Nostalgic Departure

I haven't been active on my blog lately due a turmoil of events. Apology to all my fans (assuming I have some). Here is a personal piece written by me.

The sun had found its way under the ground. The streets were well lit by streetlights and headlights. Rickshaws, bikes, cars and trucks passed by, taking the liberty to honk at will. Few women carried their shopping bags and walked on what could somehow qualify as a footpath. A couple of boys walked pass, covered with mud. Shops were functional on the sides. The night was kept busy like always.

We all sat in the hall, occupying all the edges and corners. Some of them sat on the sofas and chairs while we youngsters sat on the floor. My dad’s whole family were gathered, casually reviving old memories. An air of nostalgia enveloped us. Each one was remembering and narrating anecdotes from their childhood in Madhurai.

My dad bunked school regularly to go to the movies. He had a small group who followed suit. His brothers were no less movie buffs. Once, my dad and his friends went for a movie when one of their dads came to his school. My dad’s brother told him that they had gone to some high-profile temple for some high-profile puja. He ran to find them and told them to maintain the same story. That reduced their punishment to a great intensity.

Once, someone from another colony had a small rift with my dad. His oldest brother went and bashed him up to the extent of landing him up in the hospital. There was no such thing as privacy in his store. They all were closely knit gang of bullies. But the entire store, even the neighbouring stores, were terrorised by my thatha. The ones who were attending nature’s call would neglect it and run away on hearing his cycle bell ring. It was almost as if he was some kind of Voldemort.

Once, the entire lot had come to Mumbai for my dad’s marriage. They were going somewhere by the local trains. At Dadar station, one of our relatives remembered that he wanted strings for his violin. So my dad told my other periappa to stand with the rest at a particular spot in the platform while he took the guy along with him to the shop nearby. He returned to find no sign of the gang at that spot. He asked his other relative to stay there and he went searching for them. After an hour passed by, he asked the railway authorities to make an announcement, summoning them to platform 6. My mama-thatha just caught the word “Ananthanarayanan”. Not having a grasp of the language, he assumed that something unfortunate happened. They all rushed to the platform and somehow reunited with my dad. Did I mention cell phones were just a dream back then?

We cousins had our own session of nostalgia as well. We discussed about the way we were as kids. In 3^rd standard, my teacher had told me that eagles fly at a height from the ground and we could spot it from tall buildings. My cousins, Aishwarya and Nandini, lived on the 17^th floor of their building, which was also near a dock. So I started with my eagle watching from their balcony. I stayed there for a week, religiously carrying out my eagle spotting every day. It grew on me as a fascination, which hasn't subdued yet. My cousins would join me at times. After I left, they started eagle spotting occasionally, producing its sound to lure it.

When I went to Madhurai for my vacations, I would meet my other cousins, Kritika, Srikanth, Suraj and Srinithi. Sometimes, the Mumbai cousins would join in too. We usually celebrated Diwali together. Srinithi, our youngest cousin (and the only one younger to me), would be horrified of the crackers. She would hide in her room, covering her ears and keeping the windows shut. Her parents would give her ears some extra protection too, while we all would burst crackers (guilty) together. It was great fun being with them all. We would always make fun of Srinithi. We all took it up as a challenge to get her out of the cocoon, but failed at it. We would play chor-police the whole day and the boys would always be the chor.

Suraj stayed in Mumbai till he was almost four. We both spent a lot of time together and there are photographic records to support the claim. Apparently he would hide all his toys in his closet, every time I went to visit him. Once, I did the same to him. Neither of us have memory of such actions; we just trust what the older folks say.

Nandini told us a story of when she was in Bengaluru with Aishwarya and Suraj. They were pestering her dad, so he told them that there was a pool to the end of the road. They left and took a tour of the whole area. After a while, they lost their way. Her dad realised that they weren't home and sent a search party for them. Aishu was a little big, so she faintly recollected the area and took them home along with her. Till date, they never found the pool.

Pati’s departure to the other world indeed got us closer to each other. We spent time knowing each other and also our nephew and nieces. The rituals were a waste of money and time. However, they worked in bringing us closer to each other. And we finally got to making our own Whatsapp group.

For reference:

Periappa - Dad's elder brother (Tamil)

chor - thief (Hindi)

thatha - Grandfather (Tamil)

pati - Grandmother (Tamil)

Mother's Day Special

Here is my tribute to my own mom on mother's day. My way of expressing love, as writing is what i do best.

Remember when you are in a shopping mall, checking out some interesting cookies and chocolates, when you realise you have lost your mother. A moment of total panic, isn’t it? You start looking around for your mother all over the place. At that moment when you find her, you are finally at peace with yourself. No nirvana can beat that feeling.

Maa, Amma, Mom, Mum, Ami…. They go by so many names, just like God.  Being a mother is one of the hardest jobs and I bow down to every woman handling it with such ease. I for one can’t even take care of a really disciplined cat for five minutes. Mothers take care of their kids all their lives. When a baby gets cranky and loud, it is returned to its mother. We all see how cute and adorable the baby is, only the mother knows what a pain it can be. Yet she loves it more than any one of us.

The ‘Maa’ sentiment is well exploited in Bollywood as well. Any Indian will know this one:
Mere paas gaadi hai, bangla hai,  paisa hai…tere paas kya hai ?

Mere paas Maa hai.

Mothers surpass every other luxury. Everything else means nothing in front of a mother’s love and encouragement. She is the one who will ensure that you grow and make a living for yourself. She will drive you to get the gaadis and banglas to yourself. We are totally lost without her. She is the one who know exactly what you need.

For me, my mom is my best friend. Not because I tell her everything, but because she will make my favourite food to cheer me up even if I don’t. Once we had a monsoon trek in school and it was disastrous. I was depressed for reasons I have no intention to reveal to you all. I hadn’t told my mom what made me sad either. We were supposed to go for a movie that night but I was not up to it. She forced me to come for it, and I am happy that she did. I had the best laugh and felt cheerful after the movie. Whenever I am sick or scared, a hug from mom makes me feel safe. The day I feel off-colour, coincidentally there will be my favourite bhindi fry for lunch. Whenever she goes shopping and finds something of my liking, she buys it for me. She will be more excited about the stuff than me. She once got a chocolate shampoo for me.

When I was in St.Mary’s School, some of my teachers were unfair to me for no reason. She even complained to my mom that I am very inactive and dumb. The truth was that she never gave me a chance to answer any question, even if my hand went shooting up in the air like Hermoine. She even punished me for really minute reasons. My mom believed me and knew that her daughter couldn’t lie. She went to the head-mistress and reported the issue immediately.

When I was 11-12, I used to write many poems. I had written one about friendship, and it was a big hit among the people I showed it to. My mom urged me to send the poem to Dr. A.P.J. Abdul Kalam. She googled his email address and made me send it. He replied to the mail in one line of appreciation. My mom went around flaunting it to everyone. Even now when I publish my blogs, she gets all her friends to read it.

In my early teens, I used to learn Bharatnatyam. We had an annual day program where all of us got 5-10 minutes of stage time to dance. My mother kept telling everyone that I will soon have my arangetrum. For those of you who don’t know, it is a milestone where you perform a series of dances (goes on for 3 hours or more). This is your first official performance, where you are acknowledged as an official dancer. Something like getting a graduation. I never really thought I could do it. To be mild, I wasn’t so good a dancer. I thought that my mom would be headed for a big disappointment. However, one year later, there I was giving my arangetrum. None of it would be possible without her. She pushed me to learn dance. She would be there to drop me and pick me up for practices at all odd hours and sometimes sit through the whole practice session. She would encourage me and my other co-dancers every time we were tired. She came with me to pick-up the saris and accessories, the photo-shoot and all the rehearsals. I owe it to her.

During my 11^th-12^th, when I was preparing for all those devilish entrance exams, my mom would ensure that I got all the books and material I wanted. Even now, she will ensure that I always have my pen-pencil and stationary. She wouldn’t let me leave to college without asking “Pass, Id, Paisa, Mobile sab liya na?” Every time I get nervous before and exam, she cools me down. And every time I have a bad paper, lo! My favourite food appears. She makes sure that I never go hungry and always eat my lunch and dinner. 

My mother is also an inspiration for me. She never lets the fact that she is not a man affect her independence. She is one of the few women who drives the car on her own rather than depending on dad. She is as involved in all the finances and decision making as much as my dad is. She works for social causes and also helps in running the society in her free time. She keeps herself up to date with all the happenings in the world. She is an example that a woman’s rule is not restricted to the kitchen.

Not all is rosy-posy as I have written though. Sometimes we fight like some world war. We don’t agree on a lot of things. Sometimes I am just a punching bag to vent her anger out. But it doesn’t mean I hate her or anything, I know that she just wants the best for me. In days of my childhood I have been lonely and with low self-esteem, she was the only one who always believed in me. No matter how old I grow, who I meet and how successful I become, I know that I am doomed without mom. I would like to thank my mom for everything. (Mom, if you are reading this, I expect some pulikachal soon :P).

Different Kind of Love

The smell of coffee, Christmas bells, dim lights and a buzz of laughter… Here I was at Starbucks, with two of my closest friends from college. We were chatting as usual, about all things under and over the sun, poking fun at each other. Talking oodles of nonsense, cracking disgusting and dirty jokes, making whimsical situations out of nothing… Losing track of time and finally realizing how our parents are going to burn us alive.

There is something about hanging out with friends nothing can replace. When I say friends, I don’t mean the huge group of 15-20 people who can match your face with your name in their memory. I mean the 2-3 of them who can name all your allergies.

I was depressed in the morning, over thinking and questioning our very existence. We all have those days when we go so deep into the meaning of life, that we forget to make a meaning of it. Due to a long month of exams, I couldn’t hang out with my friends. All I did was sleep, tweet and eat(and a bit of studying). And yes catch up with some football. The more time I spent alone, the more I drove myself into an insane depression.

After ages, I went out with my best buddies to Starbucks. We spoke of philosophy, history and wonders of nature. We discussed of spirituality and science. We also discussed about the latest episode of Big Bang Theory and How I Met Your Mother. My friend went on about how she has fallen in love with BBC’s Sherlock Holmes. We took numerous pictures and freaked our innocent little angel for a friend with talks of the forbidden(shame that its still a forbidden topic).

Your friends are an anti-depressant pill. They are something your boyfriend (or girlfriend) and family can never be. Love isn’t limited to the boy-girl thing, its abundant for everyone, that’s what friends teach you. Friends always have your back, though they might joke about pushing you off a cliff with full joy. With them you can be your ugliest, meanest and silliest. No formality over the last piece of pizza, but a war instead! Want to feel extra awkward in front of your crush, count on your friends. They openly claim they pray every day for a bird to poop on your face.

Yet when you cry, they become your personally hired clowns. They always manage to put a smile on your face, even when you are suicidal. When you are serious, they bring your insane side out. They can make you laugh just by their mere presence. You can share your secrets, fantasies and dreams, which you won’t dare to reveal to anyone else. Not even your family or lover. You may say that a lover makes life worth it, but friends make life beautiful and lively.

While you still breathe, make space and time for your friends. Don’t lose them. While false friends are flowers, who shed away in autumn of your life, true ones are like roots, support you till death. While we always manage to keep in touch with family and be in relationships, somewhere in the journey of life, friends are left behind.