Inspire

“We make a living by what we get. We make a life by what we give.”
Words of Winston Churchill. They summarize my enriching experience on 23rd November, 2012. Thanks to Deloitte’s CSR initiative - Impact Day.

Within months after I joined Deloitte, I had heard much animated talks about our annual “Impact Day” – stories of the ones gone by and plans for the upcoming one. The excitement was infectious. I just couldn’t wait to experience it myself. Finally in November, my inbox flashed the official e-mail inviting us to be a part of something as big as this. Ideas were sought from all of us. This was our chance to make a difference – in not just others’ but also our own lives. When the projects were shortlisted, they were all so good; I couldn’t decide which one to register for. I chose “Inspire”. Why? Truth be told, because I like painting walls. I don’t really like children so I think it was solely for the chance to paint an entire balwadi (children’s home).

We had pre-project meetings just like we have pre-engagement briefings at work. Our team brainstormed on how we would spend the day with the kids and in what way could we leave a lasting impact on their imaginative minds. Finally it was decided that we would conduct three workshops – glass painting, paper quilling and paper-bag making. Responsibilities were allocated; our Deloitte t-shirts were handed out. I was already feeling pumped up. Needless to say, all the logistics went smoothly.

Where did we go to on that bright morning? Ramakrishna Sarada Samiti, Sion. RKS started by providing free medical service to the poor slum dwellers of the area in 1968. At that time, they had neither funds nor land. 1974 saw the construction of its present building, which now provides free health care for all, vocational training to women, basic education and other activities such as dance, art and music classes to children up to the age of thirteen. We met Mr. Raghu Pilaka, a chartered accountant by profession, who whole-heartedly devotes his time to the NGO. His wife, Mrs. Vidya - a wonderful lady and an architect by profession - too, shares his ideals. They both welcomed us warmly, thanking us (Deloitte) for our generous contribution while I shyly smiled, unable to say anything. 

As soon as we entered Little Lamps, the balwadi, I was reminded of my own pre-school; and how much I loved it. It was no different for those children over there. They much prefer spending their entire day at RKS rather than at their homes. We had walked in in the middle of a drawing class. The young lad teaching the kids is also from the same slum area, a very talented artist, and is aspiring to get admission at JJ College of Arts. Looking at his painting that adorned a wall of the dispensary, I think he is deserving of that opportunity. RKS is making sure he does.

We started almost immediately after a quick breakfast of idli-chutney. Most of the men took up the task of painting the periphery. Those of us who were more creatively-inclined chose to paint rainbows, birds, butterflies, trees, geometric shapes (and all things bright and beautiful) on the walls inside. The JJ-aspirant helped us a lot. After three hours of paint-splashing, frenzied picture-clicking and exhausting running-around, we took a break for lunch. The children were astonishingly well-mannered and comfortably jovial with us. Once well-fed, our energy levels doubled up (and yet, didn’t match those of the power-packed kids). We made a huge wall-poster with all the drawings that they made in class. Here’s what it looked like:

The fun had only just begun. We sat together for a quick round of introductions, to break the ice and open up before we commenced the workshops. And guess what? I learned the bharatnatyam namaskara, thanks to this beautiful eleven-year old girl, who also gave me a wonderful “thankyou” card at the end of the day (I did NOT cry. Shut up!). From budding choreographers to potential artists, the energy of the troop overwhelmed me. The workshops were a huge hit with them. Their innocent smiles and infectious giggles made it difficult for me not to like them. Much to my own surprise (and shock), I had befriended most of them by the end of the day. But no, I did not get even slightly emotional when one of them asked, “Didi, when will you come back?” True to its title, this project inspired me to be as selfless as Mr. and Mrs. Pilaka; and as happy, imaginative and energetic as all those "little lamps".

I am going to make some furniture out of waste paper this Sunday with them. After all, I did promise the little girl that I would return soon.

More pictures here.

Blessed with small joys,

Wannabe Wayfarer.

September ends..

As one of my two regular followers pointed out recently, I haven't updated this blog for over a month now. Because I have been pre-occupied. A lot has happened in Septemeber 2012. My first tax audit and first real relationship for instance. But those are topics I am not keen to blog about. So instead, I shall share something I wrote to please an upcoming youth-centric website (and it got rejected).


Quote: Vox populi, vox Dei

Origin: Greek, 14th century

Translation: “The voice of the people is the voice of God”

Interpretation: Statistically, India is the largest democracy. Sure, secular, multi-cultural and multi-lingual are all very impressive attributes. But the question is, are we really free? If we were a free country, doodlers making wolves instead of lions wouldn’t be arrested on charges of sedition. Tolerance is a virtue secular India must learn. Another disturbing question is, why must the people resort to dramatic strikes and protests to make themselves heard? The esteemed “kursi” is of the people, for the people and by the people, remember?

PS: I also have a strong reverse opinion on the same Greek quote. But let’s keep that for a better (or worse) day.

Further upsetting quotes:

• “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.” - George Orwell, Animal Farm (which, FYI, is a hilariously depressing book).
• “Those who deny freedom to others deserve it not for themselves.” - Abraham Lincoln

Lunch-time at office.

Forever hungry,

Wannabe Wayfarer.

A Lucky Evening

Before 19th August, 2012, I did not believe in the authenticity of contests and lucky-draws. I thought they were all orchestrated and unfair. However, I now have a new zest for checking out free goodies and participating in random competitions. After all, winning a Nokia Lumia is a life-changing event! What started off as an awkward evening with complete strangers eventually turned out to be a very appetizing night! Not only did I make several new friends, I think I gained a pound or two. Plus, they do say, that the camera adds ten pounds. So, if you happen to see them, excuse the pictures, please.

Where was I that day, you ask? (In case I haven’t already shouted it out in your ears) I was a privileged attendee at the NokiaAppTasting IndiBlogger meet. How? Well, simple; I begged the IndiBlogger people to let me register despite a very dull and uneventful blog. A big thanks to them, once again.

The friends who accompanied me were very excited about meeting Vikas Khanna, the host for the evening. I don't watch MasterChef. Although, having read a few of Rajiv Makhni’s witty articles in the Hindustan Times, I was quite interested in meeting that man. As the evening progressed, true to my teenage-girl syndrome, I fell in love with both of them. I mean, how couldn’t I? They’re humble, cute, funny and very very Punjabi! I have laughed my lungs out at their hilarious description of the Simran-incident.

As is tradition at all IndiBlogger meets (so I am told since this was my first), the evening commenced with a 30 second introduction of almost all bloggers present. Even before that happened, I was in awe of the crowd around me. There were bloggers of all ages and, as Poonam Kaul, Director-Communications, Nokia India said herself, “I am not a feminist but I am proud to see the large number of female bloggers.” All of twelve years, the youngest blogger at the meet - Harini Rao came up on stage and candidly admitted having come to the event only for the free food. Well, lucky kids. They can say anything and get away with it as “cute”. In contrast, also present there were bloggers who had grandchildren as old as Vikas and Rajiv and they charmed their way into my heart with their “silly poetry” and “lack of tech-knowledge”.

 With a never-ending spread of starters and wine to keep us satisfied, Nokia smoothly drilled home the message that they’re very much in the niche market and have no intentions of backing down. I am smitten with the Nokia Pureview and the myriad of wonderful applications it boasts of, not to mention a 41MP camera with Carl Zeiss lens! Oh, but my new Lumia! Yes, I’m getting there. There was a food & technology quiz that I literally forced my way into. Thanks to my very competent partner-in-crime, Kalindi Manek, we managed to win by a fair margin of twenty or so points! I must say here, that both the hosts are extremely knowledgeable in their respective fields. Did you know that the most famous Indian dish everywhere in the world except India is Chicken Tikka Masala? Or that Nokia N90 is actually the first phone with a built-in Carl Zeiss digital camera?

IndiBlogger turned five that night. The event was brought to a close with a delicious cake-cutting, emotional birthday-card moments, a buffet and (in my case,) countless servings of chocolate mousse. I look forward to more of such enriching and scrumptious evenings with IndiBlogger.

Indian by birth, Blogger by choice,
Wannabe Wayfarer.

Other Perks:
I wore my IndiBlogger t-shirt at a college festival the other day and without me saying a word, the security gave me an unrestricted entry, cutting the unimaginably long queue because they thought I’m a sponsor! Tacit consent? Whatever.

Why the bad guy is good for you

Last Saturday -as is my weekend routine - was spent watching movies. I half-heartedly went to watch Rowdy Rathore with someone I hadn’t met for five years and, quite unexpectedly, it turned out to be a ridiculously hilarious evening. What I learned: never say never.

I got home with the intention of pulling an all-nighter. Having heard so much praise about it, when I finally got the download from a colleague, I couldn’t wait even a day more to watch Bridget Jones’ Diary. Also, the colleague has given me a covetable collection of rom-coms to last a good whole month. God bless her.

I started the movie with a lot of expectations from it; and it didn’t disappoint. You just can’t get enough of her and so I stayed up till six a.m. to finish the second part too. I cannot say I like Bridget as much as I like Rebecca (from the second movie). Rebecca is sexy, tall and a super smart lawyer. Mark didn’t hook up with Rebecca not because he loved Bridget but because Rebecca did. If she was straight, you’d have known that Mark Darcy is no saint. Am I the only one who thinks that Mark Darcy is too perfect to be real? Okay, I LOVE how he loves Bridget (especially his “high regard” for her “wobbly bits”) but in this world, there is no Mark Darcy.

We’re more likely to be floored by a Daniel Cleaver first. I think every girl has a Daniel Cleaver in her life; someone who is so charming that he sweeps you off your feet, so sexy that your knees turn to jelly and so shameless that you hate his guts. But in a way, as much as you hate to admit it, Cleaver was good for you. Where Mark is happy with “just as you are”, Cleaver gnaws at your brain, breaks your heart and you strive to improve your life simply as a way to get back at him. Notice how she got fitter and found a better job after dumping him? It’s like a whole new improved life; the sweet smell of vengeance. She needed Daniel Cleaver: to realize the worth of Mark Darcy. And to realize her own worth too.

We become who we are not only by the choices we make but also by the choices circumstances make for us. If that ladyboy hadn’t interrupted them in Thailand, then Bridget would have most definitely slept with Cleaver and her life would have turned out to be very, very different. I am glad they were interrupted.

Because Mark literally traversed the ends of the world to rescue her J

Forever believing in miracles and a sucker for happy endings,

Signing off,

Wannabe Wayfarer.

Before I die.. (under construction)

 

Skydiving in Spain

I always wanted to try a free fall from a really high ground. A cliff, or a tall building. Then I saw Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara. Thenceforth, skydiving is the most certain thing on my list. Being dropped from an airplane, 15000 ft. above ground, with nothing but a parachute! Just floating in the air, almost as if flying!

 

Visit Hogwarts, Hogsmeade & Diagon Alley

Because I wish I studied in Hogwarts. And spent my weekends in Hogsmeade. And that I could go to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, get my wand from Olivander, buy Bertie Bott’s every flavored beans, chocolate frogs, and sit at The Three Broomsticks with a butterbeer to finish my Charms or Potions essay with a self-correct quill.



See the midnight sun in Norway

Midnight sun, literally, is a midnight sun seen during summers near the Arctic Circle, where the sun doesn’t set all day.

And, Norway, I’ve heard, is the most beautiful place to be =)

Record a song in my voice

Not saying I have a singer’s voice. But, I like to sing and I like being complimented about my voice. I want to hear my singing voice, to know if it is actually worth listening to. I don’t know what I’ll do with it, but I would like to record one song, professionally.

Learn a dance form

Okay, I cannot dance. I look stupid when I attempt. I can’t learn because, well, I’m embarrassed that I’ll look even stupider trying. But, in secret, I want to learn how to dance. I envy graceful dancers. So, anyone taking private lessons please let me know.

Live in a boathouse

This is more of a honeymoon wishlist item, of course. Waking up in a boat. Sigh.

Well, that's all the things I could think of right now. I shall keep adding to it. Any suggestions? 

- Wannabe Wayfarer.

A page from my Diary

Chennai Office, 1.00 pm.

So after my wonderful trip to Vaishnodevi temple, I flew to Chennai for two weeks, then Bombay last week and flew back here (yes, AGAIN) for continuation of what we label work. Right now, that’s where I am, sitting alone, typing this out in a chilly conference room at the client’s office; wearing a sweater when the temperature outside is 340C. Last night, however, was hot, dirty and sweaty. From afternoon to midnight, I was counting engines, wheel rims, cylinders, slider frames, axles, valves, tube tires, and even nuts and bolts. I was at an unpronounceable remote plant location at the Tamil Nadu-Andhra Pradesh border conducting Physical Verification of our client’s stock. Blah.

On the hour long return journey from the warehouse to the hotel we’re staying at, sandwiched on the backseat between my team member and a client representative, I received plenty of calls from Bombay. All day too, my phone has been flooded with calls and messages.Today is my birthday. 2^nd April. I have completed nineteen years on this planet and I have no vision, aim or plan for my future. A big thank you to all who wish me well!

Listening to: Make It Up As You Go! – Plain White T’s

 

Hotel Room, 10.00 pm – Post Dinner

Birthday made bright thanks to memories of the advance celebrations in Bombay last week (especially the scrumptious chocolate cake baked by a sexy Saraf and lovely thoughtful gifts from everyone), surprise cake by work team here, and these precious dedications:

#1 (wishes to remain unnamed)

Birthday - just another day for you and me, right? Nothing more, nothing less; except probably the tiny birthday cake and a little bit of attention here and there. But, who wants that anyway... I kept the same attitude till now. And I am not sure if I am going to, willing to or succumb to changing that attitude to "OMG, IT’S MY BIRTHDAY MONTH! YAYIEE" either. Nevertheless, it’s a special day. Today is special because someone came into the world only to change mine for the better. Guess what? That’s a good enough reason for you and me to celebrate.

You are Dear, Harshika Gupta, and you should know that. Never contemplate on how much you have positively contributed to my life because despite the physical distance, trust me - YOU TOP MY LIST. Being with you - real time or just spiritually is just unbelievable. Sometimes I wonder how you can make all my whining, unrealistic love life and ridiculous ambitions seem so normal. Even about being independent, you know... I don't think I'd feel so free if you wouldn't keep reminding me of it.

A mere 'thank you' won't suffice for the strength that you give me. But you must know that I am very lucky and grateful to God to have let me sensed this unbound, unconditional and permanent friendship with Harshika Gupta.

I Love You. Oh! And yea, Happy Birthday. May you have a million reasons to smile and a trillion reasons to laugh! (My April calendar says "A smile is a laugh that bursts", cool na?) Yours, Guess who

#2 (my favorite Shetty)

Dear Harshika,
I find having pen pals amusing. Considering FaceBook doesn't allow that anymore, why would anyone write mails and letters when you can chat and whatspp(darn technology). I know you have too much work to write letters to me. But I declare you my pen pal. I will keep you updated about my (and others) life when you are away whether you like it or not.
Anyway, here's a poem I wrote for this awesome occasion of your birthday. It's called YOU.(Genius me)
Hope you like it!!

You.

The craziness, the lovesickness
Made me think I was the only one
Then I realized you were there too
To share in the fun.

You have some wiring wrong
Considering the things you say and do.
You say the funniest and darnest things
And I actually believe you.

I need to learn to love like you
With all your heart and soul
You do what you want and
Don't always follow the rules.

Every friend has a place
A season that he brings
You are the friend that
Always resembles the spring.

I wish that you soon figure out
What it is that you want to do
It doesn't really matter to me
Coz whatever it is you'd be true.

And that's your share of sappiness
For the friend you have been to me
And I pray for only happiness
From the heavens to shower on thee.

Happy Birthday, Harshika Gupta!!! :D

Ps. Tried to say the above in poetry but nothing really rhymes with Gupta! :(

- Trupthi.

 How lucky am I :)

Feeling blessed,

Wannabe Wayfarer.

Wonder Years

Precariously balancing on the edge of the aluminum ladder, after several unsuccessful tries with a long stick, I pulled myself up and wiggled into the duct-like passage. Came out disheveled, but finally pulled out the bag that’s been on my mind longer than I care to admit. It was heavy and I was as excited as I am when I have unending dessert options! Dragged my colossal haul to a corner of the house and settled amidst the comforting memories.

That was at 12 in the afternoon. Fast forward to 5 in the evening, my brother and I are laughing our stomachs hollow (me, quite literally on an empty stomach) at a super scary baby picture of me. No kidding. I was a scary baby. Eyes too big for the face, and add to that hideously frilly frocks and dresses. It’s like a china doll from those scary movies is unblinkingly staring at you. I have the potential to scare the bejesus out of somebody. I’m glad; some talent. If I was a scary baby, I haven’t seen any kid cuter than my brother. I swear. I’m saying this impartially. Maybe even a little reluctantly. He’s a born poser, like my mother and has got the math-whiz brains of my father. Me? I’m considering the possibility that I was adopted.

There were a zillion more photos – of my parents’ wedding (me absent), mom’s first karvachauth (me absent), playschool, all our vacations, trips to temples, chirstmas parties, holi, Diwali, birthday parties – of all the cousins, raksha bandhan, everything before 2000 and a little up to 2003. Since I’ve been pretty much jobless having taken unnecessary leave from work for inconsequential exams, I thought that instead of wasting yet another day on sleeping and eating on my laptop, I’d look through these photographs.

Irrespective of the bag-full of photos, I remember very little of pre-teen me - just a few incidents. Individually, they might not make sense but put together, there is fluidity (eh, critics?) in the awesome tale of my childhood. Here, I shall try to be as chronological as possible in my reminiscence of those few far and in between childhood memories:

I remember journeying from one make-believe city at the right of the sofa set using a threadbare ottoman to reach the other end where my mum waited to spoon-feed rajma chawal to me. The self-made game was to reach her without putting my feet on the floor. I don’t think she understood that; or cared. She hates spoon feeding. She would get irritable and hurl expletives only like a Punjabi mother can. She only spoon-fed me because the rest of her sisters-in-law did their children. The perks of a joint-family lifestyle, I tell you!

When my kid brother was born, I remember holding that tiny little thing and saying, “He is so pink!” Later, I also suggested that he be named Mickey Mouse when all the elders congregated in the “sitting-room” to jot down baby names. I remember stealthily creeping into the room together with my cousins where he was peacefully asleep and pulling the crib net off so he would wake up – something mom had specifically warned us against. I remember feeling terribly guilty about that; worrying all the while whether mosquitoes were hovering around my tiny brother because of us.

I love my cousins. I’ve grown up playing lagori, Simon says, red letter, land-water, hide-and-seek, treasure hunt and what-not with them. I am extremely lucky to have not just one, but three loving brothers and five beautiful sisters.

My eldest brother, he’s an angel. Once, aggressive me bit him; not like a tiny kid’s peck, but a piranha’s bite. A deafening scream; and then I ran. Ran for my life. Expecting him to chase me and pay me back in stones. Panting, I hid in our garden, the farthest I could get from him. Hours passed, he never followed. I thought he’s gone a step further – complained to mom; or worse, to badimamma. All day, I was so scared, waiting for the blow that never came. He forgave me. Just like that. That was just the beginning of his unending generosity to me. My brothers are my 3 a.m. friends. I trust them with my life.

As a kid, I think I would look up to my elder sisters; I still do. So probably whatever they said was gospel truth to me back then. My sister fooled me into believing that the best part of the bread was the sides. She always fed me the brown sides of all her sandwiches because she disliked them. And guess what, eventually, I developed a taste and now the sides ARE the best part of the bread to me; in fact I actually dislike white bread.

I was barely four when we shifted out. I didn’t understand much of what was happening or why and I thought shifting meant a bad thing. Our first separate place, albeit temporary, was quite far from my joint-family home. When badepapa dropped me at the depressing apartment and was about to leave, I hugged him, cried uncontrollably and just wouldn’t let go of him. I couldn’t believe he was leaving us. He told me not to be silly and that he would come the next day to pick me up for school. After a lot of tugging, I was forced to let go. Unless I’m mistaken, badepapa had tears in his eyes too. He left hurriedly. He did come over the next day; and the day after that. My heart slowly healed; my maternal uncle had come to stay with us for a while and so I didn’t have to miss badepapa all the time. Mom forced me to go out and play with my “friends” in the building. I hated them; the bitches were nothing like my sisters.

Of course, as time passed, things got better; I made a few friends and even started paying attention to school. But my best friends remain my cousins. I still cherish my every visit to them – discussing books and movies with my two beautiful younger sisters, seeking work and college advice from my benevolent and patient brothers, teasing, taunting, laughing at each other, and the unparalleled motherly love of my badimammas and chachi. Family - I didn’t realize it was so important to me till I finished this post.

I could go on, but I have to start packing for my trip to vaishnodevi with badepapa and badimamma :)

See you soon,
Wannabe Wayfarer.

My Induction (to Social Networking)

Like the blogosphere, I’m new to twitter. And thinking to myself, why didn’t I join this earlier? Sometimes, however, constant re-tweets - from celebs and regulars alike - endorsing other users or funny quote handles, seeking more followers, etc. gets really annoying. And, it’s creepy (also a little curious, I admit) when some porn star follows you on twitter the very first day you join. But I’m new. I’m beginning to learn to block, trend and sieve only that what interests me. Notwithstanding, Twitter, like Wordpress and Blogspot, is abundant with interesting stuff. So many amazingly talented people in the world! I’m intimidated, and inspired. This week was a complete data overload on my tiny brain. I have been introduced to a dozen of refreshing blogs and this blog-reading is pretty addictive, I must say. So obsessed was I that I did not study a word for my B.Com exam (not that I would have anyway but it’s nice to have something else to blame that on instead of just my lack of interest). But, by midnight tonight, brain server crashed. Everything I read became one unending string of incomprehensible letters and similar sounding words and ideas. My eye capillaries are on the verge of bursting too, probably. So I think I’m going to take it slow now. Back off a little. Maybe study for these exams.

The highlight of my three-day presence on Twitter – http://55words.blogspot.in/2012/03/theme-10-skyscrapers.html (I'm @hersheyka) Okay, it’s not a big deal but, I’m vain that way.

I have a few people to thank for supporting and orchestrating my presence here. You're reading this post. Thank you :)

Signing off,

Wannabe Wayfarer.

(Side Note to my one regular not-so-anonymous follower who religiously marks my every post “indifferent”: Still a wannabe I be. xD)

Our Unspoken Mutuality

Every morning when I wake up,

I secretly hope to myself

That today, everything will be fine.
That today, we won’t argue.

No! I don’t understand you
Each time I try, I let you down.
How can I be there for you,
When you don’t even need me?

I can see that you love me
You really do.
But you love yourself more
And I can see that too.

When you love me, I hate you;
Because I think I’m undeserving.
When you hate me, why would I love you?
So I hate you anyway.

I do all I can to keep you happy;
But it’s never enough.
So sometimes, I get frustrated
And just stop caring.

Not the victim, you’re a predator;
Feeding on my slavery and my fear.
If I’m a burden, a pain, a curse,
Why won’t you leave me? Or let me go?

I lack the patience and love that you need
I’m selfish, like you
And the powerless coward that you call me;
If upto me, I’d run away – leave you to bleed.

Yes, I know. You’re weak,
Sensitive and fragile
And that it’s beyond your control –
Your scathing remarks, the ill-speak.

This is probably what you think of me too
We’ve grown on one another, that much is true.
Ironic then that I still want to love you
Though now I’m not sure what love is.

Maybe it lies in our efforts to stay together.
This is our love – our unspoken mutuality;
I love you
Because you love me too.

- Wannabe Wayfarer.

And he said, "You don't know LOVE"

- Anonymous

PRELUDE: I have a wonderful friend who is quite like me in matters of the heart. We pretend we act rationally and listen to our heads, but in reality, we let our hearts win over better judgment. And most of the times, it turns out for the best.

This rhyme is hers. This story is hers. She prefers to grace my blog anonymously.

It ended. Abruptly I won’t say because the signals were clear. I always imagined myself having these long lasting relationships so a four month thing made me sad.

I cried. Then I crap messaged a friend knowing she would be asleep. And even in all that hurt, I sent him something that wouldn’t make him worry or complicate things. I said, “Adios Amigo”

I wondered. Realized that it had happened for the best. I learned, I grew through it. I was happy and sad. I learned to be unapologetic about my feelings. I learned to ‘do what I want’. And it ended before it went bad.

I realized. I was beautiful, smart and mature. There was every reason for a guy to like me. He had proved that. And that was all I needed to know.

I smile. For every relationship that ends, new ones start and old ones are renewed and that’s what makes living worthwhile.

So I Hope.

What happens in Goa stays in Goa

I lived my own SATC movie in Goa this month. And these are memories that will stay with me for a very long time. Can’t say forever, you know my memory-span. That’s partly why I’m writing this post. I want to be able to recall this trip even fifty years from now.

Some details are scandalous enough to completely transform your opinion of the fabulously “prim & proper” girls I travelled with and came to love. So I take them to my grave/funeral pyre (or forget them, whichever comes first). From the following words however, you may draw whatever conclusion your imagination leads you to:

5 hours at the flea market

“Goan bred”

Mish Mar

Mr. Darcy

Red chaddi hotter than blue chaddi

Lunch with what's-his-name

Humar sajan tumhar bistar?

2 a.m. half-biryani with full raita

Future prediction

Free ticket booth

Confessions

350ml

Medical students’ troop getting too friendly

S being openly checked out

Dress Night!

Belly Dance

Hug-spree

Chronicling my life with the fat gujju & steamy affair with the pool-boy :D

Saving the last glass!
Champoonara

T's leg-clap

Early morning cycle-touring

Grocery shopping, chai samosa & Church-visiting

Nothin' on you, baby! <3

Yeah, we made a pact. To make this an annual tradition. It's Ibiza next I think.

Cheers to all the small joys!

-Wannabe Wayfarer.

People & Me

I know a strong, beautiful and independent woman. She is my best friend and I am extremely proud of her. She inspires me to keep my creativity alive and courageously follow my dreams. We’re very different from each other. I’m selfish. She is kind, caring & will voluntarily go out of her way to help someone; anyone; everyone.

We don’t meet every day; wouldn’t even if we could; and cannot because she lives in a different country now.  So her name flashing on my phone is eagerly awaited and makes me smile wide. She calls me when – she misses me, she is happy, anxious or sad. And at each instance, I feel honoured that she chose to call me.

Through the years that I have known and adored her, I can now broadly identify reasons for when she is feeling low. One of them is that she lets people’s moods affect hers. It’s like having the super-ability of Jasper Cullen in reverse. Bluntly, it is more of a disability. Empathy is fine. But letting that person’s problem become your own is not.

God gives enough strength to each; you only have to seek it within you. Most can find that strength and deal with the problem or move on. However, some are too busy crying to take any corrective action and will whine to anyone with ears. I avoid such people at all costs. “You cannot save a damsel who loves her distress”.  So why waste any shred of your time or mind’s space on their sob-stories? Unless you’re a gossip monger, of course. In which case, please don’t read my posts.

Oh! Gossip – the unavoidable frenemy. I bother about only one type of gossip – that at the workplace. Because negative gossip affects your image in front of potential colleagues to whom you cannot always prove otherwise. Elsewhere, I don’t care even if people cast aspersions on my character. Likewise, whether a person likes me or not is irrelevant to me. I was not put on this planet to please you; though I definitely like being appreciated.

If you know what you’re doing is right and that you’ve put in your best efforts, then no criticism, taunt or snide remark should affect your disposition. Growing up, I was in search for my self-identity. I still am. I think it is more of a process that upgrades as experience teaches me more lessons. However, by now, I have established my ideals, principles and my perception of right and wrong. I am secure with and confident of my views. So I seek nobody’s approval for my actions. There are no more than 5 people at any point in my life whose opinions play an unparalleled role in my decision-making. Anything the “society” says about my life choices, opinions or actions, is immaterial.

THIS is my way to happiness and contentment – my own approval for my actions; being responsible for my own decisions; answerable primarily to myself. It is a liberating feeling.

Mind chow: Associate with spiteful people, their negativity rubs off onto you. While just a simple conversation with happy, optimistic and carefree people brightens your aura too.

-Wannabe Wayfarer

Six-month-a-versary

Suprabhatam from Chennai. This is my third visit to this disciplined, orderly and relatively clean city. All three times, I was here for work. Today I complete 6 months as an article/intern with audit firm Deloitte Haskins & Sells or, the cooler version, “Deloitte.” – notice the green dot; and one of our clients is Ashok Leyland Ltd. Anyway, back to the green dot - I’m pretty fascinated by it. One of the reasons influencing my choice of Deloitte for my internship - apart from the fact that it is among the top four audit firms of the world – is the appeal of this green dot. Initially, I assumed that it probably signified environmental consciousness; and despite my curiosity, I never bothered to verify my conjecture.Yesterday, however, my unasked question was answered by a senior here. The full-stop implies that Deloitte is a one-stop-shop for all your corporate needs. Green because, well, auditors like the color green. Although the “environmentally conscious” logic would’ve pleased me more, I like this explanation too.

Notice how I used the words “our client”? I like Deloitte. I like the feeling that I represent DHS. Additionally, atleast at my current assignment, I’m getting to learn truckloads; all the people around me are really helpful and co-operative. I may not have made any substantial or irreplaceable contribution to the audit just yet, but I hope to do soin my remaining 2.5 years as an intern. And I am confident that the people here will be rational enough to give me that opportunity. (No, unfortunately, none of my seniors are reading this blog.)

That’s it for now. Clerical crap awaits me this afternoon. Poittu Varen! (goodbye)

-Wannabe Wayfarer

First Love

Precursory statement: This is not about my first love.

So, yet again, I bunked yet another class for yet another movie. Ek Deewana Tha today. And the world may give it half a star or none, I loved it. I loved it because it’s one of those movie experiences where I’m stuck to the seat even after the credits have started rolling and the movie itself plays in my head for the rest of the day.

The possible scenarios for all typical Hindi romantic movies (not mutually exclusive):

·         A lot of focus on “You never forget your first love”

·         LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT

·         Crazy jobless mawaali woos shy delicate princess

·         Love vs. friendship

·         A happy ever-after against ALL ODDS

There was nothing new or fresh about Ek Deewana Tha. Except Prateik. His dancing skills, acting and just him being so cute in love! For people who’ve seen (or will see) the movie, notice the way he hugs her at the Taj Mahal! ^_^

Okay, less than 3 hours since I saw the movie and I cannot recall the name of his character. But his portrayal of that “i-would-die-for-her” kind of lover is etched in my mind. For the moment atleast. Probably because I’m being very sensitive about love this month. Why? I don’t know. Maybe it’s the winter. Winters always make me want to cozy up to somebody and thereafter realize that my ugly pink teddy bear needs a wash. Only during winters, I let myself go “Aww” on mush. Or when I’m eating a half kg tub of ice-cream.

Re-focusing (though there isn't much of a focal point here), while watching this typical romantic movie on a wintry February morning snuggling my hoodie, there were a few couples who came to my mind. I love real-life love stories and so I’ve heard a lot of them. Some were strikingly similar to this one. More than one was a LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. So fact remains, even if I have never experienced it, love at first sight happens. It’s one hundred percent real and possible. Though, in all the love stories - real as well as fiction- that I can think of, the whole love-at-first-sight emotion is stronger for the man. Because apparently the girl of his dreams is so shy, she doesn’t even look into his eyes. Pfft! I couldn’t be that shy even if I tried. So is the phenomenon exclusive to the ‘bashful boy – timid girl’ pair?

The way he looks at her… sigh! THAT, THAT makes me wish that someone falls in love with me. Just one look, and he decides, “She is the one. The girl I will marry. I love her.” Surreal.

In most cases, like in this movie, the man’s first love is his love at first sight.

I want to be somebody’s first love. Someone he is madly in love with. Someone he will chase to the ends of the world. Someone he will never give up on. Someone who, for him, is his “biggest audience”.

Now, some bubble bursts:

• I don’t think love happens just once. Can’t you love more than one person to the same immeasurable extent?
• Why is the woo-ing and chasing customarily boys’ domain? I want to pataao guys, cheesy pick-ups et al, without being labeled unpleasant things. I want to do crazy things for the one I love. Hmm.. Okay, this question I think I’m answering for myself. I would want to do all those things only if I’m sure he loves me back. Boys are probably more rejection-resistant that way.
• For the normal, non-breathtakingly-beautiful variety of human beings with a zillion things to work out, does love really find us?
• Also, my over-analyzing alter ego, who I try to keep suppressed as much as possible, has a very disturbing theory; that one rarely marries the love of their lives. Most passionate love stories have depressing ends – war, death, or simply (and possibly the worst of its kind), living different lives with different people, away from each other. Apparently, the original EDT has a different ending – one where she ends up marrying a bloke from U.K.; not the happy ending which the audience sees.
• Now that the alter ego is on the fore, might as well get this out of my system: Maybe it’s never about love. It’s just a trade-off. Weighing of options.  The ‘U.K. + parents’ approval + stability + rich hubby’ package probably tilted the scales as opposed to ‘love’. Bleh.

Signing off,

The Ever Optimistic

Wannabe Wayfarer.

P.S.: I do not know how to add audio, but if possible, listen to the music of Ek Deewana Tha. Particularly, Hosanna in Tamil. A.R. Rahman creates magic!