Lookup to be a Better Person

Chennai is one the oldest cities in our country. The city's walls are seeped in history and culture. Chennai Fort, Connemara Library, Anna Salai, Kapaleeshwar Temple, RK Math in Mylapore, Elliot's Beach, Dakshina Chitra - these are some iconic spots which are the landmark of this ancient in terms of age, but modern in terms of thoughts - city.

When I first decided to come to Chennai to pursue my higher studies, most people on receiving the news expressed their unhappiness. Their unhappiness stemmed from my choice of city. Chennai they told me was hot, humid, and sultry, and this is all they had to tell to me everytime this topic came up for discussion.

Having received a similar response from most of the audience, I was apprehensive of the move. I tried hard not to get influenced by all the feedback, as my bags were all packed, and tickets booked to take us down south to Chennai. Honestly speaking, I was in a state of doubt even when I boarded the train. It was one of my weakest moments in life as I was not sure if my decision would ruin my career plans. In fact, I was not even sure if I would fit in! And then I realized I don't even know the state language - Tamil! 

I was afraid of leaving behind the familiar roads, comfort of the known, and spending the next few years in a metropolis all by myself. Tears welled up in my eyes. Fear had just balled up in my chest, unwilling to leave. 

This was my state when I reached Chennai, after that everything was a rushed affair. Interview at the department, paying the admission fees, hunting for a habitable hostel, moving into my room with two suitcases and a mattress - it was all just a haze.

My parents left for Jamshedpur not much later. I had moved into a hostel not far from the college I was going to attend, and I shared my room with five other girls. Four of them had come from Manipur and one was from Salem, Tamil Nadu. Our language of communication was English. It was clearly understood that all of us had a common grievance, all of us missed our families and were hundreds of kilometers away from the place called home. That moment I learnt an important lesson. In times of sadness, one does not need any language and speech skills to help, and we all became good friends in the course of time.

Due to the nature of my subject of study, I had to frequent the public library where I discovered a treasure hoard of books. For a bibliophile, nothing is as beautiful and breath taking as the sight of a room full of books! It was my Alice in Wonderland moment. That was Connemara Library, one of the oldest public libraries in our country. The library has the distinction of housing all books that have been published in India. Every day as I walked down to the library, I used to thank my lucky stars for getting me to this city.

And for the people who could describe Chennai only by the words hot, humid, and sultry - I feel they need to come and experience Chennai. Come here not for a vacation, not for a flying visit, stay and experience the glory of this old metropolis, understand its culture, enjoy the rhythm of life bustling in its streets, and then lets hear what you have to say!

Chennai transformed me from a timid, unsure eighteen year old to a confident, independent girl. In my mind the city is a beacon of optimism, moving ahead with its glory fighting against the common perception. It showed me to #lookup and discover the wonders around me.

Do check Housing who envision a world full of positivity and possibilities.

The Unsent Letter

Dear A,

I apologize for not responding to your letter. As I had told you earlier, all my waking hours were occupied by a project of gargantuan standards which had robbed me off the little social life I had for the past few weeks. Now the project is drawing to its closure, I am having some breathing space and am able to sit down and write a letter in reply to yours.

I did not know where to begin. You see, I was hesitating till the moment I wrote down the first word, and then it all came pouring out of me. Most personal letters are intimate; they act as windows to one's soul and mind. Sometimes when one writes, its such a rush that one leaves behind thoughts of apprehension and just pens down their thoughts in a flow. One forgets to hide, conceal what they would have done naturally. So there it is, my reason. But now that I see I have made substantial progress, allow me go on.

A, it was a delight meeting you last December. People say it is the best month to visit Chennai. I am glad you visited the city at a good time. I say this because the same people complain that it is too hot here, and it doesn't get better. December, according to them is the month when its the least hot.

I enjoyed the walk, back from Spencer Plaza. We talked about quite a few things back then. I found you extremely patient as I went on rambling about my work, the books I had been reading, and what my friends had to say about you. I recall that you were smiling. I would be very much interested to know which part of the conversation did you find amusing. Frankly, I was surprised when you showed interest in my work and even suggested a few solutions to the issue I mentioned. Till date I have not been very successful in having a discussion on this subject except with my friends at work. And when I could talk to you about it, I knew that I had found a friend in you. 

When we first started talking back in June 2013, I did not have much hope for us. My search for my ideal partner was drawing a nil, and I had very low expectations. But you surprised me from the first word. How do I summarize it? We connected on so many aspects - our experiences of growing up in a steel city, love for food, Bengali culture, and movies. I could discuss Gulaal, Coldplay, and Posto in the same breath and be understood. Sigh! It was happiness redefined for me.

I hope you would give me a chance to find some moments where I can bring happiness to your doorstep. It is with this thought that I hope we can continue this correspondence. 

Yours truly,
Meera

This post is a part of IndiSpire, initiative for Indian Bloggers by IndiBlogger. 

Musings on the Edge

Draped in a fiery red benarasi sari, she stood still, staring at the evening sun as it went behind the old neem tree. A cold breeze blew in through the window. Meera drew the end of her sari over the shoulder wrapping it around herself. 

Countless thoughts flashed across her mind - she thought about her parents, her Dada and Boudi, she thought about Roy, who had come down for her big day cradling an adorable baby in her arms, and she thought about Sid.

Sid. In her mind, she was eighteen years old, sitting at her seat in the classroom. The last time she was here, she was ten years younger, fired with the ambition of becoming a lawyer, and nursing a secret crush for Sid. He was new to their school, having joined their class to pursue his eleventh class studies. She remembered him as a tall boy with dark eyebrows and a deep booming voice. That had got him the title of Danav. And even after all these years it had stuck.

Last month when Sunil had met her, he had been excited about the reunion that was planned for March. It would be exactly ten years since they had passed out of school. Most of their classmates had left Jamshedpur for their higher studies, they continued to live away from home for job interests, but always came back for family, friends or any celebrations. But not for Meera. Her family had moved from Jamshedpur as soon as she completed her school. She was reluctant to go back and “Meera you have to come!”, said Sunil in exasperation when she had expressed her disinterest in the event.

Last year when she turned 26, she decided to stay back in Chennai, quietly bidding adieu to her the first quarter of her life. And most probably her spinsterhood. Off late all the conversations with her parents revolved around her marriage. They were old and anxious, and promised that they could breathe in peace if only she gave her consent for marriage. Meera was caught in the web of life. She had moved to Chennai, hoping to meet the love of her life. But fate was cruel and didn't allow her to move past her memories of Sid. The clock was ticking, and she still hadn't moved on. She could not make it to the reunion. That evening she had sat with her laptop, looking at her timeline which was flooding with updates and photographs from the reunion. The faces were bright with big smiles and crinkled eyes. And there in one of the photos, she saw him. That moment she felt regret seeping into her heart. She had lost her chance. 

She was startled by a loud knock at her door. "Meeraa! Have you draped the sari beta?", it was her beloved mashi. "The lady from the beauty parlour will be here any minute now. Hurry up". Meera shut her eyes, disappointed that her sojourn with her last evening as a spinster came to an end.

Denial

Standing at the crowded Tambaram station, she shifted the umbrella to the other hand, and wiped the grime and sweat from her brow. After waiting for him for the past one hour, her patience was beginning to wear thin. She made her way through the crowd and sat on a bench overlooking the station entrance which admitted a fresh stream of passengers every minute. Dipak had promised to meet her there after his classes got over. The station was a half an hour ride away from his college. The signal near his college was notorious for its hour long traffic jams. There was a very good chance that he got caught in one of them. Or maybe there was the extra class which the head of the department had been planning for long time. She tried to pacify herself by trying to reason out the delay in his presence, but was running out of both time and excuses. 

The group of girls who had taken seat next to her were discussing the latest Surya movie. She found the topic of discussion excessively juvenile and was annoyed at the effect their presence had on her already disturbed mind. Thankfully, their talks came to an end and they dispersed.

All her previous calls made to Dipak had gone unanswered. Fidgeting with the mobile she debated if she should just walk away and board the train. As if on a cue, the unmistakable automated female voice announced loudly, “Passengers please pay attention! The next train to Chennai Beach will be arriving shortly on platform number 1” and then the voice continued to relay the message in Tamil and Hindi. Her eyes looked furtively at the group of people, scanning them for Dipak’s familiar face. Her irresolute state of mind was proving to be of no help. Next moment, the train pulled in sounding loud notes; women made their way to the ladies compartment, others moved towards the closest coach with an empty seat.

Dipak was nowhere in sight. Reluctant, she took slow steps and climbed into a coach. As she settled into a seat in the farthest corner of the coach, with a heavy heart, eyes brimming with tears, she silently made a vow not to wait for him. It was all empty promises, with heart break written all over it. As the train chugged out, her mobile notified a message from D. He wrote: Mamta came back with the kids. She is not agreeing to the divorce, and we fought a little. I am sorry, it got late and I missed my train. I have boarded the next train; will meet you in Tambaram shortly.

Without a second thought she typed back: Do not wait for me. Its time you make a choice. Goodbye.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda. WOW theme of the week: Post must include the line: '... and I missed my train.' 

Classic Moments in Chennai

Eight years ago, any mention of my imminent move to this city would bring out the similar reactions from people - they were mortified at my decision, dismissing the city as a land with the hot, humid climate, where Hindi is not widely spoken and appalled at the misery of the city whose residents pay money for drinking water. For better or worse, I decided to embrace the city and I have never been disappointed. I had arrived in this city with doubts and worries on my mind. I was enrolled in a city college for my graduate programme, and had left home for the first time. I was supposed by be suffering from homesickness, a condition brought in when one is separated from family and friends and all that they have been familiar. But on the contrary, except during the annual Durga Pujo celebrations, not many a time did I miss home. Chennai became my second home. And as this month is drawing close to its end, so is my period of stay in Chennai. Nostalgia hits me hard, as I walk back the memory lanes tracing the path to my early days in this city. I am already fighting a losing battle against the surging emotions - feeling a sense of loss –What made this stay so memorable, unforgettable? They would be my classic moments of the city as I remember it.

Hostel and fabulous roommates: My roomies hailed from the north eastern state of Manipur. From day 1, we hit it off. We discovered our common love for Shakespeare and Shah Rukh Khan (in my defence this was pre-Chennai Express times), dosa and dahi and of course Korean dramas. They introduced me to fermented fish, pickled mango and sweetened chickpeas, and I returned the favour by treating them to lip smacking treat of sattu ka paratha and chilli pickle which my mum packed when I got back from my bi-annual trip to home.

The 10 rupee movie ticket: What is the price of a movie ticket in Chennai? Take a guess. 250? Nope. 200? Wrong again. Rs.120. That is all a seat in any multiplex would cost in the city. Now, for the student bonanza: All front row seats are up for grabs for Rs. 10 only!! I understand it means spending a couple of hours craning your neck, but for a student torn between her love for cinema and books, it was a good bargain.

The beach: The beach clearly sets Chennai apart from other metro cities. Witness the glorious sunrise and sunset, with hot molgha bajjis with chutney, sundal (boiled and seasoned chickpeas), and of course sample a wide variety of sea food caught fresh by the local fishermen and cooked right at the spot for you. Visiting the beach for some it is a part of their daily routine, for others a weekend haunt, some come here to seek solitude; some come to celebrate with friends and families. And when it gets too crowded you can always walk along the sea shore, footwear in hand - feeling the wet sand scrunch under your feet as the waves come and kiss your feet once in a while.

Connemara Library: It boasts to be one of the oldest public libraries of the country. I first entered the gates of the library as a college student who needed the reference of a couple of books that were not housed by the college library. The red bricked building with green windows had a look of the old colonial times, people buzzing around in the campus with the tall trees casting tall shadows blocking out the sun offering some respite from the heat. On stepping in, I saw a long hall with  tables lined in the centre flanked on either side by tall wooden racks holding books from the different times, of all possible color, size and volume. It was clearly my Alice-in-Wonderland moment.

And then there are the small moments, the people, tiny details which define my life here. The prospect of  moving means not seeing the patti selling malligai flowers at the end of my street, waking up early and not hearing the suprabhatam, missing the usual greeting from the friendly conductor anna from the MTC bus, no more quick trips to Pondy Bazar, bidding adieu with a heavy heart to the city which introduced me to kotthu parotta and mini idli. As John Denver sings farewell to his sweetheart:

All my bags are packed I’m ready to go

I’m standing here outside your door

I hate to wake you up to say goodbye

But the dawn is breakin’, it’ early morn

The taxi’s waiting, he’s blowin’ his horn

Already I’m so lonesome I could die

Anticipation

She saw him waiting across the road, and quickened her footsteps. Half-running, half-walking she crossed the road, and stopped. They were meeting after four years, and she did not know what to do next. He smiled and said, "Come on here, give me a hug!". She laughed nervously and threw her arms around him, knowing it will never be the same again, she was in love with him.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda. WOW theme of the week: Post must contain the word 'Love' and the story should be completed in 5 sentences.

My Memories of 2013

13 days more and this year would have come to an end. In the first month of this year, I did not know what to expect from it, but today as I write this post in the last month of this year, I am happy with how its turned out to be. So as I recollect the events, I look back in time and remember all the big and small memories that were created in the course of all these twelve months. The most memorable times of 2013, for me, are:

The trip to my favorite place
Rishikesh has always fascinated me. I will not be able to lay my finger down on a single factor which makes it extraordinary in my list. Maybe its the lush green hills that guard the river that flows through the heart of the city, maybe its the old temples and ashrams, and the evening arati when numerous diyas are lighted and floated on the river, maybe its the narrow, winding lanes, which always leads one to the ghats. This city leaves me wonder struck at the novelties one can find inside its old city walls. The year began with a trip to Rishikesh, and that is how my first special memory for the year was created.

                      

 The reunion with old friends
The trip to Bangalore early this year, allowed me to connect with some old school friends. It was very nostalgic for all of us, and we talked on for hours and discussed about common friends, schoolmates, teachers we liked the most and teachers we liked the least, of course the sour tongued dictatorial principal. It was surprising that how much our lives had changed in these years. Recollecting those days, it was tough accepting the part of these memories were seven year old and we had grown up. 




The Durga Puja celebrated away from home
This year I celebrated Durga Puja in Chennai in the company of my very first friends from college. Much to the contrary of what most people might think, this festival is celebrated with a lot of excitement and fervor in the southern capital city. Couple of my friends back from college who still live in the city made it to the pandal to participate in the celebration and it was a reunion sorts. It was the goddess had brought us all together. We offered pushpanjali, feasted on the bhog, and then went pandal hopping visiting the celebrations in BesantNagar and Kali Bari. Suddenly I did not miss home, at least not this time, not this year. 



The sleepover and Flynn Ryder
It took us three months to plan and execute it. We had lists ready for things to be done, games to be played, songs to be sang, dance moves to be practiced, movies to be watched, and most importantly, food to be eaten. Sleepover at Nethra's was the most awaited event of the year, we had talked about it for long, and now when it it did happen, our lists were tossed aside. After a nine hour long shift at work, and an hour long journey in the local train, our body and mind were both too tired to consider any which required us to think and move. We were happy to settle down with bowls of ramen and sigh over Flynn Ryder in Tangled.


The wedding in Kolkata
For someone who has never attended a Bengali wedding, this wedding was my perfect opportunity to see, learn, and understand the ceremonies. Its a mad rush, with someone shouting out instructions, another requesting for help with the tautto decorations, and then another asking you to go and fetch the napit from next gali. There is a lot of activity in the household, with anyone who is up on their on feet, helping around. It was amazing how so many people were involved in making this ceremony a beautiful and memorable one for the two people. This wedding, also gave me the chance to live and experience the city of Kolkata in my own small way. Walking in the lanes lined with old houses in Rashbehari Avenue, watching the yellow-black taxis zoom by, sipping hot masala tea served in kulhad - the old city charm is still intact in this city, and I for one have definitely fallen to its charms.

Now I am ready for the next year to come by, ready to create and remember some new memories.

Monsoon Memories

The rains are finally here! Thanks to the low depression created near the coastal Andhra, Chennai has been experiencing continuous rainfall over this weekend. A fresh, washed smell lingered in the air. The city welcomed me with the sight of overcast skies with roads washed out, mud splattered on the lanes, water-filled potholes, and constant play of pitter-patter of the raindrops. Men with trousers rolled up, mothers clutching the umbrella in one hand and in another  their kid, school kids moving in groups all trying to cluster under one big makeshift shelter, these sights are common sights during the rains.  

People in Chennai have always been very welcoming to any weather.  They treat the monsoons too with kindness, for without ample rainfall, the summer months would become difficult for the common man. 

It’s amazing how the sight of rainfall, fills you with nostalgia, bringing back memories. Memories, which go back to the times, when you were a seven year old; one who made paper boats and launched them in many rivulets that ran through the backyard, who would read Phantom as Ma brought in hot pakodas. These are my memories of the monsoon season. There is of course, the unspoken, silent prayer that please-God-let-tomorrow-be-a-holiday; but inevitably this prayer always went unanswered. Somehow my salutations and respects never appeased the rain God.

Being brought up in a Bengali household, I have been especially fond of food. And the perfect recipe for a rainy afternoon is incomplete without a meal of hot khichudi, with rivers of ghee running through and beguni. Mouth watering right!

For a bookworm like me, nothing beats the combo of a good book teamed up with some good food. And with the monsoon at my doorstep, it’s my favorite time of the year!

Chennai ki Garmi

Most of us identify Chennai with its climate, which is hot, humid and (pardon me for us) horrid. My friends, who have come to Chennai for trainings in their professional career, thanked their good stars once they bid farewell to the city. It seems the 'heat' had got them. The month of May happens to the hottest part of the year, locally known as Agni Nakshatram meaning fiery star. This post is dedicated to Chennai’s the month of May.

चेन्नई में मई का ये महिना,

सोच के ही आ जाये पसीना।  

दूसरे महीनों में नहीं इतनी परेशानी,

मई  की अलग ही है कहानी।   

सुबह के 10 से दोपहर के 4,

बहार निकलने के नहीं कोई आसार। 

सत्तू पानी, मट्ठा, दही

इडली, सांभर और नारियल चटनी। 

मई महीने का यही है भोजन,

संपूर्ण शाकाहारी बन जाता है अपना व्यंजन। 

25 का नारियल पानी मिलता है 40 में,

कोई 19-20 का फर्क नहीं है ये। 

चेन्नई की गर्मी में बदल जाती है सबकी चाल'

सूर्य देवता की कृपा है अपार। 

चेन्नई में मई का ये महिना,

सोच के ही आ जाता है पसीना। 

My Affair with the K Dramas

The affair started way back in 2006. I remember the late nights, urgent whispers, accompanied by a lot of sighs. Then followed the tears and arguments about whose fault it was. No I am not describing a lovers spat here! No boyfriend woes! I am here to speak about my longest standing affair..my relationship which soon turned into an obsession: the Korean drama fever which affected me and most of my girl friends.

Rich, handsome, arrogant, self-obsessed men as modern knights in shining armor; pretty, simple-minded, kind, i-hate-men women as damsel in distress - this the classic plot line for chick flicks. And it is something that appeals to the female audience, from 16 to 36. K dramas as they seem to popularly known as, seem to have discovered this success mantra rather early.

I remember growing up with our very own desi K dramas, Kyunki Saas.., Kashish..all this thanks to Ekta Kapoor. Its been a long way from them to my beloved Korean dramas. Closer home, the plot line for all the dramas have remained so predictably similar through all these years. Over-dramatic is the word. The Saas-Bahu conflict is at an all time high, the sindoor is a much deeper shade of red (maybe indicating Her stronger ever Savitri avatar?), the sarees get more glamorous and more of skin show. Alas! In all this the loss of a decent plot is deeply felt. Over the years the plot has strayed farther off from reality, and almost all bordering on banality. 

Now the reason why the Korean drama find such a wide audience, is not just because of the presence good looking people, they believe that a strong script is as much important as good acting. Almost all the dramas that I have viewed in the past 7 years, though the basic character structure for the main leads remains unchanged, the plot line has been dynamic, each one different from the other. 

Coffee Prince

For example, Coffee Prince and You're Beautiful, both were inspired by Shakespeare's Twelfth Night, but the main difference lay in their plot line. The former was based on a young unemployed girl's aspirations to become a Barista, the latter told the story of a nun in training impersonating her twin in an all boy band. The confusion caused by this gender impersonation leads the drama, followed by many episodes laden with comical acts. Both are successful dramas in their own right. 

You're Beautiful

The background score, the beginning and ending themes also add to a drama's success. You're Beautiful  had some very memorable numbers sung by Park Shin Hye. Though the meaning remains incomprehensible, (Yes, I do not understand Korean!) the music is quite soulful and you really need not understand the lyrics to enjoy it.

I shall end my post with a list of my favorite K dramas. 

Full House
Boys Over Flowers
Faith
Coffee Prince
My Girl
You're Beautiful

Well that's almost all about my affair with the K drama. But there remains so much more! I promise to follow it up soon in my future posts :) 

Without words by Park Shin Hye: You're Beautiful