Chicken Little

911

Dear Children,

I understand that the both of you are my parents. And that's why it's terribly important that you grow up.

No, I'm not tired because I sleep with my windows closed and the ac turned off. I'm not tired because I don't have enough iron jumping my arteries. I'm not tired because I sleep in the midst of a bed full of confusion.

I am tired because you leave me uninspired. I'm tired of not being at the center of attention. I'm tired of trying to understand how hard life is for the both of you. And I'm tired of not being understood in return. I'm tired of acting carefully to spare the both of you arguments. I'm tired of living my life to make up for your individual shortcomings - one's lack of respect and understanding, and the other's acting out as a result of not being respected or understood. When will you understand that throwing blame is the easiest way out and that it's a bad example to set for your children?

Why have I rarely asked for help and guidance? Because the both of you are too full of your own issues. But I need it now. And I'm too ashamed to tell you that I'm feeling a little lost. So I'm telling everybody else instead. Let the world know that I'm jealous, greedy, needy and insecure. Because I'm sure while most may think I'm being unnecessarily childish, somebody out there will understand.

Maybe I'm acting out. But I'm not a mind reader. And if you do appreciate me, consider talking about that once in a while, instead of how toast always manages to slip from my fingers or how I sleep with all the lights on.

Here's where I'm comparing -
I may not have a million friends, or know how to chat up random strangers. I may not have certificates to prove I've completed things, and I've let one too many of my past times go. I may not dress to kill or know to throw a party.
But in comparison, how much have you encourgaed me with praise and appreciation? Aren't you the one's who have told me that money is hard to come by?

So please stop confusing my with your contradictions.

I'm quite sure you're aware of how terribly grateful I am for everything the two of you have given me. Because if I wasn't, I would have been a much harder child to deal with. We all know you had it easy with me. I've given you very little grief to date.

But I think I deserve a little more attention. Don't you? Because I'm walking a thin line here. And if there's one thing the both of you are right about, it's that I wasn't gifted with balance.

Feeling warm in the ears? Welcome to adulthood.

love Love

I love love. It makes the world yellow.
I miss love. I wished it away.
I had Love. He made my world yellow.
I wish Love, that I could stay.

Sea of Rain

watch out

WallFlowers have eyes.
WallFlowers have ears.
WallFlowers have mouths.

I live in my own shadow

There's a thin thin line between my shadow and my soul -
the part of me that follows and the part that makes me whole.
It's a thin thin line that keeps my past at bay
in the hope that I'll be better with the coming of the day.
For when the glory falls behind me, my shadow leads me on
reminding me I've done something to earn a little scorn.
And when I have been humbled and the glory becomes my guide
My shadow falls behind me and reminds me I've been tried.
But at that sacred hour when the glory is above my soul,
This shadow grows to nothing, and I'm rid of it's toll.
The hour may not vist plenty, but it's sure to come around
In it's respite I enjoy oblivion of what has and to be done.
It's one of those hours I now long for, when my conscience feels no pain
And I'm granted an hour of freedom to live now with no loss or gain.

Why I hate it when you drink

Alcohol makes
a wise man out of a fool;
a generous man out of a beggar;
an independant man out of a dependant man;
a sensible man out of an irrational man;
a friend out of an enemy;
a free man out of a prisioner;
a happy man out of a weeper;
a king out of a slave;
And vice versa. As is in your case.

One way. Or another.

Befriend something first. And then perhaps love will follow. Perhaps.

Shine on

I finally spent my money on something useful - my self esteem.

A week back, I summoned my pride before me, caught it in a gunny bag, and shoved it under a boulder. I then walked into the sports store, smiled at the salesman and said a tad sheepishly "I need to learn to cycle". I'll bet it's not something he hears often from a 21 year old. I appreciate his courtesy and his almost successful attempt to suppress a smirk. "Take this one, madam. (Quite symbolically, especially in my case, the model he suggested was named "Shine") I guarantee you'll learn to cycle in a week. Don't worry". Good faith? Good salesmanship? Either which ways, his kindness had me signing away a good bundle of cash and years of self doubt.

Two hours with a person who's been fantastic enough to bear the weight of my diffidence one time too many, and I had succeeded. I was out there, master of my greatest nemesis - accomplishment colouring my soul, and cold wind in my face, only gender differentiated me from a Hillary conquering Everest or a Jake Sully totally owing Toruk (I so totally am in love with that movie!).


I didn't tell anyone. I enjoyed the secret. But, on talking to people afterward, I've realized that I'm not one-of-a-kind. A lot of people my age haven't pushed the pedal hard enough.

So if any of you are reading this, I'll stand testament to the fact that 'impossible' is impossible. I, like you, have two left feet, trip over myself and weild butter fingers; to begin with. I can't catch a ball either. Yet. But I can, if I want it bad enough. And you can too.

They say growing up is about finding balance. Well watchyaknow! They are absolutely right!

Every Dog Has Its Day

Fare well lil' mangy black-spotted dog.

Now that you’re a wanderer amongst those star-spangled celestial fields above, may your new found grace give Paris Hilton’s Chihuahua a run for Paris Hilton’s money.

Remember Puppy, Puppy’s puppy, Mr. Puppy, and Mani - Be their Dogfather. Cotton Street’s no bed of t-boned steaks. And they’re gonna need a resilient Watch Dog to get them through these hard times.

You were never a dog in the manger. I'll vouch for that. Yes, you did hog The Threshold. But that's only because it was a dog-eat-dog world past the gate. And the merchants beyond did not look fondly upon your mangled appearance.

It pained me to see you struggle to get by every day. Because you really lived a dog’s life. And you died an unexpected death. A little too literally, did that doggone bastard take that ambiguous parable that advised him to let a sleeping dog lie, when he revved the engine and ran over you and your sweet dreams. The deed being done, he drove away. He shall have his day too.

But seriously - You lucky dog, you! I hear there's no pain and sorrow and misery and hunger and vengeance and greed and deceit and hate where you are. There'll be no more stones and taunts and abuses and disgust to be thrown your way.

You've been spared the misery of increasingly unbearable dog days that these humans are selfishly cooking up by abusing their air-conditioners. And so much more. My world, it sadly ain't going to the dogs. No, It's going to the humans. And you wont have to live witness to the end of that shaggy-dog-story.

I cry, but I'm happy for you. You're a top dog now.

I wish you well. Some lucky sucker up there is gonna get one helluva good best friend.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

PEOPLE: Before you hop into your cars, take a peek under. If your luck's anything like mine, you'll find a sleeping dog under the chassis 9 times out of 10. Yes it's inconvenient, and yes, it's an added responsibility, but It's a dog's life after all!

Left - Right - Left

Republic Day Parade 2010

Let the Hammer Fall

Going back to IIT inspired a flood of memories and a stream of tears that I willed be invisible. The sweet smell of freshly printed vinyl sponsor banners was what brought on the reminiscences. A year back, and I was pretty much at the top of a food chain - planning out which banners went where and what impact each would have on the course of one my most important endavours. How I miss Loyola College... and the person I was. And boy, was I unprepared for life after, and the maddening jungle that it is.

My life has a way of going according to plan...not.

When I walked in to The Department, all I knew, was that I wanted to do well. Making friends was not on my agenda. Neither was learning Tamil slang or liking 'padams'. But I ended up doing all those things...and so much more.

Turning my back on school, I thought my best years were behind me and that I'd never love college as much. But that too, like so much else, changed. Because I left college with a whole new outlook on life, inspired by the most fantastic people ever. From them, I learnt to find joy in simple things. I started to understand the value of money. And I learnt to be proud of where I come from.If at some point the people who studied with me read this, Thanks. For your fantastic support through it all. And for all the lessons I learnt from all of you. I know I was difficult quite often. But thanks for being there for me any which way. And for still finding time to chill out at NRC a year later :)

Like I said, plans changed. And I changed.

And now it's time to change again.

So, I've 'let the hammer fall' (In the words of Joacim Cans, lead singer of Swedish band, Hammerfall, who totally owned the rock show at Saarang. Mygodman! The harmony and the melody and the solos and the double bass and the red tights and the fancy guitars and the hair and the rhythm and the power and the everything else...total superfantasticism).

The Verdict:

College is in the past. College is in the past. College is in the past. And I've over stayed in the welcoming comfort of its memories.

As hard as this is going to be, I'm packing my bags. And I'm hopping into a rocket-like machine. Direction next? Up. I'm not sure how I'm going to get to where I want to be. But thanks to you guys, I've learnt that though things change, as long as I know where I want to be, life will lead me there. And that the travel plans will alter only in terms of the journey, not the destination.

I hope that one day I can return the favour.

shattered

You idiot. Never ever ever scare me like that again.

We were laughing. Talking about nice things. And to see you there, in front of that...Let's just say I've never been more wide-eyed in my life. Everything slowed down. Including you. And my feet felt glued to the ground. And all I could do was scream.

What surprises me, is that you weren't even aware that it was heading straight towards you. It's quite an appalling thought...that danger can not only sneak upon, but hurtle towards even someone as observant and tuned-in as you, without being detected.

I'm just glad that the higher powers were on our side. And that you were gifted that extra second.

The spectacles were a good lesson though...that one minute you're a part of somebody's life, and that all it takes is just one measly unfortunate second to be broken and turn useless.

Idiot.

3 meals

He left the appam behind. Untouched. He paid the bill, his face sour and the tips of his ears red from all the screaming. And walked out, his stomach leading him by three-quarters of a foot and his backside following by another.

What led to this string of events was the fact that he was hungry. And ID was crowded and the appam pan had over-heated.

The fried chef had been managing alright, each meal taking a good ten minutes longer than usual. 'Groucho' had walked in a while before and placed an order. He seemed hungry and antsy. And the food really was taking time. So when the chef finally got the appam to his plate, he burst into a slew of abuses and kept yelling until the manager arrived. He demanded the bill. He pretentiously opened his wallet, dumped the money at the cashier, and walked out.

The food went to waste.

There's no doubting that he's probably otherwise, a relatively decent man. Like most of us generally are. Except for when we're hungry. Our bowels usually get the better of us. And gas does well to fuel anger.

Life sure must be hard for chefs. Imagine the job stress that comes with a profession that guarantees dealing with potential time bombs on a daily basis.

3 meals -Getting by is pretty tough without one of them.

Conversation rarely turns sour when it’s bounteous with nature's goodness. A well fed person is always healthy, wealthy and wise. We learn well, behave well and are generous with laughter and courtesy. But when we're hungry, some of us get depressed, others turn whinny, and some even resort to violence and tears. I personally either get really quite or I end up biting someone's head off. Yup, we sure require food for thought. We require it to think, and we require it to be thoughtful.

3 meals - It must be really, really, really tough then getting by without the surety of having even just one at all.

Which then gets you realizing that poor people aren't mannerless, greedy, irrational and rude just because they aren't educated. They don't bother about education, etiquette and courtesy because hunger devours all other ambitions. They can't afford being polite, cheery and pleasant quite simply because they can't afford a square meal a day, let alone 3.

So let's all us 3 meals-plus-7-in-betweeners-a-day gorgers give 'em a break when they come tapping the tinted windows of our air-conditioned sedans within which we sit munching packets of unhealthy fried food that each cost twice the amount of a single wholesome meal.

Yes, it is true - they're perfectly normal, limbs all in order . They should probably be working if they need money. And if we keep feeding them, they'll never learn. But everybody needs a break. And since we can afford it, it’ll be very cool of us to help them catch one. A little food just might take them a long way.

And if charity to someone in need is not really your cup of tea, consider abstaining from being judgmental at least. Because remember, if they did have food, it’s quite possible that a good number of them would probably kick your arse in math. To begin with.

Colour full

Pongal-O-Pongal.

Pongal. It's one jolly holiday. Four days of r&r.

Pongal. It's one jolly holiday. For most people. I had to spend a greater part of it boxed up in a studio, twiddling my thumbs, picking my nails, counting the number of holes in a square foot of soundproofing.

Pongal. It's a day of paying homage to all your hard work and the environment that supports it. So, perversely, I spent my jollydays at the studio. At work. But, I suppose it's the least i could do for all the support I've been getting from there - My way of paying homage.

But I had my moments.

Pongal. Ah, the food.

Pongal. And the colours. Colours everywhere. Both expected and some pleasantly surprising. It's what I love most about Madras. There's so much colour everywhere...and on everyone. And the January sun. It bathes everything in brilliance. Nature's high saturation mood. Yellow. Sun. *smiling*

Pongal. And traditional art. And this citybitty's rendition of it.



Pongal and Kaanum Pongal. At the Chennai Trade fair. Thousands, each draped in yards of blindingly colourful synthetic fabric decked disproportionately with shiny sequins; Accompanied by husbands ranging from uncaring, to tiresome, to drunk, to chivalrous, to overly possessive; Burdened with tiny limbed bundles. Or just boys. And men, who will never be titled gentle. Lecherous, horny younguns who can't really help what their hormones are doing to their disposition; Though being more subtle would have made life more pleasant for the shy, overprotected girls walking with their mothers' aged in-laws. What's a holiday without some madness? Family. friendship. And carnival joy. More Madness. And the rush for the rides. And riding the rides. And screaming. Loud. Without having to conjure explanation. Loved it all.




Pongal. And chilling with someone who loves colour, madness and simple life just as much as you do.

Pongal. It's about thanking Providence. For being able to reap far more than that which was sown. My day is a good example. I was just saving a cloud. And here's what Providence gifted me.




Pongal. Oh, Pongal.

Retail Therapy

What is it, about walking into an overrated store, and picking up an overpriced piece of tailored cloth that can make a lousy mood vanish, I'll never understand.

Maybe it's the excitement of looking a tad new, since appearance is probably the easiest of faults to fix.

Or maybe it's the joy of believing you've worked hard enough to deserve a reward.

Or maybe it's the excitement of rebelling: Knowing you haven't really worked hard enough. But you have a card. And you can shop. So you're going to. Even though you don't really deserve it. But who cares? Because you can. Right?

Or maybe it's just all the colour. And the smell of unused clothing. And the freedom of choice.

Ah shopping. I'd pick it any day over other vices.

Smoking... Well that's a waste of breath. And money up in smoke.

Alcohol... What goes in must come out. Wasteful ingestion. And I haven't really developed a taste for numbing my senses. Yet.

Chocolate... It's an option. And a fairly less pricey one at that. But as an option to shopping.... we'll let's just say in this case, I'd much rather shed pounds and shop than gorge on chocolate and add 'em.

People... Wish I liked them enough to believe they could cheer me up.

I could just take a walk out in the sun. But that joy isn't something I can put on and rejoice about while looking at the mirror. And it doesn't make anybody jealous. Where's the investment in that? ; )

So, when deep in thought, I shop. It helps me chill. I wish I could tell you why. But vices are vices because you know they aren't a cure, but temporary therapy that will just about suffice.

And today, I chanced upon an array of sales. Though usually I frown upon picking up discount stock that's a season too late, this whole growing up thing and wanting to budget my spending in proportion to my earning doesn't leave my with much. So, i discounted my pride. And dived in. I resurfaced with a bold green striped tee.

My name is Tara. And i am a shopaholic.

(P.S: Not really. Just a social shopper. But I wanted to end on a high)