Scene-2

Lots of hush-hush around. A dusky babe, with loosely tied hair enters the hall wearing a green-maroon salwar. All heads turn towards her.
S1 and I can’t stop noticing the similarities between this babe and who appears like Bipasha and our friend S2.

Scene-3

The dusky babe graciously makes her way towards us and sits beside!
S1 – S2! Scene thangala di ma .. (You are putting too much scene)
S2 (innocent look) – Naana? Scene-a?? You think I am a wannabe? (self-damage )
Self – Enna ma? You spilt mud, water, CaCO3 etc. over S1′s efforts to look the best in the crowd and acting innocent now a?

Scene-4

Prospectful grooms make a quick scurry across the hall past S2 and their moms are busily looking for points-of-contact to get S2’s horoscope

Scene-5

The excitement finally dies down when the announcement of “Hot Bonda-Upma-Tea ready!”, comes afloat in the air from the dining hall upstairs and S1, S2 and Self decide to take a happy plunge into it!

***********************************************************************************

***********************************************************************************
At a parlor in TNagar-
Scene-1

Author enters tired and sleepy, sees S1 being fussed about by 4-5 attendants.
One is helping her with the saree, another with mascara, yet another helping her put on her tight-rope- walk sandals.
Author – zzzzzzz…(big yawn)
Author’s mind voice- Shabba! Scene thangala.. (takes a seat in the corner and watches the scene half asleep hoping for someone to bring tea)

Scene-2

S1, who is already looking gorgeous, thinking her Kajal is messed up, sends all the people around nuts, walking hither and thither, tensed, and giving cold looks to the attendant who helped her with the eye-work.
A half-asleep author says- S1, you look gorgeous as is, enna problem?
S1 explains- illa di, on the corner of the eye, see the smudge? It’s all ruined! Am done! Am done!
Author (straining her eyes).. Err.. Enga dee? Enakku theriyalaye? (Err…Where? I don’t see anything?)
S1 – Forget it. Can you help me with clearing off this mess on my eyes?
Author (most obligingly) – Of course di!
After 15 long minutes at the washroom and 5 rolls of tissue-paper..
S1 – My whole face looks dark now!! Yucks!! Need to rush home!
Author (daring not argue with her, packs the bags) – Va va polaam veetukku (Come let’s rush home).

Scene-3

At home-
As S1 is going ahead with the mascara work, Author puts blade to her paati hoping to get some tea in return.
The hard-to-impress-yet-apparently-happy-and-impressed paati finally waves a cheerful goodbye to both of us (read as shoos us off and of course we don’t get any tea also).

Scene-4
At the Kalyana Mandapam –

Two other babes other than S1 are the evening’s most looked-forward to people -> One, the bride herself (but guys have given up on her knowing it’s not worth the attempt anymore) and the other, the much hyped about singing talent in town R-ini.
As R-ini enters with a Radel Sruthi box, there is hush hush in the crowd.
R-ini in half saree and our S1 in her bright blue saree spit fire unto each other’s eyes. There is visible tension in the air.
Their mind voices – Neeya naana paathukalaam di (We will see if it’s you or me)
As everybody is rushing towards the bonda-vadai, the two babes cross each other dramatically near the lift.
R-ini, who has already finished three rounds of the goodies and burps out aloud, brushes past S1 and her followers (Author and S2).
We, S1′s followers, diligently give R-ini the how-was-the-bonda?(supposedly sarcastic) look, thinking that would put her in her place
Finally, the slow motion ends, hunger pangs overtake the rivalry and S1 enters the lift, letting the drama in the air die-down.

Scene-5
At cafeteria -

S1 finishes three rounds of goodies too, being no less than her rival R-ini and makes an impatient wave at the waiter to bring tea.
After gulping down the tea, S1 looks pleasant. Her followers feel the calm after the storm.
As the three of us descend the stairs, R-ini’s voice is heard ringing out aloud.. and we take hurriedly take S1 through another side door..to avoid another clash of egos!

The twenty second of February 2011 (22-2-11) began like any other day for me and my best friend Ragesh who travel to office together in his car.

As we started out from our homes at Kalpakkam and drove along the ECR to reach office, I suddenly realized that our car had come in between two vehicles – a Fortuner and a Tempo Traveller, both of which had the number plate reading 222. When I called my friend’s attention to it, he shouted saying it was Nielson’s number- any number with the same digit repeating thrice…And in England, people would jump off their shoes when they see a Nielson’s number! That, David Shepherd would always jump scoring a Nielson’s number on the pitch!!

Then as we drove on, we found the sign post on the ECR-OMR connecting road, which read Chennai-22, Sholinganallur-2. This again reminded us of the date and we spoke of how ’11 was a divisor of 22 by 2 times and were appreciating the date

We soon observed a small carrier-auto kind of vehicle which was loaded with a huge oscillating weight. As we were discussing how risky it could be for the driver when he applied sudden brakes, we saw the vehicle landing near a vessel which was labeled 22 – waste water.

We saw yet another bunch of vehicles with 22 as the registration series. Our driver exclaimed that the vehicles belonged to Meenambakkam airport area.

After all the observations made and all remarks said, we completely forgot that it was one of our friend’s wedding day!!!

The following day, we spoke about how Nature had tried to be suggestive about the date in its own beautiful ways.

I chanced upon an article in RD which spoke about a similar, but more profound coincidence. The story narrates how a Hungarian photographer misses his usual train to work in order to meet an ailing friend, to meet a man (in the later train), reading a Hungarian newspaper. On speaking to him, the author finds out he is orphaned and homeless due to the Nazi movement and that his wife was sent to a concentration camp. Apparently, the author had met his wife a few months back and having heard her story, taken down her address in his notebook. After a few questions, the author dials the lady’s number from a booth and it gets proven that the man and woman are husband and wife!

The author concludes saying the man he met in the late train would not have met his wife if he had not missed his regular one and wonders if it was God who was driving the train.He leaves it to the readers to decide whether it was Divine Providence or sheer probability of occurrence of a certain set of events.

Yet another friend of mine, while talking about coincidences, remarked saying – once on his way home from office (in the office bus), a lady who boarded the bus at Pallikaranai sat beside him. While signing the register he noticed her ID. It was 131286 — same as his date of birth. Call it a coincidence??

As planned, we met up at my friend’s office at 6p.m. and off we went to Satyam in an auto. The autowala seemed to be a jerk of sorts- maybe it was some kind of an omen about how the movie would be, as we realized later.

Most of us, I must confess, are not the thriller movie kinds… Romcoms/animations would anyday be a better bet for us. Yet, we decided to try our hands at this one (sigh!)…

We were bang on time- 7 sharp and went in with the supplies of butter popcorn, doughnuts, cakes, coke/fanta etc… Thanks to our supplies that we could sit through what followed for the next 2 hours and can be summarized in a single word – TRASH!

The movie, set in urban Mumbai, begins with showing a lone dad with an 8-year old kid who has made his house a sex hub. The child grows up seeing his dad with a bunch of men and women, who are perennially drunk, do drugs and have sex.

As the kid becomes a teenager, he is also pulled into these activities by his dad. He dreads going home from school and is almost always sleep deprived. When he sleeps, he is nagged by bad dreams.

This is when a new woman neighbor enters the boy, Samar’s life. She finds out that the boy needs help and reports his dad to police. The boy’s dad commits suicide when police try to arrest him. After this, the boy is taken into guard by his nice neighbor – Meenakshi Amma and is rechristened Veera.

As time passes by, the boy falls in love with his guardian and one day ends up having sex with her. She tries to send him away after this, but he clings to her saying she is the only one he has and he would never hurt her. The lady decides to get married to a friend of hers and on their first night, the boy, begins his career as a killer. He stabs the man and sets their room on fire. The man dies and the lady suffers third degree burns. She is shown to be hospitalized and the movie shifts to her Chennai residence thereafter.

The boy grows up lavishly in the money he inherits from his guardian and spends his time surfing/chatting. His first romantic endeavor begins with a happy-go-lucky girl called Sandhya. He invites her home, acts like a lover boy and finally ends up stabbing her on her back and removing some of her hair.

His sexual mania and serial killing (which invariably ends with collecting the hair of the victims), keeps continuing, till he meets his childhood love- Suganya (Sameera Reddy). He is broke to find that she is in love with another guy. He follows them till he finally finds them at a night show in Satyam. Suganya is disturbed seeing her boyfriend gone for such a long time to buy popcorn. She calls his number in vain and finally gets out of the theatre to find him. She finds Veera there, who convinces her that her boyfriend eloped with another girl. Finding her emotionally down, he offers her a lift and instead of dropping her home, starts misbehaving with her. Trying to make her escape out of his car, she finds the dead body of her boyfriend in the car’s boot. A guy in Santro follows Veera’s car and understands there is something fishy about it and reports it to the police.

Suganya gets stabbed on her stomach trying to escape and the police arrest Veera. But Veera outsmarts the police, escapes and takes away Suganya from the hospital to his residence. The next half an hour or so of the movie shows how Suganya suffers at his place. The Santro guy, who sees Veera’s car for a second time, smells suspicion and follows Veera to his place. He rings the police and in his attempt to find out what is happening inside the house, ends up being devoured by Veera’s dogs.

We, the audience, expectantly stare at the screen wishing the police would arrive and the drama would get over. But that’s when the movie’s so called uninteresting twist happens. Suganya finds out that Veera suffers from Multiple Personality Disorder Syndrome. He thinks he is talking to his guardian Meenakshi Amma, but in reality, there is nobody else living in that house other than him.

Suganya finally makes a desperate run outside the house. Veera narrates to her how much he loves her- in his dual personality, one genteel and one murderous. Meanwhile, the police are shown to have arrived outside the gate. But, even the police look retarded. Suganya fights and fights with this guy and yells – Help, Help!, and yet nobody comes to her aid. When Veera calls out to his dog Tyson, four blood thirsty dogs show up, all alerted against Suganya and the police (One is left wondering if the dogs too have some sort of split personality disorder).He then throws her into a cell where two other girls who have been abused by Veera are shown chained in a pathetic condition with some of their hair shaven. He shaves some of Suganya’s hair too. And then she escapes once again as he moves out to face the police. Finally, the frightened looking Police officer enters the house, and thanks to Suganya, he succeeds in arresting Veera. The audience is left wondering about the abilities of Police, but reconcile to the fact that the psychopath is finally arrested.

The narrative ends with the police officer meeting up a Neurologist who speaks elaborately about Multiple Personality Disorder. After listening to Veera’s story, the police officer and the audience sort of feel dazed, as nobody is left with patience of listening to his autobiography, which sounds very redundant. The movie begins with this narrative which runs throughout the thread and in the climax, is starts all over again when Veera begins saying – how he was abused as an 8 year old and we can’t help but yelling – NO! NOT AGAIN!!

Veera finally ends up in an asylum where Samanta is shown as a fellow-patient suffering from a similar problem due to a troubled childhood and they are shown to be drooling at each other…: S

All in all, there was no story whatsoever. The film is very loosely woven. It felt extremely redundant with the Hero continuously alluring, abusing and murdering good-looking females. Women have been shown to be extremely vulnerable to such abuse. The Police is shown in extremely bad light- Dumb, to be precise. The climax has so much drag that one feels like getting out of the movie theatre right away. Some scenes looked as if they were shot in a camera phone (the scene in which a police officer is shown standing outside the hospital room where Suganya is admitted).

To summarize, what could have been made a sensible, interesting and socially-enlightening plot, was shown as a dumb, disgusting, extremely disappointing movie by Gautam Vasudev Menon! Wonder if this one too has some semi-autobiographical touch of the director…

You held my arms and helped me take the first few steps in life..

You taught me how life is the biggest teacher of all..

You taught me how not all that glitters is gold..

You speak to me when I most need company..

Your silence too, conveys its special messages to me..

You are the best, my dad dearest !

For teaching me to live life to its fullest!!

He walks all day with bare feet
His tender little feet grow pink with heat
He treads across many a street
Walking and singing to himself..

He carries a tall stand over his head
And beads of sweat pour down his face
Mornings find kids going to school
The child candy man dreams too of school

Evenings come and children play
He is still busy making money, selling candy
He looks forlorn at the playground
See-saws and swings are to him, mere sights

He lets out a little sigh from his mouth
And continues calling out” Candies, sweet candies”
His little bell announces his coming
And children come to him running

He is the candy man, a sweet child
He too has his dreams of making it in this world
Why doesnt fate allow him to dream?
His candies are sweet , but why not life to him??

My Granny, whom we fondly called Ajji, used to pamper us with her delicious cuisine. An expert cook she was, an embodiment of immense love and patience. This reflected in each of her dishes. Even plain water tasted sweet when it was served by grandma. Grandpa, on the other hand, was quite the opposite kind of character. He was a very friendly and outgoing person, popular throughout the village. People used to call him Jeesa. Whenever he was at home, there was always someone at the door to meet him.

My uncles, all three of them, are three different persona. Each of them is famous in the village for their unique childhood achievements outside school. This said it’s evident that only Dad was scholastically inclined and had a consistent first class record throughout his learning period at school and college. My uncles were just the opposite. Plucking mangoes during class hours, eating sundal at the village temple and fooling around with friends were their favorite activities as children.

Then there was Darling Atthai. The youngest child of grandparents and the apple of her brothers’ eyes. She had the privilege of being the only daughter of the family and was fondly called “Ponni” by everyone. She was pampered the most till we kids were born. I used to admire her beautiful long hair which granny carefully oiled and plaited twice everyday. Her eyes were like lovely black marbles and her voice was sweet like the cuckoo. Years after, even now I think of her as one of the most beautiful and charming women I have ever met in my life.

Mornings used to be full of fun and activity- learning to swim in the pond, hopping/skipping with friends of my age, and simply running about the house a countless number of times. There is no fatigue for children and they seem to have an endless reserve of energy. So were I and my childhood pals.

There used to be a store room in the house, called as macchu. My dear granny used to store laddus, jilebis, mysore pa, murukku, adhirasam and other mouth watering stuff in steel containers into the shelves of this room. These shelves were out of reach of us children. You might understand the disappointment stemming out of the inability to reach to your favorite sweetmeat which is right in front of your eyes. You can see, but not eat. And little children can’t bear such temptations. SO we used to nag our Chittappas or cajole our Atthai to get us a sweet or two, pretending that if we did not get the sweet, we would die of hunger!

Around 4 in the evening, after a sumptuous lunch and a power nap in the aatukkattil (long wooden swing), we kids used to wash our hands, feet and faces. Talcum powder-application ceremony would start thereafter. We kids would stand in a row, one after another, and mom/Atthai or granny would paint our faces white with powder. Sometimes, kajal or eye-pencils were also used to highlight our eyes and brows. At the end of it, we would look like white and black painted foxes!! Kajal was used to ward away evil influences on children. But with such make-up, I guess even normal people would have preferred to keep their eyes away from us.

Meena mami next door would religiously wait till the talcum powder-application ceremony ended. Staying in the house opposite to us, she could know every little thing happening in here. That is one specialty of villages, people are always aware of what others are doing, unlike big cities where nobody knows what’s happening in their neighbourhood. She would invite us all for a game of pallaankuzhi. Ajji, Atthai, Amma and Meena mami would be obliviously gossiping while I strategized my victory in the game.

At 6 p.m. sharp, the oil lamp would be lit and Atthai would sing beautifully in praise of the numerous deities who peered at us from behind glass frames. Thatha would then start his evening round of poojai and take a whole 2 hours to completing it.

Meanwhile, Ramu mama next door would start his practice session.

Mama was blind and had a rough baritone voice. But he worked as a professor in Palakkad music academy and was extremely knowledgeable in music. He always encouraged me to sing aloud and taught me music whenever he got a chance. Sometimes he would simply sit in the room whose wall adjoined our houses. One could hear very clearly whatever was spoken at the opposite side of this wall. We used to have some sing-song sessions sitting on either sides of this wall. He never looked at me even when I visited their house. He perhaps thought of me as a little girl with two plaits, who wore pattu- paavadai and sang vasantha now and hindolam then.

My Chitthappas would finish their village rounds, including temple visits and visits to their friends, by the time the lamp was lit. They were all part of the village Bhajana mandali. It always used to excite me to hear them sing aloud a bhajan to the tune of the harmonium and jalara. They would occupy the sit-out after doing their poojai and start making fun of passers-by, along with some of their friends. They had funny English names for many of the villagers. Paccha mama for example was called Green Uncle and Neela mami was Blue Aunty and so on. But nobody in the village minded their remarks as they all knew what these harmless and naughty village teenagers were up to-killing time!

Often around 7 in the evening, the power supply would go off. The rest of the family would also join my Chitthappas at the thinnai and talk about olden times. By the time current came, it used to be dinner time.

Everybody in the house would sit neatly in two rows and eat delicious food made by Amma and Ajji.

Post dinner, I and Chittappas used to go for a walk up to the Milma milk booth. Sometimes Ammanna, my youngest Chittappa’s friend, used to accompany us from their shop – Thangam Pickles. They would talk aloud, cracking jokes and sometimes sing naughty songs for some village people. By the time we returned home from our walk, we would be too tired. No bedtime stories were required to put me to sleep after a day’s activities.

Our village had many other interesting people, only some of whom I remember. There was Jayaram Anna of stores who used to give us biscuits in our grandpa/Chittappa’s name(on the account that they would pay him ). There was Ambi mama, a seven-footer, dad’s classmate ad the tallest man in our village, who used to put us children into the huge temple chariot during ther(festival). There were young women like Gowri who wore half-saris and were waiting to get married. There were students who always spent time with their books, hoping to get into a far-off city college. There was Babloo doctor, Appa’s friend, who used to treat me whenever I fell ill. There were old paatis who shouted at young children cautioning them not to wander too far from home. There were deaf, retired grandpas who were red-mouthed due to chewing beetul-nut and tobacco and always read newspapers. There were kids like Tulsi who played with me, but pinched me once too often. There were faithful maids like Devu, who helped women with their household chores. There was the warrar woman who carried flowers for the temple deities every morning. There were happy green coconut trees, a lovely blue pond and a vast blue sky, amidst brown roofs. The sun shone brightly day after day above a happy bunch of people, and there were bountiful rains. My village Nurani… How I wish I could be a child again!!!!!

By saying thus, I do not mean to single out one’s self from the societal existence. Man is indeed a social being and cannot survive without fellow beings. We behave happily or not so happily, to a great extent because of what we perceive from our surroundings. A happy atmosphere around can put a broad smile on our face, while sad things can make our souls devoid of the happiness belonging to them.

Actually I have nothing particular in my mind to write about and hence am penning down the random thoughts that are emerging instantaneously out of my overworked mind, residing in my currently exhausted body. But I have my own ways to rejuvenating myself. Whenever I feel that I am getting nowhere in life or am stuck amidst too much confusion, I take the help of my eternal love- Music. Even now, if I am able to write my heart out, it’s because of Higgins Bhagavathar’s beautiful rendition of Sree Ragam in ThyagaBrahmam’s master piece Endharo Mahanubhavulu. The song in itself deserves a separate article; I am not capable enough to write about the genius of its composer and as for the singer, he deserves at least a thousand salutations on behalf of an ordinary rasika like me.

As a child, I had a certain attraction for music which was identified by my music teacher at school. An enthusiastic mom then found me the right Guru (read as Godmother), who directed me in the proper way to learn the basic nuances of this wonderful art. Even in one of my previous articles, I have written something about music. But how much ever I write, I feel I haven’t expressed myself adequately as far as music is concerned. With the right amount of devotion, one can not only learn to sing, but also get to know about stalwarts who mastered the art and attained the ultimate want of the human soul – the feeling of oneness with one’s self and with all beings of this world. No money can buy this kind of a thing in this world. And the more one loves one’s art, whatever it may be, the more one grows richer in terms of non-materialistically definable stuff. (Sorry for getting too abstract!!)

My profession demands most of my energy and I have no other go, but to do my duties at office for earning my livelihood. When I get too bogged down while working on some unlucky weekend, my heart flies back to my beautiful days of yore. What I could do as a child and what life has become now, shows me a huge difference in terms of the time I used to have for things I would love to do. For many of us, life changes in an unpredictable way. There are only a very few lucky people who get to do what they love the most and also get paid for doing it. Sigh! I seriously envy them.

I would not be asking for more by asking some time from my own life, for things that I would enjoy doing. I feel helpless sitting in a deserted office chair on a weekend when I would have cooked(humming my favorite cine tunes), cleaned(also humming cine/non-cine tunes) and even listened to my favorite artists on my computer/radio after getting myself some much needed sleep.

There are social responsibilities on one hand and there is the prime responsibility of listening to one’s heart for the sake of being happy. An artistic mind like mine gets too tired with iterative mundane stuff and I lose my efficiency without avenues to enjoy myself by singing/writing/reading books. If only I had a time bank from where I could borrow at least an hour everyday to do what I love, I would be a happier self and in turn surprise my employers and family with something more than they expect. Why can’t there be extra curricular activities at office also? Will work ever be enjoyable? Should career and money always get a priority over my own happiness? ….

Hoping for better times…. I request my beloved readers, my close counsels to keep writing and visiting my blog whenever they find time. Also leave in your suggestions if you happen to read this article of mine. Adieu till my next!!! J

I think it was Chak de with Aalu. Did not watch any after that. Missed two chances of watching Dasavatharam with my friends. L

What book are you reading?

I am yet to start with my next book. The last one I read was Salt and Sawdust by R.K.Narayan.

Favourite board game:

Snakes and Ladders, Scrabble and Ludo. With my childhood pals, I used to play these games for hours together during summer vacations and never used to get bored.

Trump cards also were a favorite other than the normal card games.

Favourite magazine:

Frozen thoughts. Liked the few editions that I could get my hands on at the office library(a favorite place where I used to read in those evenings when I was yet to get into projects, for those who know this library at Cognizant Siruseri Academy, I need not give any more explanation).

Favourite smells:

My deodorant Dove, the smell of fresh jasmine/lily flowers.

Favourite sound:

I would not be too narcissistic to say my own! I like my own name being called sweetly by Dad and a few others whom I like. It’s by far the best sound I have heard. I also like the frequencies (not sounds, I repeat), of violin, veena, flute and saxophone to name a few.

Worst feeling in the world:

Fear of failure/rejection. (Might sound too abstract, but encloses all I wish to say).

My inability to say NO to people I love.

My inability to express my fears/confusions to others.

What is the first thing you think of when you wake up?

I try to recollect which day of the week it is, what breakfast I have to cook and what vegetable I should take for lunch. Also I await for Dad’s good morning before I leave my bed and after switching off the alarm. J Sometimes I wish it could be holiday where I could sleep longer.

Favourite fast food place:

Highway Inn at my place used to be an all time favorite where I used to chill out with my friends. But after I fell ill once cause of eating there, I stopped visiting the place.

Javagreen in my office.

Future child’s name:

Many names I have thought of.. Wont tell here for the fear that my friends might copy them!! LOL.. J

Finish this statement, “If I had a lot of money I’d…”

1. Quit my current job, buy a farmhouse in Kerala and live there with my Dad and Chittappas. Life would truly be a heaven!!! J

Do you drive fast?

I drive only my scooty, which does not go beyond 60 in any case. I have driven at speeds beyond 50 and I like overtaking guys who pass snide remarks at me in their bikes. Scooty being light flies easily across hefty bikes. If I get my own car, I would like to try out higher speeds in it.

Do you sleep with a stuffed animal?

I hug my long pillow in sleep. It’s not an animal though.

Storms – Cool or Scary?
Cool or scary depending on ,my mood.

Do you eat the stems on broccoli?

I haven’t tasted broccoli.

If you could dye your hair any colour, what would be your choice?

I like black hair. I won’t dye my hair when it grays. Every age has a hair color that suits it best.

Name all the different cities/towns you have lived in:

Kalpakkam, Kalpakkam and Kalpakkam. I have visited a few other places like Palakkad, Cochin, B’lore, and Mumbai. None like Kalpakkam though.

Favorite sports to watch:

I am not a sports buff though I have had an opportunity to watch lots of cricket at home.

One nice thing about the person who sent this to you:

My very dependable, extremely adorable genius friend Ragesh.. I mean Ragesh the Virgo. If I don’t tell his sun sign, he might get crossed with me. Jokes apart, he is one of the closest counsels I have ever had in my life with whom I can discuss all and sundry. If you are reading this, THANKS A LOT Ragi!!! J

What’s under your bed?
For God’s sake, do u expect me to say Gold biscuits? I have a few old blankets underneath my bed.

Would you like to be born as yourself again?

Yes of course! But I would love to get those things I missed in this life of mine.

Morning person or night owl?

Neither. During college days, I used to spend lots of time on my comp at night. Nowadays my days are getting too long that I don’t realize when it grows dusky and when my bedtime comes. J

Over easy or sunny side up?
Mostly sunny side up.

Favourite place to relax:
My own house at Kalpakkam. The most peaceful place in the whole of this world.

Favourite pie:

Jolna pi(e). J

Favourite ice cream flavour:
Nothing specific. I don’t eat ice creams much, though I like Vanilla for its subdued taste.

You pass this tag to –

Mili

Aravind

Of all the people you tagged this to, who’s most likely to respond first?

Must be Mili. This lioness makes time for writing however busy she gets, though I am not sure if she has already gone through this tag.

It was on a fine Thursday morning, and I had just entered office. As the routine goes, I promptly opened my mailbox to only find that it was swarmed with a score of mails, half of which are always forwards, and one is always the warning that my mailbox has exceeded its storage capacity and that I should clear unnecessary mails in order to get new ones. There was this particular mail from our academy (the training centre), asking me to execute some session. Now, at the first reading, I thought I was being asked to be part of the training and attend it. Out of curiosity (since the topic mentioned wasn’t quite relevant to my domain), I called up the concerned person. He suggested that I was supposed to be “handling” and not “attending” the session. You must have imagined the look on my face. I was completely stupefied! All I managed to blurt out was a meek OK. (But why I said that, I still don’t know ).

While I was trying to figure out who could help me in accomplishing this mission, my darling friend Kittu came forward and gave me some vital ideas. I then decided to ask my teacher (the one who handled classes for me while I was still a trainee), for help. But as luck would have it, he was completely occupied with work that day and sent me out an apology for being unable to help me out. Moments later, my desperation and dilemma started growing. I felt I should tell the academy people that I wouldn’t be able to help them. But something inside me prevented me from doing so.  The love for meeting new people? The quest for adventure?, call it whatever…

I frantically started asking all my friends for help and one of them gave me positive vibes saying she knew a senior who could help me with that. I hurriedly told my Manager that I would be leaving for the day in order to prepare for the session that I was about to handle the next day. Post lunch, I took the shuttle to my friend’s office, which is pretty far from mine and headed straight to the senior she mentioned. The girl told me that what I wanted to know was nothing and she could tell me all about it in just 2 minutes. Yet another shock! Finally it came to be known that miscommunication had had its part and what I wanted to know was different from what she was about to explain to me. Then I and my friend went around her entire floor asking for help. But little hope was to be had as people were totally busy with their deliverables and releases.

I finally settled down in front of a computer and decided to help myself. Still unable to digest the fact that my prep for the D day was terribly poor. Why was I doing it after all??

In the evening, I went to stay with my friend in her hostel considering the poor health that I was running that day. Initially she was worried if I would be allowed to stay at her place and whether her landlady would object. But here at least I was lucky enough to make my way through. J

After a tea at the office pantry, both of us marched out of the premises and boarded a share auto to get home. Time was flying by and I dint feel a pinch of tension. It wasn’t over confidence. But what was it?? I was not able to find out…

Exactly half an hour after we got to her place, we experienced a black out. The current in that phase alone had gone off. The first current cut she had experienced there in all the months she has stayed there. Lucky me!!! All plans for my prep (the bundle of print outs that I had taken at office-I wanted to read them once at least), went down the drain. L

Hour after another passed, it was almost 10.30 at night when our other friend returned from office. All three of us were hungry and the dinner was ready. Current seemed to have mercy on us and came back for minutes. But by the time all of us got settled down in front of the dining table, again it went off. It was destined to be a candle light dinner finally.

At 11 p.m., the current finally came back and kept the rooms alight. I lazily opened my bunch of study material while both my friends were happily reading the newspaper. They both dozed off at 12 while I was still awake, with the bare little prep I had done thus far. I was in no mood to continue reading and went to bed at 12.30 out of the fear of having to wake up early the next morning.

5.30 it was and I was rudely shaken awake but the cock-a-doodle-do of the cock downstairs. My alarm was set only at 6.30. So I rolled in my bed for another hour and finally rose to get ready before my friends could wake up. It 8.30 when I left the house and both of them wished me luck.

I was into a share auto and the destined hour was nearing. I got a bit frightened. I could already see a few people wearing the trainee tags and entering the huge building. I wondered how many of them would be facing the brunt of my lecture that day.

I entered the classroom while most of the inmates were still awaited their entry. I fetched myself a marker pen, a duster and other things and rehearsed a small introduction in my mind. The class was supposed to start at 9.30 but it took a half an hour more to start with people coming in after leisurely finishing their breakfasts. J

I introduced myself and asked them for theirs. Surprisingly I found that their batch was a mix of people from the east, the west, the north and the south. There were Bengalis, Punjabis, Tamilians, Malayalis and few from Andhra. Wow…

I spoke for at full length for half an hour explaining what I knew about the topic. They already looked sheepish. So there it was, a half an hour long tea break. But at least my initial stigma was warding off.

I am not anything of a programmer and what was about to follow was a hands-on for those 30 odd people. I found that not even the IDE was installed in my system. I finished doing that before they came back from the break. Then there was this jar file that I needed to download and include in my build path in order that my programs compiled. Again, as luck would have it, I found that the normal proxy wouldn’t allow me do that.

So once my class was back after the break, I asked them how it could be done. One smarty-pants immediately downloaded the file and shared it with the rest of the lot. With the initial settings done, the hands-on followed in line without much difficulty. By 12.30, I found all the eager faces hungry and yes, it was the second break, for lunch.

I had brought some bread-jam for lunch and without anyone to chat along, sat on a table and ate away the bread when I heard someone tell a Hi from behind. I was pretty surprised. It was one of my old classmates. He was there in some other batch attending training. It was nice of him to ask me if I needed company for lunch, which I had almost finished. So we agreed to meet up for a tea late in the noon.

On my way back to the classroom, one fellow of the class, who was also returning from his lunch, started asking me how it felt to be in projects and what would be expected out of freshers etc. It was the same kind of questions that I and my batch mates had asked our seniors. I told him that what you would end up doing might as well be different from what you are being trained at.  That was it.

Back inside the class, half of them were already dozing off and I got a bit worried of having to bore them for a little more while. We continued with the hands-on exercises and I went about finding how people felt about the class and if there was anything that I could help them out with. It seemed that they all had planned for going to Ooty for the weekend with their whole batch. Some even suggested that I could join them. But I was more than glad to have been able to carry on with the session in a way I hadn’t even expected. I had imagined the whole show becoming a great flop. But my adventurous spirit wouldn’t let me deny the offer either. When I finished, I had little regrets of having accepted the offer. My love for teaching, interacting with people, had done its part, and done it well. J

I finally bade them all a big good-bye, wished them luck and went on to board a bus back home. I secretly smiled to myself for being able to put up a good show and awaited the feedback of the attendees. I felt thankful to my friends who reassured me that I would be able to do it successfully. And last but not the least; I thought this experience would be worth sharing with my readers!! J

P.S: A week later, I got a very good feedback from the people concerned. It really helped a lot in boosting my confidence and morale. Looking forward to many more such learning opportunities! J

 The first gross classification of men brings out two distinct categories for me- the ones who need your protection and the ones who can protect you. Neither extreme is welcome for me. And protection doesn’t alone imply the physical aspect of it. There are several physically less-privileged men who might be well-prepared in keeping you free from your mental worries. For a person like me, staying mentally healthy and happy is what life is all about. I believe that, not money and more money, can keep you gay. It’s thy heart that can do so. Hence, I need someone who can strike a balance between the specified categories.

 My second classification is that of extremely talkative and silent guys. The talkative ones, though are less harmful, are certainly not a big welcome since the argument never ends. Life would be a lesser heaven when both spouses tend to speak and speak alone, this exposes differences of perspectives and differences, as is known, are difficult to put up with, than similarities. The silent types, are a big NO. They simply are not my type.

 Then there are the optimists and the pessimists. The ones, whose souls drip with superiority complex, largely constitute the former. These guys normally gain their confidence (or over-confidence) and a negative ego because they think they are unparalleled in something. It’s tough to put with up with egoistic people generally and the relationship wouldn’t simply work. Nevertheless, the pessimists are not welcome either. I myself tending to become too pessimistic most of the time, can never imagine living with another big time pessimist!!

 The next categorization is that of the spendthrifts and the misers. The first types are good to be around with, since I am a spendthrift too. But when both of us would spend too much money, you can imagine what would happen to the family’s financial condition. The misers are definitely a big NO to me.

 The artists and the athletes are my next and the most important classification. I have always grown up with the desire of meeting someone who is very good at sport or who can understand the nuances of an artistic heart and think creatively, with originality. I myself being artistically inclined would prefer someone with a little yet essential sense of art and a greater sense of sport, since staying fit is a major requirement in the lives of IT professionals, who often tend to suffer from couch-potato syndrome.

 And finally, what is my idea of MR. PERFECT?.. I must indeed confess here that there is no MR. or MS. PERFECT anywhere. Life always has to be lived knowing the shortcomings of our beloved ones.  But my definition of an ideal companion would revolve around a NO-NONSENSE guy who will think on his own, share problems with me, give-take help in solving them, lend a helping hand in the household chores, take me along for a morning walk, understand the need to nurture our other interests(other than the normal routine office going), and live a life where WORK and MONEY WON’T gain priority over little things of JOY.