quirkyblue

My new workplace is quite far away by Bangalore standards, which is a combination of distance and traffic. With Vijay's office also not being close to where we live presently, it made sense to move to some place closer. Therefore for a series of weekends we went around the city, scouting for a more suitable accommodation. Alas! It wasn't as simple as I thought it would turn out to be! Aside from the rates, which, by the way shot up in areas that we preferred, something or the other was never right. Either the ventilation wasn't good or the parking wasn't spacious enough. If both these factors were taken care of, the locality was not to our liking. But the one factor that eventually changed my mind and made me stay put in our current apartment is the greenery - and the friendly, furry neighbours that reside in it. You see, I live at the top floor of a stand-alone apartment block. It is open from two sides ensuring free flowing breeze and ample sunlight. Since the Ma...

It is difficult to let go of something, of which one is perversely proud. I have often come across people who, when asked where do they belong to, gently, but proudly slip their caste into the answer.  "No, I don't belong to Bangalore. I am a Kumauni Brahmin", or, "Oh! We have to be very particular about the match. We are Saryupani Brahmins you see..." and so on so forth. Yes, I admit, only Brahmins, and occasionally Rajputs, proclaim their caste with such impunity, at a day and age when casteism is looked down upon, at least by the educated and the 'informed'. Honestly, I find this attitude thoughtless and embarrassing. What do you expect your audience, who perhaps is not a Brahmin or a Kshatriya (the so-called higher castes) to say? Something like, "Oh I understand. Fortunately I am a Shudra so I can marry whichever kind gentleman comes my way."? I can understand that people take pride in their roots. But is it really necessary to an...

A chance conversation with my mother yesterday brought up an interesting, and potentially important, issue. I had asked her if she enjoyed watching 'Three Idiots', and was surprised by her negative critique. Amongst other points, to which I don't agree to, she complained about the thoughtless usage of the word ' balatkar' which is the Hindi word for 'rape'. I am a 21st century woman living in one of the most cosmopolitan cities of India. I am a liberal and broad minded non-feminist, and can digest a good joke, even when it's on me. Though I don't agree with my mother often, in this case I have to admit that she is correct. My mother said that 'balatkar' is one of the few words, that cannot be used in just any context. It carries a lot of weight and many serious connotations. 'Balatkar' - The word generally elicits deep emotions such as shock and pain. The word conveys the alleged victim's misfortune, the sense of being viola...

Be still pause linger for a moment catch the magic in a falling raindrop capture the miracle of the first sunray celebrate the smell of morning tea. Talk to the wandering clouds Chase a rainbow Tweet back to the birds Let a butterfly alight on your shoulder live love laugh Bring back the magic the wonderment the wow

How I yearn for the lonesome sea rushing, roaring, rolling perpetually What does it ponder? what does it pray? Is there hope or just dismay? Alive n' kicking or plain frustrated Are its dramatics authentic or narrated? Is the blue sky its only audience? Colouring it with its own moods and vibrance? How I wish I were lost in the breeze No voice, no murmur, no 'thanks you', no 'please' Dance if I could with all that is me Joining the sea and the sky, break free! Languages abound but I want no words Just want to drown in a sense of purpose...

I miss Dehradun . Labeling it as home-sickness wouldn't be fair. Because it isn't just my home that I miss, but the entire city, the air, the roads, the bakeries and most of all, the mountains. For around 24 years, every morning that I woke up, I would be greeted by the austere presence of the silent giants. Sometimes blue, sometimes green, sometimes gray, and innumerable mishmashed shapes in between... forever playing withe their misty companions, the clouds. In the summers the peaks would turn grey, and there would be no sight of clouds. The vivid blue sky would provide a stark contrast to the heat wave beneath. The breeze would transform into, what we call, the loo - which in the vernacular lingo means hot wind, not the restroom! And the mountains would stand stoically day in and day out. At nights however, one could often see the stark lines of forest fires in the distance, as if the heat really did become unbearable for the rocky giants and they are venting their f...

I had a fantastic Saturday morning watching a group of spirited, determined and charming girls put on a great show on the telly. No, I'm not referring to the Miss World/Universe/Earth/Asia/whatuwill contest, or the sloppy Indian version of 'So you think You Can Dance', but the ICC Women's World Cup 2009. Well, I must confess that I didn't know that women's cricket had a World Cup too. But then again, I'm not a cricket fan. That said, I didn't continue watching the game because the players were women, but because it was a good game! In fact, it seemed like a slightly different replay of last thirty minutes of 'Chak De', with Indian kudis facing off Australian babes. India scored an impressive 234 for five and beat the hosts by 16 runs! Be it Anjum Chopra's cool 76, Mithali Raj's impeccable fielding, Jhulan Goswami's tightly controlled run rate or wickets taken by Gauhar and reema, these girls knew how to kick ***! I specially lo...