I can’t believe its mid-2010 already. Didn’t we just celebrate new years? Didn’t I just get married? Didn’t I just start working? I give it some leeway and life just slips away. Milestones have come and gone and the months have rolled by. It’s just so unfair!
Today, I hit the pause button. I took a step back and thought of what I’ve really done in the last year. I’m so ashamed. I have written a sum total aggregate of 3 not-so-great blog posts in a whole year. No, no excuses to this. Coincidentally, I have also read exactly 3 books in the same period. I added one new blog to my Reader list. Sigh! In all this while, I visited just one new country and took one vacation to Pondicherry. I haven’t made any new friends. I gained one size and got a new haircut. And all this at a time when it’s never been more optimal for me to live the way I want. There is no more parental pressure, I have constant (and enthusiastic) company in the best boyfriend ever, I earn a lot of money and there are friends living all around me. A perfect time, wasted.
I would have wanted to read more. And by read, I don’t mean study, which I’ve been doing a lot. I want to pick up more books, follow more blogs, read more opinions. Isn’t that the best way to start writing again? Aaargh, I hope it’s not too late to start over. I want to go places. Weekend trips outside the city, work/non-work trips outside the country and discover more places within Bangalore. I want to play more badminton, TT and basketball. I want to run longer and faster, do a marathon. I want to watch more movies. I want to paint a wall in my house. I want to get some pots and get my hands dirty, in an attempt to make my balcony greener. I want to buy some interesting furniture. I really have to buy some make-up. (I’m 23 and I have never owned any lipstick). I want to sing more often, when I’m sober. I want to try more meat. I want to wear skirts more often. I want to do something charitable. I want to listen to music that I haven’t tried before. I want to meet new people, attend more quizzes. I want to cycle to work one day. I want to be able to do push ups. I want to cook a good meal for a bunch of friends. So much to do!
I can’t believe I let an entire year slip away, doing none of this. Sheesh! Ashamed I tell ya! But this ends here, now.
I’m putting up a list of thing I will do from now on. It’s out for you to see, so please hold me accountable.
By June 30, 2010 I will – Take Shrik to CTR, Malleshwaram and take a walk around Sankey tank, watch at least 3 popular movies that everyone seems to have watched, buy some make-up, start a book and update my mp3 player
By July 31, 2010 I will – Cycle to office on a pleasant day, buy some plants and start my own garden, get some nails and hang up pictures at home, blog more often, start using the make up
By Oct 30, 2010 I will – Get fitter and lose one size, paint a wall, cook a dinner from scratch for a bunch of people
By Dec 31, 2010 I will – Visit one new foreign country, visit Goa, run a mini-marathon, get a voter’s ID.
Hmm. Sounds good? Make sure I do this!
Monday, June 07, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
It's the beach
There is something about going to the beach that I love.
The waves come at me incessantly. Never ending, never slowing its pace. I can relive my past standing there and I can foresee my future. What can it possibly be other than more waves? Some huge, some beautiful and some that are deceptively harmless. It's always the same rhythm, the same feeling. Eternally. Some waves approach me looking quite ferocious, but they still die at my feet. Some wash away my wounds or sea shells that I had held on to. Some bring me more goodies, sometimes others' filth too. Some shock me, but I always get over them. There is no time to waste, there are always more waves to counter. They thrill me, scare me and amaze me.
And when I walk away and pat myself dry, I always find strains of sand left behind. Sand that has crept into my hair unnoticed. Sand remains in my pockets, in the folds of my clothes, between my toes. It takes several washes to get rid off. And even when I do, it always feels like there is more lurking where I didn't check. The remnants of a good time, I don't always want to let it go.
There are two ways of enjoying the beach experience. I always first sit at a distance and watch the water. That seems pleasant enough, safe too. But then, there comes a time when I can't resist it further, I need to step in. There is just no other way.
How can I possibly get bored of the beach? The titillating view of the horizon, the certainty of the shore, the occasional dolphins and the endless feeling that I own the world?
How can I possibly get tired of life? I should step in and get my feet wet. I need to let the endless challenges and experiences splash at me, let life's sense of timing humble me. I want to collect my memories, but let them wash away when they have to. There are always more sea shells in the water. And then I can marvel at the gravity that gets me back to my feet when I think I can swim past the tide.
There is something about living this life that I love.
The waves come at me incessantly. Never ending, never slowing its pace. I can relive my past standing there and I can foresee my future. What can it possibly be other than more waves? Some huge, some beautiful and some that are deceptively harmless. It's always the same rhythm, the same feeling. Eternally. Some waves approach me looking quite ferocious, but they still die at my feet. Some wash away my wounds or sea shells that I had held on to. Some bring me more goodies, sometimes others' filth too. Some shock me, but I always get over them. There is no time to waste, there are always more waves to counter. They thrill me, scare me and amaze me.
And when I walk away and pat myself dry, I always find strains of sand left behind. Sand that has crept into my hair unnoticed. Sand remains in my pockets, in the folds of my clothes, between my toes. It takes several washes to get rid off. And even when I do, it always feels like there is more lurking where I didn't check. The remnants of a good time, I don't always want to let it go.
There are two ways of enjoying the beach experience. I always first sit at a distance and watch the water. That seems pleasant enough, safe too. But then, there comes a time when I can't resist it further, I need to step in. There is just no other way.
How can I possibly get bored of the beach? The titillating view of the horizon, the certainty of the shore, the occasional dolphins and the endless feeling that I own the world?
How can I possibly get tired of life? I should step in and get my feet wet. I need to let the endless challenges and experiences splash at me, let life's sense of timing humble me. I want to collect my memories, but let them wash away when they have to. There are always more sea shells in the water. And then I can marvel at the gravity that gets me back to my feet when I think I can swim past the tide.
There is something about living this life that I love.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
The good times
Remember when you were 7 and splashed some paint on a huge piece of paper and cliamed it to be a masterpiece? Your mom put it up on the fridge and foresaw pure talent in you, while your sister guffawed and said you'd be useless? But you didn't care.. You continued to paint and finally became an excel sheet mugging analyst. No, didn't happen to you? What about the time you made a complicated sand castle on your annual beach vacation and your dad claimed you'd be an architect some day and you persevered from then on, only to grow up to sell diapers in Bihar? That didn't happen either? Lucky, you!
Well, it didnt happen to me either. But the reason behind that isn't that i followed my dreams and became what I wanted. It's because I never quite figured out what i was good at. I could sing a bit (until my sis shouted at me to stop), I could dance quite some (but my mom convinced me that's no future to pursue), I could write (but I give it up in breaks), I could play quite a few sports (but I succumb under the slightest pressure), I could speak (didn't get me anywhere other than a few GDs), but I didnt have any real talent. And so I followed my true calling.. and became a fin ghissu. I can still tally any balance sheet, given a few free hours!
But the point behind all this rambling, is that I don't remember a single memory of accomplishment from my childhood. This might be because my parents were slightly cynical about most things. But still, I can't remember a single instance of my folks nodding their head, their lips drawn in and patting me on my back.
Until recently..
It was a few weeks ago, when I stood back and stared at my achievement, amazed at the time, patience and energy that had gone into it. Awed by own sense of judgement and the symmetry with which everything had fallen into place and blended so well. I looked up at my partner in crime and I could see he shared the feeling too. We had done it. Our Channa Masala was perfect. True, that night we felt too tired after that effort to make rotis, so we stored the dish overnight and we pushed ourselves to make some rotis the nexy day. But still, it was fantastic. Over time, several other scapegoats have tried our cooking.. family, friends, innocent batchmates, scared juniors. I couldn't really read through all their contrived facial expressions, but I'll take them as compliments. Thank you, every one of you. Please feel free to take your seat while you applaud!
Ah, when your chapati comes up to a perfect *cough* oval *cough*, when your curry turns deep red, when your idlis don't stick to your fingers, when your chutney doesn't lack taste.. Pure bliss. It makes me so proud that I even cry sometimes, but that's only when I chop onions. And when we sit down for dinner at the end of it all, we tell ourselves that we might still be hungry after the meal, but so what! It's still our meal. It's made out of the tomatoes we squished with our own hands, the salt we sprinkled with our very own fingers, spices sent across by our own mothers. It's still our meal.
Life, as always, throws the most pleasant surprises, when you least expect it.
That's why it's called a surprise, by the way.
Note to reader: Do not consider the text above as an invitation to dine at our place. We're not into that kind of socialising.
Well, it didnt happen to me either. But the reason behind that isn't that i followed my dreams and became what I wanted. It's because I never quite figured out what i was good at. I could sing a bit (until my sis shouted at me to stop), I could dance quite some (but my mom convinced me that's no future to pursue), I could write (but I give it up in breaks), I could play quite a few sports (but I succumb under the slightest pressure), I could speak (didn't get me anywhere other than a few GDs), but I didnt have any real talent. And so I followed my true calling.. and became a fin ghissu. I can still tally any balance sheet, given a few free hours!
But the point behind all this rambling, is that I don't remember a single memory of accomplishment from my childhood. This might be because my parents were slightly cynical about most things. But still, I can't remember a single instance of my folks nodding their head, their lips drawn in and patting me on my back.
Until recently..
It was a few weeks ago, when I stood back and stared at my achievement, amazed at the time, patience and energy that had gone into it. Awed by own sense of judgement and the symmetry with which everything had fallen into place and blended so well. I looked up at my partner in crime and I could see he shared the feeling too. We had done it. Our Channa Masala was perfect. True, that night we felt too tired after that effort to make rotis, so we stored the dish overnight and we pushed ourselves to make some rotis the nexy day. But still, it was fantastic. Over time, several other scapegoats have tried our cooking.. family, friends, innocent batchmates, scared juniors. I couldn't really read through all their contrived facial expressions, but I'll take them as compliments. Thank you, every one of you. Please feel free to take your seat while you applaud!
Ah, when your chapati comes up to a perfect *cough* oval *cough*, when your curry turns deep red, when your idlis don't stick to your fingers, when your chutney doesn't lack taste.. Pure bliss. It makes me so proud that I even cry sometimes, but that's only when I chop onions. And when we sit down for dinner at the end of it all, we tell ourselves that we might still be hungry after the meal, but so what! It's still our meal. It's made out of the tomatoes we squished with our own hands, the salt we sprinkled with our very own fingers, spices sent across by our own mothers. It's still our meal.
Life, as always, throws the most pleasant surprises, when you least expect it.
That's why it's called a surprise, by the way.
Note to reader: Do not consider the text above as an invitation to dine at our place. We're not into that kind of socialising.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
What I need
Today was one of those days when I've looked long and hard at my computer screen, the political map of Europe on my notice board, the tree outside my window, a boring company's annual report and the TV screen. I alternated between all of these to ensure no one at office would think I'm sleeping with my eyes open. The conclusion? I need a vacation.
The past 6 months of my life have been ridiculous. I had to handle myself acting nuts about getting married to the love of my life. So many stupid decisions, harsh words, regrets. I ensured in every way possible not to enjoy the wedding, my parents helped me along the way. After that, when I heard office junta speculating about my impending drop in interest at work due to the change in my marital status, I overworked to prove them wrong. I went to work 3 days after the wedding. I went to London for a month and worked an average 15 hours a day. Additionally, I somehow lost control of myself. I ate and fed my boyfriend (yes, I still call him my boyfriend) quite a few low quality meals. We ate a lot more junk, I stopped working out, I returned my bike to my parents, I called up fewer friends. I haven't even been able to finish reading a book and of course, I don't write any more. I just don't write.
It's not that I'm unhappy. I love my new life.. It's fantastic, I've never felt better. But with the change, I gave up everything good about my pre-marriage life too. (When I feel guilty about having a piece of chocolate, I know I've been a slob.)
I need a change, I need a vacation. I need to be around people, in a different place. And I want to play mafia. I want to ride down a scenic highway, I want to have road-side tea. I want my phone to be unreachable, my blackberry to be untouched. I want to scream out bollywood songs, while I'm riding a bike real fast. I want to get drenched in the rain. I need a vacation.
Next post, immediately after I return.
The past 6 months of my life have been ridiculous. I had to handle myself acting nuts about getting married to the love of my life. So many stupid decisions, harsh words, regrets. I ensured in every way possible not to enjoy the wedding, my parents helped me along the way. After that, when I heard office junta speculating about my impending drop in interest at work due to the change in my marital status, I overworked to prove them wrong. I went to work 3 days after the wedding. I went to London for a month and worked an average 15 hours a day. Additionally, I somehow lost control of myself. I ate and fed my boyfriend (yes, I still call him my boyfriend) quite a few low quality meals. We ate a lot more junk, I stopped working out, I returned my bike to my parents, I called up fewer friends. I haven't even been able to finish reading a book and of course, I don't write any more. I just don't write.
It's not that I'm unhappy. I love my new life.. It's fantastic, I've never felt better. But with the change, I gave up everything good about my pre-marriage life too. (When I feel guilty about having a piece of chocolate, I know I've been a slob.)
I need a change, I need a vacation. I need to be around people, in a different place. And I want to play mafia. I want to ride down a scenic highway, I want to have road-side tea. I want my phone to be unreachable, my blackberry to be untouched. I want to scream out bollywood songs, while I'm riding a bike real fast. I want to get drenched in the rain. I need a vacation.
Next post, immediately after I return.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
It's here
So it's finally happening. I did my very best to run away, to get over it, to deny it, to escape it, to accept it... nothing worked. I'm getting married in a week. And this is my last post as a single girl. Ah! Life is going to change.
I have wanted to write a lot of stuff over the past two months, but every post eventually ended with me talking about the wedding. So I stopped. It's a happy thing, there should be nothing negative on print. Right?
Anyway, as an update to nothing... I found a new place to shift into, I've packed up all my stuff, I've bought new things to fill up our new home and I'm already worried about financing a married life and cooking and waking up on my own and washing the clothes and.. the list goes on. I have no idea how I'm going to manage all this. Anyway, for now single Su is waving goodbye!
She'll be back with a vengeance.
I have wanted to write a lot of stuff over the past two months, but every post eventually ended with me talking about the wedding. So I stopped. It's a happy thing, there should be nothing negative on print. Right?
Anyway, as an update to nothing... I found a new place to shift into, I've packed up all my stuff, I've bought new things to fill up our new home and I'm already worried about financing a married life and cooking and waking up on my own and washing the clothes and.. the list goes on. I have no idea how I'm going to manage all this. Anyway, for now single Su is waving goodbye!
She'll be back with a vengeance.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Cold feet
Things running in my head as of now:
The Pros of getting married
1. I’ll never have to wake up alone.
2. I’ll finally get out of my parents’ house.
3. That’ll be the end of lonely weekends.
4. I’ll have the best company to watch sitcoms with. (who else would sing theme songs aloud)
5. My social life will improve radically.
6. There’ll be a drastic drop in phone bills.
The Cons of getting married
1. I’ll have to start cooking soon.
2. I’ll have to find some girl friends.
3. I can never act on my crushes any more.
4. People around me will definitely start treating me differently.
5. I can no longer make fun of people who are older than me.
6. I might have to change my name.
7. I will never fall in love again.
8. House rent/ maid salary/ lunch at office etc. - lesser money in the bank.
Things I can’t classify yet
1. I’ll be married.
2. I’ll be married.
3. I’ll be married.
Either time should stop now. And I should continue living my single life till I’m sick of it. Or the next two months should race by, so that I get done with these stupid thoughts.
The Pros of getting married
1. I’ll never have to wake up alone.
2. I’ll finally get out of my parents’ house.
3. That’ll be the end of lonely weekends.
4. I’ll have the best company to watch sitcoms with. (who else would sing theme songs aloud)
5. My social life will improve radically.
6. There’ll be a drastic drop in phone bills.
The Cons of getting married
1. I’ll have to start cooking soon.
2. I’ll have to find some girl friends.
3. I can never act on my crushes any more.
4. People around me will definitely start treating me differently.
5. I can no longer make fun of people who are older than me.
6. I might have to change my name.
7. I will never fall in love again.
8. House rent/ maid salary/ lunch at office etc. - lesser money in the bank.
Things I can’t classify yet
1. I’ll be married.
2. I’ll be married.
3. I’ll be married.
Either time should stop now. And I should continue living my single life till I’m sick of it. Or the next two months should race by, so that I get done with these stupid thoughts.
Saturday, February 07, 2009
Shoppers, stop! Please!
I stepped into the big hall. I thought I would be prepared for the sight in front of me, but I clearly wasn’t. I took a deep breath, before I took a further step.
“You can’t escape this”, I was told. I pleaded with my eyes. But to no avail.
“We’ve come a long way for this. So get it done with”, she said.
“But Ma, do I really have to be there for saree shopping?”
Unfortunately, the answer to that was a resounding “Yes!” and there was indeed no escaping. The start to 3 days of shopping torture… the beginning of extremely painful wedding preparations.
So, I’m getting married in 4 months. I’ve had my share of frozen feet and I recovered (hopefully). And I presumed it would fun and games from now on. But I was as mistaken as John Thain was, when he assumed he could get away with a $35,000 commode. My folks and his folks planned an elaborate trip to Chennai, converging from Bangalore and Mumbai in search of… Sarees! And we landed in the famed T-nagar area on a pleasant Saturday morning, loaded with pockets full of hard-earned cash and a bucket full of patience.
We started with shopping for the boyfriend. We spent 4 minutes and 700 bucks on a long white piece of cloth and he was done. For the rest of the day, he was sitting in a corner of the shop, playing Tetris on his phone. The lucky *bleep*! I, on the other hand, was dragged to every saree counter possible and mind you, they were endless. Each counter classified according to price range, borders, designs, places of origin, gender of the weaver and the colour of mulberry leaves that were fed to the poor silk worms which were eventually sacrificed for the pretty looking garment.
A typical conversation that took place at a given counter, with a highly enthu salesman went something like this:
SM: So, What kind of sarees are you looking for, Madam? (in pure Tamil)
Me: Pattu Podavai (Wedding sarees. I learnt that myself!)
SM: (Pleased) Oh! What range, madam?
Me: 3000-4000.
Mom: What nonsense! Show us sarees above 7000.
Me: MA! That’s a lot of money!
Mom: It’s your wedding! Learn to enjoy it!
SM: All these modern day girls, tch tch! What colour I shall show you madam?
Mom: Maroon/Red/Bottle green… temple border.. double-side.. pure zari.. blah blah blah!
(After like 20 mins )
Mom: Here you go.
Me: I’m never going to wear this!!!
Mom: It’s your wedding! Learn to enjoy it!
Me: If it’s my wedding, let me choose my own saree!
Mom: You just did. And a good choice! Let’s go to that counter over there.
Me: Shrikant!!!
Shrik: Ouch! Just missed the top score.
After 3 hours and 3 sarees, we took a break for lunch and headed to another saree shop. Another after that. I managed to escape with Shrik for some Watermelon juice in between, but was immediately called back on the cell phone. I never understood why though. It wasn’t like my opinion counted at all! Every time, I was asked what I thought of a saree and was shooed away when I gave my opinion. And when we were finally done, we headed to a jewelers store. And the torture was so unbearable that even Shrikant took time off his Tetris game to comfort me once in a while.
In front of an array of necklaces:
Me: Ma. I like this one.
Mom: No. What about this one?
Me: No way! I hate it.
Mom: You’re supposed to like it. It’ll look nice on you.
Me: I don’t like it.
Mom: It’s your wedding! Learn to enjoy it!
Me: Shrikant!!
Mom: (wrapping up her pick) There. Good choice.
Shrikant: Tch tch.
Fortunately we were spared of this routine for the next two days and our folks shopped in peace. At the end of the weekend though, my parents ran up a bill close to what John Thain did in the end of 2007. Recessionary times, my frozen foot! I questioned the worthiness of the purchases. Was a one-time-wear saree really worth 5-figures? And I got the expected answer.
“It’s your wedding! Learn to enjoy it!”
At the railway station that night, looking at the enormous amount of luggage we were carrying back to Bangalore, a coolie quoted 200 bucks to help us out. My parents were alarmed. 200 bucks! For carrying luggage! Apparently this time, it wasn’t worth it. Being the youngest and the fittest, I carried back most of the stuff by myself.
A day later, with excruciating shoulder pain, I realized it was my wedding, after all. I just wish my parents would let me enjoy it.
“You can’t escape this”, I was told. I pleaded with my eyes. But to no avail.
“We’ve come a long way for this. So get it done with”, she said.
“But Ma, do I really have to be there for saree shopping?”
Unfortunately, the answer to that was a resounding “Yes!” and there was indeed no escaping. The start to 3 days of shopping torture… the beginning of extremely painful wedding preparations.
So, I’m getting married in 4 months. I’ve had my share of frozen feet and I recovered (hopefully). And I presumed it would fun and games from now on. But I was as mistaken as John Thain was, when he assumed he could get away with a $35,000 commode. My folks and his folks planned an elaborate trip to Chennai, converging from Bangalore and Mumbai in search of… Sarees! And we landed in the famed T-nagar area on a pleasant Saturday morning, loaded with pockets full of hard-earned cash and a bucket full of patience.
We started with shopping for the boyfriend. We spent 4 minutes and 700 bucks on a long white piece of cloth and he was done. For the rest of the day, he was sitting in a corner of the shop, playing Tetris on his phone. The lucky *bleep*! I, on the other hand, was dragged to every saree counter possible and mind you, they were endless. Each counter classified according to price range, borders, designs, places of origin, gender of the weaver and the colour of mulberry leaves that were fed to the poor silk worms which were eventually sacrificed for the pretty looking garment.
A typical conversation that took place at a given counter, with a highly enthu salesman went something like this:
SM: So, What kind of sarees are you looking for, Madam? (in pure Tamil)
Me: Pattu Podavai (Wedding sarees. I learnt that myself!)
SM: (Pleased) Oh! What range, madam?
Me: 3000-4000.
Mom: What nonsense! Show us sarees above 7000.
Me: MA! That’s a lot of money!
Mom: It’s your wedding! Learn to enjoy it!
SM: All these modern day girls, tch tch! What colour I shall show you madam?
Mom: Maroon/Red/Bottle green… temple border.. double-side.. pure zari.. blah blah blah!
(After like 20 mins )
Mom: Here you go.
Me: I’m never going to wear this!!!
Mom: It’s your wedding! Learn to enjoy it!
Me: If it’s my wedding, let me choose my own saree!
Mom: You just did. And a good choice! Let’s go to that counter over there.
Me: Shrikant!!!
Shrik: Ouch! Just missed the top score.
After 3 hours and 3 sarees, we took a break for lunch and headed to another saree shop. Another after that. I managed to escape with Shrik for some Watermelon juice in between, but was immediately called back on the cell phone. I never understood why though. It wasn’t like my opinion counted at all! Every time, I was asked what I thought of a saree and was shooed away when I gave my opinion. And when we were finally done, we headed to a jewelers store. And the torture was so unbearable that even Shrikant took time off his Tetris game to comfort me once in a while.
In front of an array of necklaces:
Me: Ma. I like this one.
Mom: No. What about this one?
Me: No way! I hate it.
Mom: You’re supposed to like it. It’ll look nice on you.
Me: I don’t like it.
Mom: It’s your wedding! Learn to enjoy it!
Me: Shrikant!!
Mom: (wrapping up her pick) There. Good choice.
Shrikant: Tch tch.
Fortunately we were spared of this routine for the next two days and our folks shopped in peace. At the end of the weekend though, my parents ran up a bill close to what John Thain did in the end of 2007. Recessionary times, my frozen foot! I questioned the worthiness of the purchases. Was a one-time-wear saree really worth 5-figures? And I got the expected answer.
“It’s your wedding! Learn to enjoy it!”
At the railway station that night, looking at the enormous amount of luggage we were carrying back to Bangalore, a coolie quoted 200 bucks to help us out. My parents were alarmed. 200 bucks! For carrying luggage! Apparently this time, it wasn’t worth it. Being the youngest and the fittest, I carried back most of the stuff by myself.
A day later, with excruciating shoulder pain, I realized it was my wedding, after all. I just wish my parents would let me enjoy it.
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