Seems like greys don't only always exist on your head. They're IN your head too.
Just the other day I was thinking- I've become so rigid in my views! I lament my parents and inlaws being so set- and here I am- half their age and already displaying family traits!
I have a certain way of doing things and I hate it when someone upsets my applecart.
My whole day is wasted just because someone else has kept some inconsequential object in a new place- for eg., the toothpaste tube. In my quest to find it I've already wasted ten seconds of my precious time- seconds that don't matter much anyways nowadays since I have no urgent meetings or tearing hurry to get to work. Yet it has spoilt my morning and I sulk over my morning cuppa as well.
I've noticed something else.
Earlier I knew each detail of anything. Take the toothpaste tube, for example. I knew it's contents, MRP & Batch no and where it was manufactured.
Now, I don't give a damn.I just want my brand that's all. Not that this 'earlier' phase was aeons ago- just a few years, maybe. When did I start getting so careless?
Maybe it ain't carelessness- it's that I have hundreds of other toothpaste- like details in my head and cramming another seemingly useless one- when I have more important ones- like the servicing of the water purifier- doesn't make sense to my differential memory process.
Or maybe, just maybe, I AM growing old!
Monday, January 31, 2011
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Merry Meddlers-2
(Please refer to June 2010 post Merry Meddlers)
Well so here we are- with another post on the Merry Meddlers (I've discovered this is quite an onion category- it has so many layers which peel themselves off bit by bit).
Now this breed of Merry Meddlers doesn't quite hinge on So?as was the trait of Merry Meddlers-1.
This one's more of But.
As in But I don't like it, or But that's not how you should do it!
Needless to say, these Buts steamroll over any of your own Buts or Bytheways.
Strange to say,but it's the motto of some people to continually meddle in other people's lives while being so blissfully ignorant of their own obvious shortcomings. Again, needless to say, they think they are of course, the epitome of perfection themselves.
Perhaps it is this category which has given birth to the term Fool's Paradise!
Well so here we are- with another post on the Merry Meddlers (I've discovered this is quite an onion category- it has so many layers which peel themselves off bit by bit).
Now this breed of Merry Meddlers doesn't quite hinge on So?as was the trait of Merry Meddlers-1.
This one's more of But.
As in But I don't like it, or But that's not how you should do it!
Needless to say, these Buts steamroll over any of your own Buts or Bytheways.
Strange to say,but it's the motto of some people to continually meddle in other people's lives while being so blissfully ignorant of their own obvious shortcomings. Again, needless to say, they think they are of course, the epitome of perfection themselves.
Perhaps it is this category which has given birth to the term Fool's Paradise!
Friday, January 28, 2011
A slice of home delivered nostalgia
Today, I had a piece of nostalgia home delivered.
Wrapped in a brown recycled jute bag, with a smart plastic lock, it bore my new name, not the one that nostalgia was used to.
But then, nostalgia didn't know me.
It knows Ma.
Nostalgia was books borrowed from the British Council Library (BCL).
In Lucknow, BCL was situated atop a steep flight of stairs in the Mayfair building. A turn towards
the left was the entrance to the beautiful world of books.
As soon as you entered, you couldn't miss the unmistakable scent of a million books- assailing you, making you want to drown in it, as your feet sank into the plush thick carpet.
Rows upon rows of neatly labelled books with delicious titles seemed to throw themselves upon you- and many readers sat with their backs to the reading tables, at the base of those neat shelves,lost in the world of Milton and Voltaire, as if paying homage to those great writers- genuflect, before they could carry away the book with a strong stamp at the Issuing counter.
I loved leafing through those books that Ma borrowed- Martin Amis, Virginia Woolf- and while she would get them issued,a peek at the latest publications which often showed rows of happy people seated on a thick carpet of grass- smiling into the camera- advertising scholarships for the UK.
Once we were armed with our new possessions, we would step into the nearby Moti Mahal restaurant for a glass of frothy cold coffee and steaming hot Masala Dosa. My travels around the world have acquainted me with a lot of varied world cuisines, but the taste of that sweet milky coffee and crispy golden dosa is yet to be replicated.
Maybe it was my Ma's company which made the meal unforgettable- that glow of satisfaction on her face made her such a beautiful sight- maybe it was the novelty of the experience.
Today, BCL has gone online. There is no physical library and no plush carpets. No rows of shelves making you feel like Alice in Bookland. You choose from a virtual library of books, which get home delivered to you.
Yet, the charm of that long lost habit still remains.
Thank you, Ma, for introducing me to this golden pastime!
Wrapped in a brown recycled jute bag, with a smart plastic lock, it bore my new name, not the one that nostalgia was used to.
But then, nostalgia didn't know me.
It knows Ma.
Nostalgia was books borrowed from the British Council Library (BCL).
In Lucknow, BCL was situated atop a steep flight of stairs in the Mayfair building. A turn towards
the left was the entrance to the beautiful world of books.
As soon as you entered, you couldn't miss the unmistakable scent of a million books- assailing you, making you want to drown in it, as your feet sank into the plush thick carpet.
Rows upon rows of neatly labelled books with delicious titles seemed to throw themselves upon you- and many readers sat with their backs to the reading tables, at the base of those neat shelves,lost in the world of Milton and Voltaire, as if paying homage to those great writers- genuflect, before they could carry away the book with a strong stamp at the Issuing counter.
I loved leafing through those books that Ma borrowed- Martin Amis, Virginia Woolf- and while she would get them issued,a peek at the latest publications which often showed rows of happy people seated on a thick carpet of grass- smiling into the camera- advertising scholarships for the UK.
Once we were armed with our new possessions, we would step into the nearby Moti Mahal restaurant for a glass of frothy cold coffee and steaming hot Masala Dosa. My travels around the world have acquainted me with a lot of varied world cuisines, but the taste of that sweet milky coffee and crispy golden dosa is yet to be replicated.
Maybe it was my Ma's company which made the meal unforgettable- that glow of satisfaction on her face made her such a beautiful sight- maybe it was the novelty of the experience.
Today, BCL has gone online. There is no physical library and no plush carpets. No rows of shelves making you feel like Alice in Bookland. You choose from a virtual library of books, which get home delivered to you.
Yet, the charm of that long lost habit still remains.
Thank you, Ma, for introducing me to this golden pastime!
The ambiguity of happiness
This morning, I glanced through my Facebook newsfeeds and saw that two of my friends had expressed their desire to be happy- albeit in different ways.
One had proclaimed to the world that today! was the day that he'd start being happy all over again- err- again? So what was he before this blessed day? His posts seemed to indicate that he was quite the sunshiny mood all through- so why this sudden obsession to be 'happy'?
The other friend, had published the results of some quiz he took, and which indicated his happiness quotient was a mere 59%. Oops. And there he was, ploughing through life with just 59% happiness. No wonder his earlier post said that he was bored and nothing exciting ever happened in his life.
Is happiness a virtue to be proclaimed or calculated?
Last I checked, it was a state of mind.
Guess technology has made us so practical that we forget that happiness is just roses in the spring and the blur of a butterfly's wings.
Wouldn't you agree?
One had proclaimed to the world that today! was the day that he'd start being happy all over again- err- again? So what was he before this blessed day? His posts seemed to indicate that he was quite the sunshiny mood all through- so why this sudden obsession to be 'happy'?
The other friend, had published the results of some quiz he took, and which indicated his happiness quotient was a mere 59%. Oops. And there he was, ploughing through life with just 59% happiness. No wonder his earlier post said that he was bored and nothing exciting ever happened in his life.
Is happiness a virtue to be proclaimed or calculated?
Last I checked, it was a state of mind.
Guess technology has made us so practical that we forget that happiness is just roses in the spring and the blur of a butterfly's wings.
Wouldn't you agree?
Thursday, January 27, 2011
The comfortness of being
A warm old sweater which has been sun-drenched for five winters.
A scraggly pillow with the fluff peeking out from the seams.
The faithful t-shirt of the rockstar you idolised, which grips you as snugly as your lover's arms.
The faded hairbrush with a dozen teeth missing which replicates Ma's gentle massage.
A pair of slippers with worn out soles which has been your companion since those lonely post-graduation days.
The purple hippo soap dish which was a gift back from Mumbai when it was still the land of dreams for you.
A thin maroon towel which is a ghost of its former self which has caressed your body more than your husband.
The sleek Mont Blanc pen, still resting in its velvet case- a reminder of just how ambitious you used to be.
A tattered diary filled with yellowing newspaper recipes, still waiting for that magical day when you'll feel like cooking yourself.
The smell of the gilt edged Alice in Wonderland when you bring it out for its annual reading session.
The feel of iphone just when you've started blogging on the Tab!
A scraggly pillow with the fluff peeking out from the seams.
The faithful t-shirt of the rockstar you idolised, which grips you as snugly as your lover's arms.
The faded hairbrush with a dozen teeth missing which replicates Ma's gentle massage.
A pair of slippers with worn out soles which has been your companion since those lonely post-graduation days.
The purple hippo soap dish which was a gift back from Mumbai when it was still the land of dreams for you.
A thin maroon towel which is a ghost of its former self which has caressed your body more than your husband.
The sleek Mont Blanc pen, still resting in its velvet case- a reminder of just how ambitious you used to be.
A tattered diary filled with yellowing newspaper recipes, still waiting for that magical day when you'll feel like cooking yourself.
The smell of the gilt edged Alice in Wonderland when you bring it out for its annual reading session.
The feel of iphone just when you've started blogging on the Tab!
Thursday, January 20, 2011
The ghostly earthquake
As Tinkle- like as the title may sound, and as devastating it might have been for our political neighbours, yesterday's earthquake tremors at Delhi brought a smile to my face.
The reason was largely a conversation I had with my sister on the morning of the quake, which went something like this:
Me: Hey, I heard about the quake, did you feel it?
Sis: yeah at about 1:45am
Me: what was it like, what were you doing then?
Sis: yeah, I was awake, listening to music and I felt the bed shake
Me: so, did you get up to see if the parents were ok?
Sis: nah, I thought tWas ghosts rocking the bed so I snuggled in deeper and turned up the music real loud
Me: ...
who would expect a 24 year old to believe in ghosts? But apparently, she does!!!
The reason was largely a conversation I had with my sister on the morning of the quake, which went something like this:
Me: Hey, I heard about the quake, did you feel it?
Sis: yeah at about 1:45am
Me: what was it like, what were you doing then?
Sis: yeah, I was awake, listening to music and I felt the bed shake
Me: so, did you get up to see if the parents were ok?
Sis: nah, I thought tWas ghosts rocking the bed so I snuggled in deeper and turned up the music real loud
Me: ...
who would expect a 24 year old to believe in ghosts? But apparently, she does!!!
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Of things I want...
My wants are very basic. Here is a list of things that adorn my bedside table, listed in no particular order:
1. A pile of good fiction- preferably in the same genre so that my mind is attuned to that era- at least two, at any given time.
2. A pair of woollen socks to keep my feet warm
3. A tub of Vaseline/ vitamin E cream to keep my hands soft
4. A warm shawl and my hand-knitted woollen cap to keep me cozy at night
5. My Tab/iPhone to keep me connected
I loathe TV and watch it when I absolutely must. Apart from the fact that it gives me sore eyes (coz I get too involved in the plot and stare at the screen too hard) I'd anyday prefer a strong solid book with rustling pages or the interactivity of Solitaire or WordSearch on my phone.
As for my bedside table, each year I find myself getting a bigger size- this year, when one of the socks was jostled off the table by the pile of books, I've decided to invest in a full size study table to end the balancing act once and for all!
1. A pile of good fiction- preferably in the same genre so that my mind is attuned to that era- at least two, at any given time.
2. A pair of woollen socks to keep my feet warm
3. A tub of Vaseline/ vitamin E cream to keep my hands soft
4. A warm shawl and my hand-knitted woollen cap to keep me cozy at night
5. My Tab/iPhone to keep me connected
I loathe TV and watch it when I absolutely must. Apart from the fact that it gives me sore eyes (coz I get too involved in the plot and stare at the screen too hard) I'd anyday prefer a strong solid book with rustling pages or the interactivity of Solitaire or WordSearch on my phone.
As for my bedside table, each year I find myself getting a bigger size- this year, when one of the socks was jostled off the table by the pile of books, I've decided to invest in a full size study table to end the balancing act once and for all!
Sunday, January 9, 2011
The marginal utility of people
Sometimes you wonder if you are a mere grain in the cosmic sands of time.
Sometimes loved ones shun you away with a mere flick of their conscious mind.
Sometimes you feel like your parents have always loved your sibling more.
Sometimes you realise that your position in the house is just that of a borrowed arranger.
Sometimes, just sometimes, you think if the space you occupy in your parents' mind is a little smaller today than yesterday.
What if we weren't dependable?
What if we weren't responsible?
Sometimes loved ones shun you away with a mere flick of their conscious mind.
Sometimes you feel like your parents have always loved your sibling more.
Sometimes you realise that your position in the house is just that of a borrowed arranger.
Sometimes, just sometimes, you think if the space you occupy in your parents' mind is a little smaller today than yesterday.
What if we weren't dependable?
What if we weren't responsible?
Friday, January 7, 2011
The feeling of feeling
Who dictates how you should feel?
Is it your past experience or the tremulous future? Is it worry or trepidation?
Or perhaps, the way you feel is a direct product of the nature of your surroundings?
Or maybe it's the result of the interaction between yourself and the larger whole, the universe at play, with it's myriad seasons and hues?
Or is it a conversation with your loved one, a happy peppy song in your heart or the ignominy of negligence?
Is it the tiny neurons in your system connecting impulses faster than you think, shaping your reactions?
Or is it that tiny tear in your heart each time someone tramples it?
We will never know.
We should never know.
Is it your past experience or the tremulous future? Is it worry or trepidation?
Or perhaps, the way you feel is a direct product of the nature of your surroundings?
Or maybe it's the result of the interaction between yourself and the larger whole, the universe at play, with it's myriad seasons and hues?
Or is it a conversation with your loved one, a happy peppy song in your heart or the ignominy of negligence?
Is it the tiny neurons in your system connecting impulses faster than you think, shaping your reactions?
Or is it that tiny tear in your heart each time someone tramples it?
We will never know.
We should never know.
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