After the Fire!

On the 08th of April while most of India was sleeping, a kind and alert neighbour who has never called me before, called me on my mobile phone. The time was about 04. 43 am. The number was unknown and my groggy self was quite baffled to decipher as to why someone would make a call in that time. After confirming that it was me, he indicated that there was smoke coming out of our kitchen and asked us to get out of the house. I awoke my sleeping husband and along with our nonhuman companion, rushed out of the house but not without opening the kitchen door and trying to see what was happening; I could not make out anything. Later we found out that our fridge caused the fire burning the entire kitchen in the process. 

We were homeless for a week, living in a temporary arrangement for we could not live in the house which was blackened by soot carrying a strong odour of burnt residue. 

-----

That was a month ago.

Today we have shifted our house and still settling in the new house. Alongside everything, my meandering mind was shuttling back and forth to the old dwelling place from where we were unceremoniously driven away. It still seems strange to us that while we retired to our bed the previous night, little did we know that exactly a month after, we would be waking up in a different house. The uncertainty of life hit us hard but we were quite gracefully accepting the blows. We did not panic. But there were many questions from some of my friends; They argued whether life was trying to tell us something or we were being warned by the divine power. R and I were just focusing on what had to be done - clearing whatever was available and packing the things in boxes to be carried to the other house which was thankfully in the same campus. The whole memory trigger which was laying still chose to hit hard while we were packing. Most of the items reminded me either of people, incidents, moments or generally a time in the past when things were different and we were younger. While I was thinking of something and mechanically packing, my husband was quite focused on meticulously packing (thanks to him, I cannot find many things). 

While bits and pieces of our stuff still remains in the boxes, we have completed most of it. It took us a month to get used to the present house--the walls, the switches, the nooks, corners, and everything else. Sometimes I sit and stare at the new rooms that my old stuff occupies and feel weird because though I know the items, I imagine them in my old place and picturing them in the new place is something that I have to get used to. 

Cooking in the new kitchen though exciting suddenly pulls me back to the crammed kitchen and I search for an item in the exact place that I had kept it in the old place. Then I physically shake myself and nod--a nod to remind me that we have shifted to a new place. 

Getting up in the mornings is also a challenge at times but yes I am slowly getting myself cocooned in the present house and forcing comfort out of the walls and windows. Whether one lives in one's own house or a house provided by the employer, the lived experience is the same. We form a kinship with the nooks and corners, passages, walls and bathrooms.

Well, life has to go on and tomorrow is another day.

The left and right of the earphones!

 I sometimes wonder that I spend most of the screen time interspersed with trying to find the minute L and R of the earphones. It has become an obsession. I can never seem to remember the left and the right looking at them. Some of them know it. I don't. I forget. 

Every

Single 

Time!

I think that I would remember this details the next time I use the earphones but I fumble and try to read the minute L and R. I have to be sure to get the complete experience. Sometimes I think that the details don't matter. But a small voice reminds, "The devil is in the details." What an evil simile! Why the devil? Why not someone else? Why so much power to the devil? For that matter why couldn't it be, "The victory is in the details" or " The power is in the details?" A bit of research into the origin reveals that the idiom is a German saying. Well, so much so for the English language. Well, the confusion between earphones and headphone and pods is another post for another day!

The details are sometimes unnecessary stress! I find myself frantically searching for the minute L and R when I have to conduct online lectures. From being someone who never used head/earphones, I have landed myself on the other end of the spectrum where L and R have become the bane of my existence. I guess I should enroll myself in OCD Anonymous with specific reference to earphone L and R obsession.

This and more is the effect of the virus in my routine. 

Summer days and pepsicolas

Summer is like the post-coital feeling - not everyone takes to it after the lovely splash of spring and the bygone chilly days. Though the post-coital session evokes warmth and a sense of fulfilment, it cannot compare to coitus itself. Period. The sweat and the addendum to it makes it a tad difficult for me but then there are some bright spots (literally and metaphorically) to summer. The appearance of water/musk melons, pepsi-colas and other summery delights alleviate the problem of post-spring/winter melancholia partially. Summer also signals the end of the semester and examination blues. I thought after becoming a teacher, I would be free from the end-of-term low tide but looks like the end always comes with a sting of boredom, a sense of forlornness and loneliness of having to bid adieu to a set of students with whom the year was spend in wanton abandon, endless gossip, conniving moments and of course some lessons. I will miss them and that feeling makes me a bit morose.

The beach which beckons during warm summer evenings is a welcome relief

The weather is synonymous with my mood and talk. It reflects on my actions and words. Though I try to avoid wearing the weather on me, I seldom succeed. All and sundry realise or eventually come to know of my disdain for summer which is quite conspicuous through my behaviour. I yearn for the sunniness to pass - give way to cool monsoons and sweat-free bodies. And yes, the summer also brings the smell - full throttle! Sweat from the body sans any deo which is feral and raw and often overpowering. I am someone who has heightened olfactory system which oft works against me, conspiring to outdo the summer's already raw nerve.


But summers also bring along the promise of a monsoon which is just two months away and without a summer, there is no relief of the rain. So, I rest my case and await the monsoon eventhough I know that it will be a long wait. Waiting is a way of life in India, you see. I am not complaining.

Image courtesy: Blogger's own picture

FeAr.inc

Fear is something that manifests itself in different ways for various individuals. All of us, I reckon have some fear that is ever present, throbbing and threaten to rise any moment. It might be a fear of spotting a spider unawares or bad toilets or simply safety of a loved one. And, for that matter, most of it is psychological.

 

My parents-in-law have come to stay with us for a fortnight and through them we are experiencing the play of fear. They have come here from god's own country and it would not be an exaggeration if it was said that fear covers Kerala like a shroud. Open doors and windows after 7 pm make my parents-in-law quite tense. The freedom of having doors kept open even at 10: 30 pm gives them a shiver. My father-in-law especially gets restless and time-to-time asks us, "Shall I lock the door?" to which we casually mention, "No papa, it's fine." He cannot sit still and finally when we are not looking, he quickly closes the door, latches all the three locks and goes around to find other doors to close and latch. Well, my husband and I find this quite amusing but we also recognise the force of habit and the fear that is so etched in their minds. The same quality can be extended to many areas of our lives - Children fearing doing something because the parents have threatened them with dire consequences. Sometimes the fear never leaves even when the children are no longer children. Women who do not change some patterns of living long after they have divorced their abusive husband. Senior citizens who have long lived with certain ideas and routines and so on.

 

Fear is not entirely a negative emotion. Sometimes fear does help - for e. g. butterflies in the stomach before a speech or a class helps in better performance; a small fear before embarking on something big is generally positive and keeps us grounded and gives us a counter emotion to perform better and turn the fear into a motivating force.

 

But the kind of fear that has gripped my parents-in-law is not quite positive because it creates a tension of danger which is an impediment for them to feel safe and sound. The fear prevents them from enjoying the beauty of the calm night's breeze or the sighting of the moon through open windows. I still cannot blame them but hold the state of Kerala responsible for not providing the necessary policies and system to keep the place free of crime and robbery. Inspite of a police station located right in the adjacent street, my parents-in-law are scared of robbers who usually use different gimmicks to steal from houses.

 

Some fears don't go away - nor time nor god nor anything can enable a complete removal of the fear. I pray that such fears never grip us at any point of our life.

 

Dear reader, what is your fear that paralyses your living.

Revelling in micro-stories

Facebook has many treats to offer and off late, it gives me immense pleasure to read the micro stories that are posted by my friends. The stories have diverse hues and moods depending on the emotional state of the writer; But whatever the frame of mind, these vignettes of life are presented in lucid prose which is a reader's delight.

Stories have always fascinated me and I believe that all of us irrespective of our age, status, social standing have a repertoire of stories that are waiting to be read and listened to. Some stories are forgotten, some escape the hearer and some are safely kept in the vault of memory. But stories that are shared are the ones that make life vibrant and help us revel in the collective conscious.

My friend Bhavana Nissima and Maitreyee Bhattacharjee Chowdhury were the ones who captivated me with vignettes from their daily life; And, I was impressed how these vignettes shared as status messages on Facebook were an excellent archive of storing ordinary happenings with profound commentries. The instances shared by them were not once-in-a-blue-moon experience which had to recorded as milestones in history. Far from that, the incidents were insignificant happenings which happen to most of us on a regular basis but failed to be seen with awareness and insight.

After reading these micro stories, I have often felt that simple everyday occurances are indeed profound and perhaps will never happen again. For example, a butterfly caught inside the home and trying to somehow find its way out or a mosquitoe that repeatedly escapes the Chinese bat or a creeper that somehow finds a tree to climb on and so on. Even blogs are all about stories - stories of courage, passion, pain, love, hunger, smiles and other similar topics. But writing a post takes time and needs some comfort unlike typing a quick status message wihich shares our stories to everyone who knows and likes us. I call these status messages "micro stories," which make me either smile, ponder, or wonder.

I have stopped seeing Sociology, Psychology and Political Science as mere academic disciplines restricted to the portals of Universities and Colleges. In fact, I see Bhavana's and Maitreyee's micro stories as reflections of the time and state of the society and the individual. I learn much from their updates than I might from a textbook.

Dear reader, care for a story - an everyday one that.

Water, Women and Mothers

On the day of Holi and the day after that, the taps in our house were dry. We didn't have any water stored as well. I hit the panic button when the routine gets disrupted and especially if the routine has to be carried on sans water, things get a bit out of hand. And to top it all, we had guests. At first I had assumed that the problem would be solved within  half a day or so but to my dismay, it hadn't. The first reaction to the crisis was that someone had left a tap half-closed. I love to blame anything and anyone you see. Then after a few hours I realised that my blame was uncalled for. I was left to nurse my broken perceptions. A lesson learnt.

The situation also brought forth several insights - It is only the women who panic and flutter when something as vital as water does not flow in the taps as usual. It's not that I haven't been exposed to this kind of a situation before but then I was in my mother's house and the crisis-averting duty was hers or so we thought then. I shuddered to think how callous I was and being a woman, I was a woe-man to think that it was my mother's job to take care of the no-water situation. She had to think, call people, make arrangements and supply water. On the day of Holi when there was no water, I thought of my mother. I became her. I thought like she would have thought. In my mind I had to think, decide and execute. How much women are connected to water. Almost all our chores center around water and somehow when there is no water, it is the women who panic most.

My husband was cool as a cucumber. I admire his ability to stay calm and poised in a crisis situation but those thoughts about his calm demeanour are thoughts in hindsight. At that particular time, the calm can be translated as callous - like how we behaved when our mother was making frantic calls to people to bring water home. Inspite of the frantic calls, my mother was calm. She calmed me when I called her and started a tirade of complaints. How did she do it? She called me every two hours to check the status of water. I learnt a few more lessons.

I sometimes think that I am too bookish to be able to handle real-life situations. My mom had an advantage - She didn't read, she learnt from experience. I wonder how much more lessons in life would make me calmer and be able to avert a crisis well. I hope . . . someday.

How did you learn life's lessons? Pray educate me.

Image 1: Internet
Image 2: Internet
Image 3: Internet

Reading a book and eating pistachios

The problem is that one cannot read a book and eat pistachios at the same time. Well, if you haven't tried it yet, please do so. When I say pistachios, I mean the pistachios with the shells. If the book is interesting, then the pistachios have to wait but if the pistachios are tempting enough to pull you away from the book then the reading has to wait. Like me, if you like both books and pistachios, then there is an existential problem between choosing what to do.

Well, let me list the odds. First, you hold the book in one hand and try to skilfully remove the pistachio nut from the shell. 99. 9% you will not succeed for you have to keep the book down and then shell the nut! What a nut one can be to do two things at the same time!

Second, if you think that you can just pop a nut into your mouth and spitting out the shell, then you might end up spitting the nut and swallowing the shell. Distasteful!

Third, if the book is interesting enough that you think Let the pistachios rest a while, chances are that the nuts will disappear faster than you complete the interesting passage in the book. Why? The person next to you will hardly be able to resist the pistachios.

Four, everyone likes pistachios better than books and one cannot eat just one.

This was exactly my situation the day before yesterday when I thought I could effectively manage eating pistachios and reading a book and mind you, the book was no breezy fiction. It was a hardcore theory one which demanded my complete concentration but me being me decided that I could handle the combo of pistachios and a book. I was proven wrong. Finally, what did I do? Well, I put the book down, polished off the nuts and then began reading but by that time the book did not interest me much and off I went to sleep. So much for pistachios!

I guess no one can serve two masters at the same time! What say, dear reader? Do you like reading? Do you like pistachios? Are you a nut trying to do two things at the same time?

Image: Internet

Why do you blog about trivial things?

The title of this post is a question that is posed many times to me and I've come to a stage where I no longer choose to answer in words . . .  I smile and leave. Many friends and even my husband have posed this question to me about my blog: Why on earth do you write about trivial things? Why don't you write about academic and social issues. Blah. Why should I write about 'serious' stuff, I sometimes shoot back? Why not trivial stuff? I agree that I am a poor analyser of the political scenario in order to write a commentary on that. Poems??? I am not a poet. There are many many people who can write on one single topic in all their blog posts. I know many friends who do so but I cannot string words into verse. I love words but I cannot bring myself to compose a verse. I have tried doing so and I feel that I am not for it. Of course, I have attempted short fiction. Two posts only, titled Inside-out and Dream-stealer but that's all about it. No more.

My friend says, "You can write academic posts!" But for whom do I write "academic" posts? All my readers are not academicians. Well, if I do want to write an "academic" post, I would write the same in a peer-reviewed journal. Why do I need a blog space for that? How about Indo-Pakistan political issues, asks another dear friend. Well, well, who am I to sound off on that? I am aware of some of the issues that involve India and Pakistan but I guess those issues are familiar to any average paper-reading person. And, why should everyone be interested in Indo-Pak issues. I avoid blog posts which dissect politics, stock-markets and cricket.

My penchant lies in talking about everyday stuff that normally goes unnoticed and unspoken. My audience is not limited to any one set of people, I think. Academicians, passionate cricket junkies and even a twelfth grader can relate to the things I say. Does that mean I write for an audience. Let me be honest. When I started, I had no clue about audience or traffic but now I am aware. I know that if I post this, x and y will respond. I write what I like but at the back of my mind, I also know that these kind of people will relate to what I am saying. Take for example the post on fart. It has no divide based on caste, colour, gender, language and race. Everyone farts. Some do it silently, some loud. Some accept it as normal and some cringe at the thought of doing it in public. No matter what, everyone farts. Right? Trivial things make everyday life. Political issues don't make life. They may be for some souls but not me.

So I write to glorify the trivial in my everyday life and the topics I write about are common to everyone. Period.

Well, has anyone questioned the subject of your blog/s? How do you defend your writing? And, finally, what thoughts do you have on the contents in my blog space.

Image 1: Internet
Image 2: Internet

The boredom syndrome

"I'm bugged with work."

"Facebook is boring"

"T. V. is boring"

"Studying is boring."

"Bathing is boring."

"The day was boring."

My mother always says, "These days everyone is bored with something or the other. I was/am never bored. There was always something to do or think. But these days, though people complain that there is no sufficient time, they still get bored. Quite strange."

The lines uttered by my mother made me think and observe my vocabulary closely. Sometimes even when there is enough work to do, I randomly proclaim: "I am bored." This line is not uttered by me alone but many others who just say "I am bored." While I have never heard such utterances from my grandfather, uncles, aunts and mother, it is quite common to hear them from people in the present day world.

Why do people get bored? Are they genuinely bored or are they just exclaiming the words? While I tend to utter it for situations like valuing examination papers and the like, some choose to add the word 'boring' to almost every single act. Sometimes even life gets boring for people. Now, if life gets boring, what is the best solution? Change life or better still, die? Well, even that has a solution, according to self-help books.

I think the word 'boring' has replaced many other expressions. Being tired, overworked and the like is replaced by the boring syndrome. What has caused this change, I wonder? Is it the worthlessness of today's lifestyle or the plenitude that has caused saturation?

Well, for some blogging has become boring and so has reading posts.

What do you have to say about this sudden shift where everything has become boring?

Image: Internet

We have survived . . . We move on . . .

Well, another year is coming to an end. The rains left the roads with potholes and broken wires. The rains stopped long ago but the scars remain. We have survived that. India saw scam after scam where the figures of the scams left us baffled. We survived. Somewhere in the world, miners were rescued. We read and heard the news. We moved on. Aung San Suu Kyi was released after many years of house-arrest. Well, so what?

Politicians squander, people die of hunger, and many many events have shook our comfort-zones. Yet we have survived all of them and look forward to another year. Sometimes I wonder how I can be happy and look forward to another year which will be an exact replica of the bygone year. I keep quiet . . . accept that politicians will loot and celebrities will flash their assets. How does it concern me?

Yet, I look forward to another year, simply because I am alive and able to understand that the things mentioned above are beyond my control. But the hope is that there are things which I can control, like, my spending, maybe my weight! Ugh. Well. Small things bring joy and make the journey into another year promising and engaging. I survive because of those small things.

Well, what do you have to say on this?

Image: Internet

The tussle between Indians, instructions and instincts

Indians and Instructions don't get along quite well! I observed this while I was in Belfast for six weeks. Our fellow hostel-mates followed instructions of any kind quite judiciously: Microwave cooking instructions, gadget instructions, and all the others (not the late-night ones, of course but we followed that well).

On the other hand, we (three Indians) who were absolutely unaccustomed to reading and following instructions found this a bit amusing. They thought the same about us!!! Now, why we don't follow instructions are because it leaves us confused and stifled. For a change, we thought we will also follow the tiny-lettered lines and to our utter dismay, we would stop after the second one. First, it was mundane and boring. Two, simple things through formal writing make it convoluted.

We best trust our instincts. I just about know if the vegetables are cooked or the food is heated. I don't have to rely on the clock to wait for the two minutes to get over so that I can switch off the gravy. I cannot do that.

Another flip side to the timer usage is that I keep checking the clock every now and then and the process leaves me so bugged that I switch-off my mind. I focus on something else and in the whole thing, forget the dish that is cooking! Phew!!

Well, now this instinct works for cooking but not for fixing gadgets. People of other nationalities (I think) are adept in that. Indians (well, mostly) are slower in that area. The first-time reading is out of curiosity and as the second instruction comes by we say, "Oh! I know this" only to later realise that we got stuck. Then we again read the instructions. And we don't understand or simply lack the patience.

Well, Indians, Instructions and Instincts! Quite a package, isn't it. Okay, now your turn. Do you religiously follow instructions while doing something for the first time? Do you like following them?

When I started this blog, there were simple instructions . . . which I could understand and well, follow!

Image courtesy: Internet

Branded for life

Mithila. Madhubani painting on hand-made paper

It is about to rain and the signs loom large: dark clouds pregnant with water, dragon-flies flying closer to the ground and gentle breeze which carries a faint smell of the earth. But you know that there are clothes which are out in the terrace for drying and it so happens that only you remember that. Off you scoot to the terrace and collect the clothes and just as you are taking the clothes-peg off the last bit of semi-dried underwear, it starts raining. Sigh. You are happy that you were able to get the clothes intact otherwise hours of laborious washing will be rendered useless. Everyone is happy. And there is a smile like a jubilant war-hero on my face. 

That was a week ago.

It so happens that today is also another such day. Read the first three lines of the first paragraph. Almost by reflex, every pair of eyes starts to look at me. No!! Not again. Okay, it is just fine and off I scoot again. But no, it happens all the time. I am branded to be the runner to get the clothes every time clouds threaten. And I know this happens in many houses.

If a person does something one time, then it so happens that for that particular work, everyone expect the same person to do it all the time. Every time, I tell myself: You are the best for the job! Come on, be a sport but I do get stifled at times.

But I do have an inspiration: My mother. I often wonder how she manages to cook and cook and cook. She makes the breakfast, lunch and dinner and for how many years. Of course, now and then we do help her but that is nothing compared to the selfless service she does without any grudge. How many times I have taken that for granted. Well, she is branded as a life-long cook! Then I wonder, just imagine how many times she would have felt bored to go into that kitchen and start the process. She loves to cook and feed but still that is not an excuse for me.

Being branded is not bad after all. What say dear readers. I am glad it is sunny today!

Image courtesy: Internet