Friday, November 27, 2009

Being a Girl :-)

I was going to write a philosophical piece about birthdays, growing older, wiser and all that jazz. But then, what the heck. They do matter. This year, in keeping with the many many other significant changes in my life, has been the most girly birthday I have ever had. I continue to grin silly. It is, despite everything, sometimes great to be a girl :-)
Oh yes, it is nice to be a girl! :-D

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

No More...

There is got to be a bit of blood in the ginger-bread man for him to come alive.

-Margaret Atwood

I found this quote this morning, about how fiction often has a strain of the real life in it. And incidentally, I also had a nasty argument later with someone very dear about something I wrote. This is not the first time, there are many who have accused me of not writing what they want me to, not writing enough about them, even writing about them...I sometimes wish I had named my blog something else.

I simply cannot seem to emphasis this enough. Yes, everything I write is real, from my life, except for the fiction. I admit I have written only a few pieces of fiction here. By the looks of it, I shall not be writing more. The fiction I write is, like Atwood said, derived and inspired by what I see and hear. I have always believed that a writer can write only through deep observation of surroundings and an attempt at studying people around. For me, imagination is not so good as that of, say, Rowling, to conceive something of a whole new world. I can write of the world I see, the places and the people I know.

Again, I want everyone reading this to know that I simply mix what is real with a bit of my imagination to create something new. It is not an attempt to mask the truth or to trick or deceive anyone, least of all, it is not meant to hurt anyone. But maybe it is because most people who read this are those who know me closely, fiction on these pages has led to problems with those that I love dearly.

My apologies to everyone who has been inadvertently hurt by the words I write, yet again. I write of some feelings, that does not mean I don't understand other feelings. I write because to me, it is therapy; I need to constantly write; and not because I want to hurt anyone in any manner. If hurting was my intention, I wouldn't be much of a writer, would I?

And again, what was meant to me a short one paragraph post runs along... I shall stop now.

No more fiction here. Period.

Sunday, November 08, 2009

For 01 year

My views on religion and God set apart, I know that there are special angels that are sent down to make someone happy, to be that special person you can call up, use as a punching bag when you want to rant, someone who will be happy for you and sad with you. You know the kind I mean, those lovely people who make the world a more tolerable place just by being in it.

I am luckier than most people, I have more than a few of these. One of them is a dear darling friend Liz. When she and her colleague walked into my office last November, I was asked to meet them just because it was something to do with the Aero Show 2009. Never once did I think that we would talk to each other again, let alone become such great friends. But it so happened that I needed some information and we began chatting over Gtalk and the hours of chatting turned into one of the best friendships of my life.

It has been a year now. And Liz, one of the most adorable girls I have ever met, I know, will be just a phone call and just a 2-hour flight away. Like she loves saying, “we will grow old together!”

She sent me the most lovely flowers this evening, part of her ‘making me a propah girl’ plan I suppose! It was that little ‘anniversary’ joke between us.

It was a lovely surprise, one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for me. Thank you Lizzie for making life so much better, for the ice creams at 2 am, for goodie bags and advice and gossip and girly stuff. Love you for all of that.

For one year! :-)

Tuesday, November 03, 2009

As November Sets In...

I am out and out a winter girl. Maybe it is to do with the fact that I was born in November during a particularly cold year. Or maybe it is because I am from Madikeri where the winter is harsh and incredibly, almost starkly beautiful. Now Bangalore has famous weather, but my only grouse is that the winters here are a huge puff! It starts off so slow you hardly notice, fizzles a bit, threatens to grow colder, and then, just when you begin to think it might get cold and nice, one morning the sun is all bright and shiny and summer descends to torture the life out of me. I hate Bangalore for not having good winters.

That said, for the record, this morning looks promising. I don’t see the sun as yet and with the fan on, the recreated winter in my room brings back days many years ago, in that paradise of mine.

My hatred of getting up early in the morning continues. It was all the more worse when I had to wake up for school. My room back home was a cozy one overlooking a hedge which was (and still is) home to several rat snakes who sun themselves in the afternoon. One would often slip into my room and create a flurry around the house. But then, those are tales for another day.

So my cozy room, the best in the entire house (but of course!), sprawled across my bed under my favourite red and black velvet blanket and some others, I hated every morning. But once I managed to wipe sleep off my eyes, every morning was a new marvel. It was too cold to stand on the veranda, but through the window, you could just see one plain screen of mist, so much sometimes that it was hard to see few feet ahead of you. Sometimes we would open the door and the mist, grateful for a new place to settle in, would waft in, gliding along with the cold breeze.

After about ten o’clock, the mist would slowly clear and on some days, the sun would be out. We would have been so cold by then that despite knowing that the sun and the wind would spell disaster for the skin, we would be sunning ourselves to the point of nearly getting burnt. Maybe that it why I rarely get sun-tanned; much to the envy of others. The mountain air must have done some good, unless I am roasting in the sun for more than half a day at a stretch, my skin is sun-happy.

Cold creams, litres of moisturisers don’t help there. Even if you are decked in wools and caked under creams and lotions, your knees and cheekbones and elbows will still crack. Oh goodness, I miss all that! One year I remember, we had such a long monsoon and a longer winter that we didn’t see the sun for months on end that year. By the end of it, we all had had wrinkles all over. Another year, it got so extremely cold in December that we had to actually carry hot coals into every room in the house.

Nothing beats the joy of getting wrapped in sweaters and boots and walking into the mist. And again, for the record, I hate Bangalore for not being cold enough.

Winter, for all its worth, looks like it has begun. For the ghoulish nightmare that 2008 and most of 2009 was, November, my favourite month, is looking nice, despite everything new, despite the skeletons of the old.

My morning walks are proving to be a delight; I have started writing again; there are plans to start running soon; green tea is proving to be a blessing; my soul is thanking me already for waking up to its needs. New friends, new understanding of who are not friends, or family...There are still many ripples that need to be soothed. But it is winter. And for better or for worse, the seasons will change.

I must quote here, Ann Trason who said, with reference to running, that “It hurts up to a point and then it doesn't get any worse.” I find that it applies to life as well.