Hyderabad Diaries - The one with Kolaveri Di

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Needn't talk much about Kolaveri Di (~30 million hits the last time I saw)

Anyway, it was the usual morning for me today.

First I brush my teeth, then dad yells over me on how irresponsible I am (duh!), drink coffee, procrastinate about packing (yet again), grumble that no one buys a newspaper at home anymore, then switch on the TV, watch Big Boss rerun (as if the drama at home isn't enough), then close my ears as the kid downstairs screams....

Yes, so there are tenants downstairs and not surprisingly they have a kid who screams at his own will.

I was wondering why he screamed "Mummy" right in the morning.

"His mom cleans after he finishes potty", my mom told me the other day. There you go. Mystery solved.

When the kid isn't screaming he either plays games (that are mostly invented by him) or dances to lame ass songs. His latest favorite is Chikni Chameli. I ain't a Katrina fan, but surely this kid will turn me into a hater if he plays the song one more time.

So imagine my surprise today morning, when the kid doesn't dance to Chikni. For no reason, he screams "Daddy" at the top of his lungs this morning.

"So is it daddy's duty this morning", I quipped to my mom.

"No its usually his mother", my mom replied, matter-of-factly.

Then the chase. The kid tracked his dad down (poor guy was catching a smoke outside) and dragged him in.....

"Daddy Kolaveri Daddy Kolaveri..", he squealed in delight.

Really? Really? x-(

So now you don't play Chikni Chameli and play this one instead? Something that I have already heard tons of times and in tons of versions?

Please kid, switch back to Chikni Chameli. I beg you.

Hyderabad Diaries - The one with the chatty doctor

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Let me tell you I have been incessantly suffering from bouts of coughing in the night. Not a funny story to talk about. So one night, not withstanding all the noise (I sleep in the same room as my parents) my dad resolved to take me to a doctor. Only we have no one "family" doctor to go to. I mean, it's just been like that. You want a doctor? Go shop for one.

Anyway, my mom kept telling him there was this doctor at the end of the street who "seems" popular since she saw couple of our neighbors go in there. Sometimes I think my mom hallucinates because I observed she likes to make up stories out of air. Like this one about the supposedly famous doctor. Oh well, she was atleast helping with some advice.

So my dad takes his scooty out and rides to this small clinic and he finds the cleaning lady there peeking out of the clinic. He sees a female doctor (Gayatri) name written on the clinic's banner outside. The cleaning lady nods that the doctor is in. So he comes fetches me. I walk out in my pajamas much to the chagrin of my dad who keeps grumbling, more to himself than me - "This isn't USA, you cant come out in your night clothes out like this". I am already sleep deprived thanks to all the night coughing. So I pay no heed and sit on his scooter.

Now let me tell you the man rides like he's riding a bullock cart. It felt like forever by the time we reached the end of this long street (about a 1/4 mile I would think). Anyway, he parks and encounters this guy in yellow teeth staring right down at my dad. Asks that the scooter be parked right beside the car that was parked a feet away. I couldn't really see a "No Parking" sign so I impatiently ask this guy what's the premise behind moving a vehicle that was parked near a wall that people just wanted to piss on? It clearly seemed like no one cared and were pissing on it anyway. He ignored my protest and my dad chided me to just park it.

FINE!

Only to go in and discover that this very yellow teethed man was the doctor. That's when my dad goes:

"Gayatri????", with his eyeballs almost falling off his eye sockets.

Doc: "Gayatri in the evening"

At that moment I saw my dad sizing him up. Later that evening as my dad narrated to my mom...the man with his ugly yellow teeth and untucked shirt and mehendi dyed hair and old rusty glasses was a nightmare to look at. He had thought he was another of the cleaning guys or assistants.

Dad: Where is Gayatri the doctor?

Doc: Gayatri is wife

Dad: Whose wife?

By this time I had already coughed a good measure to speak up and clear the air. 

Me: Gayatri is his wife and she only comes in the evening. Now can we get examined? I have these coughs at night...

At this point my dad shot one of his trademark disgusting looks and conceded.

Doc: Coughing eh? Kids these days. So sensitive eh? Hahaha

Neither me nor my dad found it funny but we nodded along. I couldn't tell what annoyed my dad most. His unkempt look or his broken English.

Doc: Show tongue.

I stick my tongue out.

Doc: More tongue.

From the corner of my eye I saw my dad stifle a chuckle.
He then holds my wrist and asks me to breathe to check my pulse.

Doc: Now breathe. More breathe. More...

I felt like I was delivering a baby then.

Doc: Whokay. All good only. No temperature. No fever. What tablets you take amma?

Me: (amma? Yes I feel like Jayalalitha now..) Crocin

By this time my dad told him I was jet lagged and had cough even before I came here.
Suddenly the doctor screamed "Viral infection" on my face. I almost felt his dirty breath on me and jumped up from my seat.

Doc: Viral infection I think

Me: What are the symptoms of viral infection? Night coughing?

Doc: I think it is viral infection.

By this time both my dad and I were infuriated. And both gave in and nodded in agreement to his passionate discovery and analysis. He started scribbling the prescriptions and gave it to me.

Doc: Whokay. Two times. After meals only. This and this (as he points it out to me)

As he hands it over to me, he looks at me meaningfully. For a moment I turned to my dad and signaled him as if to say "maybe this is when you pay his fees and get the fcuk out of here?"

My dad takes the cue and takes a 100 rupee note and hands it to me.

Doc: Thank you. Hahaha.

Sigh..


Still looks purposefully at me. What now? He then breaks the silence.

Doc: You go and get medicines amma...me and your dad will talk.

What the fcuk? What?

Doc: (Continues to talk to dad) You know these days doctors do expensive scanning because your daughter will demand that. Young blood, what to do?

Dad: (In despair) It's not that. It's because every big hospital pressures their doctors to meet certain targets to fulfill. So the unnecessary scanning...

Doc: No sir. No. No. No. It is the young blood that demands. They are not satisfied with tablets.
(He then looks at me and says) Why you here? Go amma...

That's when I lost it. I announced to dad that I was going home. 

Doc: You get here the tablets. These medical shops give duplicate tablets. Come and verify ok?

Dad (gets up as if to leave): Ok..I think we should..

Doc: You sit sir...

The cleaning lady walks in and the doctor turns towards her

Doc: (Handing her a 10 rupee note) Take this amma. This wont be cut from your salary ok?

My dad later remarked about it...that he was so happy with getting a patient that he gave away 10 rupee and made the cleaning lady's day


Doc: (Getting back into conversation mode) So this Anna Hazare movement too much no sir?

He chooses to talk at a time when both dad and I are atleast 2 feet away and almost near the door, ready to leave.


Dad: Bye

Once home, my mom opened the door to ask me how it went.


Dad: Highly recommended.

Hyderabad Diaries - The one with the candlelight bath

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Ever since I have flown back to Hyderabad, I have made shocking discoveries about myself.

That I can get annoyed by the dust, I cannot tolerate all the power outages and I almost want to punch the roadside guys who make snide remarks at me. I don't ponder over them too much. I just dust them off as minor irritants. And yet I have found myself totally alienated from Indian life. The very thing that made up my formative years in Hyderabad as a teenager and as a working adult now seems to annoy me to no end.

So imagine my shock when my mom asks me to take bath in the dark.

I had a very mixed expression on my face. As if to say "You are kidding me?" and "This is bonkers" sort of a look. She feigned any interest in my expression or protesting gestures. She plomped the big bucket of hot water on the cement floor of the old bathroom and went about her usual ways in the kitchen.

It was 6 AM in the morning and I was told there is a power outage until 7.30 AM every morning and followed by another between 11 and 12 PM every day.

My dad had his usual smug look "Welcome to India"

And now as a way to increase my predicament I cannot delay my bath to 7.30 AM since the hot water will cease to be hot and according to daddy precious he has spent invaluable (electricity) units to give me this invaluable bucket of water - which is sort of a privilege I am told since everyone else (which is just my parents) just bathe in half a bucket of hot water.

So there I went. Borrowed a candle, lit it up so I could atleast spot the old bar of soap lying in a corner and bathing and getting out of the bathroom as quickly as possible.

I had this long face on for next hour or so. Of all the things that irritates my dad the most is a long face.

And as if he knew what I was about to complain next he said:

"Btw there's only one lizard and it lives in the wall creaks in the bathroom. Nothing to become overly paranoid about". And then he picked up his newspaper and his sugarless tea and went about his way.

Hyderabad Diaries - The one with the Family Class

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So basically I spent a bomb to fly to Hyderabad and decided to keep a journal of interesting events that come my way. As I flipped back to my earlier entries on this blog, I realized how much happened around me while living in Hyderabad and how little transpired in the USA. Tch Tch. My 5 years in US had no stories, no events that could even match up to say 3 months of Hyderabadi existence. It really is a monotonous life there. #Sigh

Every time I travel, I have this anxiety. I mildly put it as "travel anxiety" although I would want to give it a more pompous description - moments of palpitations, panic, schizophrenia, negativity etc. But then you wouldn't believe me. So yes, I have travel anxiety. Which simply means I cannot sleep, I have negative thoughts about everything (example, I would forget my passport or I will get stranded in a lonely airport with no food) and also I will have the worst seat and worst co-passengers (mostly a weeping baby or a clumsy heavy guy)

This time I tried to tone it down a notch. I mean, think of wonderful valleys, snow capped mountains and  pretty butterflies and such. Anyway, that didn't change much in the circumstances around me. It was the same long international flight with same desi families doing cliched things like pushing you to get  in/out of a flight (something I never understood why they did. Perhaps to get more storage space for their luggage?).

This time I had to hop in and out of 3 different flights to add to my misery. And I had a middle seat because I totally neglected checking-in early. And also I had the usual weeping babies to accompany me. And oh, there was also heavy set men, this time two of them since I was plopped in the middle this time.

When I got down at Dubai, I did the usual shopping for alcohol. I felt terribly sick suddenly. I was having my bouts of coughing already. I never in my life had a viral infection so I refused to believe it was one. My stomach tied into knots and my earphone blaring Bollywood music I tried to settle my unsettling self. I saw random kids running around the lounge as if it were playground. I saw an elder girl bossing around other kids and preaching her own rules on a game she invented. It was about circling a cylindrical pillar without falling off it as you circle.

The bossy girl seemed feminist. She would often taunt the boys and say they were useless and didn't measure up to the standards. If they did nice and looked up to her approval she would just shrug and ask them to do a repeat performance. She seemed so demonic. Meanwhile, a little guy propped up beside me seemed to look intently at her. I didn't notice him too much until he got up on his feet suddenly and went racing at this girl and pulled her down on one of her games. His mom shocked tried to pry him away from her and he kept kicking his heels in the air. The girl had driven him mad apparently.

Meanwhile the angry kid's elder brother was a complete opposite. He seemed like this predictable kid looking upto his mom for approval and praises. He kept picking up other people's garbage and trashing them in the can nearby and go upto his mom each time to show off his noble act. His kid brother meanwhile had nothing to do with it. He would keep seated with an angry face.

At one moment he looked straight into my eye as I was sitting listlessly. I can tell you this guy is going to  grow up to a gangster. Dammit.

Looking at this Telugu family reminded me of the usual Brahmanandam kind comic families on TV. One such comic time came in when the elder guy went straight to his dad and announced

"Naana Naana, flight announce chesaaru. Family class allow chesthunaaru..." (Dad they are letting in the Family class)

For a moment I was puzzled.  Pat came the reply from his dad:

"Family class laantidi emi undadu ra...Adi family nee allow chesthunaaru as a courtesy"
(There is no such thing as family class. They are just letting in women and kids first as a courtesy)

And then his little bro smirked at him.

Touche.

Women in Tech - NOT

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I must have read a zillion articles about Women in Tech so far.

I don't get it. If women are not interested in Tech, so be it.
I mean, we aren't exactly talking about not having enough men practicing ballet dancing for example, are we? So what's the deal with no enough women in technology positions?

If a woman would rather want to be a great architect, writer, dancer, singer, fashionista...so be it.

I am not against the exposure to technology (as it is, women are exposed a lot more than before to technology). In fact, educating about technology is good, for both men and women. It is a good place to be in to make some quick money, support yourself and supplement your passion with the tech knowledge. Seriously. That's the best thing to do even if a woman isn't that into programming as a career.

In fact it is nature like. Not ruling out exceptions, boys love games and girls don't. Girls love fashion, boys don't. Girls are more expressive and boys are not. Boys love cars, girls not that much. So let boys be boys and girls be girls and they all will have fun. That's how it is supposed to be like. So STFU everyone and go back to work. Too much pressure.

The New Love Story - Episode 2 (The Frozen Cookie)

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"Tada", said Nadia, her roommate, enthusiastically as she peeled open the huge cardboard box.
"Go ahead and thank me", her roommate spoke as she rubbed her hands excitedly.

"Fuck"

"Excuse me? I...". Nadia was perplexed. She was pretty sure Tara would be as excited as her about the Ziisound system.

"...thought you also wanted a sound system, didn't you? I mean, music...hello?", Nadia finished.

"Yes. Not until I ordered the same online last week"

"Bitch, you didnt!", Nadia said aloud.

"Oh well, I can cancel it I guess"

"But hey happy anniversary,", she squealed in delight as she hugged Tara.

Tara squirmed. "No hugs. Goddamit, how many times do I tell you no hugs"

"OK OK. I was just excited about us"

Nadia and Tara had lived together for 1 year now as roommates. As for Tara, that was a record of sorts. She didn't like roommates or rather none of her roommates had liked her. She felt like that kid tossed from one foster home to another. The first time she moved into the tiny studio with Nadia, she had no hopes of making it this long with her. Specially since she was so much different from her.

She was your typical giggly, loves-pink-and-boys kind of a girl. She had thought this would last 3 months tops i.e if she avoided encountering her completely. "Familiarity breeds contempt". She believed in that. That described her roommate situation time and again. But Nadia. She turned out to be not-so-hard after all. It all worked like a charm.

"Btw, your man sent you chocolates. Not sure of the occasion. I put them in the freezer. Now don't you scream, there is no...."

"Omigosh!!!", Nadia screamed ignoring her

"...No necessity. Never mind", she whimpered.

Just then the doorbell rang.

Nadia stopped short on her way to the kitchen and went to fetch the door instead..."Oooh here's pizza". She tipped the deliver guy generously.

Tara was least interested in food at that point. Her mind had been pre-occupied ever since she was called in by her boss the previous day. It was still running in her mind's eye.

"Tara, please sit down", her boss had said. "How are you doing?"

"I am good"


"I wanted to have a little chat with you now, if that's ok"

You know what you want to tell me so stop the crappola and tell me


"You work hard and your columns are usually very good. In fact that piece you wrote about the female Amazonian warriors was very thoroughly researched. But.."

But what you jerk? I spent sleepless nights on that article while you were in Hawaii with that mistress of yours.


"But you know, we cater to a different audience"

"Diverse", she corrected her boss.

His boss sighed.

"Look Tara. You are a great research writer. But at the same time we also want a column that connects to people. I am afraid there is plenty of talent out there for this job. Since I knew your dad very closely, I dont mean to give you the pink slip. This will be the last time we have this conversation. Life is not that bad if you choose to look at it that way."

She got up to leave without reacting. As she opened the door she heard her boss say...

"And one more thing, drop that attitude"

"Tara, Tara, Tara", she heard Nadia yell. She snapped back to see Nadia irate over her.

"This isn't from my boyfriend. This is for you", she said aloud waving at the chocolate tin she picked from the freezer.

"You have a secret boyfriend eh? And you don't even care to tell me? To your roommate?"

Tara opened the box and neatly aligned in two rows were chocolate chip cookies. Frozen.

And a note that said "Cookies don't cry"

WTF did that mean?

The New Love Story - Episode 1 (Pilot)

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She flipped opened the book and closed it back within 5 minutes.

"Bullshit", she heard herself say a little too loudly. She looked around the cafe and found people going about their business.  She let out an apologetic smile, to no one in particular.

Every day, over the past couple of months, she tried to read Eric Segal's Love Story and make some sense of it. Zilch. Every time it left her annoying within 5 minutes of reading it. How could it be that so many people love this book? She wondered.

Her phone buzzed on the table as she stashed the book in her tote. It was Sheila.

She peeked at the text for a split second - "Why aren't you returning my calls? This time you call me or we are not talking. Bye". Good, she will stop texting me then, she thought. She stashed the phone in her tote and lay idle on the couch at the cafe. She had nowhere in particular to go to. She sulked and toyed with the idea of going to the musuem. But gave up.

Her gaze followed to an old couple sitting two tables away facing the windows that overlooked the street. She watched as the woman struggled to squeeze some ketchup from the bottle. And then her partner helped squeeze, only it was all over her the table and her blouse. They laughed at their folly and cleaned up. Then she looked at another couple seated right across them. One typing intently into his Macbook and another fiddling with her smartphone. There was no way she could tell they were a couple, she was driven by her pure intuition for people in public places.

She couldn't help but laugh at the apparent irony of things. She fetched her journal from the tote and wrote some lines...

"Love can be experienced, only by two people as a whole"

She intended to write some more but was distracted by her hunger pangs. Apparently the coffee made her more hungry. She suddenly got up and walked out of the cafe. It was surprisingly a bit warm for a winter afternoon and she wasn't complaining. She stepped past the street performer on his saxo and the homeless guy who wanted beer money. "Oh well, atleast he is honest about the money", she thought. As she passed several designer stores at Soho, she cringed at the mannequin dressed in a stunning pink bridal dress. "Sucks, who wears pink to their wedding?", she muttered.

Deep in thought, she dashed past a guy in a houndstooth shirt, standing at an intersection. Little did she know, they were going to cross each other's path very soon....

Meanwhile totally unaware, she spotted a YOGO truck at the corner. "Nothing like food", she smirked to herself.

Dolls are overrated

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Lately, I have been craving gifts. Coming from me, that will be a huge shocker for my friends.
I have been swiping my credit card left, right and center. And waiting, like a hungry cheetah, on the great holiday sale. When my apartment will be swarmed by furniture, digital gadgets, books, books and more books. There is always charm in hard bound books. Kindle editions fail to impress me. But we shall talk about it some other time.

Btw, when was the first time you got a gift? Do you remember?

I can't say it was my first but one of the first gifts I got was this doll I could carry with me. It had blond hair, blue eyes and dressed in a yellow jumper suit.

In an effort to make it look more Indian (yes, as a kid I thought blond hair and blue eyes were overrated) I dyed its hair black.  Wait for it...with a black sketch pen. Yes, I took the effort to sketch each hair on the doll's head. Also I sneaked into my mom's dresser and used her lipstick to smear all over the doll's mouth. Plus, I was secretly annoyed with the doll's ability to shut its eyes when it rested on its back and opened its eyes when it stood tall. So annoyed that I forcibly held her eyes open as it lay on the floor.

Needless to say, the verdict was out. Dolls were not meant to be.

My dad assumed there was something dysfunctional about me. He confessed to me later that he would think, "Why is she acting like a retard?"

Dolls were physically abused. Check.
M&M's were chewed and promptly trashed. Check.
Soft toys were abandoned and thrown from the first floor of my house straight into the mud (yes, I seemed to have done this). Check.
A beautiful pink frock ripped apart. Check.

Of course, my dad had to try, like any other good parent. He also understood my choice of apparel after some key observations. My wardrobe was revamped. I had two pair of blue jeans and a set of 6 t-shirts that said "HAPPY" on the front in different colors.

And then my lovely toys arrived.

(1) A big ass truck.

(2) A pink panther made of rubber that I could twist (I also had an accompanying song and dance movement I did as I carried it).

(3) And a boeing airplane replica. We were made to be.

My three awesome playmates.

Didn't I say, dolls are overrated?

Dude stop

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So today at lunch, I raced across buildings to get to food. You know I can do anything for food.

I usually read or talk on phone or stare blankly at people in the cafetaria. Yes, I love people gazing. So much fun. Eavesdropping is a strict no-no. Although I can't really help if someone talks too loud, right?

So two dudes squatted right beside me. You know the ones in their hoodies wielding their smartphones and gorging on tons of meat from their plates. I was hoping to hear some nerd conversation (sigh!) until the dude went totally tangential...

He talked about his vacation with his girlfriend in some Asian country. No surprises there.

Until dude A asks dude B, so how did you guys meet?

To which he says, "Ah, nothing. I went to this African education awareness program you know."

Dude A shoots a confused look. Dude B comes to his rescue. "So you don't really get it, do you?", says dude B. Dude A is still on his confused look.

Dude A: I wasn't aware that you were into such charitable things

Dude B: Well, here's the secret. You go to hackathons for pizza and soda and coding with bros. You go to charity events and programs to check out some cute looking girls.

**I cringe silently**

Dude A: Really? (Rolls his eyes)

Dude B: Lots of cute chicks there..Sign onto this mailing list. They have something going almost every other day. Plus you look really good when you show up, as if you really care. That sort of thing makes a crushing impression on girls.

Dude A: What is that mailing list? (Brings out his Nexus)

Meanwhile, I am wondering, I just didn't hear that. Did I?
So where do I look for cute guys then? On the soccer field? Men's locker room in the gym?

Why should boys have all the fun?

Shame happens

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That's right. I talked about shame. I didn't talk about happiness, joy, pride, laughter...all the good things that you and I want to hear about. The human mind is complex. We crave for attention and worthiness more than anything else. Ask yourself, honestly what do you love most? Shame or pride? Obviously the latter. Yet, we do not realize that to make it to pride, you have to knock shame out of the way...

As a kid, you don't know what shame is about. You are fearless. Shame is unheard of. All you are is inquisitive. Hungry and foolish. You are your own limit. You didnt need self-help books nor counsel from people on "Do this and not that". Yes, you are fearless.

I remember till date...when I walked upto stage facing about 500 odd people in my high school. To sing. To sing a song, impromptu. No practice. No drama. No fear. No nothing.

I walked upto the stage at this prestigious singing competition and sang the cheesiest romantic song from a popular Bollywood movie then. I remember my brother sitting in the far corner of the school stadium, burying his face, in shame. I could see his friends ridiculing him - "And that dumb ass is your sister?"

I knew nothing. I didnt feel a thing. In fact, if you want to listen to the song I sang, it was this one, right below. Click on it and you will go WTF. And correct, it was the male version that I sang. Because the male one had easier lyrics that I remembered.

Yet, I didnt feel a thing. Also there were so many expectations, I was told later, of the student who sings in the competition. You had to sing a patriotic song I was told to be even considered worthy of winning. Needless to say I didn't win. I remember my cute looking classmate who sang the "Nanna Munna Raayi" song had won second. I wonder if the first was Vandemataram.

Oh screw it. I was overjoyed once I finished. I went straight home that evening, threw my bag and shoes off and ran to my dad to announce how glorious the whole thing was. I told him how people had laughed.

My dad asked me - "Did they applaud?"

To which I said - "No, they just laughed. Why?", peering at him closely as if to ask if that was important..

All he said was - "No. Jealous bitches. You did great" and went back to watching the news on TV.

Passion is not your girl next door

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The recent demise of Steve Jobs has left a profound impact on many. Suddenly, his words begin to haunt us. What is it that you really want to do?

When people ask me what my passion is I tend to speak all over the place. That should tick the BS alarm. To know my passion I should understand what the word passion actually means.

Passion is madness. Yes, you need to be mad enough. Crazy enough. About something. Something that speaks to you all the time. As if you are hallucinating about it. Something that becomes your best friend.

There are lots of traps though...Now if you like watching movies, that ain't your passion. We all like to goof around a bit. That ain't your passion. Your passion is what you would want your ideal day to be. What do you think is your ideal day? Not the "goof-around-in-your-pajamas-all-day" day. I mean "I-will-wake-up-from-my-bed-to-do-work" day. That's what is passion.

We all have obligations of some sort. Some ugly, some not so ugly. The sooner you get rid of them, the better you will be, the closer you will get to know/put your passion in execution.

Someone tells you what you are thinking is crazy, that is a sign of great times to come and a sign that you are indeed passionate.

I am not sure what pushes someone to "just do it". But from what I observed there seems to be couple of motives...

1) If you have to prove someone wrong.
2) If you are pissed off with your status quo.
3) If something keeps you up all night and you are sort of restless as a result.

My peak happened because I was under the spell of number 3.

I was just a kid then. I wasn't intelligent enough. I wasn't smart enough I was told. I was told I could never add and multiply numbers. I failed in Math. Again and again. It pissed me. It drove me crazy. Crazy enough for me to understand how it all works. Remember there was no Internet then. (Lucky b******* todays kids). I had to figure out. Everything. Every. Thing. No help. No money for those priced tuitions. No parental help either.

So, if I wasn't intelligent enough, how did I do it? It is called the human potential. Go Figure.

However, that just ended there. You know what I mean. That wasn't passion. That was just motivation.

Passion comes from enjoying and loving something profoundly. I knew how to manipulate through Math. To beat it at it's game. But I didn't learn to love it. No sir. Math was not my idea of fun (aka its not my passion.) Hence proved.

Passion is something you can describe in a short phrase. It is sort of like getting to say "I Love You" to your partner and he/she magically understands what you mean.

So what is your passion?

Super

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I was having a usual Sunday today. Relaxing. Drinking Tea. And you know, the usual loafing around.
Until I remembered a NYT article a friend asked me to read and I read. And lets say I just got..SCARED

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/02/opinion/sunday/meet-the-new-super-people.html

These sort of almost superhuman, stretching beyond comprehensible human potential is very very scary for the very simple reason. Where has all the fun gone? Remember? Three letters F, U and N?

Life seemed so simple when my parents lived. Getting a job, having a kid, taking care of the kid and planning for modest savings. That is all was needed. People were content and led a happy life in general.

And look what happens now...

Happiness is overhyped. Suddenly making good grades and getting a corporate job at a multinational (whatever the heck that means) company is just sub-standard. That also means you are not happy anymore. You are almost ridiculed to be just hanging onto that 9 to 5 job. That is so LOW now, no?

There are a zillion books on how to maintain self control, be a rock star at work, be indispensable, take over the world...yada yada. All of a sudden, you ask me to become Hitler? Where is the fun in that? Notice how there isn't a single book on how to have fun? Haha. I mean seriously, if there are books on diet, yoga, leadership, programming etc...why isn't there book on how to just loaf around and have fun.

Hmm. Make me want to think if people are really enjoying what they do today or would they rather put their foot into everything just so that they get a respectable place for themselves in the grand scheme of things.

Only one word comes to my mind - INSANITY

Smell.o.licious

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I miss the smell of books. Seriously.

Ever since I moved to the West Coast, a day hasn't passed when I haven't thought about NYPL
It was my Mecca. My sanctum. And all those wonderful feelings I got when I had a stack of them.
Wonder why NYPL cant open like an ex-New Yorkers branch. *Sigh*

No seriously, f*** kindle. It isn't cutting it man. I tried reading through it on the bus to work. It either gives me a headache or just makes me want to nap rather.

In fact one of the prime reasons that I am so against moving and relocating is having to leave behind a long trail of books. Boo hoo.

Recently, I have been whining a lot. A hell lot. And then today I got nostalgic for some odd reason. I saw someone (for a change) reading hardcover fiction and it took me back to the time when I used to walk to the humble library, couple of blocks from my home. I owned exactly 2 pieces of shirt and one light green skirt. And you know how I felt then? Like the luckiest girl in the whole damn world. Lucky because I got this whole freaking library and I wanted to live there. And read them all up. Not once was I embarrassed about wearing the same skirt over and over again.

Obviously, my dad was very taken aback by this attitude. I would beg, plead, cry, threaten, wallow...so long as my dad paid my library membership fee. I never once asked him to get me some clothes instead. That really bothered him. LOL.

I used to watch the kind of people coming in and out of the library.

The socialites would choose all the glamor and celebrity magazines.
Girls at call centers would come by for Mills & Boon
Teenagers would gawk at Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys and Sidney Sheldon.
The thriller fans head toward Agatha Christie.
And the more sensible (like me;) would read classics =)

But I tried every one of them. Books were my sanctum sanctorum. My whole world revolved around them.

Wait. I remember this one book. It was a "holy shit this is huge" sort of book. I can't seem to remember its name. It was filled with how stuff works. What the hell was it? I cant remember it now. I was so fascinated. I lugged the giant thing home and spread it on the floor and read it.

I still remember my library card number. And yes, the library still exists. And my card is still there, as of  last November=)

I left my heart in San Francisco

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Hi there you. Yes, you. Whoever you are. Welcome.

No, I am not generous with courtesies. Once in a while, I feel like giving. Giving back I mean. In my own wicked ways. But yes, I am happy to say I have had a break..of sorts. Lets not go there. Meanwhile I found a number of interesting things this week on visiting San Francisco. Some hippie told me that San Francisco actually means the land of black lesbians. Ok, lets not go there. Also, if you are PMSing you can get a prescription to buy weed. Ok, lets not go there either. Wait, what did you say? Your kids read this blog? Oh well they are probably reading "classier" stuff anyway. Internet is everyone's dear friend.

So yes. This break has been good. I have seen breads transform to lobsters and crocodiles.

I have had a 10 year old kid bow down to me at the Golden Gate Bridge and wish me a good rest of the day. (How cool is that, no? I have never had a kid, forget adult, bow down to me and wish me a good day like that....). No, picture not included. It was "in the moment" fellas. In the moment.

Also I saw the cafe where Francis Ford Coppola hangs out. Ok, ok, I didn't see him. But that's where he hangs out ok? Jeez. If you are asking who the heck is he, dont worry. He is probably a wrinkly old guy you dont really have to know about. Or well, just google damn it.

Also I saw random heart figurines here and there....and figured some silently sing "I left my heart in San Francisco". So teary-eyed I was. Until I saw this heart. Nothing shaped like a heart. It is cold, black and stone - yes, my Wall St. friends. That is a Banker's Heart, I am told.



*Pic courtesy - Wikipedia. Yes, I am all about giving Internet, its due.


Then I saw some sleeping figure on top of a building. I don't know what that was about. I don't really care. And I dont have a picture, I cant find it. So lets move on now.

Also there is a church. Yes, I am coming to the interesting part. Yes, I know you would have guessed it is either St. Paul or St. Peter. But it's address, my dear genius friend, is 666 Filbert St. A-ha!

Ok, so what if I didn't visit the Alcatraz. So what if I didn't visit the Golden Gate Park (Actually, I have had enough of parks. Once you have seen Central Park, you have seen it all). So what if I couldn't make it to the Exploratorium. You save the best for later. (No, I don't believe in that. Just saying.)

Poke the Box: When was the last time you did something for the first time?

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I am sucker for Seth Godin's books and essays.
Poke the Box is his recent manifesto about starting.
I know I know. I am not going to listen to you, lol.

I just love reading and re-reading his books for the insightful stories he shares and how short and pithy he keeps it. But mind you, if you are looking for a how-to book, this isn't for you. There are other books of his, that do a better job at that. This is sort of like a poster, you can stare at and ruminate about what you are going to start..now.

In his own words:

Starting a project, making a ruckus, taking what feels like a risk.


Not just, "I'm starting to think about it" or "we're going to meet on this", or even "I filed a patent application..."


No, starting.


Going beyond the point of no return.


Leaping.


Committing.


Making something happen.

The job isn't to catch up to the status quo. The job is to invent the status quo.

War of the Word

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You know how you get into that REM kind of deep sleep. You are floating somewhere, amongst mountains and beautiful valleys, air bubbles and flowers and lots of food (in my case, haha)..only to be interrupted by a freaking phone call x-(

So this is how my REM was disturbed last night.

Phone rings


Me: Hmm..
Voice on the phone: Where is the fcuking print?
Me: Whaa???
Voice on the phone: I cant find it. Where is Print and Print Preview?
Me: Print Preview? What? Who's this? Someone from office?
Voice on the phone: This is God. Now where the fcuk is print?
Me: Dad!!!!!! WTF?
Dad: Yes, good morning. I got my computer fixed today at the store. The guy formatted the whole damn thing and put Microsoft Word 2007. I can't find print preview, I don't see the usual buttons. That arrogant SOB changed everything.
Me: Who? The store guy? But that is the new Word dad...Word 2007 interface is different.  And it is not the store guy's fault.
Dad: I am talking about Bill Gates
Me: He doesn't work for Microsoft anymore. He runs charities and Malaria awareness and...
Dad: SOB. Did I wake you up?
Me: (Sarcastically) Oh no, I was doing laundry.
Dad: Don't get sarcastic with me. What do they teach you at work these days? To get sarcastic with your own parents?
Me: I didn't know they "teach" at work. And it is not Bill Gates' fault.
Dad: First I lose my files. Then I don't find a print preview. And then I have to deal with your chatter.
Me: Stop PMSing ok? I know where to find the print preview. And I am not saying a word until you apologize to me.

Crickets chirping


Dad: OK
Me: Ok what?
Dad: Apologized
Me: From when did OK replace a Sorry?
Dad: Fine
Me: I am looking for S-O-R-R-Y
Dad: I know how it spells. You just spelt Sorry
Me: Ok
Dad: And I just told the word
Me: Fineeeeeee. Click on that Windows logo on the top..extreme left
Dad: You kidding me?
Me: No. That's where they put it all. Open, Save, Print etc..
Dad: That arrogant SOB
Me: Ya I know. They should have asked you.
Dad: What do they pay you guys for? To readjust buttons on the interface? That is what you call programming?
Me: Oh come on. I don't work for Microsoft.
Dad: Then what is it that you do? Why do you get paid so much more than me?

And then an hour long discussion continued...

Divider skirt

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The other day A and I were discussing the very controversial topic of Divider Skirts. Ahem.

The first time I had mentioned it was to my dad, at age 15. It was one of those "I need to get  new uniform because I have grown taller" moments. My dad was very bothered at the rate I was growing tall. He was bothered due to economical reasons, of course. So it was time. He had to take me to store to buy me a new uniform. That meant two sets - one green in color and another a white one. White, because, that's what we wore on Saturdays, you know, for doing all that morning drill stuff? Anyway. This time, however, it had to be a divider skirt, not the normal one. So when he took me to the local garment retailer, I said,"Umm, this time I need a divider skirt".

I heard my dad squeal, not in delight, but in disgust.

He looked straight in my eye and said, "And WTF is a divider skirt?"

How uncouth and un-gentlemanly of him.

"Divider skirt, that which divides like a trouser", I said

"So you mean long bermudas", he said

F***

He chuckled and said to the sales guy over the counter, "Some divider skirt, kathe yaaro..." (which in the local slang means - Some divider skirt, my friend)

The sales guy nodded like he knew what I was talking. He brought two or three of them. Of course, my dad asked him to stop bullshitting and get the cheapest one available but also the most durable. To which, I seemed to have told him that the most durable wasn't necessarily going to be the cheapest anyway, because of obvious macro economics laws. And he very unabashedly asked me to stop bullshitting him.

Now our very serious sales guy added an extra 20 Indian rupees to the most awesome divider skirt he fished out for us. Of course, that didn't please daddy dearest.

Dad: Woh last time,  two sau ka liye the.. (The last time I purchased it was 200 Indian rupees)

Sales guy: Woh, do saal pehle ka tha saab. Abhi rate-aa bad gaye (It was 2 years ago, the rates have increased now)

Dad: Zamaane se aarum yahan pe. Tumhaare saab aur hum ek ich school mein padthe the (I have been a long time customer here. Your owner and I went to the same school)

Sales guy: Maaloom saab, vo-ich bees daala main. Nahi tho vo assi ka padtha, divider skirt (I know, that's why I charged only 20 against 80 rupees for a divider skirt)

Dad: Ek beech ki seelaayi ke liye assi lethe? Kya zamaana aa gaya. Apne zamaane mein hum usse bermuda bola karthe the (For a sewing in between, you demand 80 rupees? In our times, we used to call such a thing as a bermuda)

Meanwhile, lots of chuckles were exchanged between men in the store

Me: This is so disgraceful. I won't take anything less than a divider skirt.

Still heard chuckles from men.

Me: But Mrs. Bhaskar Rao will not let me do drill if I don't have a divider skirt

Dad: Does she wear one?

Me: No she wears a saree

Dad: There is no divider saree?

Me: I need a divider skirt. Now.

Dad: Fine.

Looks at the sales guy and says something and finalizes it for the same rate as the original non-divider skirt

The ride back home on my dad's TVS moped was spent listening to him grumbling about the divider skirt. And if you knew my dad even remotely, this went on for some time from grumbling to humor to crass jokes on how divider skirts could actually empower women.

That night ended on a note.

Dad: Tell Mrs. Bhaskar Rao, I am getting her a divider skirt on her birthday.

Monkey business

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On days when I am overwhelmed, I set aside everything that is overwhelming me, fish a book and walk out to find a lonely spot to read. I am not sure if that is a nice way to overcome overwhelming tasks, but seems to work  for me. So for the past week I have been reading the manifesto style "The Art of Non-Conformity" by Chris Guillebeau (this dude is awesome!) If anything, this guy should pay me for I have influenced atleast a dozen New Yorkers this week on the subway, brandishing the book at their face. If you keenly observed New Yorkers they dont give a shit, really. No matter what you do. You might make sounds, fall on your face or even roam around pantless on the subway and they will not as much as raise an eyebrow at you. As if to say, "Like seriously, you thought that was the weirdest thing to do? Grow up!"

Anyway, so the point I am trying to make is - New Yorkers wont bat an eyelid until you are hooked on a book and then they want to watch the book cover to see what got you hooked so badly. Yeah. No kidding. I have many a times based my choice on dear New Yorkers book choices. Each one radically different. The joys of a subway travel.

Now if you have read this far and survived, you would ask me why the title reads "Monkey Business". That's because instead of a traditional book review I chose to quote this story from the book. I am sure you have heard this tale in one form or the other (amazing how many variants you have for a story that has a moral in the end). Definitely a good book if you want to get a shot of inspiration.




 And now, ladies and gentleman, the monkey business...

"Five monkeys are thrown in a cage by a sadistic monkey-hater. Enough food and water is available at the bottom of the cage, saving them from starvation while forcing them to lead a boring life of staring  through the glass every day. The food at the bottom is bad, but sufficient. At the top of the cage, however, a large stalk of bananas alluringly waits. Conveniently, a ladder to the top has been provided by the sadist.


After getting over the shock of being caged, one of the monkeys scales the ladder and reaches for a banana. All of a sudden a fire hose appears from nowhere. The monkey at the top of the ladder is soaked with cold water but not only him - all of the other monkeys are soaked as well, in an exercise of group punishment for the sins of one freedom-loving monkey.


Over the next few days the experience repeats itself several times. One monkey makes a run for the bananas, the whole troop of monkeys gets soaked, and pretty soon the group starts beating up the monkey brave enough to scale the ladder. The bananas are still at the top, but just out of reach. The monkeys reluctantly accept the fate of living a life without bananas.


Then one day the experiment changes...


The sadist takes one monkey out of the cage and replaces him with another one. Not knowing the consequence of being doused with the cold water, the new monkey immediately begins to scale the ladder in pursuit of a banana, the rest of the monkeys pull her down before she reaches the top, and the troop settles in again.


The next day another monkey is replaces, and then another, and the process repeats itself: the new monkey lunges for the banana, gets pulled down, and adapts. After five days, no monkey from the original troop remains, and no monkey has even been soaked with cold water - but every monkey knows they are not supposed to climb the ladder. One of the monkeys finally asks - "Hey why cant we eat the bananas?" The others shrug their shoulders and say "We're not sure - we just know we can't"

So kids, basically the moral of the story is "DO NOT SETTLE"
Always remember - It is easier to be a cynic, than a believer

Dentist, ahoy!

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There are several things that I haven’t done or experienced in my life. One of them that might not sound out of the world is a visit to a dentist. 


So when I absolutely had to go to the dentist this week, I reluctantly went. Like any other smartphone user, I looked up reviews before I took a last minute appointment. As is the norm with last minute appointments, I was given the oddest time – 10 AM on a Friday. I was like “Hello? I got work to do, remember?"
Of course my plea went unheard and I was done postponing this visit, so anyway, I declared WFH (Work from Home) and stomped to the Dental Office. Of course, totally unaware of how 105F felt outside, I went out without any sort of sun protection. It was “melt my skin” hot! This freaking heat wave is killing me :-/


Plus, the PATH train had to fail on me. Right from the moment go, things went wrong. Trains came late and then a train poofed to a stop. Just like that. Right in front of me. It gave out a screeching hiss and went calm. "Oh that's not good", a lady in her suit exclaimed beside me. I saw a couple of similar looking similar dressed bankers or whoever typing rapidly on their phones, trying to make phone calls to call in late to work. Of course, you all know what a cool cat I am eh? I just whipped out the latest book from my library and went digging right in. Half hour later, the train was still hissing on and off. Hmm. I was going to get late to this appointment I thought. It felt ominous and I suddenly felt hungry. Hmm.  But anyway, they sort of moved the train to clear the tracks and the next train came in, so it wasn't, let me just say, all that bad.

Blame it on my Iphone, it was showing me wrong directions. Why would it show wrong directions, you ask? Simple, because I entered 126 instead of 162. Yes, wrong address. LOL. When I almost gave up searching for this office I found it on the corner of the street with a tiny placard with office hours written on it in Arial font. (Now did I tell you how much Arial font irks me?) “This is it?”, I thought to myself. It looked like a tiny home from outside, so obviously I judged it. I took respite in the yelp reviews. 4.5 stars. They must do something right, I concluded.
They buzzed me in through the main entrance (didn't I tell you it was a home?!) and when I went up my conclusions were true. It was like some sort of 3 bedroom apartment converted into a dental office. Hmm. Not that I am sucker for fancy things, still! Anyway, I filled out the forms and such. You know with all those lengthy Q&A on your medical history and about my non-existent pregnant life and what not. I got so impatient filling it out at a point, when I started scrolling "NONE" in bold all over the paper. Serious. :D

Anyway, a petite nice looking lady doc ushered me in.

Doc: Hi, I am M
Me (beaming, almost wanted to say I am M too!): Hi
Doc: Nice to see you, could you lie down for me please
Me: Yes
Doc: So what brings you here M?
Me: Just passed by, thought I would give you a visit

Thankfully she had a sense of humor


Doc: And let me guess, you saw the reflection of your smile on the shop window and didn't like it?
Me: Haha. (Turning serious). My wisdom tooth's hurting and my gums are bleeding
Doc: Hmm. Lets take a look then. I will take your X-Ray first.
Me: (Nodding)
Me: (Jumping up) Just so you know I never visited a dentist ever

I think she narrowed your eyebrows to camouflage her shock at my statement

Doc: May I ask why? Are you scared of us?
Me: No, not really. I don't think I was ever worried about oral hygiene until I saw my gums bleed this week
Doc: Hmm, not good. You should visit a dentist atleast twice a year.
Me: Sure

X-rays and all that jazz done, she flashed them on her computer, digital shots.

Nastyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!

That was my instant reaction

Me: They look, um, nasty!
Doc: Well, I dont think you even brush twice or floss. Am I right
Me: (Nods in approval)
Doc: That's not good. It can get serious.

Me dont eat desserts. Me dont eat chocolates. Me drinks lots of caffeine though. But I didnt tell her this.


Doc: So for the wisdom teeth, I am sorry, but you need to go to an oral surgeon to get them extracted
Me: But they pain!
Doc: I know, I dont do tooth extraction

I hide my anger. I thought that was in your job description.


Doc: I can go a cleaning to help your gums, but they need to be restored. You will need atleast two deep cleaning session...blah blah..

At this point I was looking at this cheesy wall hanging in her office that read "Smile, it costs nothing"
Yeah, right. Tell that to a dentist. 
I resisted telling her - "Let me tell you, I am doing only things that are covered under Insurance ok?"

Doc: ..so what do you want to do?
Me: Cleaning for now
Doc: Ok, lets do it

Sigh


She thrust some hissing tube into my mouth, it's supposed to suck the saliva out of the mouth once it is open for too long. I interrupted her every second she groped for her tools to ask her what they do. At one point she went all "Sssssshhhh" on me. That was her way of telling STFU. So polite she was.


Doc: Are you ok?
Me: Oh ya, absolutely, I went into a dream like state. I am kind of enjoying this
Doc: Really? It is not paining?
Me: A bit, when you scratch it like you are weeding at a garden

She burst into a loud laugh. I joined her. Then she resumed and I sort of stared at her eyes. Ooooh, romantic. Where else can you stare? LOL. For some time I stared at the light on the top, but it was too much for my eyes. She had liquid brown eyes. She was quite attractive I think. Don't get me wrong, btw. LOL. Dudes must really want her to check on their teeth, I thought.


Rest of it was pretty normal, each time I would be asked to take a break and rinse to spit out all the *stuff* she scratched up from the gums.

Doc: It is not that bad, but ummm, you got a lot of bacteria up on your gums and it has gone a bit deeper, so you really need a deep cleaning. Please take it seriously ok?

Me: OK

Doc: You really have healthy and strong teeth, specially the canines. But they are useless without strong gums. So you gotta take care.

Once she was done, she shoved me a kit - that had a toothbrush, toothpaste and floss and reminded me again. Wow, woman. I got it, ok? Sigh, dont get me all depressed now about my teeth.


So I got my X-rays now and everytime I look at them, I run like I am on fire to the restroom and brush. I have got really paranoid about my teeth now :(

The beauty of loneliness

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This is my entry for Indie Ink Writing Challenge - Week 8


She ran across from her bedroom as the phone ring. She knocked her feet against the doorstop. Only this was the third time. She almost resisted from screaming the curse word.  "God, why me?", she muttered.

"How are you baby?", said the voice over the phone. It was her mom.
"Whatever mom! Fine", she huffed
"How was your day darling?", her mom continued.
"Ma...what can be different? Please Ma, what do you want?", she gasped.
"Oh I just hoped I could give you some company. I will call you some other time, you should get some rest", her mom replied.
"OK. Fine. Night!", she dropped her phone and strutted to the couch, her toe was still paining from the third hit at the doorstop.

As she settled in her couch and flipped through the TV, she sighed. "Not even the damn TV can show something interesting", she grunted, still holding her toe by her palm.

Suddenly she felt all lonely. She looked around. The silence was somewhat discomforting. Except for the faint sound of the air conditioner in her bedroom, she could hear nothing. Her eyes fell on the magazine spread across on the coffee table. The magazine cover was partially visible, it looked like two eyes peering out at her.  (It was actually a skirt pictured on the cover). It reminded her of the time when she used to make portraits. Dozens of them. Of everyone she saw, remembered or met. She was so good at it. Until she had to leave all that behind to take up a corporate job. She sighed. She hated living with roommates and having to compromise on so many things. She hated being bothered or being instructed. She had imagined life would be "fun" living alone. Without menacing company to bother her. She could get all the time to herself, if she stayed away from people, family, friends, she had thought.

As so many thoughts sped her mind, her eyes got moist. She was strange as a child. While kids would play around and savor delicious food, she would sit in a corner and watch them do, whatever they do. And sketch them and make portraits. Once she had made a portrait of a woman who was "dressed funnily". She had run into her at an old abandoned building, few blocks from her school. She sketched her and talked to her and shook hands with her. She was full of cigarette smell. She smoked a lot and funny hair and lot of makeup.
When she showed the portrait to her dad, he was miffed at her. She didn't understand why. She was sure her sketch was quite like the woman she had met that afternoon. Her mom had later told her that she actually drew the portrait of a whore. And she should never go to that awful building ever.

She smiled as that memory came back. A sudden thought struck her. She slipped into her jeans and stuffed her pockets with dollar bills. She made some purchases at a nearby art store. She climbed down to the basement of her apartment building and fished out her old easel and dusted it. As old memories ravaged her, she sketched and sketched into the dawn. Only taking breaks to make pots of coffee. She sketched till her body ached and her arms screamed of exhaustion. As she used up the final bits of colored pencils, she took stock of the portraits in front of her.

She drew herself, a series of portraits of herself. Some pretty, some happy, some sad, some hopeful and some thoughtful expressions of herself. Funny how she remembers her own face. "I must be looking at the mirror too long!", she thought.

The phone rang, this time it was her boss. The clock showed 6 am. She did not take the call.

"Screw it", she said aloud. She strutted back to her bed and pulled the sheets over her. Smiling and strangely not feeling lonely anymore.

My prompt this time came from Janani - "Loneliness can make people do the strangest things"
Btw, special mention for Janani since I came across Indie Ink Challenge for the first time in one of her blog posts. Her posts are amazingly charming. So do visit her blog =)


My prompt went to Shiv this week - "Why so serious?" Find the reply (a poem!) here

Inspiring songs

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I woke up to a dull Sunday today. Still trying to find my mojo, I switched onto these songs (building a playlist on my itunes now) that sound inspiring on some level.

Fighter - Christine Aguilera

Fireworks - Katy Perry

Affirmation - Savage Garden

Raise your glass - Pink

It's my life - Bon Jovi 

Daily affirmation

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I bumped into this cute but solid daily affirmation video by a kid who apparently is in a great positive mood!

#Trust30 | Day 28 - Overcoming uncertainty

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Nothing can bring you peace but yourself. Nothing can bring you peace but the triumph of principles.- Ralph Waldo Emerson

*This photo was from the first time I went skiing last Winter. I was tired, scared and wimpy. All because I didn't trust myself. I set my heart to believe I will crash into a tree or a fence and I will hurt myself bad. That was enough to stop me from even "giving it a chance". I think the first step to defeat is accepting defeat even before facing it. That day I was ashamed of myself - for setting myself up for failure.


Write down a major life goal(s) you have yet to achieve or even begin to take action on. 
I have several major goals, but let's just pick two from top of the pile:
- Build a world class mobile app
- Write a book


For each goal, write down three uncertainties (read: fears) you have relating to each goal. 
What are my resistances to building a mobile app?
1) I know nothing about programming mobile apps
2) Where do I get started? Should I worry about "having it all" before I start?
3) How will users react to this? Will this be a hit or a miss?


What are my resistances to writing a book?
1) I know nothing about writing/publishing a book
2) Am I a good enough writer?
3) What should I write about? I think my ideas are too random and not sorted for a book


Break it down further, and write down three reasons for each uncertainty. 
I suffer from the "I know nothing" syndrome. This is strangely only in selected areas. For example, if I am cooking a regular dish (I love to cook) and I experiment with the ingredients, I don't fear about the uncertainty. I guess I think to myself "What's the worse that could happen? The dish turns bad? I can always order a pizza then!". It is funny how that does not apply to my goals though. 


So how do we solve this "I know nothing" syndrome. Like a true engineer, break it down into manageable pieces. Solve each piece and put together (why do I feel like I am talking about Merge Sort algorithm, haha) the final product. Sounds daunting if we think about the final solution, but is not, if you focus on each little piece. So let's take my fears for "writing a book goal" and break it apart.


1) I know nothing about writing/publishing a book

Start writing few words a day. That can't be tough, can it? I feel like all my thoughts float into ether and I do not capture them at the time when it strikes me. Make a point of jotting down ideas-on-the-go. Use Evernote. Hmm. And then turn that into a tiny story for the day. I still don't have to worry about later. Just write. And do not fear the BIG goal.

2) Am I a good enough writer?

Let's just assume I am. Things go smooth if you trust yourself. Each time this fear stares at you, think of the time you got that one compliment from your well-wisher or reader. That should keep me going. Hmm.

3) What should I write about? I think my ideas are too random and not sorted for a book

Take inspiration from your surroundings. New York City is a great place to be. Specially if you are a writer who soaks up stuff happening around you. I should find myself lucky to be here. I have to start making notes of stuff around me. And again, just write.


When you have three reasons for your fear, you’ll be able to start processing the change because you know where the fear stems from. Now you’ll be able to make a smaller changes that push you towards your larger goal. So begins the process of “trusting yourself.”


This post is part of the #Trust30 Project. #Trust30 is an online initiative and 30-day writing challenge from TheDominoProject that encourages you to look within and trust yourself. Learn more at RalphWaldoEmerson.me

Week-a-boo

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Week-a-boo is my attempt to curate some of the quirky links I bump into during the week. Have a great weekend!=)

Humid humid NYC weather. Skipped a track event. Dragged myself to grocery store.
And now propped on the bed overlooking the clear skies over Hudson, is my dear old PC (Next week my Macbook Pro arrives, hurray!)




So anyways, what are you guys doing this weekend? Here are some of the quirky links I looked up this week. Good to snug up and read on, preferably with a hot chai=)

Watch this intense video footage of a woman about to jump off her apartment building

If you love museums like me, go straight to Google Art Project. Now. And the recommended TED talk from the Googler behind this project.

Insightful interview with an introverted engineer who went on to lead Mozilla

America's first package-free zero waste grocery store in Austin, Texas

This is how you can fix your bad habits

Byliner curates some of the best magazine articles all at one place. How cool is that?

Tips on how to train your focus

Why @shitmydadsays thinks Father's Day is BS

And finally...Tina Fey reads out BossyPants in her own voice. As for me, I have a large print edition of the book that I am reading. It has been quite a hilarious memoir so far.

Role Models and all that;)

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This is my entry for Indie Ink Writing Challenge - Week 7


No, I am not talking about Role Models, the movie dammit! Although, I really did like the movie.;)
But we are here to talk about more "serious" stuff. You know things like who inspired you, what in them inspired you and what became of you as a result..such and such. Hopefully I won't bore you. But as always I have little nuggets of events revolving around that, so it shouldn't put to sleep:)

Now, I can't pin down on one role model. I think I am just as wavering in real life. I liked a whole bunch of people as I grew up, haha.

The first one I remember was at, you guessed it, school! I did really really bad at Math and Hindi (India's official language) as subjects so I avoided them like the plague. I understood, appreciated and built my entire primary school life around English and Literature. Ya, I know. Genius kid I was. But all that was for one reason. To impress my beautiful looking personable and charming English teacher at school. Sophie was her name. OMG, I would do anything to impress her. I somehow felt if I grew up I should be like her. I would secretly read and re-read and re-re-read all the chapters from my English textbook weeks ahead so I could impress her. She was impressed with me too. I was quite the charmer, eh? I took pride in my highest marks on English, only the Math and Hindi screwed me over and over. My report card would read
English - 99/100
Math - 34/100
Hindi - 16/100

And I would sob over...you guessed it right...that 1 mark I missed before I hit 100. *Sob*

My dad never understood my obsession with English. I never told him till date it was because of Sophie. LOL. He always thought he seemed to have inspired that in me. BS.

Anyway, so a day came when the whole world around me shattered. Apparently, Sophie HATED my handwriting. That day she had given up on me. She called me straight to her desk and almost said that she couldn't take it anymore. That's not what she said, but I could read her eyes. She apparently had a tough time reading through all my wonderfully scripted answers on the exam answer sheet. She knew I was solid on the English but my handwriting gave her sleepless nights. I was too young to remember her exact words but that day I broke into pieces. But...I thought I was THE BEST at English! And all she told me was I would go nowhere if I did not make an effort to learn how to write legibly.

I was in tears. I sobbed whole night. I refused to eat and locked myself in my room. My dad was a little worried. By nature I was a rather fierce kid. Rebelling and fighting and devil-may-care attitude was more my style. Not the weepy, lonely, loser kid. And I spoke very little (that was a biggie, because I was quite a talkative kid too). Anyway, I silently saved up money to buy those handwriting practice books (you know with whole lot of rules so you could get those perfectly shaped ABCD's). I was too proud a kid to ask for extra money for this. I quit buying silly truck toys (I loved trucks and airplanes as a kid and hated barbies. LOL). I shut myself up everyday for hours getting the perfect cursive handwriting. I would stick my forefinger between each word, because Sophie told me I NEVER put spaces between words and that's why it sucked. (I remember this part because my fingers ached and my head ached out of boredom repeating this drudgery of sticking my finger between every word till I didn't require to do that)


Anyhow, it was months before I emerged victorious. The day I got 100 was when Sophie said I had the best handwriting and she gave me +2 for best handwriting (Thinking of that now, how silly it seems 102/100, haha)
Woot woot!

Oh shoot, wasn't this about role models or something. I guess I just got carried away.

I really keep jumping from one role model to another all my life. But seriously, as narcissist as it sounds, I would give anything to be THAT rebel of a kid I was. Maybe that is what I miss today. I think I would want to make my "kid self" as my role model today.

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This post was a result of Chamindra aka Disease challenging me to this prompt:
"Tell Us About your Role Model and the Reasons Behind Your Choice"

So hoping I did a good job, I will go right ahead and eat a tiny portion of half-baked frozen yogurt I got today, temptations not withstanding;) Oh, before that, I happened to challenge Joelyn with this prompt:
"Imagine you get locked down in a library for a night, what would you do?"

Read about her adventure here

Of Cherry Blossoms and Macarons!

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This is my entry for Indie Ink Writing Challenge - Week 6
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Something about the macarons screamed sandwich to me the day I was first introduced to them.
When I first saw those tiny creations of art, I blurted out "That's like Klondke but with pretty colors!"
My friend's face hung in shame. She swore I knew nothing about macarons and I should shut up. Of course, I didn't know anything abt them! That is the first time I saw. I was fascinated by the colors - pink, light green, brown, lavendar - than it's taste. And then another faux pas.

"But I though they are supposed to have browned coconut flakes over them, no?", obviously confusing a macaron for a macaroon. My friend decided she had enough of my macaron blasphemy (she is a big big macaron fan). Of course, I have to tell you they are one of the smoothest silkiest creations that melt in your mouth. I have since dreamed of cooking them, but have been discouraged. It is supposed to be hard I am told. Close to impossible. But after looking at this recipe and pictures I will say "It is worth the effort". I am macaron inspired right now. Haha.

What made the pictures even more appealing were the cherry blossoms...
Cherry Blossoms are another of those things I got introduced to after I moved to US.
I recently had been to a Cherry Blossom Festival at the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens. The Cherry Esplanade was nothing short of epic.

Plus all the cherry blossomy smell in the cool air was such a bliss. So seeing Cherry Blossoms associated with Macarons was almost like adrenaline rush (no kidding!) when I bumped into this recipe page. I have always struggled making meringue so I understand when people tell it is tough to make these babies.

Meanwhile my cherry blossom inspired smile =)

This week's challenge came from Karla V and the prompt was:
Canelle et Vanille (http://cannelle-vanille.blogspot.com/) is one of my favorite food blogs. Since you seem to share my love of good food, pick a recipe from that site and craft your own narrative surrounding the pictures and the food. Don't forget to provide a link to that recipe in your post.

Thanks Karla for customizing a prompt based on my interest for cooking!:) That definitely didn't feel like a narrative but I was short on time (and all those excuses;). I promise to enhance this post pretty soon.

I challenged Lilu to :
Sometimes we are not aware of our surroundings as much as we should be. We use the phone, listen to music, read a book and so on...but fail to notice some really simple pleasures around us. Write about the different things you noticed today. Yes, there has to be something different you will see otherwise you are not looking enough;)
See Lilu's response here which I haven't read yet! Reading right now...

Yes, you can do it!

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Read the full entry at the Right Brain Terrain Manifesto

#Trust30 | Day 11 - Fear

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If there is one thing that can give us freedom from fear, what do you think that one thing is?

I pondered on that question for a quite a long while now. In subways. In offices. In restrooms. In supermarkets. In bookstores. In restaurants. In musuems. In parks. In my bedroom. Nothing struck me. Then it occurred to me today, out of the blue. And this is the thing:

By learning to love and own your imperfections, you will have no fear





So here is the deal. Will jumping off a cliff (its called bungee jumping in the modern ages;)), skydiving or adventure sports of any kind give you this freedom. Maybe a bit. You will now have done something that you "thought" you could never do. But the ultimate escape from fear is learning to love yourself. As cliched as it sounds, it is the THE most important change that we can make in life. Yet in even acknowledging your imperfections there is fear! Funny how that works no?
So why are we doing this to ourselves? Hurting ourselves and worrying sick with lumps in our throats and knots in our stomach over things that don't really matter? I am not saying i you fear snakes, go dive into a snake pit without thought. All I am saying is this fear, this resistance is stopping you from being awesome.

Take this for example. I am in a room with a large audience with reputable people and world renowned author at the podium on the stage. Once she finished speaking, she opens the floor for questions. I have a question to ask. What is the first thing that comes to my mind?

- Did I phrase my question appropriately?
- Would she be offended by what I ask?
- Will I be able to ask her in a presentable voice and demeanor?
- What will other people in the audience think of me? *Cringe*

And the moment has passed. Someone else has asked a question and we are out of time.
OK, maybe my example is not that great. But you get the point. Overthinking led to resistance which led to fear. Now i will never be able to ask that question to her face-to-face. So was shutting down and going blank worth it? NO! Yet, we do this every single day for the simplest of things.

Now, sit down and write answers to these questions:


Is the insecurity you’re defending worth the dream you’ll never realize? or the love you’ll never venture? or the joy you’ll never feel?

No, not even close to worth. In fact this will turn into deep regret that I haven't even given it a shot for the fear of failing badly in it. Learning from failures and mistakes is what makes humans invincible.

Will the blunder matter in 10 years? Or 10 weeks? Or 10 days? Or 10 minutes?
Maybe 10 mins. Human memory is short. We forget our blunders as soon as the next one happens.

Can you be happy being anything less than who you really are?
I can never be happy doing something that is not me, not what I stand for. Funny how humans are motivated - it is not money but our passions that drive happiness in us.

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This post is part of the #Trust30 Project. #Trust30 is an online initiative and 30-day writing challenge from TheDominoProject that encourages you to look within and trust yourself. Learn more at RalphWaldoEmerson.me

These are the voices which we hear in solitude, but they grow faint and inaudible as we enter into the world. Society everywhere is in conspiracy against the manhood of every one of its members – Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

Is fear holding you back from living your fullest life and being truly self expressed? Put yourself in the shoes of the you who’s already lived your dream and write out the answers to the following:

Is the insecurity you’re defending worth the dream you’ll never realize? or the love you’ll never venture? or the joy you’ll never feel?

Will the blunder matter in 10 years? Or 10 weeks? Or 10 days? Or 10 minutes?

Can you be happy being anything less than who you really are?

Now Do. The Thing. You Fear.

(Author: Lachlan Cotter)