The Girl with the Black Bullet

I found her very different from other girls. Like really different. In a college known for its prestigious beauties she stood out. She never wore a pony tail, nor had colors on her hair. Her eyes never had kajal or eye liner to enhance their charm. She never painted her lips pink or red, nor did she have nail paints, infact she never grew nails. Her dresses were not colorful. Nor she wore tight fit pink salwars., skirts and tops. She preferred dull shades of grey, black maroon that too men’s Kurtas. Oh yeh how can I forget she never blow dried or straightened or smoothened her hair. Well she did not have long curls. It was neither typical boy cut. It was in between somewhere. But still I found her girlish than those red haired short skirt types. Her smile was from her heart. She never had fake accents or stories. She never bothered about others. And the best part was that she was least affected by others around her. She had her set of friends, mostly guys. The first time I saw her was when she performed for college mime competition. She was active in everything, politics, arts, college culturals, and social activities. Sometimes I felt she was from another planet altogether. I used to eavesdrop to what she talked in the canteen. Her ideas were very different. She was far ahead in time .Sometimes I found her sitting on the stone bench reading books(during class hours) which I could never understand. She used to be the last one to leave college, that too in her Black Bullet. The entire collge used to stare at her wierdly when she rode it. The sound of her Bullet vibrated in the campus. Every one used to call her the girl with the Black Bullet. That became her identity. She was an epic herself. I started watching her. One day during the usual canteen visit she came to me and offered me a tea. She knew everything about me. She said she had noticed me looking at her. Inspite of not being her type, she made me a part of her set of friends. Sometimes I really felt out of place but the only thing that connected me to her gang was my music, my guitar.

On the day of our fare well, I could no longer keep it to myself. I proposed to her. She laughed- her typical reaction, and asif she was expecting this Then she made me sit and listen to her asif I was a child. She knew I belonged to a very conservative family. She said no straight on my face. She asked whether I had thought of how my parents would react when they came to know that their son had fallen in love with a girl who ride bikes, wears loose kurtas and shirts and has no trait of a typical “bahu”. She said this will never work out. She was very confident and had clear idea of what she was saying. She continued “even if your parents agree the society won’t let them accept me. I can’t cook for you, nor can I take care of the house hold works. I love kids, but only when they are someone else’s. I am not saying that I don’t want to get married, that doesn’t mean I will get married either. I have lot of dreams to accomplish. I want to bring about a changes in the society. While you think I must take care of your parents, raise your kids I want to take care of lot of parents and kids who are out there longing for a company”. She raised and left never looking back.

Now almost after 30 yearsof leading an NRI life what reminded me of her was the article I read about her in the newspaper. It was an interview. She is now proudly taking care of not just one but 50 kids. She runs an orphanage. The photograph had her and the kids happily smiling and in the back ground stands her Black Bullet, happily un-married. She has achieved what she dreamt. She was still single and a mother of 50 kids. While me, I got married to a typical “bahu”who is very keen on her IT job. Because of her pressure I got settled in the US. Had one son, who speaks only American English. While my parents are back in India all alone. Now when I look back I feel “she was much more girlish and homely than any of those girls. Only I did not have the guts to say that I will convince my parents and get married to her. I too was in fear whether I could actually accept someone like her. I felt we all live for the society. Society set norms for everyone. Our views are so preconceived. A woman who rides bikes, who cuts her hair short, who wears kurtas are considered feminist, rebel. Only when you get close you know that they are the real woman. Whose dreams are much closer to reality, whose desires have no limit, and they are the ones who push themselves beyond what even a man can even image. The girl with the Black Bullet- she can be the one.

BLOGADA

The story of my Lost Phone.

I guess this is a rainy day I would never ever forget in my life.  As per the predictions Chennai is receiving heavy rains. The moment a cloud is seen the authorities here declare holiday for schools and colleges. But unfortunately people who work have no other option than to reach their places of work by swimming or some other means. Seeing the rain I started pretty early from home after finishing my homely chores. Normally it takes me forty five minutes to reach my office by boarding 2 buses. I reached the second bus stop around 9:05. Inspite of having an umbrella I was drenched while walking from one bus stop to another. I was pretty confident that I will reach office around 9:30. Mean time many other buses came but not 7H, the one I go by. The crowd for 7H also started increasing at the bus stop. Everybody began conversing as of how they reached the bus stop from their respective places all drenched and how they are going to be late as the bus is not coming. Time passed it was 9:15, 20, 25,30,40,50. Meanwhile I kept trying for an Ola auto. The app showed 3 minute autos but nobody accepted my request. By the time I tried again the app showed no autos. It was 10 and the face of my boss appeared before me. I was late. I saw an auto parked a bit far away from the bus stop.  I was sure he would charge me exorbitantly. But I had no other option than to approach him. I was also of the fear that since this particular 7H bus by which I was to travel has not appeared for quite some time, there will be heavy rush in it. After standing nearly an hour I was tired to stand all the way in the bus( I had severe cold). So I did not think again. I walked towards the auto and asked “ anna Mogappair east ponam” ( brother I want to go mogappair east). He said ok but as expected we had an argument over the rate and finalized at 130, if the auto runs on meter normally the charge will be around 80. But because of heavy rain and water clogged roads and non- availability of bus I got in and started off.  I noticed that he was going to sabarimala.(He was wearing the maala and black dhoti , by which I understood).Here and there water was clogged and rain was heavy. I was worried of reaching office late. Punctuality is something I keep as a principle and being late is something I can’t afford. I was wondering whether my boss will accept my explanation.  

Meanwhile I did talk to appa as usual over phone. I utilize my travelling time by talking to my parents. We talked and I told about how unfortunate a day it has been for me. I somehow reached my place around 10:30. I said thanks to the auto driver and climbed 2 storey’s and reached office. A sigh of relief passed me when I saw that my boss has not yet reached. The moment I reached I realized something was missing. I searched my bag , yes “ I lost my phone”. I asked my colleagues to give a ring to my number. There it was saying “switched off”. I began to panic. By that time my boss arrived. I told him. My colleague Vignesh and me went down to see whether there was some way to get my phone back. We searched all over the place where I got down, it was not there. We also asked a few people, no one had any idea. Vignesh asked me whether I remember how the autoguy looked. I said all I remember was he wearing a black dhoti and sacred chain. We went to the nearby auto stand and checked each auto. It was raining cats and dogs and both us were getting drenched. Inspite of the rain we kept asking. One guy directed us to another place and said may be the auto guy can be there. When we were about to go towards that auto we saw another auto parked at quite a distance.  We thought we will give it a try. We ran towards it. And the moment I saw the driver, to be very frank “I saw God”. He was waiting with the phone for me. Tears started coming off my eyes. My throat was drained; I did not know how to thank him. My friend Vignesh shook hands with him. Since I was in a hurry I did not even take my purse. I kept thanking him and he gave me the phone.  He said it was drenched in water and “ naan wait pannitu erundhen, neenga varuvigenu theriyum. 3 savari vandhichu naan pole”. ( I was waiting for you, 3 people asked me for a ride and I denied them, as I was sure you would come back). I did not know what to say. I thanked and thanked him, and returned to office all wet, well more than my dress my eyes were wet. That moment I felt I lost my phone I thought of extreme things. How to block my sim and what if the photos are misused. It was a day back I read an article as of how casual photos can be misused. Anyways I have been extremely lucky.  While I am typing this, my phone is drying and according to some people’s advice I will have to immerse it in a bag of rice for a day or two to see whether it is working. Well if not any one is free to gift me a phone. I know you guys are generous.

Anyways I am happy that my story had a happy ending. I guess these are the moments when you see God in other people.  This is a day I will never forget. And to all of you “ please be safe”. From now on I have learned two things

Note down the auto number

Secondly check and double check before you get out of an auto or shop or wherever.

Anyways life is not that bad as you may think.

Bygone Season of Mangoes( Oru Mambazhakalam)

One fine evening I was taking a stroll along the Anna Nagar Bougainville park with my niece. Being bored during day time (common for house wives – who have typical IT guys as husband. You won’t see those creatures unless and until its late night), I made it a practice to go for a walk at the park to get away from boredom. It was a good pass time for me as could observe a lot. There were young college couples romancing openly under the trees, the old uncle who walked briskly every day like a young boy, the fat north Indian aunties jogging, young girls and boys walking with ear phones plugged in to their ears, pregnant wife made to walk by her husband, the old couple who sit by the park bench observing the kids play( may be missing their grand children,) ladies wearing saris and snickers walking as if they are going to burn all the fat in a day, cute kids playing along the slides, fighting for the swings, and much more. It was then that my niece asked "Aunty did u have a park near your home back in Kerala" munching the mango which she just bought from the fruit shop. (aunty- you heard it right, a tag that comes along as soon as you are married, though i don't like it, well that is the fact i am still trying to come in terms with").Even my husband proudly took me to the park (during initial months of our marriage), as he was so proud of Anna Nagar and the surroundings.


Her question took me back to my childhood days. Yes we did have a park, but not near our home, in the town 5 km away. We used to go there once in a while and most of the play equipments were not under working condition.

But that was not the answer I wanted to give her. As kids we never felt the need for parks. We had individual houses with large courtyards and the entire village was our play ground. We did not have iron swings, we swayed on the banyan tree roots, and we jumped over fences and walls, climbed trees. And we never bought our mangoes for money, we had to earn it. We threw stones not missing our aim, to see the mangoes fall and then grabbed it from the group of kids who gathered before the trees to get hands on the mangoes. You fight, you push and pull and at the end of the day share and eat all the mangoes filling the stomach with the pulp for breakfast and lunch. You squeeze them; lick them, with the juice oozing out on to your face hands and dress. And in the evening when you reach back home inspite of your amma forcing you to bath, when you go to bed that night peacefully because of the happiness you got from sharing you still smell mangoes.

But now kids sleep complaining of the other kid who did not give them the swing, inspite of repeatedly asking or the boy who pushed them from the top of the slide. As I was munching my own thoughts I heard a familiar voice arguing, when I turned I saw my niece fighting for her turn to sit on the swing ‘aaahhh these kids I tell you”. But some where back in the mind I feel are these kids not missing those seasons of mangoes, that mambazhakalam?

Train Journeys

Those endless journeys you undertake… Railway stations, goodbyes and tears. Waiting for the announcements, the moment when your heart beats faster at the arrival of the train, heavy hearts, deep sighs of leaving your loved ones. As kids journeys seemed exciting, meeting your grandparents and cousins , summer vacations, nagging your parents at the stop of each station whether ‘we have reached’? But now journeys are time to contemplate… window seats, raindrops on those window panes, drawing your name and rubbing it off, headsets stuck to your ears, some old romantic melodies… books- romantic thrillers, reading, thoughts, thoughts and more random thoughts… Day dreaming, imagining things which would never happen… wishing to reverse your life and start all over again… some stranger in the train reminding us of someone from the past.. the chocolates which serve as your breakfast, lunch or dinner, half eaten crushed biscuit packets.

A cry from the toddler… hours you keep staring at the kid… someone who help you lift that middle berth, the Hong of the train… the air gushing through the windows, the wind blowing your hair and those few strands which keep coming to hide the view of your eyes … disobeying you… a sudden jerk… stop at some unknown station at midnight.. the smell of cigarettes , the chai wallas, the smell of vada , a joke which make you smile, an sms from the one you love, a tear in the thought of people we will miss, hope , memory of an old friend we may never see again, an unknown pain, the smell of iron in the water taps, sleep, dreams, sleeplessness, restlessness, life changing journey, a stranger who may turn out to be an eternal friend, thirst at midnight, empty water bottles, longing for a coffee, enjoying the loneliness, happiness, that stranger who help us with the luggage when we wonder what to do, a magazine left by some previous traveler. And then slowly the train gains speed... leaving behind the hills and fields... a lone cow or goat grazing... forest fires... lone houses... rivers... bridges... and slowly comes to a halt... the destination.


That moment when you wish journey should never end, its not the beginning or end… it’s the journey.. you wish the journey to go on.... never ending... with a heart full of love.. eternal love for train journeys... and you know... this is not it... there are numerous journeys awaiting us.. each an experience by itself...

The Girl In You After Marriage

My creative muse is  back in action. This is my first blog after marriage so what else can the topic be rather than life post marriage. So we girls dream of marriage at some point of time( we  dream of that prince charming coming on a horse, who would take us away to some far off unknown castle and then leading a life like a princess), well heloo.. wake up that was just a  dream… oopz my dream bubble was pricked and  uffffff it goes.. so reality is  far different…

You believe that your husband will be matured enough to handle your childishness and playfulness and you tend to look for a matured husband. And its after marriage you realize “ hez just an overgrown male child’ …  And so until then u consider yourself a girl and now you are supposed to be a ‘WOMAN’( yes you read it right, woman in block letters)..  The expectations are high on you, you are supposed to do everything which until then was alien to you.Sometimes the girl in you even refuses to accept the fact that you are married.  You wish you could go back to being that lazy lass..When you can get up late, wait for your coffee to be given by mom, eat your breakfast at lunch time, keep your legs on the sofa, sing and dance along with the songs on tv, yell at your mother, sleep through after noon, and remain awake through midnight with that green light blinking on FB, take shower in the evening…… and all those lazy things…

But you or a part of you naturally tend to change… a transition from that girl to woman take place… You do all those things for your husband which you would not have done even for yourself… like  ironing  his clothes, getting up early to cook for him,.. while at home even after your parents scream at you hundred times you lazily refuse doing these things… But sometimes all these are worth when you see that cute smile on your husband’s face when he drinks that cup of coffee made by you after a tiresome day at work or appreciates you for your half baked cooking skills. Its great to have someone all for yourself, someone who makes you feel secured, whose shoulders are there to lean on.

But at the same time its not easy either. Your husband can remain a boy even for some more years, but  you are supposed to be a woman from the moment you get married and its far too challenging, and these days you are expected to be not just a woman but superwoman. But I guess God has already installed all the necessary equipments to transform you into a woman at the required time.  You tend to do things automatically.But deep inside your heart  you always wish to remain a girl sans your age.To be carefree about things, to sleep without anyone to disturb you, to be all alone in your room with lights off listening to some nice romantic numbers, watch your favorite tv channel, to talk over phone with your friends hours together, go out for a movie with them, to sit by the window side and enjoy the rainwhile reminiscing . Being a girl is much more than being a woman. So all the woman out there cherish that girl inside you, never let her die. Without that girl you can never flourish into a woman. Keep pampering her, its she who inspires you to be a woman. So though its a bit late I would like to wish all the women out there ‘A Happy Girl’s day’.

All About Being a Kerala Iyer

Heii guys i am back again after a short break…
Well got tied up with so many things and also as always laziness had itz effects on me again…

This time I thought i will write something about myself and some interesting things that has happened to me. I think everybody love to have a sneak peek into otherz life and so do I ;) As recently I discussed wit a friend of mine itz nice to watch otherz life from ur balcony .

This was written with pure intention of letting know people of how fun it is to be an iyer. And no offence meant.. I request everyone to take what i have written in the right spirit as i have written some in-order to bring in a pinch of humor.
So today, I thought I will pen down some factors which are typical of a Kerala iyer family...


To begin with I take absolute pleasure for being born into an iyer family. As a kid, of all what I loved the most was the marriage ceremonies of my cousins , which used to be so very colourful.. Two long days and hell lod of fun, where mammies sing songs like ‘ seethaa kalyana’ ‘ maalai maatrinal’ and many otherz.
I used to envy the bride and groom who used to have fun on the swing( uunjal) and also for playing wit garlands . But only now I know that its not childz play as u have to sit hours 2gthr b4 the holy fire or hoomakundam … but i think itz all worth it... ( and yeh I am next in the pipeline for marriage). Since a child i have dreamed of sitting on my appa's lap on my big day. 

Some things which are typical of a kerala brahmin house hold ....

Steel glass in which u get steaming decoction coffee
Hindu news paper
Thulasi Thara ( where u grow a thulsi plant and where u can find a small hut like structure, where u light the lamp)
Kola thara- where u draw beautiful kolamz- n yehh I belong to the new generaton of iyer gulz who can manage to draw a pullayar( ganapathy) kolam ;) . But from a kid ur grand maz( thaathi or paati ) or ur athaiz( ur dadz sisterz) or chithiz ( ur momz younger sisterz) or ur periammai’s ( momz elder sister) or some maami will be insisting you to learn to draw a kolam as itz a mandidatory criteria for marriage.
A pooja room which we call as swami room or swami muri.A Murugar or Ganapathy padam( photo) which will be hung in the front room.
Someone with the name Krishna but who will be known as kicha( my kichanna is no exception.
And yeah.. Dosa is our 'national food'. We can eat dosa 24 *7 and still eat more without hesitation.
Curd which is very much mandatory as we have curd along wit dosa, chapathi, idli and many other deadly combinations and yehhh some uurkai( pickle) how can I forget that. . And we can have a sumptuous meal by juz having curd rice and pickle.
A singer, dancer or some genius’ in the art field.

My house is no exception from all these. All my friends who had visited my house may know this better than me.

And when ever there is a get together in the family u get stuck with some mama,mami , ammanji , or oorupadi of ur relatives who will ask the most dangerous question… “ yenne therinjutho unaku? Nee raajuvode ponnu thane? ( do u recognize me? u r Raju’s daughter right?) and thatz one big embarrassing moment where u give the most stupid smile of urz.. and will be uttering like a reporter on tv.. mhmm a.. aaahhh…. Athuvandhuuu…. Until ur appa or amma comes to ur rescue.

And another thing which scares me while going for a get together is when out of the blue some one betrays you and say’s ‘ Gitavode ponnu nalla paaduva.. avale paada chollen’ ( Gita’s daughter sings really good.. ask her to sing).. thatz one moment when I used to really wish that I could go invisible. And even if u do sing , someone will correct your sruthi, thaalam and ragam which would lead u to end ur musical career ;) . But they do encourage u , as well as give u tips to improve... and whenever they meet u next time they are never stingy in showering u wit praises... Kudoz to all the elders...
hatz wht happens among relatives..


But among friends.. u face the most lovely as well as irritating moments….
When u just finish saying to them that u r an iyer they say “ ohh nee pattar aanale”(Oh..you are a pattar??)grrrr….. tht moment u feel like smashing them.. and also when u say u r a veggie ,next second comes the explanation that they hav a friend whoz an iyer who secretly eats meat but of course with due respects to culture as he removes his punool( the sacred thread) which is really offensive and then u feel like shouting at them that there are people like us who still respect and value our culture. Some have even gone to the extend of asking me whether I have a punool (l0l..). and the lovely moments are when they eagerly ask whether u really break the papads on ur partner’s head on your marriage day or whether the bride sits on her father’s lap at the time of marriage or when they ask us to invite them for ur marriage....and also when they ask recipes of vathakozhambu, maaladu.. etc.
And last but not the least about being a Kerala iyer.. u speak the strangest language.. which is a funny mixture of 80% Malayalam and 20% tamil ... like – ‘ naan ambalathuku poren’ ( I am going to temple) and many more. But I really am proud to be one. But some times u really have an identity crisis as of whether u r a mallu or tamilian. Still I have not sorted it out. But whatever it is I njoy and celebrate being one. We have so many beautiful customs and traditions which i think should be cherished and practiced..


Long live our traditions.... So guyz if ever u get a chance juz attend a wedding of ourz.. u wil know how fun it is...
Apo apramam pakalam… adutha blogile …… neku poka neram vandhachu ketaya...