A friend sent me a poem by Charles Bukowski a few months back. I quote from it:

"if it doesn't come bursting out of you

in spite of everything, 

don't do it. 

unless it comes unasked out of your 

heart and your mind and your mouth 

and your gut, 

don't do it. 

if you have to sit for hours 

staring at your computer screen 

or hunched over your 

typewriter 

searching for words, 

don't do it".

The poem talks about writing of course. What did you think?

I have been taking this rather literally and not writing at all. Save for work reports and mails. Oh, and Facebook statuses. 

I am also surrounded by people who write so beautifully. Those who articulate their argument with such breathtaking eloquence. With such passion and incisiveness and wit and warmth. It makes me feel unworthy of writing at all. 

Also for some strange reason, I have hardly been reading for the past year or so. With this, I feel both my vocabulary and my imagination has shrunk. This could also be a sign of getting very, very old.

Despite all this, I want to take a stab at writing again. For whatever it is worth. And for that, this blog of hyphens would have to do for now.

At a protest a few days back.

Comrade V is giving impassioned speech filled with rhetoric.

Comrade V: These are troubled times. The government does not care about the poor. Do you know how much rice costs nowadays?

Woman 1 (from the protestors, shouting into a mike): Rs. 40/- a kg

Woman 2: No, it is Rs. 35/- a kg

Woman 3: No, it actually depends on what rice you buy

*facepalm*

Maybe it is time to stop with the rhetoric. I think it is the same rhetoric my grandfather used in his speeches.

On some days I have this overwhelming urge to write.

Lines construct themselves in my head. They loop around lyrically. Thoughts intertwine. They mesh, they mess.

And then I lose the thread. 

I read some of my previous posts and I cringe cringe cringe.

I have grown so much and reading my older posts tells me exactly how much!

Happiness costs Rs.75/-

Anyone who knows me, knows that food forms the most important part of my life. All my memories are linked to it. (My Mom will tell anyone who listens about how I remember eating gulab jamun in someone's place when I was four years old but don't quite remember whose place it was). The thought of good food can make me happy, wistful, joyous, ecstatic and restless.

I always maintain that my dream job would be to be a food critic - eat at the best places, don't pay for it AND get to nitpick, savour and delight in the meal. If there is anyone who knows more about the job and disagrees with what I have to say, please don't burst my bubble!

Bombay has been great with food for me. It has pulled me into its mixed food culture and its endless options. It has delighted me beyond words. I love the city for many many reasons but food naturally comes right on top!

I will attempt over time to write about all my happy food memories here. I do not wish to forget any of them. Each experience has been beautiful!

Going back to the title, the two best food experiences so far have been the Chocoholic pastry at Theobroma, Colaba and the Baked Lemon Cheesecake at Candies, Bandra. They were both, well, orgasmic. There I have said it! The very thought of what I ate that day makes me happy! And they both cost about Rs. 75/-! Heaven would be one of these places I tell you.

:D

It should be an exciting two years!

"Condom awareness campaigns for truckers only work because they show porn before the awareness movie"
- A professor in class

My love affair with TISS might be beginning already.

To shoot perchance to kill

Ever had any of those weeks where all you have done is snap, bark, growl, be pseudo polite, be sarcastic and generally not fun? One of those weeks where you wonder if you will turn into one of those snarly old ladies who will yell at kids drop their cricket ball in your compound. When you wonder if you will be one of those old people who look like they have frowned all their life.

Someone just has to say 'Hello' and I shall bark 'What?'. And as is obvious in weeks like this, every thing which can possibly set you off will land right in your lap.

I am not PMSing, thanks for asking!

It is my last week at work. And after the super niceness I exhibited this week, I am certain I will not be missed!

Growl growl!

P.S. I think all I need is a hug. Mommieeeee!

Fight fight fight!

There are a lot of happier things I wanted to write about. But that will have to wait.

Shit happens. We all know that. And it happens at the worst possible times. We all know that too. But we are never really equipped to deal with it.

Yesterday, I took an auto on my general route to work. I have been doing this everyday for more than a year more or less peacefully (save a few minor squabbles over excess fare). The auto driver was youngish, wasn't wearing his uniform, wasn't displaying the neccessary registration details and had a cocky swagger. It didn't matter to me when I got on. As long as he takes me to his destination, the rest is none of my business.

Halfway through, I noticed that the meter was running high. I chose to give him the benefit of doubt and let it be. But at a certain point, around a kilometre from my workplace, when the meter showed up to Rs.20/- excess, I made myself vocal. I told him I take the route everyday and that his meter is showing a higher reading. He stopped the auto and told me amongst a lot of other things which I didn't fully comprehend (I don't understand Kannada very well) to pay and leave. I told him I would pay only the correct amount upto that point. He argued more. I told him to go to the police station. While staring lewdly, he said that a police station was in a far off place and asked me if I would come there. By this point my inner sensors were already screaming themselves hoarse. It was more of his body language and his gaze. I got down immediately.

I went around and took a photo of his number plate, which is when it all happened. He saw me doing that and jumped out and started abusing me. He almost came to hit me. And then he said 'Should I open my pants?'.

I was too shocked to even respond to him. I ran across the busy road and stopped another auto. I saw this guy looking at me from across the road. I told this other guy what happened, and started crying while doing so. It just didn't stop. Soon another person stopped and asked me what happened, I told him. And then another. And another. Soon a crowd had gathered. The son of a bitch was watching this from across the road and had the nerve to cross the road in his auto and parked a little ahead of where we all were. All the people moved towards him and started threatening him. It was all a blur then. I stood there very scared and very angry. The crowd got the guy out of his auto. As he came towards me, I got scared again and stood behind somebody. He asks me in a threatening 'What did I do? Why are you making a scene?'. The crowd then all yelled at him and said that they saw what happened and that he bloody well apologize. He said 'Ok fine sorry. Now go'. I was too scared to react, fight and demand a better apology. I doubt I would have got it then.

A kind gentleman dropped me to work and attempted to calm me down. He gave me his number and told me to contact him if there was any more trouble.

I sat shaking in work and then spoke to a friend. While I was beating myself up for crying and not having the guts to do enough, she told me that I did the best I could and that she was proud of me. When I later spoke to Manj, he said that if I wanted to do something about it, I shouldn't waste anymore time. I decided that I wanted to give a police complaint about this.

To cut the long story short, I went to the police station and filed an NCR. Not an FIR. And I do not know what exactly the difference is. Contrary to the general perceptions of police stations, the cops were attentive, polite and helpful. And no, I did not pay a bribe. They told me that I should not worry and they would take care of things. They promised that they would trace him out soon and deal with him. Right now, I choose to trust them.

I choose to fight this and not let it go. I want action against that guy. And I will not drop it.

Am I scared? Hell, yeah! Stepping on to the road is an achievement in itself now.

But I also don't want to operate from the fear psychosis. I don't want to change the way I live because of this.

And just to add, my support system is to die for. People were just there. No questions asked. I really don't know if I could have done this without them.

Also, the total strangers who fought with the auto driver, showed me again, that my faith in humanity is not misplaced.

Of course we can!

I tuned in at 8:30 PM IST on the 20th of January and flipped through all the channels to find the one which was giving the best coverage of the event. I sat watching with gleeful excitement. I watched the man walk in calm, poised and confident. I watched him taking the oath with his wife looking on. I watched him fumble ever so slightly and grin. I watched the crowds cry and cheer and chant 'Obama! Obama!'. I cheered with them. His first speech as the president - even though it wasn't as powerful as his victory speech - was poignant and full of hope.

As I watched, I fervently wished and hoped that I would soon see the day that I would do the same for an Indian leader. To believe in the person enough to cast my vote, to wait along with a crowd to hear the acceptance speech, to cheer on, to feel hopeful as a nation under their leadership, to tune in to watch live coverage, to wait to see the schemes and policies deviced, to place complete faith in the leadership, to also say 'Yes, we can!'.

President Obama, Yes, you can!

India - Of course we can!!

I don't want to forget

I don't want to forget.

I don't want to take pride in the 'spirit of Mumbai'. Or India for that matter.

I don't want to be 'strong and resilient'.

I don't want to listen to the blame game between the political parties.

I don't want Narendra Modi and BJP and all the fuckhead right wing people condemning the death of Hemant Karkare.

I don't care about the screwed up compensation packages.

I don't want to look at every single person on the road with suspicion.

I don't want to start saying mental goodbyes to my family everytime I step out of the house.

I don't want to freak out everytime I see a car jump a red light.

I don't want the media asking families of the deceased 'How are you feeling?'. WTF?

Enough. Enough. Enough.

1 bomb blast every month. The worst terror attack ever in India. Trauma and panic. Something the families and the hostages will never ever forget. Enough.

Bastards. Fuck you bastards. I am seething mad. So so so angry.

And terribly scared.

I don't want to forget.

http://sravanthid.blogspot.com/2007/08/independent-me.html

In the summer time...

Yes, I know that is a cheesy title.

Everywhere I look, there are kids enjoying their summer vacations. When I leave to work and I have to dodge 10 kids playing Lock-and-key (I don't remember how this was played. Can anyone refresh my memory?) it is as if they are rubbing it in my face. Two months of nothingness. I look at them and feel both jealous and sad.

Jealous because, I will never get two months of nothingness again for a long long long long time.

Sad because, even if I do, I don't think I can enjoy two months of nothingness anymore.

When did this need to 'fill my days' come in?

For two weeks straight, I came to work on time. Perfectly on time.

The one day I come late to work, everybody from the Director to the cleaning lady sees me entering sheepishly late.

The tragedy of my life I tell you!!!

Yes Manj, I am a drama queen. Live with it.

Live through. Overcome. Repeat.

Life!

"The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing."
- Blaise Pascal

:) *sigh*

Independent me?

Generally whenever anyone poses a typical "What does independence mean to you?" question, I have a set of responses ready to rattle out. You know the type, the freedom of speech and freedom of thought and expression stuff.Last year while watching CNN IBN, Paras Tomar posed a question which has had me thinking ever since. He asked "What does independence mean to someone who has always lived in a free country?"

The question hit me hard. I realize that I don't know what it is like to be not free. To not have these privileges. So what do I really mean when I give these answers? Seeing that I have nothing to compare against. All my life I have had the freedom to say and do what I want. Because the country allows it and also because my family does. Would I be appreciating freedom more if it was briefly taken away from me? Maybe.

Notice that even when I am posing a rhetoric question, I use the word briefly. That's how scary it is.


What is freedom really? What is independence?

Watching your father become a child again : priceless

My father’s engineering batch just had their 30 year reunion.

It was the most delightful thing to watch my generally serious, stiff, reserved and introverted father let go and have such a blast. I do not know if it is going back to his alma mater or whether it is the high of meeting people who knew you since your 70s hairstyle and bush-shirts-and-bellbottoms days which did that. Backslaps, exchanges of old stories and scandals, laughing over the old fist fights, dancing after 30 years, laughing more, smiling more, hugging more. There were some heartfelt speeches which even shut up the cynic in me (Not something which happens often I can assure you). It was emotional to say the least. Even for an outsider like me!

Makes you wonder why it takes 30 years for a reunion to happen.

PBDS

Pre Birthday Depressive Syndrome. PBDS. Something I go through every year.

Birthdays both excite and depress me.

The child in me is excited with all the attention I will get.
The adult will ask me "So Sravanthi...You are 22 now. What have you done with your life?".

I have no answers. None that will entirely satisfy my rational mind atleast. When I was younger it used to be something like learning to tie my shoe laces or learning to iron my own uniform. Now my mind looks for bigger things. Which I don't find. *sigh*

And 22 is OLD!!!! 21 is a nice age. The young-hot-blooded-passionate-take over and change the world type of age. At a few days before I turn 22 I feel more sober already. Like I have to be more responsible. Like I have to choose wisely. Like I have to tread carefully henceforth.

In the logical sense it shouldn't matter this much you know. What is a birthday after all? Just an acknowledgement of another year gone. Just another day. A day can't make you change. A day can't sober you up. Numbers don't matter. 22 is just another random number. It is. It is. It is. There. I have said it now. If only I can believe it.

Damn.

Dear Sneha,

This is a week late. Nevertheless...

Six years ago when we met in the classroom at Chinmaya, little did I know then that you would end up becoming such an important person in my life. I think we barely exchanged pleasantries and introductions. I don't know how we became friends, but I am really glad we did.

The Rs.5 icecream ritual (finish lunch fast,discreetly slip out as if going to the loo, quickly scavenge for change, buy the icecream and find a safe place to eat it) may have ended. But a lot of things haven't. You still remain the one person who I know will never judge me. You still are the person who gives me that sense of calm. You still write your h's and t's with a scale! You still cut vegetables with scientific precision. You still can't scream much at people.

You still remain a constant in my life.

Happy Birthday Sneha!!!!

Is it just me?

I got a new phone today. One I was contemplating on buying for a long time. After making use of the employee discount and placing my order in advance and waiting in a long queue I finally got it.

After all that the packaging appeals to me more than the phone itself . *sigh*