1O Things I’d tell a 5 year old me :D

1. So you think you’ll ‘grow up’ some day. That there is going to be some sort of a revelation (flourish, trumpets). Tough luck. You might grow taller, weigh more than you did, drink down a lot of books and be tested by time- no matter what, you’ll forever be immature. So will everybody else.Trapped in a bigger frame perhaps, but not any wiser. So stop looking at those 10^th std kids, awe-struck and dumbfounded, thinking that they have heart-to-hearts with their chaddi-buddy Nirvana.

2.Mario’s elusive princess?- Know her? You've been hunting for that pain-in-the-neck-virtual-princess trying to do Mario a favour for over a decade and a half, that over dressed nut is probably flirting with one of the beasts of the game. You’ll never find her. You needn’t throw your bag away as soon as you reach home and help Mario with his love life, it isn’t obligatory.

3. Your mother told you that they were diamonds in the sky, Simba- that they were people you loved who were no longer with you. Wonderful? Yea, brace yourself, for a teacher is going to hop into class and tell you that they’re neither, bursting your complacent bubble, breaking your bow (down will come baby, cradle and all)

4. It’s all right to hate fairy tales. Yea, I know, you hate them. You nod along when your friends chatter away about Cinderella and sleeping beauty and etc etc etc. The whole idea of the prettiest, neatest, good-est girl getting what people thought they really needed- a prince, makes you cringe. Really? If that’s what Cinderella and her battalion wanted, they could suit themselves. But psychologically culturing little girls into believing that they needed a sweet voice, pretty face and a knight in shining armour is pure evil. And besides, you’re converse hasn’t been washed since I don’t know when and your still happy. Period.

5. Think you’re gonna be the master of your chocolate-eating time/qty when you’re big? LOL. It’s been years since you said goodbye to seventeen, take an untimely step towards the fridge to grab a brick of heaven and be prepared to welcome a barrage of verbal arrows, generously sent your way, courtesy de Mum, Grandmum.

6. Those ugly duckling days aren’t gonna stay for long.

7. Can’t get b and d right? Relax, they’ll fall into place soon.

8. Confusion is ubiquitous and to make things worse, eternal. Not all questions can be answered and what the future holds, none but time can tell. Every choice you make is a consensual risk you take and the uncertainty in life is probably its best feature. So, show worry the door out and live life one day at a time.

9. Think that you’ll be left to your own devices once you’ve reached the ever-so-coveted adulthood? Your Grandmothers are going to sit together and rant away on how ‘Thankathinu fashion sense ottum ilya’ (Thankam has absolutely no fashion sense) and unintentionally embarrass you at weddings, enquiring, “Innu kulichuvo kutty?” (“Have you bathed today?”). You’re still going to be pinched for not eating enough dosas, not wearing the kinda clothes they’d have you and not combing your hair as often as they deem appropriate.

10. In some years, fewer than you think, you’re going to hope that by some error in fate you’d be returned to that time that has stealthily slipped into one of Newton’s infinite dimmensions when you could jump into muddy puddles, run behind frogs and hens, your only concern was why your front tooth wasn’t falling off, you could climb and sit on trees, fish with your thorthu mundu at your kolam and sing out loud without worrying yourself tired of whether you were making a fool of yourself.

@Peter Pan- I’m waiting.

Hyderabad...

Unintentionally basking under the magnificent Hyderabad sun, I couldn’t help thinking about the unfair notions with which I had entered the city. Thanks to a few spineless, cross eyed camels i had unwittingly befriended in the past, I had painted the city a dreary blue and expected it to be not any different from them. Shady. Superficial. Insecure.

Much to my surprise (and relief), I had been ignorant and narrow minded to brand a city this filled with zest anything beneath beautiful. The intricate and delicate designs on the buildings get better and one gets pushed into the crescendo of the Mughal architecture once they walk through the gates that guard the Makka masjid. Unlike the traditional Muslim architecture that relies more on size and less on gentle artistic strides, the revered monuments here are a blend of Indian art, cushioning the engineer’s artistic licence to shun the Middle Eastern propensity to build the biggest.

It isn’t just the old side( old shide, my cabbie insists) of the city that makes the place so hauntingly aesthetic, but the way the new and the old exist together, I wouldn’t take the liberty to say that it blends but the city is a strange jigsaw of bullock carts, malls, techies, palmists, cash and cash-less-ness.

I wouldn’t mind walking in the Chudi bazaar for hours at a stretch, the bangles create a riot of colours and the cacophony created by the crowd that dottily bargains away allows the dreamer to disappear into the crowd. I was nudged awake from a reverie when I saw my dad buy the ugliest of chains from over there ( how he managed to find such a hideous piece of jewellery I’d never know, and to pay a hundred for that, Lord! This is one thing I’d like to forget). But I’d keep the hideous chain, a lesser child of a city so beautiful.

Arundhati, you’ve let me down

And finally, Anna Hazare breaks his fast and the whole of India lauds, and all of us ( including all the sceptics) nurture a huge dream of a corruption-free India and suppress the possibility that practicality offers- things have gone wrong before, this time couldn’t be an exception. But here in India, the heart comes before the brain and that is probably why just around a handful of people in my class even dared talk of their doubt regarding the proposed working of the Lokpal and the rest of us tore down any chance of a debate, because just the mention of the possibility of the bill being faulty hurt.

And the end of the fast comes as a blatant proof that Arundhati Roy’s claim that this movement is a lot similar to the Maoist movement is incorrect, as much as I agree with her about the Maoist struggle being noble, when she says they are similar, I’d have to beg to differ. For one thing, I believe that this cause is a lot nobler, if it weren’t for corruption the Dongiri Kondh wouldn’t have heard of Vedanta , the Maoists wouldn’t have any need to over throw the Indian state and a million other things that turn us red with shame wouldn’t have happened. This bill seeks to kill evil from the root and isn’t selfish to annihilate just one quandary, it seeks to wipe away every other injustice. Wonder what in the world it was that gave Roy the feeling that the Jan Lokpal bill intends to over throw the government? How could it escape anyone that the bill seeks to improve our system and not change it or bring it down?Really Roy? Do we have to take up arms and shoot a bunch of people, like the Maoists to be taken seriously? They have chosen the path they think would lead them to the destiny they have dreamt for themselves quicker, and Team Anna (along with a respectfully huge and diverse number of Indians) has chosen theirs. Two entirely different attempts, seeking the same- justice.

‘Cannily, he refused to leave prison’- not again Roy! If Anna Hazare refused to leave Tihar Jail it was only because he was refused permission to continue the protest, our constitution allows that, and if our right isn’t granted, why budge? And let’s not forget why the arrest took place- for a fast that would bring Indians together to fight against the one enemy we all share- Corruption. A peaceful, non-violent protest. The ‘honoured guest’ shared the jail with several other criminals, criminals who’d caused the need for a protest such as this!

I doubt if I’ve doted on any other book like I have done Roy’s only work of fiction, The God of Small Things, I doubt if I’ll ever come across a book I’d admire or worship as much, that’s what causes this much of disbelief. Arundhati Roy of all people? none of us claim that the bill is flawless, and anyone with enough sense to fill half an egg cup knows that we’d have erred the moment we think it’s flawless. You’re allowed to distrust it, but why write an article that is factually incorrect ( the most stunningly outrageous comment would be her calling Hazare a ‘new saint’- the Gandhian had started tending to issues of National concern years before India even heard of an Arundhati Roy ! )

“For now, whatever questions you may have about the Jan Lokpal Bill, here are the answers you're likely to get: tick the box - (a) Vande Mataram (b) Bharat Mata ki Jai (c) India is Anna, Anna is India (d) Jai Hind” – Yup Roy, I’d choose Jai hind, and to say the least, I’m nothing but proud of it!

‘Lavanya, you better come out with me tomorrow or else I’ll never talk to you again!’ Persistent little cockatoo of a friend dragged a clueless, guilt- infested me to the city today. While she did justice to the ‘reporting’ that was demanded of us, I trotted along aimlessly humming tunes that helped passers-by term me tone deaf. Guilt, never declining and forever on the rise. So reporting, huh, Lavanya? The filthy little voice in my head whispers. Shadap, I snap back. I swear I heard an unforgiving chuckle.

I haven’t done anything worthwhile after the sem break. Haven’t really started my research, haven’t filed any news report, haven’t studied for any of the class tests, haven’t studied for my PG entrance exams, haven’t even done any assignment on my own. I hear the chuckle again.

So little cockatoo and me, we eat breakfast. As I gobble down a ghee roast and a masala dosa(uncouthly), little cockatoo pecks at her food (lady-like-ly) as I think of ordering a third dosa, a pestered, unwashed waiter drags his feet and walks over to us, points at me indignantly and asks cockatoo,’ Eniyum venama?’ (does she want more?).

The next time I was nudged out of my reverie, I found myself and my friends seated in a psychiatrist’s clinic. Cockatoo needs to interview him, she explains. They discuss teenage and emotional instability. I stop him abruptly and rant away about explosive and implosive anger. He says that implosive anger could be treated by practicing yoga. I tell him that I prefer karate, but I fear if I’d lose my cool and hit someone. My friends nod in unison. They know. They’ve been there. They sympathize. He looks at me and reveals that I might need ‘psychiatric attention’. Eh? BS.

So what did I do? I got out, tried to drown my guilt in food, got told that I need psychiatric help, ate a little more, sat on a friend’s bike ( he enquires if I’m alright after the ride, dude, I’ve sat on Gaurango Banerji’s bike. Thrice. No roller coaster could be scarier. Yes of course I’m alright) and strolled back into the college. What have I actually done today? Nothing.

Filthy voice, stop chuckling, will you?

If truth were a tale...

I live on a tree that kisses the moon in a forest far far away

For my hideous face, none would like, nor man, nor beast nor bird of prey

Five suns past my day of birth mercilessly was I thrashed and thrown,

I cried, I wept, I knelt and begged for mercy to be shown;

They cursed, they kicked, they screamed and said, “To evil you bear semblance!”

The heart I had, it withered and died in this pitch dark forest’s obscene silence

But hither hours turned to days, days to months and those to years

Time reformed all, named pain a companion and dispelled all my fears

Until one day, fate dealt a different card

Disbelief stopped my steps and for once the night seemed starred

For beneath a tree she sat, as if in a trance

At that sight did my wilted heart blossom and enhance

For she looked at me and did not flee

But gifted me a smile filled with glee

‘How did you reach this wretched woods? ‘ spoke I

‘I slipped and fell,’ she sang ‘from the endless deep blue sky.’

For days and days we laughed and danced

Not once my ugly past had I glanced

She said she wouldn’t leave me for the heavens above

And promised that I was the only one she’d love

And I forgot all the injustices fate had washed towards my shore

Who could believe that this was life and not a tale or lore?

To adorn her I wanted gems and to the village we drifted to look for them

As she saw the people, I saw her and on her face did an emotion stem

‘They look like me’ she spoke beneath her breath

‘None as beautiful as thou,’ I said, ‘ in life or death.’

Before I retreated to my sleep, I thanked the heavens for a gift so dear

With whom was entwined my every cheer

And then the sun sprang up and scattered light

I waited to hear the maiden’s hum, that dawned my day and wiped my night

But alas! There was nothing I could hear or see but a broken chain and shattered beads

Why had she left? Had I faltered? Didn’t my love shine through my deeds?

While I searched for her through the jungle, to tame my thirst I bent down

And in the lake I saw my answer, and I decide that my hideous self should drown.

Whispers of death

Twisting, twirling, stunning Flame

Should I let thou feel this corrupt me?

I shall, if thou promises to smother my deception,

Kill my greed, and let me breathe no more

How could it ever be wrong if I let thou feast on me?

For I have had no morals

No ounce of merit

Nor a shred of truth or worth

Bending, curling, coiling gold

I see you thirst for me;

For beneath my skin beats a cruel heart

That pumps vile seeds of evil deeds

My soul seeks thy touch

To free itself,

To put my bleeding conscience to an endless slumber

When I come to thee and seek thy help

Spare not my skin, my voice, my treacherous lies

Swallow my smile, my waist, my haunting eyes

For I demand only what I deserve

And death it is for me

Burn me to my deepest depths

Until to the world I am,

But a fable, a dream, a fading tale.

L- SIN :D

As we walked towards the office we were interning at, debating whether online Matrimonial sites where ethically incorrect or otherwise and simultaneously jumping over pot holes, we stumbled into topics that any Indian Household would call scandalous, trying my best to dodge the topic that almost always made people think that kindergarten kids where better informed than I was, I walked faster, Sindhu turned back and smiled at me, “Right when we were talking about this! Look Lavlu! “

I looked all around me, Kerala was, as always, a boastful green that never missed a chance to make my heart skip a beat, last night’s rain had made me lean over my bed to grab a jacket and hadn’t allowed the shop signs and roads to dry even five hours after it had ceased. But Sindhu was hardly the person who would bother to take a step back, and savor nature, now, what had I missed? I looked down and there it was, tucked away comfortably on a little defiant patch of grass that had betrayed convention and had grown on concrete…SDOOM, I read, a closer look at the magenta colored packet suggested that I might have read backwards to front -“MOODS”, I screamed, and then sheepishly looked around to make sure that no pious Keralite was in sight. Sindhu insisted that we take it and also claimed that it was not a mere co incidence but a ‘god given’(lol) chance to see or in her words get a small “peek a boo into reality”, and I tried my best to walk away pretending that I hadn’t seen the little cuboid that claimed to be ultra-thin for ultra you know what… Bullshit. For people who know Sindhu, her curiosity with that tinge of stubbornness is hard to say ‘NO’to. We finally picked the little box up and Sindhu tried to put it into her pocket which was too small for the packet. Lord! If someone saw her doing that we’d be branded aberrations. To accommodate the packet, I held my umbrella upside down so that its folds would form a cup, and in went the you know what.

The next two minutes towards the office was absolute torture, I smiled as widely as possible at the pedestrians so that they wouldn’t look at my umbrella, hoping against hopes that the translucent pink cloth of my umbrella wouldn’t spill the beans.

As Sindhu worried about how we’d open it in the office, I worried about how we’d discard it. We did what we thought was best to distract the employees there. We gave them food. LOL. We slipped the little box that screamed Taboo from my umbrella into my bag and then into Sindhu’s. Hearing our incessant laughter ( our attempts at covering our mouths to reduce the noise had done nothing but gag us into breathlessness ) the director of the ad agency decided to enquire about the ‘progress’ we had made so far. We gave him an apple.

When the coast was clear, we ripped the little packet apart and three little silver packs fell out, I knew that we were taking too much of a risk, sitting in the middle of the office and thinking that we wouldn’t get caught. And there it was a little pink that looked like a deflated balloon. So that is what it looked like. It felt funny, it was completely dry yet there was something about its texture that made me feel that it was wet. We wondered how we would dispose it. What could we do? The first option was to dump it into the office bin, but the receptionist refused to leave her seat. Plan 2 – we could flush it down the closet. And not be able to use the toilet for the next week? Fat chance. Plan 3- leave it on the table and pretend that we knew nothing about it. Yea right. Plan 4 – wrap it around in paper and throw it into the next plot, which was a dump. Not quite… but that’d do.

And that’s how we learnt what ‘it’ looks like J

PS: @ world: excuse us for being crazy.

@ Roomie dearest: :*