And so, the year ends.

It feels very liberating to not have plans for the big 31st night. No resolutions either.  No pressure to force yourself to do something cool. To meet friends and welcome the new year in style. Drunk.

I was, until last year, one of those. I whined and cried about not having a 'happening' New Year's eve. The man had to hear endless grumbling of how my life had changed after marriage and how my life had irrevocably changed after Mishmash was born. This year strangely, there are no emotions brewing. I find myself at peace with life and everything around me. And this year I have consciously chosen not to draft resolutions. Let me just live 2012 one day at a time, and give each day all my love and energy.

And to all of you, have a blessed 2012.

Woh kagaz ki kashti, woh barish ka paani...

Majidi's Song of Sparrows brought me back to this space. I needed to be moved in a deep way to write. I had to be urged fervently and persuasively.

The film like Majidi's other's evokes a sense of void. A void in our lives and the way you (we) are living it. Devoid of little nothings that actually make a life worth living. I look at my 5 year old and feel  guilty for giving her a life that's so forgetful - or so I think. I'm sure she'll have her memories. But not as good as mine. And I feel almost remorseful about living in a city like Singapore.  Nothing against the city- but you know, the experiences she is having vis-a-vis what I had are so disconnected. I know its unfair to compare her childhood with mine - we are a generation apart. Still, how redundant can climbing Guava trees and chasing butterflies get? 

Part of the problem lies in the parenting styles. My mother never bothered with what I was up to when I stepped out. It was not a matter of trust- it was just plain aloofness. What can a kid do outdoors? Play? pretend-destroy plants? Demolish a few sand castles? Catch worms? Pick up a fight with another kid? Snakes were regular visitors in our gardens- but she knew they don't just come to get you, a la Nagina. I spotted ALL the snakes in our garden and alerted my parents - including a Cobra. I was not allowed in the garden for 2 days. Once the fear subsided, ma let us out again. 

My point is- to get Mishmash to play- I have to call 10 mums, arrange for a 'play-date', think about her picnics, fix timings to pick up and drop. I don't understand this style. I dislike it to the extent that I don't call and do these things as much as Mishmash would like it. I let Mishmash just play with whoever she finds in the play area. I'd like her to have her own experiences than me play-writing them for her. Let her encounter her demons, fight them herself. This over-parenting style is not my style at all. But i'm getting more and more coerced into following it, only to make her happy. 

Saddens me to see her with I-pads and watching her play in 'protected play areas', with me watching over her all the time. Not done. I'd much rather have her closer to nature with a set of wild kids going on their own adventures. 

 I think the only way I can do that is by introducing my native place to her- my village Kanachchanda.

Magar mujhko lauta do bachpan ka sawan...

Mahalaya

Woke up  to Birendra Krishna Bhadra's voice reciting the Chandipath, invoking Ma Durga. Woke up the man for an early cuppa and he looked thoroughly confused. Sometimes I wonder who is more Bong!  I missed being with dad as usual..he is the one who wakes up and tunes in to All India Radio for Mahalaya. These days its from a CD, though. I remember as a wee kid how I watched dad waking up much before 4 am to tune in to catch the AIR frequency. It took a long while to tune in and sometimes we'd lose it. Perhaps that was the magic and aura of listening to Mahalaya. Something so charming about the entire morning event. Last year on Mahalaya I wrote this , and I have nothing new to write about this Mahalaya either. I reminisce of the same memories again and again wistfully and wish I was a little girl again.

Shubho Mahalaya to all of you!

Of Indian Beauty Parlours and Maamis

Decided to check out an 'Indian' beauty parlour.  In the midst of the very urban and uber chic Orchard road, stood this 'plaza'. [One quick  observation - plazas in Singapore often comprise of small time shops - fake electronic goods, cheap watches, souvenier shops, Indian darzis,  etc.] This parlour was recommended by a Mallu friend , but I had forgotten the name of the shop, so decided to check  every floor till I come across a familiar sounding/Indian name. Sleepy massage parlours, a specialised 'males only' waxing place that offered Brazilian wax(!), and dimly lit tailor shops dotted the first floor. I was having second thoughts about this ' plaza' but instinct told me to continue my search . The escalater took me to the second floor and I smelt something familiar. It was a faint smell and I decided to give my olfactory nerves a chance. The smell got stronger and I soon knew it was insence and within seconds I was walking into a cloud of smoke. MS Subbulakshmi's Suprabhatam played in the background. Jesus, Mary, Ganesha, Aishwarya, Sonali Bendre, Kajol - all stared at me from their respective walls. . Pochampally bedsheets covered with plastic, assorted machines waiting to steam, clean, wash their customers, and a stack of Tamil magazines lay strewn in a corner. I waited for someone to emerge from somewhere. I was in no hurry. I looked at the plastic flowers in a vase . The place reminded me of the parlour next to our place in Hyderabad. Then she appeared- a lady, about 40... oiled hair, in a simple cotton salwar kameez.

She - 'ess. What do you want?'

Me- 'threading, please'.

She- 'come sit . whats your name?'

Me- Aparna

She -  ok ABARNA. New-aa? 

Me- erm yes. 

She- wait pleasss. 

Out of no where a very noisy person enters the parlour. An old lady,  gleaming bright, walks in and starts talking to the parlour's caretaker/owner. A barrage of words and sentences followed. I tried to keep pace with this lyrical outpour of very loudly and rapidly spoken language.  From whatever broken Tamil I understood, I realised she had come straight from the dentist after her root canal for 'henna dye'. Then followed a very animated  conversation with me in the middle, while she spoke to her -Aijjyooo, something something...parava illiya..something..seri..something something. Oooo 200 dollars aa? ..something something apadiya...aamaa, seri seri.

All this while, I was  listening to the whole thing, with a lot of interest. I forgot that I was asked to wait while she continued her banter with her friend. There was more talk - some neice of her's from America had lost a lot of weight. Maatram vegetables diet. 

'Ahem. Can I get my threading done please?' .

'Ess ess. One minute, can you sit. I will come in 5 minutes. Poor thing see, she got root canal. I will put henna and then do for you fast fast'. [she flashed the nicest smile. How could I say no?]

I settled down with a few magazines. Tried looking for a Femina or something in English. Found a half-Tamil half-English magazine called IMN (Indian Movie News). Got some beauty tips in a film magazine- on how to make your 'dandruff go off' and learnt how 'hair will shine superb'. A lady called Mahalakshmi Kamalakannan wrote this absolutely intense piece of beauty advice. Read a bit more about Mani Retnam's' Magnum Opus 'Ponniyin Selvan', and about this 'i'm too sexy for my shirt hero , Jeyram Ravi who acted in some Kaadhal movie (just curious, how many Tamil movies begin/end with that word?).

By this time, Suprabhatham was over, Bhavayami continued in background. I decided to close my eyes and listen. Just then,  I was summoned. 'Abarna. Come. Let us finish off with your eyebrosss!'. I came out and saw Maami with henna on her head. As she plucked my brow, Maami, began a new topic. I was too distracted (and in pain) to concentrate on what she said. She was done in 5 mins flat. Perfect!

As I left this plaza, I was strangely satisfied. [If only she had offered me a cup of filter Kaapi]. I was just so taken by this out of the blue Maami-outfit in the middle of Singapore's most happening street, that I had no time to be cynical. I laughed as I passed by Gucci, Guess, Hermes, Marc Jacobs...the usual boring stuff.  

Singapore, surprise me more pliss!

So long then, Sydney.

When I left Hyderabad, I shed a few tears. It was mostly for the family I was leaving behind. Bangalore didn't move me much, but I knew I'd miss it for friends and for the fabulous city that it was. But Sydney is something else, and Nine By Thirty, Cherrybrook is something else all together. This house gave me a purpose, made my biggest and most important dream come true, gave us countless unforgettable moments and memories. But it's time to move, yet again. And this move is a difficult one, albeit, a move that we chose to make.

We've been in Sydney for close to 3 years now and it's only been fabulous. I've loved living the Australian way. Absolutely adored the happy, chill out attitude of the Aussies and the lush and picture perfect vast landscapes of Australia. Its without doubt one of the best looking cities in the world. People here are warm and relaxed. I've rarely experienced the tensions that a typical city dweller does. This beer drinking, steak eating,  beach loving, barbeque mad country, has giving me a lot. Barring the winter and the fact that it is just so far away from home, I haven't had any complaints.  At some point we wanted to settle down here, but the heart didn't agree with the head. For the first time, I'm at a loss for words. I don't know how to thank and say beautiful things about this country and the new friends we met here. I won't do justice with my writing...and mere words cannot describe my deepest feelings.  I'll miss you Sydney. Miss you oh so much.

And I know, I'll come back to say hello to you again, Sydney. But it's time now to say hello to a new country and embrace and experience new sights, sounds and cultures. So long, then.

Aami gaayi..

Found a lovely translation by Barnali Saha of the song, Ghore Pherar Gaan. And that's exactly how I feel at the moment.

I sing the going home song
My distressed soul calls me incessantly, asks me
Despite being miles afar
Why, why the bond is still so strong?


Thus my indefatigable body
Peregrinates day and night
Startled, I stop short
I think I hear that same old tune from somewhere
Rusty, yet scintillating in my mind


I cannot go back if I want
I have traversed countries and eons
Untraveled roads still lie ahead of me
Roads that cannot be tricked for sure


I wish I could go back to that village
To that shady bower of the Bunyan tree once more
That same old creek
The soft murmur of the breeze

Can you bid adeu to the to the grim and gay memories lying in the crevasses of your heart


Many a times I search for the lost country
I know there is no ending
The mirage flashes a thousand vague dreams
I cannot return to the idyllic childhood anymore, the road has vanished, the land is lost
I cannot go back if I want
I have traversed countries and eons
Untraveled roads still lie ahead of me
Roads that cannot be tricked for sure.

Blessings Unlimited!

Aaaaacho!
Gaw Besss u mumma. I lubb u mumma.
Aaaachooooo! Aaaaachuu!
Gaw Besss u mumma. I lubb u mumma.Gaw Besss u mumma. I lubb u mumma.
(this continued through the day. The count stood at 37 Gaw Besss u mumma's and I lubb u mumma's )

Then, a while back. At 12.39 am. while we were all asleep. All the 3 of us.
Aaaaaachoooo!
Gaw Besss u mumma. I lubb u mumma.!!!

Awww baby! It's ok. Mumma's ok. Go to sleep.

But I lubb u Ma.

(where do these sugar balls come from? If I didn't hv a throat infection I'd eat her up. My baby. Myyy Mishmash)

Away from You, on a day like today.

It's funny how we try to feel at home,

away from home.

We fool ourselves,

with the usual-

festivals and films,

food and friends.

Imprudently we believe, 

we carry you with us

where ever we go.

You. 

You, the one with a billion and some voices

that call me today,

as I try to make peace with myself.

So, how do you feel today,

with streets agog with your (my) countrymen,

frenzied and euphoric?

Did you miss me?

I worry, you didn't.

But I did.

Acutely.

I missed the air about you,

the pulse, the beat,

the rouse; 

while we shed tears of joy,

albeit, away from you.

Oh, tell me again,

how do you feel, today?

What does it look like,

to see a billion and some faces smile bright?

Do tell, India, how does it feel like?

[Such a proud moment. Such a wonderfully proud moment. And I'm away from my beloved country. 

Congratulations and celebrations, fellow Indians. How does it feel like, eh? :-) ]

Damsels in distress

Over the last couple of days I watched about 4-5 films, including Hitchcock's North by Northwest. And its appalling how sexist all these movies are in their portrayal of women. I mean even Hitchcock's she-spy is such a darned damsel in distress. Not one female role in any of the movies I saw could do their job well. Be it the gullible bank manager or the junkie in Ben Affleck's Town or any random movie u watch, women characters are never meant to do their jobs right. They mess up, fall in love with the wrong people, are taken for a ride, have cat fights,are weak kneed when they see their heroes, can't keep their gob shut, are timid  or are stupid. 

Bah. 

Note to self- pick up a book, soon.

Remind me please..

why did we move away from India? What brought us here? Fresher air? More space? What does one mean by better quality of life? How does the quality of life get any better without family and friends? Friends. Where are they? I don't even know what it means to hang out any more. Adda is merely a nostalgic sounding word.
No really, remind me, why did we move away,again? It is over a year since I met my parents. I feel dead. I feel like I exist and live only virtually. There is no real me anywhere. I don;t really live any more.

Why did we choose a life devoid of friends and family? The greenery is getting to me. The spotlessness of this place is nauseous.

I quit. Take me back. I want to be home.

The prettier necklace

Ma one and Ma two,
I'm having a tough time pleasing you two.

Ma 1, you are my biological mother,
therefore, an extra strand of garnet around Ma 2's neck shouldn't really matter!

You will remain the main woman of my life
even if I'm Ma 2's son's wife.

Do you think I love you less

because of an extra strand in Ma two's necklace?

For you I'll string a hundred more,
each one better than the one before.

So, be happy and smile for me,
come now, didn't you get that strand of Garnets for free? :D

Jealousy is not a virtue,
and that's something taught to me by you.

My lovely Ma one, you'll always be my muse,
so lets shake hands and call it a truce.


{ I made two necklaces for both the mums. Should have made both exactly the same. My bad. :D }

You tell

Pallavi's post on racism took me back to an incident I faced in Sydney a couple of months ago. I was working on a story for  Condenast Traveller, on Sydney. Of the many places to visit in Sydney, I wanted to feature Chinese Laundry or Ivy Bar as one of the top night clubs to go to. I made my way to the place and introduced myself to the staff and asked for the manager. Before landing there, I had tried in vain to reach them via email or telephone.
Once there,  a waitress asked me to wait. I did, for over half an hour (it was afternoon on a weekday ). I was running out of time. I decided to make my way inside to look for someone who could help me. I found the same waitress who had earlier spoken to me, walking down the stairs. She looked helpless (very scared too) and pointed me to the manager, busy inspecting the bar. It was evident that he was told of my visit, but refused to come see me, let alone know why I was there. I walked up to him and told the purpose of my visit. He looked at me from head to toe and asked in a very disinterested and derogatory manner- 'what is it that you need'? He hadn't apparently heard of Conde Nast Traveller magazine, and that he couldn't help me.  I asked him if he could get me through to the PR or corp com manager of Merivale, the group that owned both the bars. He refused. He said, he didn't know. I further asked if he could give me the email id instead. By then he was walking away.

I could have taken this with a pinch of salt and forgotten about it. But the condescending manner in which he spoke and eyed me like I was a piece of shit, really got me. I was really upset and walked away with tears gleaming in my eyes. And that's exactly what I shouldn't  have done. I behaved like a perfectly insipid woman. He had the right to not give me any information if he so wished (though I doubt he knew ANY darn thing). But he had NO right to treat me the way he did.

What do you think I could have done?
And  I'm not sure how to categorize this incident. Racist?

You tell.

I wish i had

baked those cup cakes . I just had such a foot in the mouth moment. Half an hour after the earlier post, the man comes home with an FCUK dress and a while later my favourite flowers.

And now, I don't know whether to laugh or cry :).

Stumped! Floored! Totally in shock :)

(How awful do I feel at the moment? Not very, coz secretly I am all squish squash in my heart and going awwww).

oh!

Someone I know got an i-pad today . Another one  wrote a poem. Some have chosen easy and inexpensive ways of expression, like dedicating Youtube Love song links on FB to their Valentines. Long distance lovers are sulking. Our own heroine, Mishmash, wrote a 'Love Note' to my dad.  This leaves us with The man and me.

He  left for an 'important' meeting' early in the morning. Uncomfortably early. Uncomfortable because I'm tired of waking up early to make lunch and pack Mishmash's lunch box, make brekky, feed, clothe, drop her. And I haven't been getting much help or attention from this man. The same one who came to Pune from Delhi with A bottle of Dabur Amla Kesh Tel as a Valentine's day gift.

Rubbing my eyes I wished him a Happy Valentine's. He said, 'oh!'.

'Oh'.

No prizes for guessing what's for dinner tonight.

Hope you had a far better one!

[May be I should go bake a few cup cakes.
Nope. I won't.]

Summer and you

Its sweltering hot,
and while it is so, I think of you,
mangoes and our Guava tree.
Summer does that to me.

Remember how I climbed on my favourite branch
to mug history essays?
With every boring para, I took short snack breaks,
crawled on to other branches,
and plucked those sun ripened greenish yellow fruit.

I shared them with you.
Though, you preferred raw mangoes
with red chilli and salt.
You had yours, sitting on the kitchen steps
while I had mine perched up there.

It is as hot these days,

and the tree and you are on my mind.
I get glimpses of the tree.
But you,
I can barely see you.

Do you think of me?
Of the butterfly catching expeditions we went on?
Surely you didn't forget the cycle!
Or, have you?

Tell me, do you still think of me,
perched on the Guava tree?

Do you?

Break Ke Baad

Suffice to say, I was on a long break. And what I did in these months are a dangerous territory to tread on. Too many things then need to be told, parallel sub-plots will show up, and I have to needlessly end the deep slumber my head seems to be taking for a nice long time now.

A full year went by. A winning year, through and through for me. Lots of goods, fewer lows, big wins, small disappointments. In all, a model year. But for the fact that I sneezed more number of times last year compared to any given year that I've lived so far, I have no issues. I began with a holiday (India) and ended with one too (New Zealand). Nine By Thirty was born and I wrote professionally for top websites. My publishing dream has been carried forward to this year. I can already see it in the distant horizon.

From my family standpoint, the man didn't threaten me with divorce papers, and I managed to bring down my divorce threats to him by a record number. Only on one or 2 occasions- and they weren't exactly threats. I'm a little disappointed though that we both are showing strong signs of behaving like adults. I wonder if 2011 will see us both fight over things we fought over 7 years back. Its for us to wait and watch.

No big issues with parents or in-laws. Absolutely none. And this is a sure shot sign that we are a couple that belong to the youth brigade, no more. We talk  to elders with caution and display very little rebellious tendencies to instigate them. Mishmash did not report us to the welfare guys here. She seems to know how to call the police though and say a thing or two about how her mum threatens to switch off the television. That seems like her only complain from her mum. Too much milk and too little TV.

I managed to lose a few pounds too. I still don't defy gravity, but I feel a lot lighter this January than in did in Jan 2010. Probably that's what gave me the courage to do this - yes, a perfect way to end 2010. Take a look

The year end bungy jump was a cherry on top for 2010. I'm especially proud of this feat because I'm actually a very timid person, scared of heights, roaches, lizards and the usual things such people are terrified of. This was one instance where I came face to face with my fears and I knew I had to conquer it.
And oh, What. A. High. 

So this year, I have a list (I actually sat down and wrote a three page - I-will-dos - for 2011. And its already working. A part of one such 'will do' has already seen the light of the day, in a very exciting way. It is amazing the ways in which our wishes come true. Here's a look at how my year began-

[ Appeared in Bangalore Mirror 2.1.11] Linking it to the online copy- click on it to read.

BLR Mirror- 2.1.11 - Had the will, found the way

So yes, I'm having a party and the Universe is arranging it all for me. :D

As and when the items on my list get done, I will hopefully bring it to your notice. Given that its a 3 pager, I already know The Quaint and Luminous Life of a Cha Lover will see quiet a few exciting posts in 2011. Amen. Tathastu. Ameen.

Maha Ashtami

Maha Ashtami.

Just another day for many,

away from home. Like me.

I attempted to make the morning

characteristic of special days like these.

Strong fragrance of incense 

mixed with smoky aromas of

ballooned Luchis ,

hung precariously in the air,

unsure of its presence in an alien country.

And, it was silent,

the surroundings, you know.

I couldn't hear Ma's bangles clink,

or dad sing;

not even a distant beat of Dhaak, 

or the resonance of a conch.

It was all silent,

as silent as the dead.

I sat by the porch,

all dressed, with a touch of vermilion,

to catch a glimpse of somebody. Anybody.

There was nobody.

Miles away, they must be sleeping,

and dreaming of the biggest day of the nine days.

Maha Ashtami.

But in some parts of the world,

its just another day.

Pujo ramblings.

Bangalis from all over the world are posting pictures of Ma Durga from their respective locations on Facebook. I go through all of them diligently. IK also sent me an email with info on a cricket tournament to be held at the Bangalee Samitee of NSW. I look at everything in a strange form of detachment. It’s my second year in Sydney, and I haven’t really made an attempt to socialise. I’m not complaining here. Just wondering at my lack of enthusiasm to embrace the new. I bet, had I been in Hyderabad I’d be cribbing to Ma come Saptami - ‘ma, do I need to go to the Pujobari on all days, and that too both the times?’ But as the day progressed I’d give in to an unknown energy that would have me dressed in minutes in a new cotton saree, which would always be Ma’s, akin to how Cinderallas’ mice and birds get her dressed.

Aimlessly I strolled about the Pujo Pandal looking for known faces and waving to Kakimas and Kakus, acknowledging the older with a polite, ‘Kemon acho jethi? ‘, and finally attacking bhog.

Its almost 2 years now, and I know more than ever, that my heart lies back home..and that its a matter of time before I head back. I know I just speak for myself here, perhaps because the other two in my family seem comfy amidst the green, clean, antiseptic surroundings of Sydney.

And as I type this I wonder if I’ll ever have to eat my words, once the festivities are over and all go back to their normal lives and I begin enjoying summer, down under.

BTW, the exhibition wasn’t the best. Some politely stopped by, some said encouraging words, one even said- ooorebabare kee daaam (Oh my goodness, how expensive! ), some pretended I wasn’t there, a lovely girl eyed a pair of earrings and kept hovering around my stall, but her mother had other ideas (she whispered something in her daughter’s ears and both looked at me very very accusingly [:D] and away they went from my stall- faaar away!); a friend or two I knew passed by without so much as to even look at the stuff on display. :D :D. (But at least I sold a few – thank God for people with an eye for the good stuff  [:D :D ] pieces that helped me get back my stall fee). So yes, I’M LEARNING THE HARD WAY. And I’ve noted one more thing- I’m vastly misunderstood.

On the bright side online business is picking up, and well.

So much for now.

~ Ya devi sarbabhuteshshu, sakti rupena sanksthita ..

Namasteshwai Namasteshwai Namasteshwai namo namaha~

Took a bath, plucked wild Jasmine (I think it is Jasmine) from the backyard, lit Diya and incense and put on Mahalaya on Youtube. Little things in life go a great length in making you happy. Called Ma, Dad and had a little chat while sipping on a huge cup of Lopchu cha. They were having cha too, after listening to Mahalaya. Felt a connection there and an indescribable yearning to be with them.

As wee kids, dad woke us up at 4am to listen to it. Those cold wintry mornings saw dad in his shawl over his ears and head, swaying to Mahalaya. I didn't understand much, but was generally excited that the entire household was awake that early to listen to music!  I remember listening to it over the radio. (There were times I hated waking up to it too....in my teens I suppose). But I did love watching Hemamalini perform to Mahisasura Mardini on Doordarshan.

I wonder what kind of memories Mishmash will have of me. Will she have quaint memories like I do of my parents on days like today? Or are all memories quaint and evoke a fuzzy gooey feeling inside you? 

For now, I have to be content and spirited about the forthcoming 'weekend Pujo'. Its ok that I won't accompany Ma to Ameerpet to get last minute matching falls and saree blouse pieces. Neither will I wrack my head thinking which 'jama' to wear on which day of the pujo. It is also okay that I will not be at the Bangalee Samitee  Pandal, waiting for Dad to get me my Chicken-egg roll. Its ok. Its ok.

But yes, its time for Dhaak. And its time for the festivities to begin. Make the most of these nine days in whatever special way you can. I will.

Leaving you all with an absolutely lovely video- Dhaak

My feature in Conde Nast Traveller, India

A quick update to share my feature that is up on Conde Nast Traveller, India (CNTraveller.in). They just launched in India, and I will hopefully manage to contribute to the site more often. Here's my first on Hot Destination : Sydney.  Yaaay! Needless to say, I'm on cloud 9!

Also, am seriously contemplating on moving on - from KG/Ketchup Girl to my extra long name with two surnames, written with a hyphen, one of which vaguely resembles the name of Bollywood's ONLY star, and my sole heart throb.

For I ain't anonymous no more.

Until I make a decision, then.

BTW, Pujo ashche and I'm exhibiting Nine By Thirty's collection at one of  Sydney Pujos - Uttoron-  held at Carlingford High School, this Saturday. If you happen to be a Sydneysider, do drop by to see Ma, before friends and relatives back home see, have Bhog and take a look at me { ;) }  and my glittering silver and beads.

Catch u soon.