A toast to our city!

It was raining lightning thunderbolts at high volume volts yesterday night. Nature's fury raging from outside the bedroom windows, that a small peep made me scamper and tuck in like a scared rabbit! Its warm and cold by turns and the rains take us chennaiites by surprise. The roads leading down to the supermarket from the 1920's, the liberated shoe shop that blares stereo (Type) tamizh 'kollywood' music, the overcrowded bhavan that I must be blind to, lest I lose myself in ananda to its oil dripping, crusty and golden brown veggy cutlets...sheer misery to a diet watcher! The queue of people have options many, to wait and be stalled meanwhile by other smaller outlets outside that have the "American" prefix added to the bright yellow sign board reading "American sweet corn", "American pizzas" and so on. While the curtain raiser of a rain dampens and dries, the moisture is enough to keep one's taste buds craving. The variety here in Chennai is rich and generous. Its a nice blend of the south with the mushrooming north, a culture connect with the continental and laps of sea food by the beach and more.
Being a hard core vegetarian and having been to a handful of food courts and still counting, food junctures are a stop gap appeasement that is not a daily to me, but a mouthful of appreciation for a city on the go and Chennai sure has plenty to offer rain or shine.

For the record...

Get togethers at marriage is anything but getting back together for old times sake. Distant cousins,cousin's cousin, relatives with temporary amnesia and a whole lot of stuffy sentiments that sigh, stare and make mockery of marriage to just a wedding. A people's place is the mandap, moy panam post, bouquet bridesmaids, glitter and gold displayed from forehead to toe, smiling as a last resort, the bride and her groom. The who's who of the family clan, their lives and stories add no more than vapour to a heavy air of cold vibes from the richest of the snobs. Hypocrisy is the middle name prefixing a surname, a family background, a cosmic comedy connection and last but not the least dutiful submissions to family heads and their respective kula deivam above them. A mehendi and a sangeet are music to the event management's ears, reaching out their hands and ears, sweet accord with duh moolah, one day at a time. A scam of a ceremony for marriage hall honchos, caterers, reception invite services and their various stalls that have money and more of commission written all over them- a rich chance to fleece those auspicious days, arriving in the traditional muhurtham time, from the 'heavy duty' party. Right from dawn to the first night, sweet dreams for some,nightmares for some others, a payoff for the rest of the lives, an investment of happiness on the other, this is what being married relates to...for the record...

Light of our lives

The festival of lights came and went and bought with it a ray of hope-of removing the darkness that a growing up mind succumbs to and replacing it with leaps of faith, childlike and still curious. My sister’s son, the light of her life, spread the cheer that my “mature” experience did not teach. A toddler in diapers, my constant companion, despite the obvious difference in age, we were similar in terms of observing and understanding the feel of touch, the power of words, body language perception and connect towards social networking. He expressed his need to be heard, to be spoken to and to be protected in small and cute vocabulary. As a grownup, I still have trouble being understood. To pick himself up whenever he falls down, to never ever give up until he fixes a repaired toy and also to reconstruct one, once his mind is tired of the mundane ‘childish’ activities, courage to continue with his curiosity and stay completely natural, were some traits that I watched, smiling and silently praying that they remain just as they are. Being close to two years, he managed to treat the most of us, parents, relatives, friends, his ayah and maid, equally. A quick hug and a tiny toothed smile made the day memorable and richer. The simple joys of watching a toddler are as colourful and unique as watching a rainbow. Both are to be cherished just as is. Enjoy growing up with them-they may bring out the best in you, one day at a time.

The Dying Young

In Delhi, a 10 year old reportedly hung himself, owing to shortness in his height and the case as it turns out to be, is disillusionment in dealing with reality. Ad campaigns that made a tour at his school, promoting a health drink that enhances height after a quick fix stipulated time, merely shot their product up by make believe words and eye catchy images at the cost of the kid's life.

It's scary to think of the real face of tomorrow's India. Would an image wrought future be the new face of our country?

News headlines that call out loud increasing numbers of suicides of children and youth across varied economic levels, will most likely be sponsored by value add on childcare commercials and fairest of the fair content, that promises instant beauty at a low price. Unrelated as the ads are to the real life and the pains that go in its making, top brands manage to find their way into a viewer’s psyche, eyeball by eyeball, nudging them to want what the 30/40 seconds lakhs/ crores worth ads display.

Top brands and their allies will continue making and remaking models out of wooden faces. Products will continue knocking at doors of the poorest of the poor and international levels of sales pitching will survive the deluge, deaths, disease and dire situations, in any order of its occurrence. Blame it on intellectual poverty, monetary handicap, immature parenting, peer pressure or any other silent witnesses to such compounding fatal heights; the downfall of image building is a noticed yet ignored malign growth that consumes the life out of the living class.  The ‘actual’ process is a realistic portrayal of items that are blown up lifelike, repeatedly announced, and remade numerous times- Items on the shelf as they become once bought and stored in empty racks, reveal to users to be aware of its uses and limitations. Boxes and bag full of ingredients as they are fill human needs as and when they arise.
Our core desire to be accepted, cherished, and understood, go beyond a good height, great complexion and material assets. To stand tall in times of emotional distress, to support and lift the other out of dark moods and to persevere through attempts to get stronger against all odds makes us beautiful just the way we are.

We're Housewives Only

Something new, something better: Housewives live by a pattern of life that remains a numbing comforter to them through their time in it.Work gets listed daily, as an activity, as a humming unto every job they set out to do. A tune that appeals first as pleasing and promising,plays the same music over and over...until silence descends. Every nook, every corner has volumes to tell. If washing vessels jangle and clean, then so do the slow spinning thump in the washing machine.Fans rustle and take the spring from the air outside. Fridge forms small, sharp icicles and buttoned on to defrost, drops after pittering drop. As the smoke from the raging buses settle comfortably dusty on the AC, hanging on to an open window, the house is neatly placed in the middle of sounds of daily music. Her sensitivities heighten in her cooking space, as the stir of something new, something creative, gets the hand and mind brainstorming.The aroma has simmered down to mere smell, cooking every day, all day, filling voids and sacs, nothingness is leftover. This hush and sigh, an unnoticed high, starts from the deep hollows of the woman within as she suppresses them at the end of her usual day. The creative spirit in her calls her incessantly...to open those thoughts out and dust them free. Each housewife has a higher call to ascend to. Not mute herself into comforting silence.And every nook and every neat corner is no place to fix her mind. She is married to all of life.