledged them. Seriously. 


Monday, April 1

In First Person


Image Source : here

Two days back, during one of those much treasured slots of time at home with my amma where we entertain each other spilling in news from our sides sprinkled with guffaws, goofiness, groans and giggles, a question popped up from my side as to whether she would yearn to send me off to another family with a bundle of wealth to be tagged along with my ‘beauty,brawn and brains’. As a reply she assured me that neither she nor my father would construe, even in their worst nightmares to sell me away with prior consolidation of a pact or treaty of sorts that would promise a certain amount of jingling while I walk onto my groom’s house. According to her, each ounce of what they compile for me in the name of good or gold serves to satiate their mind, so that thereafter they would feel happy and satisfied that they did enough and more for their children. 

Though, unfortunately the good intention gets twisted and tweaked when spineless people utilise this gesture as a means to loot money from the backward sections of the society demanding money in the name of girl's inheritance. However, i guess now a days more and more families are shying away from the concept of dowry and I strongly feel that the welcoming change found its inception from the fact that you would rarely find a girl now a days who wouldn’t be working, her job in turn serving to be the ‘security’, if I may put it so, not intending pun of course. 

A friend of mine recited a particular incident to me a few months back concerning a marriage proposal that came her way. It so happened that during the primary discussions leading to fixing the alliance, her father happened to show the groom’s party the nooks, corners and the pristine formidable assets of their house, the climactic ending of the home-tour being a promise by her father to the groom’s family that every single inch of what they traversed the past one hour belongs solely to his daughter, the would be bride, my friend. As an anticlimax to the particular tryst, the groom’s family withdrew their proposal stating that her father insulted them by his gesture of sealing the deal in the name of money!

Well this post wasn’t supposed to be a dowry post in the first place, but on my conversations with amma and I apologize for the least enticing deviation. Thus the talks proceeded merrily with amma disclosing a dream of her to own a beautiful house, bang in the middle of the city, even when the current scenario is such that our present home is 2km from the Central railway station, 2.5 km from the Bus stand and 3.5 km from the airport. She has always been crazy about artistically built houses and in her opinion, beauty when coupled with accessibility can be a terrific combination (we are talking about houses here, be clear about that).

And before I knew, she had jotted down phone numbers from the Real Estate Classifieds and had started calling them up enquiring about the subtle details about the plumbing, attached bathroom facilities, backyard and the distance in kilometers from the main road stretch. And if at all we had a wrong assumption that a house in the central hub of the city would come for free, we were proved wrong the very next instant. The guy at the other end proposed a certain sum for each cent, hearing which amma winded up the call impromptu in an impulse or was it because she blacked out?! The second option would be appropriate for the total sum that the guy brazenly put forward would amount to a decent one crore and slightly more than that, considering the spiking real estate statistics in today's world.



Image Source : here
The first plan of action frizzled out, much to our dejection. But my amma is someone who, though utterly lazy like her daughter at times, relentlessly chases her dreams once it seeds have been sown. She came up with a plan afresh, which would see us owning a plot or two in the suburbs now only to be sold out a few years later, which would empower us with the ability to buy a house, again bang in the middle of the city, in her dream locality. My father and I sat marveling at her business acumen for sometime and then we set out yesterday in search of affordable plots in the suburbs.

Two plots down and all we could conjure ourselves to do was to sympathize with the distraught lives of the people in those regions rather than to delve in depth on the pros and cons of the plots. Not that they were sad or looked distressed, but the living conditions were shallow, something I felt that they have accustomed to over the years and might not be having complaints about now. The sight is not something new for I had been to many such families as part of my community medicine health assignments during my college days and even had written essays during my exams on the abject poverty that those people dwell in. Yet, when we thought about the context which guided us to the place, the whole scenario seemed like God’s way of telling us to be satisfied with what we have.

But then, a dream is a dream is a dream and amma has enough reasons to support her too - like the unavailability of auto rickshaws at our place and a few more rational ones. And so also, a couple of days after if amma still feels like owning a dream house - implying a house at a better place, we might as well set out on a sequel to our journey. But right now, slumping down onto my cozy bed, with my jet black laptop on my table and a few good books on the shelf smiling compellingly at me and my favorite song being played in loops by my cell phone, my room with its four sturdy walls to protect me from sun or storm seems like heaven. Maybe something like a God’s own house in 'God’s own country' ? (Argh. That sounds tacky)

                                                                         
                                                                              **


P.S : My previous template crashed with no prior notice and i had to come up with a new one. The last one was my favourite. But i guess i have no other option now but to start loving this and to hope that this one doesn't disappear in a bolt.

Friday, March 22

So Far So Good


Image Source : here

It has been long since i confided anything personal here. The last time i did was long back, here on this page. If the nerve wrecking, gut crunching P.G entrance preparations was the excuse for the redundancy in 2012, then its the absolute state of nirvana that i drift through post the biggest hurdle in a doctor's life, ( read post graduate entrance exam ) sans any dire commitments, is the excuse in 2013. 


There hasn't been much happening around here lately. As the last one year was extremely demanding, blame the coaching classes and the single minded diligent regurgitation of 6 years medical course material from the convoluted sulci and gyri of my brain, i thought of taking some time off, baring my mind from the medical shroud for a matter of few months, so that when the results would bë out by January end i would be all revived to either take up a pg course of my desired surgical speciality or to hit my objective books for the next round if didn't make it. As they say, life is no skiing game nor is it predictable in any amount. The result never came. Locked in a legal quagmire, supposedly, the results will be out only after the mockery in the name of court proceedings are over.


Not anticipating fate's foul play, the passionate me had conjured up a plan to make the best use of this small vacation of sorts. I had made a mental note of the things i would be doing after the examination with the same fervour with which i juggled medicine, surgery, gynaec and pediatrics objective revision papers. And the plan was to :


1. Read as many books as would satiate my mind cleansing it off the exam fever


2. Write to my heart's content.


3. Refresh my driving lessons ( the last time i had my rendezvous with the steering wheel being 8 years back during my driving test ).


4. Watch movies back to back.


5. Have a decent hair cut ( my locks are now twice the length of what is visible on my profile pic ) and


6. Visit my grandmother back at our native place from time to time.


 Except the haircut, all other wishes yielded fruits. My hair, to my awe, is untiringly continuing its growth sans a Tresemme or a Sun Silk therapy , that i cant make up my mind to crop it short even by one inch ( Aah, girls !). The wait is on now for the split ends to take charge so that i could head for the salon in the pretense of saving my locks rather than for that long over due make over ( Heard fringes are in ? )


Finishing a medical course, or any course for that matter is not so much of a pleasant feeling, especially for a girl. The M word relentlessly pops up in every other group discussion. The M word has been playing around in the air for a few years now. Belonging to the minority section of arranged marriage loathers, i declared long back that i would remain optionally single till the right guy arrives, something which has been mocked at and frowned upon by my parents. 


While my amma had her first encounter with the contraption called laptop when she had to enroll me on the online eligible brides list , my father had his first encounter with humility when i turned down the first guy who came to see me, toted with endless degrees to heighten his charm ( Kukki turning down Hrithik in Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara? Na, he was no Hrithik, though that had little to do with the decision ). And eventually, the obstinate me emerged successful and unscathed. I am granted permission to slog around in solitude until a divine intervention occurs, though i don't trust my parents much in that regard. I suspect callosity in that promise. After all isn't M the sole purpose of life? Sigh!  


Considering that my over ambitious crush list ranged from SRK post DDLJ (blame his dimples) to Keanu Reeves post Matrix to DADA post the 183 runs milestone / that mesmerising catch to dismiss Saeed Anwar at 194 to Chester Bennington post the Hybrid Theory, to Ryan Reynolds post The Proposal and nobody in particular lately, i don't have much hopes for me actually. Maybe one day, after a couple of years of wait, i would succumb to my parent's advice, admitting the impracticability of my wistfulness , to be greeted by that epic ' Told you so look ' from all quarters.


Jokes apart, life is going slow, albeit steady now. The pleasures of a vacation are many. My parents are back to pampering me as to a two year old now. During my years of college they used to treat me with utmost gravity, as i used to return home every month from hostel with used masks and head caps stuffed in my baggage, which my parents used to awe at unblinkingly ( we used to tie those used ones around the tap in our hostel because those acted as the perfect filter for the tiny worms that were inevitable parts of the tap water - fighting germs the medicos way ! ). Everything is back to square one these days. Amma wakes me up with a cup of tea and i sit dabbling in whatever thoughts that shoot through my mind all day. Peace.


Or maybe i should right away join the nearest hospital available. The good thing about this profession is that any hospital would appoint us as casualty medical officer if we approach them with our registration certificate. We are offered to take part time emergency duties too where they pay us for every hour we tend to the patients. What keeps me back for the time being is the fact that i felt like i needed a break. As history has it, ' the break ' has surpassed boundaries and now i have started feeling all irky. I really really hope for the results to be out soon. I love my profession and i seriously miss the hospital corridors , the many procedures and the casualty duties. Moreover, the exaggerated amount of idleness has started seeping into my joints and i am utterly lazy even to walk around inside my home these days. Grave!  


                                                   ~~~~~~~~~~~


Friday, March 8

Of Bygones And Those Forgotten Treasures


A Tharavadu In Kerala . Image Source : here

My mother’s ancestral house (Tharavadu ) , a formidable building encased in a vast area of land , is tucked away in a remote village in Quilon district , which happens to be barely two hours from the city I reside .  As was the general norm a few decades back , my mother used to co – inhabit the house with her parents , cousins , nephews , nieces and grandparents , and as she reminisces  to this day , sans doubt , they used to have an enticing life in all its pomp and splendour . The older women of the house helmed the kitchen , while adolescent girls of my mother’s age caressed their babies and adorned them with every piece of fancy ornament they could get their hands on . A few exuberant male members took charge of the land they owned , tending to the coconut and jack fruit trees which blossomed in abundance and a few others who were educated undertook the office works .  My mother , with much effort and determination , used to attend school , not missing a class , though she had to walk for a few kilometers by foot to reach the destination .

A serene and charismatic temple stood in all its pristine beauty facing the house and needless to say , each member of the family , without fail , used to insinuate the habit of visiting the temple two times a day into their daily schedule . My grandmother used to have her much longed for rendezvous with friends of her age at the temple premises where they would sit updating each other on their lives , indeed after offering their devoted prayers to the deity .

My mother would return home by evening and more often than not she would be greeted by the alluring fragrance of the delicacies being fried in the kitchen . A routine it was to relish those succulent dishes in the company of her cousins before they swarmed in the front porch to commence their play sessions . Each member of the family was intricately connected to the other by the resplendent threads of love and togetherness . 

Years passed and my mother earned herself a well renowned job , leaving her with no option but to pack her bags to head to the city where we live now . 

One fine day , my grandmother came to visit us with an intention to spend sometime with her grandchildren not anticipating the many lurking unpleasant experiences in store for her at our place . For a person who spent her entire life cooking dishes for her family ,my grandmother was forced to suffice her hunger with the half brewed food our servant half heartedly churned up every day . Shackled to the glazing walls of our house , while my parents went for work , she had to drag through the day , suppressing her urge to share her thoughts with some one , for there were none in her immediate vicinity to do so . 

Even when i was home from college for the holidays , i rarely could conjure myself to listen to her , blame the multitude of assignments and social networking engagements that devoured me wholly .  Accustomed to the pleasing sight of  vast expanse of lush land spreading out in her neighbourhood back at her home , it came as quite a shock to her the sight of concrete blocks that were independent houses , sprouting up seamlessly , the land stripped of all its existing greenery .  Before we knew , my grandmother had retreated to her niche back in her village , because for her, by the passage of each day the hours seemed to tick away much slower than the previous day  .  

 Today, she is utterly sick, and a quagmire of a situation has incepted out of the blue . Her condition is so dire that my mother has no option but to coax her into returning to our place , something she would ignore doing if she ever had a wish granted . After much persuading she has agreed to come over to stay with us . She is not home yet , but we are expecting her next week sometime . I have taken a resolution to keep her company , at least for a couple of the coming months when i would be staying here at my home - a decision born out of repentance . 

I feel sorry for my grandmother .Who is to blame for this state of affairs ? 

My parents for having had the courage to chase their dreams ? My grandmother who finds it difficult to tear herself away from the land where she nurtured every bit of her happy moments and still hoping to do so till the end of her life ?  Blame the industrialization , mechanization and degradation of relationship values which stimulate humans to withdraw into a self imposed shell of their own concoction , that they barely have time to reciprocate and appreciate the innocence of a baby smiling endearingly at them from across the road or to lend a helping hand to an elderly man stumbling with his stick in his concerted efforts to cross the road ? What about the many such grandparents who are stranded at their ancestral homes , for whom a meeting with their children is limited to the times they spend glancing at their well framed photographs ? 

The world is shrinking to a scary space where individual objectives and dreams outweigh the needs and desires of their kith and kin .

What if you are too late to turn back now ? 

.  We shower praises at cultural practices alien to our country , embrace them like a piece of heaven and even go to the extent of despising our culture as not relevant enough . It takes an expatriate's opinion or some Hollywood movie actress going gaga over Yoga , to knock us back into our senses , pricking the halo of resentment that we weave towards what is indigenous to us . 

. We have the privilege of staying connected with our virtual friends 24hours a day , so why bother dealing with the close ones over a cup of coffee for the sake of sustaining friendship ? 

. Forget the much awaited family outing on the weekend with an intention to keep the fun element sustained , now there are highly diligent boys adorning pretty hats , who with their prompt delivery make sure that you are fed four square meals a day in the comfort of your own home . 

. Why would our kids march in flocks to the neighborhood with a focused intention to stone down swollen ripe mangoes , when they have carton sealed health drinks at their hand's reach enriched with fruits to revive their slogging thoughts , dampened with the constant whirring of a laptop or a head phone ? 

We are indeed sailing on the clouds of heaven , aren't we ! 

Why would anyone with good sense be foolish enough to forgo all these pleasures and set aside time from their seamless schedule for the sake of consolidating familial ties and traditional values ? What could we possibly gain from that ?  Now , that is something which is going to dawn on us on one of those drab , dreary days , when we sit high and dry in that dream mansion of ours , with not a person to share our thoughts with , several years down the lane . 

Let us not fall off the abyss that is being dug around us by our own haphazard deeds .

Let our kids , infact, let US , imbibe the goodness of love - the one power that outlasts all gory revolts and disasters . Is there any better way to let it happen other than by bonding with our best friends since birth - our family members ? Our festivals are so construed that , in addition to the religious practices they stand for , they stress the importance of people confluencing together to share their days with the company of their family members. Not all traditions and festivals are rational i agree , infact, the irrational ones need to be shunned with the same vitality as we practise the sensible ones . And those sensible ones need to be encouraged for they uphold the goodness of togetherness and being there for each other. We should also remember that following traditions ought not to be the end , rather it should be the means to sew the frazzled pieces together , the onus of keeping it glued together would and certainly should rest on us and us alone. 

 By treasuring the traditions that have been passed onto us by our predecessors , by understanding the essence of our past -  our music , our cinema and our literature heritage - and thereby educating our next generation about it , we would be encouraging them to cherish those and be proud of their own lineage and legacy. Instill a passion in them to delve deeper into our history,  so that they would realise the stark truth that , the freedom and grandeur that they relish today was not created overnight by the sweep of a magic wand and so also they shouldn't take those for granted . Let us not forget our roots , the very base of our existence . Let us not thrive this world hoarding a smoke screen in front of our vision , eluding the joy of togetherness and life's small pleasures, for by doing so , in our frenzy to conquer the farthest mile , we stand a risk of missing the precious little milestones that we are blessed with on our way.  
                                                   
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